by Sharon Sala
“I’m not riding beside him,” Jenny spat as she climbed into the back of the pickup truck. Ignoring Chance’s outstretched hand, she sat mutely in the continuing downpour.
Chance swiped at his face in frustration. He’d lost his hat, his cast was getting wetter by the minute, and the little beggar wouldn’t get out of the rain.
“I’ll walk, mister,” the boy mumbled, and started across the road toward a house that was barely visible through the downpour.
Chance grabbed at the collar of his coat. “You’re not going anywhere until I find out what’s going on.” He flinched as thunder rolled above them, and knew that they were all in danger from the intermittent lightning that flashed sharply across the sky. “What in hell was going on here, boy? And what’s your name?”
He glanced back at Jenny who quickly looked away. Embarrassed by his concern, she hunched her shoulders against the rain pelting her head and back and sniffled loudly. Chance swallowed a curse.
“Melvin Howard,” the boy mumbled, in answer to Chance’s question. He pointed. “I live just over there a piece.”
“Well now, Melvin,” Chance drawled, pulling the boy closer, unwilling to relinquish his hold on the only voluble witness, “we’re all gonna be a hell of a lot wetter unless one of you starts talking. I know Jenny. And she doesn’t start a fight for no reason.” He fixed Melvin’s drooping figure with a hard stare that demanded an answer.
“I didn’t hurt her none,” Melvin said defiantly, now that he was safely out of Jenny’s reach. He leaned forward and whispered in Chance’s face, trying to manage a man-to-man demeanor. When he tried to grin the cut on his lip pulled. He settled for a shrug. “I just made a little ole pass at her. You know…”
“You did what?” Chance asked. But before the boy could answer, Chance had him pinned between the bed of the pickup truck and his hard, unyielding chest. “How old are you anyway?”
“Nearly fifteen,” he said, hitching his soggy jeans before they slipped down around his ankles.
“Listen, you little worm, if you ever so much as lay another finger on Jenny, I’ll put both of your arms and legs in one of these,” he threatened, shoving his cast roughly under Melvin’s nose. “Do you understand?”
“Yes…yes sir!”
“Now, Melvin,” Chance said softly, “you apologize to Jenny. And when you get home you’d better tell your parents what you did, because I can promise you that Jenny’s father will be calling.”
Melvin gulped. “I’m sorry, Jenny,” he mumbled. He snuck a quick look at her defiant face, saw no mercy for him this day, and dashed across the road toward home as if the devil…and Jenny…were still after him.
Chance turned to Jenny. The expression on her face twisted a tiny pain in his chest. She looked as if the world had just caved in around her. He held out his hand, trying to coax her from her seat in the rain.
“Come here, Jennifer Ann,” he said softly.
She ignored his outstretched hand, climbed out of the back of the truck and crawled into the cab, sitting as far away from Chance as she could.
He bit his lip, rescued his soggy Stetson from beneath the wheels of the pickup, trudged around to the driver’s side, and got in.
“Jenny, look at me.”
She stared out of the window, her head turned away from Chance as she ignored his request.
“You’re pretty mad, aren’t you?” he asked quietly.
She nodded.
“Did he scare you, Jenny?”
Her blue eyes pierced him with a look that caused another pang of sympathy to shoot through him.
“Are you mad at me?” Chance asked.
“No,” she finally mumbled, and swiped at a lump of mud and grass that was caught in the button of her dripping coat.
“Do I scare you, honey?” he asked.
She shook her head.
Chance was almost afraid to ask the next question. “What did he do to you, Jenny?”
The look she gave him broke his heart. He suspected that Jenny’s last hold on childhood had all but vanished today. She had faced a very grown-up problem.
“What was it, honey? You can tell me.”
Jenny took a deep, shuddering breath as the tears began to roll down her face, making little clean tracks in the streaks of mud. She moaned and flung herself into Chance’s outstretched arms as she began to sob.
“He touched me here,” she said, brushing her hands against her chest, “and he tried to kiss me.” She shuddered with revulsion as she remembered the uninvited indignity.
“Jenny…honey…it’s going to be okay,” Chance said, patting her awkwardly with his soggy cast. “Shoot, after what you did to Melvin, he’ll have nightmares for weeks about making passes at girls.”
Jenny giggled between sobs. “I did nail him good, didn’t I, Chance?” She pulled away from his arms and sniffed loudly as she looked to him for approval.
He smiled. “Here,” he said, digging a damp handkerchief from his coat pocket. “Blow!”
Jenny grinned, accepting the handkerchief as well as the command.
Chance started the truck, made a U-turn in the road, then headed back toward the Triple T. They were nearly home before either of them spoke again.
“You want me to talk to your daddy, Jenny?”
She thought for a moment. “Maybe you can come help me tell him?” she said.
He nodded.
They were about to turn into the driveway when Jenny slipped her hand on Chance’s wet jeans and patted his knee. “Chance?”
“What, honey?” he asked, as he maneuvered around a big pot hole in the washed-out road and pulled up in front of the main house.
“Thanks,” she said softly.
“You’re welcome,” he answered. “Now come on inside. Let’s go find Marcus.”
They made a dash for the house, laughing at the splash Chance made when his boot went into the deepest part of a puddle, soaking his jeans to the knees.
“Madre de Dios!” Juana cried, as she opened the door to meet them. “Get inside, both of you. I have some hot chocolate waiting. And Jenny! You go change your clothes. What in the world happened to you? Did you fall down?”
Jenny’s laughter suddenly disappeared. A wave of scarlet swept across her cheekbones. Chance knew she was probably embarrassed at having to admit what Melvin had tried to do. He slipped his arm around her shoulders and hugged her gently. A silent look passed between him and Juana warning her not to press for answers. Her eyebrows arched, but wisely, she refrained.
Jenny sighed, leaned against the solid comfort of Chance, using him, as always, as a buffer between herself and the world.
Juana saw the girl slide her arm around the young man. Something was going on. What had Jenny done now? She’d find out sooner or later, she always did.
“Is Marcus in his office?” Chance asked.
“Yes,” Juana answered, “but don’t you think you should change before…”
“We need to talk to him…now,” Chance said.
Jenny slipped her hand in his and led the way. Suddenly she didn’t want to face Marcus. Somehow this had become her fault, and he didn’t suffer fools gladly. She knew that from experience.
“Marcus, got a minute?”
Marcus Tyler looked up in surprise, momentarily at a loss as to why Chance was standing in his office with Jenny, and then remembered that he’d sent the young man to the bus stop.
“Oh…sure,” he said, shoving aside a stack of papers and standing to wave them toward the fire burning in the fireplace. “What’s up?” He eyed Jenny, wondering, not for the first time, why God had given him a girl baby, and at the same time taken away his wife. He had never known what to do with her.
Jenny almost stepped on Chance as she shuffled in behind him, willing him to start the conversation. Talking to Marcus had always been difficult for her. Admitting that she needed him from time to time was impossible. If she did that, then she would also have to face the fact that he didn’t need her…at least,
not enough.
“It seems Jenny had a little problem at the bus stop today,” Chance said.
Marcus glared. He didn’t like problems.
A knot began forming in the pit of Jenny’s stomach. Just the look on his face told her this was going to make him angry.
“So?” Marcus asked. “She seems okay now. What happened? Jenny, what did you do?”
Chance bit his lip. Damn this man! Why did he always assume that the problem originated with Jenny? Why couldn’t he see that she was upset?
“She didn’t do anything but defend her honor,” Chance answered, and then sucked in a sharp breath, willing himself not to jeopardize his job. He needed this security. It was all that kept him going. But he also knew that Jenny had even less security than he. Money or not, Jenny was on her own, too.
“What do you mean?” Marcus asked.
“I mean that a boy made a pass at her. It upset her…it scared…”
The phone rang. Marcus grabbed it as if it were a lifeline.
“Hello?” he said, and motioned for Chance and Jenny to wait.
Jenny sighed and leaned her forehead against the wet, steamy back of Chance’s coat. This was not going well. It was to be expected.
Marcus nodded to himself, shuffled through a stack of papers, and then began making notes.
Chance stared, dumbfounded by the lack of interest Jenny’s father had shown in what had happened to her. He felt her fingers sliding beneath his coat sleeve, searching for his hand. He cupped the small hand in the warming strength of his own and squeezed gently.
Marcus looked up, remembered that Chance and Jenny were still waiting, and sharply ordered the caller to hold. He covered the mouthpiece and said, “Jenny, go change your clothes. You’re dripping. Chance, thanks for picking her up for me.” He waved them away and went back to his conversation.
Chance cursed softly beneath his breath and let Jenny lead him from the office.
“It’s all right,” she said. “He’s busy. And I’m fine.”
“Well, I’m not. Come on, honey. Let’s go get you some dry clothes and then find that hot chocolate. We’ve got a phone call to make to Melvin Howard’s folks. And when I’m through talking to his father, Melvin will probably have to eat his supper standing up.”
Jenny smiled. The pain that was coiling inside her heart began to unwind. Chance would take care of it. She should have known not to worry. And the thought of Melvin, pimples and all, getting a whipping for what he’d done made her giggle.
“Yeah, and I bet he has to eat soup. His mouth will be too swollen to chew. I really got him good, didn’t I?”
Chance fought the urge to push his way back into Marcus’s office and shake him. “Yeah, honey. You sure did. You got him good. Now come on, let’s go find Juana.”
They went down the hallway toward the kitchen, hand in hand, dripping mud and water with every step.
A string of firecrackers exploded, dancing its way across the dusty driveway with a string of little boys following along behind. Shrieks of excited laughter erupted from them.
It was the Fourth of July, and the Triple T Ranch was holding its annual barbecue. Half the populace of Tyler was present along with all of Marcus Tyler’s employees and their families.
It was a triple celebration, because it also marked the founding of the Tyler Ranch in Tyler, Texas, and the birthday of Jennifer Tyler, Marcus’s only heir.
Sixteen years earlier, Marcus Tyler had purchased a section of Texas land with the help of the Federal Land Bank. He’d installed his pregnant wife, Lillian, in the run-down ranch house and headed back to town for some groceries and supplies. He’d returned to find Lillian in the last throes of labor. Marcus delivered his daughter, Jennifer, as capably as he’d done everything else in his life, and less than three weeks later his wife had died of complications resulting from childbirth.
“Ooowee, Marcus,” Conrad Hancock said, “that little girl of yours sure has grown up. It won’t be long before you’ll be beating the boys off the front porch with a stick. Just look at her. She’ll have the young bucks in a fight for sure before the day’s over.”
The group of men standing beneath a shade tree, visiting with Marcus, laughed. Each of them began offering words of advice and warnings.
Marcus turned and stared at his daughter, seeing her for the first time through the eyes of his friends. He was suddenly uncertain as to how he would deal with a budding woman. Leaving her to her own devices didn’t seem as wise as it once had. All sorts of implications presented themselves as thoughts of boys and teenage problems took root in his mind.
He frowned. The iced tea warmed in his hand as he stared at his daughter, who was perched on the top rail of the fence. She wasn’t paying any attention to the young men who’d begun a game of horseshoes on the other side of the yard fence, trying to impress her with their prowess. She was watching Chance, but her father thought nothing of it. She always seemed to be within shouting distance of his foreman.
Marcus smiled at a carload of late arrivals and waved at the tall man who was busily directing traffic to the designated parking areas. Since he’d made Chance foreman he’d had all kinds of time to devote to his chief goal, thinking up new schemes to make more money.
“Say, Marcus,” Hancock added, “that boy of yours, that foreman there.” He pointed with his cigar. “Old Thurman here wants to know who his people are.”
Marcus shrugged. It was not something he’d ever wondered about, and it suddenly struck him as strange that he had not. In all the years that Chance had worked for him, not once had he asked for time off, or to go home for a visit. Surely he had family somewhere?
“I don’t know,” Marcus answered. “But I can find out. Chance, come here a minute,” he yelled.
Chance turned toward the sound of his boss’s voice and waved an acknowledgment as he directed another carload of latecomers toward the proper parking area.
The group of well-to-do ranchers and oil men standing with Marcus beneath a large shade tree watched Chance’s arrival into their midst with varying degrees of calculation.
His long legs moved with unconscious grace as he dodged the laughing kids and crowded buffet table. He carried his strength and power well. More than one of the men recognized the hard, hungry look in his eyes and the grim line around his mouth. In earlier days they’d looked the same, unyielding and unforgiving.
“Boys,” Marcus said, as Chance came to a halt beneath the tree’s welcome shade, “I’d like for you to meet Chance McCall, my right-hand man and, as of last month, my new foreman.”
“Gentlemen,” Chance said, touching his forefinger to the wide brim of his gray Stetson. He knew these men represented power in oil, horses, cattle, even the stock market. His keen gaze missed none of the looks he was receiving. What in hell is this all about? he wondered. “Is there something you need, Marcus?”
“Now that you mention it…”
Chance stared at the stranger. The man was hefty, and he shoved the cigar he was chewing to the other side of his mouth before he spoke.
“We been watchin’ you standin’ by that gate directin’ traffic and ol’ Thurman here”—he gestured with his cigar toward another man in the group—“remarked that you look mighty like a man he used to know.”
There was no outward sign of the panic Chance felt. Instead, a sardonic expression spread across his face. His eyebrow cocked, and a cold smile slipped into place. They were going to have to ask. He wasn’t volunteering a damn thing. Besides, he assured himself, there was no way they could know.
The big man laughed heartily as he continued. “I like this boy. He don’t give nothin’ away. I could use him in my company. Bet you’re a hell of a poker player, McCall.”
“No way, Hancock,” Marcus said. “I didn’t invite you out here to steal my best man.”
“Will that be all?” Chance asked, as he started to walk away.
“Say, boy,” Hancock persisted, “you never did say if you was
kin.”
“Well,” Chance drawled, “could be because you didn’t mention who it was I looked like.”
“Hell, if you ain’t right,” Hancock laughed. “Say Thurman, what did you say that man’s name was?”
“Logan Henry…an oil man from down around Odessa way. Met him at the Permian Basin Oil Show a few years back. Now there was a party. The Chuck Wagon Gang out of Odessa had the best barbecue I ever did eat. No offense to you, Marcus, but them good old boys are professionals at puttin’ on a feed.”
Jenny was sitting on the fence, out of reach of the exploding firecrackers and frenzied guests, yet within earshot of the conversation going on between Chance and her father’s friends. She saw the shock in Chance’s eyes as the man’s name was mentioned. It startled her and then made her nervous. That he could have secrets had never occurred to her. But it did now, and Jenny being Jenny, would not be the one to let it die.
Chance belonged to her. It was understood. He had from the first day he’d hired on. It didn’t matter to Jenny if she was the only one aware of this arrangement. If he had problems, she had problems.
Chance didn’t waver. “Never heard of him.” He turned to Marcus. “You need anything else, boss?”
Marcus knew Chance was angry. It was the only time he’d ever called him boss. The anger surprised Marcus and made him curious, but he decided to let it go.
“No. Go on and enjoy yourself. Have a good time. Get some barbecue and cold beer. Let these jokers park their own cars. If they get stuck, they can get themselves unstuck later.”
Chance touched the brim of his hat in a brief, almost rude good-bye to the staring men, spun on his boot heel, and disappeared into the noisy crowd.
“I think you touched raw flesh, Hancock,” Marcus muttered as he watched Chance walk away. “Real raw.” It surprised him and then made him wonder. In all the years he’d known this man, it was the first time he’d ever seen him lose any control over his emotions.
Jenny jumped down from the fence and followed Chance’s retreat. Twice she lost him in the crowd before spotting the wide-brimmed gray hat he was wearing. Although he was nearly a head above most of the crowd, Jenny wasn’t more than four inches past five feet. At the age of sixteen, it didn’t look as if she would exceed that height.