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He turned to the cowpoke working beside him. “If I’m lucky, I’ll only be a minute.” He released a gust of air. “More likely you’ll have time for a siesta.”
“Sounds good. Looks mighty good, too.” He winked. “If you need help, holler.”
“I’ll manage.” Though when it came to women, his past had taught him to curb expectations.
Matt strode to where the feisty female stood. Chin sky high, arms folded across her chest, she started yammering at him before he reached her.
He held up a palm. “Now slow down, little filly.”
Hannah stiffened. “Don’t call me that.”
“What’s wrong with filly?”
“I remind you of an awkward young horse?”
“Way back when, you reminded me of a newborn foal, all legs, yet I knew you’d be a beauty.”
Who could help noticing the red highlights in her auburn hair shooting sparks in the sunlight. Without thinking he lifted a hand to a tendril coiled along her jaw.
As if his touch branded her, she jerked back, but then gathered her wits and anger and leaned toward him.
You’re in for it now, Walker.
“Thanks to your meddling, our drovers are accustomed to taking orders from you and won’t listen to me.”
“Martin’s not up to running the ranch. A foreman needs someone looking over his shoulder, making sure the ranch operates efficiently. I stepped in because I had to.”
Those sky-blue eyes of hers narrowed in a vise of disapproval. “Isn’t it more that you want to take over the Lazy P?”
He snorted. “Why would I want to do that? I’ve got more work than I can handle here.”
“Good question. The only answer I can come to—you’re in it for the financial gain.”
Those were fighting words. If she’d been a man, her implications would’ve raised his fists. “If you knew anything about ranching, you’d know that profits are at a record low. I’m not earning a dime from the Lazy P.”
She harrumphed, as if she didn’t believe a word.
“Examine the books,” he ground out. “You won’t see any mysterious loss of funds. Your father is overseeing the accounts. Talk to him.”
“I will.” She whirled to go.
Why had he said that? “Wait, don’t. Leave him be.”
“My father has a right to know what’s going on.”
“Nothing’s going on.” Matt let out a breath. “He doesn’t need the worry. Not now.”
Alarm sprang to her eyes. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“That you’re going to ruin that land you love with your confounded stubbornness,” he said, edging away from the truth.
Martin was dying. Nothing she did, nothing Matt did could turn that tide.
The alarm faded, replaced with a stony stare. “I want you to talk to our hands. Tell them I’m in charge of our ranch.”
“I told you that cowpokes resent taking orders from a woman, especially one as young as you. That’s got nothing to do with me.”
“So you say, still I want you to make clear that I’ll be giving the orders until my father’s health improves.”
“Hannah, you need every ranch hand to keep things running. Cowboys are an independent bunch. If you get them riled, they’ll quit.”
A flash of doubt traveled her face, but then she squared her shoulders. “I’ll hire more.” She planted gloved hands on her hips. “Set them straight today. If you don’t, I’ll suspect you of malicious intent.”
“Get this straight, Miss Parrish. I’m not your lackey. I’ve got a ranch to run.”
“Then stop trying to run mine!”
He crossed his arms, stepping toward her until the toes of his boots touched her hem. “You’re one stubborn woman. I’ll enjoy watching you run your ranch into the ground.”
She looked stunned, as if he’d slapped her. His stomach gnarled with regret. Before he could apologize, she stomped to where Star grazed. With a swish of skirts, she mounted, then glared his way. “I can’t understand how good people like your folks got saddled with a son like you,” she said, then rode off.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been told off by a woman. He wasn’t partial to it, especially when he’d spent months slaving for her ranch.
Still, he’d let his temper get away from him.
Hannah might not believe it, but Tom would have no difficulty getting another position if he rebelled against a female boss. He couldn’t let her run the Lazy P into the ground. He owed Martin that much.
He’d talk to her. Apologize.
If the words didn’t stick in his throat.
* * *
Hannah rode hard for the Lazy P, every muscle tighter than a well-strung fence. She could’ve slapped Matt’s face for suggesting she’d run the ranch into the ground. That he’d enjoy seeing her fail. What cruel arrogance.
She’d accused him of swindling.
A sigh slid from her lips. Forgive me, Lord.
She didn’t really consider Matt a crook. Yet every word out of his mouth raised her hackles. Why, he’d even forbidden her to talk to her father. He doesn’t need the worry. Not now.
A shiver slid through her. What was Matt keeping from her?
On Parrish land, Hannah hauled on the reins and reversed direction. She’d ride to town. Visit Doc Atkins. Ask him what ailed her father.
The decision made, Hannah’s limbs and neck relaxed as she and Star soared over the familiar terrain. Horse and rider blending as one, the miles melted away. The freedom and exhilaration of the ride filled her with hope. Surely, nothing was terribly wrong with Papa.
On Main Street, Hannah tied Star to the hitching post and strode onto the walk, passing the weathered sign, Earl Atkins, M.D.
Inside, she rapped on the open door of the examining room.
“Miss Parrish. Heard you were back. Been expecting you.” The doctor motioned to a pressed-back chair across from the examining table. “Have a seat.”
Doc’s no-nonsense tone carried such authority Hannah dropped into the chair he’d indicated. A short man with white thinning hair and shaggy brows, his faded blue eyes often held a fierce expression, perhaps from handling the harsh realities of life and death. Today his eyes had softened with kindness.
“I’m worried about my father. He avoids talking about his health, but he can’t do much. He’s lost weight. His skin tone isn’t good.” The words escaped in a rush. She bit her lip, waiting for Doc to allay her fears.
With a sigh, Doc Atkins leaned against the examining table. “I’m sorry I don’t have better news. Martin’s got a cancerous tumor in his abdomen.”
Pain exploded in her chest. Tumor? Cancer? Papa? Her trembling fingers found her lips. “Oh, no.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Isn’t there an operation? A medicine?”
He shook his head. “I’ve done all I can. The specialist in Dallas agreed.”
“Papa saw a doctor in Dallas?”
“He treats nothing but cancer. He tried what he knew, but...”
The “but” said it all. She released a shuddering breath. Nothing could be done. “How...how long?”
“Only God knows, but he’s...failing fast. All I can do is ease his pain.”
Doc turned to an oak cabinet and withdrew a bottle. “I’ll send out more pain medication with you.” He scribbled the dosage, then handed her the paper and bottle. “Wish I could do more. If we’d found it sooner, he could’ve gone to St. Mary’s, an excellent hospital in Minnesota, but...I’m sorry.”
With herculean effort, she rose and walked to the door, her limbs slogging through an invisible thick haze, the shocking verdict vibrating with each step she took.
“See that he takes the medicine.” Doc laid a gentle hand on her arm. “I’ll be out to see him in a few days.”
“Are you sure this isn’t some horrible mistake?”
Doc shook his head, his eyes glistening. “I never get used to the losses, especially of someone like Martin.”
As if she were a sleepwalker, Hannah found herself outside, dazed and disoriented, her hope shattered. She leaned against the building, shivering in the glaring sunlight, head and heart pounding.
Papa is dying.
A sob tore up her throat. She stuffed a fist to her mouth, biting down on gloved knuckles. What would she do without him? Papa and the ranch were her life. A squeezing fist of fear encircled her neck, closing her throat. She lifted her gaze to heaven. Lord, help Papa. Help me handle this.
She breathed slowly. In. Out. In. Out.
As she did, her heart regained its rhythm. She straightened, tamping down the paralyzing panic. Papa needed her. Needed her to be strong. She wouldn’t waste precious time she could spend with her father wallowing in despair.
She pushed away from the clapboards, untied Star and rode for home, happy memories with Papa parading through her mind.
In the stable, she met up with Jake. Eyes averted, he toed the ground.
“What’s wrong?”
“Tom picked up his back pay, said he don’t see a future here.”
“He what?”
“Said he wouldn’t work for a woman today or tomorrow.” Jake sighed. “Our top hand went with him.” He huffed. “Was a time when a man took pride in riding for the brand.”
The news slammed into her like a stampeding herd. She fought for footing. Matt had been right. What would she do?
“You have a problem working for me, Jake?”
“Nope. Way I see it, money is money no matter who’s paying.” He met her gaze with moist eyes. “I reckon this here’s my home.”
“Thank you.” She laid a hand on his arm. “The Lazy P is your home and always will be.” If the ranch survived. But she wouldn’t say that.
“Want me to round up some new hands?”
“I’ll take care of it.” How, she didn’t know. But Jake would have more than enough to do.
Once the last heifer dropped her calf, they needed to drive the cattle into pens, brand and cut the calves. Without a foreman and only two hands, how could she handle roundup? Especially now that she’d told Matt to stay away?
She believed in God’s power. With every breath she took, she prayed for a miracle for her father. Without one, Papa wasn’t getting better. Tears stung her eyes. Her father had spent his life running the Lazy P. If Papa didn’t make it, she wouldn’t let the ranch die with him.
Lord, please give me wisdom. Show me how to keep the ranch.
Only yesterday her world seemed secure. Only yesterday her future brimmed with rosy hopes and dreams. Only yesterday she welcomed the challenge of running the ranch.
Today Papa was dying. The foreman had quit. Most of the hands had either been let go or quit. Only two drovers remained.
She took a calming breath, steadying her wobbly emotions, and headed inside the house. Outside her father’s room, she pinched color into her cheeks and forced a smile.
Papa was lying down but not asleep. The bed dwarfed him. The pale color of his skin matched the pillowcase beneath his head. Were the lines edged into his face lines of suffering?
“Hi, Papa,” she said, then set the pain medicine on his nightstand.
His gaze settled on the bottle. “You know.”
“Yes.” She dropped onto the bed and clasped one of his hands in both of hers. Tears burned the back of her eyes. She blinked them away.
“I’m sorry, Daughter. I’d hoped to keep it from you a little longer.” He raised his other hand, cupped her jaw. “I’d do anything to change things. To be here for you.”
“I know.” She sucked in a breath. “Tom and our top hand quit.”
As if warding off the bad news, Papa closed his eyes, then met her gaze. “You’ve got decisions to make. I’m sure Matt will step up and run things until you can sell the spread.”
“I won’t sell.”
“Hannah, you’ve got no choice. It’ll take a while, but we’ll manage. I’ll hang on as long as I can. When my time comes, I want you to return to Charleston, live with Mary Esther. They’ll treat you well, be the family you’ll need.”
