The thought brought a lump to his throat.
Wasn’t that what he wanted?
In silence, he helped her finish cleaning the stall where the heifer gave birth, then stepped outside and into the sunshine. Donovan’s gaze swept over the ranch. He could see only a portion of it, but in his mind’s eye, he saw it all.
The ranch was in the best shape it had ever been in financially, and from his observation this morning, physically.
It hadn’t been easy putting it back together after their neighbor, Bart Allen, tried to ruin them two years earlier. It had taken months to re-stock, longer to make the ranch begin paying for itself. Last year, he’d taken the first crop of young calves to market. In a short while, another group would be ready.
There was no doubt in his mind that Phyl could handle it.
He rubbed a hand over his whiskered face.
Where would he go if he did leave?
Back to San Antonio?
No future there.
Ranching was all he knew—all he wanted. Buy a ranch of his own maybe?
Doing so would take more money than he could come up with. He’d never ask his mom for help, or his half-brothers and sister. They’d think he’d lost his mind. According to them, he already had a ranch. The Callahan Ranch.
But he wasn’t a Callahan.
That reality sent his gut into a curling knot.
****
Over the next few days, Phyl tended to her chores and pretended Donovan hadn’t returned. It wasn’t difficult to do because, except for mealtime, he pretty much kept to himself. Of course, Mark made it a point to finagle a ride on the tractor, get another riding lesson, or beg Donovan to let him help with his chores. Most of the time, Donovan agreed. Other times, like the day he baled hay, he made excuses as to why he couldn’t oblige, and Mark pouted for the rest of the day.
It seemed to Phyl that those times were getting further and further apart. She tried to make Donovan understand that Mark was accustomed to staying with her. He’d grunt that the kid wasn’t that much trouble.
Even though she wanted Mark where she could see him, she liked seeing the two of them together. The tall rangy cowboy and the six-year-old boy trotting beside him soon became etched in her mind.
Mark needed a man in his life, and Donovan was a good man.
Still, she couldn’t help believe their time here was coming to an end. She tried to formulate a plan for that day. But her mind couldn’t wrap itself around the leaving part.
Mark’s riding lessons had progressed so much that earlier Donovan had put Mark on Lily and the two of them headed for the north pasture to check out the calves scheduled for market.
Phyl was wary. Partially unsure of Mark’s riding ability, and partially her normal anxiety when he was out of sight. Her protests, though, fell on deaf ears.
That had been hours ago. Her nerves were stretched to the limit, and she wondered if she shouldn’t saddle up and go after them. She looked at her watch. Not yet. She’d give them another thirty minutes.
Shading her eyes, she saw them in the distance riding toward the barn. Relief washed through her as she watched them. Would she ever get over this feeling?
Even though Mark had been with her that dreadful day in California, he was too young to realize the danger they were in.
Maybe she was being paranoid. Maybe her crazy flight from California to the east coast then down to Texas hadn’t been necessary.
How was she to know? She checked the papers on-line every night and found nothing. No arrests had been made. Nothing.
But she’d seen their faces—the evil in them. She’d heard the warning, and knew it was no idle threat.
Seeing Mark’s happy grin as he rode beside Donovan made her heavy heart lighter. Her son was on cloud nine. The last thing she wanted to do was bring him down.
Mark jumped off Lily. “That was so cool, Mom. You should have seen us. Donovan had me count the calves for market. Guess how many?”
She slid a glance at Donovan as he threw a long leg over the saddle and dropped to the ground. Without a wasted motion, he undid the buckle that held the saddle before he returned her look with one of his own.
“So, how many?” She asked the question of Mark, but looked to Donovan for an answer.
Just guessing, she would put the figure at more or less a hundred and twenty-five.
“I counted a hundred,” Mark said with pride.
“Did you really count to a hundred?” Mark knew his numbers, but she’d never heard him count that high.
“Didn’t take that much coaching,” Donovan grunted. “Kid’s smart.”
Mark watched Donovan. Then mimicked his actions as he attempted to unbuckle his own cinch.
“Let me help,” Phyl said, going over to give him a hand.
“I can do it, Mom.”
“I’m sure you can.” She stepped back, watched him struggle.
Though Mark had to grit his teeth to work the leather, the buckle finally gave way. Donovan reached over, grabbed the saddle as it slid sideways, handed Mark the blanket and headed for the tack room.
She fell into step beside them. “So what was the actual count?”
“Hundred and thirty.”
“Close to what I figured.”
He grunted again.
“When will you take them to auction?” she asked after Donovan put away the saddles and handed Mark a brush.
“You know the drill.” Mark watched as Donovan brushed Stormy with smooth even strokes. Turning to Lily, he did his best to do the same.
Donovan gave her a penetrating look. “What had you planned?”
“Actually, I thought this Saturday would be good. You should get top dollar.”
Nodding, Donovan continued his rhythmic brush strokes.
“Of course, that’s not set in stone. Your call really.”
She walked over to help Mark. Mark’s glare sent her away. He was trying so hard to be a little man. He couldn’t reach Lily’s back until Donovan pulled a stool over for him to stand on.
She watched Donovan. He hadn’t shaved, and the beard gave him a dangerous look that made her heart thump heavier than normal. Quickly, she looked away. “There’s a trough in the corral that needs water.”
Neither Mark nor Donovan seemed to care. She couldn’t suppress a smile.
When she got to the barn door their voices picked back up in conversation. A chill washed over her. Mark was growing up. He wasn’t a baby anymore, but a boy trying to be a man. She couldn’t ask for a better example than Donovan Callahan.
It would break Mark’s heart to leave. Deep down, she knew that day would come. For a moment, she let the frustration, fear, and worry wash over her.
Then, straightening, she moved toward the corral. She’d enjoy what time they had and do her job as best she could. During that time, she’d figure out a way to keep Mark’s heart from breaking when they left.
Chapter Five
The auction was over.
Boot-clad, Stetson-wearing men of every description poured out of the arena. Women sported their own brand of cowboy attire; jeans, Western shirts, and boots being the most popular. Both buyers and sellers had a look of accomplishment.
It had been a while since Donovan had been to a sale.
Like others in the crowd, he was smiling. Phyl had made a good judgment call. Just as she predicted, he got a good price.
As he turned to walk away, a familiar figure came toward him. “Uncle Raymond? What are you doing here?”
The older man chuckled. “Trying to figure out why your mom loves ranch life. Personally, I prefer the city.”
Then why wasn’t he there instead of here? Donovan wondered.
He trailed behind Mark and Phyl as they walked into town. Mom and her brother were talking a mile a minute, then his uncle turned to him. “Who’s the pretty blonde?” he asked.
Phyl must have heard the question because she stopped, looked back. Even with dark sunglasses shading her ey
es, Donovan saw the alarm.
“Let me introduce you. Phyl, this is Mom’s brother, Raymond. Uncle Raymond, this is Phyl Leander, our ranch hand.”
“You’re kidding? Women in the military—women astronauts—women doing ranch work. Is there no male bastion left sacred anymore?”
“Careful, Raymond.” Mom laughed. “Your prejudice is showing.”
Raymond ignored the comment. “Where are you from, pretty lady?”
Phyl’s face turned pink at the question. Donovan couldn’t help but wonder why. The question wasn’t that intrusive. But there was no denying that she didn’t want to answer.
“Why are you here?” Donovan asked his uncle, diverting his attention away from Phyl. “You don’t visit that often.”
“Just passing through. I’ve been wandering the state to see where I’m going to settle down now that I’ve retired. Think it’s going to be San Antonio. When I saw the crowd at the auction barn, I figured you’d be here.”
“I’m glad you did. And I’m glad you’re settling down close by,” Mom said. “We’ll see you more often now.”
Inwardly, Donovan groaned.
Raymond looked at his watch. “Time to hit the road. I have an appointment with a realtor in a little more than an hour.”
He said his goodbyes and hurried away.
Donovan’s glance went to Phyl. She visibly relaxed as his uncle left. What was going on with her?
It had taken more than a little persuasion to get her to come today. Was she just shy around strangers? He hadn’t seen that trait before. But before coming she’d put on her usual baseball cap, added a pair of large sunglasses, and wore an over-sized man’s shirt that looked vaguely familiar. Was she trying to hide her appearance? He supposed it worked. To the casual observer she would look different. Not to him. He could pick her out of a crowd simply by the way she moved.
Pushing Phyl’s hand away, Mark let out a howl of indignation when she attempted to wipe chocolate off his face from the ice cream he’d eaten earlier.
Donovan bit back a chuckle as Mark made another stab at independence. His mother wasn’t ready. Silently, he cheered for the kid.
Mom linked her arm with his. “You did good, Don.”
The “aren’t you glad you’re back” part went unsaid. He looked around at the familiar setting, surprised to realize how right it felt.
Dugan spotted them, waved. “Sorry I’m late. How’d it go?”
“Great,” Mark piped up. “They bought every one. Donovan’s rich.”
Donovan and his mom laughed. Phyl watched with amusement.
“You don’t know much about ranching yet, Mark. When you do, you’ll realize how little profit there is in it,” Phyl told him.
“But you like it,” Dugan reminded her.
“Always have,” she agreed.
“Me, too,” Mark said, wiggling in next to Donovan.
Donovan shoved Mark’s cap down over his eyes. With a laugh, Mark pulled it straight again.
“Since we’re in town, why don’t we stop at the discount bookstore, Mark. Maybe we can find a couple of books you haven’t read,” Phyl suggested.
“I’m going to do a little shopping of my own,” Nellie said.
“Wanna come to the station, Don?” Dugan asked. “I have a couple of things I need to take care of, then we can grab a burger at Molly’s.”
“If it’s okay with the ladies. I can drop this check at the bank, and meet you there.”
His mom nodded. “I’ll meet up with Phyl and Mark when I’ve finished, then we’ll get our own lunch. How does that sound?”
In agreement, they went their separate ways. Donovan watched as Phyl pulled her cap down lower on her face, adjusted the large sunglasses he realized were his mother’s old ones. Strange.
“She’s pretty,” Dugan remarked.
“Who?”
“The one you’re staring at.”
“I’m watching Mark. The kid is getting to me. He wants to go wherever I go, do what I do.” In truth, the kid reminded Donovan of himself at that age.
“I know you. You like to do things your way at your own speed. Is he driving you crazy? If he is, just say so. Phyl doesn’t look like the kind of mom who would let her kid do what he wants just because he wants.”
“She’s not. The fact is, I have to beg right along with Mark to get permission for him to ‘help’ as he puts it.”
Dugan grinned. “Looks as if you’re okay with it then.”
Donovan didn’t know when having Mark underfoot changed from aggravation to expectation. Same with Phyl. One minute he resented her being here. The next he found himself looking forward to seeing her.
He had to admit, she was the best ranch hand he’d ever known. There wasn’t much she couldn’t do, or wasn’t willing to try. She didn’t mind getting dirty or sweaty. Surprisingly, he found himself trying to beat her to the coffee pot every morning. Some days he didn’t make it, and didn’t like the letdown feeling that not seeing her gave him.
Then, he’d berate himself for acting like a fourteen-year-old with his first crush.
But every day his admiration grew. At the same time, there was something about her that made him wonder. After the encounter a few minutes ago with his uncle his curiosity had escalated.
Even though he was torn between attraction and curiosity, it was good to know that if he left, the ranch would be in good hands.
But was he going to leave? Did he want to? The question nagged.
The hurt hadn’t left. Only now it wasn’t a burning hole in his gut. It had shifted. Now it was as if a small piece of his heart had been cut out. At least there was some healing. Still there, but not hurting as bad.
He knew it was the part of him that once held such pride in being a Callahan. The name itself demanded respect. His biological father, on the other hand, was a criminal.
Donovan was conflicted. He wanted with everything in him to be who he thought he was all his life—a Callahan.
It was too much to ask. He couldn’t change his paternity any more than he could change his height or the color of his eyes.
Dugan waved at a half-dozen ranchers and townspeople as they made their way to his office. For the first time in his life, Donovan couldn’t look them in the eye.
He wasn’t the man they thought he was.
****
He saw the bitch cross the street, her kid in tow, and head toward the discount bookstore. How lucky was that? He had to hotfoot it to enter the store ahead of her. The bell over the door tinkled, the sound annoyingly happy. He hated it. Hated being in this hick town. Hated biding his time. For what? Backup, the boss had said. But deep down, he knew it would be a cold day in hell before he was called on to do anything of importance.
The boss thought he wasn’t good enough. That’s why he’d pulled this glory job.
The old lady who ran the store spoke up. “Hi there. Good to see you again. What can I help you with today?”
He clamped his jaw and wished he could shoot her right then and there. “Looking around. That okay with you?”
Take your time.” She chuckled. “It’s not as if we’re overrun with customers.”
He heard them come in. Heard that damn bell tinkle again. Stupid town. Stupid store. But she’d brought her kid with her. Maybe he could use that.
Taking a deep breath, he grabbed a couple of books and walked in their direction.
He’d show the boss. He’d show them all. He wasn’t the flunkie they thought. Not by a long shot.
****
Phyl didn’t want to be here. Too many people. All strangers. Any one of them could be someone sent to harm them. Then the uncle showed up with questions she didn’t want to answer. Against her better judgment though, she’d agreed to come to town today. Now she was such a bundle of nerves she couldn’t stand herself.
The bookstore looked deserted. It was a good place to hide. Letting her gaze sweep over the shelves, she tamped down her anxiety, and tried to relax.<
br />
“We haven’t read this one,” Phyl said, pulling down a brightly illustrated book.
That guilty feeling stole over her. She couldn’t let Mark have a fun day in town for her own fear. It wasn’t fair to Mark.
“That’s good. Can we go now?”
“What’s your hurry? Nellie will meet us here when she’s finished. Let’s enjoy ourselves.”
Mark’s face set in a frown.
“What’s wrong, honey?” she asked, squatting down to eye level.
“Nothing.”
“Something’s bothering you.”
A man came around the corner, a couple of books in his hands. He stopped when he saw them. “Hi!”
Phyl’s heart kicked up several notches. Another stranger. “Hello,” Phyl responded, looking up at him.
I don’t like him.
The man stared at her with dark, cold eyes. Though he smiled, she sensed he was faking it. A chill ran up her back.
Instead of running, she stood to face him. “We found what we came for. We were just leaving.”
“Don’t let me drive you away.” He thrust out a hand holding several books. “Gonna get these for Buddy, my favorite nephew.”
He showed them to Mark. “Have you read them?”
Mark shook his head.
“You can have ’em if you like. I’ll find another one or two for Buddy.”
“That’s unnecessary,” Phyl said, her anxiety accelerating. “We have what we need.”
“Not a problem.” His voice was gruff, as if he wasn’t accustomed to making conversation. But maybe that was her imagination.
Mary Connors, the bookstore owner, came around the corner. “Have you two met?”
“Not yet,” the man said, still smiling that fake smile.
Phyl edged her way to the checkout counter. She had to stop this. Every stranger wasn’t a killer.
Mary turned to Phyl. “You’re new in town. So is this nice gentleman.”
New in town? Why? Oaktree wasn’t the kind of town that drew people. “Could we check out? We’re in a hurry to meet a friend for lunch.”
“Sorry,” Mary said, and hurried her short squat body to stand behind the register. “I just love to talk.”
Promise Broken (The Callahan Series) Page 5
