Читать книгу His Ranch Or Hers - Roz Fox Denny - Страница 11

Chapter Three

Myra said hello, but didn’t acknowledge that she knew it was her father calling. She was still majorly upset with him. It felt right to give her bedroom door a hard push.

“Myra, it’s Dad. Your mother asked me to call to see if you’d be home for lunch. We thought you’d be under way already.”

Pacing around the bedroom that had been hers off and on for many years, Myra weighed her answer. “Actually, I won’t be home for lunch or anytime soon.”

“Why? Eric said you had more snow than we did, but I saw on the morning news that the highway is clear. You shouldn’t have trouble driving.”

“The weather has improved. But, Dad, you turned the Flying Owl over to a total novice. I can’t walk away and let the ranch fall into ruin.”

“What do you mean? It’s not a working ranch anymore. Your grandfather told me he was trapped under a mountain of medical bills after Gram died. That’s why he sold what was left of his herd and offered a chunk of pasture to a neighbor.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I told him to sell the whole shebang and come live with us, but he refused. When you went to help out, I didn’t press further. So up to now I’ve ignored your mom’s unhappiness over the way you put your career on a back burner. Frankly, with Eric in a war zone and making sure Rolling Acres stayed in the black, not needing to worry about my dad’s health and well-being took a load off me. But, honey, you can stop feeling responsible for the Flying Owl. I paid the estate tax and the last payment on Dad’s banknote. Giving the property to Lieutenant Maxwell frees us all up.”

“You paid Gramps’s banknote? Why? I’m about to ship last year’s calves. That revenue is earmarked to cover the note and sustain the ranch until we sell next year’s calves.”

“Come on, Myra. How many pregnant cows did Dad own? Twenty? Although I can’t fathom why he didn’t sell the lot. His asthma and arthritis were so bad when we talked shortly before he passed away, he admitted he hadn’t walked out to the barn in almost a year.”

“He didn’t need to, Dad. I managed the ranch. I grew his herd. He had around a hundred head when I moved here. We didn’t sell any. This year I’ll be shipping almost that many calves. Our overall herd stands at close to three hundred.”

There was a long silence. Enough for Myra to think she’d lost the connection. Suddenly her father yelped an explosive “Why am I only hearing about this now? Isn’t that something you should have told me at Dad’s funeral?”

“You didn’t ask.” Myra crossed to her bedroom window. “As I recall, you guys were in a rush to leave and barely stayed for the reception my friend from the café in town helped prepare.”

“I’m sorry about that, honey. You know Rolling Acres was in the middle of calving. With Eric and me at the funeral, it only left two ranch hands to handle a four-man task.”

“You didn’t hear me say I was in the middle of calving, too? Thank goodness two of my neighbors helped out, which is what neighbors in Snowy Owl Crossing do.”

“Honey, I didn’t call to argue. I honestly had no idea Dad didn’t sell off his herd. But I’m good with you keeping the funds from your stock sale to tide you over until you find a teaching job. Instead of staying with us, you may want to rent an apartment in Billings or Missoula, whichever city you think offers the best opportunity for you. Of course your mom and I would rather you be in Billings. That way you can come on holidays to visit. Oh, your mom is just saying come stay over summer breaks, too, until you find some significant someone, get married and start a home of your own.”

Myra recognized the smile in his voice that surely came from her parents’ long-standing wish for her to get married. She wasn’t in any mood to humor them. “You still aren’t hearing me, Dad. I’m not leaving here. Not yet. I love this ranch. I realize we all owe former Lieutenant Maxwell a debt of gratitude. But he knows zero, zippo, not one thing about cattle. What happens to the Flying Owl, not if but when he flounders? When he realizes he’s in over his head, I want to be here to carry on. Then I’ll do my level best to convince Nate Gooding at the bank to lend me money to buy Maxwell out.”

“That’s preposterous, Myra. Do you have any idea what that land is worth? The property taxes alone are partly why I decided to gift the ranch to Eric’s friend.”

“And it never entered your mind to ask if I was interested in keeping the ranch? Aren’t Eric and I the only two in line to inherit from you and Mom? I assume he’ll take over Rolling Acres. I thought this was my legacy.”

“But...but you went to college when your brother chose the military. Before his obligation was up, he saw it was a mistake. He told us he’d be returning to the ranch. At the risk of sounding old-school, Myra, ranches belong in the hands of a competent man.”

She’d heard this before, but it still irritated her. “I can’t believe you said that. And man though he is, Zeke Maxwell is about as far from being a competent rancher as I’ve ever seen. The one thing in his favor so far, he’s begun to see it himself. This morning he offered me a job managing the Flying Owl. At the time I wasn’t sure I wanted to work for him. Now I think I’ll stay and hope by spring our city boy tires of Snowy Owl Crossing’s isolation. Sorry, Dad, I’ve gotta run. Hank Watson is trucking our calves to market tomorrow, so I’ve a full day’s weaning ahead of me.”

Hearing her dad sputter as she removed the phone from her ear, Myra disconnected. Fully expecting a callback from her mother, she tossed her phone down on her nightstand and charged out of the room.

She almost bowled Zeke over as she rushed into the living room. He was bent down peering inside one of her completed dollhouses.

“Sorry I spent so much time gabbing with Dad,” she said brightly. “Grab your gear. Time’s aʼwasting. We need to get busy sorting calves.”

“You look flushed. Is everything all right?” Zeke hurried after her, pausing to pluck his coat from the rack where he’d hung it by hers the night before.

“I’m fine, just running late.” She stepped out onto the porch and pulled on her boots.

Zeke followed her out and shut the door. “Will I need the hat with earflaps again?” he asked, watching Myra set a gray cowboy hat atop her taffy-colored waves.

“Separating calves from their mothers is sweaty work. You can probably get by wearing your baseball cap. Most ranchers favor a cowboy hat.” She left the porch and was met by a cold blast of wind. “It’s gonna be chilly when we begin. You won’t want to let body heat seep out through the top of your head. In this country it’s always smart to start the day wearing a hat.”