Table of Contents
Cover Page
Excerpt
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Other Books by
Title Page
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
EPILOGUE
Copyright
“You think she was the old man’s mistress?”
Rafe considered Morgan’s question. “He didn’t seem the sort, but when there’s a pretty face involved. You did notice Christine’s right easy on the eyes?”
Morgan kept a poker face. “I suppose,” he said casually. Too casually?
Rafe raised an eyebrow. “Then again, a man would have to be dead not to notice.”
‘You’d better not let your fiancée hear you say that. Or else—”
“I said notice.”
“Or else you could find yourself standing at the altar alone.”
“I wouldn’t be alone,” Rafe told him. “You’d be standin’ right up there with me.”
Morgan grinned. “You know, Rafe, as your best friend, not to mention havin’ the honor of bein’ your best man, there’s a lot of things I’d do for you. But marryin’ you ain’t one of ‘em!”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ginger Chambers claims that from her earliest childhood she’s always loved cowboys—the way they look, the job they do and the way they feel about the land. In fact, this book (like A Match Made in Texas) is dedicated to them—past and present—especially those in the Lone Star state.
Ginger’s family roots run deep in Texas. Her great-grandfather raised cattle and drove them on the Chisholm Traill
Books by Ginger Chambers
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WEST TEXAS WEDDINGS
Ginger Chambers
CHAPTER ONE
THE LAW OFFICE was intimidating, even for an adult—stuffy, somber, with uncomfortable chairs. When Christine’s name was called, she paused to squeeze her daughter’s hand.
“This shouldn’t take long,” she murmured. “Ten, fifteen minutes tops. Then we’ll stop for an ice cream on our way home, and you can have a double dip of any flavor you want. Does that sound good?”
Erin looked at her with huge dark eyes and nodded.
As it had for the past eight years, Christine’s heart melted. She’d loved her daughter from the first moment she’d seen her, making the trying circumstances surrounding her birth irrelevant. The only thing that had mattered was that this tiny being—so helpless, so filled with need—looked to her for protection and care.
Christine followed the secretary into Eugene Hernandez’s office. A tall thin man in his late forties, he smiled and came quickly to his feet. He shook her hand and offered her a place in one of the chairs opposite his desk, then glanced at his secretary. “Mrs. Warren, if you please, some coffee? Or would you prefer tea?” he asked Christine.
“Actually,” Christine said, sitting down, “I’d rather not have anything.”
The secretary withdrew as Eugene Hernandez reseated himself.
“In that case, we’ll get right to it.” The lawyer searched the papers piled on one side of his desk and brought forward a thick official-looking document, which he promptly flipped to a section near the back. He read it to himself, then folded his hands and looked at her.
Christine’s heart beat faster. What was it? His phone call last night had told her nothing. “A matter of some importance,” was all he’d say.
Eugene Hernandez cleared his throat. “The reason I called you here, Ms. Grant, was to tell you of a bequest in Mr. Ira Parker’s will. A bequest to you.”
Christine stared at the him. “I don’t understand. I’m not a member of Mr. Parker’s family, only an employee.”
The lawyer’s smile was controlled. “Even so.”
Color stained Christine’s. cheeks. She knew what he was thinking. She knew what other people thought, as well. But it hadn’t been like that! Ira Parker was one of the few truly decent people she’d ever met. Through all the long hard months of his illness, he’d remained kind to both her and Erin. Christine had looked upon him fondly, as she might an elderly uncle. She said tightly, “I assure you, Mr. Hernandez, nothing like you’re thinking ever—”
He interrupted her. “Of course, of course.”
Christine stopped protesting. How did you successfully deny something a person was determined to believe?
“What…what is this bequest?” she asked. Just because he’d jumped to a prurient conclusion, she couldn’t afford to ignore an offer of help. She was out of a job and would have to find a new home, as well.
The lawyer referred again to the document. “Yes, here it is.” He proceeded to read the material aloud.
“What does that mean?” she asked, frowning. “A share in a ranch.”
“Not just any ranch,” Eugene Hernandez corrected. “The Parker Ranch.”
Christine’s frown deepened. “I don’t…I’ve never heard…”
The lawyer’s laugh contained a measure of skepticism. “Then you have a very pleasant surprise in store.”
“Can I sell it?” Christine asked.
“Sell it? Absolutely not! That wasn’t what Mr. Parker had in mind.”
“How do you know what Mr. Parker had in mind? How do you know he didn’t intend for me to sell it?”
“Trust me, Ms. Grant, that wasn’t what he wanted.” Like a magician conjuring a rabbit, Eugene Hernandez withdrew an envelope from a side drawer and held it out to her. Her name was on the front. “He also asked me to give you this. You’re to read it in my presence.”
“What other instructions do you have?” Christine asked.
“I’m to answer any question that might arise.”
Christine drew a steadying breath and asked slowly, “What am I to do with one share of a ranch I can’t sell? What good is it to me?”
The lawyer rattled the envelope and handed it to her.
Christine broke the seal and withdrew two pages of high-quality note paper, which she recognized instantly as belonging to Ira Parker. She paused when she saw the spidery scrawl that covered the two sheets. Growing weakness had reduced Mr. Parker’s once robust writing to near illegibility. In the last few weeks of his life he had limited himself to only an occasional signature, and it had been done with painstaking care. Familiar with each phase of his physical decline, Christine realized he had written this letter, at great cost to himself, during those last few weeks.
Tears clouded her vision, but she willed them away. She was still in mourning for Mr. Parker, but she wasn’t going to cry in front of the lawyer. He’d already proved he’d take it the wrong way.
“My dear Christine,” Ira had written. She blinked and had to start over again. “My dear Christine, forgive me for springing this on you at the last minute, but presenting you with a share in my family’s ranch is the only way I know to show you just how much you’ve come to mean to me. You and little Erin ha
ve given such joy to the last months of an old man’s life.
I want you to have something special, something that will provide for you both during the years ahead.
You’ve had a hard life up to this point. Now don’t deny it, I know it’s true! Nothing can be done about the past, but everything can be done about the future.
It makes me happy to think that a small gift from me can make such a difference—especially for Erin. Take her to the ranch, Christine. Take her to the Parker Ranch and let her run wild like I was lucky enough to do as a child. My family will welcome you with open arms. Let them, Christine. No one will hurt you there. They’re the salt of the earth, rock solid, with hearts as majestic as the land that surrounds them. Eugene will give you the particulars.” It was signed, “Ira.”
Christine lifted her stunned gaze. “He wants me to live there?”
“As you know, Ms. Grant, Mr. Parker could be very closedmouthed about his personal affairs. He had an accountant who took care of his finances, while my firm represented him on the occasional personal matter. I knew he was a Parker, but that was all, until the addendum to the will and his subsequent instructions.” The lawyer cleared his throat. “Now, I’ll be glad to answer any question I can.”
Christine’s mind had gone temporarily blank. She continued to stare at Eugene Hernandez. Finally, grasping at straws, she asked, “Where is this ranch?”
“In far West Texas. Mr. Parker provided two maps.” He reached into the side drawer and withdrew a road map of the state, as well as a map drawn on plain paper. The shaky lines showed it to be Ira’s creation.
Christine wanted to cry more than ever now, but years of controlling her emotions helped her hold herself together. “I—I can’t think,” she admitted.
Eugene Hernandez stood, and, coming around the desk, assisted her to her feet. “You have my number,” he said smoothly. “Call me whenever you like. After the shock wears off I’m sure you’ll have many questions.” As he showed her to the door he continued, “You’re a very lucky young woman, Ms. Grant. A share in the Parker Ranch will set you up for life. It’s not an ordinary ranch that’s hanging on by its bootstraps. This ranch is a highly successful business venture because it has good management, cattle and oil.”
Christine moved as if in a trance. She was aware of Erin jumping up and their leaving the law office together. But it wasn’t until they were waiting for the elevator that the reality of what she’d just learned hit her. They owned a share in a ranch! A profitable ranch! And Ira wanted them to make a home there!
Going down on one knee, she gathered her daughter in her arms, gave her a hug, then asked huskily, “Erin? How would you like to live on a ranch? Mommy hasn’t decided for sure yet, but.what do you think?”
“Would it have a horse?” the little girl asked.
Christine smiled. “I’ll bet it would.”
Erin looked at her, her sweet face far too serious. She seemed to have been born an old soul, with all the cares of the world already known to her. “I’d like that!” she said.
THE HOUSE THAT had been their home for the past eight months was located in one of the older and more exclusive neighborhoods in Houston. Each time Christine drove along the tree-lined streets she expected to be stopped and questioned. What was someone from a poor section of Pasadena, a person who had grown up with an oil refinery next door, who had played in the shadow of huge storage tanks and thought it natural to breathe foul-smelling air, doing in a place like River Oaks? Trailer trash was the term she’d heard used to describe her prior social standing. At times it was said in jest by people in a similar situation. At others it was said in disdain.
She directed her old wreck of a car into the driveway leading to the house. The odometer had frozen at 120,000 miles, the engine wheezed and sputtered on starting, and both front doors and a fender had been transplanted from other cars. Ira had insisted she use his Mercedes while in his employ, but she didn’t think Abigail and Brendan Parker—Ira’s grown children—would agree to her continued use of it. So this morning she’d fired up her old campaigner and tried not to worry.
Christine glanced at Erin, who rode silently on the bench seat at her side. “Those ice-cream cones were good, weren’t they?”
“Mmm,” Erin replied.
Christine parked the car off to one side of the threecar garage and again glanced at her daughter. Erin was a quiet child by nature, but she’d been quieter than usual after leaving the law office. During the last few months of Ira Parker’s life, Erin had grown close to him. He’d tried to explain what was happening, but at Erin’s young age, Christine wasn’t sure how much she understood. Christine had allowed her to go to the funeral service the previous weekend because Erin had requested it, and also because she thought it only right that the little girl be allowed to say a last goodbye. Now she wondered if she’d done the right thing.
“Mommy?” Erin said. “Do you think the ranch will have more than one horse? They usually do, don’t they? And if they do, do you think I could have one of my very own?”
Christine gave a mental sigh of relief. It wasn’t the funeral that had been bothering her. “I can’t make any promises, sweetheart. And like I told you, I haven’t made up my mind yet that we’re going.”
“Is it Ira’s ranch?” Erin surprised Christine by asking.
“You know about Ira’s ranch?”
Erin nodded. “He used to tell me about it all the time. About how when he was a boy he’d go for visits and ride horses and help gather cows and look for buried treasure and—”
“Erin!”
The little girl’s eyes grew large. “It’s the truth! He said—”
Christine stepped out of the car. “I believe you. I’m just surprised you never told me.”
“Ira said it was a secret.” Erin scrambled out.
“Like him giving you permission to call him Ira?”
Erin looked away. “I wish he was still in there,” she said softly.
Christine saw that Erin was gazing at the large house. “So do I, sweetheart. So do I.”
Christine followed her daughter inside, where the white-haired housekeeper, Mrs. Tobin, took a moment to hug the little girl and listen to her excited talk of possible horse ownership before telling her that a batch of freshly baked cookies was waiting in the kitchen. Erin hesitated, unsure whether to accept the offer. Ice cream followed by cookies wasn’t something she was normally allowed.
“One cookie is fine,” Christine said. “If you’ll promise to eat all your vegetables at dinner.”
“I promise,” Erin said, then skipped happily down the hall.
Once the little girl was out of sight, Mrs. Tobin’s smile faded. “There’s something you should know,” she said. “Miss Abigail called. She and Mr. Brendan are on their way over. She asked if you were here, and when I said you weren’t, she told me I should put your things out on the curb and not let you in when you came home. Now I ask you, is that any way for Mr. Parker’s children to act? I told her if she and her brother wanted any dirty work done they’d have to do it themselves! She said I could leave, too, if I wanted.” The housekeeper laughed. “Well, they have a little surprise coming, because I’m going to do it! They think I don’t have anywhere else to live, but I’m retiring to my sister’s place in the Hill Country. She’s been after me for years to come live with her. I only stayed on here for Mr. Parker’s sake, and now that he’s gone—” her chin quivered, then firmed and lifted “—I’m not going to take orders from either of them. Not after the way they treated their father. Ignoring him when it suited them, then only coming around when they thought they’d soon have his money! It’s shameful, that’s what it is. Shameful!”
Privately Christine agreed. She’d caught which way the wind was blowing after her first meeting with Ira’s children. They were so busy holding their noses in the air they’d have drowned if it rained! Hateful and spoiled, they were nothing like their father. Christine knew that Ira had loved them, but i
t was the faithful love of a parent, not because they did anything to deserve it. Whenever they were scheduled to visit, Christine would take Erin to the park, effectively removing both herself and her child from their line of fire.
“When did Abigail call?” she asked Mrs. Tobin.
“About a half hour ago. They should be here any minute.”
Christine stiffened her spine. All right. It had come down to it. In truth, she had no right to stay on here. She was merely an employee, as she’d told Mr. Hernandez, and if her employer died, it was his heirs’ decision what happened next. She extended a hand to the housekeeper. “While we have a moment, Mrs. Tobin, I want to thank you for being so kind to Erin and me. You didn’t have to be, you just were.”
“Ahh,” Mrs. Tobin said dismissively, “it was easy to care for the little one—and for you, too. I hope you find another job right away, and that the little one…” She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “If you ever need a reference—I know I’m only the housekeeper here—I’d be glad to vouch for you. Here, I’ll give you my sister’s address in New Braunfels. Keep in touch.”
“I will,” Christine promised, stuffing the slip of paper into her pocket. “When Erin finishes her cookie, will you send her upstairs? I want to be sure not to leave anything of hers behind.”
“Who could guarantee that it wouldn’t end up in the garbage? Not with those two running the place.”
Christine hurried to the suite of rooms she and Erin shared. She could have told the housekeeper that the time spent in this house was the most pleasant in her life, even considering Ira’s decline. That she wasn’t accustomed to people actively trying to make things easier for her or caring about what she thought or felt. But she found saying such things difficult.
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