Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Hamilton Ranch was one of the oldest operations in Idaho, and it had always belonged to a Hamilton. Now it belonged to Beckett.
They didn’t have as much land as the O’Haras—not yet anyway.
With the purchase of the Caldwell land, it would put them close.
The O’Haras had shifted their operation so they ran and bred as many horses as they did cattle, so they had need for the extra acreage.
The Hamiltons would always be cattlemen.
There was something about the land—owning it and working it—that soothed his soul like nothing else could. Just standing on the hill that overlooked the family home—his home now—and the vast pastureland and fences filled him with such pride he almost burst with it.
The weatherman had called for clear skies through the weekend, but Beckett had lived and breathed these mountains since birth, and he knew better than to trust a forecast this time of year.
The air had that bite to it, that particular stillness that preceded a big storm.
By late afternoon, the first flakes had started falling—fat and lazy at first, then thickening into a steady curtain of white.
So much for clear skies.
The thing about a working ranch was that the animals didn’t care that a storm was coming.
The cattle still had to be fed twice a day.
Calves were getting ready to drop at any time and they had to make sure the mothers were checked regularly.
There were also horses to tend to. And when bad weather came, they all had to be rounded up and penned.
It was an exhausting trial every time, because the animals seemed to sense the change in the weather and wanted to do their best not to cooperate.
He’d been right in the middle of pushing obstinate cows into the barn when his cell phone buzzed.
He almost ignored it—he and his men had a limited amount of time to finish before the weather worsened.
But he pulled it from the holster at his belt and recognized Marnie’s number.
His first thought was that something bad had happened.
What other reason would she have to call?
But she’d surprised him. She’d always been direct—there was never any guessing with Marnie. It was a refreshing quality. So when she’d asked if they could have dinner, he’d only been stunned speechless for a moment.
“I tell you what,” he’d said, putting his shoulder into the rump of a cow to get it moving.
“Lock up now and come out to the ranch. The snow’s coming faster than the weatherman predicted and you’re not used to driving in it.
By the time you get here, I’ll be finished with the evening feeding and ready for a shower and a meal. ”
She agreed as if they’d made a casual business transaction and disconnected, leaving Beckett smiling at his phone like a fool.
“Boy, didn’t I tell you to stay away from women,” his father said. “They ain’t nothing but trouble. Didn’t you learn anything from the last go-around?”
Carson Hamilton was in his mid-sixties and still worked the ranch with the enthusiasm of a much younger man.
His dark blond hair was silvered at the temples and the lines on his face were from years of working in the sun.
He was tall like his son, but his eyes were a piercing blue instead of gray.
The gray had come from Beckett’s mother.
“You also told me I needed to get out and live beyond the ranch. That’s where I’d get life experience.”
“That was when you were in college,” Carson said, rolling his eyes. “Besides, when have you ever listened to me?”
“I always listen. I just don’t always implement. Don’t worry, Pop. This woman is worth the trouble.”
“I take it from that conversation you’re not showing up on our doorstep tonight to mooch dinner.”
“You’d be right. Marnie Whitlock,” he said by way of explanation.
His father slapped a cow on the rump and stared at him. “Talk about trouble. It’ll follow her around her whole life. She’s got the curse.”
“She’s got a gift,” Beckett corrected. “And she’s helped a lot of people with it. Don’t judge her by her father.”
Carson spat on the ground at the mention of Harley Whitlock. “Don’t see how anything good could come from that man. A liar, a thief, and a murderer. He’s the only person in my lifetime I’ve ever been glad was dead. You reap what you sow.”
“And his daughter paid the price,” Beckett said. “Many times at the hand of her father. She’s a survivor. And she’s made a good life for herself. She’s back home now and it doesn’t look like she plans on going anywhere.”
“You were always stuck on her,” Carson said. “It worried your mama sick when you started mooning over that girl. She was scared you were going to get her pregnant and then Harley would be tied to all of us.”
Beckett stopped cold. “You never said a word.”
“Because we didn’t have to. We didn’t raise a fool.
You’ve always been private about your relationships and respectful.
We would’ve heard otherwise. You spent a couple years pining after that girl until you found your gumption to make a move.
You’re a slow one. Like to think things through before you take action.
” His father winked. “You got that from me. Your mama has a quick temper.”
“That’s what I love about her,” Beckett said, grinning.
“And then once we saw what Harley did to you that night…” Carson shook his head. “Your face was so swollen, your jaw busted up. Your mama wanted to hunt him down with her shotgun. But after we called the sheriff and learned they were already after him, all we could do was wait.”
“I don’t remember much after that first punch,” Beckett admitted. “I could hear Marnie screaming, but I couldn’t stop him.”
“That’s nothing to be ashamed of. You were still more boy than man, and not many men could stand up to Harley the way you did and live to tell about it.”
Beckett made a noncommittal sound. He’d blamed himself for years for not being able to do more. It had taken a long time to realize there was nothing more he could’ve done. You couldn’t stop crazy.
“The timing wasn’t right for us then,” Beckett said. “We were too young. And if Harley hadn’t stopped us that night, he would’ve eventually been a problem. The best thing that happened was when he drove over that cliff. It set us all free.”
“Just be careful. Harley might be gone, but the girl still has trouble. That gift of hers can be as much a curse as a blessing. Not all the cases she helped on were successful. There were people who didn’t get saved.”
“She can’t save everyone,” Beckett said, an edge creeping into his voice.
“It’s not her job to. I don’t know exactly how it works—she’s never explained it to me—but I don’t think it’s something she can always control.
There were a lot more people she saved than she didn’t.
People still have choices that can change the direction of anyone’s future. ”
“You seem to know a lot about it.”
“You weren’t the only one who kept up with her over the years.
I tried to read everything I could about her.
Interviews she gave and police statements.
I never stopped loving her. Not even after she was taken away.
But I also knew she deserved to get to live a normal life.
That life wasn’t here. At least not then. And my place will always be here.”
“But now she’s back,” his father said.
“Now she’s back,” Beckett agreed.
They finished getting the cattle settled and rode in silence to check on the horses in the smaller barn on the west side of the property.
The hands had already made sure they were in their stalls and settled for the evening.
Hamilton Ranch had a good team and things ran smoothly, but part of that was because Beckett—and his father to a certain extent—were always right in the middle of things.
No one would care about their business like they did.
“I’ll see to things here,” Carson said. “You go on up to the house and get ready for your company. You smell like the back end of a cow.”
“It’s hard to refuse an offer like that.”
“You take the four-wheeler back. I want to stretch my legs.”
Beckett handed over the reins. “Y’all have everything you need for the storm?”
“We’re all set. And your mother has stew simmering on the stove, so I’m ready to get back myself.”
It wasn’t a long walk, but it was dark by the time the house came into view.
When his father had decided to retire and put the ranch in Beckett’s hands, his parents had moved out of the big house on the hill, as was tradition when the ranch passed to the next Hamilton generation.
Beckett had tried to get them to reconsider—he didn’t need a house that big—but they’d insisted and had built a smaller house on the lake about a mile past the barn.
The main house had been built in the twenties—a two-story log cabin with a shaker shingle roof and a porch that wrapped all the way around. Large, rough logs served as supports for the porch, and already the railing was dusted with white from the steadily falling snow.
He’d always thought of it as a log cabin on steroids.
Huge windows front and back let light travel all the way through the house, and a double staircase in the center led to two separate upstairs wings.
Even in his childhood, it had been too much room for just the three of them.
But it was home. And more importantly, it felt like home.
He’d forgotten to tell Izzy he was having company for dinner.
Isadora Blackstone had been a fixture at Hamilton House since before he was born, and she’d chosen to stay with him when the ranch changed hands.
She said Master Beckett needed her a lot more than his parents did.
She oversaw the cleaning, cooked his meals, and had boxed his ears on more than one occasion growing up.
She looked like she wanted to box them right now.