“She has an English degree.”
“How many family histories has she written?”
“I don’t want a professional,” Mae snapped. “I know how they are. You tell them things and they put down what they want. Well, if I’m going to do this, I want it to be right. I want it to do justice to the family.”
There was another skeptical laugh. “I doubt she’s up to it.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I saw her.”
“When? How? She just got here a couple of hours ago.”
“Gib stopped off by the pens.”
“He didn’t!”
“He did.”
“I’ll have his hide for that! Of all the stupid—”
“I’ve already torn a strip off him. No need for you to do more.”
“He knows better!”
“I said, I’ve seen to it. Let’s don’t get off the subject.”
“She’s my choice, Rafe.”
Without being able to see them, Shannon could only imagine what was happening. But it wasn’t hard for her to interpret the tense silence that followed Mae Parker’s last statement as an increase in anger.
“Choice!” Rafe spit out the word, proving Shannon correct. “What is she?” he demanded. “Some kind of prize heifer? Good bloodlines? Good yield?”
“You’ve been out on the range too long, Rafe. You’re getting coarse.”
“Me? You’re the one who’s trying to ram this thing through.”
“I simply asked her to stay with us while she recovers.”
“Nothing you do is simple, Aunt Mae! But it’s not going to work. Not with me. You stay out of my life!”
Shannon slid out of bed and trod softly to the open door. Even under the best of circumstances the altercation would have been hard to follow as they jumped from one subject to another. More unsettling, though, was that each subject they touched on seemed somehow to involve her. Shannon hovered in the doorway, waiting for what would happen next.
Nothing happened next. She heard Mae go into the house and shut the door behind her, and Rafe’s footsteps as he walked away.
Unable to stop herself, Shannon stepped outside and peered over the balcony railing onto the packed gravel drive that fronted the house. Still dressed in the same dirty jeans and chaps he’d worn earlier, Rafe had paused to talk to the dog, who’d followed him. As she watched, Shep dropped to the ground and rolled onto his back in a flagrant plea for attention. Rafe hesitated, then pushing his hat back on his head, squatted down to rub the dog’s exposed belly. When one of Shep’s hind legs started to kick as Rafe’s fingers found a particularly itchy spot, Rafe chuckled.
“You’ve missed me, haven’t you, boy?” He spoke warmly, in marked contrast to his earlier anger. “Well, I’ve missed you, too. I could’ve used your help a coupla’ times, that’s for sure.”
The dog continued to enjoy his rub, and it was only when Rafe gave him a final pat and stood up that Shep rolled back over, shook his head and sneezed happily.
“I’ve got more work to do, boy,” Rafe said. “You go curl up on the porch, and I’ll be back as soon as I can. Then we’ll get us some serious time together.” As if the dog understood exactly what Rafe had said, his tail gave an agreeable swish and he trundled back to the porch.
Rafe resettled his hat and started to turn away, but some second sense must have alerted him to the fact that he was being watched. His tall leanly muscled body tensed, and without faltering, he looked up and caught Shannon staring at him.
Shannon froze as their gazes met. And suddenly—it was the craziest sensation—she felt as if she was being transported back in time, to a period when rugged cowboys were a part of everyday life. One of them stood on the path in front of her right now. From the steady burn of his dark gaze to the firm set of his square jaw to the straight line of his mouth—it was easy to see that this was a man apart. A man who survived on instinct and raw nerve. A man who would never run from danger.
The impression faded rapidly, yet not before Shannon’s heart had jumped into her throat and her fingers clung tightly to the rail for support.
He said nothing and neither did she. It was a relief when be turned away. Shannon’s gaze didn’t leave him until he was out of sight.
Releasing a tremulous breath, Shannon shook her head to clear it. Normally she wasn’t the type to indulge in fantasies. It must have been the strain she’d been under or the tension of the long journey here.
She slipped back into the room and closed the door, locking it firmly, as if by doing so she could protect herself from further disturbing illusions.
What she couldn’t hide from, though, was the prominent part she had played in the argument she’d overheard. What did it mean? Rafe didn’t like it that she was a Bradley or that Mae had asked her to help write the family history? Both of those aspects troubled Shannon. Especially now, in light of Rafe’s revelation that he’d once arranged for a professional writer to do the job and Mae had rejected him. Even more puzzling was Rafe’s intimation that an ulterior motive was at work. And how Mae’s use of the word “choice” had further set him off.
Shannon sank onto the bed and stared blankly at the glass-paneled balcony door. In the end, though, what did any of it matter? Her mother was gone. Her father was gone. James was gone. She was completely alone, and all she could see ahead of her was a great gaping emptiness.
~*~
Shannon had intended to stay in her room for the rest of the evening, but restlessness drove her downstairs. She found Mae in the dining room, seated at the head of a long highly polished table.
“Ah! I didn’t expect you to join me,” the older woman said. “Come sit down. Sit here beside me.”
There was a warmth in her tone that Shannon had never heard before.
“Marie,” Mae called toward the kitchen, “bring another plate. Shannon is going to eat dinner with me.”
The door swung open and Marie entered the room with a plate, silverware, glass and linen napkin. She arranged them in front of Shannon without a word.
Mae continued to smile, her strong features cloaked in graciousness.
“Did you rest?” she asked.
“I slept, yes,” Shannon replied.
“Good. Nothing’s quite so good for an ailing body as sleep. Now, I hope you aren’t one of those people who eat only vegetables. If you are, we can handle it. But if you’re not, you’re in for a treat. Marie’s husband, Axel—you haven’t met him yet—he’s been out on roundup with Rafe. Rafe is my great-nephew,” she paused to explain, “and he manages the ranch. I believe you’ve met him? Anyway—” she dismissed the notion when Shannon gave no sign of concurrence "—after Axel finished feeding the men for the day, he got home just in time to fix something special for us. Don’t get me wrong, Marie’s a fine cook. But Axel has a special touch, especially with meat. He can finesse a steak to perfection.”
“I’m not very hungry,” Shannon said.
Mae’s eyes narrowed. “You have to eat to keep up your strength.”
Shannon shrugged.
“I’ll tell Marie to give you a small portion.”
“Thank you,” Shannon murmured.
The steak turned out to be as good as promised, tender and succulent and cooked to a turn. Shannon, who hadn’t been at all hungry when she sat down, found herself clearing her plate of it, as well as the baked potato and the fresh green beans that accompanied the meat. She smiled faintly as she put down her fork.
“Good for you!” Mae said approvingly.
“I haven’t eaten that much since—” Shannon stopped.
“Then it’s high time you did!” Mae didn’t allow her to focus on the dreadfulness of the past. “Now, how about some nice peach cobbler for dessert?”
Marie had arrived to clear away their plates. “It’s really good today,” she contributed.
Shannon shook her head. “No, I couldn’t. I truly couldn’t.”
“Coffee, then,” Mae
suggested. “I’ll have that, as well, Marie.”
The housekeeper bustled out of the room and within seconds they each had a cup of coffee set before them.
For her part, Shannon felt she had exhausted every bit of small talk she could think of during the meal. Only one thing kept circling in her mind, and so far she’d avoided broaching the subject, but since it was something she was concerned about... “I overheard you and your nephew talking earlier,” she said levelly. “The door to the balcony was open and...”
“And we weren’t being very quiet,” Mae inserted when Shannon hesitated.
“No,” Shannon agreed.
“I doubt if you’d been standing right beside us it would’ve made a difference. Rafe’s like me. When we have something to say, we say it.”
“I heard what he said about the professional writer.”
“And you heard my reply?”
“Yes, but—”
“There’s no ‘but’ about it. I’m doing what I want to do.”
Shannon dipped the spoon in her cup and stirred her coffee, even though she didn’t take either sugar or cream. “I told you before I have no experience compiling something of that sort. If it was merely a ploy to get me here, you don’t have to go through with it. I’m grateful that you’ve opened your home to me. If I can pay you back in another way, I will. But you don’t have to continue to—”
Mae leaned forward, cutting off Shannon’s words. “I was eighty-one years old my last birthday. I don’t do anything because I have to. The man Rafe wanted me to talk to about the history did a credible job with the Clearys’, but I know for a fact that things they wanted put in he left out, and things they wanted left out he put in!”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“Exactly.”
“There’s something else,” Shannon continued. “I got the feeling that your nephew—”
“Great-nephew. His daddy was my brother Jeff’s son.”
“—that your great-nephew wasn’t happy about my being here, and not just because of the family history.”
Mae sat back guardedly. Shannon could see the woman’s impressive mind at work. Her lips, like her great-nephew’s, were a straight line, her dark eyes steady. She, too, had the feel of another age, but also of someone who knew how to bend and maneuver and twist other people to achieve an end. After a moment, she said, “Rafe is under the unfortunate impression that I’ve brought you here to make a match between you.”
Shannon wasn’t sure she had heard her correctly. “A match?” she repeated.
“Of course,” Mae went on, “it’s all in his mind. It's not something you need to worry about.”
“But that's impossible!” Shannon burst out.
“Silly,” Mae agreed.
“But—”
“He’ll get over it.” Mae dismissed all concern with an airy wave of her hand. “We both know why you’re here—to get well and to help me with the book. And that’s all that matters.”
“But if he thinks...”
“Who cares what he thinks?”
Shannon took a sip of her coffee, only to push the remainder away. She couldn’t drink it. The dinner she’d eaten was making her stomach churn. She didn’t know why she was so disturbed. Because of James? Because the thought of being with someone else seemed so...repugnant?
Memories of James swept over her. The sweetness of his smile, of his touch, the funny way he frowned when he concentrated on something. The way he’d sat in the plane, unmoving, unresponsive.
“I’m sorry, I...” Shannon struggled to her feet.
“Of course.” Mae pushed her chair back, as well. “I shouldn’t have kept nattering on at you. Today has all been rather much of a strain. Not to mention yesterday.”
“Yes,” Shannon breathed.
“If there’s anything you need—more towels, an extra blanket—don’t hesitate to ask.”
“I won’t.”
Shannon left the room as quickly as she could.
~*~
Since reaching adulthood Rafe had always made it a practice to personally acknowledge the work of each cowboy who participated in the roundup, both temporary and regular employees alike. He shook hands with each of them as they lined up outside the cook’s shed to receive their pay. At his side was the ranch foreman, Dub Hughes. They were all still a pretty scruffy lot, himself included. But there was only so much a person could do under primitive conditions. The hands who called the bunkhouse home, had managed a shower. The others would make do with only a cursory wash at a couple of outdoor faucets before heading for their own homes or accommodations found in some border town where they’d raise a little hell.
“You comin’ to Ojinaga with us, Rafe?” he was asked more than once. “Do you good. Girls are pretty and the whiskey’s cheap.”
“Got a few things to do around here yet,” he replied. “Might catch up with you, though.”
“You do it!” came the exuberant reply. “Ojinaga sure is the place to have fun. Hell, bring ol’ Dub along with you. He can probably show us all a thing or two.”
“Damn right,” Dub agreed, but he kept his attention on the next cowboy up, to be sure he handed him the right check.
In another hour, all the gear—saddles, bedrolls, clothes bags, ropes—had been stowed in various cars and trucks, and the temporary hands, always the first to leave, were speeding down the road to the accompaniment of honking horns and blaring music. Fifteen minutes after that everyone else had gone, too, either to follow the others to the Mexican border town or to wend their way home to waiting wives or girlfriends.
Truly able to call his time his own again for the first time in a month, Rafe walked over to the pens and leaned his elbows on the weathered rail, his senses taking in the stillness of the scene after the earlier controlled chaos. The sun dipped below the horizon, leaving behind a fresh coolness.
“Can’t see why a man’d want to do anythin’ else,” Dub said as he assumed a similar position at Rafe’s side.
Dub was old enough to be Rafe’s father. In fact, he was the father of Rafe’s best friend, Morgan. Rafe had spent many a childhood hour over at the Hugheses’ house in Little Springs division, one of the nine divisions of the Parker Ranch.
“Me, neither,” Rafe agreed.
Both men let the welcome silence caress them. Then Dub said, “Whole deal went pretty well this year. Didn’t lose a horse or a man, and the cattle weighed in respectable.”
Rafe nodded.
“Wish you was goin’ with ’em?” Dub asked, jerking his head the direction most of the cowboys went.
“Sometimes,” Rafe admitted, smiling slowly at the older man. At six-one Dub was almost his height, and despite his sixty-three years, he could ride all day working cattle, sleep rough at night, then be up at sunrise the next morning ready to go. Dub could put some of the younger men to shame and often did, harassing them with a sharp yet humorous tongue. “What about you?” Rafe asked.
Dub took off his hat and rubbed his grimy forehead with the back of his hand. “Sometimes.” He grinned, sharing the joke.
“Of course you’d have Delores to face when you got back.”
“I’d rather wrestle a mountain lion! Nothin’ stoppin’ you, though. Why don’t you go with ’em? Have a little fun.”
Rafe’s answer was a shrug.
“It’s not still Rosemary, is it?” Dub asked after another quiet moment.
“Nah. That was over and done with a long time ago.”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you cut loose.”
Rafe barked a laugh and turned to look at his gray-haired mentor and friend. “Have you been talking to Mae?”
“Good glory no!”
“Then why are you so interested in my sex life all of a sudden?”
“Your— That wasn’t what I meant!”
“What then?”
“I just— Oh, hell! I didn’t mean that! Well, I did, but not in the same way as Mae, that’s for sure.”<
br />
“You mean something temporary.”
“I’m gettin’ in deeper here than I planned. Forget I said anythin’. You’re old enough to take care of yourself.”
“I’d better be. Mae has a prospect visiting.”
“That young filly with Gib? She looked kinda peaked.”
“She’s been sick.”
“Must’ve been pretty bad.”
“Plane crash.”
“When did you find all this out?”
“When I came in a few days ago to confirm the truck schedules,” Rafe replied.
“You didn’t say nothin’.”
“What’s to say?”
“Well—” Dub’s tone was sympathetic “—you sure can’t get Mae to change her mind.”
“I can’t even get her to admit she’s planning something!”
Dub slapped his hat against his worn chaps and shook his head. “Bad deal all round. That woman’s as stubborn as she is smart.”
“That’s the truth.”
Dub shook his head again in sympathy, then he stuffed his hat back in place and said, “Well, I’m on my way, if that’s all right with you. I wanna scrape this ten pounds of West Texas dirt off me, then sit in a nice rockin’ chair with a bottle of cold beer and forget I ever knew anythin’ ’bout cows and cowboys.” He started off with his familiar awkward gait, a man who’d spent more of his life on a horse than he had with his feet on the ground.
“Take a day off, Dub. Make Delores extra happy.”
“In a house full a grandkids?” The older man guffawed. “More like she’d put me to work changin’ diapers.” He hauled himself into the one remaining vehicle parked outside the pens, a dust-covered light green pickup with the Parker Ranch insignia barely visible on the door.
“Take her to town then,” Rafe suggested.
The truck started after a short engine grind. “Just might do that,” Dub agreed. “You think Jodie’d come over and stay with the kids awhile?”
“Be there with bells on if you’re paying. You know Jodie.”
West Texas Match (The West Texans Series #1) Page 4
