Sarah’s laughter, as if on cue, fluttered on the evening breeze above the guitar strums. Tucker swirled her on the dance floor, her emerald green dress swaying like a gently bubbling stream around her calves. His arm encircled her slender waist. Her blonde hair, swept into a bun, glistened in the Christmas lights, which were draped through evergreen trees planted in red pots every few feet along the edge. Gigantic white, wrought-iron reindeer poised on the stage as the band played in a sleigh large enough for Paul Bunyan. Out of the corner of his eye, Travis saw Mr. M’s white eyebrow cock.
“Something mesmerizin’ ya, boy?” His tone held a slight mocking flavor.
He swallowed. “Decorations are astounding, Mr. M.”
“Ah, yes. Well, Sarah ordered them. Don’t know how she managed to do all of this from four hours away, but everything is done over the internet nowadays.” He slapped Travis’s back again. “Except breedin’ that is. Still gotta do that the ol’ fashioned way, right?”
With a hoop-lah, he wandered back to his crowd, still chuckling at his own joke.
Travis glanced at the newly engaged couple. Right. Breeding is what it’s all about.
* * *
Sarah turned her head in time to catch the shadowed stance of Mr. Righteous glaring in her direction. She could detect his scowl in the flickering lights, even from the middle of the dance floor.
Tucker nudged her. “Think I’ve made someone jealous.”
She scoffed. “Let him grouse. He has no influence over my life, who I marry, or where I live.”
Tucker wrinkled his forehead. “Whatever you say.”
She stopped dancing and folded her arms over her waist. “The wedding certainly will not be here under Daddy’s roof. He’s too hick for my tastes. He’d trade opera, tuxes, and caviar for country western music, jeans, and barbeque any day.” She dashed her gaze to her father as he chatted with the other ranchers. Her expression softened. “Still, like momma, I love the ol’ grizzly bear. I’ll always be his little honey bun. All I have to do is bat my eyelashes and his growl becomes a purr.” She huffed and returned her focus to Tucker. “Daddy’d do anything for me. Travis’ opinion hardly matters.”
“That’s quite a speech, angel. Sure you’re okay?”
She blinked and shot him a pearly grin. “Of course I am. Must be all this party plannin’ mixed with the excitement of our engagement has me a bit on edge. Can we grab a bite and go sit a spell?”
“Sure, babe.”
She wiggled into his palm as he placed it on the small of her back. As they strolled off the dance floor to claps and cheers, everything she surveyed spelled p-e-r-f-e-c-t. They wandered over to the catered food tables. Though barbeque had hardly been her first choice for a Christmas feast, tradition reigned. They did host this on a ranch, after all. Besides, the h’doeuvres melted in your mouth. Who cared if it cost an arm and a leg to fly them in from Houston? The caterers came highly recommended.
Sarah glanced over the garden as Tucker deposited her at a picnic bench draped in white and red linens. “Looks like everyone who’s anyone has come, and all appear to be enjoying themselves.”
Tucker laid a plateful of appetizers in front of her before he sat with his own piled high. “You did well, my dear. I have every confidence you can pull off just the right ambience for any clients I will have to woo in the future.”
She swiveled to face him as she felt her eyes widen. “We will have tons of parties, right? Old fashioned balls. Tea soirees on the lawn over croquet. Sit-down, seven-course dinners for twenty. And no children for at least another five years so we can vacation in the Caribbean or the Mediterranean with friends.”
Tucker encircled her in his right arm and drew her in. “Whatever makes you happy, babe. Even if I have to work eighty hours a week to pay for it.”
Her lips curled into a long grin. Perfect. Her life, her future, her man.
She noticed Betty, a girl who had been a grade above her in school, sashay over to Travis. Oh, Sarah knew what that hip-swing meant. As Betty approached, Mr. Righteous’ vertebrae stiffened. He danced with her at arm’s length, though she tried to move in closer when the song slowed. Then he tipped his hat and back-stepped away, only to be bombarded by Carla, wearing a sequined red formal so tight her maid must have poured her into it. Sarah could detect her fake blushing act from ten feet away. The other ranchers’ daughters, once her rivals, now seemed insignificant. Especially if Travis was considered the best catch around. Yuk.
“Looks like ol’ cowpoke has quite a following. Not sure he is enjoying the attention, though.” Tucker took a swig from his champagne flute.
“Trust me. Altar boy wouldn’t taint his morals with the likes of them. I think he’s savin’ himself.”
“As you are?” He toyed with a wisp along the nape of her neck that had slipped from her bun. It sent a shiver down her spine.
“Social protocol, dear Tucker, as Neanderthal as it sounds. It keeps Daddy happy and writing out the checks. Religion has nothin’ to do with it.”
“And yet you want a church wedding?”
“Of course. Doesn’t everyone? I know your momma wants that for us, and their downtown cathedral in Dallas will be perfect. The stained glass will accent my bridesmaids’ gowns. I’ll walk down the aisle just as the sun is setting through the rose window over the altar.” She leaned back and splayed her hands in front of her as she visualized the scene.
Tucker nibbled her neck. “Can’t wait for the day.”
She shoved him away. “I’m gonna scramble to get everything done by June. Good thing I won’t have any distractions, like a job. You should really give me a year to plan it correctly, you know.”
He choked on his shrimp. “No way, babe. I’m only human. I’ll agree to wait six months until our honeymoon before I ravish your sweet curves—but only to keep your father from raising his .22 at my nose.”
She brushed his cheek with her pinkie. “You’re the best, Tucker. My life couldn’t be more wonderful.”
He slid his hand down her back. “Do we truly have to hold out? I won’t tell if you don’t. We’ll be in Dallas, so how would he know?”
“Tucker, hush. Here comes Daddy.”
Her father sauntered over to her.
“Honey bun, it’s time to hand out the presents to the ranch hands.”
“Yes, Daddy.” She rose and leaned into Tucker’s ear. “It’s tradition. He always gives them a gift certificate to the department store in town. I’ve passed them out as far back as I can remember. Even before momma died, I’d shuffle with her, clutching her skirt as she greeted each one by name and shook their hands. Wanna come?”
He scrunched his nose. “I’ll watch from here.”
A small pang hit her heart. But why would he care for these people? Soon, she wouldn’t either. Her life would be in the big city, not this dusty ranch. It’s not like her father ever involved her in the everyday workings. She still had a fondness for the place though, as long as it was a money maker and the checks cashed.
Sarah waltzed to the make-shift stage and stood in front of the sleigh. She tapped the microphone and announced for the laborers to gather around. Her daddy rocked on his boot heels with a Santa grin. For the first time, she became aware of the resemblance. Her dad’s paunch had widened considerably and his hair had become white as the puffy clouds that sailed over the vast Texas sky. His leathered face carried more wrinkles than she recalled. When did he age?
With a blink, she returned to the task at hand. One by one, she called out the workers’ names. Each stepped forward, bowed, received his present, and then shook her hand and her father’s. She glanced over to the table where Tucker sat, cleaning his fingernails with his pocket knife and yawning. One envelope remained in her hand. The one she dreaded handing out the most. Still it had to be done.
“And last but not least, Travis Wallace.”
The microphone screeched on the last syllable of his name. Travis set his plate aside and rose. Sarah bit her l
ower lip. The ranchers applauded as their manager stepped through the crowd. His cheeks reddened as he stopped to shake a few hands or acknowledge manly back pats.
Sarah shifted her weight to the other foot as he approached, perturbed that this took so long yet fascinated at his seemingly genuine humility. She’d always considered him arrogant and smug. His amber eyes locked with hers as he stood below her stage height, the yellow flecks in them reflecting the blinking Christmas lights strung above the dance floor. It mesmerized her for a moment.
Her daddy cleared his throat.
“Oh. Here you are.” She handed Travis the envelope. “Th-thank you for, um, serving here at the Bar-M.”
He gave her a slight tip of his hat rim. The flecks danced with mirth. “My pleasure, ma’am.”
Did his tone carry a sarcastic edge?
As he reached for his present, their fingers touched. A surge zipped up Sarah’s arm like a miniature lightning bolt. She yanked it back.
Travis knitted his brow for a moment before shaking her father’s hand. Had he felt it as well?
CHAPTER THREE
The rest of the evening, Sarah avoided any contact with Travis but he noticed her as she mingled with the crowd, dragging Tucker in her wake. Poor guy. He wondered if the lawyer enjoyed shadowing the princess of the Bar-M. Maybe a fair trade-off. She spent his money and in return, he got the privilege of toting her on his arm. She had morphed into a knock-out, that’s for sure. Landing a rich rancher’s daughter had its perks, he supposed. If only her personality offered the same attractiveness as her figure.
At eleven o’clock, the crowds vanished like cats in a dog pound. Everyone wanted to get home before the reindeer arched over the rooftops, carrying gifts for the jolly old elf to deliver.
Travis stuffed two wrapped presents into a small duffle bag. His aging parents lived sixty minutes away in Llano, yet his job as manager kept him from seeing them as much as he wanted. Now their only child since his sister’s fatal car wreck three years ago, he worried about their welfare. The couple never had children of their own and adopted the two small siblings when in their late forties, after Tucker and Angela’s parents were killed in a tornado. Travis had been two years old when he came to live with them, so they were really the only parents he’d ever known.
Both were well into their seventies. Hard, dawn-to-dusk farm living had whittled away their health. Only a matter of time before the decision had to be made to sell their homestead and move them into the old folk’s home. Therein lay the rub. He needed his income to afford it, but that meant less time to visit them.
He set the alarm on his cell phone for five a.m. He’d arrive in time to make them coffee and Christmas breakfast at sunrise, and then spend the day with them. Maybe fix some things around their house. That would have to do, for now.
As he drove down the pre-dawn roads, he lifted the situation up to God again. He loved his work on the ranch and his heart swelled with loyalty when it came to Mr. Mansfield. Great guy. Honest as the day is long and grateful for his helpers. Treated each with respect for the load they carried to make the conglomerate horse breeding empire the success it had become. No wonder few left to seek employment elsewhere. He hoped he would never have to give it up. Not for his parents or, God willing, a wife one day.
Travis knew he possessed a natural gift with equines. He could almost decipher their moods, their pains, and their fears. They drew to him like flies to the zapper. Even the new colt had taken to him and whinnied in greeting each time he entered the barn. Yep, God had graced his life. So why did an uneasiness ghost his shoulder? Perhaps because over the past few months, he’d notice a feebleness in both Mr. M and his parents he never acknowledged before. He couldn’t imagine his life without any of them.
He placed the future in God’s hands as he turned into his parents’ driveway. He slipped the key in the back door lock and tiptoed inside. The familiar smell of home hit his nostrils as a clickety-click of dog nails tapped on the linoleum. He stretched out his fist for the animal to sniff. In a soft whisper he addressed the canine sentinel as he scratched its floppy ears. “Hey, Buster boy. It’s only me. Let’s rustle up some breakfast, okay?”
Ten minutes later, his parents’ shuffles emerged, drawn by the aroma of coffee, bacon, eggs, and home-made biscuits as they browned in the oven. Travis’ eyes welled at the sight of his folks in their bathrobes, his dad with a wide toothless grin and his mom clutching her hand to her heart.
“Merry Christmas, y’all. Shall we thank the Lord for His birth before we eat up and head for services?” He enveloped them both in a group hug and prayed over their blessings as Buster’s tail flapped against the floor in joy.
* * *
Sarah stretched. The clock read ten. She shook the sleep from her brain and slipped her feet into her satin slippers. She tiptoed past Tucker’s bedroom door. She didn’t expect him to rise for at least another hour. It had been one-thirty when they’d finally smooched good-night.
The house lay cold and still. Christmas Day. Her father always let the servants and ranch hands off until sunset to be with family. Hopefully, Cook had left enough food to be warmed in the microwave. Culinary skills were never Sarah’s forte. Other than crawling up on the stool to lick the wooden spoon, she’d rarely ventured into the kitchen as a girl.
She plugged in the old percolator her daddy always used to make the coffee. She’d purchased a one-cup brewer for him as his main Christmas gift but resisted the temptation to open it and use it. Then her mind awakened. Where was her dad? He had always been a crack of dawn person.
A coldness fluttered in her chest as she mounted the stairs to his bedroom and tapped on his door.
“Daddy?”
No answer. She knocked again. She called his name a little louder.
A baritone groan resonated from the other side. Sarah turned the knob and slipped in. “You awake?”
He angled his torso, leaning against the bed pillows. “Merry Christmas, honey bun. Just feelin’ a bit lazy. Too much partying for these ol’ bones I guess.” He patted his bedspread.
She crawled onto the four poster bed’s thick mattress and curled into his armpit, suddenly feeling six years old again. “I love you, Daddy.”
He brushed the crown of her head with his moustache-coated lips. “Back at ya. Why don’t you go see what Cook made us for breakfast? I smell coffee.”
She pecked his cheek and slid off the covers. “I saw an egg and sausage casserole in the fridge. I’ll serve it to you in bed, if you like.”
He grinned, though his eyes contained an unusual weariness. “Now that would be downright dandy.”
“You got it.” She smacked his leathery cheek. As she exited the master bedroom, the fluttering became a grip in her gut. She shook it off. Even her daddy deserved a day off. Perhaps he’s just hung-over. She left the door wedged open, just in case.
A half-hour later, after he shuffled his fork over his plate and barely put any in his mouth, she asked if he felt all right. He fisted his upper stomach. “Too much rich food and drink last night I guess. Got heartburn real bad. Be a darlin’ and fetch me the antacids in the medicine cabinet.”
She did, and after he took several, he motioned her to take the tray away. “Think I’ll rest a bit longer. Your guy isn’t up yet, right?”
“No, sir.”
He groaned as he repositioned his body under the sheets. “I’ll meet you downstairs in an hour or so. Then we’ll tackle the presents.”
She nodded and blew him a kiss. “It’ll give me time to freshen up for the two most important men in my life. Later, Daddy.”
A little before noon he emerged, walking slower and stiffer than the day before. Tucker rose from the couch as he entered. “Morning, sir.”
He waved his hand. “Sit, sit. Honey bun, bring me some hot cinnamon milk, will ya? Then we will start wranglin’ the gifts under that tree.”
After all the opened presents lay scattered near the chair of each recipient, and
the stockings had been emptied of their contents, the three gazed into the fire as it sizzled. Sarah insisted on it, even though the late morning temperature had already soared into the sixties, one of the warmest Christmases on record. Perhaps that’s why her father appeared a bit sluggish—the weather.
She sucked a candy cane and snuggled into Tucker’s shoulder. “Why don’t we go for a ride and let Daddy rest? Then we will lay out the soup and sandwiches Cook left in the fridge for supper.”
Tucker stretched like a cat after a bowl of cream. “Okay. As long as it’s in my car and not on a horse. Later, Mr. Mansfield.”
Her father lifted a limp hand from his recliner and closed his eyes. His soft snores soon competed with the crackle of the fire-licked logs. She and Tucker tip-toed out of the room.
* * *
Travis pulled into the ranch at five-forty-five in the afternoon. The red sports car still sat in the drive but faced the other way. Odd. If they’d gone to church, they’d have taken Mr. M’s caddie.
He wandered to the barn to check on the colts, sires, and older mares. Manny greeted him, a bucket of oats in his grip. “Did you have a nice Christmas with your folks?”
“Yep. Good day. You?”
“Sí. Met my sister’s new baby. Held it until it spit up on me.” He shuddered with a sour-lemon look on his face. The two laughed so hard the horses spooked. When they stopped to take a breath, they heard shouting from the main house.
“Uh, oh. Sounds like Mr. Mansfield and the boy toy are not getting along.” Travis shrugged and let Angel Hair nibble a carrot from his hand. “Oh, well. Not our concern, right? Let’s finish up. I’m beat.”
A half-hour later, Travis shook his head at the repeated beep, beep of the foreign sports car horn. What a jerk. Give the girl time to say good-bye to her father, for heaven’s sake. He dropped his duffle bag onto his bunk bed and slid open the window to let in the unusually warm breeze. An earsplitting scream entered the room instead. Dazed, he listened. It happened again—higher pitched, longer, louder—from the direction of main house. Sarah!
Hill Country Homecoming Page 2
