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Matt stifled a sigh. How could he make her understand what was at stake? Cowhands saw her as the boss’s daughter, more capable than many perhaps, but still young and inexperienced, hardly prepared to run a spread like the Lazy P.
“It’s not about money, Hannah. It’s about respect. Something that’s earned, not bought.”
Alarm traveled her face. She sighed, clasping trembling hands in front of her. “You make a point. I’ll need to earn their respect and earn it fast.”
Respect wasn’t earned overnight. Nor were these men eager to give it. But to say more would get her dander up. “Let me handle things for now.”
“You’re no longer needed here.” She pinned him with a fierce, chilling gaze. “I don’t want your interference.”
If looks could kill, Matt would be a dead man.
How would Martin have managed if Matt hadn’t—as she called it—interfered? He’d call it lending a hand, being neighborly. How in tarnation did the dainty debutante think she’d manage roundup?
Not his concern. She’d made that abundantly clear.
He jammed his Stetson on his head and swung into the saddle. Without a backward glance, he nudged Thunder in the flanks and rode in the direction of the Circle W, the peace of the starry night shattered.
Hannah Parrish had no concept of the trouble looming on the horizon. Trouble she’d bring on herself, as if she needed more.
She saw him as an enemy instead of an ally. Any action he took, she’d misconstrue. He’d warned her, it was all he could do. Except for checking on Martin and looking after his needs, Matt would stay clear of the little spitfire.
How long before her plan to run the Lazy P singlehandedly blew up in her face?
* * *
A rooster’s call pierced the muggy morning air drifting through the open window. Hannah stirred then opened her eyes, stretching languidly, relishing the pleasure of waking in her own bed.
A smile curved her lips. In the dream she’d had, a handsome cowboy, tall, dark, held her in his arms.
She reared upright. All the events of yesterday slid into her sleep-fogged brain, rousing her faster than a cold dip in a horse tank. Her stomach knotted, as she recalled Matt’s attitude toward women, and Papa’s poor health and sudden determination to make her a lady.
Lady or not, she had work to do. Last night she’d looked the part of debutante. Today she’d show Matt Walker, her father and the Lazy P cowhands she could run this ranch, if need be, wearing skirts. That ought to earn their respect. And wipe that smug smile off Matt’s face.
Hannah donned a pair of denims and a shirt, her hands trembling. What if she failed to earn the crew’s respect? What if they wouldn’t listen to her? What would she do then?
One glance around her room’s familiar belongings slowed her breathing. The quilt her mother had stitched, the rocker beside the open window, curtains rustling in the morning breeze. Peaceful, normal.
Her stomach clenched. With Papa ill, normal had fled faster than a calf freed after branding.
At the washstand, she splashed water on her face and brushed her teeth, then ran a fingertip over the chip on the blue-and-white ironstone bowl, the result of a carelessly tossed hairbrush years before.
Her possessions might not be perfect but this room was an oasis in a world flipped upside down. “Oh, please, God, don’t let Papa...” Her voice trailed off, the possibility too horrible to speak aloud.
Surely things weren’t as dire as they appeared. She took a calming breath. She’d see that Papa ate well and got plenty of rest. Whether Matt believed in her ability or not, she’d run the ranch, gladly taking the burden from her father and returning the operation of the Lazy P to its rightful owners.
She braided her hair, shoved her feet into scuffed boots, grabbed her leather gloves and Stetson, then strode out the door.
In the kitchen, Rosa removed a pan of biscuits from the oven.
“How’s Papa this morning?”
“Sleeping. You up with rooster.”
“I’m heading out to help with the chores.”
“I fix big breakfast when you finish.”
“Thanks.”
Hannah downed a hot biscuit and coffee, then strode to the stable. A few feet away, the pungent odor of manure and horseflesh teased her nostrils, softened by the sweet smell of hay, a welcome relief from the overpowering scents of potpourri and eau de cologne permeating her aunt’s house.
She stepped into the dim interior and a ray of sunlight dancing with dust motes lit a path to Star’s stall. As she approached, she spoke the mare’s name.
With a nickered greeting, Star poked her bronze head over the stall door, bobbing it in recognition.
Hannah pulled the mare’s nose against her shoulder, rubbing the white irregular shape that earned her name. “Oh, I’ve missed you,” Hannah murmured. “Later today I’ll take you out.”
Hannah grappled with the feed sack, watching the oats tumble end over end into the feedbox. A sense of peace filled her. Here in the stable, among crusty cowpokes, unpredictable livestock and her steadfast steed, she fit. This life filled her as she’d filled Star’s feedbox, to the brim, to overflowing.
Across the way, Jake Hardy lugged two buckets of water into the stable. Stooped and wiry, he’d worked on the Lazy P for as long as Hannah could remember. “Hi, Jake.”
“Well, welcome home, Miz Hannah!” Jake entered Star’s stall and tipped water into the trough. “Star missed you something fierce. Reckon lots of folks like me are glad you’re back, specially your pa.”
“Thanks, Jake. How’s that back?”
He grinned, revealing the gap between his front teeth. “’Bout what you’d expect for an old coot throwed too many times from breaking broncos.”
“Any news from your niece?”
The light in Jake’s gray eyes dimmed. “No idea where Lorna’s gone off to. I don’t mind telling ya, she’s got me worried. What kind of a woman leaves her child?”
What else had Papa kept from her? “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“My sis is taking care of Lorna’s girl, Allie.”
Lord, help Lorna do what’s right. “I’ll pray for her.”
A smile crinkled his leathery face. “’Preciate it.”
If anything happened to Jake’s sister Gertie, Jake would have to take care of Allie. He wouldn’t know what to do with a seven-year-old girl any more than Hannah would.
Finished with the morning chores, Hannah glanced outside. “Do you know where I can find Tom?”
“I’ll fetch him.” Jake hobbled toward the bunkhouse, pitched forward from the waist, his legs curved as if permanently astride. Thanks to multiple injuries, Jake looked older than his years, but he was sinewy, his disabilities didn’t slow him down.
While she waited, Hannah checked the tack room. Oiled leather hung on the wall. The horses looked well cared for. Even with Papa’s poor health, the ranch appeared to be operating efficiently. How much credit was Matt’s? How much was Tom’s?
She wandered outside and spied the foreman rounding the corner of the corral, ambling toward her, his frame reed thin, a bandana around his neck, spurs jangling. She raised a hand in greeting.
He touched his hat. “You looking for me, Miss Hannah?”
“I want to thank you for keeping the ranch running smoothly.”
“Just doing my job.”
“Before I left for Charleston, my father and I discussed the need for a well on the south range. When I arrived yesterday, I noticed nothing had been done. I’d like you to get the digging underway first thing tomorrow. I’ll arrange for a windmill.”
Tom removed his hat and scratched the back of his head. “The boss didn’t mention nothing about another well.”
“With his illness, the plan must’ve slipped his mind.” She knew ranching. Soon Tom, the entire crew, would see that too, and give her respect. “Progressive ranchers don’t rely on nature to supply water to their herds.”
Tom shuffled his feet. “I’ll check with the boss.”
That was the last thing Papa needed. Hannah bristled. “That won’t be necessary.”
“Ain’t no trouble.” The foreman tipped his hat, polite enough, but the sullen look in his eyes said otherwise.
As she watched Tom clomp to the house, an unsettling sense of foreboding gripped her, squeezing against her lungs. What would she do if Tom refused to work for her? How could she run the ranch? From the conversation at the table last night, the cows were dropping calves. That meant roundup was only a few weeks away, which was the reason she’d wanted to get the well dug now. Perhaps she’d been hasty in pushing the issue with the foreman.
Across the way, Matt emerged from the house, swung into the saddle and rode toward the Circle W. No one paid a social call at this hour. She sighed. More likely, he’d helped her father dress and shave. Thoughtful of him and easier on Papa’s pride than turning to her or Rosa for assistance.
Had Matt heard Tom question her authority with Papa? Perhaps, if she asked him to intervene, he’d set Tom straight. But she wouldn’t ask. She couldn’t build respect with the men if she didn’t handle things herself.
She strode to the house and met Tom coming out. The smug expression he wore steeled her spine.
“Ain’t going to be no well dug,” he said.
Was her father too ill to stick to his plan, to stand up to his foreman? “Do you think you’re running this ranch?”
“Nope.” He guffawed. “Appears you ain’t either.”
Hannah stepped around him. Inside she found Papa at his desk, dressed and freshly shaven.
“Morning, daughter. Have a seat.” He looked at his hands, instead of meeting her gaze. “We need to talk.”
With an arrowed spine, she sat across from him, her hands knotted in her lap.
“A company back east is buying up land in the area. No reason they won’t buy our spread. Without the responsibility of the Lazy P, you’ll be free to return to Charleston.”
Never. But she wouldn’t upset him with a refusal.
“Papa, can we discuss this later? I just talked to Tom. He claims you don’t want a well dug on the south range.”
Martin motioned to the books spread in front of him. “That was the plan but we’ve had a tough year. Last year’s low beef prices and high costs have put the ranch in jeopardy.”
Why hadn’t Papa told her all this? Did he see her as some fragile female unable to face realities?
“I’ve curtailed expenses. Had to let two hands go.”
“If I’d known about our financial trouble, I wouldn’t have made a fool of myself in front of Tom.”
“What Tom thinks doesn’t matter.” The steely determination in his eyes, something she rarely saw, stabbed into her. “What I think does. Denims aren’t fitting for a lady. Change into one of your dresses. If you want to help, help Rosa in the kitchen.”
With roundup a few weeks away, how could Papa relegate her to the kitchen? If this drought didn’t end soon, they risked overgrazing the land and would need to thin the herd. That meant punching cattle to Fort Worth right after roundup. With only two drovers and Tom, she’d need to lend a hand.
Besides, what if Rosa resented the interference? Years of managing the house had proved she didn’t need help.
Roundup wasn’t the huge undertaking it had been when cattle freely roamed the range. Still, how did Papa expect to handle branding the calves without her? Or if rain didn’t come, driving cattle to Fort Worth to sell without her?
Her breath caught. Was Papa too ill to grasp the work that loomed? “Papa, with few drovers, what’s your plan for handling roundup?”
“Matt and I were talking about that this morning. He’ll bring a couple of the Circle W hands. We’ll get by.”
“Why isn’t the Walker ranch struggling, too?”
“Things are tight, sure, but they’re a bigger operation. Better set financially.”
Were the Walkers hoping to pick up the Lazy P for a song?
She wouldn’t sit back and twiddle her thumbs. If dresses pleased her father, she’d work in dresses. She’d ride astride in dresses. She’d run this ranch in dresses. But she wouldn’t turn over their ranch to anyone.
In her room, she changed into one of the simple dresses she’d owned before Charleston, then joined her father in the kitchen for breakfast. Rosa had prepared hotcakes, eggs, steak, biscuits and gravy—food to keep a working man and woman going.
Throughout the long day, she tested the corral, the gates, then rode fence, assisting with repairing barbed wire, as she had before she left for Charleston. The cowpokes tipped their hats and spoke politely, treated her like a lady.
But, when she gave instructions, they played deaf or openly rebelled. By the day’s end, she’d seen and heard enough to know their hands and foreman were used to taking orders from Matt, but refused to listen to her.
Matt had used the pretense of helping her sick father to worm his way into running the Lazy P. Why would he do that? Did he expect to benefit financially?
She saddled Star and rode for the Circle W, determined to have it out with the man.
Chapter Three
Trouble in a skirt was heading Matt’s way. Trouble he’d tried to avoid by doing exactly as Hannah asked. Except for helping Martin dress and shave, he’d kept his distance from the Lazy P. So why the long face?
Unless—
His heart skidded. Had Martin taken a bad turn?
No, by the looks of that ramrod posture, the no-nonsense set of her shoulders and those flashing eyes, the filly was out for blood.
His.
As if she were a bounty hunter and his face topped a Wanted poster, Hannah had tracked him to the far border of the Circle W. Not that she looked like any bounty hunter he’d ever seen. Her feminine dress was hiked to reveal dusty-toed boots in the stirrups. Her black Stetson slung low completed an enticing mix of female and rancher that would’ve held an appeal, if not for that bloodthirsty look in her eyes.
He removed his hat, swiped the sweat off his brow and then arched his back, stretching achy muscles. With his pa slowing down, Zack a big-city lawyer and Cal overseeing his in-laws’ spread, Matt barely kept up with the work. He slapped his hat in place. Now he had to take time to deal with an irate female.
She dismounted, standing there waiting.
