Hart's Hollow Farm

by Janet Dailey

  Emmy—or Nana, as they’d always called her—would’ve been proud of them both. She would’ve been proud of Mitch, too.

  Kristen’s belly warmed as he strode over, the sun at his back emphasizing the broad span of his shoulders, the lithe strength of his sinewy frame. It was a beautiful afternoon—one of Hart’s Hollow’s finest—and a perfect day to open the strawberry fields for the first day of picking.

  Under Mitch’s magic touch, the farm had flourished. Emmy’s corn had grown sweeter each year, her early production soybeans had continued to break harvest records, and the strawberries . . . Oh, Hart’s Hollow Farm’s customers loved them best of all.

  “It’s a beautiful day,” Mitch said, bending his head and nuzzling her neck. “What do you say we sneak back out here after the kids go to bed and watch the stars come out?”

  She smiled, wove her fingers through his hair, and lifted her mouth for his kiss. “I think that’s a perfect plan.”

  He hugged her close, the brush of his hard thighs against her belly reminding her of the surprise she had to share. Tonight was as good a night as any to tell him that the Hart family would be growing. In eight months, Emmy would have a new baby brother or sister to love.

  “I swear, I love you more and more every day,” Mitch whispered before kissing her again, slow and sweet. “There’s no place in the world I’d rather be.”

  “Same here,” Kristen said, smiling.

  Hart’s Hollow Farm was perfect in every way. More than that—it was home.

  If you love Janet Dailey,

  you won’t want to miss TEXAS FOREVER,

  coming soon in paperback!

  August, the present

  The brutal August sun sank behind the Caprock Escarpment, streaking the cliffs with hues of gold, bronze, and deep blood red. Like silken draperies set afire, the tattered clouds blazed, then slowly melted into twilight. Shadows deepened, flowing down the narrow canyons to flood the parched foothills with the black of a moonless night.

  A gray fox slipped out of its den, ears alert for the sound of a scurrying mouse or lizard. Bats darted on silent wings, catching insects in flight. A golden eagle glided to the rocky edge of a high precipice, folded its powerful wings, and settled for the night.

  On the dust-swept plain below the escarpment, the sprawling heart of the Rimrock Ranch lay shrouded in unaccustomed silence. Cigarettes, dots of red in the darkness, glowed outside the bunkhouse, but the usual banter of the cowhands was absent. Even the horses and cattle seemed subdued.

  The windows were dark in the imposing stone and timber house that Bull Tyler had finished for his bride fifty years ago. On the broad front porch, two figures sat in rustic log chairs, placed close together.

  Will Tyler, the ranch boss and head of the family, was nursing a can of cheap Mexican beer. He stared into the darkness beyond the porch rail, saying nothing.

  His daughter Erin, now nineteen, sat watching him. Her father was far from old—not yet fifty. But time and grief had aged him beyond his years. Already mourning his wife, he’d been crushed today by the sudden loss of his oldest friend. Not that he’d shown it. Even after the sheriff and his deputy had driven off, he’d expressed no flicker of emotion nor shed so much as a tear. All the more reason for Erin to be worried about him.

  “I still can’t believe Jasper is gone,” she said, hoping her father would open up and talk. Keeping his grief bottled inside was only going to make him feel worse.

  After what seemed like a long silence, Will cleared his throat. “I just wish the end had been different for him. Even at ninety-three, crashing an ATV into a gulley isn’t the way you want to go.” He took a swallow of the Mexican beer Jasper had always liked, as if he were drinking it as a sort of tribute. But even that did nothing to ease his inner pain. With a muttered curse, he crushed the unfinished can in his fist and flung it over the porch railing, where it would be picked up by a stable hand in the morning. “I never could understand why Jasper fancied this god-awful two-bit beer. It always tasted like horse piss to me. Still does.”

  Erin smiled at the feeble joke, sensing the anguish behind it. For as long as anyone in the Tyler family could remember, Jasper Platt had been the heart and soul of the Rimrock Ranch. He had worked for Will’s grandfather, Williston Tyler, and for Will’s father, the legendary Bull Tyler. To Will and his brother Beau, Jasper had been like a second father, watching over them as they grew to manhood, and teaching them all the skills they’d need to be good cowboys.

  Even in his old age, when arthritis would no longer allow him to sit a horse, Jasper had served as honorary foreman to the ranch as well as friend and confidant to three generations of Tyler men.

  Erin had adored him. To her, Jasper had been like a loving grandfather. She couldn’t imagine the Rimrock—or her own life—without his wise, crusty presence. She’d been in denial about Jasper’s age and the certainty that he wouldn’t last much longer. But when he’d failed to show up for breakfast that morning and when circling vultures had led searchers to his body, barely a mile from the heart of the ranch, the shock had been unimaginable. It was still sinking in that the old man was gone.

  After examining the scene, Sheriff Cyrus Harger had declared his death a tragic accident. What else could it be? Surely, at Jasper’s age, a stroke or heart attack could have caused the ATV he was riding to veer off the rocky trail and plunge to the bottom of a desert wash. The sheriff and his young deputy, who’d checked out the scene, had agreed that there were no suspicious circumstances. Will, to whom Jasper had given power of attorney, had turned down the suggestion of an autopsy. It would only delay the funeral, he’d insisted, and it would be a needless violation of the old man’s body.

  Still, Jasper’s death had left unanswered questions.

  “I begged him not to go out alone in that damned ATV,” Will said, “but I know he liked hunting birds, and he hated being told what he shouldn’t do. The sheriff said he died sometime between six and eight last night. He would have been on his way home about then.”

  “When did you realize he was missing?” Erin had gone to a movie in town the previous night and hadn’t come home until after her father was in bed.

  “As I told the sheriff, he wasn’t around at supper time, but that wasn’t unusual. Sometimes he just warmed up leftovers and ate in his duplex. Later on I was busy making phone calls and didn’t check on him.” Will’s voice roughened with emotion. “Lord, if I had, maybe we could’ve found him in time. This is on me.”

  “Don’t talk that way, Dad. However Jasper died, chances are you couldn’t have done anything.” Erin reached across the space between their chairs and squeezed his hand. Without the truth, her father would always blame himself for the death of his old friend. Maybe finding that truth would be up to her. She would be busy until the funeral was over. But after that, she would take some time to look into the so-called accident.

  “Were you able to reach Uncle Beau?” she asked, changing the subject. “Will he be here for the funeral?”

  “He’ll be flying into Lubbock on Friday with Natalie and their daughter. I offered to pick him up, but he said they’d rather rent a car.” Will’s jaw tightened. “I’m guessing he’ll want to leave right after the funeral.”

  Will’s younger brother had grown up on the ranch. He’d left to join the military, then moved back after their father’s death. But ranch life, and being bossed by Will, had grated on him. Three years ago, after a final blowup between the brothers, Beau had left the Rimrock to take up his former job in Washington as a senior agent for the DEA. He and Will had never made peace. But that didn’t keep Erin from missing Beau’s charming, fun-loving ways.

  A night breeze had sprung up, its hot breath stirring the parched grass and peppering Erin’s face with fine dust. This summer’s drought was as bad as any she could remember in her nineteen years. The water holes had gone dry, and, as the creaking windmill reminded her, even the wells were getting low. There’d been talk of cutting back
the Rimrock’s herd of white-faced Herefords, selling off the steers and older cows early to save water for the ranch’s precious breeding stock. Selling before the animals reached prime weight in the fall would mean less money for the ranch. But it would be better than watching cattle die of thirst.

  Only yesterday, over breakfast, she’d listened as Will and Jasper discussed what would be best to do. And now, like a candle blown out by a breath of wind, Jasper was gone.

  “Someone else is coming for the funeral,” Will said. “You’ve never met her, but she’s an old friend. I called her tonight, and she said she’d be here. I hope you won’t mind if I volunteered you to pick her up at the airport. She’s in her sixties, and I could tell she was nervous about driving a rental car in city traffic.”

  “I’ll be happy to pick her up,” Erin said. “But who is she? Why haven’t I heard anything about her before?”

  Will took his time in answering. “Her name is Rose Landro McCade. I haven’t seen her since I was a boy. But she’s not the sort of person you’d forget. Toughest woman I’ve ever known, and probably the most stubborn, too.”

  “I can hardly wait to meet her,” Erin said.

  “Rose can tell you a lot about the old days. She and my father scrapped like a couple of wildcats, but they never lost their respect for each other. And Jasper loved her like a daughter. They had a special bond, those two. When I spoke with her, even after all these years, I could tell how hard it hit her that he was gone.”

  “What happened to her? Where did she go?”

  “She married a Wyoming rancher and never came back. I guess they had a good life, raised a couple of girls. He’s passed on, and their daughters are grown now, so Rose is alone. I’m hoping she’ll stick around for a while. She can stay in the empty side of the duplex. Maybe you can get it ready for her—something pretty on the bed, clean towels and soap in the bathroom, some snacks in the fridge . . . even some flowers, once she lets us know her arrival time.”

  “She must’ve been special.”

  “She was—is. She wasn’t around here long, but she was like a big sister to Beau and me.” Will paused, remembering. “I’ll never forget the night Rose almost gave her life to save us. If it hadn’t been for Bull, all three of us, and the man she ended up marrying, could have died.”

  “That sounds like quite a story. How come you’ve never told me about it?”

  He exhaled, took a pack of Marlboros from his pocket, and tapped one into his hand. “Some stories are best saved for the right time. I’ll leave the telling to Rose.”

  His lighter flared in the darkness. The tip of the cigarette glowed as he inhaled.

  “I wish you wouldn’t—” Erin stopped herself from lecturing him. This wasn’t the time for it. Years ago, Will had given up smoking to please his wife, Tori. But when she’d died of cancer four months ago, he’d taken up the habit again, as if to say So what if it kills me? What’s the point in living?

  “I suppose you’ve called Kyle,” he said.

  “Yes. He offered to come over, but I told him I’d see him at the funeral. Until then, I won’t be much company.”

  Kyle Cardwell, whose father managed the neighboring Prescott Ranch for the syndicate that had bought it from the family, had been dating Erin since she’d finished high school. Last night, after their weekly movie date, he’d pulled his SUV off the road, slipped a small velvet box out of his pocket, and asked her to marry him. The diamond was impressive—at least a full carat. But Erin couldn’t imagine wearing it to muck out the stable or wash down a horse, which was how she spent most of her days.

  Stunned, she’d mumbled a reply. “I’m only nineteen, Kyle. I need time to think about this.”

  “Take all the time you need.” His Hollywood smile had flashed in the darkness as he dropped the ring box back into his pocket. “But I hope you won’t keep me waiting too long. I love you, Erin, and I can’t wait to make you mine. Now come here and kiss me.”

  After a few minutes of necking, she’d asked him to take her home. For the rest of the night she’d lain awake, weighing her choices. Maybe she should’ve said yes. Kyle was twenty-two, handsome, respectable, and well-mannered. Her father liked him and had hinted that he wouldn’t mind having a grandchild or two. Why not do what everyone seemed to expect of her?

  Why was she still unsure?

  Was Kyle meant to be her husband, to love and honor and cherish? What if she were to refuse him? Would she live to regret it for the rest of her days?

  And what about her own plans, her own dreams of breeding and training a stable of fine horses? Would she have to put those dreams aside when she became a wife?

  Toward morning, she’d fallen into a fitful sleep—only to be awakened by Will with the news that Jasper was missing. An hour later his body had been found in a desert wash, under his wrecked ATV.

  Kyle’s proposal would have to wait.

  Rising from his chair, Will crushed the cigarette with his boot and kicked it over the rail, onto the gravel below, then glanced at the luminous dial on his watch. He stood for a moment, peering out into the darkness.

  “What is it, Dad?” Erin asked. “Is something wrong?”

  “Can’t say for sure.” Will shook his head. “I was expecting the new man I hired last week. He said he’d be here by tonight, but it’s getting late, and I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him.”

  “A new man? And you didn’t tell me?”

  “Sorry. Slipped my mind, I guess.” Will sank wearily back into the chair. “Sky knows he’s coming. The man’s a farrier.”

  “A farrier? Just to shoe horses? That’s going to cost us, Dad. And with the drought on, there’s no money to spare. We’ve been getting by for years with the cowboys shoeing their own horses, and Sky taking care of the rest.”

  “Sky doesn’t have time. And neither do the cowboys, especially with the roundup coming up. Hear me out, Erin. I talked this over with Jasper, and he agrees—” Emotion stopped the words in his throat. He took a deep breath. “He agreed with me. We need a man who can keep our horses decently shod and in top condition. A good farrier’s like a doctor, and he has to know almost as much. He looks at their gait, their alignment, the whole animal. Then he trims the hooves for the best weight distribution and chooses a shoe to fit the horse’s needs.”

  “That’s still going to cost money.”

  “True. But I had a couple of hands quit last month to go on the rodeo circuit, so that’s two less to pay. And I figure that in the long run, having a farrier won’t cost us any more than having the cowboys take time from work to slap shoes on their mounts, then having horses go lame because they didn’t do the job right. We could get by with fewer horses if they were all in good shape. And if we had to sell off part of the remuda, we’d get a better price if they were well shod and in prime condition.”

  “I understand where you’re coming from,” Erin said. “But a farrier would have to be paid a lot more than a common ranch hand. Can we afford a full-time man just to shoe horses?”

  “We’ve got more than sixty horses in the remuda, as well as the brood mares and stallions,” Will said. “When roundup’s on, those cow ponies go through a lot of shoes. There should be plenty of work for him, at least through fall. And we already agreed that if he runs out of work here, he can take outside clients.”

  “As I recall, the last stranger you hired didn’t work out so well,” Erin said. “He stole everything that wasn’t tied down.”

  “Don’t remind me.” Will shook his head. “But it won’t happen again. This man was recommended by a customer. I met him a couple of weeks ago, when I picked up a truckload of hay from that big outfit east of the Prescott place. He said he’d been on the road since spring, going from ranch to ranch. I think he liked the idea of a steady job with a roof over his head. Quiet sort. He struck me as the kind of fellow who’ll do his work and never make trouble.”

  “We’ll see.” Erin had always trusted her father’s business sense. But s
ince his wife’s death, Will’s judgment seemed to be less acute. Was it the shock of grief, a passing distraction, or only her imagination? Whatever the cause, she found herself questioning the decisions he made.

  Like this farrier Will had hired. He could turn out to be just fine. But the fact that he hadn’t shown up as promised wasn’t a good sign.

  “Why don’t you get some rest, Dad?” she suggested. “You’ve had a hellish day, and tomorrow won’t be much better.”

  “At least I can try. What about you?” He stood and turned toward the door, then hesitated, as if reluctant to leave her outside alone.

  “I’ll be along later. If your man shows up, I’ll introduce myself and point the way to the bunkhouse.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure. I’m too strung out to sleep.”

  “All right, but don’t stay up too late. His name’s Maddox. He’ll be driving a black Chevy truck with a shell on the back and a two-wheel trailer behind. You can tell him there’s a couple of empty rooms and a bath on the second floor.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye out for him. If he pulls in after I’ve gone to bed, that’ll be his problem.”

  As her father went inside, shutting the front door behind him, Erin settled back in the chair and closed her eyes. After the emotionally draining day, she felt as if the earth had dropped away under her feet. In her growing-up years, three strong people had always been there for her—her mother, her father, and Jasper.

  Tori, her beautiful, golden-haired mother, had slipped away four months ago, just weeks after her cancer diagnosis. Now Jasper was gone, too, and she sensed that her father was sinking into despair. He was putting on a brave face, but she could see the shadows that ringed his eyes and the slump of his once-proud shoulders. Erin knew the signs. It was as if she were losing him, too.