Читать книгу Roughneck Cowboy - Marin Thomas - Страница 10

“Is it true that some guy showed up at the Lazy River, claiming to be a Cartwright?” Sara’s eldest brother, Cole, asked when she entered the barn Thanksgiving morning.

Tulapoint wasn’t a town, rather a map dot boasting a population of 323 people. It took only one phone call to crank the engine on the rumor mill. Not even a national holiday quieted the gossipmongers.

“’Fraid so.” Sara had been shocked that the man she’d seen at Beulah’s two evenings ago had been a Cartwright—according to rumors, a son Dominick had never known existed. “Wilma phoned earlier and said Samantha brought her a pumpkin pie.” The retired Sunday-school instructor battled lupus and, since she’d never married or had children, the local women checked in on her.

“What else did Samantha tell Wilma about the guy?”

“Travis broke the news that their mother recently died of cancer.” No matter the strain between the Sanderses and the Cartwrights, Sara felt sorry for Samantha and Matt. She suspected they’d held out hope that one day they might be reunited with their mother.

Cole grabbed a curry comb from the grooming belt around his hips and brushed Son of Sunshine’s coat. Her brother had purchased the infamous American quarter horse from Matt Cartwright for a measly five-hundred bucks. Their neighbor hadn’t said how he’d come to own the sterile stud and Cole hadn’t asked. SOS possessed a keen intelligence and plenty of “cow” attitude and heart. Pair those qualities with the animal’s ability to perform pinpoint stops, starts and turns, and Cole believed he’d landed the deal of the century.

“I doubt Dominick was too torn up over Charlotte’s death,” her brother said.

“According to Wilma, Travis and his daughter have been living in Houston with Charlotte all these years.”

“Is Travis married?”

“I don’t know.” Sara hadn’t noticed a wedding band, but that didn’t mean anything. Regardless of his marital status, she doubted a man as good looking as Travis suffered from a lack of female attention. Not that she cared about his love life. Sara was so over men, it wasn’t even funny.

Like most women her age, she wanted to marry and start a family of her own, but the one man she’d set her heart on had taught her a painful lesson—handsome men weren’t interested in country girls unless they had an ulterior motive. Her father had hired Josh as an extra hand during branding season and it didn’t take the cowboy long to cozy up to Sara and propose to her.

Once she’d fallen under Josh’s spell, he’d run off in the middle of the night with the Bar T’s prized bull, Sweetwater Blackie, in tow. The authorities had never been able to track down the bull and suspected Josh had sold the animal on the black market to a rancher somewhere in Mexico. Not only had Josh broken Sara’s heart, he’d stolen a fifteen-thousand-dollar bull and had made a fool out of her in front of family and friends.

After tucking the comb into the grooming belt, Cole led SOS outside and turned him loose in the paddock. Sara followed, planting her boot on the bottom rail. She stared into the distance for as far as the eye could see. Winter had turned the once lush green valley a dull, golden brown. Off in the distance, gently rolling hills were dotted with leafless oak and cypress trees. Sara loved this land. Come spring the area would transform into a verdant paradise as Black Angus grazed the green valleys, creating a picturesque setting.

I’m running out of options, Daddy. Help me find a way to save the ranch.

“Did Travis know about Dominick all these years?”

“No. Samantha told Wilma that Travis discovered his mother’s diary after Charlotte died and that’s when he learned Dominick was his father.”

“And Dominick didn’t know Charlotte was pregnant with Travis when she left him?”

“Obviously not or Dominick would have demanded custody of Travis, too, don’t you think?” Dominick’s wealth and standing in Oklahoma’s oil industry allowed him to do anything he wanted—like harass his neighbors and threaten his competitors until they were forced to lowball their leasing bids for the Bar T. No matter, she refused to negotiate a business deal with Dominick.

Sara wished she could skim Charlotte’s journal. During the final days of her father’s battle with pulmonary fibrosis, he’d drifted in and out of consciousness. Right before the end, he’d called out for Charlotte. For as far back as Sara could remember, neither of her parents had ever spoken the woman’s name or discussed her whereabouts.

“What does Travis do for a living?” Cole asked.

“He’s a roughneck.”

“The oil baron finally got his wish—a son in the oil business.”

Whether Travis lived and breathed black crude as Dominick did was anybody’s guess. Both men worked in the petroleum industry, but Travis’s shocked expression when Dominick had threatened her hinted that he might not possess his father’s cutthroat business acumen.

Two years ago, her father had been forced to take out a second mortgage on the Bar T after the cattle ranch had suffered financial losses from drought and disease. Afraid they’d lose the ranch, Cole had coaxed their father into commissioning a geological survey of the property. If the soil tests were positive for oil, then their father would lease the drilling rights and use the income to pay off the bank, invest in a new bull for the herd and make needed repairs to the property.

As soon as their father received the good news that there was oil beneath the Bar T, he sought leasing bids, but the oil companies lowballed their bids. Then Dominick had asked to buy the Bar T and Sara’s father had been certain that Dominick had manipulated his competitors. Furious, her father had sworn he’d die before Dominick Cartwright ever got his hands on the Bar T. Three months later, her father’s health took a turn for the worse and the ranch went further in debt as the medical bills piled up.

Unless Dominick dropped the bogus lawsuit and stopped influencing the other oil companies, there was no way Sara could prevent the bank from taking the ranch. She needed a miracle. Christmas was right around the corner—maybe Santa would stuff her stocking with a hundred thousand dollars. Ho. Ho. Ho.

“Turkey almost done?” Cole nudged her side, interrupting Sara’s musings.

“In about an hour.”

Sara lived in an old Victorian near the elementary school in town. After her mother had passed away, she’d made the trek out to the Bar T each Thanksgiving and Christmas to prepare a holiday meal for her father and brothers. When her father had died this past April, she’d decided to continue the tradition until she or one of her brothers married.

Right now the odds of any of them tying the knot were slim-to-none. Gabe was a notorious one-nightstand cowboy and the ranch kept Cole too busy to date, which left Sara. After being burned by love once, she was done with cowboys and ranchers—in this neck of the woods that meant slim pickings for husbands.

“Where’s Gabe?”

“Sleeping.” Cole snorted. “He stumbled in at three this morning.”

Gabe went through women faster than a seasoned cowboy ate cold beans.

“Need help in the barn?” Sara had chosen a teaching career, but she’d grown up punching cows alongside her brothers. With her height and sturdy build, there weren’t many ranch chores she couldn’t handle.

“Leave the mucking to Gabe. A little fresh air and manure ought to cure his hangover.” Cole walked off and Sara returned to the house.

Memories of Sara’s father kept her company while she put the finishing touches on the meal. She’d been daddy’s little girl—or rather, tomboy. Much to her mother’s dismay, Sara had been her father’s constant shadow around the ranch. In his final months of life when he’d been hooked up to an oxygen tank, struggling to breathe, he’d made Sara swear not to allow Cole or Gabe to talk her into selling out to Dominick. Easier said than done.

Sara removed the turkey from the oven and delivered it to the dining-room table, then clanged the supper bell on the back porch. A few minutes later, Cole walked through the door and Gabe stumbled from his bedroom—hair matted to his head and wearing the previous night’s clothes.

“Smells good.” Gabe yawned.

“You need a shower.” Sara placed a bowl of mashed potatoes next to the meat platter.

Ignoring her comment, Gabe took a seat, then reached for a turkey leg. Sara slapped his wrist. “Touch it and you die.” She made two more trips into the kitchen before sitting across from Cole. “We’re saying Grace.” She clasped her brothers’ hands and bowed her head. “Dear Lord, thank You for blessing us with this meal. I’m grateful for my brothers and ask that You keep them safe from harm.” She opened one eye and peered at Gabe. “What are you thankful for?”

“Thank You, God, for introducing me to Wynona last night. She’s one hot chili pepper.”

Sara kicked his shin.

“Ouch!” Gabe winced.

“Your turn.” She stared at Cole.

“Thank You for my sister, who cooked this fine meal. Amen.” Cole reached for the meat platter.

No use conversing until her brothers appeased their hunger. They tore into the food like vultures, scraping the bowls clean—so much for leftovers. Before she dished up the pumpkin pie she broached her least favorite topic—their neighbor. “Dominick won’t drop the lawsuit.”

“Figured he wouldn’t,” Cole said. “He wants our oil but he doesn’t want to pay us what it’s worth.”

Gabe slouched in his chair, rubbing his belly as he stared into space—probably dreaming about the hot chili pepper.

“Be right back.” Sara retrieved the pumpkin pie and whipped cream from the kitchen and returned to the dining room. She’d never told her brothers about their father’s final shout out to Charlotte Cartwright on his deathbed. Now that Travis had made himself known, she wondered if there was more to her father and Charlotte’s relationship than being neighbors. While her brothers finished dessert, Sara pondered. Was Dominick simply a greedy businessman or did he have a personal vendetta against her father? Whatever had caused the rift between the two men should have been laid to rest along with her father when he’d died.

“Don’t mean to change the subject—” Gabe pushed his plate away “—but since we’re all together, I might as well spill the news.”

Alarm bells went off in Sara’s head. “What news?”

“I’m leaving.”

“Where to?” Cole asked.

“Out on the road with a few buddies.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Might try rodeoing.”

“What about money for entry fees?” Cole glared across the table.

“I’ve got some saved.” Gabe shrugged. “If I run low, I’ll pick up work as a ranch hand somewhere.”

Sara flung her napkin at her brother’s face. “You’ll work for another ranch but you won’t lift a finger to help your own family?”

“I might if I knew this place would belong to us forever. It’s only a matter of time before we lose the ranch,” he said. “I know you promised Dad you’d do everything in your power to keep from selling, but even Dad would recognize when to cut his losses. You can’t best Dominick. Besides, his bid was generous and—”

“Generous? Dominick’s a crook,” Sara protested.

“If you don’t negotiate with him, the bank will take the ranch, then turn around and sell it to Dominick anyway. And we’ll walk away with nothing.”

Gabe made a valid point, but Sara wasn’t ready to raise the white flag.

“I’m taking off in the morning.” Her brother shoved his chair back and stood.

Sara poked Cole’s shoulder. “Say something.”

“What do you want me to say? ‘Stay, Gabe? Stay and work your ass off for nothing?’”

Tears clogged Sara’s throat. “But Dad—”

“Dad’s dead, and we can’t hold off the creditors forever. If we lose the ranch, which is the road we’re headed down now, you’ll have your house in town and Gabe and I will have nothing but our trucks and the clothes on our backs.”

“I promised Dad that Dominick would never get his hands on this ranch.”

“You made that promise, Sara.” Gabe pointed to Cole, then himself. “We didn’t.”

Cole got up from the table. “Thanks for making dinner.”

“Yeah, sure,” she whispered. Some Thanksgiving this turned out to be.

CHAOS.

Thanksgiving in the Cartwright household was unlike anything Travis or his daughter had ever experienced. Bodies everywhere. Kids shouting and racing from room to room. Good-natured arguing. And laughter. Plenty of laughter.

Travis stood in the family room, pretending interest in the football game on TV while covertly observing his siblings and their families. The past two days, he’d felt as if he’d been riding an emotional roller-coaster with no off switch. His mother’s death hadn’t sunk in, yet he found himself surrounded by family he hadn’t known existed until a few weeks ago.

“Having second thoughts?” Duke stopped at his side.

“About what?” Travis studied his stepbrother’s outfit—Western dress shirt with pearl snaps, bolo tie, Texas-size belt buckle and snakeskin boots. Obviously the Detroit executive loved dressing the part of a cowboy.

“Second thoughts about being a Cartwright.” Duke glanced across the room, his expression softening when he saw his wife. “Dominick can be overwhelming.”

“And evasive,” Travis said. “I’ve asked to speak to him in private, but he’s avoiding me.”

“Maybe he doesn’t trust you.”

Travis understood his siblings’ doubts about him, but shouldn’t his father feel differently? “Trust me how?”

Duke narrowed his eyes. “Maybe Dominick assumes all you care about is getting your hands on his oil money.”

“I don’t give a crap about his wealth.”

“If that’s true, I don’t know whether to admire you or pity you.”

“I get that you’re protective of Matt and Samantha, but—”

“Matt and Sam had a rough childhood growing up without a mother. Even though they’re adults, they’ve yearned for a mother’s love their entire lives, which makes them vulnerable to you.”

What about him? He’d yearned for a father’s love all his life.

“You’re their only connection to Charlotte.” Duke stepped in front of Travis, blocking his view of the family. “Don’t even think about taking advantage of Matt, Sam or Dominick. You mess with my family and you mess with me. Got it?”

Yeah, Travis got it, all right. No matter that he was Dominick’s biological son, he was still an outsider. “Message received.”

Duke’s posture relaxed when he changed the subject. “Renée said Charlie’s mom isn’t in the picture anymore.”

Evidently Charlie had spilled the beans about their life in Houston. Travis didn’t care. He had no secrets. “Julie left after Charlie was born.” Travis didn’t go into details. No matter how he told the story of Julie abandoning him and a baby, he always came out looking like an idiot.

“Renée’s seen everything in her job as a social worker. She says Charlie’s a well-adjusted little girl for having grown up without a mother.”

“Her grandmother gets credit for that.” Travis worried about the impact his mother’s death would have on Charlie in the long run. He wasn’t opposed to marriage, but his job on the rig made relationships stressful. Travis would hate to marry and then have Charlie become attached to the woman only to be abandoned again when the stress of his work schedule caused another woman to pack her bags and leave.

“You like rig work?” Duke asked.

Travis studied his stepbrother, unsure if he was making polite conversation or was genuinely interested in Travis’s answer.

“Don’t get me wrong—I love my job.” Duke shrugged. “But every day is the same. Meetings. Phone calls. Emails.”

Oil rig work was exhausting, but Travis preferred physical labor over a desk job. “The crew on the rig is like a second family. We celebrate and argue like brothers, uncles.” Fathers. “At the end of a two-week rotation, I’m more than ready to return to the mainland.”

“Mind if I join the conversation?” Matt motioned to Travis’s almost empty beer bottle. “Need another one?”

“No, I’m good.”

“Did you thank him?” Matt asked Duke.

“Not yet. We were discussing other matters.” Duke sent a warning smile Travis’s way.

“We’d like to thank you,” Matt said.

“For what?”

“For choosing a career in oil.”

Roughnecking wasn’t a career so much as a job.

“Dad’s been holding out hope that Duke or I would change our minds and work for Cartwright Oil.” Matt chuckled. “I’d rather shovel horse manure than dig oil wells and Mr. Corporate here would rather brainstorm information systems than analyze oil productivity spreadsheets.”

Travis directed his words to Matt. “Our mother was the one who pushed me to sign up with a rig.”

“Your days of roughnecking will soon be over.” Matt and Duke exchanged a silent message. “When you turn thirty-two, you’ll have access to your trust fund.”

Trust fund? “I didn’t come here for a handout.”

“No matter,” Matt said. “You’ll get your share of Cartwright money just like the rest of us.”

No one could force him to accept his inheritance, but if what his brothers claimed was true, then Travis had to consider Charlie. He wanted to make sure she was provided for if something happened to him. Still…he hated that his siblings assumed he intended to sponge off their father.

“What are you guys discussing?” Samantha joined the group. “Why the serious faces?”

Ignoring their sister’s question, Matt nodded toward the front door. “Where’s Wade taking the kids?”

“To the bunkhouse to teach them how to rope the fake steer Dad bought a few weeks ago.”

“C’mon.” Duke nudged Matt in the side. “Wade couldn’t throw a rope if his life depended on it.”

“Be nice,” Samantha scolded.

“Don’t worry, sis. We won’t hurt your hubby’s feelings.” Chuckling, Matt followed Duke outside.

Relieved to be rid of his brothers and their suspicions, Travis turned his attention to his sister. Her eyes were the same shape and brown color of his. He and Samantha looked more like brother and sister than she and Matt.

“I read Charlotte’s diary last night.” Her sad smile reminded Travis that he hadn’t been the only one hurt by his mother’s actions.

“Did it help you remember her?” he asked.

“Not really. I was two when she left. Matt was four. He claims he doesn’t have any memories of Charlotte, but I think he has a few.”

Travis had grown up with a mother’s love. Samantha and Matt had grown up with a father’s love. On that score they were even. But Dominick was still alive and that gave Travis the advantage of forging a relationship with his estranged father—if he cared to. His siblings would never have that opportunity with their mother.

“I think Charlotte missed me and Matt. That’s something, I guess.” The wobble in her voice sucker punched Travis in the gut.

“I’m sorry, Samantha.”

“You’d better stop calling me Samantha. Everyone in the family calls me Sam.”

“How come you’re not suspicious of me like the others?” His sister was the only person in the house who didn’t act uncomfortable around him.