Читать книгу Texas Ranch Justice - Karen Whiddon - Страница 12

The next time he heard the words oil well mentioned with the same sort of breathless tone used when speaking of “sweet tea” or Jesus, Travis Warren thought he might just lose what little shred of self-control he had left.

It wasn’t bad enough that he did the work of three men along with a small, handpicked crew of ranch hands, trying to keep the HG Ranch afloat. Or that he’d given up his privacy and allowed his mother, sister and five-year-old nephew to move in with him in the small foreman’s house he previously occupied alone. In addition to that, he had the monumental worry about his stepfather, Hal Gardner, who appeared to be wasting away while not a single doctor could come to a consensus as to what might be wrong with him.

Hal was just as opposed as Travis to allowing an oil company to take over even one-half acre of his land. In fact, as owner of the HG, he’d insisted he didn’t want to hear another word about allowing drilling.

At least that decree shut everyone up. As long as Hal was around. But the rest of the family as well as most of the neighboring townsfolk felt no compulsion to be quiet around Travis. In fact, his own mother, Vivian, continued to act as if making a deal with Wave Oil Company would be their salvation. Quite frankly, the notion made Travis feel sick.

For Travis, working hard and looking after his own was a matter of pride. For over fifty years, his seventy-eight-year-old stepfather, Hal, had managed to keep the HG Ranch going as a profitable cattle operation. Travis planned to do the same, without any help from any oil company or their money. Right now, a company called Wave Oil was pushing hard for the right to drill on Hal’s and several of the other ranchers’ land. Hal had already said no, privately confiding to Travis that he’d continue to do so until the day he died. Which unfortunately might be sooner than either of them would like.

Wave Oil and their offers of easy money had managed to divide the town. The townsfolk, those without stakes to the land, were all for it. They liked the idea of more jobs and money being spent in downtown Anniversary. As for the ranchers and farmers, almost every single one of them had refused. They’d even banded together in order to present a solid front. Travis just kept hoping the commotion would die down, the oil people would move on to another town and life could return to normal. Or as normal as it could be with Hal so sick.

Ideally Travis preferred to spend most of his time outside, whether working cattle or repairing fences, but these days he made sure to take breakfast, lunch and dinner a couple of times a week at the main house, so he could make sure Hal ate. They’d hired a day nursing-housekeeping aide named Delilah, who helped out between ten and five. She’d turned out to be irreplaceable.

The rest of the time either Travis’s mother, Vivian, or his sister, Amber, poked their heads in to check on Hal and keep things running smoothly.

Even though Vivian and Hal had been divorced for five years, they’d remained friendly. Which was helpful, especially since Vivian continued to live on the ranch, staying with Travis in the foreman’s house. Travis had just started to get used to having her there when his sister, Amber, had arrived back home a year ago. She’d been sad and angry and a little needy, smarting from her own failed relationship, and Travis couldn’t say no. Especially since she’d come with her young son, Will, in tow. Having a five-year-old boy around had been an unexpected bonus, and Travis treasured the relationship he had with his nephew.

These days, the only peace and quiet Travis could find was on horseback, working on the ranch. He had a full house and no one seemed to have the slightest inclination to move out. To be honest, Travis wasn’t sure he wanted them to. He’d gotten a little lonely with the place all to himself, especially after his fiancée had broken off the engagement. These days it felt good to have family to spend time with. Between the ranch and his stepfather, Travis considered his life to be mostly full, even if he didn’t have a life-mate to share it with.

Pulling up to the main house at the end of a hard day’s work, he sat in his truck for a moment and admired it. The stately Victorian farmhouse could use some work, but it still managed to appear inviting. He particularly loved the wide front porch. As a kid, he’d spent plenty of time there, watching while Hal made homemade ice cream, or rocking in one of the big rockers while watching a storm sweep in from the west. If he ever built his own place, he planned to make sure it had a porch just like it.

He entered the main house just as Hal slammed the old-fashioned rotary telephone back in its cradle. The old rancher slumped in his wheelchair, wheezing for air. Immediately, Travis rushed over, kneeling down next to him. “Are you all right? Where’s Delilah?”

“I banished her to the kitchen.” Straightening, Hal frowned and scratched his head. “I told her to go away and quit treating me like an invalid. That goes for you too, so get up and quit acting like I’m about to keel over at any second.”

Hal preferred everyone to pretend he wasn’t sick. Travis got it. He figured he’d probably be the same way if he were in Hal’s shoes. Pushing to his feet, he squeezed his stepfather’s bony shoulder. “She should know better,” he said. Hal’s breathing seemed better, so Travis relaxed a little. “Who called?”

“Damn oil company again.” Grimacing, Hal wheeled himself over to his spot in front of the television, which was currently off. “Nightly News with Lester Holt comes on in a few minutes.”

Which was his way of saying he wanted to be left alone. Fine. As long as daylight remained, there was work to be done. Travis glanced at his watch, then headed outside to check on the barn. One of his best mares was due to foal at any time, and he’d stationed a couple of teenagers inside the barn, with instructions to fetch him immediately if she showed signs of labor.

Once outside, Travis dragged his hand across his jaw and then strode out toward the barn. He’d been keeping tabs on Hal for years, even before the older man had gotten sick. They were close, in the way of firm-jawed, silent types. Travis admired him and looked up to him. Though not related by blood, he considered the older man his father, and knew Hal felt the same.

Several times over the last few years, Travis had stepped in and kept Hal from getting bilked of what remained of his savings. The older man believed in living simply, much to the dismay of his ex-wife, Travis’s mother, Vivian. And since she’d signed a prenup agreement before they’d married, once they divorced, she could do nothing to change that. Still, as Hal aged, he became a frequent target for scammers.

So far, Travis had managed to fend off two religious organizations, one long-lost cousin who’d claimed to have millions in a foreign bank and a few gold-digging women looking for a sugar daddy. It wasn’t that Hal was stupid—far from it—but the old man had a heart of gold. He always tried to see the best in everyone. And if he could help, he’d do his damndest to try.

At least this time, he refused to listen to Wave Oil with their false promises of untold riches and undisturbed land. Travis would be eternally grateful for that.

At the barn, he interrupted the teens giggling and playing games on their phones. Though they assured him nothing had changed, Travis checked on the mare anyway. She still wasn’t ready, though he had a feeling it would be soon. Maybe even tonight. He reminded the boys of their responsibilities, reiterated that they were to call him at the slightest sign of the horse going into labor and left.

Walking back toward the house, he stopped and stared at the cloud of dust heading his way. A little red car, moving much too fast, barreled down the private road toward the entrance to the ranch.

What now? He cursed. He figured it would head past the main house, toward his place, most likely to visit either his mother or sister. One of them likely had made a new friend or something. Though usually they took care to give him advance notice so he could stay far, far away.

But no, the car pulled up in front of the main house instead and parked. He couldn’t make out if the visitor was a man or a woman due to the tinted glass.

Until she opened her door. Definitely female. Moving with a long-legged grace that reminded him of a thoroughbred filly, she got out of her little compact car. Huge sunglasses in place, perfectly curled, long black hair swirling around her slender shoulders, everything about her screamed north Dallas. In other words, high society.

A chill snaked up his spine, sweeping over him. He shook it off, still staring, since he was not a man who believed in intuition or omens. Picking up his pace, he beat her to the house and waited, watching as she strode up the sidewalk, her high heels clicking on the cracked cement.

She didn’t acknowledge him until only a few feet separated them, and then she pulled off her dark glasses and met his gaze. Her vivid green eyes were both startling and familiar—he knew only one other person with that exact, unusual shade. Hal.

Again, a feeling that everything was about to change swept over him. He squared his shoulders. Not if he could help it. Like everything else in his life, he’d meet this challenge head-on. Head tilted, he crossed his arms, waiting for her to speak first. When she didn’t, he shook his head. “No point in wasting time. I don’t know how many times we have to tell you people to stay off our property. The answer is still no. Now go on and get back in your car and head back toward town.”

With that, he turned and went inside, closing the door behind him with her still standing silently out on the front porch.

And then he waited. Though he doubted it, he really hoped she’d get back into her car and leave, exactly as he’d told her to.

Of course she didn’t. A sharp knock on the front door made him curse under his breath. The sound startled Hal awake in his recliner. “Well?” he demanded, his faded green eyes bright as he stared at Travis. “Are you going to answer that?”

Damn. He’d been hoping to keep Hal out of yet another confrontation with someone from Wave Oil. Reluctantly, Travis nodded. Though both he and Hal had told them in no uncertain terms to stay off the property, clearly they’d once again completely ignored his wishes.

Taking a deep breath, he yanked open the door to glare at the dark-haired young woman standing there, coolly composed in her formfitting dress and high heels. Ignoring the instant tug of attraction, he glared at her.

“I thought I asked you to leave,” he said. The coldness in his tone should have warned her he wouldn’t be amenable to a sales pitch, no matter how much she fluttered her pretty green eyes.

“Well, that’s not really up to you, now is it? I’m here to see Mr. Hal Gardner,” she drawled, appearing not the least bit put out. He couldn’t place her Southern accent, though it definitely wasn’t East Texas, that’s for sure. Out of state, most likely. Alabama, Tennessee, maybe even Mississippi or Georgia. Another spark of interest, which again he immediately quashed.

“For the one hundredth time, he isn’t interested. Stay off our land.” He started to close the heavy door, but she slipped one pointy-toed, clearly expensive, patent leather high-heeled shoe inside to prevent him from doing that.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He stared at her foot in disbelief.

“So sorry,” she drawled. Her clearly false smile lit up her heart-shaped face, making her emerald eyes sparkle. “While I’m not sure why you think I’m here, I can tell you Mr. Gardner isn’t even aware of my existence. Therefore, there’s no way you can truthfully state he’s not interested. Maybe you should give him the chance to meet me and decide for himself. Now if you don’t mind fetching him...?”

Fetching? Any other time, any other place, any other man might have fallen for her over-the-top feminine charm, but Travis was immune. He’d learned the hard way that women like her and men like him wouldn’t work.

“For Pete’s sake, Travis. Let her in,” Hal ordered, his cantankerous tone curious. “I want to hear what she has to say.”

Though he didn’t want to, Travis opened the door wider and stepped aside so she could enter.

“Thank you,” she said, confidently moving past him, close enough that he caught a whiff of her scent, something exotic and floral. Heels clicking on the wood floors, she walked with an easy sort of grace, both innocent and confidently sensual. Desire hit him low in the gut, which irritated him, though it didn’t come as a surprise. No matter what she wanted, she was a gorgeous, sexy woman. Even men like him couldn’t ignore such flawless beauty.

* * *

Heartbeat echoing in her eardrums, Scarlett stepped into the old Victorian house, admiring the polished wooden floors. A million times she’d pictured the man who’d sired her, even though her childhood fantasies eventually became replaced with teenaged bitterness and, finally, adult acceptance. She’d never met him and hadn’t even known his name. Until she’d found her mother’s diary after her death and finally learned his name and address.

Hal Gardner of Anniversary, Texas.

Though at first she’d been frozen in fear, how could she not go meet him? She’d made the trip out west as fast as she could. Finally, here she stood. Hopeful, and trying not to be. Yearning, yet telling herself she’d made it thirty years without him, so it wouldn’t hurt at all if he refused to acknowledge her and ordered her to leave as the handsome younger man had.

“In here,” the tall, grumpy guy ordered, turning and leading the way. “He’s in the living room.”

Trailing along after him, she caught her breath at her first glimpse of a man who could only be her father. Sitting in front of the TV in a wheelchair. He looked frail, old, and she could see that he was ill from the pallor of his skin, the way his green eyes—the exact shade as her own—seemed to burn too brightly in his wan and lined face.

He wore his thinning gray hair combed to one side. His too skinny body appeared almost skeletal, though his smile seemed friendly enough. She caught a hint of skepticism in his expression, as though he also believed she might be here to try to sell him something.

Deliberately, she kept her expression neutral, though her steps faltered for a second before she regained her equilibrium.

“Well, ain’t you a pretty one,” the old man drawled. “Now tell me you ain’t with Wave Oil so I don’t have to throw you out.”

Suddenly struck dumb, she shook her head. “I’m not,” she managed. She’d rehearsed a speech a bunch of times while she’d searched for him. All of that seemed woefully inadequate now.

Cocking his grizzled head, he continued to study her. “You look awfully familiar. Like someone I used to know, many years ago.”

Finally, she found her voice. “My name is Scarlett. Scarlett Kistler. People always said I’m the spitting image of my mother, Maggie. Maggie Kistler.”

When she said her mama’s name, Hal stiffened. Suddenly alert, watchful even as he slid his gaze over her once more. “Maggie,” he breathed. “You do look an awful lot like her. Maggie Kistler was the love of my life.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Now there’s a name from the past. I always wondered what became of her.”

For the first time she realized her mother’s death might come as a shock to him. “She passed away,” she said softly. “Not all that long ago.”

He stared at her, disbelief and perhaps a brief flash of pain in his expression. “Was she ill? She wasn’t very old.”

Younger than he, that’s what he meant, Scarlett figured.

“She had breast cancer,” she said, her voice still going shaky when she said the awful words. She’d think she’d be used to the idea by now. She’d helped her mother fight for the last year and a half, and the word cancer had become an integral part of their vocabulary.

A shadow crossed his face. “Cancer. I hate cancer,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. He turned his face, giving her his hawklike profile while a muscle worked in his too-thin cheek.

Wondering if he also had some sort of cancer, she waited silently, not sure what to say. Her mother’s passing had drained her, made her realize she was now completely and utterly alone in the world. Without family. Until she’d found the diary, buried deep in a box of old photographs and mementos in the back of her mother’s closet. She’d realized she wasn’t actually alone. She had him. Her father. Whether he wanted to be or not. For the first time she wondered if he’d even been aware of her existence.

Finally, he swiveled his head to look at her again. “Why have you come here?” he rasped. “Surely you didn’t travel all this way to bring me news of her death.”

“No,” she admitted, glancing toward the doorway to see that the other man had remained, standing in a defensive stance just inside the doorway. As if he thought she might attempt bodily harm on the old man and he might have to jump in and perform a rescue. She wished he would leave, but lacked the nerve to ask him to go. Instead, she squared her shoulders and turned back to face the old man in the wheelchair.

“When my mother left you, she was pregnant,” she told him, holding her chin high and hoping her voice didn’t quiver with nerves. “I’m realizing you might not have been aware of that.” Another deep breath. Steady, steady. “That’s why I’m here. I wanted to meet you. I’m your daughter.”

Hal stared, his mouth working. “No,” he said faintly. “She wouldn’t have done that to me.”

Behind her, she was conscious of the other man moving into the room and toward her. A gesture from Hal’s age-spotted hand stopped him.

Scarlett refused to look away from her father, fully expecting him to deny her, demand proof, a DNA test. She wouldn’t blame him. Here she was, showing up after thirty years, a grown child he hadn’t even known he had.

“Why?” The plaintive question tore at her heart. “Why wouldn’t she have at least let me know?”

“I’m not sure. She was a proud woman,” she said softly. “She never even told me your name. All she would say was that she’d loved you once.”

Pain formed new creases in the loose skin on his face. He swore, looking away and covering his face with his shaking hands.

“You need to go.” The younger man grabbed her arm. “Don’t be bothering him with your ridiculous claims.”

Furious, she jerked away, glaring up at him. “Don’t even think you can sum up my life that way. I came here to meet this man—my father. This has nothing to do with you, whoever you are.”

Eyes hard, he started to speak.

“Wait,” Hal interceded. “She’s right, Travis. This is private, between the two of us.”

The other man shook his head. He wouldn’t go easy, she saw. “Don’t let her come in here and try to con you. I’m not sure what she wants, but she wants something. I can see right through her. She’s a gold digger, nothing more.”

“A gold digger?” She glanced around the room with its threadbare carpet and worn furniture in disbelief.

He snorted, opening his mouth again. Hal’s sharp bark of laughter forestalled him.

Her first reaction was hurt, that he found her somehow amusing. Her second, alarm as his laughter segued into a wheeze, then a round of jagged coughing that appeared to steal his breath away, making him gasp for air.

She rushed over, ignoring the other man completely. Once she reached the wheelchair, she wasn’t sure what to do. She settled for patting Hal’s hunched back as if he was a small child, making soothing sounds while praying he wouldn’t choke to death or something.

After a moment, he recovered. Swiping at his eyes with his gnarled fists, he flashed her a wan smile. “I want you to stay and visit awhile.”

The other man made a sound of protest, which both Scarlett and Hal ignored.

“You must be hungry,” Hal said. “After such a long trip. Let’s go into the kitchen and I’ll have my nurse’s aide make you something to eat.”

Nurse’s aide. She wanted to ask out loud if he was ill, though the question seemed so superfluous since he clearly was. With what, she didn’t know, though maybe he’d tell her.

Her mother had been much younger than him, so much so that Maggie had written in her diary that the two of them had kept their affair secret. She’d wanted to marry, but Hal had refused, saying it wouldn’t be fair in the future, when he’d become an old man and she remained a young woman still.

This had only served to break Maggie’s heart. She’d believed their love could easily have survived such a test. Clearly, Hal had felt otherwise.

Scarlett followed the wheelchair into the kitchen, marveling at how easily he controlled it with his stick-thin arms. This room too had clearly seen better times. The faded linoleum had begun to crack and chip, and the wooden cabinets were scratched and dull.

She almost shook her head at the other man’s earlier comment. Why would she attempt to take anything from someone who clearly had so little? Her mother had left her wanting for nothing—their little home paid for, along with the proceeds from a nice life insurance policy. She had more than enough to open her own art gallery, a long-term goal of hers.

The nurse appeared, a stout, dusky-skinned, stern-faced woman with a mop of curly black hair. Seeing Scarlett, she smiled, which totally transformed her face. “A visitor!” she exclaimed, sounding delighted. “It’s been so long since someone came to see Mr. Hal. Have a seat, let me get you a tall glass of sweet tea.”

Smiling back, Scarlett pulled out a chair. “Thank you, I’d like that.”

“And something to eat,” Hal put in. “Please, Delilah. She’s come a long way to get here and I’ll bet she’s starving.”

“Definitely.” Delilah glanced toward the other room. “What about Travis? Will he be joining us?”

Travis. So that was the other man’s name. Who was he exactly? Did he work for her father or was Travis Hal’s son, her half-brother? She watched Hal carefully, curious to hear his answer.

“I think he went out to the barn,” Hal finally said. Catching Scarlett’s gaze, he grimaced. “Don’t mind him. He feels he has to look out for everyone, particularly me.”

“Does he work here?” she asked.

Hal smiled. “He’s my stepson and, yes, he runs the place.”

Stepson. So not related. She only nodded.

“Tell me about yourself,” Hal urged, covering her hand with his. The gnarled and age-spotted fingers made her inexplicably feel like crying. “After all, I have thirty years to catch up on.”

Delilah placed two plates in front of them. Huge sandwiches, overflowing with chicken and lettuce and tomato, as well as a generous dollop of potato salad, and a pickle. She beamed at Scarlett as she placed tall, sweating glasses of iced tea on the table. “Y’all let me know if you need anything else, okay?”

“This looks fantastic,” Scarlett said. “Thank you so much.”

Looking from one to the other, Hal nodded. “Yes, thank you, Delilah.”

“You’re welcome. Now, Scarlett, how long are you staying? Would you like me to make up one of the guest beds for her, Mr. Hal?”

“Please,” he rasped, before eyeing Scarlett. “If that’s all right with you? I’d really like you to stay as long as you like.”

“I’d love that,” she responded softly. “And Delilah, I don’t want to make extra work for you. If you’ll just leave the linens on the dresser, I can make the bed up myself.”

“As if,” the older woman sniffed. “Not in my lifetime. I’ll get everything ready for you myself.” She bustled off without a backward glance.

Hal chuckled, but his smile disappeared the instant the nurse was out of sight. Grimacing, he pushed his plate away. “She keeps trying to get me to eat, even though she’s a nurse and should know better. It’s hard for me to eat much these days.”

Scarlett squeezed his hand. “Please try, for me. You’ve got to keep your strength up so you can get better.”

Though a slight frown creased his forehead, as if her comment baffled him, he didn’t argue. Instead, he released her fingers and made a show out of lifting up his own sandwich. He took a huge bite, winking at her, and then nearly gagged as he tried to swallow.

Concerned, she jumped out of her chair and went around to pat him on the back. “Are you all right? Should I call Delilah?”

“I’m fine,” he rasped, eyes watering as he waved her away. “Just swallowed wrong. Sit down and enjoy your food.”

Heart still pounding, she sat back down. Still watching Hal closely, she picked up her sandwich, struggling to keep parts of it from falling out. Her stomach rumbled as she took a big bite. Not wanting to appear ravenous, which she was, she chewed slowly, even though she wanted to wolf the entire thing down.

Some of the tightness in her chest eased as Hal took another, much smaller bite. Maybe this was going to be all right after all.

It appeared she’d be staying. As she walked out to her car to retrieve her bags, she resisted the urge to do a happy jig. Honestly, she’d been hoping her father would invite her to spend some time getting to know him. There was nothing like the death of the person you believed to be your only parent to make one feel rudderless and alone.

Grief slammed into her. She missed her mama. Maggie had been fascinating and lively, a bright light in Scarlett’s world. She had also been mercurial, flitting from one thing to another as her interest dictated. But she’d loved Scarlett fiercely, and the two of them had been close. Maggie had supported Scarlett’s interest in the arts, even when another parent might have insisted she get her degree in something practical, like business or education.

And now Maggie was gone too soon, though she’d fought long and hard. Scarlett had been forced to bury her terror and sorrow, offering her support as she watched her vivacious flame of a mother burn down to a smoldering ember, and finally ashes.

Learning about her father had pulled Scarlett away from the depths of her grief. Even though she hadn’t realized Hal was sick. From the looks of him, whatever ailed him was serious.

Dagnab it, she wasn’t sure she had the fortitude to go through this again. Right now, she knew she’d do whatever it took to get Hal well. With or without the taciturn Travis’s support.