couple of barns, a bunkhouse, a summer kitchen, a smokehouse and sundry smaller buildings. White fencing encircled a pretty garden already showing the effects of early springtime planting, and corrals housed horses and a few cattle. Empty pastures and hay fields radiated out from the ranch buildings and disappeared into trees and over foothills.
“So, this is home.”
Meri nodded. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Absolutely.” Silence reigned a few moments as both riders drank in the scene below them. “I do have a question, though.” A puzzled look sat on his face.
Meri was becoming wary of his questions but was curious about the cause of the expression. “What?”
Marshal Cameron pointed toward the barn corrals. “What in the world is that…critter?”
A spontaneous laugh burst from Meri’s lips when she looked in the direction he indicated. “Those are Highland cattle from Scotland. Faither imported them several years ago. They come from the mountainous region, and their thick wooly coats make them quite hardy in our cold snowy winters. Several ranches around Colorado raise them. There’s even talk about starting a breed association. They’re very self-sufficient cattle and thrive on the grazing that we have here. They’re also easy to work with because they’re so friendly.”
“Well, it certainly is the hairiest beast I’ve ever seen, outside of a buffalo.” He was watching Meri closely, a peculiar, distracted look on his face.
“And what have you ever seen inside a buffalo?” Meri kept a straight face but couldn’t resist the question.
“What?”
A chuckle escaped her. “Never mind.”
The dreaded smirk reappeared, and his searching gaze never left her face. “Oh, I got it. You…just surprised me. I didn’t realize you were—”
He broke off abruptly. Meri wondered what he’d intended to say, but a distant shout prevented her from asking. Meri waved at a figure standing in front of the biggest barn.
“Come on. I’ll introduce you to our foreman. He can answer any questions you have about the men and our horses.”
* * *
Wyatt followed Miss McIsaac the rest of the way down to the ranch yard, enjoying his view of the spunky lady. So, this was the woman Mrs. Van Deusen wanted to introduce him to at the church picnic. Her full rich laugh and the way her face had lit up as she’d explained the cattle had nearly made him blurt the realization aloud. He had managed to catch himself, thankful for the distraction of the ranch hand’s shout that had prevented Miss McIsaac from asking the question he’d seen on her face.
When he’d arrived in town, his bachelor status instantly made him the most popular person for invitations to a meal to meet someone’s daughter, or niece, or sister or granddaughter. He’d quickly started turning a politely deaf ear when the conversation changed to, “Oh, I have someone you just have to meet…”
Mrs. Van Deusen had been somewhat more subtle but just as persistent. She never mentioned names or invited him to a meal to meet some female, but she’d mentioned her dear departed friend’s lovely daughter every time Wyatt happened to cross her path. He’d let the hints go in one ear and out the other, but as he’d looked down at the ranch a moment ago, Mrs. Van Deusen’s voice had echoed through his memory.
“If they can get in from their ranch,” Mrs. Van Deusen had said, “they raise those strange cattle from Ireland or Scotland or someplace foreign like that, you know—I’ll finally be able to introduce you to her at the church picnic.”
That tidbit had snagged his attention since his own family tree originated in Scotland, but that was the extent of the notice he’d taken of it at the time. With the disturbance of the holdup, he’d not had time to realize Mrs. Van Deusen’s hints added up to the spirited, rides-like-the-wind Meri McIsaac. After the onslaught of gushing, flirting females breathing down his neck the past few weeks,
“So, this is home.”
Meri nodded. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Absolutely.” Silence reigned a few moments as both riders drank in the scene below them. “I do have a question, though.” A puzzled look sat on his face.
Meri was becoming wary of his questions but was curious about the cause of the expression. “What?”
Marshal Cameron pointed toward the barn corrals. “What in the world is that…critter?”
A spontaneous laugh burst from Meri’s lips when she looked in the direction he indicated. “Those are Highland cattle from Scotland. Faither imported them several years ago. They come from the mountainous region, and their thick wooly coats make them quite hardy in our cold snowy winters. Several ranches around Colorado raise them. There’s even talk about starting a breed association. They’re very self-sufficient cattle and thrive on the grazing that we have here. They’re also easy to work with because they’re so friendly.”
“Well, it certainly is the hairiest beast I’ve ever seen, outside of a buffalo.” He was watching Meri closely, a peculiar, distracted look on his face.
“And what have you ever seen inside a buffalo?” Meri kept a straight face but couldn’t resist the question.
“What?”
A chuckle escaped her. “Never mind.”
The dreaded smirk reappeared, and his searching gaze never left her face. “Oh, I got it. You…just surprised me. I didn’t realize you were—”
He broke off abruptly. Meri wondered what he’d intended to say, but a distant shout prevented her from asking. Meri waved at a figure standing in front of the biggest barn.
“Come on. I’ll introduce you to our foreman. He can answer any questions you have about the men and our horses.”
* * *
Wyatt followed Miss McIsaac the rest of the way down to the ranch yard, enjoying his view of the spunky lady. So, this was the woman Mrs. Van Deusen wanted to introduce him to at the church picnic. Her full rich laugh and the way her face had lit up as she’d explained the cattle had nearly made him blurt the realization aloud. He had managed to catch himself, thankful for the distraction of the ranch hand’s shout that had prevented Miss McIsaac from asking the question he’d seen on her face.
When he’d arrived in town, his bachelor status instantly made him the most popular person for invitations to a meal to meet someone’s daughter, or niece, or sister or granddaughter. He’d quickly started turning a politely deaf ear when the conversation changed to, “Oh, I have someone you just have to meet…”
Mrs. Van Deusen had been somewhat more subtle but just as persistent. She never mentioned names or invited him to a meal to meet some female, but she’d mentioned her dear departed friend’s lovely daughter every time Wyatt happened to cross her path. He’d let the hints go in one ear and out the other, but as he’d looked down at the ranch a moment ago, Mrs. Van Deusen’s voice had echoed through his memory.
“If they can get in from their ranch,” Mrs. Van Deusen had said, “they raise those strange cattle from Ireland or Scotland or someplace foreign like that, you know—I’ll finally be able to introduce you to her at the church picnic.”
That tidbit had snagged his attention since his own family tree originated in Scotland, but that was the extent of the notice he’d taken of it at the time. With the disturbance of the holdup, he’d not had time to realize Mrs. Van Deusen’s hints added up to the spirited, rides-like-the-wind Meri McIsaac. After the onslaught of gushing, flirting females breathing down his neck the past few weeks,
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