Excerpt of Resisting the Rancher by Roxanne Snopek

To: Miss Celia Gamble
Miss Gamble,

Congratulations on your new veterinary practice. What a
huge
achievement. I’m sure you’d do anything to make it
succeed.
Unfortunately, I’ve read some nasty things on the
Internet
about you recently. Things like: -Offering sexual acts in
exchange for preferential grading -Obtaining hospital
assets
as payment for sexual acts -Violation of the Montana
Animal
Cruelty Act I understand the pain this must cause you and
would like to offer my assistance in clearing up this
matter. While a woman cannot put a price on having her
life
stolen out from under her, I’m sure you’ll see my twenty-
five thousand dollar fee as completely reasonable.
Sincerely, a friend.
PS: I’ll be in touch.

Celia Gamble scanned the words again, then folded the
letter
up with shaking hands and returned it to the envelope. No
return address. She placed it on her brand-new reception
desk carefully, as if it were a bomb, and took a step
back.
When she hit the wall, her knees buckled. She slid to the
floor, pulled off her glasses, and buried her face in her
hands. Animal cruelty? Sexual acts? Twenty-five thousand
dollars?

The excitement she’d felt since returning from Bozeman
two
weeks ago disappeared in a tide of disbelief,
humiliation,
and fear. And yet another surprise wave of grief. Yeah,
she
knew exactly who this letter was from. She pressed the
heels
of her hands hard against her eyes, trying to convince
herself this wasn’t what it looked like. Maybe she read
it
wrong. She needed some sleep, after all. Who was she
kidding? She needed a lawyer.

*

“Jonah.” The middle-aged woman stood in the doorway of
his
office, clicking one polished talon on the frame. “You
can’t
keep ignoring me.”

E I E I I O U. Old MacDonald Loses Farm Putting Son
Through
Law School. Worth it? Not lately. Jonah Clarke, attorney-
at-
law and her boss, didn’t look up from his smartphone.
Some
kid was beating him at Words With Friends and that
wouldn’t
do.

Anne-Marie shook a sheaf of papers at him, making the
bracelets on her wrist jangle madly.

“Mitch is one of your best friends. A little fresh air
and
fun on a Saturday? You remember fun, don’t you?”

Yeah. I was having it until about five seconds ago. “A
little help orienting a couple of new kids to ranch
life.”
“I don’t work with young offenders.” He kept his eyes on
his
game.

“You think this is a job offer?” she snapped. “A few
Saturdays.” Her voice softened. “Mitch does what he can
for
these kids, but he needs your help.” “Which I give him.
In
large amounts. As you know.”

He rearranged the letters on his screen yet again, but
had
no choice but to take a dive. So far, his opponent had
gotten the X, the J, and the Q. Heels tapped on hardwood
as
she approached.

Here it comes, he thought. Mitch had turned his whole
life
around when he left the corporate world to buy a run-down
ranch and turn it into a camp for high-risk kids. These
kids
were guilty of little more than chronic truancy,
shoplifting, and getting kicked out of foster care. Hard
Tack was the best place for them, and Jonah wished Mitch
every success.

However, bridges still smoked from when Jonah finally
gave
up fighting the hopelessly inept juvenile justice system.
He
wished Mitch the best. The kids that landed at Hard Tack
had
no idea how lucky they were. They had a chance to turn
their
lives around. And if they failed, it wouldn’t be Jonah’s
fault.

“You give money.” She dropped the files onto the gleaming
glass surface of his desk. “He wants you. Those kids need
all the help they can get.” “Have you ever tried to help
someone who doesn’t want to be helped?”

She raised an eyebrow at him meaningfully. Jonah nudged
the
files aside. “I’m done with youth court. I’m done with
advocacy and mediation. I’m done with being part of
something that only ends up hurting people.”

Contracts and insurance, that was his life now. Facts,
documents, numbers. No messy emotions to deal with. No
more
desperate kids pretending they didn’t care what happened
to
them. No more kids promising, too late, to change. No
more
files closed with a coroner’s report.

“Some days,” she continued, shaking her head, “I don’t
know
why I clock in. It’s not for the slave wages you pay and
it’s sure as hell not for the workplace culture.”

“Slave wages,” he snorted. “I pay well above the going
rate
and you know it.” And since she did the work of three, he
was spoiled for anyone else and he knew it. What did he
have
now? I O U L A D Y. Got that right. No one could torture
him
like Anne- Marie.

“Maybe it’s the sparkling conversation.” She tapped her
chin
thoughtfully. “Wait. I get more from my goldfish.” Jonah
heard the swish of fabric as she crossed her arms. “I can
stand here all day.”

He pushed his swivel chair back until it hit the wall
then
looked up, smiling deliberately, blankly. “Annie-honey,
good
morning! Have you changed your hair? You look lovely.”
She
narrowed her eyes. “If you ask me about coffee, I’ll—”

“Coffee!” Jonah beamed at her. “I’d love some. Thanks for
offering, especially since I know the strong feelings you
have about paralegals acting as waitresses. That’s what I
love about you, your selfless dedication to my comfort
and
well- being. You are the definition of a team player.”
She
pulled a chair up and lowered herself across from Jonah,
smoothing her skirt and composing her face.

“Sweetheart,” she began. “You know I think of you as a
son—”

“Nope.” Jonah made a back-off motion with his hands. “We
are
not going there.”

“A special kind of son,” she continued. “A handsome,
sweet,
well-meaning boy who spent a little too much time in the
birth canal and can’t be trusted to look out for himself
properly.”

“Anne-Marie, you’re fired.”

“And you are a mid-thirties not-entirely-repulsive male
whose closest female relationship is with a menopausal
paralegal who, due to her exceptional skill and training,
could bludgeon you to death with a merlot bottle and
never
do a day of time.”

“Before you go, I’ll have a double espresso, thanks.”

Anne-Marie leveled a gazed at him. “Think about it,
Jonah.”

Right. He steepled his fingers and stared back at her.
“Yesterday’s leftovers microwaved would also be fine.”

Anne-Marie smiled and shook her head. “There’s more to
life
than work, you know.”

“I know. That’s why I’m back in Lutherton.” Jonah got up
and
walked to the window, feeling a muscle in his jaw twitch.

“If I believed that, I’d be in a hammock in Mexico,
sipping
tequila, waiting for my Botox appointment, instead of
babysitting you.”