Belle was unperturbed. "It was a coyote. There must be a pack of them somewhere near by."
"That sound would wake the dead. You worried about a little creak from a windmill? How can I sleep with that going on? Can't we make them go away?"
"It's not that bad. Go to bed, Katie."
Kate began to crawl back into her bag. As she pulled the zipper up, she raised her voice to a high falsetto, and said in concert with her mother, "You'll get used to it."
Her parody of her mother's words sent Belle into gales of laughter.
Belle, in turn, sent Kate into a spasm of giggles by saying in unison with her daughter, "Mamma, honestly."
This time Kate did sleep. She was wakened by a loud cacophony of strident voices coming from outside. Rolling over, she opened her eyes to see the tall figure of a man looming over her. She bolted to an upright position. "Who are you?"
"More to the point," the man demanded, in a gruff drawl, "Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my house?" He was tall, and ruggedly handsome. He wore jeans, a denim shirt, chaps, and cowboy boots. A red bandanna was tied carelessly around his neck.
"My God." Kate shook her head to clear her mind. "I must be dreaming."
The man took a step nearer, The rauls on his spurs jingled. "Who the hell turned off my windmill?"
Kate realized she was wearing only a thin cotton gown that revealed the fullness of her breasts, the smooth lines of her slim waist. The figure she had always been so proud of suddenly became a source of embarrassment. Putting her arms across her chest, she gripped her shoulders. "Your house? Your windmill? You're either drunk or crazy. This place belongs to me! Can't you see I'm not dressed? Get out of here."
Her words converted his anger into smiling arrogance. "Yeah, I see. What are you doing here? Couldn't you afford a motel?"
Before Kate could find a reply that was scathing enough, another cowboy invaded the room carrying her panties and bra. "Hey, Boss, look what Jake and me found hanging on the windmill." He propped one boot on the bales of hay that hid Kate from his view. Holding up the skimpy bikini panties, and swinging the size 34-D bra around on his index finger, he laughed. "Me and Jake want to find the filly that fits these garments. Man, she must be stacked."
"Those garments belong to me," Kate stormed, causing the cowboy to look around the hay bales, and stare at her with his mouth hanging open. "and I am no filly. I'm old enough to be your mother."
And she was. The boy was not one day over twenty years old. Dropping the garments, he ran from the room, calling as he went, "God damn, Jake you ain't gonna believe this."
The older man smiled with sudden good humor. "Lady, you just scared the hell out of Billy Jack." Using his thumb, he pushed his hat back, revealing a bushy head of silver grey hair. "You're not old enough to be my mamma, and he's right, you are stacked."
This middle-aged Lothario was coming on to her. A sudden remembrance drove every other thought from her mind. "What have you done with my mamma?"
At that precise moment, Mamma appeared in the doorway, wearing her long Mother Hubbard night gown, and brandishing a double barreled shot gun. "Hands up, you miserable trespasser. I got you covered."
Kate's dream was turning into a nightmare. "Is that thing loaded, Mamma?" She scrambled from her bed roll, and raced to stand between Mamma and the intruder. Behind her, she heard a dull, frightening click. "Put that gun down, Mamma, before you accidentally shoot somebody."
Belle rested the gun on Kate's shoulder, closed one eye, and looked down the barrel. "Stand still Katie, and let me draw a bead. I can handle this."
The tall stranger moved leisurely across the floor, pushed Kate aside, and pulled the gun from Mamma's shaking hands. "Am I seeing double? Are there two half naked females in my house?" He dropped the hammer on the gun, and leaned it against the fireplace.
Kate pushed her arms into her robe and admonished Belle to, "Put something on."
Belle tied the belt of her robe with a flourish. "Okay stranger, what are you doing here?"
"I was rounding up cattle." Once again, the tall stranger asked, "Who turned off my windmill?"
"Do you work for Mr. Sinclair?" Belle asked, as she came to stand beside Kate.
On the end of an amused laugh, the man replied, "I am Mr. Sinclair."
"Is this something else you omitted, Mamma?" Kate turned to face her mother. "You told me Marcus Sinclair was seventy-five years old."
Angrily, Belle answered, "He is!"
"Was," the man corrected. "Marcus Sinclair was my father, He died last year."
"Oh, dear." Belle put one hand to her mouth. "Nobody told me."
"And who might you be?" One eyebrow climbed up the man's mobile face.
Kate wondered if he was angry or amused. Maybe a little of both, she decided. She made introductions. "I'm Kate McClure." She nodded in Belle's direction. "This is my mother, Belle Sullivan."
"You're Mrs. Sullivan?" The man's voice rose in surprise. "Thatcher Sullivan's widow?" He grasped Belle's hand in a warm greeting, "I'm Hank Sinclair, Marcus's son. Do you remember me?"
"I remember the scrawny little kid Marcus used to bring with him when he came to visit. Are you him?" Belle dropped onto a bale of hay. "I thought you grew up and moved to New York City, or some such foreign place."
"I lived in places more foreign than New York City. I was a geologist for Macon Oil for many years. What are you doing here, Mrs. Sullivan, reminiscing?"
"We live here now," Belle answered. "Kate and I decided to go into the cattle business."
Hank cast a questioning look in Kate's direction. "My old man owned this place. That means it's mine now. I found records showing he had been paying the taxes on Paradise for the last forty years. Maybe you'd better explain that to your mother."
Kate's heart fell to the pit of her stomach. "Mamma, is that true?"
Belle seemed to have found her flagging courage. "That he owned the place? No. That he paid the taxes? Yes. Marcus put the money in the bank in St. Agnes. The bank sent the tax office the money. In turn, I let Marcus use the land. That was the deal we made. Every year Marcus sent me a little note saying he'd put the money in the bank. Every year, I wrote back and told him the lease was renewed. Only this year he didn't write, and later I got a bill for the taxes. I figured he didn't want to lease the land anymore, so I paid the taxes myself." Belle stopped to catch her breath, then added, "They let me pay in three installments."
Hank threw both hands into the air. "I don't believe this. Even my old man wasn't that crazy. That's no way to conduct business."
"It worked for forty years," Belle retorted, "Until your daddy reneged on his end of the deal."
Once again, Hank confronted Kate. "I can't seem to get through to your mother. Maybe I can make you understand. My old man improved this land every year. He put up that windmill out there." He pointed a stiff finger toward the back door. "He strung five wire fences all over the place. He built a barn, and put in a loading chute. We run seventy-five head of cows on this place. I don't think he would have done that if he hadn't owned it." By now Hank was shouting. "What do you mean, you live here now?"
"Why don't you calm down, Mr. Sinclair" Kate said, making an effort to soothe this angry man.
"Calm down, hell!" He swung around and headed for the door. "I want you two crazy dames out of here before the sun goes down today."
Something inside Kate snapped. Words pushed to the back of her mind, and forgotten, surfaced. "The marriage is over, Kate. I want you to leave as soon as possible." She astounded herself by saying, "That's where I'll see you before I'll let you toss me out of here."
Hank slapped his hat against the side of his leg. "What did you say?"
"I said," Kate reiterated, "that I will see you in hell before I'll let you put me off my place."
"Women," Hank exploded, then strode out the door, and down the path toward the two men standing by the water tank.
Kate watched him go, her mouth set in a determine
d line. When she turned, Belle was smiling a smile that spread across her face like sunshine. "That," she said, succinctly, "will teach Mr. Sinclair not to cross my daughter."
CHAPTER TWO
Kate drove south toward St. Agnes. The road was a twisting, winding farm-to- market byway that had seen better days. In the past five miles she had overtaken one tractor, and met one approaching car. Glancing toward her mother, she asked, "Do you think this road is always this deserted?"
"Forty years ago it wasn't even paved. Daddy and I used to drive it every Saturday." Belle reminisced as she stared out the window. "Daddy had an old International Harvester pickup. It wouldn't go more than thirty-five miles an hour."
Kate supposed she would have to accept that as an answer. "How much farther is it to St. Agnes?"
"I'm proud of you, Kate. You stood right up to Hank Sinclair. Then you made those cowboys carry all that hay out of the house."
When she wanted to, Belle could be very exasperating. "Mamma, how much farther is it to St. Agnes?
"I didn't know you had it in you."
Silently admitting defeat, Kate got a tighter grip on the steering wheel. Belle would answer when she was ready, not before. "To tell the truth Mamma, neither did I."
They rode for several minutes in silence before Belle questioned. "Why don't you go ahead and ask?"
Mamma wanted to play games. Well, two could do that. "Ask what, Mamma?"
"Whatever it was you wanted to ask when you asked how far it is to St. Agnes. We passed a sign that said fifteen miles to St. Agnes just before you asked how far it was to St. Agnes."
"I didn't see the sign." Kate's patience was wearing thin. "Mamma, damn it, do you own Paradise?"
"Don't swear, Kate. It's not ladylike."
"Mamma, I want an answer, not a lecture."
"Yes, I own Paradise. What makes you think I don't?"
Puffing out her cheeks, Kate expelled a long breath. "Is there some way Marcus Sinclair could have stolen the place from you without you knowing it?"
"Marcus wouldn't do that. And if he'd tried it, I'd have stopped him. I'm not a fool, Kate." Shaking her head in disbelief, Belle asked, "Don't you trust anybody?"
"I trust you, Mamma, although sometimes I wonder why. I hope to God you haven't conveniently omitted some of the details of your deal with Marcus Sinclair."
"Don't take God's name in vain, Kate," Belle chided gently. "I didn't omit anything. The deal we had was, Marcus paid the taxes, and I leased him Paradise."
It was useless to try to reason with her mother, but Kate felt compelled to try. "Hank Sinclair thinks differently."
"That's Hank Sinclair's problem." Reaching across the little space that separated them, Belle patted Kate's leg. "When we get to St. Agnes, the first stop we make will be at the bank. You can talk to them. That should ease your mind."
Kate began to breathe a little easier. "What kind of an arrangement do you have with the bank?"
"Forty years ago, just before I moved away, I went to Mr. Taylor, he was the president of the bank. I explained to him about the deal I had with Marcus."
There was no way to hurry Belle once she had begun to explain. Kate nodded her head. "Then what?"
"Mr. Taylor was a fine man, but I never could like his wife." Remembering made Belle frown. "She was snooty and stuck-up. She thought she was better than anyone else, just because she was married to the town banker."
She's doing this deliberately, Kate thought. Mamma wants to drive me out of my mind. With a demanding effort of will, she held her tongue.
"They had two children, a boy and a girl."
Kate exploded. "Mamma, I don't care about the history of the Taylor family. Tell me about your deal with the bank."
"Well, that's what I'm trying to do." On the tail of a long suffering sigh, Belle went on. "I told Mr. Taylor the deal Marcus and I had made, and he said if I would open an account with the bank, and give the bank authority to pay the taxes, then Marcus could put the money in the bank each year, and the bank could pay the taxes for me. So, I did, and he did, and they did."
"How do you know he did and they did?" Kate's lips thinned with irritation.
"I got a receipt showing the taxes had been paid every year, up until last year."
It sounded reasonable and legitimate, but Kate wanted to make sure. "We can open an account at the bank while we're there. I still have five hundred dollars in my account in Dallas. I can transfer it to the bank in St. Agnes." Mentally, Kate calculated. "I still owe the movers two hundred and fifty dollars. The deposit for our lights shouldn't be more than fifty dollars. That will leave us enough to live on until you get your retirement check the first of the month."
"I wonder who runs the bank now?" Belle was paying no heed to what Kate was saying.
"Mamma, will you pay attention? We don't have any money at all to buy any kind of live stock for Paradise. How can we even hope to raise cattle if we can't even afford to buy one cow? Maybe I should go to San Antonio and look for a job."
"You tried that in Dallas," her mother reminded her, none too kindly, "and ended up spending all the money from your divorce settlement trying to make ends meet."
"If I have to, I can borrow money on my car. Maybe I should talk to the bank about that." Resentment ballooned inside Kate. How many women, she wondered had faced what she was facing now, the problem of starting over again at middle age with nothing but bittersweet memories to sustain them?
"Cheer up, Kate. In a way, we're rich. We do have the future, and we have each other," Belle philosophized. "Don't look back, honey, and don't regret. Life's too long for that."
"You mean too short, don't you, Mamma?" They had come to city limits of St. Agnes. "Which way to the bank?"
Belle said, "Turn right at the light. The bank used to be about two blocks down. No. Katie, I mean too long. If you died tomorrow, it would be too long to spend regretting what you can't change."
The trim lines of a modern brick building came into view. Under an electronic sign that alternately flashed the time, then the temperature, bold letters announced St. Agnes State Bank.
Kate pulled into a parking space. "Mamma, you're a very astute woman."
Belle undid her seat belt, and reached for the handle of the car door. "I'm smart, too."
"And modest." Kate slammed her car door, and stepped onto the concrete walkway.
Belle fell in step with her daughter. "I've lived long enough to know you can't change the past. You try to learn for what happened, then do the next thing." Belle pulled the bank door open. "Right now our next thing is, get on with making Paradise liveable."
The receptionist who sat behind the desk in the lobby, could have stepped out of a fifties sitcom, right down to her cat-eye glasses and bouffant hairdo. She shifted her gum around in her mouth. "Can I help you?"
Belle had made this ridiculous deal with the president of the bank. Impulsively, Kate declared, "We'd like to see the president."
The receptionist snapped her teeth into her gum. "You want to see Mr. Taylor?"
Kate folded her arms across her chest. "Yes."
"I'll see if he's busy. Would you like to sit down?"
In a matter of minutes Kate and Belle were ushered into a plush office at the end of the hall. The man who rose to greet them was tall, middle aged and handsome. Finished was the word that came to Kate's mind when she looked at him. From the top of his neatly combed salt and pepper hair to the tip of his expensive boots, he was perfectly coordinated, and impeccably groomed. "Ladies?" He grasped Kate's hand with long, tapering fingers. "I'm York Taylor. You wanted to see me?"
Kate introduced herself, then her mother. She hastened to explain their mission, then asked, "Can you check on the status of my mother's account?"
York pressed his index finger into a buzzer on his desk, then leaned back in his chair and tented his fingers together. "Would you like a cup of coffee?"
Kate sipped the tepid liquid and thought that she should have worn some
thing besides jeans and a tee skirt. York Taylor was giving her the once over, with no attempt to hide the fact that he liked what he saw.
A timid little secretary appeared, laid a folder on the big desk, and hurried away.
York thumbed through the folder, then closed it and laid it on his desk. "Mrs. Sullivan, you made this transaction with my father almost forty years ago. It's a relatively simple, if somewhat unorthodox agreement. As of now you have two thousand four hundred dollars and sixty-four cents in your account."
For once in her life, Belle was speechless. After a few moments, she sat her cup on the edge of the desk and leaned forward in her chair. "What did you say?"
"It's a relatively simple..."
Belle pointed to the folder on the desk. "There's money in this account? How did that happen?"
York picked up the folder and ruffled through the pages. "You opened the account with the sum of one hundred dollars. Each year that one hundred dollars accrued interest. Mr. Sinclair always sent a check for the maximum amount of taxes. Because of your initial deposit, the bank was able to begin by paying the discounted amount. We continued to do that throughout the years, and added the small difference to your account."
Kate could have shouted. "This is wonderful news."
Belle gave Kate a broad wink. "I told you not to worry."
York himself supervised the moving of Kate's account from Dallas. When the transaction was complete, he insisted on escorting Belle and Kate to the front door.
"You have been so kind, Mr. Taylor." Kate couldn't remember ever feeling more grateful, or more relieved.
York laid his hand over Kate's arm. "The pleasure was mine. If you need me, don't hesitate to call." He pressed his card into her hand.
Once outside the door, Belle let out a little war whoop. "Yahoo! Can you believe it Katie? I actually got lucky." She put her hand over her mouth, and giggled. "So did you. York Taylor was taken with my red-haired daughter."
"Oh, Mamma, for heaven's sake. The man is probably married."
"If I were you, I'd find out," Belle advised. "He'd be a real catch."
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