Cowgirls Don't Cry

by Silver James

  “No. It’s...there’s no way. The idea is too ridiculous to even consider.”

  “Well, honey, if you don’t tell us about it, there won’t be a way ’cause we won’t be able to help you figure out how to make it work.” Boots sipped from his coffee mug.

  Cass stared from one to the other. “A cattle drive.” Nadine and Boots exchanged a cryptic look, and she sighed. “See? I told you it was ridiculous. There’s no way we could do a trail drive from the ranch to the stockyards.”

  “Why not?”

  Her jaw dropped. “Because, Uncle Boots. Half of Oklahoma City stands between the Crazy M and the stockyards. Not to mention a couple of major interstate highways.”

  “You know, that just might work.” The man in the booth behind her tapped her on the shoulder. “You’d need some permits and stuff but you could move ’em along section line roads. Wouldn’t have to touch many busy streets at all.”

  Were they not listening? She still wanted to bang her head on the table. This was too crazy to even contemplate.

  “Anybody got a map?” Another man dragged a chair over and planted his beefy body at the end of the table. “We could draw out the route right now.”

  “No. Just...stop. It’s just Boots and me. We can’t handle five hundred head. And it’s...what? At least twenty miles to the stockyards? We can’t push cattle more than five maybe ten miles a day tops. There’d be no place to stop at night. No place to water them. I...thank you. All of you. But I...it won’t work.”

  Her audience grumbled but turned away, returning to their own business. The idea was simply too preposterous to even consider. She drank her coffee, completely unaware it held neither cream nor sugar. There had to be another way. She just needed to figure out what it was. Maybe she’d call Chance. He’d disappeared after her outburst, but he’d called and left voice mails on her cell phone since then, asking how she was doing. He was a cowboy. And smart. Maybe he had some ideas that would help.

  Late that afternoon, she clicked off the phone rather than leave yet another voice mail message for him. Boots was down at the barn working with the colt, and Buddy lay in a puddle of sunshine streaming through a window. He woofed, and his paws twitched as he chased something in his dreams. She dropped beside him on the floor and buried her fingers in his thick fur.

  “Am I crazy, Buddy? I mean like totally insane? There’s no way we can drive those cattle to the stockyards. The logistics alone are...I can’t even wrap my brain around what would be involved. No. I can’t do this. There’s got to be another way. I’ll go to the bank tomorrow and park myself outside the president’s office until he meets with me.” She nodded as if to punctuate her resolve. “He’ll have to talk to me. Have to listen to me. And I’ll work something out.” Bending, she brushed her cheek across the top of the dog’s head. “I have no choice, Buddy.”

  The dog whined and licked her chin. “I’m glad somebody still loves me.”

  * * *

  “I’m glad somebody still loves me.” Chance flashed his legal assistant a smile. “Thanks for staying late.”

  “I stay late every night. Say what you mean.” She waggled her index finger at him, the other hand on her hip. “Why, thank you, Heidi, for taking all the heat from my family, for not making me talk to them.”

  She was right, but he sure hated to admit it. Even so, her attitude made him grin. “You are worth your weight in gold, Heidi.”

  “I’m getting that in writing so I can hold it over your head come bonus time.” She leaned on his desk and closed the folder he’d been staring at for the past hour. “Shut it down, boss. Go home. Or go out. Go do something besides sit here and brood.”

  He kicked back in his desk chair and fiddled with the expensive pen in his hand. “You’re on her side.”

  She laughed—long and hard. “Of course I’m on her side. Your father is an absolute alpha hotel.”

  Heidi’s husband was retired military, and she tended to reduce terms used in the vernacular to their military equivalent. “Yeah. But what else is new?”

  She stared at him, both hands on her hips now. “Really? You have to ask this question?” She rolled her eyes when he remained silent. “You, boss. You’re what’s new. The way you’re looking at this situation, the way you’re reacting. This girl’s gotten to you. Why her after all the other stuff your old man has done, I don’t know. But you’ve changed.”

  He shook his head. “No. No, I haven’t, Heidi. If I had, I wouldn’t be sitting here with these papers on my desk.”

  Heidi snorted. “Yes, you have. The old Chance would have filed the paperwork the first day and served the girl at her daddy’s funeral. The old Chance would not sit here stewing over what an alpha hotel his father is, and the old Chance would not care one whit that he was following in his old man’s footsteps. But here you are.” She shook her head and started to wag her finger one more time but resisted. “I’m going home. Turn out the lights when you leave, boss.”

  In the silence following her departure, Chance swiveled his chair to stare out the window behind his desk. The Barron Building, all forty stories of it, dominated the skyline. From his view on the thirty-sixth floor, the southwestern expanses of the metroplex unfolded before him. He picked out the historic Farmer’s Market building and beyond it, Stockyard City. The phone on his desk rang, but he ignored it. It was still ringing when his cell phone started. He didn’t have to check his caller ID. At least one brother would be calling, probably two. Or worse, Cassie’s number would stare back at him.

  He’d done what they wanted—distanced himself from her. He listened to her messages—for a while at least—craving some tiny connection to her. Then he had to delete them without listening. Her voice tore his heart to shreds, and it took every ounce of self-discipline to keep from driving to the Crazy M to claim her.

  Why did he have to choose between his family and the wonderful woman who’d captured his heart? But he knew the answer whenever he looked in the mirror. Take away everything else, he was a Barron. Through and through. Dammit. And when it came to women, being a Barron guaranteed the lady in question would get hurt.

  * * *

  Cass wore the same austere suit she’d worn to her dad’s funeral. The sleeves bunched a little, and she realized all the physical labor she’d done lately had changed her body—slimmed some of the curves and packed on muscle. That wasn’t a bad thing.

  An office door opened, and she sat up straighter, but the woman who emerged ignored her, walking straight to the front of the bank.

  Cass settled back against the uncomfortable chair and wondered again why she was doing this. She hated the ranch. The life didn’t suit her at all. She wanted to sleep late on the weekends. Go out to dinner. Work in an office where her friends gossiped about the latest celebrity breakups and makeups, the hot new television show, the ugly dresses on the red carpet. Except she didn’t care about those things. Not really.

  Another door opened and she leaned forward, peering down the long hallway. A man stepped out and headed away from her. She glanced at the wall clock above the receptionist’s head. Eleven o’clock. Two hours she’d waited. So far. The loan officer had already passed her up the chain to the bank president—who was stalling her. Surely he would leave for lunch. If she couldn’t get in to see him before, she’d grab him on his way out.

  At 12:15, a pizza delivery guy showed up with eight boxes. Pepperoni. Onions. Tomato sauce and baked cheese. The scents blended together, and her stomach growled. Offices emptied, the occupants all rushing down the hall to what she figured was a conference room. A security guard arrived and sat at the receptionist’s desk. He glowered at her from time to time.

  At four, she was thirsty, hungry, in desperate need of the restroom, but unwilling to give up. The man had to go home sometime. The phone on the desk buzzed, and the girl picked it up.

 
“Yessir... No, sir. Hasn’t moved... Sitting here all day... Yessir.” The receptionist covered up the speaker end of the receiver. “Mr. Leonard can’t see you today. You might as well go home.”

  “I’ll stay in case he has a cancellation in his schedule. And I’ll just be back tomorrow. Tell him I’m not going away.”

  The girl sighed dramatically, swiveled her chair so that her back was turned and whispered into the phone. A door at the very far end of the hall opened. “Mr. Leonard can give you ten minutes. But that’s all.”

  Cass jumped to her feet and all but jogged down the hall. Leonard sat behind his desk looking distinctly uncomfortable. He’d rolled his sleeves down but they looked rumpled, and he’d made no pretense at straightening his tie. His florid face glistened with a sheen of sweat despite the cold air venting from the overworked air conditioner.

  “I can’t help you,” he began without preamble.

  “How do you know? I haven’t asked for anything.”

  “I know what you want, Miss Morgan. Your father owes this bank two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, give or take some interest. Are you prepared to pay that amount today?”

  “I can’t. I need an extension.”

  “The matter has been referred to legal counsel for collection and foreclosure on the assets and is no longer my responsibility.”

  She’d been ready to launch into her argument when the import of his statement sank in. “Wait... What? Foreclosure? But the papers—”

  “Ms. Morgan, loan payments were deferred to a balloon payment at the end of the loan period. If you are prepared to pay the full amount due and owing, the bank will halt the collection proceedings. If you aren’t, then the matter is out of my hands.”

  “You can’t just do things like this.”

  “I not only can, young lady, but it’s done. This bank is not in the habit of buying cattle, and that is essentially what we would have to do since your father defaulted on the loan.” He leaned back and rocked, his fingers laced across his ample belly. “I work for the bank. The loan is in default. Filing suit was the financially sound action for this institution. The matter is out of my hands.”

  “But...” She sat, stunned and speechless.

  “Your time is up. You need to leave, Miss Morgan, or I will call security and have you removed.”

  “But...”

  He leaned forward and tapped a button on his phone. “Call security to my office.”

  Cass glared at the man but rose from the chair. “My daddy trusted you.”

  She spun on her heel and marched out with her head held high, brushing by the startled guard. He shadowed her all the way to the parking lot and waited until she climbed into Boots’s beat-up old truck, started it and drove out of the parking lot.

  “So much for the friendliness of small-town banks,” she groused.

  At the next stoplight, she dug her cell phone out of her purse and dialed. The incessant ring echoed from the speaker. “C’mon, Chance. Pick up. Please...”

  “You have reached my voice mail. You know what to do.”

  Yeah, she knew what to do. Why the hell was she depending on the jerk anyway? He sweet-talked her, wined her, dined her and jumped her in bed and then he no longer had time for her. Well, fine. She didn’t need him. She didn’t need anybody.

  A horn honked and startled her out of her thoughts. She focused on driving until she got to a little place next to the highway. It wasn’t the Four Corners but the scent of BBQ wafting through the truck’s open window made her drool and her stomach gnaw on itself.

  Inside, the wooden-planked walls looked grimy and smoke-stained, but the food still smelled heavenly. Antiques and old pictures littered every surface. She ordered ribs and fries, heaped her plate with onions, dill pickle chips and jalapeños, and sat down at a little table in the corner.

  She bit into the first rib and almost moaned. Plastic squeeze bottles held different sauces and ketchup. Experimenting with the various flavors, she found a mix she liked, dragged the rib through the puddle of sauce on her plate and devoured it.

  As she finished off the last of the homemade apple cobbler and ice cream, Cass realized this would be the last time she splurged. She had less than a thousand dollars in her checking account. The ranch account had enough to pay the bill at the electric co-op. The propane company had told her they could wait, and she had almost a full tank at the house anyway.

  No job. No income. The loan was due, and she had no clue how to pay it. A headache formed between her eyes, and she rubbed her forehead. Why did she even care? She hated the ranch. Didn’t she? Hated Oklahoma. But not a certain man who lived here.

  She could just walk away. Not look back. Leave Boots and Buddy and—she nipped that thought. She did not want to think about Chance. About leaving him. Her life was in Chicago. Not here. Wasn’t it? She didn’t want to deal with the tangle of emotions Chance conjured up. Why hadn’t he returned her calls?

  People gave up and walked away all the time. But she wasn’t a quitter. Her daddy would be spinning in his grave—or in that little box holding his ashes—if he could hear her thoughts.

  I don’t raise quitters, honey. You wipe those tears, get back in that saddle and ride. You’re a Morgan. Show ’em what you’re made of.

  “Oh, Daddy,” she murmured. “I miss you. What am I going to do?”

  Something clattered back in the kitchen, and she jerked her head at the sound. Broken glass and spilled food. Yeah, that was a terrific sign from heaven. She glanced out the window but a photo beneath it caught her attention. Faded with age, it showed a group of cowboys on horseback. A herd of cattle milled behind the riders. Leaning closer, she peered at the legend on the photo. 1944—Calvin Barron and hands deliver herd to Oklahoma City National Stockyards.

  “That was quite a day.”

  Cass jumped and jerked her head around. An old black man in a stained apron chuckled. “The war was on and gasoline was bein’ rationed. Old Mr. Barron, he had him a herd of prime cows and no way to get ’em to market. The gov’ment wanted them heifers to feed the army, but them ol’ boys had to figure out a way to get ’em to the stockyards to put ’em on the train.”

  Dizzy as ideas whirled in her head, Cass felt as if she was on the verge of discovering something important. Then the name clicked. “Wait. Old Mr. Barron?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Mister Cal was the current Mr. Barron’s daddy. Mr. Cal was sure anxious t’get those cows to the railhead. Story goes they were all sittin’ around drinkin’, and those boys decided they’d have an old-fashioned trail drive. So they did. Took ’em nigh on two weeks but we pushed that herd from Mr. Barron’s ranch up on the North Canadian River and right down into the stockyards. The newspaper came out and took pictures. Some radio guy from back East came out to interview folks.”

  Cass glanced at him. “Wait... You said we? You rode with them?” She leaned closer to the picture, studying it.

  He tapped the back corner, and she squinted at the grainy photo. She could just make out a chuck wagon in the background. A man with dark skin stood beside it while a little boy waved from the wagon’s seat.

  “My pop was the chuck wagon cook, and I got t’tag along. That was quite an adventure for a kid like me.”

  She smiled and resisted the urge to kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”

  The crinkles smoothed from his face as his expression turned curious. “For what?”

  “For your excellent BBQ. For coming out here to talk to me. For...for giving me the faith that maybe I can do what needs to be done. I gotta go!”

  She dashed out to the old truck, climbed in and pulled out her phone. Cass stared at it, gulping in long breaths as she attempted to quell her excitement. “Daddy, we might just be able to pull this off. With a lot of help.” She’d give Chance one more...chance. She chuckled at the irony,
but was barely able to breathe around the anticipation. When she got his voice mail, she didn’t care. Her enthusiasm bubbled over as she left a garbled message, not even aware when it clicked off automatically.

  Eleven

  Chance’s fingers curled into fists as he stared at his phone. He’d resisted the urge to answer, but had to listen to this voice mail, had to hear her voice. The message...hurt. She burbled with excitement, the words rushing like a stream tumbling over rocks.

  “Saw the banker finally. Sorry sonofagun. He said the bank’s foreclosing, Chance. But it doesn’t matter. I can get the cattle to the stockyards. I know I can. You won’t believe what happened. You know Cyrus Barron? Jeez, that man has more money than Midas. Anyway, I found out something tonight. You won’t believe this. His father did a cattle drive. In the forties. During the war. I can—” The phone cut off.

  He couldn’t breathe. His chest felt like a boa constrictor had wrapped around him, squeezing all the air out. For a minute, he thought she’d found out about his father. When she continued babbling and her excitement level ratcheted up a notch, he’d tried to listen but the pounding blood in his ears muted any sound. He hit the replay button and listened again, prepared this time.

  Cattle drive? During the war? What the hell was she talking about? And more important, what relevance did it have now? He grabbed his phone and hit a speed dial number.

  “Oh? So now you decide to talk to me?”

  “Shut up, Cord. She knows the bank is foreclosing.”

  “Does she know why?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  “I don’t know, Cord, and I really don’t care. She called, really excited, and the way she said the old man’s name, I don’t think she knows. But I need some information.”

  “About what?”

  “About some cockamamie idea she got from somewhere. Do you know anything about a Barron cattle drive?”