Читать книгу Her Right-Hand Cowboy - Marie Ferrarella, Marie Ferrarella - Страница 12

Chapter Three

Knowing some of the circumstances behind Ena’s relationship with her father, Cash cleared his throat and tried to be as diplomatic as possible. “I realize that the situation between you and your father wasn’t exactly the best.”

Ena suppressed the involuntary harsh laugh that rose to her lips. “I take it that you have a penchant for making understatements, Mr. Taylor.”

“Call me Cash.” He didn’t comment on Ena’s observation. “Things aren’t always the way that they seem at first glance.”

Ena folded her hands before her on the desk. Her knuckles were almost white. “If you’re referring to my father,” she told the lawyer evenly, “Bruce O’Rourke was exactly the way he seemed. Cantankerous, ornery and dead set against everything I ever said or did.” She drew back her shoulders, sitting ramrod straight in the chair. “My fate was sealed the day I was born, Mr. Taylor—Cash,” she corrected herself before the lawyer could tell her his first name again.

“That’s being a little harsh, wouldn’t you say?”

“No,” she replied stiffly, “I wouldn’t. If anything, I’m being sensitive. My father was the harsh one.” A dozen memories came at her from all directions, each with its own sharp edges digging into her. Ena winced as she struggled to block them all out. “He never forgave me for being the one who lived,” she told Cash quietly.

Cash looked at her, completely in the dark as to her meaning. “I’m sorry?”

She had probably said too much already. But word had a way of getting around in this little town and if he didn’t know about her father’s tempestuous relationship with her, he would soon. He might as well hear it from her. This way, he’d at least get a semblance of the truth. It was his prerogative to believe her or not.

“I had a twin brother. It turned out that my mother was only strong enough to provide the necessary nourishment and bring one of us to term.” She took a deep breath as she regarded her folded hands. “My brother didn’t survive the birth process. I did. My father had his heart set on a boy. I was just going to be the consolation prize.” She raised her eyes to meet Cash’s. “He never got over the fact that I survived while my brother was stillborn. My father spent the rest of his life making me regret that turn of events.”

Deeply ingrained diplomacy kept Cash from arguing with Ena’s take on the matter. Instead, he said, “Still, he did leave the ranch to you.”

“No,” she contradicted, “he dangled the ranch in front of me and left me with a condition, which was something he always did.” She thought back over the course of her adolescence. “He enjoyed making me jump through hoops—until one day I just stopped jumping.”

Over the course of his career, Cash had learned how to read people. Right now, he could anticipate what his late client’s daughter was thinking. “I wouldn’t advise doing anything hasty, Ms. O’Rourke. Give the terms of your father’s will a lot of thought,” Cash advised.

“I’ve already thought it over,” Ena informed the lawyer, “and I’ve decided not to play his game.”

Cash’s eyes met hers. “Then you’re going to let him win?”

Ena looked at the attorney sitting on the other side of the desk. Her brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”

“Well,” he began to explain, “from what you’ve said, your father always made you feel that you were a loser. And if you walk away from the ranch, you’ll be forfeiting it, which in effect will be making you a loser. And that, in turn, will be telling your father that he was right about you all along.”

Ena scowled at the lawyer. “You’re twisting things.”

The expression on his smooth face said that he didn’t see things that way. “Maybe, in this case,” he responded, “I’m able to see things more clearly because I don’t have all this past baggage and animosity coloring my perception of things.” He slid to the edge of his seat, moving in closer to create an air of confidentiality between them. And then he punctuated his statement with a careless shrug. “I’m just saying...” he told her, his voice trailing off.

He was doing it, Ena thought, irritated. Her father was boxing her into a corner, even though he was no longer walking among the living. Somehow, he was still managing to have the last say.

Ena frowned. As much as she wanted to tell this lawyer what he could do with her father’s terms, as well as his will, she knew that Cash was right. If she tore up the will and walked out now, that would be tantamount to giving up—and her father would have managed to ultimately win.

She hated giving him that, even in death.

Blowing out a breath, she faced her father’s lawyer with a less-than-happy look.

“I have to stay here for six months?” She asked the question as if each word was excruciatingly painful for her to utter.

“You have to run the ranch for six months,” Cash corrected, thinking she might be looking for a loophole. There weren’t any.

“Can I delegate the work?” Ena asked, watching the man’s face carefully.

“You mean from a distance?” Cash asked. She wanted to oversee the operation from Dallas, he guessed.

“Yes,” she said with feeling. “That’s exactly what I mean.”

“No.” The lone word shimmered between them, cloaked in finality. “Your father was very clear about that. He wanted you to be on the ranch while you oversaw the work that needed to be done.”

Ena swallowed a guttural sound. It was all she could do to keep from throwing her hands up in frustration. “I don’t know anything about running a ranch. My father told me that over and over again,” she emphasized. “He deliberately kept me away from the day-to-day process—other than mucking out the stalls. That he was more than happy to let me do.”

“Obviously he’d had a change of heart about the matter when he had me write up the will. And anyway,” Cash went on, “you have some very capable men working at the Double E. I’m sure that they all would be more than willing to help you.”

He was right and that was exactly her point. “So why can’t I just tell them to use their judgment and keep the ranch running just the way that they always have?” she asked.

The look on Cash’s face was sympathetic. He could see how frustrating all this had to be. “Because your father’s will was very specific,” he told her.

Ena’s laugh was totally without any humor. “Yes, I’ll bet. It probably said, ‘Keep sticking pins in her side until she bleeds.’”

For the first time since they had sat down together, she saw the lawyer grin. “Not even close,” Cash assured her.

She wasn’t so sure. The sentiment was there all right, just probably hidden between the lines. “You obviously didn’t know my father as well as you thought you did.”

“Or maybe you’re the one who doesn’t know the man, at least not the way he was in his last years. It’s been ten years,” Cash reminded her. “People change in that amount of time, Ms. O’Rourke.”

“Normal people do,” Ena agreed. “But not my father. He was as set in his ways as any mountain range. To expect that mountain range to suddenly shift would be incredibly foolish.”

“So you’re turning your back on the will?” Cash concluded.

“No.” She saw that her answer surprised him, so, since he’d been the one who had attempted to talk her out of forfeiting her claim, she explained. “Because you were right about one thing. If I just metaphorically toss this back in my father’s very pale face, then he will have won the final battle and I’m not ready to let that happen. So,” she continued, taking in a deep breath, “even though it’s going to turn my whole life upside down, I’m going to stay on the Double E and work it so that I can meet those terms of his. And when I do, I’m going to sell that burdensome old homestead so fast that it’ll make your head spin, Mr. Taylor.”

Cash smiled at her. “I believe that at this point I’m beyond the head-spinning stage. Don’t forget,” he reminded her, “Miss Joan is my step-grandmother. Thanks to her, very little surprises me these days. By the way, she asked me to remind you that if you haven’t yet. She’s waiting for you to drop by to go see her.”

Ena shrugged away the reminder. “I don’t want to bother her. She’s working.”

The expression on the lawyer’s face told her that he saw right through her excuse. “You have met Miss Joan, right?”

Ena stiffened. She had no idea why he would ask her something like that. He had to know the answer was yes. “Yes, of course I have.”

“Then you know that she’s always working,” he reminded her. “I don’t think that the woman knows how not to work.”

If Ena had had any lingering doubts that Cash Taylor was actually related to Miss Joan, that put them all to rest. The man was obviously familiar with the diner owner’s stubborn streak, as well as her way of overriding any and all who opposed her no matter what that opposition was rooted in.

Ena inclined her head, conceding the point. “You’re right. I guess I’ll stop by and see her before I leave town today,” she told him, hoping that was enough to table this part of the discussion.

Nodding, Cash smiled and then extended his hand to her. “Well, welcome home, Ms. O’Rourke. I just wish this could be under better circumstances.”

“So do I, Counselor. So do I,” Ena responded with feeling. “Anything else?”

Cash shook his head. “No, I believe we’ve covered everything.”

Gripping the armrests, Ena pushed herself to her feet, ready to take her leave as quickly as possible. “Then I’ll be going now. Thank you for telling me about my father’s will—and for your guidance,” she added.

Although she silently thought that she could have done without his guidance since it made her agree to put up with her father’s terms. She was, in essence, playing the game in her father’s court. Which would make her victory when it came—and it would—that much sweeter.

She just needed to remember that.

On his feet as well, Cash said with genuine feeling, “My pleasure, Ms. O’Rourke. Here, I’ll walk you to the door.”

“That’s really not necessary,” Ena said, attempting to deflect the offer.

“I don’t know about that. Miss Joan would give me a tongue-lashing if she found out that I’d forgotten my manners. Besides, one of us needs to stretch their legs,” he added with a wink.

The “trip” to the law office’s front door was an exceedingly short one. She was standing before it in a matter of seconds. Cash managed to open it one moment earlier, holding it for her.

“And don’t forget to swing by Miss Joan’s—when you get the chance,” he added politely. “She really would love to see you.”

Ena nodded, although she sincerely doubted that Miss Joan would actually love to see anyone, especially someone who had walked away from Forever ten years ago. She knew for a fact that Miss Joan had little patience with people who felt that they needed to run away from Forever in order to either make something of themselves or, at the very least, find something more meaningful to do with their lives.

Feeling less than triumphant, Ena got into her sports car and drove the short distance to the diner.

She almost wound up driving past the diner. After listening to her father’s will being read, she really was not in the mood to politely listen to someone tell her what was best for her. Miss Joan was not exactly a shy, retiring flower. But she also knew that offending the woman was not exactly the best course of action. So, at the last minute, Ena backed up her vehicle and pulled into the small parking lot.

Because of the hour, the lot wasn’t packed.

Or maybe, Ena mused, business had slacked off. She knew that things like that did happen. She had seen it occur more than a few times during her years living in Dallas. One minute a business seemed to be thriving, even turning people away. The next, that same business was trying to figure out just what had gone wrong and why their patrons had forsaken them and were now frequenting another establishment.

But then those businesses, especially the restaurants, had a great many competitors. It was a toss-up as to which of them could come out on top and lure customers away from the others.

As far back as Ena could remember, Miss Joan had had no competition. There was only one other establishment in Forever. That was Murphy’s, owned and run by three brothers who proudly proclaimed the establishment to be a saloon. The Murphy brothers had a running agreement with Miss Joan. They didn’t serve any food—other than pretzels—in their saloon and Miss Joan didn’t serve any alcoholic beverages in her diner. That made Miss Joan’s diner the only “restaurant” in town.

So if the good citizens of Forever wanted to grab a meal during their workday, they would all need to head out to Miss Joan’s. Ena caught herself wishing that the diner were crowded now. That way, she could just pop in, officially tell Miss Joan that she was back in town, then slip quietly out. If there was any extra time, she might possibly tell the woman that she was debating temporarily sticking around in Forever, at least until such time as she met the conditions of her father’s will and could sell the ranch.

Although she doubted that was necessary. Miss Joan had a way of knowing things before anyone told her. She just intuited them. Some hinted it had something to do with a Cajun ancestor in her family tree, but Ena doubted it. There was just something about the woman that couldn’t really be pinpointed. She was just uniquely Miss Joan.

Getting out of her vehicle, Ena slowly approached the diner. She climbed up the three steps leading to the diner’s door even more slowly.

Staring at the door, Ena decided that this wasn’t one of her better ideas, at least not now. With that, she turned away from the door.

She had made it down all three steps when she heard the diner door behind her opening.

“You waiting for trumpets to herald your entrance to my diner? Or maybe I should be dropping handfuls of rose petals in your path?”

Ena would have known that voice anywhere. Stiffening her shoulders, she turned around and looked up at the small compact woman with deep hazel eyes and hair the color of not quite muted flame. Miss Joan had caught her in the act of escaping. She should have seen this coming.

“I thought you might be too busy for a visit right now,” Ena told her.

Miss Joan continued to stand there, one hand fisted on either side of her small, trim waist as she looked down at the girl she viewed as the newly returned prodigal daughter.

She shook her head. “Ten years and you still haven’t learned how to come up with a decent excuse. Not that that’s a bad thing,” Miss Joan said. “At least they didn’t teach you how to lie in Dallas. Well?” she asked expectantly when Ena continued to stand where she was. “Are you posing for a statue? Because if you’re not, stop blocking the stairs to my diner. Use them and come in, girl.”

Miss Joan didn’t raise her voice, but the command was clearly there.

Moving like a queen, Miss Joan turned around and walked back into the diner. Everything about the way she moved clearly said that she expected Ena to follow her inside.

Ena’s internal debate was very short-lived. She decided that coming into the diner was far easier than walking away from what was clearly a mandate from Miss Joan.

Ena quickly hurried up the three steps. With each step she took, she told herself that she wasn’t going to regret this. After all, she had spoken to Miss Joan hundreds of times before. This would just be another one of those times. Lightning was not going to streak across the sky and strike her the moment she entered. She was just paying her respects to an old friend.

A rather scary old friend, she thought as she pushed the diner door open with fingertips that were positively icy.