by Marin Thomas
“The whole situation is sorry.” Samantha stared into her drink.
“Did you bring proof of Charlotte’s death?” Matt asked.
Yeah, her body’s in the bed of my pickup. Travis squelched his anger. He couldn’t find fault with his brother for wanting to protect his father. He’d have the same urge if this had happened to his mother. “I’ll mail Dominick a copy of her death certificate as soon as Charlie and I return to Houston.”
A peek at the wall clock told Travis that the three of them had been together a half hour and Dominick had yet to make an appearance. “It’s best if Charlie and I leave.” Having a civilized discussion about his mother’s death was more than Travis could handle. “I’ll leave my cell number in case Dominick changes his mind and wants to talk.”
“Dad’s going to want answers before you leave,” Matt said. “You might as well stay here tonight so the two of you can talk tomorrow.”
“The kids are planning to sleep in the bunkhouse. Charlie will love that. And this couch—” Samantha pointed to the piece of furniture she sat on “—is a sleeper sofa.”
Okay, so they had room to put him and Charlie up for the night, but the invitation wasn’t heartfelt. Travis got the impression that Matt didn’t trust him and wanted to keep an eye on him. “Charlie and I don’t want to intrude.”
“Thanksgiving is a time to be with family,” Samantha said.
Family—the reason Travis and Charlie had embarked on the trip to Oklahoma in the first place. He couldn’t return to Texas until Dominick agreed to care for Charlie should Travis suddenly drop out of the picture. And what about his daughter? Charlie hadn’t smiled much or played with any friends since her grandmother’s death. “We’ll stay.”
“IF YOU’ RE MY GRANDPA, how come you never visit me?”
Charlie’s question met Travis’s ear as he reached the bottom of the stairs. After tossing and turning on the sofa bed all night, he’d showered and changed in the second-floor bathroom and had been heading to breakfast.
“Who said I never wanted to visit you, Charlotte?”
“Why do you keep calling me Charlotte? My name’s Charlie.”
“Are you always this impudent?”
“Did you call me a swearword?”
The two needed a referee. Travis entered the kitchen. “Mornin’.” He reached out to ruffle his daughter’s hair, but she saw his hand coming and ducked. Impudent little stinker.
“Grandpa keeps calling me Grandma’s name.” His daughter thrust out her lower lip.
“Charlie prefers to be called Charlie,” Travis said.
Dominick stood at the stove, flipping pancakes—avoiding eye contact. “Where is everyone?” Travis asked. The house was too quiet.
“Visiting Juanita’s family.”
“Grandpa said Juanita bosses him around.”
Dominick set five miniature pancakes in front of Charlie, then slid the syrup bottle across the table. “Juanita’s been my housekeeper since Char—for a long time.”
The conversation baffled Travis. This was the first time his father had spoken directly to him since their arrival last night, and they were discussing the housekeeper. Dominick poured batter into the frying pan, his movements careful and precise. A couple of minutes later, he added a second plate of pancakes to the table and a large mug of coffee. “Dig in.”
“Thanks.” Travis reached for the syrup bottle.
“You’re probably confused about who’s related to whom in the family.” Dominick refilled his coffee mug, then propped a hip against the kitchen counter.
Travis had a pretty good grasp on everyone’s relationship, but kept quiet.
“Matt married Amy this past summer. She was a widow. Her daughters, Rose and Lily, are from her first marriage.”
“Rose said that Lily pooped marbles all over the bathroom floor when Matt babysat them.”
“We don’t talk about stuff like that when we’re eating,” Travis said. Leave it to his daughter to add flavor to the morning meal.
“Amy owns a horse-boarding business in Idaho and Matt raises cutting horses on her farm. I wish they lived closer. I don’t get to see them often enough.”
Travis steeled himself against the painful twinge caused by Dominick’s words. Had Travis’s mother not isolated him from the family, his father might have missed him, too.
“I married Duke’s mother, Laura, when Duke was sixteen.” Dominick stared into his coffee mug. “Laura passed away when Duke was in college.”
“I’m sorry,” Travis muttered. Why was he always muttering sorry? When would someone apologize to him for being cheated out of his rightful place in the Cartwright family?
“Is Grandpa sad?” Charlie whispered.
“Not anymore, Charlotte,” Dominick answered.
Charlie opened her mouth to protest her proper name, but Travis nudged her hand and she settled for an eye roll.
“Duke transferred his information-and-technology company to Detroit a year ago. He met Renée there. She’s a social worker. They adopted Timmy. Their baby’s due in January.”
Travis shoved a forkful of pancake into his mouth. He’d lost his appetite but felt obligated to eat, since Dominick had gone to the trouble of cooking for him.
“Samantha married Wade this past September. Wade opened his own investment firm and Samantha runs a rescue ranch for horses. Luke is Wade’s son from his first marriage.” Dominick joined Travis and Charlie at the table. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?” he asked Charlie.
“Nope. I don’t even have a mom.” Charlie shrugged. “My dad said she ran away after I was born.”
Dominick’s dark eyebrows arched. Travis made no excuses for being truthful with his daughter. He wished more than ever his own mother had been truthful with him.
“Is Julie ever gonna be my mom?” Charlie always referred to her mother by first name. Travis assumed it was only natural, since she didn’t remember Julie.
“I don’t know, Charlie.”
“That’s okay. At least I got a dad and you always come back when your job gets over.” Charlie’s smile zapped Travis’s heart. He couldn’t remember the last time his daughter had said something so nice to him.
“That’s right, kiddo. I always come back.”
“What kind of work do you do?” Dominick asked.
“My dad works on a big—” Charlie raised her arms above her head “—oil rig in the ocean.”
For the first time since Travis had entered the kitchen, Dominick’s expression lightened. “What rig?”
“Exxon Mobil Hoover Diana.”
His father nodded as if he knew the exact location and history of the oil platform. “What’s your position-rig manager?”
Yeah, sure. He needed a college degree to run an oil rig.
Travis didn’t mention that he was up for a promotion following his leave of absence from the rig. After a few false starts with his career, he’d begun taking his job seriously. His dedication had paid off. The rig manager had rewarded his strong work ethic by assigning tasks outside a roughneck’s general duties. Travis had learned more about operating a rig in the past two years than he had in all his years working for oil companies. “I’m a roughneck.”
The light fizzled from Dominick’s eyes. “Everyone has to work their way up the ladder.”
Travis’s gut tightened. He shouldn’t care if Dominick was disappointed that his long-lost son was a lowly deckhand. What had the old man expected when Travis had been raised by a single mother who’d barely managed to make ends meet? Unlike Matt, Samantha and Duke, Travis hadn’t lived a privileged life.
“How long have you worked on rigs?” Dominick asked.
“Nine years.”
His father’s eyes rounded.
Travis had been young and rebellious his first few years in the business. He’d been put on probation twice and fired once. Like a lot of young hotheads without male role models in their lives, it had taken longer for Travis to settle down.
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br /> “So your grandmother took care of you while your dad worked?” Dominick’s voice shook when he asked Charlie the question. Travis wondered if the emotion was fueled by anger or sadness.
“Grandma was the best, but she’s in heaven now. She’s one of God’s angels.” Charlie tugged Travis’s shirtsleeve. “Can I go visit Fred?”
“Who’s Fred?”
“Grandpa’s old dog. He slept with us in the bunkhouse. He’s got ’thritus, right, Grandpa?”
“Arthritis,” Dominick clarified, then fired off another question at his granddaughter. “How old are you?”
“Eight. I’m in second grade and my birthday’s March 25th.”
“You’re awfully small for an eight-year-old. Do you drink enough milk?”
“I don’t know. Do I, Dad?” Charlie asked.
“Plenty.” Then Travis added for his father’s benefit, “Charlie’s mother is a petite woman.”
“What’s petite?” Charlie asked.
“Little, like you,” Travis answered.
“Julie’s really pretty. Dad’s got lots of pictures of her.”
Lots equated to a half-dozen snapshots he’d taken of Julie when they’d first begun dating. He’d kept the photos for Charlie’s sake—and to remind himself that pretty blondes were a waste of time.
“Brush your teeth before you play with the dog,” Travis said. A few weeks ago, he’d caught Charlie licking a dab of paste from the tube instead of using her toothbrush. Now he checked the bristles to make sure they were wet. She’d yet to figure out how he knew when she hadn’t brushed her teeth.
“I’ll brush ’em later.”
“Now.” He and his daughter engaged in a staredown. After several seconds, Charlie stomped out of the room.
“Spirited young gal,” Dominick said.
“I’d like to speak with you in private about Charlie before we leave.”
“You’re leaving?”
Had Dominick forgotten his rude behavior the previous night when he’d slammed his office door in Travis’s face? “It’s obvious you don’t want us here.” No sense beating around the bush.
“I don’t like surprises.”
Travis caught a glimpse of fear in his father’s eyes. What did the old man have to be afraid of?
“I’d like you and Charlotte to spend Thanksgiving with the family.”
Travis wasn’t used to being around a big family. Samantha seemed nice enough, but Matt and Duke had kept their distance the previous night. He’d rather settle his business with Dominick and leave.
Before Travis found a way to turn down the invitation, Dominick asked, “Do you have other plans for the holiday?”
“No.”
“Then it’s settled. You and Charlotte will stay here.” Dominick set his coffee cup in the sink, then lifted his coat from a hook by the back door. “Tell Charlotte I’ll be in the barn, waiting for her.”
As Travis gathered the dirty dishes, he didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried that Dominick had insisted he and Charlie remain at the Lazy River awhile longer. He wanted to learn what had gone wrong between his parents, but feared his mother would be made out to be the villain.
Charlie raced into the kitchen, shoving her arms into her jacket sleeves. “Where’s Grandpa?”
“Waiting for you in the barn.”
His daughter dashed outside.
A knock sounded at the door just as Travis had finished loading the dishwasher. The schoolteacher stood on the porch. Her eyes widened when their gazes connected.
“I can’t believe I didn’t notice the resemblance before now.”
Travis had better get used to that reaction if he intended to stick around the area. “C’mon in.” She stepped into the kitchen and he closed the door against the cold. She was taller than he’d first guessed, standing only a few inches shorter than his own six-foot-two-inch height.
“Sara Sanders.” She held out her hand.
“Travis Cartwright.” He grasped her fingers, surprised when he felt calluses on her palm—not the hands of a typical schoolteacher. “My daughter’s name is Charlie.”
A hint of a smile toyed with Sara’s mouth. “Ah, yes, the little walrus.”
“I don’t know where she got the idea to stick straws up her nose.” Travis caught the clean scent that wafted in the air around Sara’s head. Soap. Not perfume. He looked out the kitchen window and spotted a white compact parked next to his truck. Sara drove an economical, no-frills vehicle.
“The resemblance is uncanny,” she said, staring at his face.
“Dominick is my father.”
“My family’s ranch borders the Lazy River and we’ve never heard of a fourth Cartwright sibling.”
“Dominick had no idea I existed.”
“Amazing.”
“Coffee?”
“No, thanks.” Sara’s attention shifted to the doorway.
“Dominick’s in the barn with Charlie.”
“Where are the rest of the Cartwrights?”
“Visiting the housekeeper.”
Up close, Sara was definitely a plain Jane. Tall. Serious. Tiny crow’s-feet fanned from the corner of her eyes, insisting she spent as many days in the sun as she did in the classroom. He guessed her age to be around his own. “Are you and Dominick friends?” He emphasized the word friend, suspecting women of all ages pursued Dominick…or rather his millions.
“Hardly. We’re not even friendly neighbors.” She motioned out the window. “Do you know how long he’ll be?”
Travis shrugged. “You’re welcome to go out and speak with him if you want.”
“I guess I’ll take that cup of coffee and wait.” She draped her coat over the back of the chair.
Considering that most of his days and nights were spent in the company of rabble-rousers, when Travis was with a woman the last thing he cared to do was talk. “Where do you teach?” He set two mugs on the table and joined Sara.
“Tulapoint Elementary. The school serves the ranching community in our area.” She sipped her coffee. “What do you do for a living?”
“I work on oil rigs.”
“I imagine Dominick appreciates having one son who loves oil as much as he does.”
The verdict was still out. Before Travis had a chance to pry information about his father out of Sara, the front door crashed open.
Charlie’s shoes slapped against the wood floor. “Dad! Grandpa says we can take Fred home with us if we want him.” She skidded to a halt in the kitchen doorway. “You’re the lady from that pink house my dad and I ate in.”
Dominick joined Charlie in the kitchen. When he noticed his neighbor, the smile on his face evaporated. “Sara.”
“Sara would like to speak with you.” Travis stood. “C’mon, Charlie, let’s check on—”
“Stay.”
Travis froze.
“Have you decided to sell to me?” Dominick asked Sara.
Sara’s broad shoulders stiffened. “Is there somewhere we can talk in private?”
“Charlie, go upstairs and brush your teeth,” Travis said.
“I already did.”
“Then brush them again.”
“Jeez,” Charlie muttered beneath her breath and stomped from the room.
Sara pulled a letter from the pocket of her coat and thrust it at Dominick. “What’s the meaning of this?”
“Self-explanatory, isn’t it?”
“You intend to sue us for damages?”
Sue? Travis gaped at his father.
“I didn’t say much when one or two of your cows got loose on my land, but the whole herd broke through your fence last week and grazed my property.”
“I’m sure the fifty head of cattle you keep for show didn’t miss the three acres of grass our cows consumed before Cole and Gabe herded them back to the Bar T.”
“That’s not the point.” Dominick rubbed his jaw. “You Sanders are in over your heads.”
“We’re not selling the Bar T.”
“Your brothers feel differently about the situation.”
“I’m keeping my promise to my father—I’m not handing over our ranch to a greedy old man who already owns half the state of Oklahoma.”
“Then you’d better hire yourself a good lawyer.”
Sara’s chin jutted.
“Travis, talk some sense into my neighbor.” Dominick left the room.
“Well?” Sara huffed.
Travis blinked. “Well, what?”
“How do you plan to persuade me to give in to your father?”
“I don’t.”
“Why not? I thought all you Cartwright’s stuck together?”
“This is your fight, not mine. I’m heading back to Houston in a few days.”
Was it Travis’s imagination or had the fire in Sara Sanders’ eyes banked at his pronouncement?
Chapter Three
“Is it true that some guy showed up at the Lazy River, claiming to be a Cartwright?” Sara’s eldest brother, Cole, asked when she entered the barn Thanksgiving morning.
Tulapoint wasn’t a town, rather a map dot boasting a population of 323 people. It took only one phone call to crank the engine on the rumor mill. Not even a national holiday quieted the gossipmongers.
“’Fraid so.” Sara had been shocked that the man she’d seen at Beulah’s two evenings ago had been a Cartwright—according to rumors, a son Dominick had never known existed. “Wilma phoned earlier and said Samantha brought her a pumpkin pie.” The retired Sunday-school instructor battled lupus and, since she’d never married or had children, the local women checked in on her.
“What else did Samantha tell Wilma about the guy?”
“Travis broke the news that their mother recently died of cancer.” No matter the strain between the Sanderses and the Cartwrights, Sara felt sorry for Samantha and Matt. She suspected they’d held out hope that one day they might be reunited with their mother.
Cole grabbed a curry comb from the grooming belt around his hips and brushed Son of Sunshine’s coat. Her brother had purchased the infamous American quarter horse from Matt Cartwright for a measly five-hundred bucks. Their neighbor hadn’t said how he’d come to own the sterile stud and Cole hadn’t asked. SOS possessed a keen intelligence and plenty of “cow” attitude and heart. Pair those qualities with the animal’s ability to perform pinpoint stops, starts and turns, and Cole believed he’d landed the deal of the century.
