* * *
Heartbeat echoing in her eardrums, Scarlett stepped into the old Victorian house, admiring the polished wooden floors. A million times she’d pictured the man who’d sired her, even though her childhood fantasies eventually became replaced with teenaged bitterness and, finally, adult acceptance. She’d never met him and hadn’t even known his name. Until she’d found her mother’s diary after her death and finally learned his name and address.
Hal Gardner of Anniversary, Texas.
Though at first she’d been frozen in fear, how could she not go meet him? She’d made the trip out west as fast as she could. Finally, here she stood. Hopeful, and trying not to be. Yearning, yet telling herself she’d made it thirty years without him, so it wouldn’t hurt at all if he refused to acknowledge her and ordered her to leave as the handsome younger man had.
“In here,” the tall, grumpy guy ordered, turning and leading the way. “He’s in the living room.”
Trailing along after him, she caught her breath at her first glimpse of a man who could only be her father. Sitting in front of the TV in a wheelchair. He looked frail, old, and she could see that he was ill from the pallor of his skin, the way his green eyes—the exact shade as her own—seemed to burn too brightly in his wan and lined face.
He wore his thinning gray hair combed to one side. His too skinny body appeared almost skeletal, though his smile seemed friendly enough. She caught a hint of skepticism in his expression, as though he also believed she might be here to try to sell him something.
Deliberately, she kept her expression neutral, though her steps faltered for a second before she regained her equilibrium.
“Well, ain’t you a pretty one,” the old man drawled. “Now tell me you ain’t with Wave Oil so I don’t have to throw you out.”
Suddenly struck dumb, she shook her head. “I’m not,” she managed. She’d rehearsed a speech a bunch of times while she’d searched for him. All of that seemed woefully inadequate now.
Cocking his grizzled head, he continued to study her. “You look awfully familiar. Like someone I used to know, many years ago.”
Finally, she found her voice. “My name is Scarlett. Scarlett Kistler. People always said I’m the spitting image of my mother, Maggie. Maggie Kistler.”
When she said her mama’s name, Hal stiffened. Suddenly alert, watchful even as he slid his gaze over her once more. “Maggie,” he breathed. “You do look an awful lot like her. Maggie Kistler was the love of my life.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Now there’s a name from the past. I always wondered what became of her.”
For the first time she realized her mother’s death might come as a shock to him. “She passed away,” she said softly. “Not all that long ago.”
He stared at her, disbelief and perhaps a brief flash of pain in his expression. “Was she ill? She wasn’t very old.”
Younger than he, that’s what he meant, Scarlett figured.
“She had breast cancer,” she said, her voice still going shaky when she said the awful words. She’d think she’d be used to the idea by now. She’d helped her mother fight for the last year and a half, and the word cancer had become an integral part of their vocabulary.
A shadow crossed his face. “Cancer. I hate cancer,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. He turned his face, giving her his hawklike profile while a muscle worked in his too-thin cheek.
Wondering if he also had some sort of cancer, she waited silently, not sure what to say. Her mother’s passing had drained her, made her realize she was now completely and utterly alone in the world. Without family. Until she’d found the diary, buried deep in a box of old photographs and mementos in the back of her mother’s closet. She’d realized she wasn’t actually alone. She had him. Her father. Whether he wanted to be or not. For the first time she wondered if he’d even been aware of her existence.
Finally, he swiveled his head to look at her again. “Why have you come here?” he rasped. “Surely you didn’t travel all this way to bring me news of her death.”
“No,” she admitted, glancing toward the doorway to see that the other man had remained, standing in a defensive stance just inside the doorway. As if he thought she might attempt bodily harm on the old man and he might have to jump in and perform a rescue. She wished he would leave, but lacked the nerve to ask him to go. Instead, she squared her shoulders and turned back to face the old man in the wheelchair.
“When my mother left you, she was pregnant,” she told him, holding her chin high and hoping her voice didn’t quiver with nerves. “I’m realizing you might not have been aware of that.” Another deep breath. Steady, steady. “That’s why I’m here. I wanted to meet you. I’m your daughter.”
Hal stared, his mouth working. “No,” he said faintly. “She wouldn’t have done that to me.”
Behind her, she was conscious of the other man moving into the room and toward her. A gesture from Hal’s age-spotted hand stopped him.
Scarlett refused to look away from her father, fully expecting him to deny her, demand proof, a DNA test. She wouldn’t blame him. Here she was, showing up after thirty years, a grown child he hadn’t even known he had.
“Why?” The plaintive question tore at her heart. “Why wouldn’t she have at least let me know?”
“I’m not sure. She was a proud woman,” she said softly. “She never even told me your name. All she would say was that she’d loved you once.”
Pain formed new creases in the loose skin on his face. He swore, looking away and covering his face with his shaking hands.
“You need to go.” The younger man grabbed her arm. “Don’t be bothering him with your ridiculous claims.”
Furious, she jerked away, glaring up at him. “Don’t even think you can sum up my life that way. I came here to meet this man—my father. This has nothing to do with you, whoever you are.”
Eyes hard, he started to speak.
“Wait,” Hal interceded. “She’s right, Travis. This is private, between the two of us.”
The other man shook his head. He wouldn’t go easy, she saw. “Don’t let her come in here and try to con you. I’m not sure what she wants, but she wants something. I can see right through her. She’s a gold digger, nothing more.”
“A gold digger?” She glanced around the room with its threadbare carpet and worn furniture in disbelief.
He snorted, opening his mouth again. Hal’s sharp bark of laughter forestalled him.
Her first reaction was hurt, that he found her somehow amusing. Her second, alarm as his laughter segued into a wheeze, then a round of jagged coughing that appeared to steal his breath away, making him gasp for air.
She rushed over, ignoring the other man completely. Once she reached the wheelchair, she wasn’t sure what to do. She settled for patting Hal’s hunched back as if he was a small child, making soothing sounds while praying he wouldn’t choke to death or something.
After a moment, he recovered. Swiping at his eyes with his gnarled fists, he flashed her a wan smile. “I want you to stay and visit awhile.”
The other man made a sound of protest, which both Scarlett and Hal ignored.
“You must be hungry,” Hal said. “After such a long trip. Let’s go into the kitchen and I’ll have my nurse’s aide make you something to eat.”
Nurse’s aide. She wanted to ask out loud if he was ill, though the question seemed so superfluous since he clearly was. With what, she didn’t know, though maybe he’d tell her.
Her mother had been much younger than him, so much so that Maggie had written in her diary that the two of them had kept their affair secret. She’d wanted to marry, but Hal had refused, saying it wouldn’t be fair in the future, when he’d become an old man and she remained a young woman still.
This had only served to break Maggie’s heart. She’d believed their love could easily
have survived such a test. Clearly, Hal had felt otherwise.
Scarlett followed the wheelchair into the kitchen, marveling at how easily he controlled it with his stick-thin arms. This room too had clearly seen better times. The faded linoleum had begun to crack and chip, and the wooden cabinets were scratched and dull.
She almost shook her head at the other man’s earlier comment. Why would she attempt to take anything from someone who clearly had so little? Her mother had left her wanting for nothing—their little home paid for, along with the proceeds from a nice life insurance policy. She had more than enough to open her own art gallery, a long-term goal of hers.
The nurse appeared, a stout, dusky-skinned, stern-faced woman with a mop of curly black hair. Seeing Scarlett, she smiled, which totally transformed her face. “A visitor!” she exclaimed, sounding delighted. “It’s been so long since someone came to see Mr. Hal. Have a seat, let me get you a tall glass of sweet tea.”
Smiling back, Scarlett pulled out a chair. “Thank you, I’d like that.”
“And something to eat,” Hal put in. “Please, Delilah. She’s come a long way to get here and I’ll bet she’s starving.”
“Definitely.” Delilah glanced toward the other room. “What about Travis? Will he be joining us?”
Travis. So that was the other man’s name. Who was he exactly? Did he work for her father or was Travis Hal’s son, her half-brother? She watched Hal carefully, curious to hear his answer.
“I think he went out to the barn,” Hal finally said. Catching Scarlett’s gaze, he grimaced. “Don’t mind him. He feels he has to look out for everyone, particularly me.”
“Does he work here?” she asked.
Hal smiled. “He’s my stepson and, yes, he runs the place.”
Stepson. So not related. She only nodded.
“Tell me about yourself,” Hal urged, covering her hand with his. The gnarled and age-spotted fingers made her inexplicably feel like crying. “After all, I have thirty years to catch up on.”
Delilah placed two plates in front of them. Huge sandwiches, overflowing with chicken and lettuce and tomato, as well as a generous dollop of potato salad, and a pickle. She beamed at Scarlett as she placed tall, sweating glasses of iced tea on the table. “Y’all let me know if you need anything else, okay?”
“This looks fantastic,” Scarlett said. “Thank you so much.”
Looking from one to the other, Hal nodded. “Yes, thank you, Delilah.”
“You’re welcome. Now, Scarlett, how long are you staying? Would you like me to make up one of the guest beds for her, Mr. Hal?”
“Please,” he rasped, before eyeing Scarlett. “If that’s all right with you? I’d really like you to stay as long as you like.”
“I’d love that,” she responded softly. “And Delilah, I don’t want to make extra work for you. If you’ll just leave the linens on the dresser, I can make the bed up myself.”
“As if,” the older woman sniffed. “Not in my lifetime. I’ll get everything ready for you myself.” She bustled off without a backward glance.
Hal chuckled, but his smile disappeared the instant the nurse was out of sight. Grimacing, he pushed his plate away. “She keeps trying to get me to eat, even though she’s a nurse and should know better. It’s hard for me to eat much these days.”
Scarlett squeezed his hand. “Please try, for me. You’ve got to keep your strength up so you can get better.”
Though a slight frown creased his forehead, as if her comment baffled him, he didn’t argue. Instead, he released her fingers and made a show out of lifting up his own sandwich. He took a huge bite, winking at her, and then nearly gagged as he tried to swallow.
Concerned, she jumped out of her chair and went around to pat him on the back. “Are you all right? Should I call Delilah?”
“I’m fine,” he rasped, eyes watering as he waved her away. “Just swallowed wrong. Sit down and enjoy your food.”
Heart still pounding, she sat back down. Still watching Hal closely, she picked up her sandwich, struggling to keep parts of it from falling out. Her stomach rumbled as she took a big bite. Not wanting to appear ravenous, which she was, she chewed slowly, even though she wanted to wolf the entire thing down.
Some of the tightness in her chest eased as Hal took another, much smaller bite. Maybe this was going to be all right after all.
It appeared she’d be staying. As she walked out to her car to retrieve her bags, she resisted the urge to do a happy jig. Honestly, she’d been hoping her father would invite her to spend some time getting to know him. There was nothing like the death of the person you believed to be your only parent to make one feel rudderless and alone.
Grief slammed into her. She missed her mama. Maggie had been fascinating and lively, a bright light in Scarlett’s world. She had also been mercurial, flitting from one thing to another as her interest dictated. But she’d loved Scarlett fiercely, and the two of them had been close. Maggie had supported Scarlett’s interest in the arts, even when another parent might have insisted she get her degree in something practical, like business or education.
And now Maggie was gone too soon, though she’d fought long and hard. Scarlett had been forced to bury her terror and sorrow, offering her support as she watched her vivacious flame of a mother burn down to a smoldering ember, and finally ashes.
Learning about her father had pulled Scarlett away from the depths of her grief. Even though she hadn’t realized Hal was sick. From the looks of him, whatever ailed him was serious.
Dagnab it, she wasn’t sure she had the fortitude to go through this again. Right now, she knew she’d do whatever it took to get Hal well. With or without the taciturn Travis’s support.
Chapter 2
After Hal informed him Scarlett would be staying in the main house for as long as she wanted, Travis took himself home. He didn’t say a word to Vivian or Amber about Hal’s visitor. They’d find out about her soon enough and he didn’t feel up to attempting to answer all their questions. Especially since he knew so little himself.
Scarlett Kistler. Gorgeous, sexy and totally out of her league on a working cattle ranch. Was she really Hal’s daughter? Her eyes were the same shape and color as his, but otherwise Travis saw little resemblance. Regardless, this woman, with her bright green eyes and her false air of sincerity, had come at the worst possible time, right as Hal appeared to be losing his battle with whatever mysterious illness attacked his body.
To be objective, on the plus side, as Hal neared the end of his journey, Scarlett’s appearance offered him the one thing he’d always craved and never had. Family. Despite the fact that Travis considered Hal his father, and vice versa, Travis would always only be a stepson. He wasn’t blood, wasn’t true kin. Though Hal had never said so to Travis, he’d told Vivian that the lack of a son or daughter of his own was one of his biggest regrets. Vivian, who never could keep a secret to save her life, had passed this on to Travis without a thought for how this knowledge might make him feel.
Most days, Travis tried not to think about not being Hal’s actual son. When he’d been younger, he’d often hoped the rancher would adopt him, but Hal never had. And now, it was too late. He couldn’t change anything, and things were what they were. He’d do as he always did—work hard and take care of Hal and the others as best he could. If this dark-haired newcomer brought Hal happiness, Travis wasn’t one to begrudge him that.
And if Scarlett had ulterior motives for being there, hopefully she’d look around the decaying Victorian and realize Hal didn’t have ready access to huge sums of money. Most of his savings had been depleted trying to find out what was wrong with him.
As for his assets... There was the ranch, of course. And the livestock. Oh, and the fact that oil had been found on neighboring pastures. Once she learned about that moneymaking potential, she’d probably be all over the oil company’s offers li
ke a flea on a dog. Vivian and Amber certainly were.
Travis couldn’t worry about that. He had enough on his shoulders as it stood. No matter whether Scarlett was the real deal or not, her very presence had the potential to break Hal’s heart.
Damned if he’d let it get to that. For now, he’d keep an eye on her. But the second she gave the slightest inclination toward trying to use Hal in any way, Travis would immediately put a stop to it. He’d get rid of her, offer her money, whatever it took. And make sure she told a good, believable story so Hal would be none the wiser.
The next morning, up before sunrise as usual, he chugged down a large cup of strong black coffee and ate his usual breakfast of eggs, bacon and toast. Though he normally stopped by and had breakfast with Hal, he wasn’t up for dealing with Scarlett first thing before starting his day.
Like always, he had a long list of chores to take care of. Today, he planned to repair some fence line on one of the remote pastures. Most of those were best accomplished on horseback. Eager to get started, he saddled up his best gelding and headed out.
Riding always soothed away any ill temper or worries. The motion of the horse under his saddle, the connection he shared with the animal, felt better than driving any machine made by man. He checked on some fence line under repair before joining up with a couple of ranch hands bringing in a herd of cattle. By the time they’d gotten them into the new pasture, he was tired and dirty and hungry. And it wasn’t even much past noon yet.
He headed back in, figuring he’d stop by and see Hal and have lunch. Might as well check on how things were going between the old rancher and his new daughter.
When he reached the barn, he saw Scarlett perched on a bale of straw. Today, she wore another brightly colored dress and bright red high-heeled shoes. She looked both exotic and completely out of place. And much more beautiful than she had a right to be.
Texas Ranch Justice Page 2
