“It’s no use,” Ford said, swiping the metal detector over a patch of ground between two trees. “I’m never going to find the diary.”
“You’ll find it,” Zeke said, though he also had his doubts. They just had to keep looking.
The two of them were across from the barns at the ranch, wearing lighted helmets so they could see two inches in front of them in the dark. It was just past seven p.m., and this wasn’t an optimal time to be looking for something outside. But Ford had texted him for help just as he’d been about to leave the office, and given Zeke’s day, he needed to be in cold air, a constant shock to the system, doing something that would require concentration. Only way to stop thinking about Molly—especially now that he’d acknowledged, even to her, that his twenty-year crush on her friend was over.
It had been more than a year that Ford had been trying to find his late mother’s diary, which their dad had buried in a metal box on the property decades ago. Ford would not even have known about it, but Bo Dawson had left Ford a map in his deathbed letter, detailing where he’d buried it. The map was in marker, with a lot of goofy-looking trees, dotted lines, something resembling the big barn and an X marks the spot. Apparently, Bo had found his then wife’s diary and had been so incensed by whatever Ellen Dawson had said that he’d run out of the house with it in an old fishing tackle box, dug a hole, dropped it in and covered it back up. After reading the letter from his dad and looking at the map that Bo had drawn on a piece of white paper, Ford had tracked down an old friend of his mother’s to ask if she knew what could have been in the diary that would have set off his dad. The friend said she had no idea but recalled Ellen had tried in vain to find it for weeks before storming out in a huff with her bags, taking Ford with her.
All the siblings wanted to know what was in that diary.
“Dad was clearly drunk when he drew the map,” Zeke said as Ford swiped the metal detector again. “Maybe he buried it miles from here.”
“Could be. But he drew this spot between the trees, straight down from the barns. I feel like it’s probably here somewhere since there was no other reason to pick this area over another. Nothing special about it otherwise.”
“It is close to the barns, though. Would he have buried the diary where someone could have easily seen him?”
“I thought about that. According to the story I heard secondhand from my mom’s friend, it was the middle of the night when he buried it so no one except the night hands would have been around.” He shrugged. “I should give up but I can’t. I just feel like I’ll find some missing piece of the story—my parents’ story. My story.” Ford’s mother had died back when he was in the police academy, and Zeke recalled how grief-stricken his brother had been, vowing to push ahead with his training because his mother had been so proud that her only child was going to serve and protect.
“Well, let’s keep looking,” Zeke said. The past few days had been on the warm side and the snow was mostly gone, making it easier.
“What was in your letter from Dad again?” Ford asked, squinting at Zeke. He could tell Ford was trying to remember.
“No maps, thankfully. He asked me to use my business sense to help Noah with the financials when he took on rebuilding the ranch.”
Ford shook his head. “Now why couldn’t Dad leave me a nice, uncomplicated letter like that? No, I get a map to buried anxiety.”
Zeke smiled. “Maybe it’s something good that set him off. I can’t imagine what, though.”
“Me, either. Oh, who the hell knows. I’m giving up for the day. For the week, I should say.”
Ford limited himself to looking only one day a week. It’s how he kept his sanity about the diary.
At first Zeke was bothered by his own letter from his father, that it contained nothing more than Bo’s surprise at having a numbers whiz for a son and the request to help Noah. But once he’d started going over paperwork with Noah when the ranch was still a scrap heap, he realized what an undertaking his father had left him. Bo had no money to get the ranch going, and back then neither had Noah, but they’d all pooled their resources, Noah heading the job, hiring the crews, attending the livestock auctions, et cetera, and from afar and by video calls, Zeke had talked him through the books. Through it all, Zeke had felt he was rebuilding the ranch last spring with Noah and then Daisy, who’d come home to help. Maybe his dad hadn’t thought beyond, Well, you’re a business guy and this is a business, so would you help? Or maybe he thought a lot about it. All Zeke knew for sure was that he’d gotten closer to his family because of it. And that was priceless.
Zeke had stopped second-guessing Bo Dawson a long time ago. But the not knowing bugged him. When it came to his father, he could use a crystal ball that would provide answers. Zeke did not have an addictive personality, wasn’t much of a drinker and wouldn’t gamble even on buying a lottery ticket. But what if he was like Bo when it came to being a parent? What if, like his own father, Zeke wouldn’t be there for his kids emotionally? What if he just checked out? How would he ever forgive himself? Lord knows he’d never forgiven his dad.
Work, work, work, his first girlfriend in Cheyenne had complained, eventually ending their relationship. He hadn’t realized he was being a workaholic or keeping that ex on the outside. It was the not realizing, the having no clue he was hurting someone else, that kept him up at night.
Which was why he was trying so hard to let Molly know, from the get-go, that they couldn’t explore what was clearly between them. The thought of hurting her—now that really kept him awake and popping Tums.
Zeke stared up at the twinkling stars, wishing he could blink his eyes and make himself sure he wouldn’t let down those he cared about. He supposed he could talk to Ford about it again, but how many times was he going to ask the same question? He was getting the idea that the answers weren’t going to come from outside himself.
A low honk sounded, and he and Ford both turned around.
It was Noah in one of the ranch carts. “Hey, Zeke, I’m on my rounds and you’re just the brother I needed to talk to. On Saturday, I’m holding the inaugural Teen Rancher’s Summit in the lodge. I thought I had the first day mapped out but I could use one more speaker and it’s your area, if you’re willing.”
For a minute, Zeke had no idea what Noah was talking about, then remembered him bringing up the new initiative he’d started for the teens who attended the town’s community center after school and on weekends. The center catered to low-income families and at-risk teenagers, and Noah, who’d been through the wringer as a teen and had some skirmishes with the law, had started a program meant to interest them in ranching and to inspire them in general. The posters he’d hung at the center had generated strong interest.
“What do you have in mind?” Zeke asked.
“A basic talk on money and how it works. How to get some if you have none—in a way that will make you proud instead of land you in jail. My talk will focus on how I started as a ranch hand with nothing. So how to save, have a goal and work toward it instead of blowing all your money on stuff that won’t last. And some general encouragement on being successful and how that’s individual to each. That kind of thing.”
“Count me in,” Zeke said. He was more than willing to help out. When he was a teen, he had a few great teachers who’d been encouraging and inspiring, and his siblings had been, too.
Noah pumped his fist in the air. “Great. I’ll text you the details. I owe ya.” He eyed Ford. “I’ll be hitting you up in a couple weeks to talk about how to become a law enforcement officer. No one escapes my sibling resources.”
Ford grinned. “Count me in, too. And in payment, next week you can help me look for the diary.”
“Will do,” Noah said. “Gotta get back to the cabin. I’m on twin duty tonight while Sara has a girls’ night.” He waved and drove off in the green cart.
Ford shook his head. “‘As I live and breathe,’ as my mom used to say. I’ll never get used to the changes in Noah. Man, did he do a one-eighty. For a while there, I thought I’d end up arresting him one day. I used to think that about Dad. That one day I’d have to arrest my own father if I joined the Bear Ridge PD.”
Zeke sucked in a breath. “Is that why you left in the first place?”
“Probably,” Ford said.
And now Ford was ready to settle down, get married, have kids. Just like that. Why couldn’t Zeke feel that way?
“Hey, Ford. This epiphany or whatever it is about being ready to get married and be a dad. Did it just come over you one day out of the blue or was it gradual?”
“You know what they say—gradual and then all of a sudden. I’m ready. Now I just have to find her.”
Molly’s pretty face floated into Zeke’s mind, her riotous curls bouncing around, brown eyes full of light and curiosity and passion for life. “What if it happened in reverse? If you maybe found the right woman but you weren’t ready for all that forever stuff.”
“Way I see it, if you recognize that someone is the right woman, you’re ready.”
Zeke almost jumped out of his skin. Just because he couldn’t stop thinking of Molly, just because he lit up like a Christmas tree whenever he was with her, just because he found her baby girl precious, didn’t mean she was the right woman.
And what made it even harder was that he couldn’t separate Molly the admin from Molly the woman. He was entranced by the complete Molly Orton. But even if he wasn’t her boss, he wouldn’t be ready for a family. No, sir. Not by a long shot.
Ping.
A text from Molly.
Help! My parents are arguing like crazy. They need you—if you’re available. I’m at their house.
Arguing already? That was a surprise. Tim’s Tasty Tacos, with their new menu and location, had been a smash success since hour one of reopening this morning. Zeke hadn’t had a chance to check out the truck for himself, but Tim had messaged him photos of the line of people waiting to order, regardless of the cold. Tim had also sent a selfie of him and his wife with their heads poked out the window, huge smiles on their faces.
So what had happened?
Be there in a half hour, he texted back. Tell them to stop arguing till I get there to mediate. That should help calm them down.
Thank you! You’re the best.
No, Molly, you are.
When Zeke arrived at the Orton home, he could hear Tim and Abby arguing from their porch—with the door closed. What could possibly have happened? He’d been trying to speculate on the drive over but nothing made sense.
When Molly opened the door, she shook her head, the bickering all the louder.
“My father wants to sell Tim’s Tasty Tacos,” she whispered.
Zeke stared at her. “What?”
She shook her head again, worry and exasperation etched on her face.
Why on earth would Tim want to sell after all he’d been through to turn the business around? Tim’s Tasty Tacos was now a success.
He’d get to the bottom of it. “It’ll be okay,” he assured her. “Let’s go talk to your dad.”
The worry on her face had him wishing he could pull her into a hug, a quick one.
Which made him realize that he wanted to hug her because he cared about her. Deeply.
“We’ve had a great day of sales!” Abby Orton was saying as Zeke entered the kitchen with Molly. “People were lined up for our tacos from opening at eleven in the morning until we closed at six. And you want to sell? I don’t understand!”
Tim, leaning against the counter holding a mug of coffee, lifted his chin. “I keep trying to explain my way of thinking to you, Abby, but you’re not hearing me. I simply want to quit while we’re ahead.” He turned to Zeke. “Well, I don’t know that Molly had to call you. I can take things from here.”
“I think it’s important for Zeke to be here,” Molly said. “Just in case you and Mom need an impartial voice, Dad.”
“Thank you for coming, Zeke,” Abby said. She sat at the table, turning her own cup of coffee around and around. “I know it’s late and I’d appreciate your take on things. Would you like some coffee? Tim just made a fresh pot.”
“I’d love some,” Zeke said. He knew to wait for information, not to press or push. The heart of the matter always came out faster, easier and more transparently that way.
Molly opened a cabinet and got out a mug. “I’ll get it.”
Zeke sent her a sympathetic smile. “Thanks, Molly.”
Abby was staring at her husband. “So Mac Parker offers you a small fortune today for your brand-new successful business, and that’s it. You’re ready to hand it over just like that? I don’t get it no matter how times you try to explain yourself!”
I don’t, either, Molly mouthed to Zeke.
“We can recoup our money and take a trip, Abby,” Tim said, his voice gentle. “You always wanted to see the red rocks of Utah.”
Abby sighed. They’d clearly been having this same conversation. “Yes, someday. But what I want now is to work in Tim’s Tasty Tacos! I had no idea how much I’d enjoy my second career. We’ve just started.”
Tim took a sip of his coffee. “Well, I want to sell. I should be at the mini golf course and catching up on my reading, not working this hard.”
Zeke studied Tim Orton’s voice and body language, trying to hear what he wasn’t saying, to read between the lines. But some vital information was missing here. Zeke knew it was coming, so he held tight and waited.
“And my stake in the business is fifty-one percent,” Tim added, his voice a bit wobbly as if it had pained him to say those words. “You’re the one who insisted on that, Abby, so that means I should decide.”
Abby’s face crumpled. “Because this was—is—your baby! Equal partners but with a smidge more to you since it was all your idea and your dream. And now you want to end it? I don’t understand at all!” Abby threw her hands up, stood and dabbed under her eyes, then fled the room.
Molly stirred in one sugar and a dollop of cream and handed the mug of coffee to Zeke. He mouthed, Thanks, to her. Then she walked over to her father and put her hand on his arm. “Dad, I’m gonna go calm Mom down.” She kissed her father on the cheek, sent Zeke a pleading look, then left the kitchen.
Once Molly’s feet could be heard on the stairs, Tim turned to Zeke.
“I thought I wanted a taco truck, but I don’t,” Tim said. “It’s a lot. And I can get a lot for it. I’ve changed my mind and that’s that.”
Zeke still wasn’t sure what was going on with Tim. He needed to ask some pointed questions. “Tell me what went through your mind when the man your wife mentioned—Mac Parker?—offered to buy the business.”
“Well, I was on my break at an off-peak time and window-shopping near the truck when Mac Parker came up to me. He asked me some questions about how business was going, said he saw the big lines today, and okay, I did brag a little about how well we’re doing now. He made me an offer on the spot. A really good offer. Like I said, Abby and I would recoup the money we laid out and then some. We could finally go on that cruise we’ve been talking about, too.”
Zeke took a sip of his coffee. “Who’s Mac Parker?”
“Oh, we went to high school together. He was a real star back then. Captain of this and that. I was more the science fair type.” He leaned closer. “I’ll tell you, it sure felt good having Mac Parker want something of mine.”
Ah. The crux of the matter.
“Of course, I didn’t tell him what hard work it was,” Tim added on a chuckle. “How much blood, sweat and tears go into creating one single taco. And heart, too—I mean, you’ve got to put your whole heart into it or the tacos will taste terrible. People know when there’s real care, real feeling, involved. And not just in the tacos but every aspect of the business.”
“I absolutely agree. And this Mac Parker—is he the type to put his heart into what he does?”
“Oh, please,” Tim said, narrowing his eyes. “He’s a silver platter type. Never had to work hard for anything. Opposite of me. And he’s not exactly a nice person. I’ll tell ya—I’ll never forget how, senior year, I finally worked up the courage to join the cross-country team when he was captain, and I always came in second to last—every race. He used to rib me all the time. ‘Hey, Orton, at least you’re not as slow as the kid in the wheelchair.’ God, what a jerk.”
“So your business will go from Tim’s Tasty Tacos to Mac’s Tasty Tacos with no heart—or soul apparently.”
“Yeah.” He rolled his eyes. “Good luck with that, Mac.”
Zeke took another sip of his coffee. He was getting closer. “And you want to sell to him now, when you’re just starting, when business is booming your first day out, because...”
Tim frowned. “Because he wants it—and for a small fortune. I’m a success. Me, Tim Orton, middle manager in the Converse County Hospital IT department for thirty years. Sure, the truck is a hit now—it’s a novelty, fun, easy menu. But if we kept it, eventually people will get bored and the lines will stop forming and the truck will fail and then guess who’s not going to see the red rocks of Utah? Who will be left with nothing?” He turned away, looking out the kitchen window.
And there it was. The true heart of the matter: Fear of failure. Waiting for the ole other shoe to drop. For it all to be taken away—leaving not him but his wife with nothing. And Molly and Lucy without that rainy-day fund he’d talked about.
“Tim, I’m not big on risk. It’s never been my game or strategy. I grew up with risk shadowing every corner of my life. I appreciate stability. Logic. A smart path forward. And with everything I know about business, my experience and instincts both tell me Tim’s Tasty Tacos is going to be a fixture in Prairie City for as long as the business makes you happy.”
Tim tilted his head. “Makes me happy? But I can’t control how the business does. That can depend on so many factors.”
“And the biggest factor is you. You and Abby. Tim’s Tasty Tacos is a success because you wanted this, you made it happen, you asked for help when it wasn’t going the way you envisioned and you implemented changes that turned business around. You also smartly brought in your wife as your partner. You’re a success because of you. It’s not about taking risks or possibly failing. You’re a success, Tim. All you have to do is keep doing what you’re doing and tweak when necessary.”
Tears welled in Tim’s eyes. “I hate Mac Parker. That rat bastard. He can go to hell! And he’s not taking my family business with him.”
Zeke grinned. “Now you’re talking.”
“I’ve got loads of ideas if business ever stalls. So does Abby. We’re gonna be just fine.”
Zeke nodded. “Yes, you will. And if you ever need guidance, I’m a text away. You saw that tonight.” He extended his hand.
Tim pulled him into a bear hug. “Thank you, Zeke. Once again, you’ve set me straight and saved my hide. I insist on paying you.” He reached for his wallet.
Zeke held up a palm. “And I insist you don’t. Molly called me in tonight. And she’s a godsend.”
Tim eyed him. “She sure is. Pretty, too.”
Zeke’s throat suddenly felt tight. “Very pretty.”
Tim smiled, his eyes now bright and happy. “Well, if you’re not going to accept good old cash, I must insist you take this.” He opened a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of tequila, orange liqueur and a small container of lime juice. He put everything in a red gift bag.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Molly came into the kitchen and eyed them both. “Dad, you look a lot happier than you did fifteen minutes ago.”
“Everything’s okay now, honey. I’m not selling the truck. Zeke here helped me understand a few things. Everything needs a Zeke.”
Molly grinned and looked from her dad to Zeke, the warmth in her beautiful brown eyes making him almost blush. “Mom’s going to be very happy.”
“And this is for you two,” Tim said, holding up the red bag. “All the mixings for classic margaritas—the perfect way to celebrate that Tim’s Tasty Tacos is here to stay.” He gave the bag to Molly with a big smile. “I’ll go tell your mom the good news,” he added before dashing out of the kitchen.
Molly grinned. “I don’t know what you said—and so fast—but thank you, thank you, thank you.”
“You’re very welcome. Glad I could help.”
She looked at the red bag in her hand. “Could you go for a margarita? I sure could. This has been some day. And thanks to you, it ended very happily. If you’re free right now,” she added, “follow me to my place. Right now, Lucy’s fast asleep in the bassinet in my parents’ guest room. I’ll transfer her to her crib and whip us up two celebratory drinks.”
He could stand here talking to her, looking at her, in her Wyoming Cowboys sweatshirt and gray yoga pants and fuzzy pink socks forever. A celebratory drink at her house? Why not. It wasn’t like they’d end up in bed. He’d simply stay on one side of her sofa and she’d stay on the other, and they’d clink and drink and he’d leave within a half hour. “Sounds good,” he said. “I could use a margarita myself. And I’m really glad everything worked out with your dad. He’s a great guy.”
“I could kiss you,” she said, her cheeks turning red. “I mean, well, you know what I mean. It’s a saying.”
Oh, Molly, he thought. I could kiss you, too.