The Texan's Secret
Page 2
“Yeah.” She pointed a finger in his face. “You leave the girls alone. They’re happily married, with babies.”
“Pay no attention to him, Aunt Etta,” Cadde told her. “He’s always about a pint short on his blood supply.”
“Now wait a minute…”
Cadde ignored Kid and turned to Chance. “The offer is still on the table. Think it over. We want you with us.”
Chance nodded and walked out. As he got into his truck, he couldn’t deny that the offer was tempting. When they were younger, their father would say he didn’t want them toiling in the oil fields all their lives like he had. That as brothers working together, they could accomplish anything—be the bosses, not hands. That’s why Chance never saw what was to come—the horrible truth. The man who’d spouted family values, loyalty and love was a phony. His other two sons still idolized him. So how could Chance destroy that illusion?
With his jaw clenched, he turned from High Five onto the blacktop county road that led to the Southern Cross ranch. When Judd had offered him the job of foreman, Chance had been happy for the opportunity to cowboy again. He was tired of the grime and muck working as a roughneck, and wanted to settle down for a while. Also, Aunt Etta and Uncle Rufus were getting older, and he thought they might need him close by.
The Hardin home place was about a mile beyond the Southern Cross. Chance was glad he didn’t have to ride past it every day, but there were times when he was checking fences and he’d glance across the road and see the small, white frame house nestled among the oak trees. His pulse would quicken and nausea would gnaw at his insides for a second.
None of the brothers had been inside the house since that fatal night. Dane and his cowboys had moved all their clothes and belongings into Aunt Etta and Uncle Ru’s spare bedroom. In that tiny room they’d grieved, bonded tighter and learned to live again—all thanks to Dane Belle.
After a week of them not knowing what to do with themselves, Dane had said, “Boys, you’ve been dealt a mighty blow—some men would break under the sadness and pressure. But as a tribute to your parents you have to show you’re Hardin stock, tough and unbreakable.” He had given them a moment to digest that, and then added, “Let’s go. There’re cows to be fed.”
When they weren’t in school, Dane had kept them busy. They’d thrived on his attention. He’d taught them how to cowboy and how to be tough. Dane was a gambler and they’d all benefited when he won big. When Cadde graduated from high school, Dane had bought him a brand-new Chevy pickup. Aunt Etta had said it was too much, and Uncle Ru had agreed.
Cadde had held his breath as he’d waited for Dane to talk them into allowing him to keep the gift. And he had. Cadde had left for Texas Tech University in Lubbock to get a petroleum engineering degree. The next year Kid had followed in his own new truck.
Dane’s daughters had different mothers, so Maddie and Skylar lived out of state and spent holidays and summers on the ranch. Caitlyn was the only sister raised on High Five. With Chance’s brothers gone, that had left him and Cait. They’d graduated together. And just like his brothers, Chance got a truck. Cait got a car.
She’d been furious, for she’d wanted a truck, too. Dane had said that women don’t drive trucks—they drive cars. For a solid month she’d refused to drive the car, but eventually gave in.
Dane’s gambling and drinking took a downward spiral in his later years, and he’d passed away. It was a blow to everyone at High Five, to the community, and to the Hardin boys. Chance supposed everyone had to die. He just wished he didn’t think about it so much.
Dane would be pleased to know that his girls were all happy, and living in High Cotton. Maddie had married Walker, the constable, and they had three kids. Cait and Judd had twin boys. Dane’s wild daughter, Sky, was expecting her second child. Dane was surely resting in peace.
Chance just wished…
The brutal wind tugged at the three-quarter-ton truck as if it were a play toy. Spring was knocking on winter’s door, but winter, Mother Nature’s stepchild, was set on claiming more time. She would soon tire, though. Calving season was around the corner at the ranch and Chance would be busy. He wouldn’t have time for a lot of thinking, especially about his brother’s offer.
But as he drove steadily homeward, he had to wonder how long he could continue to keep his secret.
Could a Hardin be that strong?
SHAY DUMONT GLANCED at the directions in her hand while keeping an eye on the road. Southern Cross couldn’t be much farther. Miles of ranch land with thick woods and swaying grasses flashed by. She chewed on a nail, then forced herself to stop the bad habit. But here she was, on this lonely road in the middle of nowhere. It was a little unnerving.
What she had planned was unnerving, too.
How much farther could it be? Then she saw the huge stone entrance and the wrought-iron arc with the name Southern Cross welded on it. Bingo! This was it. Her heart raced and her clammy hands gripped the steering wheel. She’d waited years for this day, and nerves weren’t going to get the best of her.
The Calhouns were going to get the shock of their lives. Her mother had told her to enjoy every minute of the confrontation, but she’d never enjoyed hurting anyone. That wasn’t Shay’s nature.
She passed the entrance. For the first time she realized how hard this was going to be. Taking a deep breath, she looked for a place to turn around. Pasture lands stretched on either side of her, enclosed with barbed wire fences. No Trespassing signs were attached to the wire every half mile or so.
Before she could maneuver the car to the side of the road, her cell phone buzzed. She reached in her purse for it and clicked On.
“Have you reached the ranch?”
“Yes.” Just what she needed—her mother giving her more instructions. Shay let out a long breath, made a U-turn and drove back, the wind giving her an extra push.
“You know what you have to do.”
“You don’t have to remind me.” Shay tried to hide the bite in her voice, but failed. “How’s Darcy?”
“She’s in the living room with Nettie. The quicker you get back here the better. That kid is getting on my nerves with her loud, squeaky voice. Why you took her in is still beyond me.”
Shay’s knuckles turned white from gripping the wheel. She was the legal guardian of eight-year-old Darcy Stevens. Shay and Darcy’s mother, Beth, had been very good friends. When Beth, a single mom, had asked her to be her daughter’s guardian if anything ever happened to her, Shay had agreed. In their twenties, neither had dreamed that tragedy might strike them so young, but it had. Beth was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, and had died within months.
Darcy was filled with so much anger at her mother’s death that Shay was at a loss sometimes about how to deal with her. She sucked at being a mother.
“I’ll be back as quick as I can. She does fine with Nettie,” Shay replied. Her mother’s cousin, who lived next door, was a lifesaver.
“Avoid that Hardin boy who’s the foreman. He could be trouble.”
“I don’t plan on talking to any of the cowboys.” A Hardin was the last person she wanted to meet.
“Don’t you let me down.”
Shay clicked off with the words ringing in her ears. They epitomized her whole life. Her mother had probably started saying them to her in the crib. Where most kids had cereal for breakfast, Shay had been spoon-fed guilt. She did not have a Cosby kid’s childhood. It was more like a Hallmark afternoon special.
But today she was going to make up for a lot of that.
By doing exactly what her mother wanted.
What was she doing? Shay’s mind reeled with unsettling thoughts, and she misjudged the distance to her purse. Her cell phone fell to the floor. Reaching for it, she turned the wheel too far, and the car slid off the road. Quickly overcorrecting, she glanced up and saw a silver truck heading straight for her. She jerked the wheel and the car left the road and barreled across a bar ditch, through a fence, and kept going.
CHANCE PULLED OVER to the side of the road and jumped out, poking 911 into his cell. He gave his name, location and a few details. The wind tugged at his hat, so he threw it into the backseat.
The operator told him there was a bad wreck on US 290 and that all available ambulances were en route there. She said she’d send one as soon as she could. As they spoke, Chance paused briefly on the shoulder of the road and took in the situation. The car had crashed through a fence, grazed a tree and was resting in the creek.
“Can you see anything?” the dispatcher asked.
“Yes. The car is in Crooked Creek.”
“I’ve notified the volunteer fire department in your area and the constable. Help is on the way. Check and see if anyone is injured.”
Clutching his phone, Chance ran down the slope and leaped over the ditch. Please, not another wreck on a dreary March day, was all he could think.
“A small Chevy is slowly taking in water,” he reported to the dispatcher. He stepped into the creek to take a closer look. “Only one person in the car—a woman. Her head is resting against the steering wheel.”
“Does she have on her seat belt?”
Chance peered inside. “Yes.”
“Air bag inflated?”
“No.”
“Do you see blood?”
“No. But there’s water on the floorboard and it’s rising.” His eyes shifted to the front of the car. “Steam is coming from under the hood, but I expect that’s from the hot motor hitting water.”
“Yes, probably. Can you open the door?”
“Just a sec.” Shoving his cell into his jeans pocket, he grabbed the handle and yanked on it. “No. It’s jammed and the water is holding it tight,” he said, anxious moments later. The wind whipped the water against his legs and tousled his hair. His efforts on the door made the car inch farther into the creek.
Damn!
Memories beat at him. His mother’s blonde hair covered in blood flashed through his mind. Chance hadn’t been able to save her. But he would save this woman.
“Do you hear a siren?”
“No. Not yet.”
“Try the other doors.”
He did as instructed, but none would open. “They won’t budge, and the water is rising. It’s up to her waist. Where in the hell is everyone?”
“An ambulance has been rerouted from US 290, but that’s twenty miles away. High Cotton is one of those remote communities we have problems with, but the fire department should be there.”
“They’re not.” Chance bent and gazed in at the unconscious woman again. Her blonde hair was long and the tips were now touching water. “This lady doesn’t have a lot of time.”
“Okay. I just heard from High Cotton’s fire chief. They’re having trouble with the truck.”
“Damn.” They were always having problems with that old fire engine. They’d been having fundraisers for a new one and had applied for a grant from the state of Texas to help with the cost. But this lady needed help now.
“Just stay on the line.”
“I’m not going anywhere, but this car is filling up fast.”
“Okay. Do you have anything to break a window?”
“I have a crowbar in my truck.”
“Get it, and wait for instructions.”
Gulping a breath, he ran back to his truck for the implement, then sloshed back into the creek to the stranded vehicle. “Now what?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.
“Break the driver’s side window, but be careful.”
Switching to speakerphone, he placed his cell on the roof of the car, then looked inside again. The driver was still out cold, leaning toward the right, that was good. She was farther away from the door.
With one swing, he shattered the window. Luckily, it broke into a sheet of tiny cubes and he was able to break it away from the frame. Pieces of glass fell into the water and others dropped into the car. As he worked, sweat rolled down his face despite the relentless wind.
“It’s done,” he said.
“Check and see if she has a pulse.”
He brushed her long hair aside and felt the smooth skin of her neck. A faint rhythm beat against his fingers and he let out a long breath. “Yes, she’s alive.”
“No help yet?”
“No, and the wind is not helping. The car is not stable.”
“Can you get her out?”
Chance took another deep breath. “I’ll try.”
“Just be sure to brace her neck.”
After making sure there were no jagged glass edges left in the window frame, he reached in, stuck his hand in the water and felt for her seat belt. It made a swishing sound as it slid back into its holder. With a grunt, he grasped her under her armpits and tugged, maneuvering carefully to pull her through the window. The buoyancy of the water helped. At one point the car swayed, and he held his breath.
Finally clear, Chance braced her head on his chest and dragged her away, leaving a wet trail in the mud.
He gently laid her on the grass. While supporting her neck, he managed to struggle out of his wet shirt and stuff it under her head. Then he hurried back for his phone.
“What’s happening? Can you hear me?” he heard the dispatcher calling.
“I have her out on the creek bank.” He knelt beside the unconscious woman. “She has a slight gash on her forehead.”
“Is she bleeding?”
“Not much.” He glanced toward the sky and saw the dark thunderclouds gaining force. “Where in the hell is that ambulance? It’s fixing to rain.”
“Stay calm.”
“Listen, this woman needs to get out of the weather.”
“Check her arms and legs to see if anything is broken.”
He ran his hands over her limbs. “Doesn’t seem to be and I can’t see any more blood.” He made a quick decision. “I’ll take her to the Southern Cross ranch a mile down the road. Route the ambulance there.”
“They’re about ten minutes away.”
Raindrops fell on his hand. “We don’t have ten minutes.”
“Okay. Just be careful with her neck.”
“I will.” Losing no time, Chance shoved his phone into his back pocket again and gingerly scooped her into his arms, making sure her head was braced against his shoulder. As he started toward his truck, he heard a swooshing sound and turned to see the car submerged in the water, with only the roof showing.
Staggering in his wet boots and jeans, he climbed onto the road and hurried to the vehicle. After depositing her on the passenger side, he repositioned his shirt beneath her head, then tilted the seat back. Blood covered her forehead, but the gash had stopped bleeding. Her skin was pasty white and her hair seemed to be everywhere.
He fished his phone out of his pocket. “Thanks for your help. We’re on the way to Southern Cross.”
“The woman was lucky to have you around. Good luck. The ambulance should be there shortly.”
As soon as he clicked off, the cell buzzed again. It was Walker, the constable. Finally.
“Hey, Chance. I’ve been at the courthouse in Giddings and I just got the news about the wreck. How’s the driver?”
Chance glanced at her. “She’s still out and I’m taking her to Southern Cross. The volunteer fire department sure didn’t help.”
“Henry couldn’t get the truck started. It’s time the community did something about that or we’re going to have a major fire and the whole town is going to suffer.”
“Yeah.” Chance snapped the woman’s seat belt into place and ran around the truck, his boots sloshing. He crawled into the driver’s seat, still talking to Walker. “Maybe this will encourage everyone in High Cotton to get behind the project.”
“We can only hope. I’m on my way.”
Within minutes Chance rolled into the driveway of the ranch. He called Renee, Judd’s mother, to announce his arrival with a casualty.
Renee opened the door at once. “Oh, good heavens, come in,” she said as he carried the patient up the steps. Thunder rumbled in warning and heavy rain began to fall. He’d made it just in time.
“My boots and jeans are wet and muddy, Renee,” Chance said apologetically.
“Not a problem! I can clean up a little mud,” she said.
Chance wiped his boots on the mat as best he could, then carried his load inside. Renee spread sheets on the sofa in the den and he gingerly laid the unconscious woman on them.
“What happened?” Renee asked, glancing from one bedraggled figure to the other.
“She ran off the road into Crooked Creek and I had to pull her out. I’ve already called 911 and Walker.”
“Good heavens.”
Chance pointed to the woman’s face. “She has a cut on her head.”
“I’ll get some supplies.”
As Renee hurried away, the woman stirred. “Oh, o-o-oh.”
“Lie still,” Chance instructed. “You’ve been in an accident.”
Renee came back and cleaned the cut with warm water and applied a bandage. “That should hold you until the paramedics arrive.”
Their patient looked around and Chance noticed her eyes were green, a startlingly brilliant color. The kind of eyes that caught a man off guard with their intensity and beauty. She was pretty, too, with a pert nose, clear classic features and gorgeous blond hair streaked with a lighter color he was sure was artificially produced. Definitely not a country girl. She had a big city look about her, and he wondered what she was doing around here.
“Where am I?” Shay blinked, feeing disoriented.
Someone patted her arm. “Don’t you fret, sugar. You’re fine. The paramedics should be here soon.” It was a woman’s voice, sure and confident, with a Southern drawl.
Paramedics?
“You’re at the Southern Cross ranch,” a male voice said. Shay glanced up to see a handsome man with wet, disheveled hair staring down at her. His face was lean, his muscled body was showcased in a white T-shirt, tight jeans and cowboy boots. A cowboy? His eyes were like dark chocolate, tempting, sinful and good for her heart. Had she died and gone to heaven, and was he her reward for putting up with all the crap in her life? Oh, he was a very good reward. Now she felt giddy and…