West Texas Weddings

by Ginger Chambers

  “My two kids are playing outside,” Harriet volunteered. “They’re near the same age, so they’d probably get along fine.”

  Erin edged closer to Christine. Too much was happening too soon for her. Too many new people in too new of a situation, people who she realized didn’t want them there.

  “I’d rather take her to our room,” Christine insisted.

  Harriet and Shannon exchanged glances, and Mae’s lips tightened. “Little Wesley and Gwen aren’t good enough for her to play with?” Mae challenged.

  Christine frowned. “It’s not that—”

  Mae waved her away. “Oh, go on. Do what you must. But I still want a word with you.”

  “I’ll be back,” Christine promised.

  Outside the room, Erin whispered unevenly, “Let’s go home to Houston, Mommy. As soon as we can…Let’s just get in the car and go!”

  Christine went down on one knee and, catching hold of her daughter’s chin, tipped it up to look steadily into Erin’s tearful dark eyes. “Honey, I know things don’t seem very promising right now, but this is exactly when we have to be the strongest. It’s like when you started school last term—you had to wear a uniform, and you had to get used to the nuns. You didn’t like that at first, either, then you settled in and started to enjoy it.”

  “That lady said Ira was my daddy, but he wasn’t my daddy…was he?”

  Christine braced herself to answer. She had hoped, with the situation as volatile as it had been last night, that particular question had gone completely over Erin’s head. It hadn’t. “Ira wasn’t your daddy, sweetheart,” she said gently. “But he was a nice man, a very nice man who wanted us to come live on the ranch. Remember all the stories he told you? How much you enjoyed them?”

  Erin wiped away a tear. “Yes. But Ira said the people who lived here were nice, too. And they’re not!”

  “Maybe they’re just surprised by what’s happened, and it will take them a little time to get used to it—and to us.”

  “Like when I started school last year.”

  Christine kissed her daughter’s forehead. “Exactly,” she agreed, standing up. It galled her to have to make excuses for the Parkers, but if it helped settle Erin’s mind, she’d do it.

  They were just about to the stairs when the front door opened and two young children tumbled inside. One, a boy of about six or seven, with dark hair and dark eyes. The second, a girl, possibly a year younger, with the same dark hair, but with eyes a luminous shade of gray, exactly like Harriet Dunn’s.

  The children’s bubbling laughter stopped abruptly when they saw Christine and Erin. “Who are you?” the little girl asked, being the first of the two to collect herself. “Are you a friend of Shannon’s? There’s gonna be a wedding, but not until June. She’s already said I can be the flower girl.”

  “She said I can be the ring bear!” the boy bragged.

  “Bear-er,” the girl corrected.

  “That’s what I said!”

  “You said bear,” the girl insisted. “He did, didn’t he?” She looked to Christine and Erin for confirmation.

  Christine couldn’t suppress a smile. More Parkers, but at least these had a certain charm.

  “It’s probably subject to interpretation,” Christine murmured.

  “What’s that mean?” the girl asked.

  “It means I was right!” the boy claimed.

  “It means you both could be,” Erin said shyly.

  The little girl tilted her head to the side. “Are you gonna stay here for a while?” she asked Erin directly.

  Erin shrugged.

  “Do you know who our momma is?” the boy quizzed Christine. “And if you do, have you seen her?”

  “‘Cause if you are,” the girl continued as if her brother hadn’t spoken, “we could play together. Jessica’s gonna be going away the beginning of summer. She’s been visiting her grandma and grandpa at Little Springs. She and her brother and little sister are gonna go live with their daddy in Colorado just as soon as school’s out.”

  Erin’s reply was another shrug.

  The little girl frowned. Just like the adults, she seemed puzzled by the Grants’ unwillingness to be persuaded by a friendly overture.

  “Wesley! Gwen! What are you doing?” The demand came from Harriet, who was coming down the hall. Her face reflected a variety of emotions—irritation, consternation, frustration. Not caused by the scene she’d come upon, Christine sensed, rather the one she’d just left.

  “We were just talkin’,” Wesley said.

  “Didn’t I tell you I’d be right out?” Harriet asked.

  Both children’s chins fell. “You did. And we waited,” Gwen said. “But it got to be so long we thought we’d come in and see if it was okay with you if we asked Marie for some chocolate cookies. She told us she bought a tin the other day, and we should come over sometime soon to eat some.”

  Harriet brushed stray strands of hair away from her daughter’s forehead and sighed. “The two of you and those cookies!”

  “They’re really good, Mom,” the pair said almost in unison.

  Harriet finally broke into a smile. If Christine had known her better, she’d have said the woman looked tired and possibly a little fed up.

  “I know,” Harriet said, then glanced at Christine, pleading silently for motherly understanding as she gave in. “All right. Two cookies each and that’s it! And be sure to thank Marie for sharing them.”

  The children yipped in delight and disappeared into the dining room on their way to the kitchen. A moment later Gwen came back. “You want some, too?” she asked Erin.

  Erin shook her head.

  “It’s all right,” Christine said, giving her permission.

  Erin continued to shake her head.

  An awkward moment followed. Harriet ended it by shrugging and saying, “Kids!”

  Christine smiled tautly. It bothered her that Erin had become so solitary, that she seemed to prefer her own company to that of other children. Partly it was due to personality, partly to the life they’d been forced to lead. This was their fifth move.

  She urged the little girl upstairs, and in the relative safety of their room, settled her as best she could with her toys before going back down to present herself to Mae.

  Mae and Shannon sat at the table, an array of magazines spread out before them. Even from where Christine stopped just inside the door, she could see that they were discussing the upcoming wedding.

  “Pink it is,” Mae proclaimed, sitting back in her chair as if there needed to be no more discussion.

  “I don’t like that shade of pink,” Shannon said with vexed amusement. “You know that.” She turned a few pages. “There. See? That’s what I want.”

  “Looks pink to me!” Mae said stubbornly.

  “Mae!”

  A whisper of a smile twitched the corners of Mae’s lips—the first time Christine had seen a lightening of her expression. But that look quickly disappeared when Mae’s eaglelike gaze swung to her. Shannon, too, raised her head, but her gaze contained no combativeness.

  “So you did come back,” Mae declared, as if there’d been a doubt.

  “I said I would,” Christine murmured.

  “And you always do what you say?” Mae scoffed.

  “I do.”

  Their gazes locked, silently battling. Then Christine picked up an almost imperceptible narrowing of the older woman’s eyes, as if Mae was taking a moment to reassess.

  “Then I guess maybe you’d better sit down,” Mae said at last.

  Christine wouldn’t do it. She wouldn’t do anything the other woman directed her to.

  Mae’s lips tightened and she came directly to the point “I spoke with your lawyer, Mr. Hernandez. He refuses to send us a copy of Ira’s will. It would behoove you to get on the phone and straighten him out.”

  “I didn’t tell him not to give you a copy of the will.”

  “Arid while you’re at it,” Mae carried on harshly, “t
ell him that if he’s not careful, I’ll have his ears pinned to the wall. I’m not without influence in this state.”

  “He’s not my lawyer!” Christine denied heatedly.

  “I’m not responsible for the way—”

  “He’s acting on your behalf.”

  “He’s acting on Ira’s behalf!”

  “For you.”

  Christine drew a steadying breath. She wanted to yell at the woman for being so difficult, but she knew it would do her no good. Instead, she stated crisply, “I never asked Ira to give me a thing.”

  “That’s not what his kids say.”

  Ira’s “kids”! Mae had talked to Abigail and Brendan? But then, wasn’t that exactly what she’d do in her place? “If they said I did, they’re lying,” she denied.

  Mae smiled like a cat happily digesting a canary. “Oh, they said that and a lot more. But I’m sure you’d accuse them of lying about everything else, too.”

  “Probably, if you’d tell me what it is.”

  “All in good time, my dear,” Mae said smoothly. “All in good time.”

  Shannon gathered together the magazines and stood. “I have to get back to work, Mae,” she said quietly. “And since you don’t need me here…”

  “I’ve said all I planned,” Mae replied. “Except to ask for a copy of Erin’s birth certificate.” She looked straight at Christine, daring her to refuse.

  “Will my ears be pinned to a wall, too, if I refuse?” Christine challenged.

  “Don’t tempt me,” Mae murmured, a dark light glimmering in her eyes.

  CHRISTINE AND SHANNON left the dining room together, their footsteps sounding hollow on the stone floor. Christine could sense that Shannon wanted to say something to her, and finally she did.

  “She’s not as fierce as she sometimes seems, you know. She’s just protective of the ranch and the family.”

  Christine spun to face her. “What is she?” she demanded. “Some kind of dictator? Her word is law? Is everyone here afraid of her?”

  “Not everyone, no,” Shannon said quietly.

  “Are you?”

  “No, but we’ve come to an understanding.” Shannon paused. “I just want you to realize.if you’re telling the truth, you don’t have anything to worry about. But if you’re lying—”

  “Ira left me a share of the ranch in his will,” Christine repeated yet again.

  Something in Shannon’s gaze flickered. “Yes, well.” she murmured, then said nothing more.

  CHRISTINE RETURNED to the guest room to find Erin stretched out on her bed napping. The past few days—the past week!—had been hard for her.

  Restlessly Christine went to the open balcony door and stepped outside. It was already hot, even though it was barely ten o’clock. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear men’s voices. Yips and calls and snatches of laughter.

  The Parker Ranch.

  She hadn’t even known of its existence a week ago. Now she and Erin were living on it, staking a claim.

  Nothing had come easy to Christine. She’d had to fight hard for whatever she got. And this she was willing to fight even harder for, because it was her chance to give Erin a better life, a secure future, which a week ago she’d only dreamed about.

  With that thought, Christine turned on her heel and went in search of a telephone. If they wanted a copy of the will, they would have a copy of the will. Erin’s birth certificate, though, was a completely different matter.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  MORGAN WAITED for Rafe in the ranch’s business office, his long form stretched out in the old metal chair. His hands were clasped behind his head, his hat was tipped over his face, and his feet were propped on the edge of the desk. Shep dozed on a cedar bed in the corner.

  If a casual observer concluded that Morgan was dozing, too…well, he was! Last night had been a difficult one. His dad had had a lot of trouble with his arm. It had throbbed and ached, and in general, given him hell. And Dub, in turn, had given hell to everyone else.

  A muscle pulled in Morgan’s cheek. His mother was about at the end of her rope. She’d spent nearly a year taking care of Russell’s kids, and she’d never once complained. But he could see how tired she was deep down. Keeping up with three young kids had taken its toll. The youngest had been still in diapers when she’d first arrived, the oldest starting to assert his independence—not to mention all of them being emotionally shell-shocked from their parents’ long killing field that was legally termed a divorce. Then to top the situation off—his father’s accident. It was a testament to his mother’s pluck that she was still standing. He’d been shocked to see the fresh array of lines on her face, and the way her hands had trembled uncontrollably when he’d rushed home after learning that his father was in critical condition in the hospital. Like his father, his mother had always been a rock. But she was in her sixties now, as was Dub.

  “Hey! I don’t pay you to sleep on the job!” Rafe teased delivering with a solid thump to the soles of Morgan’s boots.

  Morgan jerked upright, swinging his feet to the floor and sliding his hat to the back of his head. “An’ here I was thinkin’ that’s just what you’d done,” he drawled. “Nice chair, nice desk, nice quiet office.”

  “You’re gettin’ as bad as Shep.” Rafe motioned fondly to the still-sleeping dog. “Hey, Shep!” he called, clapping his hands.

  The big dog’s head shot’ up. He blinked, then lumbered to his feet and ambled over to the human he loved most in the world. His tail wagged as Rafe rubbed his head and ears.

  Rafe grinned. To Morgan he said, “I got the rest of the men for the roundup. Now that makes the same six extras as we had last fall. They were a pretty good group. Knew their stuff. Got along okay with the regulars.”

  “Dad told me they were good. Not a lot of sneakin’ drinks or fighting. You set the exact date yet?”

  Rafe dropped into the well-used chair behind the desk. “Well, this year, considering the wedding and everything, I thought maybe we’d get started a little early. Maybe move it up a week, say to the end of the month. That okay with you?”

  Morgan rubbed his cheek with a long finger, considering all he’d done in preparation and all he had yet to do. “Sure. That’s fine by me.”

  Rafe frowned. “There’s also something else. Something I’m just catching wind of. Seems like we might have ourselves some cattle rustlers startin’ to work the area. Been a few hits over toward Debolt.” He named a section of the next county that could, on a relative scale, be considered neighboring ranch land.

  “Ed looking into it?” Morgan asked, his professional interest caught. Ed Davis was Morgan’s counterpart for the cattlemen’s association in this region of the state.

  “Sheriff Denton’s checkin’ it out. I told him to let us know what he finds. In the meantime, though, maybe you’d better tell the men to keep a closer eye out for strangers.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  Rafe looked at him for a few moments, then asked, “How’s Dub? I thought he was coming over with you today.”

  “He was, but his arm hurt him pretty bad last night.”

  Rafe winced, almost as if it were his arm. “Damn, I hate that.”

  “Yeah, so does he.”

  “I’ll stop by and see him later. Let him harass me—that always used to perk him up.”

  Morgan smiled. His father had always loved to tease, and the more he liked you, the more he teased. Rafe, he considered a third son.

  “I don’t know what’s going to happen to him, Rafe,” Morgan said, turning serious. “I don’t know what’s going to happen to either of my parents. For the first time in her life Mom seems at a loss.”

  “You know what she wants,” Rafe said quietly.

  Morgan shifted position. “Yeah, I know.”

  “She wants you to come home for good. She wants you here in case your daddy can’t do like he used to.”

  “She doesn’t want me taking chances and gettin’ shot at any more, either.”<
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  Rafe leaned back and propped his own feet on the desk. “Which puts me in a bad position. Hell, I was at your house as much as I was here when we were growing up. Your mom and dad are almost as much my family as yours. But I can’t tell you you should give up your job. What you’re doing right now is a lot more than most sons would.”

  “Maybe it’s a guilty conscience for not visiting much over the past few years.”

  Rafe snorted and shook his head. “You had a job to do, one you’re good at. They understood. Dub sure did. He’s proud of you.”

  Morgan went to stand in the open doorway. The office was small, an afterthought partitioned off a long narrow storage building. But it was the nerve center of the working ranch. Across the way and to the right was the long low bunkhouse, where four of the single full-time cowboys lived, and to the rear of the bunkhouse was the cook house, overseen by Axel, the housekeeper’s husband. To the left was the tack room and more storage, and directly across the way were the workshops. Beyond them, the working pens and corrals.

  Morgan knew every nook and cranny of the place by heart. Almost every dusty rock. He had a feeling for it he couldn’t explain. Just that it went deep, to his soul. When he was away, a part of him stayed behind, creating a void nothing else could fill.

  “We’ve learned a little more about your girlfriend,” Rafe said, reclaiming his attention.

  Morgan scowled. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

  “Seems she told the truth about the will. At least, the lawyer she has in Houston says it’s true. Ira did leave a will and make a provision for her—a share in the ranch.”

  Morgan’s scowl deepened. “Like Mae said, why would he do something like that when he knew he couldn’t?”

  Rafe shrugged.

  “Do you think she’ll be able to challenge the trust?” Morgan asked.

  “Our lawyer says she can try, but it won’t do any good. It’s airtight.”

  Morgan reached into his shirt pocket. He handed Rafe a folded slip of paper. “Those names I told you about,” he said.

  “Investigators?”

  “The first one’s particularly reliable.”