Jace realized what he had said and felt his neck grow hot under the collar. That wasn’t what he had meant by his off-handed comment, but there was no turning back now. “The ranch is crazy full all the time,” he hurried to explain. “Plus they keep adding new things for guests to do. The RV Park is probably new since you were here before and there are ten tiny-homes scattered about the cabin area now. Chase and Colton are even expanding the hunting camps in the Wind River Range.”
“That’s good,” Angie nodded. She was glad that the ranch was doing so well. “Do they still run cattle and raise their horses?”
“You bet.” Jace grinned again feeling relieved that the awkward moment had passed. “Chase has partnered with Jackson Auburn breeding horses. “I’m afraid old Butch passed last winter though. The old stud-horse was thirty-two years old, and it was just time to let him go.”
“He was a very sweet horse,” Angie said remembering the mahogany horse as she looked out across the pasture, spotting many horses with the distinct dark mahogany coats of the founding stallion of the ranch. She grinned, thinking of the special time she had as one of the first handicapped visitors to the Broken J. Spending days with Michelle Ballard had given her a unique glimpse at the inner workings of the place.
“Thanks for walking me to the house,” she said pushing toward the long ramp that led up onto the big porch. “I’ll be fine on my own though.”
Jace stepped up to the door as Angie wheeled to the front of the old ranch house and pulled it open, so she would roll inside. “Maybe I’ll see you around this week,” he grinned. “Don’t let Mrs. Wade feed you too much,” he added. “You wouldn’t want to find it too hard to get on your horse.”
Angie sat just inside the door for several long moments after the cowboy walked down the long hall, letting her breathing slow. She knew that the handsome cowboy had offered the comment as a flippant jibe, but the fear she had been fighting threatened to wash over her once more.
The sound of someone on the phone pulled her from the icy grip of fear, and she turned toward the office on the other side of the stairs. It was time to get checked in and get herself put together.
Chapter 2
Angie slipped her credit card back into her shoulder bag and wheeled toward the hall that led to the welcoming kitchen. She was checked in for the two weeks of spring break and couldn’t wait to see what other changes had taken place at the old ranch.
She smiled looking at the large quilt that hung on the wall leading up the stairs to the second floor. A large tree had been stitched onto the quilt and each branch bore the names of the founding family of the Broken J. Another familiar sight was the old photos of past family members on the wall leading down the hallway toward the kitchen.
Angie stopped for a few moments to peer into the glass frames and examine the faces of those long gone. They looked serious yet happy in most posses, and she knew for a fact that the image of a very large man standing next to a tall thin woman was Eric Ballard and his bride Joan. Michelle Ballard had explained the picture when Angie had been there a few years earlier. She always liked that image of the big man and the tall thin woman, and she pondered the ability of any woman who would have been desperate enough, or brave enough to become a mail-order-bride.
Turning slowly toward the kitchen, where the soft sounds of pots and pans indicated that breakfast was underway, Angie wondered if she could ever be as brave as Joan had been. Even now, the future she had laid before her made her tremble with doubt. She wasn’t sure if she could reach for her dreams, or if in doing so, she would fall flat on her face.
The warm scent of waffles hit her as Angie rolled through the door, and she grinned when she saw a familiar figure with a head of tight gray curls hustling about the large open kitchen barking orders while younger men and women jumped to comply. Angie felt her lips tug into a grin as she watched Mrs. Wade directing the mad concert of cooking, and serving.
The big two-story ranch house had been completely redone when Philomena Allen had taken over. Everything had been modernized, but the place still seemed like something straight out of the old west. Bright wallpaper, fringed lamps, heavy leather furniture, and more felt welcoming and somehow just right.
As she sat quietly breathing in the smells of bacon, eggs, waffles, and fresh berry compote, Angie noticed the woman standing at the fancy coffee machine filling a tall mug. She wore a purple and white flannel shirt, jeans, and boots, and Angie would have recognized her anywhere. Philomena Haven, the owner of the ranch, was starting her day with her favorite thing, coffee.
“Hi Mrs. Haven,” Angie smiled as she wheeled toward the coffee pot.
“Please, call me Phil,” the pretty woman with the deep auburn hair chimed, turning with a smile.
“Angie! Angela Cortez is that you?” a shrill voice made Angie and Phil both turn flinching as Mrs. Wade waved a spatula at them. “My haven’t you grown up?”
“Hi Mrs. Wade,” Angie grinned rolling toward the older woman. She had spent a good deal of time hanging out in the kitchen with the older cook and former high school lunch lady when she’d visited before and adored the irascible Mrs. Wade. “I’m surprised you remember me?”
“Remember you?” Mrs. Wade grumbled. “How could I forget? I think you and Michelle Ballard racing around on that pony cart a few years
