Cattleman's Pride

by Diana Palmer

  “Let me know what you find out,” he said. “I'm in this, look. I can't manage a subdivision right near my barn.

  I can't have a lot of commotion around those beautiful Santa Gerts, it stresses them out too much. It would cost a fortune to tear down that barn and stick it closer to the house. A lawsuit would be cheaper.”

  “There's an idea,” she said brightly. “Take her to court.”

  “For what, trying to sell property? That's rich.”

  “Just trying to help us both out,” she said.

  He glanced at his watch again. “Five minutes left and even I'm not that good,” he added. “Pity. If you hadn't kept running your mouth, by now we could have”

  “You hush, Jordan Powell!” she shot at him. “Honestly, of all the blatant, arrogant, sex-crazed ranchers in Texas!”

  She was still mumbling as she went out the door. But when she was out of sight, she grinned. He was a tonic. That night, Janet didn't say a word about any real estate deals. She ate a light supper that Libby had prepared, as usual without any compliments about it.

  “When are you going back to work?” she asked Libby Irritably, her dyed blond hair in an expensive hairdo, her trendy silk shell and embroidered jeans marking her new wealth. “It can't be good for you to lie around here all day.”

  Curt, who was almost the mirror image of his sister, except for his height and powerful frame, glared at the woman. “Excuse me, since when did you do any house-work or cooking around here? Libby's done both since she turned thirteen!”

  “Don't you speak to me that way,” Janet said haughtily. “I can throw you out any time I like. I own everything!”

  “You don't own the property until that will goes through probate,” Libby replied sweetly, shocked at her own boldness. She'd never talked that way to the woman before. “You can produce it, I hope, because you're going to have to. You don't get the property yet. Maybe not even later, if everything isn't in perfect order.”

  “You've been talking to that rancher again, haven't you?” Janet demanded. “That damned Powell man! He's so suspicious about everything! Your father had a heart attack. He's dead. He left everything to me. What else do you want?” she raged, standing.

  Libby stood, too, her face flushed. “Proof. I want proof. And you'd better have it before you start making any deals with developers about selling Daddy's land!”

  Janet started. “Developers?”

  “I heard you this afternoon with that real estate agent,” Libby said, with an apologetic glance at her brother, who looked shocked. She hadn't told him. “You're trying to sell our ranch and Daddy hasn't even been dead a month!”

  Curt stood up. He looked even more formidable than Libby. “Before you make any attempt to sell this land, you're going to need a lawyer, Janet,” he said in that slow, cold drawl that made cowhands move faster.

  “How are you going to afford one, Curt, dear?” she asked sarcastically. “You just work for wages.”

  “Oh, Jordan will loan us the money,” Libby said confidently.

  Janet's haughty expression fluttered. She threw down her napkin. “You need cooking lessons,” she said spitefully. “This food is terrible! I've got to make some phone calls.”

  She stormed out of the room.

  Libby and Curt sat back down, both angry. Libby explained about the real estate agent's visit and what she'd overheard. Curt had only just come in when Libby had put the spaghetti and garlic bread on the table. It was Curt's favorite food and his sister made it very well, he thought, despite Janet's snippy comment.

  “She's not selling this place while there's a breath left in my body,” he told his sister. “Anyway, she can't do that until the will is probated. And she'd better have a legitimate will.”

  “Jordan said we needed to get Mr. Kemp to take a look at it,” she said. “And I think we're going to need a handwriting expert to take a look, too.”

  He nodded.

  “But what are we going to do about money to file suit?” she asked. “I was bluffing about Jordan loaning us the money. I don't know if he would.”

  “He's not going to want a subdivision on his doorstep, III tell you that,” Curt said. “I'll talk to him.”

  “I already did,” she said, surprising him. “He thinks there's something fishy going on, too.”

  “You can't get much past Jordan,” he agreed. “I've been working myself to death trying not to think about losing Dad. I should have paid more attention to what was going on here.”

  “I've been grieving, too.” She sighed and folded her small hands on the tablecloth. “Isn't it amazing how snippy she is, now that Daddy's not here? She was all over us like poison ivy before he died.”

  “She married him for what he had, Libby,” he said bitterly.

  “She seemed to love him.”

  “She came on to me the night they came back from that Cancun honeymoon,” he said bitterly.

  Libby whistled. Her brother was a very attractive man. Their father, a sweet and charming man, had been overweight and balding. She could understand why Janet might have preferred Curt to his father.

  I slapped her down hard and Dad never knew.” Heshook his head. “How could he marry something like that?”

  “He was flattered by all the attention she gave him, I guess,” Libby said miserably. “And now here we are. I'll bet she sweet-talked him into changing that will. He would have done anything for her, you know that he was crazy in love with her. He might have actually written us out of it, Curt. We have to accept that.”

  “Not until they can prove to me that it wasn't forged,” he said stubbornly. “I'm not giving up our inheritance without a fight. Neither are you,” he asserted.

  She sighed. “Okay, big brother. What do you want to do?”

  “When do you go back to work?”

  “Monday. Mr. Kemp's out of town.”

  “Okay. Monday, you make an appointment for both of us to sit down with him and hash this out.”

  She felt better already. “Okay,” she said brightly. “I'll do that very thing. Maybe we do have a chance of keeping Daddy's ranch.”

  He nodded. “There's always hope.” He leaned back in his chair. “So you went to see Jordan.” He smiled indulgently. “I can remember a time not so long ago when you ran and hid from him.”

  “He always seemed to be yelling at somebody,” she recalled. “I was intimidated by him. Especially when I graduated from high school. I had a sort of crush on him. I was scared to death he'd notice. Not that he was ever around here that much,” she added, laughing. “He and Daddy had a fight a week over water rights.”

  “Dad usually lost, too,” Curt recalled. He studied his sister with affection. “You know, I thought maybe

  Jordan was sweet on you himself he's only eight years older than you.”

  “He's never been sweet on me!” she flashed at him, blushing furiously. “He's hardly even smiled at me, in all

  the years we've lived here, until the past few months! If anything, he usually treats me like a contagious virus!”

  Curt only smiled. He looked very much like her, with the same dark wavy hair and the same green eyes. “He picks at you. Teases you. Makes you laugh. You do the same thing to him. People besides me have noticed. He bristles if anyone says anything unkind about you.”

  Her eyes widened. “Who's been saying unkind things about me?” she asked.

  “That assistant store manager over at Lord's Department Store.”

  “Oh. Sherry King.” She leaned back in her chair. “She can't help it, you know. She was crazy about Duke

  Wright and he wanted to take me to the Cattleman's Ball. I wouldn't go and he didn't ask anybody else. I feel sorry for her.”

  “Duke's not your sort of man,” he replied. “He's a mixer. Nobody in Jacobsville has been in more brawls,” be said, pausing. “Well, maybe Leo Hart has.”

  “Leo Hart got married, he won't be brawling out at Shea's Roadhouse and Bar anymore.”

  �
��Duke's not likely to get married again. His wife took their five-year-old son to New York City, where her new job is. He says she doesn't even look after the little boy. She's too busy trying to get a promotion. The child stays with her sister while she jets all over the world closing real estate deals.”

  “It's a new world,” Libby pointed out. “Women are competing with men for the choice jobs now. They have to move around to get a promotion.”

  Cult's eyes narrowed. “Maybe they should get promotion before they get pregnant,” he said impatiently.

  She shrugged. “Accidents happen.”

  “No child of mine is ever going to be an accident,” Curt said firmly.

  “Nice to be so superior,” she teased, eyes twinkling. Never to make mistakes”

  He swiped at her with a napkin. “You don't even stick your toes in the water, so don't lecture me about drowning.”

  She chuckled. “I'm sensible, I am,” she retorted. “None of this angst for me. I'll just do my routine job and keep my nose out of emotional entanglements.”

  He studied her curiously. “You go through life avoiding any sort of risk, don't you, honey?” he mused.

  She moved one shoulder restlessly. “Daddy and Mama fought all the time, remember?” she said. “I swore I'd never get myself into a fix like that. She told me that she and Daddy were so happy when they first met, when they first married. Then, six months later, she was pregnant with you and they couldn't manage one pleasant meal together without shouting.” She shook her head. “That means you can't trust emotions. It's better to use your brain when you think about marrying somebody. Love is sticky,” she concluded. “And it causes insanity, I'm sure of it.”

  “Why don't you ask Kemp if that's why he's stayed single so long? He's in his middle thirties, isn't he, and never even been engaged.”

  “Who'd put up with him?” she asked honestly. “Now there's a mixer for you,” she said enthusiastically. “He actually threw another lawyer out the front door and onto the sidewalk last month. Good thing there was a welcome mat there, it sort of broke the guy's fall.”

  “What did he want?” Curt asked.

  She shook her head. “I have no idea. But I don't expect him to be a repeat client.”

  Curt chuckled. “I see what you mean.”

  Libby went to bed early that night, without another word to Janet. She knew that anything she said would be too much. But she did miss her father and she couldn't believe that he wouldn't have mentioned Libby and Curt in his will . He did love them. She knew he did.

  She thought about Jordan Powell, too, and about Curt's remark that he thought Jordan was sweet on her. She tingled all over at the thought. But that wasn't going to happen, she assured herself. Jordan was gorgeous and he could have his pick of pretty women. Libby Collins would be his last resort. The world wasn't ending yet, so she was out of the running. She rolled over, closed her eyes, and went to sleep.

  Chapter Two

  Janet wasn't at breakfast the next morning. Her new gold Mercedes was gone and she hadn't left a note. Libby saw it as a bad omen. The weekend passed with nothing remarkable except for Janet's continued absence. The truck was ready Saturday and Curt picked it up in town, catching a lift with one of Jordan's cowboys. It wasn't as luxurious as a Mercedes, but it had a good engine and it was handy for hauling things like salt blocks and bales of hay. Libby tried to picture hauling hay in Janet's Mercedes and almost went hysterical with laughter.

  Libby went back to work at Blake Kemp's office early Monday morning, dropped off by Curt on his way to the feed store for Jordan. She felt as if she hadn't really had a vacation at all.Violet Hardy, Mr. Kemp's secretary, who was dark-haired, blue-eyed, pretty and somewhat overweight, smiled

  at her as she came in the door. “Hi! Did you have a nice vacation?''

  “I spent it working,” Libby confessed. “How did things go here?”

  Violet groaned. “Don't even ask.”

  “That bad, huh?” Libby remarked.

  Mabel, the blond grandmother who worked at reception, turned in her chair after transferring a call into Mr. Kemp's office. “Bad isn't the word, Libby,” she said in a whisper, glancing down the hall to make sure the doors were all closed. “That lawyer Mr. Kemp got to fill in for him got two cases confused and sent the clients to the wrong courtrooms in different counties.”

  “Yes,” Violet nodded, “and one of them came in here and tried to punch Mr. Kemp.”

  Libby pursed her lips. “No. Did he have insurance?”

  All three women chuckled.

  “For an attorney who handles so many assault cases,” Violet whispered, “he doesn't practice what he preaches.

  Mr. Kemp punched the guy back and they wound up out on the street. Our police chief, Cash Grier, broke it up and almost arrested Mr. Kemp.”

  “What about the other guy? Didn't he start it?” Libby exclaimed.

  “The other guy was Duke Wright,” Violet confessed, watching Libby color. “And Chief Grier said that instead of blaming Mr. Kemp for handling Mrs. Wright's divorce, he should thank him for not bankrupting Mr. Wright in the process!”

  “Then what?” Libby asked.

  All three women glanced quickly down the hall.

  “Mr. Wright threw a punch at Chief Grier.”

  “Well, that was smart thinking. Duke's in the hospital, then?” Libby asked facetiously.

  “Nope,” Violet said, her blue eyes twinkling. “But he was in jail briefly until he made bail.” She shook her head. “I don't expect he'll try that twice.”

  “Crime has fallen about fifty percent since we got Cash Grier as chief,” Violet sighed, smiling.

  “And Judd Dunn as assistant chief,” Libby reminded her.

  “Poor Mr. Wright,” Mabel said. “He does have the worst luck. Remember that Jack Clark who worked for him, who was convicted of murdering that woman in Victoria? Mr. Wright sure hated the publicity. It came just when he was trying to get custody of his son.”

  “Mr. Wright would have a lot less trouble if he didn't spend so much time out looking for it,” came a deep, gruff voice from behind them. They all jumped. Blake Kemp was standing just at the entrance to the hallway with a brief in one hand and a coffee cup in the other. He was as much a dish as Jordan Powell. He had wavy dark hair and blue eyes and the most placid, friendly face until he got in front of a jury. Nobody wanted to be across the courtroom from Kemp when a trial began. There was some yellow and purple discoloration on one high cheekbone, where a fist had apparently landed a blow. Duke Wright, Libby theorized silently.

  “Libby, before you do anything else, would you make a pot of coffee, please?” he asked in a long-suffering tone. He impaled a wincing Violet with his pale blue eyes. “I don't give a damn what some study says is best for me, I want caffeine. C-A-F-F-E-I-N-E,” he added, spelling it letter by letter for Violet's benefit.

  Violet lifted her chin and her own blue eyes glared right back at him. “Mr. Kemp, if you drank less of it, you might not be so bad-tempered. I mean, really, that's the second person you've thrown out of our office in a month! Chief Grier said that was a new city record.”

  Kemp's eyes were blazing now, narrow and intent, “Miss Hardy, do you want to still be employed here tomorrow?”

  Violet looked as if she was giving that question a lot of deliberation. “But, sir” she began.

  “I like caffeine. I'm not giving it up,” Kemp said curtly. “You don't change my routine in this office. Is that clear?”

  “But, Mr. Kemp !” she argued.

  “I don't remember suggesting anything so personal to you, Miss Hardy,” he shot back, clearly angry. “I could, however,” he added, and his cold blue eyes made insinuations about her figure, which was at least two dress sizes beyond what it should have been.

  All three women gasped at the outrageous insinuation and then glared at their boss.

  Violet flushed and stood up, as angry as he was, but not intimidated one bit by the stare. “My my father a
lways said that a woman should look like a woman and not a skeleton encased in skin. I may be a little

  overweight, Mr. Kemp, but at least I'm doing something about it!”

  He glanced pointedly at a cake in a box on her desk.

  She colored. “ I live out near the Hart Ranch. I promised Tess Hart I'd pick that up at the bakery for her before I came to work and drop it by her house when I go home for lunch. It's for a charity tea party this afternoon.” She was fuming. “I do not eat cake! Not anymore.”He stared at her until she went red and sat back down. She averted her eyes and went back to work. Her hands on the computer keyboard were trembling.

  “You fire me if you want to, Mr. Kemp, but nothing I said to you was as mean as what you were insinuating to me with that look,” Violet choked. “I know I weigh too much. You don't have to rub it in. I was only trying to help you.”

  Mabel and Libby were still glaring at him. He shifted uncomfortably and put the brief down on Violet's desk with a slap. “There are six spelling errors in that. You'll have to redo it. You can buzz me when the coffee's ready,” he added shortly. He turned on his heel and took his coffee cup back into his office. As an afterthought, he slammed the door.

  “Oh, and like anybody short of a druggist could read those chicken scratches on paper that you call handwriting!” Violet muttered, staring daggers after him.Libby let out the breath she'd been holding and gaped at sweet, biddable Violet, who'd never talked back to Mr. Kemp in the eight months she'd worked for him. So did Mabel.

  “Well, it's about time!” Mabel said, laughing delightedly. “Good for you, Violet. It's no good, letting a man walk all over you, no matter how crazy you are about him!”

  “Hush!” Violet exclaimed, glancing quickly down the hall. “He'll hear you!”

  “He doesn't know,” Libby said comfortingly, putting arm around Violet. “And we'll never tell. I'm proud of you, Violet.”

  “Me, too,” Mabel grinned.

  Violet sighed. “I guess he'll fire me. It might not be bad thing. I spend too much time trying to take care of him and he hates it.” Her blue eyes were wistful under their long, thick lashes. “You know, I've lost fifteen pounds,” she murmured. “And I'm down a dress size.”