Читать книгу Familiar Texas - Caroline Burnes - Страница 10

Hank Dalton idled his truck at the gates of McCammon Ranch and studied the wreckage of the realty sign listing the property for sale. He understood a little more about the woman who’d occupied his thoughts for the last three hours. She might be a city woman with no interest in ranching, but she wasn’t going to be pushed by anyone. Stephanie Chisholm wasn’t going to give up McCammon Ranch until she was good and ready to do so.

He’d come to make her an offer on the ranch. He was going to be honest with her and tell her about the water situation on the Running Z. If she didn’t want to sell, he was going to see if he could work out some grazing rights on land that bordered Twisty Creek. The water situation was serious for him. As much as he would have liked to give her time to grieve her loss, he didn’t have time. He’d filed a lawsuit against the developers who’d rerouted the creek, but the legal system was too slow. His cows would be dead and his pasture land a desert by the time the courts ruled. He gazed at the tree-lined driveway and remembered the many happy times he’d driven over for dinner with Albert and Em.

He started down the driveway when he heard a gunshot. Pressing the accelerator to the floor, he pushed the truck to the maximum as he sped toward the white ranch house. As he pulled into the yard he saw Rodney coming out of the house with a huge timber rattler hanging off a shovel.

“Ms. Stephanie clean blew his head off,” Rodney said proudly.

“How the hell did that snake get into the house?” Hank asked. “Albert never said he had a problem with rattlers.”

“Good question. There was another one on the screened porch,” Rodney said. “This one was in the sunroom. I don’t recall Albert ever saying anything about snakes getting into the house, now that you mention it. Maybe the drought drove ’em inside looking for water.”

Hank walked to the porch, wondering who had a key to the ranch house. “They had to get in some way, and wherever they came from, we need to find it and block it off.”

“Let me bury these varmints and I’ll be back,” Rodney said.

Hank knelt down by the porch and began to run his fingers along the screen where it met the wooden floor. He was halfway round when he sensed someone watching him. He looked up into stormy hazel eyes.

“Who are you?” Stephanie asked.

Hank stood, taking in everything about her. She’d changed into jeans and a sleeveless gingham top that showed off slender arms with well-developed muscles. She might be a city girl, but she looked like she could hold her own with farm activities. He smiled. “I’m your neighbor to the north, Hank Dalton.”

“Mr. Dalton.” She held out her hand. “Uncle Albert and Aunt Em spoke of you. Thank you for attending the funeral.”

“Albert and Em were very good to me.” He sighed. “I hate to bring this up today, just after you buried your relatives, but I’m in something of a predicament.”

“Would you like to come in?” she asked.

“Let me finish checking this screen.” He bent back to his work. “Those snakes had to have gotten in somehow.” He moved around the porch, aware that she was watching him. The thought was exciting, and he felt a flush creep up his face as he realized that he found Stephanie a very desirable woman.

“Those snakes scared the life out of me,” she said, walking along the inside of the screen as he checked outside.

“I’ll bet. Timber rattlers aren’t known for their pleasant dispositions. How’d you find them?”

“The cat. Familiar. He warned us before we came in.”

He couldn’t help it. He stopped and stared at her. “That black cat that was with you at the funeral?”

“That’s the one.”

“Where’s Banjo?” Hank bent to the task.

“He was sold. Along with the cows and horses.”

As she spoke, Hank found the tear in the screen. He stood up slowly. “Banjo was what?”

“Sold.”

They stared at each other, and he read her cold anger. “By whose directive?”

“I intend to find that out,” she said. “And then I’ll get back the cows and the horses. And Banjo. I can’t believe they sold my uncle’s cow dog.”

“I was going to offer to take him if you didn’t plan on staying at the ranch. He’s friends with my dog, Biscuit, and I’d give him a good home.”

“I have to get him back first.”

He could see she was being very closemouthed about her plans, and he didn’t blame her. Who in the hell would sell the stock on the ranch and even the dog? “Do you have any extra screen? I can patch this tear for you. Come sundown, you’ll want it tight. The mosquitoes here are big enough to carry you off.”

“I remember that,” she said. “I’ll get Rodney to patch it.”

“No problem. I’ll be glad to do it. A neighborly service.” He knelt and began to examine the tear. It was a perfect square, just large enough to allow a big snake to slither through. “Where was the second snake?” he asked.

“In the sunroom?”

“How did it get into the house?”

She hesitated. “The door was open. I just assumed that Uncle Albert must have left it that way.”

Hank took a slow breath and examined the screen one more time. “Ms. Stephanie, I’m not trying to scare you, but I think someone cut the screen and let the snakes in. I think they left the door open, too.”

“Why would someone do that?” she asked, her voice losing some of its confidence.

He stood up and met her gaze. “To run you off.”

SHE FOUGHT back emotion as she got the coffee pot, filled it with water and made coffee for Hank and Rodney. How many thousands of times had she watched her aunt Em do the whole process, smiling over her shoulder as she did so. She missed her aunt so terribly that she thought she’d double over with pain. Whenever she got control of herself, she was confronted with the harsh question: Why had she run away from this life? Why had she left the only two people who’d truly loved her throughout her entire life?

She felt a gentle hand on her shoulder, and before she knew what was happening, Hank had turned her into his chest. His strong arms circled her, holding her gently.

“Crying’s about the only cure for grief,” he said softly. “You pen it up inside you and it’s going to cause a lot of damage later on.”

She was too far gone to stop herself anyway. She’d held it all in, until now. She’d endured the long flight home, the funeral, the emptiness of the house, but now, she couldn’t hold back any longer.

Hank’s hands rubbed gently up her back as she sobbed against him. She was bitterly angry and guilty and sad. The emotions ruled her, and she cried, soaking the front of Hank’s shirt. When the tears finally stopped, she stepped back and shook her head. “I’m so sorry. I don’t even know you.”

“We both loved them. I can’t tell you the times Em made coffee for me, just like you were doing. If you hadn’t started crying, I probably would have.”

His words were unreasonably comforting. Stephanie finished setting up the coffee and turned on the pot. She took a seat at the table, her aunt’s place, and saw the recognition in Hank’s eyes.

“I know you came here for a reason, but can I ask one question first?”

“Sure.”

He’d made his face expressionless. She wondered what he thought she was going to ask. “Were Uncle Albert and Aunt Em happy?”

The smile that spread across his face was instantaneous. “They were lucky people, in many ways. They loved each other and they were a team on this ranch. Albert worked and Em worked right beside him. I was lucky to see those two together. I always thought that kind of partnership was a lot of romantic sh—hooey. But it was real with them. Albert would go out to check the cows and long about noon, I’d see this horse coming in the distance and it would be Em. She’d have a picnic lunch packed for everyone. How she knew where to find us, I can’t say.”

“You worked with Uncle Albert?”

“We worked together. He had good hands, but a ranch can’t run under a hired hand. He knew that. I had the same problem, so after the hands were through for the day, we often ended up finishing together.”

“Did they…” She faltered. “Did they miss me too much?”

His face softened. “They talked about you all the time. About how you could live in any world you chose. They wanted you to come home, but only if that was your choice.”

“I should have come home,” she said, feeling the pressure of another bout of tears.

“Not unless the ranch was the life you want to live.” He reached across the table and touched her hand. “Stephanie, this is a hard life. The stock and the ranch always come first. If you aren’t willing to make that choice, you don’t need to try to live it. Your folks knew that.”

They both heard the screened door slam and they sat back. Rodney walked into the house. “The snakes are buried, but I have to say that ground is baked harder than a brick.”

Stephanie rose to get him coffee. “Mr. Dalton found the hole in the screen.” It felt odd calling him something other than Hank, especially with a huge dark stain on his blue shirt where her tears had soaked him.

“Rodney, I think someone cut the screen and put the snakes in the house.”

“Who would do such a thing?” Rodney eased into a chair, worry on his face.

“Good question. Who’s been around here lately?”

“The real estate man was here. He had a key to the house. Johnny Benton came around yesterday, with his wife. They said they’d come to tidy the house in case folks came out here. Someone had to get the clothes for Albert and Em.” He looked stricken at the pain that crossed Stephanie’s face. “Sorry, Ms. Stephanie.”

She put a hand on his shoulder. “Not your fault, Rodney. It’s my fault that strangers had to pick out my folks’ funeral clothes.”

Disapproval crossed Hank’s face, followed by sorrow. He started to say something, then closed his mouth.

“I’ll give you a hand patching the hole. Then we’d better check the rest of the house.”

“If there was another snake, Familiar would have warned us.”

Hank let a chuckle escape. “A snake cat. Now I’ve seen it all.”

“Familiar is a lot more than that,” Stephanie said, and she finally felt the darkness shift from her heart. “He’s a detective.”

“Like a private eye?” Rodney was laughing.

“Exactly. And I’ve hired him to look into the murder of my aunt and uncle.”

Rodney paled. “Murder? It was an accident. That building collapsed on them.”

A heavy silence settled on the table. Rodney sipped his coffee. “It was sort of strange,” he said at last. “Not a cloud in the sky.”

“What time did it happen?”

“About 1:30 in the afternoon.” Rodney frowned. “Em normally wasn’t outside at that time, but she musta gone to help Albert with that old tractor. It was giving him fits. We’d all gone up to the Twisty Creek pasture to ride the north fences. There’d been a lot of trouble with someone cutting the wire.”

Stephanie kept her face carefully blank. “How long had that been going on?”

“About four weeks,” Hank answered. “They were cutting the fence between the Running Z and McCammon. Just about every other day we’d have to separate the herds. It was becoming very annoying.”

“Did you ever catch who was doing it?”

“We never could get ’em. We found some tire tracks and the sheriff sent out a deputy to make a mold, but we never heard a thing about it. ’Course Albert and Em were killed…” His sentence trailed off.

He didn’t have to finish. No one was interested in catching fence vandals after the tragedy of a double death. Stephanie felt Hank’s gaze on her, and she stared at him. His eyes were as green as a winter rye pasture, set perfectly in his rugged face. His dark hair contrasted with his tanned skin, completed with a straight nose and lips that made her think of the pleasures of kissing.

“I’ll check with the sheriff and see what he matched with those molds,” she said, clearing the thoughts of Hank from her mind.

“Rodney, we still have a few hours of light. Why don’t we ride those fences?” Hank asked.

“Sure thing. To be honest, I’d be glad of the company. Not much cause to check the fences now, though. The cows are gone.”

Hank’s smile was lopsided. “That’s right. The only harm would be that my cows could get some water from Twisty Creek.”

Stephanie realized then what he’d come to ask her. “Hank, you’re welcome to the creek and the pasture until I get Uncle Al—my cows back.” She saw his eyebrows lift at her emphasis. “But you might still want to ride that fence. We need to collect evidence, and the wind coming up this evening might destroy it.”

“Let’s search the house and get busy,” Hank said. He put his coffee cup in the sink and headed through the dining room with Rodney.

The door closed behind them and Stephanie began to clean up the kitchen. Through the closed door, she heard Rodney’s voice.

“She’s smart and she’s pretty, Hank. Wonder why she ain’t married?”

THE HOUSE HAD BEEN FREE of additional snakes. Only the black cat had been found, asleep, in the bedroom that had to be Stephanie’s. The room had been done in pale ivory eyelet lace, the carpet a dark beige. It reflected a certain sophistication, even for the nineteen-year-old girl who’d lived in it. The pale blond furniture would not be the taste of most young girls, and Hank realized it even as he lifted the dust ruffle and checked under the bed. An old pair of cowboy boots caught his eye and he pulled them out. They were well-worn, the heels rounded and the toes scuffed. He put them back and turned to the closet.

Several formal gowns reflected high school dates and glory. He moved a few abandoned pairs of shoes and determined the closet was empty of snakes.

“Meow.”

He turned to find the black cat watching him. He didn’t believe a word that Stephanie had said about the cat’s detective agency, but he found the feline’s stare unsettling. It was as if the cat were assessing him. Maybe that was just a cat’s personality. He was a dog man—no use for sleeping critters too lazy to even catch a mouse.

He stepped past the cat and felt a sharp, intense pain in his calf. He looked down and saw the cat had deliberately snagged him. “Hey!”

Familiar turned him loose and trotted back to the closet. “Meow.”

He had the strangest sense the cat wanted to tell him something. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Timmy in the well?”

The cat gave him a long hiss.

“So, for all your many talents, you don’t appreciate Lassie jokes?” He realized too late that he was talking to the cat as if it could understand him.

“Meow.” Familiar disappeared in the open closet and began to scratch at the carpet.

“I think that’s a reason to get evicted from the house,” Hank said, walking over to catch the cat. He’d put him outside and let him scratch some tree trunks or fence posts.

He leaned into the closet and saw that Familiar had moved several pairs of shoes. He clawed at the carpet. Curious, Hank got down on his knees. The carpet had been pulled loose from the corner of the closet, and not by the cat. He lifted the flap, pulling it out to reveal a trap door. Hank hesitated only a moment before he pulled the door free and looked down to see the ground below the house. It was an escape hatch. In case of fires, he supposed.

He looked at the cat. It did seem the feline had known about this and decided to show him. “I’ll get a board and nail it up,” he said. If someone was sneaking around McCammon Ranch, he didn’t want them to be able to slip into the house. The cat’s gaze was so intense, he found he couldn’t look away. At last he realized what the cat wanted. “Okay, thank you,” he said, flipping the carpet back and feeling like the biggest kind of fool for talking to a cat.

He found an empty-handed Rodney at the other end of the house. They walked out together, headed for the barn.

THE OLD OAK BOX was still tucked in the wall safe behind the Remington where Uncle Albert had always left it. Stephanie carefully removed it from the safe and carried it to the kitchen.

Her heart lurched painfully, but she kept the tears at bay. Everything about the ranch held a memory. Most of them the best in her life. She’d cried enough, though, her face against Hank’s strong chest. In all of her years in New York, she’d never felt as safe as she had those few moments in Hank’s arms. That, she thought with a crooked grin, was the illusion of the cowboy. It was true they were men of honor who could be counted on for a dramatic rescue. She’d never known braver men than those who worked with her uncle on the farm. She’d seen them risk life and limb for a few moments of glory on a thrashing bull or rodeo bronc. The local weekly rodeo would start at eight Friday night in Pecos. She had half a mind to ride out there and watch for a little while. Maybe, along the way, she’d ask around to see who’d bought her uncle’s cows.

She put her mind back on the task of getting the will. She’d known about the document since she was fifteen years old, when Albert had sat her down and explained what a will was and where he was putting it. He was a man who took care of loose ends.

She took a breath, willing herself to be calm, and opened the box. A sheaf of letters and documents covered the top. Beneath that was Aunt Em’s jewelry. Stephanie blinked the tears away and lifted the papers out. She couldn’t look at the jewelry. Not now. She didn’t want to see the emerald pin that Albert gave Em on her fortieth birthday. It was in the shape of a clover, for good luck.

Trying to shut out the memories, Stephanie sorted through the documents. She was surprised to find letters from Albert to Emily. The date was 1961, and the postmark was from Pecos, Texas, to the University of Texas in Austin, where Em had gone to college. There were at least sixty letters, all bundled with a ribbon. Stephanie put them aside to read later, when her heart wasn’t so wounded. At last she found the will. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been afraid the document was gone until her fingers curled around it. She opened it up and read the simple terms. The ranch and all contents had been left to her with the instruction that she create a trust.

She gazed out the window and saw Hank and Rodney riding off on two of Rodney’s personal horses. Thank goodness for the wrangler. There wouldn’t be a grazing animal on the place if he hadn’t kept his own.

The empty fields made her think of the terms of the trust. Albert had seen the handwriting on the wall. Subdivisions and developments had begun to eat away at the ranches. Land was more valuable for a home site than a pasture, so he’d left instruction in his will that McCammon Ranch remain a working ranch. The profits from cattle sales were to be plowed back into the ranch, for hands and materials to keep it going. The house, should Stephanie choose not to live in it, would be the residence of the ranch foreman.

It was a gift to future generations of Texans, those who might never see a working ranch, except for one created by a trust.

Stephanie gripped the document tightly. She had every intention of seeing Albert’s dream come true. Now all she had to do was find out what in the hell was going on and who in the hell had put a For Sale sign on the ranch.

She went to the phone and dialed information for Kemper Realty, the firm on the sign. In a moment she was talking to the realty receptionist.

“Who listed McCammon Ranch?” she asked.

“That would be Todd Hughes,” the woman said. “Would you like to speak to him?”

“More than you’ll ever know,” she said sweetly.

In a moment she heard a baritone voice identifying himself as Todd Hughes.

“I’m Stephanie Chisholm,” she said, listening to the silence on the other end. “I just ran over a For Sale sign on my ranch. What can you tell me about it?”

“Ms. Chisholm?” There was disbelief in his voice. “I had no idea you were in town. I was led to believe you wouldn’t be coming for the funeral. Where are you staying?”

“In my home.”

There was another long pause. “I believe you need to talk to Nate Peebles.”

“Who the hell is that?” she asked, her voice still sugary sweet.

“He’s an attorney.” Hughes cleared his throat. “He owns McCammon Ranch. Or at least he will when the will is probated. He’s the one who told me to put up the sign.”

Stephanie dropped into one of Uncle Albert’s hand-made chairs. “He what?”

“Albert McCammon left the ranch to him. I saw the will myself. The process of probating it has already been started. It’s just a matter of time before—“

“He ordered the livestock sold?” Stephanie knew she was shouting and didn’t care. In the bottom of her heart, she’d thought it was a mistake. That someone, acting on Albert’s best interests, had taken it upon themselves to sell the stock. She’d thought it would be a matter of explanation and everything would be put right. Now, she saw her assumption had been wrong. Dead wrong.

“Mr. Hughes. I have my uncle’s will in my hand. It states clearly the ranch goes to me, so that I can establish a working ranch trust, per my uncle’s wishes. I advise you to take the ranch off the market. Now tell me who has the livestock?”

“I didn’t handle that sell.”

“Who has the cows? And the horses. And Banjo.”

“Avis McElhanney.”

“And where would I find him?”

“He has a place down on County Road 17.”

Stephanie had a bad feeling. “A ranch.”

“Not exactly. It’s a holding lot for the meat packers.”

Stephanie didn’t bother with a goodbye. She slammed the phone down, returned the will to the wall safe and ran out of the house. Behind her, Familiar came at a dead gallop. By the time she opened the truck door, the cat flew past her and into the passenger seat.

Stephanie tore down the driveway, the SUV slewing in the gravel as she made a curve. She had to get to McElhanney’s before the cows were either killed or loaded into transport trucks. Those red Angus cows were Albert’s pride and joy. If anything bad happened to those cows, she was personally going to dig out Nate Peebles’s heart with a spoon.