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Really horrible.
So she had that to deal with, too.
“Kate…my decision is made. I’m going to Montana. It’s what I want to do.”
“I don’t believe you,” Kate replied. “Quitting your job, moving to a foreign environment, holding out on your best friend…. You don’t have a dreaded disease, do you?”
“No disease. Just a need for a change. And some privacy.”
Kate sighed into the phone. “All right,” she said sullenly. “Go to Montana. Keep me in the dark.”
“It isn’t like I won’t be back,” Ellie said, relieved that her friend was finally showing signs of backing off. “I have to finish packing. I’m running late and I won’t make my flight if I have to keep answering calls.”
“No more calls.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s okay.”
Her words were followed by an awkward silence as if they were both waiting for the other to hang up first, and then Kate said, “You know I have your back.”
“You always have,” Ellie replied, forcing the words over the lump forming in her throat. Stupid hormone-induced emotions. “I’ll talk to you soon.” And then she did hang up. Fast.
For a moment she stared down at her suitcase, blinking against the tears, before she regained control and started packing again, her movements quick and automatic.
Her new job was bogus—or at least it had started out that way. When her aunt had first suggested that Ellie go to work for them at their new ranch in Montana, her initial instinct had been to say no. It had been more than obvious that Angela was trumping up a way to rescue her niece from the consequences of her actions—something Ellie’s own mother would have never done. Besides, Milo had a ranch consultant coming in later that summer to evaluate, so why would he need her? Easy answer. He didn’t.
But for the first time in her life Ellie had no plan, no idea what her next move would or should be. After several days of considering her alternatives—paying rent from savings while she looked for another job in a tight market, trying to find a position that would work with single motherhood, coming to terms with her pregnancy—she’d realized that she was damned fortunate to have this opportunity. It gave her time, although she hated admitting she needed that time.
So three days ago she’d called her uncle Milo and hammered out a deal. She’d travel to Montana and familiarize herself with the ranch, which was still being managed by the original owner, before the consultant arrived. Milo had seemed relieved, saying that while the consultant came highly recommended, he’d feel better if he had another set of eyes there—Ellie’s eyes. The person he was most concerned about was the former owner, now the uncommunicative ranch manager. On the one hand, he didn’t want to let the guy go if he was the best man to run the place, but on the other, the guy was hell to deal with.
Ellie assured Milo she’d take care of matters. That was what she did, after all—take care of matters, evaluate staff, make hiring and firing decisions. Between her and the consultant, they should have the ranch in decent shape by the time Milo retired.
She closed her suitcase and locked the latches. This was not going to be an escape. It was going to be a mission.
* * *
THE ARENA WAS muddy as hell. Ryan Madison shook out his loop, found the sweet spot and gripped it tightly as he urged his black gelding, PJ, into the roping box.
“Come on, Ryan. You can do it!” A female voice broke through his concentration, but he instantly tuned her out.
Focus.
PJ’s body tensed as the calf was pushed forward into position. Ryan sent up a quick prayer, then nodded. The chute clanged open, the calf shot out and after that it was autopilot.
PJ caught up with the calf and squeezed in on him as Ryan dropped the loop over the animal’s neck and dallied around the saddle horn, dismounting almost before PJ had skidded to a stop in the mud. He flanked the calf, a heavy, squirming heifer, dodging a foot as the calf hit the ground before grabbing that same foot, holding it with the two front feet with one hand and making his wraps with the other. Two wraps and a half hitch.
Ryan jumped to his feet, hands in the air. PJ eased forward, slacking the rope stretched between the saddle horn and the calf. He held his breath as the calf squirmed and bucked, and then the judge dropped his flag.
