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Vendetta

By Roxanne Rustand

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Janna McAllister swept a cobweb away from her ear, blew at the damp tendrils of hair trailing over her forehead, and stared at the three mice sitting on the kitchen counter of Cabin Ten.

They stared right back, whiskers twitching, their paws folded in front of their little chests, probably even more surprised than she was. But it wasn't the mice that worried her.

She gazed past them to the candy wrappers and soda cans on the counter.
Snow Canyon Lodge had been closed for a good fifteen years, though the cabins had been empty for longer than that. There shouldn't have been any sign of recent human habitation. And yet...the padlock on the door had been pried off and someone had been in here recently, given the brand names on those wrappers. Hikers? High school kids out for a lark?

Given what she'd found in a cupboard, she tried to not dwell on other, darker possibilities.

But the people who'd broken in were long gone. She had a job to do, and not much time to get it done. And she couldn't afford to let anyone stand in her way.

Setting her jaw, she continued her inspection of the property with a clipboard in hand, working backwards from the most distant cabins toward the ones near the lodge.

Cabins Four and Five had miraculously withstood years of Wyoming's snow and wind and sun, but precious few of the others would be usable without a lot of work...and then, only after she hauled away pickup-loads of trash and moldering furniture. Two of the cabins were just shy of needing demolition.
The main lodge would take months of cleaning, repairs and redecorating to fully restore.

She'd clearly been naïve, thinking she could leave her career in Minneapolis, do a little cleaning, and be ready for business in a few weeks. God, I feel you led me here--and that this place is an answer to my prayers for a new life for Rylie and me. Please guide me on how I can handle all of this and provide for us, because I'm sure going to need Your help.

"Mom! Someone's here! Hurry!" Rylie's breathless, awed voice floated through the torn screen door of Cabin Three. "I think it's important!"

The nine-year-old's high-pitched voice sent the mice scampering across the buckled vinyl countertops and over the far edge like lemmings over a cliff.

"Just a minute," Janna called out. She gingerly stepped around piles of old newspapers, tractor parts, and a peach crate filled with grimy Mason canning jars to peer into the back room of the cabin.

A sagging iron bed filled most of the space, its stained mattress undoubtedly provided lodging for immeasurable varieties of vermin--and possibly dozens of little relatives of the three mice she'd just met. There was no way she wanted to set foot in that room.

Faced with the hard reality of her new life at this remote corner of her mother's ranch, she was torn between tears and incredulous laughter.

"Mom!" Rylie's voice was closer now. A moment later her footsteps raced across the tipsy porch of the cabin and the door squealed wide open. She stood in the doorway as Maggie, her little white Highland Terrier-beagle mix, barreled on inside. "You should see."

Expecting a feed delivery or possibly, something from FedEx, Janna managed a weary smile. Even those arrivals were exciting when no one else was likely to find their way back to this isolated ranch for weeks on end. "Must be about as good as a birthday present, whatever it is."

"It's a man who looks like he could be in a movie. And he's got a boy."

"Really." Janna dusted off her hands and lifted Rylie's chin to study the smudges across her cheeks and brow. "Where have you been?"

"The barn. Up in the loft."

At least there, an extended family of cats seemed to keep the rodents at bay.

"Why don't you run up to the lodge and check on your Grandma. And I'll--" Janna started out the door, but faltered to a stop when she caught sight of the gleaming black Ford 250 club cab parked over by the lodge.

A tall, dark-haired man leaned against its front fender, his booted feet crossed at the ankles, one elbow propped on the hood. His Stetson tipped low over his forehead and sunglasses shaded his eyes, but even from here, that strong jaw and the sharp angle of his cheekbone promised that this was one good-looking guy.

Probably a very lost good-looking guy, given the out-of-state plates on his truck, though perhaps he was one of the rich Californians who'd been flooding into the area over the last decade, buying up family-owned ranches and driving up land values with their palatial homes. According to Janna's sisters, Mom had been pressured to sell out by several of them already--investors who'd apparently thought an elderly woman would be easy prey.

They'd all met their match in Claire McAllister. And if this guy had similar intentions, he'd find the same was true of her daughter.

Janna strolled across the wiry, sunburned grass to the gravel road that ran past the cabins down to the main ranch road, with Maggie trotting at her side. "Can I help you?"

He'd been staring at the massive, jagged peaks of the Rockies to the northwest. Farther north, the Teton Range rose dramatically from a level valley floor, but here there were pine covered foothills, with ranches tucked into hidden valleys. He flashed a smile at her. "This is Snow Canyon Resort, right?"

Resort sounded pretentious, given the state of things, but through the smoked glass of the truck's back seat she could see the outlines of luggage, and a suit bag hanging behind the driver's seat. An uneasy premonition swept through her. "R-i-i-ight."

"Great. He pushed away from the truck and strolled over to offer a handshake. "Michael Robertson."

She dusted her hand against her faded jeans and shook his hand, trying not to be mesmerized by that low, rich voice or the deep, slashing dimples that bracketed his mouth when he smiled. "Janna McAllister."

He studied her expectantly for a moment. "My son and I have reservations," he said at last. "I called three weeks ago."

Three weeks ago? She and Rylie hadn't even arrived in Wyoming then, so he must have called the ranch office down at the home place.

"You...um...must have talked to my mother." She darted a look toward the rambling log and fieldstone lodge. "I think there's been a mistake."

"I don't think so. I asked for a confirmation number, but the woman I talked to said it wasn't necessary."

Claire certainly hadn't written anything down. The pristine reservation book was still in its cellophane wrapper, ready for the day when rustic resort could be fully re-opened, but that was a long time away. So far, Janna had managed to restore just a few rooms in the lodge. "I'm sorry, but--"
T
he man frowned as he lifted a folded sheet of paper from the back pocket of his jeans and shook it open with one hand before holding it out. "I asked her to fax me some sort of confirmation anyway, just to be sure."

Janna accepted the paper. Sure enough, it was Snow Canyon Ranch letterhead, with Claire's familiar looping scrawl. And it said...

"Oh, dear," Janna muttered under her breath.

The man glanced impatiently at his watch. "I've essentially got a contract here, signed by the owner of the ranch. A two-bedroom cabin for three full months--until September first."

And according to her mother's almost indecipherable script, she'd agreed to a five hundred dollar penalty if either party broke the contract early.
Janna closed her eyes briefly, mentally cataloguing the state of the ten cabins trailing up into the foothills, and wished she hadn't started playing with the design of a promotional website before she left Minneapolis. "You found us online?"

"Exactly." His friendly tone took on the edge of a man accustomed to taking command. Very probably, a man who'd consider this makeshift contract and preposterous penalty an ironclad agreement. "So, is there a problem? I hope not--there's not another place like this available within fifty miles of town."

"No..." She took a steadying breath. "I just wasn't aware of the reservation, and the cabins aren't quite ready for guests. But, we'll soon be reopening the main lodge as a B&B. You'd be welcome there for a day or so until I can have your cabin ready."

His gaze flickered toward the hip-roofed barn and corrals, where his son was hanging over the fence to look at the horses. "You'd have an extra room for my son as well?"

"Absolutely, and your meals will be on me until we can get you settled properly. We've got a nice guest dining room where we can serve you." She bit at her lower lip as she visualized all of the moving boxes still stacked in that room, and hoped he'd want to dine fashionably late tonight. Very late. "I know it's an inconvenience, having to settle in twice, but I'd be happy to help with that."

"No problem." He called to his son, then turned to open the back door of his truck. Draping a suit bag over the top of the open door, he pulled out several suitcases and two duffel bags. "I'm just glad this is going to work out."

"It will. My family and I live in the north wing, and you'll be on the second floor, center. You'll have plenty of peace and quiet during your vacation," Janna assured him as she hefted the weight of the smallest duffel and swung it over her shoulder.

"Actually, I start work as interim sheriff on Monday, while Sheriff Brownley is away on long-term disability leave. The office is in Wolf Creek."
Janna whistled. "That's quite a commute."

"I bought a house on the edge of town, but it needs a lot of work before we can move in." His son ambled up to the truck, clearly trying to mask a definite limp, and grabbed two suitcases. "Ian, this is Janna McAllister, our innkeeper."

She offered him a warm smile. "Hi, Ian."

The boy barely nodded, his head downcast.

"I see you like horses."

He lifted a shoulder in silent response. He appeared to be sixteen or seventeen; tall and lanky, with the promise of filling out like his broad-shouldered dad. She glimpsed heavy scarring down one side of his face and beneath the cuff of his long sleeved T-shirt before he ducked his head and turned away, clearly self-conscious.

Michael rested a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Ian is looking forward to some trail riding. Do we talk to you about that?"

"That's my sister, Tessa. She's in the high country right now, leading a pack trip, but she'll be back at her place on Saturday."

Ian gave his dad a bored look, his mouth curled in derision.

Michael frowned, obviously reminding him to watch his manners. "I'm sure that will be fine. Thanks."

Janna guessed the boy hadn't been entirely cooperative about moving to Wyoming.

"In the meantime I could saddle up Frosty for you, if you'll promise to stay up around the corrals. She's in her twenties and safe for anyone."

Ian dug the toe of his Nike into a tuft of wiry grass. "I know how to ride," he mumbled. "I'm not gonna fall off, or anything."

"You look like an athletic kid," she assured him. "It's just that people get lost all too easily if they stray off the trails around here. Come on up to the lodge, and I'll show you your rooms."

Janna turned for the lodge and pretended she didn’t hear the brief, sharp exchange between father and son. Ahead, she could see her mother standing at her bedroom window with a stern expression.

Claire had agreed to Janna's long-term lease of the resort property on the ranch, but she'd been highly resentful of her three daughters' insistence that she live with one of them for supervision. The unexpected arrival of these guests was just one more example of her forgetfulness. Forgotten phone calls, lost credit card statements, missing car keys--the situation was already precarious.

And now, strangers moving into the lodge--however brief their stay--might either trigger Claire's ingrained western hospitality, or escalate her paranoia, anger and confusion.

Janna opened the front door of the lodge. "Hey, Mom," she announced loudly enough for Claire to hear. "We've got company!"

And then she said a silent, fervent prayer.

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