скачать книгу бесплатно
She’d hate to be responsible for an economic disaster, but she simply had no choice. She couldn’t be the proprietress of a drinking establishment and gambling house. It simply wasn’t proper. Besides, she had her heart set on opening a school. Now she wondered how she might fund it, if the town’s enterprises dwindled. Schools were often run on taxes. If Last Call had no thriving businesses, there would be no taxes.
“What am I going to do?” she said to herself.
Delilah tossed her a sober look. “You’re your pa’s girl, I can see that right off. You’ll do what’s right. That’s what he always did.”
“You thought a lot of him, didn’t you?”
She didn’t answer, and Dora took that as a yes.
Glancing back at Chance, she wondered, not for the first time, what he was hiding—or hiding from. If she closed the saloon now, she’d never find out. She’d also never get to know the woman whom she’d come to believe had known her father better than anyone else.
You’re your pa’s girl.
Was she?
That afternoon, while the staff was assembled in the dining room sharing their last Sunday dinner together, and while Chance Wellesley was across the hall packing his bag, Dora stood in front of the walnut bureau in her father’s bedroom and, for the first time since she’d arrived at the ranch, went through his personal belongings.
She realized she knew little about him except what she’d gleaned from his letters and what other people had told her. Opinions as to what kind of a man he was diverged wildly.
Her mother had called him reckless, a dreamer, a poor husband and an unsuitable father who’d abandoned them in favor of a carefree life. But that’s not the impression she’d gotten from speaking with the people she’d met here, or from reading his recently discovered letters to her.
Вы ознакомились с фрагментом книги.
Для бесплатного чтения открыта только часть текста.
Приобретайте полный текст книги у нашего партнера:
