by J. D. Faver
The Doctor’s Choice
~Badlands: Book One~
By J.D. Faver
Copyright © 2011 by J.D. Faver
www.jdfaver.com
~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Badlands
Copyright © 2011 by J.D. Faver
License Notes
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights reserved under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be used or reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, posted on any website, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of J.D. Faver, the copyright owner and publisher of this book, with the exception of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized by, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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Cover art copyright © 2013 by Adina Mayo (AdinaMayo dot com)
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Dedication:
I would like to thank my dear friend, Bob Hayes, for his friendship and support. I especially appreciate his broad knowledge and willingness to offer advice on technical aspects of my novels. His expertise has been invaluable.
You might also enjoy
The Reluctant Rancher~BADLANDS: Book Two
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005341WX2
CHAPTER ONE
It snowed the day of Aunt Silky's funeral. The bone-chilling February cold suited Camryn Carmichael just fine. Her mood was as dark as the slate-colored, north Texas sky.
Her gaze flicked over the tall man observing her from the opposite side of the coffin.
The lawyer. Stud in a Stetson. Please! She could feel his attitude from where she stood.
Cami pulled up the collar of her coat to block the biting wind. She couldn’t feel her toes any more. The group of mourners who stood by Silky Carmichael's grave shivered and shuffled their icy feet, but the pastor droned on, oblivious to their discomfort.
Breckenridge T. Ryan, Aunt Silky's lawyer, had made the call to inform her of Silky’s death. Now, he seemed to be assessing her, his dark eyes taking in every detail. He might be considered handsome if he ever smiled. He probably thought her an idiot for wearing her all-weather rain coat and suede pumps in a blizzard, but it rarely snowed in Houston. She certainly couldn't afford a new wardrobe on a resident's meager wages, even for her last living relative’s funeral.
She hadn't visited Moonshadows, her great aunt’s ranch, since high school graduation. Her parents had been killed in a car crash the summer she turned fifteen. Aunt Silky stepped in to keep her in the prestigious Dallas girl's school. She lived at the ranch during summer vacations and holidays. Silky called her every week when she was away, relating stories about her testy old foreman, "T-Bone" or the younger hand, Frank.
The two men stood huddled together against the piercing wind, their faces set in grim tribute to their former employer.
Now Aunt Silky was gone and her obnoxious lawyer was staring hard. Damn him anyway!
Cami’s pumps were ruined. Snowflakes feathered her hair. By the time the pastor intoned his final prayer, her eyes were teary and her nose red both from grief and the bitter
cold.
People filed past, expressing condolences and pumping her hand. She willed them to hurry so she could escape from the slashing wind and mourn in private.
“Miss Carmichael?”
She turned to find the lawyer extending his hand. The cordial smile didn’t quite reach his dark, unreadable eyes.
“Y-Yes. I’m Cami Carmichael.” As he wrapped her hand in his, she shivered and it wasn’t entirely from the cold. “Actually” She struggled to recover some of her dignity. “I’m Doctor Camryn Carmichael.”
He raised an eyebrow and smiled. “I see. Well, I’m Breckenridge T. Ryan, Esquire, but Silky called me Breck.” Her hand remained firmly entrapped in his.
The other mourners scurried to their vehicles. Doors slammed and motors growled in protest as they were awakened from their sleep. Billows of white smoke rose from exhausts as they bid a chilly farewell. The grim parade retraced its route to exit the small cemetery, leaving Cami and Breck alone with employees of the funeral home who were anxious to cover Silky’s casket with earth and return to their homes.
“Can I give you a lift back to Silky’s place?”
“No, thank you. I brought Aunt Silky’s Lincoln.” She nodded to where the candy-apple red vehicle was parked and took a step in that direction to give him the hint.
“Fine,” He gave her hand a squeeze before releasing it and donning his black Stetson. “Call me tomorrow morning and we’ll get together.”
She felt a constricting sensation where her heart should have been. “Excuse me?”
“The will. Except for some minor bequests, you were Silky’s sole beneficiary.”
“Oh.” Cami swallowed hard.
The reality of the death of her only kin had been difficult to bear. This pronouncement only reinforced her isolation.
She longed to return to Houston and the comfort afforded by her fiancé, Clayton Tremont, IV, and by her upcoming fellowship in immunology. She wanted the familiar muggy Houston weather and not this dry north Texas blizzard that was freezing her toes off, among other things.
She accepted the card Breck offered. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” Tucking it into her pocket, she headed for the Lincoln.
#
Breck watched her walk away. He shook his head before climbing into his extra-cab pick-up truck.
Silly woman doesn’t have a clue.
Silky’s great-niece was a major disappointment. Camryn Carmichael was a beauty, but she had no common sense. She didn’t know how to dress for the weather and she didn’t seem to appreciate the significance of the events that were about to unfold in her life. Perhaps she was just some private school debutante and all this wealth was nothing extraordinary to her.
He started the diesel engine and listened to its deep rumble.
This girl…this woman looked too delicate to withstand the harsh extremes of the local environment. ‘Doctor Camryn Carmichael’ she’d said, like she was real proud of it.
He sighed and turned on the heater, immediately fogging up the windows, then switched on the defroster.
He tried to recall everything Silky had ever told him about her beloved niece.
Mostly school honors and some equestrian events, but clearly, she’d been the apple of Silky’s eye. He couldn’t imagine how she’d have the gumption to take over the ranch and make intelligent day-to-day decisions that would have such a broad-reaching affect.
No matter. He’d promised Silky he’d stand by her niece when the time came. He just hadn’t thought it
would come so soon. Nor had he thought the girl would be such an airhead.
He put the truck in gear and pulled slowly into the slushy ruts carved by others, heading toward the Ryan ranch. He drove through the small town of Langston, where he’d grown up, and past the high school where he’d been an athletic and academic star. He passed the church where he’d been baptized and where he added his baritone to the hymns sung most every Sunday.
A short time later he drove through Silky’s ranch, bisected by the long, flat stretch of highway dividing both their properties. Thousands of acres of grasslands and fertile fields lay under a blanket of melting snow. The Ryan and Carmichael ranches were two of the largest in the area. He snorted in disgust. If you didn’t count the Kincaid mega-ranch; the dozens of small properties consumed by Eldon Kincaid’s ravenous hunger for land.
Tomorrow, he would deal with Silky’s lovely little great-niece and drop the bombshell.
#
Cami entered through the back door of Aunt Silky’s big, Victorian house and spread her sodden coat across a kitchen chair. She abandoned her ruined pumps and sprinted up the stairs barefoot.
Shadow, Silky’s big German shepherd lifted his head and followed her ascent with large, mournful eyes.
Cami had put her things in the room she’d always occupied when she had come out for summer vacations as a teen. Rummaging in her bag, she located jeans, a pullover and thick socks to wear with her sneakers.
Passing by Aunt Silky’s room, she noticed that the door was ajar. She steeled herself,
hesitating a moment before opening it all the way. The room was done in a monochromatic palette of pale yellow with a satin bedspread and draperies to match the paint.
A Silver-Point Persian cat looked at her expectantly from its throne atop the king-size bed.
“Oh, I forgot about you. You must be hungry.” She carried the haughty cat downstairs and searched the pantry for food for the animals. Shadow followed her movements with his eyes. The cat jumped up on the countertop and meowed plaintively.
“Well, Miss Priss, is that where you belong?” Cami confronted the self-possessed feline, fisting her hands on her hips.
Disrespectfully reclining atop her roost, the silvery cat stretched out a hind foot and attacked it industriously with her prickly pink tongue.
“Ignoring me? That’s what I can expect from you, you stuck-up hairball.” She scratched the ruff of fur around the cat’s neck affectionately.
Poor thing. She hoped the lawyer would help find homes for Silky’s pets. Her own small apartment complex didn’t allow animals. Of course, her busy schedule wouldn’t give her time to take care of them anyway. Much better to find a nice local family who would take the magnificent pair. The German shepherd whined softly, his expression a portrait of exquisite grief.
“No boy, she’s not coming back.”
She fed them both in the kitchen, using one of Silky’s porcelain soup bowls to serve the cat.
“Sorry, Aunt Silky,” she murmured, placing the bowl on the counter.
Stroking the cat, whose name she couldn’t recall, Cami considered her present situation. In just over two weeks she was going to start her fellowship. She would have to
pay for her small apartment near the Medical Center, the huge enclave of hospitals in Houston.
Aunt Silky had faithfully sent a monthly check to help with living expenses. She wondered how she would make it on the small stipend offered by her fellowship.
Perhaps Aunt Silky had provided for her continued upkeep, at least until she completed her specialization area. The lawyer had said she was Silky’s sole beneficiary. Did that mean the rambling Victorian house and the ranch that seemed to run on forever? There were barns and grain bins, equipment and livestock. What would she do with all these things?
Her musings were interrupted by the chime of the doorbell.
The dog raced to the front door, his toenails making a skittering sound on the polished hardwood.
Peering out through the lace curtains, she saw three elderly women standing on the front porch. She opened the door, but before she could speak they marched inside, wafting a trail of powdery, old lady perfume in their wake.
“Hello dear,” the smallest of the three said in a tiny bird-like voice. “I’m Mrs. Peabody, the Librarian. Perhaps your aunt spoke of me? We were best friends.” She thrust a warm casserole dish covered in aluminum foil into Cami’s hands and began to unbutton her heavy coat.
“No, Delta Ruth.” The tallest of the trio spoke firmly. “I know you and Silky were friends, but actually, I was her best friend.” She tucked a foil wrapped bundle under her arm and unwound her scarf. “I’m Cora Lee Ferguson. I play the organ at the church. Silky and I went way back, you know?”
“Oh, no, I didn’t know,” Cami managed to get in, as Cora Lee pushed the bundle toward her. She juggled her unwieldy armload while both ladies continued to shed their outerwear.
“And I am Alma Jo Tooley.” The woman was thin with a fine bone structure.
Cami thought she must have been quite a beauty in her youth.
Alma Jo smiled at her in apparent delight. “I’m afraid these two are deluding themselves, dear, because I was Silky’s oldest and dearest friend. We were friends from the first day of school back in the old wooden schoolhouse that burned down.” She spoke as though Cami should remember this event.
“Oh, I ah. . . I’m sure. It’s nice to meet you ladies. Won’t you come into the parlor?” She looked questioningly at the items in her hands.
“My dear, that is my ranch chicken casserole. I’m famous for it around here.” Delta Ruth giggled as she pointed to the foil wrapped dish in Cami’s arms. “I hope you like it.”
“Well how nice of you. Thank you.” She neglected to say that she was flying back to Houston tomorrow and couldn’t put away this mound of food in a month’s time. Hoping that T-Bone and Frank would be hungry, she turned to lead the women into Silky’s antique and bric-a-brac crammed parlor.
“I made a loaf of my home-made bread for you. I always take the blue ribbon for my yeast breads.” Cora Lee colored slightly.
Cami expressed her appreciation as Alma Jo held out yet another foil topped dish.
“This is my peach cobbler. I whipped it up for you from the peaches I put up last summer. I must admit that I always take the top honors around here for my canned goods and preserves.”
“Top honors?” she asked.
“The county fair and rodeo in the spring. It’s about the biggest thing around here. You’ll see.” Alma Jo helped her transport the food into the kitchen.
Cami placed the casserole and bread on top of the range to keep it from the inquisitive cat. “I won’t be staying long. I’ve got another year to complete my fellowship.”
She took the cobbler from Alma Jo and placed it alongside the other items.
Alma Jo’s eyes opened wide. “Are you sure? I could swear Silky said she wanted you to have the ranch.” She tilted her head to one side and placed a finger to her cheek, pantomiming her confusion.
“I guess I’ll find that out tomorrow,” Cami said. “That’s when the lawyer reads the will.” She started the coffeemaker.
Returning to the parlor, she found the other ladies comfortably seated, having helped themselves to Aunt Silky’s sherry. They were sipping from tiny cut-crystal cordials.
Delta Ruth refilled her drink from the sparkling crystal decanter. “This is for medicinal purposes, you understand.”
“Yes,” Cora Lee said, nodding her head wisely. “I’m sure you agree, being a doctor and all. A wee nip will keep a body from taking a cold.”
“Ah, yes,” Cami agreed. “I’ve heard that, too. I think it was from Aunt Silky.”
Alma Jo accepted a sherry from Delta Ruth, who had taken on the role of hostess. “Won’t you have one, dear?”
“I’ll wait for the coffee,” she said.
“What do you plan to do with the ranch?” Cora Lee asked. “You know, Silky wa
nted it to stay in the family?”
“Well, no,” Cami said. “Aunt Silky never discussed her wishes with me. I wasn’t raised on a ranch and I wouldn’t have any idea what to do with it. I suppose the lawyer, Mr. Ryan, may know someone who could purchase all this land.”
The three elderly women exchanged knowing looks as they sipped their sherry. Delta Ruth’s lips pursed.
Cami shifted uncomfortably on the stiffly upholstered chair. “I get the impression you’re not telling me something.” She looked expectantly from one to another.
“Well, she’ll find out soon enough,” Alma Jo said.
“That big Kincaid ranching outfit was trying to buy Moonshadows from Silky. She’d get so mad when that fellow kept coming over. She said she’d just like to have shot him where he stood.”
“She didn’t want to sell?” Cami shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
“No she did not!” Cora Lee said emphatically.
“Didn’t they offer her enough for it?”
Delta Ruth rolled her eyes to the ceiling as though considering. “I believe their offer was very generous.” She turned to Cami with a shrug. “But Silky wouldn’t sell at any price. She loved every fence post, cow and tumbleweed on her place.”
Alma Jo wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and took another sip of her sherry. “Silky was raised in this house. Your great-grandfather built it for his bride. He brought her west from Saint Louis. She was a city gal too.”
“I—I see.” Cami reconsidered pouring a glass of sherry for herself.
“Silky told me the Kincaid Corporation was playing dirty tricks on her,” Delta Ruth said.
“What do you mean dirty tricks?” A tingle of apprehension stirred at the nape of Cami’s neck. She sometimes felt this tingle when she walked to her car after a late shift at the hospital. She called it her premonition tingle. Heeding her fears she always asked the guard to walk her to her vehicle.
“Oh, I believe there was some mischief with the stock tanks and then there was the time some fence posts were pulled out.” Alma Jo stared intently at the decanter but turned her gaze to Cami as she smiled brightly. “Don’t worry. I’m sure Breckenridge will explain it all. He won’t let the land-grabbers intimidate you.” She tossed down the sherry.
