by Janet Dailey
Somehow, she had thought he would recover. Now Diana realized he would never again be the man he once was. There were glimpses of his former self, but they were shadows without substance. The Major had turned over his command to an outsider and had become merely a figurehead. He seemed suddenly a pathetic man, and her heart cried out at the change. He was old and weak and sick. She was overwhelmed by an urge to hide him from the eyes of others.
Diana interrupted the conversation. “It’s getting late, Major.” And she immediately felt like a mother reminding a child of his bedtime.
“What?” He looked at her blankly for an instant. “Oh, yes, so it is.”
The meal was finished. There was no more reason for the others to linger. Holt took the hint and pushed his chair away from the table, rising to his feet.
“Excuse us, Major. I think we’ll call it a night, unless there is something else you want to go over with me.”
Diana bristled at the patronizing words, pretending the Major was still in charge when Holt knew he wasn’t. Who did he think he was fooling?
“No, I don’t think so,” her father responded, his tiredness showing. “Floyd can fill you in.”
As Diana rose to hurry the others on their way, Guy was on his feet beside her, his low voice eager and questioning: “Diana—”
She didn’t know what he was going to ask, but she cut him short. “I’m tired, Guy.” She moved to her father’s chair, her fingers curling around the wooden posts of the chair back, her attitude protective and possessive. “Good night.” She directed it to all three of the men and received the same response as they left, Rube hastily wrapping two sandwiches in a napkin to take with him.
When they were alone, Diana said, “I don’t know about you, but I’m going to dry my hair and go to bed,” as a means of prompting the Major into getting the rest he so badly needed.
“I am tired, too,” he agreed. “These last few days must have been quite an adventure for you.”
“Yes, they were.” Diana hid the fact that they had been anymore than that. “Good night.”
“Good night,” he echoed.
The Major was at the breakfast table the next morning when Diana entered. He looked rested after his night’s sleep, and it eased some of her concern.
“Good morning, Major,” she greeted him cheerfully. “Good morning, Sophie,” she added when the housekeeper appeared. “Just toast and juice this morning, please.”
“Yes, Miss.” The housekeeper retreated to the kitchen.
“It’s a beautiful morning, isn’t it?” Diana poured herself a cup of coffee from the urn.
“It certainly is.” The Major eyed her indulgently. “But something tells me you have more on your mind than the weather.”
“You guessed right.” She was glad she didn’t have to find a way to lead into her subject. “Last night I did some thinking and decided I should take over some of the ranch responsibilities while you are recovering.”
“Holt is pretty well in charge of everything,” he reminded her.
Don’t I know it, Diana thought, but said, “I know you’ve had to depend on him a great deal. Under the circumstances, there wasn’t anyone else you could delegate authority to, but I’m home now. There isn’t any work on the ranch that I don’t know firsthand, through the sweat of my own brow, you might say.” She laughed, trying to keep it all light. “There isn’t any reason I shouldn’t take over the responsibilities. Holt has done a good job, but you have said yourself that no one takes care of somebody else’s property as well as he would his own.”
“That’s true,” he conceded.
“Besides being capable and experienced, I want to get involved. It’s only natural since I am your daughter,” she reasoned, “and this is my home, too.”
“I can hardly argue, can I?” The Major looked vaguely pleased.
“I hoped you couldn’t.” She couldn’t keep a triumphant smile from curving her lips.
“I’ll discuss it with Holt at lunch.”
A confused fire sparkled her blue eyes. “Why do you need to discuss it with him?”
“You don’t remove a valuable man from his command without a private talk first, unless you want a mutiny on your hands. It requires tact,” he explained with more than a trace of indulgence. Sophie returned with Diana’s toast and juice and immediately disappeared into the kitchen. “We’ll talk to Holt at noon,” the Major said. “After you’ve finished your breakfast, find him and ask him to come to the house early if he can.”
“All right,” she agreed readily.
There was a spring to her stride when she later walked down the incline to the ranch buildings. Horses and riders were gathered near the stable. Guy she recognized, but Diana could find no sign of Holt. Separating himself from the other riders, Guy rode to meet her.
“Hi.” He stopped in front of her, a beaming smile lighting his face. “Would you let Sophie know that Holt won’t be here for lunch?”
“Why? Where is he?” A flash of irritation issued the questions in a rapid-fire burst.
“He left early this morning to go look at some stallions—said he wouldn’t be back until late tonight.” There was a faintly bitter twist to his mouth. “Good riddance, I say.”
Her lips thinned into a tight line. “He certainly isn’t wasting any time trying to acquire a new stallion.”
“We have three mares coming in season and no stud to service them.” Guy wasn’t defending, merely explaining.
“Yes, you’re right.” But it didn’t lessen her sensation of frustration.
“Holt left orders to bring the mares and colts to the inner paddock. That’s where we’re going now,” he said. “Why don’t you ride along with us?”
“No.” It was an absent refusal, her attention already wandering from Guy.
“All you ever say anymore is no.” He read the rejection in her look. “Why don’t you just tell me to get lost? That’s what you used to do.”
Diana turned back to him, her hand lifting to protest, but Guy was already reining his horse around to rejoin the other riders, his features set in angrily hurt lines. Diana didn’t call him back.
When she went to bed that night, Holt still hadn’t returned, and the message still had to be delivered. After breakfast the next morning, she again ventured into the ranch yard in search of him.
Diana stopped one of the men. “Where is Holt?”
“In the stables treating one of the mares.”
“Thanks.” She was already walking away. In the stable, she found Holt and one of the hands in the stall with Cassie, treating the bites inflicted by the white stallion. Diana stepped inside the spacious stall. “I’ll hold her. You can go, Tom,” she told the man at the mare’s head.
Before the man relinquished his hold on the halter, he glanced at Holt for confirmation of the order, then obeyed it. That didn’t set well with Diana. Before she had married and left, no one had questioned an order from the Major’s daughter. It was another indication of the subtle changes that had occurred in her absence.
With a firm grip on the halter, she talked soothingly to the mare, letting Holt finish his task before explaining why she was there. He stepped away from the mare’s hip and capped the bottle of antiseptic.
“Did you find a stallion?” Diana asked first.
“Maybe.” At last, he glanced at her, appraising gray eyes sweeping over her. “But that isn’t what brought you here. What do you want?” Blunt and to the point.
She felt her senses stirring to the virile force of his presence, a purely physical reaction that she couldn’t control. Holt appeared totally indifferent to her.
“The Major wants to talk to you. You are to come up to the house early for lunch.” Her voice shook slightly as she relayed the message.
“I can’t. I won’t be here at noon.” Holt walked out of the stall into the wide stable corridor. “Tell him I’ll be there this evening.”
Diana followed him, stiff-legged with anger. “The
Major says ‘Come’ and you say ‘Wait.’ There was a time you would have jumped at his bidding!”
“I have never jumped,” Holt corrected. “I did what he asked me, and I still do. If he was aware I had made a previous appointment, he would be the first to postpone our meeting. And if it was vital that he see me, he would say, ‘Come now.’ “
Any response Diana might have made was checked when she stepped outside and saw a pickup driving into the yard, bearing a government insignia on its door. Irritation forgotten, Diana hesitated, glancing at Holt.
“What do you suppose he wants?” She nibbled at the corner of her lip. “We’ll find out shortly.”
The pickup stopped in front of the main house. Together, Diana and Holt walked toward it. A short, squat man in his mid-forties climbed out, dressed in typical work clothes of Levi’s and plaid shirt, a straw Stetson on his head. He started for the house, then saw them approaching and stopped.
“Good morning.”
“Good morning.” Diana returned his greeting with her most disarming smile. “Is there something we can do for you?”
“It might be the other way around.” His voice was gruff, but his expression was pleasant. “My name is Keith Jackson. I’m with the Bureau of Land Management, here to see Mr. Somers.”
“I am Diana Somers, his daughter.” As she responded, the man politely removed his hat, revealing a shiny and balding head. “My father isn’t very well. Perhaps I could help you.”
The man glanced hesitantly at Holt as if he was reluctant to speak to a woman. Holt extended a hand in greeting. “I’m Holt Mallory, the Major’s ranch manager.”
“It isn’t exactly necessary that I speak to the Major himself,” the man admitted, addressing himself to Holt. “I’m sure you can provide me with the information I’m seeking.”
“I’ll try,” Holt said with a pleasant, congenial air. “What is it you want to know?”
“We’ve heard reports at the Bureau that you’ve been having trouble with some mustangs,” he said.
“Where did you hear that?” There was a faintly amused and scoffing note in his question.
“You know how these stories get around.” The man laughed. “Somebody tells somebody else, and they tell somebody else. Sooner or later it filters through to us.”
“What did you hear?” Diana asked, silently holding her breath.
“That some wild stallion stole a couple of your mares.”
“We did have two mares that were missing,” Holt admitted. “We had to go out looking for them, but when we found them, there wasn’t any wild stallion with them.”
Diana’s lips twitched in amusement at the half-lie, half-truth. The white stallion hadn’t been with the mares when they had recovered them.
“Oh, I see,” the man hesitated. “We also heard rumors about a stallion fight. Was there anything to that?”
“Yes, unfortunately, there was.” Holt nodded. “We don’t know how it happened, since there weren’t any witnesses. Maybe somebody didn’t secure the latch properly on one of the stud pens. One of our stallions is dead and the other was injured,” he said, implying it was a result of a fight between the two.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” the man offered sympathetically.
“It was a loss,” Holt agreed. “The stallion that was killed was a proven stud. He isn’t going to be easy to replace.”
“I can imagine. I’ve heard the Major raises some high-priced horses. Well,” he sighed, “it looks like I’ve driven all the way out here for nothing. You don’t seem to be having any problems with the mustangs.”
“There’s plenty of water and forage this year,” Holt said as if that explained it.
“Yes, for a change.” The man slipped his hat back on his head, preparing to leave. “If you have any problems with the wild horses, will you contact us?”
“Not willingly.” Holt smiled dryly. “Personally, I think the present law protecting the wild mustangs stinks.”
The look Diana gave him was a mixture of anger and alarm, but the man didn’t seem upset by the remark. He chuckled and shook his head.
“It is an opinion shared by a majority of ranchers,” the man declared. “We’ll see you. Have a good day.”
“Same to you,” returned Holt.
“It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Somers.”
“Yes. Good-bye, Mr. Jackson.” When the man had started his pickup and was reversing out of the yard, Diana turned to Holt, demanding, “Why on earth did you have to say a thing like that?”
“If I had been too cooperative, he might have gotten suspicious. As it is, I probably sounded no different than a hundred other ranchers he’s talked to.”
“I always believed you were cunning, but I never realized that you were such an excellent liar,” Diana retorted. “I’ll have to remember that.”
The pleasantness had left his face, leaving cool mockery in its place. He simply smiled and walked away.
“Tell the Major I’ll see him at seven-thirty tonight,” he offered over his shoulder.
Chapter XII
Promptly at seven-thirty, Holt arrived at the main house. At the sound of his footsteps on the porch, Diana left the study and walked into the living room just as he entered.
“The Major is in his study.” Diana turned to lead him back the way she had just come.
The Major rose from behind his large walnut desk when they entered. “Holt,” he greeted him, reaching across the expansive desk to shake hands. “I’ve missed seeing you at lunch these last couple of days.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“I know you have.” He nodded. “Diana, why don’t you bring us some coffee?”
She returned in a matter of minutes carrying a china service on a tray. The Major and Holt were engrossed in a discussion about a stallion Holt had seen. Setting it down on the desk, she began pouring. As Holt reached for his cup, he noticed the three cups on the tray. His gray gaze sliced to her, aware that Diana was including herself in this meeting.
As he sat back in his chair, Diana took her cup and sat in the wingbacked twin to his. She sipped at her coffee, letting the Major bring up the reason for the meeting in his own time. In the meantime, she made no attempt to take part in their discussion about the stallion and its breeding.
At last, Holt concluded with, “There are two more stallions I want to see before I make my final decision.”
“I wasn’t aware yours was the final decision,” Diana inserted with cool dryness.
“The statement wasn’t meant to be taken literally,” Holt replied.
“Holt has an excellent eye for horses.” The Major seemed to defend him. “As a matter of fact, Holt is the one who selected Fath.”
Diana stared at the black mirror surface of her coffee, containing a surge of resentment. “I wasn’t aware of that.”
“We still haven’t seen enough of his colts to be certain my choice was the right one,” Holt said.
“Enough to give promise,” the Major insisted. “But this is taking us off the track. I didn’t ask you to come here to discuss stallions, Holt.”
“I didn’t think so.” Holt drained his cup and set it back on the tray. “What did you want to talk to me about, Major?” His gaze glanced off Diana, aware that she was involved.
“Diana has expressed an interest in overseeing the operation of the ranch,” the Major stated.
“Which means I’m out of a job,” Holt countered, almost indolently relaxed and unconcerned.
“It doesn’t mean that at all,” the Major assured him, trying to smooth over the rough spot. “What Diana has in mind is assuming my role while I’m recovering. Your position would remain the same. You would only be answerable to a different party.”
An eyebrow arched in a dismissing gesture. “I’m afraid that wouldn’t work.”
“Why?” Diana spoke up, challenging. “Would it bother you to take orders from a woman?”
“I don’t object to taking orders from a woma
n,” Holt corrected, turning his flint-hard gaze to her, “only to taking them from you.” The glove of challenge was hurled back in her face.
“I know you and Diana have had your differences in the past, but—” Her father attempted to lessen the tension suddenly sparking between them.
“I’m sorry, Major.” But there was no apology in Holt’s clipped voice. “If I don’t work for you, I don’t work here at all. Things either stay the way they are, or you indulge this whim of your daughter’s and I leave.”
Diana went cold, guessing what her father’s words would be before he said them. “Of course, I don’t want you to leave. Nor was it Diana’s wish, either.”
But the taunting glitter of Holt’s gray eyes seemed to dispute that claim. All Diana had wanted was to assume her rightful place as the Major’s daughter.
“Major”—her voice was shaking—“do you mind if I speak to Holt alone?”
Initially, her request was met with silence. Then her father rose from his chair. “Yes, perhaps it’s best if the two of you iron this out alone.”
After the Major had left the room, Holt rose from his chair and walked to the fireplace, resting a hand on the mantelpiece. Diana’s heart seemed to be pounding louder than the clock on the mantel.
“All right, Diana, what is it you have to say to me?” Holt challenged. “What do you have in mind? A little blackmail? I suppose you are going to threaten to tell the Major that I attacked you unless I agree to stay.”
His sarcasm took her breath away. “Are you going to deny that you did?” she demanded finally.
“And a very unwilling victim you were, too,” he mocked.
Diana pushed out of her chair, tremors quaking through her body. “It isn’t fair!” she declared stridently. “I’m his daughter, his own flesh and blood, his only child! I should be in charge, not you!”
Holt faced her, impassive and unyielding. “That is for the Major to say.”
