by Kadi Dillon
Have a Little Faith
By Kadi Dillon
Copyright © 2011 by Kadi Dillon
All Rights Reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
©cover design by angel Art Studio
Couple Silhouette Image © ©Martine Sansoucy
For questions and comments please contact Kadi at www.kadidillon.com
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—For Mom
Kadi Dillon
Chapter One
To some it may have seemed theatrical, but there was nothing Alexandra Morgan loved more than being awakened by a rooster crowing at sunrise. Like every other morning on the Morgan Ranch, Jerk the rooster made his routine screeching at half past five.
Alex stretched her arms above her head and yawned the sleepiness away. Crystal blue eyes opened and focused, readjusting to the early September sunlight filtering through her bedroom window. She knew before her bare feet touched the hardwood that it was another beautiful day at her ranch.
She dressed in her usual attire—old denim jeans, a button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and scuffed boots. She left her long, black hair down for now, but slipped a string in her pocket to tie it back as the day became hotter.
Alex didn’t bother with cosmetics. Any makeup she applied would be sweated off before lunch. And if there was a perfume known to man that would overpower the earthy smell of dirt and animal, she didn’t know of it.
Flipping on the radio in the kitchen, Alex poured a cup of steaming coffee that had been set to brew at five o’clock and drained it. “…As for the weather forecast for South West, Oklahoma, prepare to see a dip in temperatures over the next couple of weeks…”
“Finally,” Alex mumbled pouring a second cup. The summer had been a brutal one with little rain or relief. In turn, the ponds were down, the soil was dry, and crops were suffering, causing the Morgan’s bank account to be running on fumes.
But that’s nothing new. Alex sighed as she flipped off the radio and walked out into the day, carrying her mug. Morgan Ranch had been in the red for months now. And the blame for their financial dilemma could be laid squarely on the shoulders of Joshua Morgan. Alex’s father had been an obtuse man before he died and had acquired some powerful debts throughout his life—debts that no one except for him knew of until a week after his funeral and that at one point had threatened everything precious to Alex.
But that was long past. Alex and her mother had sold half of the ranches’ twelve-hundred acres, half their stock in cattle, and had reluctantly auctioned off every available piece of machinery they had owned to pay off the debts. Morgan Ranch may be half its original size, but it was now the Morgan’s free and clear, no longer used for collateral for various loans to feed Joshua Morgan’s gambling and alcohol addictions.
She made her way to the stables to take care of her favorite element of country living—the horses. “Good morning, Joy,” Alex greeted.
Joy had come a long way in the four years Alex had her. Like many of the animals on Morgan, she’d been a cast-off. Born ugly, her previous owner had claimed. Her head was too big for her body and she would never amount to anything. Alex had seen her beauty right away. Her head may have been a little larger, but her sweet temperament called to Alex’s heart and she bought her from Mr. Fuller for pocket change. Now this stunning beauty would sell for four times what Alex had paid for her—and she wouldn’t sell her for all the money in the world.
The beautiful, chestnut mare poked her head out of the stall, perking her ears up tall when she heard her mistress. Her nostrils flared as she huffed a greeting. Alex chuckled as she nuzzled her pet. She would never think to start each day without the familiar smell of horse and leather. With the morning chores finished, Alex headed back to the house.
Her mother was sitting at the table as Alex walked through the kitchen. Her wheat colored hair was pulled up in its habitual knot at the back of her head. Her eyes were downcast, staring at nothing as she toyed with her toast. Looking anywhere except at her daughter. Alex paused at the coffee machine and listened awkwardly to the silence. After filling her coffee cup, she hesitated briefly before leaving the kitchen.
She wasn’t aware that she was rubbing her heart, where it hurt the most, with her free hand until she closed her bedroom door. Would it always be like this between them?
Her father—who had been the main cause of detachment between her and her mother—had been gone for six months and they could still barely carry on a conversation about anything except for the ranch. Alex set her cup down on her desk and pulled out a stack of paperwork. Part of the estrangement was her own fault, she knew. It wasn’t that she hadn’t forgiven her mother, for she had. Technically.
She just didn’t understand. She didn’t understand how a mother could stand aside and watch her husband beat their child. She didn’t understand how a mother could choose a man over an innocent little girl. She had been so afraid and her mother never said a word.
Joshua Morgan had been and still was like a god to Linda. To Alex, he was everything she had ever feared and hated.
When Alex was sixteen, she had given up her innocence and conceived a child. Her mother had still said nothing while her father had beaten her and her unborn baby in his rage. The slaps and bruises were nothing compared to the vile names he’d called her and the stunning accusations he threw. But Alex remembered the fear in the possibility that she had miscarried due to the violence.
But no, she hadn’t miscarried. She had grown full term and had given birth to a beautiful six pound daughter and named her Faith—because that was all she had. Faith in her future, faith in the baby she had made and loved with all her heart.
Alex put her pen down and slid the top drawer open. Her fingers dove under a pile of blank envelopes and pulled out a wallet sized framed picture of her daughter at three months of age. She was a beautiful baby, Alex thought achingly. She would have been a beautiful young girl and a beautiful woman one day.
Shaking herself and stowing Faith’s picture back into the drawer, Alex told herself not to dwell on it right now. It hurt—God it still hurt to think of her little miracle and it got her nowhere except for aching for and needing what she couldn’t have. There was a time and a place for memories and a time and a place for living.
When all the paperwork was complete, nothing had changed. Morgan was still in the red, supplies would be ordered, and ranch hands would be paid.
Alex went back down to the kitchen to prepare lunch for her mother and her. As was their habit, they would probably make small talk about the ranch. Her mother would suggest that she handle the dishes herself, only to have Alex insist she go read or rest. They would part silently and both blend back into their routines.
It was a recurring cycle. It was heartbreaking.
Once, Alex thought as she fried bacon for BLT’s, just once would she like to see her mother smile at her. Once, would she love to hear her mother say, ‘I’m proud of you’ or ‘I love you.’ But she wouldn’t. She would barely even look her own daughter in the eye.
She heard the soft squeaking of the wheels that carried her mother through her life and looked up to see Linda roll herself into the kitchen. Alex glanced first at the contraption that held her mother; then into the same blank expression she saw every day.
“Good morning.” Alex laid the plates down on the table. “I’ve made BLT’s for lunch. Are you in the mood for tea or water to drink?”
“Tea is fine.” Linda wheeled over to the table.
T
hey ate quietly as usual. Alex noted her mother was not making any attempt for small talk or even glancing in her direction. It’s so sad, Alex mused as she studied her mother.
She was beautiful—even with age. Her wheat blond hair was long and always pulled up. All though there were creases on her face, they suited her tired eyes—dark blue eyes that no longer held laughter or love for anyone except a man who’d been dead six months.
“Faith’s birthday is in three weeks,” Alex told her. “I was wondering if you’d like to come with me to her grave. I bought her a flower made from stained glass. I’d like to put it on before it rains.”
“We’ll see.”
The short answer was so completely devoid of emotion. Alex struggled not to sigh as she polished off her sandwich. It’s like she doesn’t even acknowledge Faith was ever here. And that hurt, too. She had always mourned her daughter alone except for Sam—the one shining light in her life that she would also never have. Sam was both her friend and the father of her angel. However brief, their association had resulted in Faith and they had remained friends even after they had lost their child.
When the meal was finished, Alex was surprised when Linda handed her plate and glass over. Without a word, Alex took them to the sink to rinse them.
“There’s something I need to discuss with you.”
Alex lifted a brow. “Go ahead.”
“I guess I’m just going to come out and say it. I’m selling the ranch.” Linda backed her chair up, turned, then wheeled her way into the den. The sound of breaking glass filled the kitchen when Alex dropped the one she was washing.
On an oath, she grabbed the dishcloth from the counter and followed her mother. “What do you mean, selling the ranch?” she demanded.
Linda turned her chair to face her daughter. “Tanner Enterprises called me this morning. They’re interested in purchasing the ranch from us. I’m going to accept.”
“But why?” Alex ran her hands through her hair and shook her head. “Mother, why would you want to sell our home?”
“I’ve found a nice retirement home I’d like to move to. They call it assisted living. There’s nothing for me here, Alex. It’s time.”
“Where will I go?” Alex asked, all though at the moment she couldn’t care less what happened to her. The ranch. Don’t make me lose the ranch.
“You’re a grown woman.”
Alex turned to pace the length of the den and stopped abruptly. She could actually feel the color draining from her face—the heat from fury being replaced with ice from dread. “Faith!” she cried thinly and crouched down in front of her mother. She had to make her see. “Mom, Faith is here. I can’t leave my baby here.”
“Graves can be moved.”
Tears were falling and couldn’t be stopped. She let them slide down her face while she tossed her pride aside and begged. “Can’t you see how much this ranch means to me?”
“The money—”
“Isn’t everything!” Alex interrupted her sharply. “I’m making it work. Give me some time, Mother. I’m begging you. Please.”
“Someone is coming next week. They’ll stay here until we make our decision.”
“Who is ‘we,’ Mother?” Alex demanded through hot tears. “Are you talking about Joshua Morgan? Because he’s dead, too.”
“Don’t you dare speak of your father that way,” Linda snapped. Color heated her cheeks, her eyes were mad with fury. Alex thought dispassionately that this was the most emotion she had seen out of her since her father had died. “You never did have any respect for him.”
“Never had…” Alex narrowed her eyes. “You’re right. I had no respect for a man who drank constantly, gambled his life away, and beat his daughter when he was drunk or mad. I have absolutely no respect for a man like that.”
She stormed out of the room before her mother could respond. There was only one place for her to go now, she thought running for the barn. She saddled Joy up in a fury and raced out of the corral and into the woods before any of the ranch hands could stop her.
Sell the ranch, she thought furiously. How could her mother even consider this? New tears welled up in Alex’s eyes and she let them fall. She slowed Joy to a gallop, then to a trot as they followed the stream through the woods and up Little Blue Mountain. Once atop of the hill, Alex jumped down from the saddle and tied Joy’s reins to a tree.
On jelly legs, she walked over to the tiny headstone and stared down at it through the mist of tears. FAITH MARIE MORGAN, it read. October 1st, 2001 to January 10th, 2002.
She sank down to the ground and placed her hands on either side of the stone. “I’m not leaving you, baby.” When a fresh wave of grief hit her like a tsunami, Alex laid her head down and wept.
For all her life she had worked this land. It had broken her heart when she was forced to sell half of their land and equipment. But then, at least she was able to keep the other half. Since she had been a little girl she had helped haul hay in the summer and mend broken fences. She had fed and watered livestock and organized the books.
Her mother had no right to sell her home, Alex thought furiously. She didn’t know what went into the land. She had never understood what had drawn Alex to the ranch when she should have been going to dances or painting her nails.
She had always been a country girl at heart. As far back as Alex could remember, she had used the stables to escape her father’s nasty temper. She remembered always coming home, smelling the gin, and running to the stables. Sometimes it would work, and sometimes her father would come looking for her.
A bond formed between her and the horses—the labor. The sweaty, physical exertion always helped strengthen her and helped to work out the sore muscles and aches her father gave her.
She’d never let him hurt her there, in her safe place. He always thought she was running from him, but she wasn’t. She was running out of the barn—out of her safe place. She knew from a young age that she could never run from Joshua Morgan.
As Alex got older, nightmares would wake her in the middle of the night. In fear of waking her father, Alex would again flee to the comfort of the stables. She had set up a room for herself and slept there occasionally. No one had ever commented on her refuge and even to this day when shadows of the past disturbed her in the night, Alex would sleep in there.
This land meant too much to Alex to lose. She had already given up half of the land to pay off her father’s debts—feeling as though she had sold half of herself. She would lose no more. And whoever Tanner Enterprises were sending could just turn around and go straight back to the office. She wasn’t losing her ranch without a fight.
“For once in my life, I’m taking a stand.” She kissed her fingers, touched the stone, and walked briskly back to her horse.
Chapter Two
“Here’s your report on the Stanhope Project, Mr. Tanner.”
Lane Tanner grunted in what his secretary of four years knew to be an acknowledgement of her presence. Four years ago, she would have been offended at his disregard, but after all that time, Monica Smith knew it was just Lane’s way.
Pushing her thick, black framed glasses back up her nose, Monica studied her boss. He was wildly handsome, most would say. His face was lean and made up of razor sharp edges and high cheekbones. His aristocratic nose was slightly bent as a result of a brawl that probably happened during his childhood.
She couldn’t imagine her tidy employer engaging in a physical altercation when a look or word alone could cut a man at the knees.
His black hair was beginning to curl at the tips and lay disheveled over his brow; sharp, green eyes a shade darker than emerald missed no detail. His mouth was possibly the most attractive part of his face and sat in the center of a strong jaw.
His lips were thin and looked firm and were reluctant to smile, but Monica had heard rumors that they were lips that knew what do and how to do it.
Monica, knowing that a grunt was all she was going to get, laid the file down on Lane’s d
esk and slipped silently out of his office.
Thirty minutes later, Lane surfaced from his work induced coma and closed the file on Morgan Ranch.
His father had brought the Morgan file to him with the hopes of converting the ranch into a hotel or resort. Lane had every faith in Greg Tanner and his ideas, but after the past few hours, Lane had shaped another possibility—a dude ranch.
He had worked out bids and projections and was ultimately pleased with the results. Of course, further research would need to be conducted before he even presented his father with his proposal.
The projected expense for the transition was pocket change to Tanner Enterprises compared to the income they would make on grand opening alone.
It was, Lane thought idly, a good investment. And the Morgan Ranch had currently been downsized and according to his reports, had yet to make a financial comeback. He would need to have a look at their books—a task only attainable if the Morgan’s were willing to sell—but he would bet a year’s salary that their finances weren’t going to change anytime soon. He would use that to his advantage, he decided, making notes in the folder. When the intercom buzzed, he answered it absently.
“Mr. Tanner is on line one for you, sir.”
“Thank you, Monica.” He pressed line one. “Father.”
“Lane, have you looked through the Morgan file I sent over this morning yet?” Greg Tanner’s voice vibrated through the speaker. Straight to business, Lane mused.
“Just closed it. This could be big.”
“It will be big. I’ve already spoken with Mrs. Morgan. She’s agreed to talk terms. I want a man out there next week. She’s offered to accommodate with lodging until her lawyers have read the contracts and a decision is made.”
“It sounds like you have this in the bag.” What he really meant was ‘why do you need me?’
“Your mother is ill, Lane. It’s not looking good. We’re going to be in San Francisco for a time. She wants to visit her sisters there while she’s fit too.” Greg sighed. “I’m leaving this contract to you. I’m counting on you.”
