There, she’d resolved to become the kind of woman her mother respected. She’d dreamed of a swanky apartment, an important executive job, and a cultured life in the city. Trouble was, she didn’t feel any more civilized in Denver than she did in the parlor, and her mother remained unreachable, too busy with her new husband and Jackson high society to talk to the daughter she’d left behind.
Kneeling on the antique fainting couch under the window, Jess gazed at the view her mother had called barren and dull. Her mom hadn’t cared that there were seven different kinds of grass in that view alone, and she wouldn’t have noticed the butterfly dancing over the pasture or the crows that flew past, cursing in their comically harsh voices.
But Jess noticed it all, and it made her heart rise and sing. The Wild West of the Diamond Jack was a miracle, a gift from God. Anyone who loved that prim, stuffy parlor more than the magnificent plains could never have been happy here.
Maybe it was time to lose the little girl who’d tried to impress her absent mother with false sophistication. Her country roots glowed like a skunk stripe down the middle of her back anyway; she’d always be Jess Bailey, daughter of the Diamond Jack. Deep down, that made her proud.
She finally found her dad on the screened porch, snoozing behind the Cheyenne paper. Molly sat at a table nearby, clipping coupons from the advertising section. She set down her scissors as Jess entered.
“Hi!” She turned to her husband. “Heck, honey, Jess is here.”
A snort emanated from the newspaper, which jerked spasmodically and fell away. Jess, who’d spun around to plop herself in his lap like the daddy’s girl she was, stopped dead and stared.
Her dad had lost nearly half a Heck in weight. His usually ruddy complexion was a pallid shade of gray. Dark pouches hung below his eyes, and crumbs from a recent meal had gathered in the corners of his mouth. He looked old, sick, and sad—three words Jess had never, ever used to describe her vital, irascible dad.
She attempted a smile, but it trembled at the edges. “How are you, Dad?”
“Terrible. Your evil stepmother’s driving me to an early grave with this talk about retirement.” He grabbed a stack of pamphlets from a side table, waving them in the air. “Did you see the people at these places? Bunch of phonies with golf clubs.”
“You haven’t even met those folks.” Molly resumed her coupon clipping. “You don’t know they’re phony.”
“You don’t know they’re phony,” Heck said. “I can tell by looking at ’em.”
“Well. Look at the time!” Molly cut off the argument as cleanly as she’d clipped her coupons. “You must be starving after that long drive, Jess. Let’s rustle up some sandwiches.”
“I’ll have roast beef,” Heck said. “And none of that danged artichoke.”
“It’s avocado, and it’s good for you. You’re having turkey. Come on, Jess.”
Jess followed reluctantly. She hated watching her stepmother in her mother’s kitchen, bustling around like she owned the place. As the woman unpacked the fridge, Jess eyed her selections.
“Dad likes hummus?”
Molly laid out two slices of bread and slathered them with the spread. “Dad doesn’t know what’s good for him. Jess, he’s not well.”
“I noticed that.” Jess leaned against the counter and folded her arms over her chest. “What’s going on? He looks terrible, and this talk about selling the ranch is ridiculous.” She shot her stepmother a glare. “It’s been in our family for four generations. He can’t sell it.”
“Well, he can’t stay. He’s killing himself.” Refusing to meet her eyes, Molly slammed the avocado onto a cutting board and jerked a butcher knife out of Dot’s knife block. “He works too hard, riding off to God-knows-where on horseback. Anything could happen.”
“He’s a rancher. That’s what ranchers do.”
Molly whipped the knife around the avocado, then twisted it neatly in half. “What if he fell off? He could hit his head. We’d never find him out there.”
“I’ll ride out with him, then,” Jess said. “Or Cade.”
“Cade’s got his own work, and you can’t give up your career, hon. You have a right to your dreams.” She paused with the knife upraised and stared dreamily out the window. “Every woman does. A job you love can be so fulfilling.”
You don’t even know what my dreams are. Jess opened the refrigerator and grabbed a grape tomato, popping it in her mouth. As its sweetness spread, she pictured herself as an old woman rancher, blue eyes bright in a face tanned to leather, hair flying in tangles as she galloped a tall horse across the prairie.
For some reason, she had these wild thoughts about growing old in Wyoming every time she came home. The way the place tugged on her heart was one reason she stayed away.
Her dreams had nothing to do with horses, she told herself. Her dreams were of Hawaii.
“What’s wrong with Dad?” she asked Molly.
The other reason she stayed away flipped the pit out of the avocado and coaxed the pale flesh from the peel. “He’s a walking heart attack.”
“What does the doctor say?”
“Your dad skipped his last appointment, so I don’t know. But just look at him.” Turning away from her work, Molly leaned against the counter and covered her face with her hands. “Oh, Jess. I can’t lose him. I can’t. I don’t understand ranching, but I love this place for his sake, and now it’s killing him, and I hate it for that. I hate it.” She looked up, eyes narrowed. “I hate the grass, I hate the trees, I hate the sky, and I hate, hate, hate the damned horses.”
Jess stared at her, shocked. The horses were the heart of the ranch and held much of the heart of Heck Bailey. Obviously, he’d reserved some portion for Molly, but in a contest between his wife and horses, Jess thought horses would probably win.
“I know he loves the horses.” Molly’s damp eyes were defiant. “But they’re going to take him away from me. I just know it.”
“Call Cade,” Jess said. “He could use some extra grazing land, I’ll bet, and we don’t use it all. He’d probably make some kind of trade. Or maybe Dad could hire him.”
“Cade does a lot, but he won’t take a job. We’ve asked.” Molly slanted a sly smile toward Jess. “Why? Are you and Cade—you know…”
“Of course not.”
Jess had heard Molly was shameless in her youth, but Cade was a married man. What was she thinking?
Oblivious to her shock, Molly cut the avocado into thin, even slices. “Well, your dad might feel different, but I’m glad you’re not putting your eggs in that basket. I saw a car over there today—a Cadillac. I think it’s Amber Lynn’s car.”
Of course it’s Amber Lynn’s car. She’s Cade’s wife.
“This isn’t about Cade, anyway.” Jess turned so Molly wouldn’t see the hot flush spreading over her face as she remembered that tumble outside the barn. Cade’s body had been heavy on hers, hard muscle on soft curves. She could almost smell the grass crushed beneath her, the hay on the breeze, his killer cowboy pheromones. “It’s about Dad.”
A pathetic little kitten squeak made her turn to see Molly smothering sobs as she stacked slices on the sandwich.
“I’m sorry,” she sniffed. “This isn’t what I wanted. I know you love this place. I don’t want to be the one who takes it away, but your dad won’t make a decision. He keeps going, day after day, like some miracle’s going to happen, but it’s not. It’s not.” She flapped her hands helplessly as if shaking off water. “I wish it would, honey. I really do. Maybe you and Cade—oh, I don’t know.”
“Me and Cade are done, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
Jess remembered looking into his eyes, so changed, so sad, and knew she’d never be truly done with Cade Walker, but nobody else needed to know that, least of all him. She’d moved on, and she’d keep moving.
“I’ll talk Dad into
going to the doctor.” Jess pictured her father’s face, so drawn and pale. “I wish I hadn’t stayed away so long. I should have been here, checking on him.”
“You can’t blame yourself,” Molly said.
Oh yes, I can.
While her father had been struggling with his health, Jess had been lapping up praise at work and enjoying Denver’s nightlife. Seeing him now, she realized nothing was worth losing time with her dad—not even Hawaii.
Once, she’d hoped her success would bring her mother back, but now she knew her dad was all she had. And if he and Molly moved to some retirement community, the connection would never be the same. Much more than the ranch would be gone.
Looking out the kitchen window at land she’d loved all her life, she realized how much she had to lose and how helpless she was to save it.
Molly sliced the sandwich in half and handed the plate to Jess.
“It’s healthy food, but getting him to eat it is a whole ’nother thing.” She grinned. “Tell him you made it.”
Jess looked down at the sandwich. Avocado slices and spinach leaves poked out the sides, waving and screaming Healthy! Healthy! Healthy!
“Got any barbecue sauce?”
Molly fetched a bottle of Red’s Red-Hot Brown Sugar BBQ Sauce from the fridge. She glanced at the label. “It’s loaded with sodium and sugar.”
“Yeah, but it’ll get him to eat.”
Popping the top off the sandwich, Jess dumped sauce over every trace of green, then sprinkled the whole deal liberally with pepper.
“You’re a genius.” Molly gave her a thumbs-up. “Thanks, hon.”
As Jess stepped out on the porch and set the sandwich on the table, she felt her world tilt sideways. Her dad had always taken care of her, but now their roles had reversed. She’d moved from one phase of life to the next without so much as a speed bump to warn her.
Losing the ranch was the least of her problems. She was going to have to grow up, and she wasn’t sure she was ready.
Chapter 6
Ignoring the monster sandwich, Jess’s dad folded his paper and heaved himself to his feet. His breath came hard, and blue veins bulged in his forehead.
“Sorry, hon, but I can’t eat right now. I spotted some runny-assed calves in the north pasture on my way home from town. Gotta go doctor ’em.” He sighed. “Thought these Highlanders would be tougher’n that. Should have gone for the Dornod Mongolians.”
“Dad, those were so expensive.” Jess resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Her dad couldn’t raise Black Angus like any other rancher. He’d always been convinced some exotic breed would be the key to success. Mostly, he’d been wrong, although the Highland cattle were his best bet yet. “What were you doing in town?”
“Breakfast.”
Standing at the door, Molly frowned. “He eats at Wynott Willie’s three days a week with his cronies.”
Jess knew those cronies. They’d been gathering at the diner for years, a rotating group of old cowboys on the edge. Some of them still clung to their purpose in life, but others had been forced into retirement, either passing their ranches on to family or selling out to some corporation. One would die, and another would take his place, marching toward his final fifteen minutes of fame at the Wynott Funeral Home. She shuddered to think of her father sitting at that table, telling his tall tales, unaware of the swift downhill slide.
“The food there’s pure cholesterol,” Molly said. “Bacon, eggs…”
“You invoke the holy words like they’re evil.” Heck winked, and Jess couldn’t help grinning. This was the father she knew, playful and rebellious.
A saucy tune bounced across the patio. Clapping one hand to her back pocket, Jess whirled away.
“What was that?” her dad asked. “Sounds like you got a band in your butt.”
“Phone. Sorry.” She wasn’t surprised to see Treena’s name on the screen. “Hello?”
“Jess? I’m not calling with a problem this time. I dealt with it. I just wanted to make sure I did it right.”
She described a difficult guest and how she’d handled him.
“Perfect!” Jess said. “Great job.”
“So see? You don’t have to worry.”
“You know me. I always worry.”
“You should just relax,” Treena said. “Gotta go! Enjoy your vacation.”
“It’s not…” Jess glanced down at the phone. Treena had already hung up.
It was true—Jess never stopped worrying about work, and Treena’s constant references to vacation weren’t helping. She hoped her boss didn’t think she’d just wanted a break. She’d told him about her family issues, but maybe he thought they were just an excuse.
Hawaii seemed to be floating farther and farther away.
When she returned to the table, her dad still hadn’t eaten a bite. “We’ve got to get some electrolytes into those calves,” he fretted.
“Tell Cade about it. He’ll take care of them.” Jess pushed the sandwich closer. “You could trade him a couple bales of hay.”
“He won’t take it, and I won’t let him work that hard for nothing.”
“I’d do it, Dad, but I’m beat from the drive.”
“Aw, honey, you can’t do it.” Catching her frown, he scrambled to cover his gaffe. “You’ve been driving all day.”
“I can do it.” She grinned and punched him gently on the arm. “You can come watch in the morning.”
She hadn’t roped a calf in five years, but she’d do it, all right. She had to, if only because he’d said she couldn’t.
“Aw, I know you’ll try, honey. You always do.”
Jess winced at the backhanded praise. What her dad meant was she always tried but usually failed.
She pointed to the sandwich. “Eat. Come on. It’s my favorite.” She searched her mind for a clever sandwich name. “It’s a Tildy’s Truck Stop Turkey-Town Special. They make ’em at a place just outside Denver, and I think I figured out the recipe. You tell me if it’s good.”
She was sort of telling the truth. She’d seen a sandwich called a Turkey-Town Special at a truck stop once, and the waitress’s name had been Tildy. She had no idea what the original sandwich was like, but it sounded like something Heck would eat.
“I hope you can stand it.” She heaved a dramatic sigh. “That barbecue sauce you have is way spicier than theirs, and I might have used too much pepper. It’s probably too hot for you.”
He sat back in his chair. “If it’s so good, how come you didn’t make one for yourself? I heard you tell your ma you were starving.”
She’s not my ma.
“Here you are, honey.” Molly bustled out of the kitchen bearing a sandwich, the twin of Heck’s. “You were so busy with your dad, you forgot your own, um, Turkey-Town Special.”
Resigned, Jess took the sandwich in two hands and chomped a big bite.
“Mmm, good.” She hadn’t lied about the hotness. Even without the pepper, she could barely stand it. “Just look out. It’s spicy.”
Her dad took one bite, shrugged, then took another. When he pushed his plate back after eating half, she pouted.
“Don’t you like it?”
“It’s terrific, honey.” Mopping his forehead, he manfully chomped at the second half. “Not hot enough, though. Not even close.” Finally, he shoved his empty plate toward her like a child seeking approval. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go for a ride. We can check those calves, get a closer look.”
“Jess?” Molly called from the kitchen. “Cade got that load of hay stacked, and he’s about to go. Could you thank him for us?” She came to the doorway, holding up hands decked in rubber gloves and dripping with soapsuds. “I’d go, but I’m in the middle of dishes.”
Jess had told herself to stay away from Cade, but her dad’s illness changed everything. She needed to talk to h
im, and this would be better than stopping by his place. The last person she wanted to see was Amber Lynn Lyle—Amber Lynn Walker—keeping house at Cade’s.
“Go,” her dad said. “Thank the man. And be nice to him, okay? Cade does a lot for us.”
She went, mulling over what Molly had said and wondering what was wrong with her father’s heart. There was certainly nothing wrong with her own. It was beating jackrabbit fast, making her dizzy and a little faint.
Shoot, it was just Cade. And she was just saying thank you. Nothing could possibly happen, because he was married.
Married.
She wished she could pound that fact into her brain like a nail, so the pain would remind her of the truth every time she thought of him—him and those shattered crystal eyes, those manly muscles, and that utterly spectacular cowboy ass.
* * *
Heck watched his daughter walk away with a sigh of relief and a pang of guilt. He’d pretended to be disappointed when she wouldn’t go out and chase cows, but the fact was, he didn’t have the energy. He didn’t have the strength to do much of anything these days.
Molly bustled in from the kitchen and gathered the plates. She was always bustling, and no wonder. She was a spirited forty-five years young, while he was an old man of sixty-four, so all the work of the big house fell on her soft shoulders.
At least he’d talked her into quitting her teaching job. Crazy woman had wanted to keep working, but Heck Bailey could support his own wife, thank you very much. No wife of his would ever have to work.
He felt a flutter in his chest and put a hand over his heart. Long as his ticker held out, they’d be fine. He’d felt like a man in the prime of his life when he’d met her, and he’d mocked her fears about the sometimes dangerous work he did on horseback. But then he’d come face-to-face with mortality, and they’d had a long, serious talk about the future.
Cowboy Summer Page 4
