More to Texas than Cowboys

“No. Luke asked if that’s why we were moving to Texas. To find my dad.”

“The answer is a resounding no.” Greer singed her fingers transferring the hot sandwiches to plates, where she cut them in half. Setting one in front of Shelby, Greer unplugged the griddle, then sat opposite, in her usual spot. She hoped to keep this conversation brief. “I think we’ve done okay. I mean, you and me alone, kiddo.” Seeing how her daughter poked at her sandwich halves with one finger, Greer cut them into more manageable bite-size pieces.

Shelby nibbled on one, set it back, and after she swallowed, muttered, “Noah’s stronger than you. When he carried me from the car I felt…safe.”

Greer started to flex her arm and show her muscle, as they used to do teasingly with Luke. He was two years older than Shelby and loved to lord it over her. There was no laughter in Shelby’s eyes now, so Greer planted an elbow on the table and massaged the tight muscles gripping her neck. “I can’t argue with your logic. Men are physically stronger, so women have to work smarter to make up for that genetic oversight. But I’ve always kept you safe, honey.” Sighing long and loud, Greer knew her assurance had neither assuaged nor deterred Shelby’s curiosity. “Eat. I don’t know where your biological father is. He lived in Houston. That’s a long way from Homestead. We met at a college way east of here. Kids often travel some distance to attend colleges and universities.” She didn’t identify exactly where she’d met Dan. One day, she’d answer all her daughter’s questions. When Shelby was old enough to understand.

The girl chewed methodically and swallowed. “You don’t have any pictures of him. I know ’cause Luke and me looked one time when you were on a trail ride and Lindsay was supposed to watch us, but her boyfriend came over.”

Greer gasped. She’d thought Luke’s sister was so mature. “That’s right, honey. I don’t have pictures of him. I’ll say this once and that’s all. Sometimes in a relationship people discover they aren’t headed down the same path.”

Shelby wrinkled her nose. Greer realized she was being far too vague. “Honey, he wasn’t a man I could count on. You…me…we both deserved better.”

“Then I guess he’s not like Noah. We could count on him.”

Having just taken a bite of her sandwich, Greer sputtered and choked. “What makes you think you can know that about the man after only a couple of hours?”

The girl munched a wedge of apple and swallowed. “I feel it,” she said in total earnestness. “Didn’t you, Mama?”

No danced on the tip of Greer’s tongue. But some unseen, unnamed force kept her from blurting out the harsh word. Truthfully, Noah had been a rock today. He’d given no indication that he wasn’t a person who could be counted on. Rather than say something petty, Greer slid out of her chair and took her plate to the sink. “I’m going to make up our beds and run water for you to have a bath, Shel. Kristin said to wrap your cast in plastic so it doesn’t get wet. I thought you could skip your bath tonight, but you got dirty in the fall. You’ll rest easier and sleep better after a soak in the tub.”

Shelby yawned. “Gosh, I’m tired. Do you know where we packed my stuffed animals? It was okay not having them when we slept in motels, ’cause I shared your room. But I really want them tonight, Mama.” Her lower lip trembled.

“Honey, they’re in a box. But my bedroom’s only steps down the hall from yours. Are you sure you need your animal friends tonight?”

Shelby nodded vigorously. “Okay,” Greer said, handing the girl a glass of water and the pain pill Kristin advised Shelby take at bedtime. “Bath first and then you can sit in bed and read to me while I open boxes until your animals show up. This pill will help you relax.”

“If I had a real dog instead of a stuffed one, we wouldn’t have packed him in a moving box. He’d be here to keep me company.”

“Enough about getting a dog, Shelby Lynn. We’ll get one eventually. What’s a ranch without a dog or two? It’s just that there are things around here we need to finish first.”

Greer ran water in a nice big tub in a remodeled bathroom her mom had scrubbed to a shine earlier. The fact that each cottage had a private bath, and even the one in the bunkhouse had upgrades, had gone a long way toward making this particular ranch more attractive to Greer than others Miranda had offered. It was also scary because the loan reflected those improvements. The local banker for the project had taken every opportunity to impress upon Greer the magnitude of the debt she’d taken on. She had to be open for business and bringing in an income by Thanksgiving. She simply had to, or her dreams would go the way of others that had failed here.

“Water’s ready,” she called to Shelby. They laughed together over wrapping the cast in clear plastic. Yet when it came time for Greer to actually help with Shelby’s bath, the girl grew modest. Greer knew being bashful was partly Shelby’s age. If nothing else, it forced her to see how the years had flown past.

“Shel, I want us to be real partners in this ranch. You’re okay with us leaving Colorado and coming here, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. But I’m just a kid. You want me to be like Chuck Hazlett? Luke Sanderson said Chuck’s his daddy’s partner in Whippoorwill.”

“Chuck invested money in Cal & Marisa’s dude ranch. He’s what’s called a silent partner.”

“I didn’t like him. I’m glad you only went dancing with him twice, ’cause he didn’t like me, either.”

Greer helped Shelby stand and climb from the tub. Wrapping her in a towel, she gave her a big hug. “That was more than enough reason for me to tell Hazlett to take a hike. You’re number one in my life, Shelby.”

Getting into a nightgown with the cast wasn’t easy, but Greer finally figured it out. When she brushed bright, wet hair out of Shelby’s eyes, the girl ventured a question that had obviously bothered her for a while. “Mama, is there something wrong with me that my real daddy didn’t like me, and Chuck didn’t, either?”

Greer gasped. “Is that what you think? No, Shel! Your dad never even knew you were a girl. He left long before you were born. Honey, you’ve never said a word about this before. Is there something else behind your concern?”

“I guess I’m just lonely. I want a sister or brother like Luke has. But Lindsay said she heard Chuck say no man would ever marry you. I didn’t know why.”

Greer gathered the girl close and hugged her tight. After depositing Shelby in the middle of her bed, Greer tucked her in and dropped a kiss on her nose. “Lindsay’s folks said time and again that she listened at keyholes and picked up half-truths. The real story is that Chuck Hazlett got mad at me and said things to the Sandersons to cover the fact that he tried to force me into a…compromising situation. Fortunately they didn’t believe him. Oh, honey, I know you don’t understand, and it never dawned on me that Lindsay would hear, or worse, repeat what she’d heard to you and Luke.” She shook her head. “Here’s your book.” Upset, Greer straightened abruptly. “If I get married, it’s going to be to the right man. Someone good and kind.” Crossing the room, she tore into the first of five boxes stacked under Shelby’s window.

Heaving a huge sigh, the girl opened her book. But instead of reading, she asked, “Is everything Lindsay said a lie? The day we left, she said if you didn’t get married soon you’d be too old to have babies and I’d never get a sister or brother.”

Greer’s hands hovered over a box in which she could see Shelby’s stuffed toys. She pulled out two teddy bears, a rabbit and her favorite spotted dog. Arms full, Greer rained them down on Shelby’s head. “What? For the record, missy, your mom’s not so old. Not even thirty. Today, women have babies into their forties. Since it’s apparent you’re not interested in that book, it’s lights out for you, young lady.”

Her mom snatched away the book, and Shelby arranged the animals around her, then flopped into the pillows. Greer had no more than flicked off the light and plunged the room into darkness when Shelby, always a whiz at math, announced, “Mama, we’d better hurry and find me a nice daddy. If you wait till you’re forty to have babies, I’ll be twenty-two. By then I can have my own babies.”

Greer’s dry response came from outside the door. “Did you switch gears and hit me with this sister bit hoping I’d relent and get you a dog? If so, it won’t work.”

“Nope,” said the sleepy, yawning voice from the darkness. “I’ve wanted a sister lots longer than I’ve wanted a dog. It’s scary in here. Will you find our bathroom night-light, Mama?”

“Consider it done. I’ll be unpacking boxes in the kitchen for a while if you need me. Otherwise, I’ll check on you before I go to bed.”

Greer had been restoring order to the kitchen for two hours or more when she happened to glance out the curtainless window above the sink. Nothing but inky blackness, stretching as far as she could see. The night was very still. A shiver wound up her spine for no reason at all, other than maybe Shelby’s remarks about being lonely and her room being scary. Crossing her arms, Greer rubbed at scattered goose bumps.

She mentally chided such silliness. The Sandersons’ ranch had been equally far from town or neighbors. The difference was that Whippoorwill had a full staff of employees and cabins filled with guests. If all went according to plan, this place would be just as busy by the end of November.

Stepping to the door, Greer looked off in the direction of Noah’s house. Earlier, lights had flickered through the trees. Now there was nothing but blackness. She cupped her hands to the glass and peered up at a moonless sky. The kitchen clock she’d hung said it was approaching midnight. Time to go to bed. She wasn’t normally jumpy, but it’d been an eventful day. She’d be okay after a good night’s rest. In addition to everything else, there’d been a lot of emotion tied to moving home.

Greer decided that for tonight she’d leave the small light on over the sink. Father Kelley claimed there wasn’t such a thing as bad omens. Once again she recalled those anonymous letters. She’d initially wondered if someone at the bank or on the land application committee opposed her plan to open a guest retreat. The typed, unsigned notes suggested she’d be happier with a section nearer town. Or maybe she could turn one of the big older houses into a bed-and-breakfast.

Miranda insisted no one officially involved with the project would’ve sent the letters. She admitted facing opposition. It was known that Clint Gallagher had tried to raise capital to buy the whole parcel. The Dragging F would make a nice addition to the Four Aces. In any event, someone had sent the notes.

As she undressed and showered quickly before crawling into bed, Greer blanked her mind to those negative thoughts. She was here now, and she planned to stay, planned to build a good life for herself and Shelby. Just before the comfort of sleep closed around her, Shelby’s comment about their needing to find Greer a nice man brought a faint smile to her lips. It was a fantasy that made for interesting bedtime illusions. But Greer would never admit that tonight, ever so briefly, the face of such an illusive lover bore a distinct resemblance to Father Noah Kelley.

A SOUND, a woman’s scream, had Greer bolting upright out of bed, jarring her out of sleep. She grabbed the small bedside alarm. The illuminated hands showed it was just after 2:00 a.m. A cougar? No, this was the Hill Country.

A bad dream, she decided, and sank back into a crumpled pillow, hoping her heart would slow its mad gallop.

The second scream, partially muffled, ended in an eerily dragged out moan. Catapulting up again, Greer scrabbled for her robe. Seconds later, she was pounding down the hall toward Shelby’s room. By now Greer’s heart had lodged in her throat. Why hadn’t she realized immediately that her daughter might have awakened in pain or confusion caused by being in a new place?

A pencil-slim beam of light shimmering from the night-light in the bathroom landed on Shelby’s bed. Her eyes were closed and her breathing regular. The arm not encased in the cast curled around her spotted dog and a tattered teddy bear that had been Greer’s first gift to her newborn daughter.

Backing out of the room, Greer next made a cursory inspection of the house. It was when she opened the front door a fraction of an inch to scan the porch that a third garbled cry, clearly drifting up from the direction of the river, sent Greer racing back to her room to dress.

She threw on the jeans, boots and plaid shirt she’d laid out for working in the next day. This was the next day. However, she hadn’t planned to get going on so little rest.

She looked around for some means of protection, although her mind had locked on the probability that some human or animal out there needed help.

Greer had never been a proponent of guns, but she used to carry one on trail rides, and she could shoot. Now she wished she’d brought a handgun from Denver, since they were two females alone out here.

She recalled having seen a rusty pitchfork lying in the barn; her mom had said it should be tossed in the trash before someone accidentally stepped on the tines and ended up with tetanus. Leave it to her mom to think in terms of worst-scenario accidents. Greer remembered her mother had carried the pitchfork up to the house, where she’d stood it by the green garbage can outside the back door.

Feeling her way like a blind woman, Greer located the pitchfork. Although she was armed now, what she really needed was a flashlight. It occurred to her to try to find one in a box of miscellaneous kitchen items she hadn’t yet unpacked. Just as she began to open the carton, the thin, almost strangled cry wavered again.

Greer dashed out the door, torn at leaving Shelby alone for however long it’d take to trek the distance to the river. When she started to walk, she quickly found a path. Greer recalled that it zigzagged across her pasture to a small stand of cypress overhanging the river. That was where it now seemed the cries were coming from. Did people boat at night? Boys she used to know went south to hunt Lord-only-knew-what at night.

Her property sloped from the house all the way to the water’s edge. If she hurried, she could get down there to see if a boater or perhaps a calf had somehow got stuck or stranded, and be back before Shelby even realized she was missing.

A desire to be a good Samaritan won out over her fears. Greer took off at a half run. By now, her eyes had adjusted to the almost starless night. All the vegetation along the path had been chewed away, probably by cattle.

It’d only been her land for seven days. One week since she’d signed the city’s contract and put her name on a two-year trial mortgage held by the Homestead Bank and Trust. The fact was, Greer had no idea when Jase Farley had abandoned his ranch. No doubt he’d owned animals he watered at the river, just as she hoped to do one day soon.

The closer she drew to the dark trees, the more tightly she gripped the rough-hewn handle of the pitchfork. So tightly her palms were sweating and her fingers ached. Greer’s mouth felt dry and she licked her lips.

The only sound she’d heard since she embarked on this fool’s errand was the rapid thunkity, thunkity, thunk of her heart. The mournful cries appeared to have stopped.

Slowing her charge into the dark trees, which could be home to any number of dangerous animals or humans, Greer glanced at her house. How stupid was she, leaving Shelby alone and unprotected?

Backing up a few steps, intending to make a mad dash back the way she’d come, Greer hit something solid and warm and—she feared—very human. She wrapped her hand firmly around her feeble mode of protection, the pitchfork. Hoping the element of surprise might at least buy her running time, she spun, ready to launch a counteroffensive.

Suddenly she was blinded by a bright stream of light that burst suddenly from an industrial-size flashlight. Greer threw up an arm to ward off what she assumed was an imminent attack. She stumbled, tripped over a bulging cypress root and fell hard on her backside. A yelp of frustration mingled with her pain.

The last thing she expected was to hear a voice she recognized. “Greer, why in heaven’s name are you tramping through the woods in the dead of night? Are you sleepwalking?”

Noah Kelley. He was behind those ghastly cries?

Greer lost no time in scrambling up. “Maybe the question should be why have you lured me down here?”

“What?” He finally pointed the light he carried at the ground, which gave them each a better chance to peruse the other.

Greer saw he had on the boots he’d worn earlier, and blue jeans somewhat less faded than the previous ones. His dark blond hair was thoroughly disheveled, and he was shirtless. His skin had turned dusky gold in the light. His chest was dusted with hair a lot darker than the wheat-blond locks draped appealingly over his forehead. She’d thought her mouth and throat were dry on the trek here; now she couldn’t have swallowed if her life depended on it. But as Noah continued to look dumbfounded, she snapped, “You obviously hoped to frighten me, with all those woman-in-distress noises.”

“That’s exactly what it sounded like. I’ve got no idea what time it was, but a high-pitched scream woke me up. At first I thought I was dreaming, but then I heard it again. Not quite as distinct, but worrisome enough to get me out of a warm bed. Since you’re the only person here, and you’re female, why wouldn’t I think you’re the one out here caterwauling at the moon, not the other way around?”

The hand not gripping Greer’s pitchfork curled into a fist. “There isn’t any moon, in case you’re too unobservant to notice. And I may be a female, but I am not the source of those cries. Admit I caught you in the act of trying to scare me into leaving my property.” She sniffed disdainfully. “I suppose you sent those letters, too.”

“Letters?” he echoed.

“For a college graduate, you certainly have a limited vocabulary.”

Noah glared at her and shook his head. He flashed his light along the ground, illuminating the soft loamy soil for a good number of yards in all four directions. “Do you see any tracks besides ours?” he asked abruptly.

“My point precisely,” she said, rattling her pitchfork under his nose.

“Stop that, you’re making me nervous. If someone made that noise as a scare tactic, name one reason why a man in my position would pull such a stunt.”

“Ha! Like father, like son maybe. That was clever of you today, acting as if the church stood ready to welcome me back with open arms. It was especially clever to do it in front of Ed Tanner. Shelby’s accident helped you add to your pretense of good works, because now Kristin Gallagher will vouch for you, too.” Greer made a few short jabs at him with the pitchfork again. Enough to send Noah into full retreat while she stomped several yards up the trail toward her home.

“I’ve got another news flash for you, Father Noah Kelley. Miranda told me your mother served on the Home Free committee. You Kelleys may think this juvenile bullshit will ensure I leave town and not contaminate your oh-so-pure congregation, but the truth is, I wouldn’t take a million bucks to set one foot in your so-called sanctuary. It’s only fair to inform you I’m not the girl who left Homestead ten years ago. I’ve toughened up. This is my land and I won’t be run off. Tomorrow I’m going to Guthrie’s Hardware, and I’ll apply to purchase a twenty-two. If you check with my former boss, he’ll verify I can cut a rattlesnake in half at twenty paces. So don’t mess with me.”

Totally bewildered by her outburst, Noah played his flashlight over Greer Bell’s stiff back as she marched up the trail.

He was really confused when it came to the remarks she’d tossed out about his mom and pop. He guessed his mom was still serving on the mayor’s committee in his father’s stead. But letters? What letters? Noah scratched his head. The other stuff about his father—it was clear Greer must have run afoul of Holden’s judgmental views. Noah understood. Raised in the Episcopal church, Noah found his dad’s over-the-top conservatism stifling, too.

Watching his neighbor disappear from sight, Noah had to smile. He was certainly willing to extend a more love-thy-neighbor policy if that was Greer’s concern. He sobered instantly, remembering the woman’s scream he and Greer had both heard. He wasn’t behind it, and he’d bet Sunday’s offering Greer wasn’t the culprit, either. Short of a ghost, which he definitely didn’t believe in, then who? Clint Gallagher? It was no secret the old so-and-so had tried to finagle getting hold of Greer’s land. Gallagher couldn’t bear the thought of having anyone closer to the Clear River than his Four Aces ranch. The drought had ended, but during the worst of it, the need to ration river water had caused contention. Noah had heard that night-siphoning had caused hard feelings among men, many once good friends who’d gone bankrupt when the K.C. Enterprises consortium failed, largely due to the long drought.

Deciding there was something sinister about the cries, Noah—too keyed up to go back to sleep anyhow—set out to make a thorough search of the area. He traced Greer’s boot tracks from the trees back along the path across her property. Since moving out here, Noah had witnessed Gallagher ranch hands occasionally crossing what was now Greer’s land. Tomorrow, he’d drop in and chat with Ryan Gallagher. Clint’s oldest son was a square-shooter who’d been managing the Four Aces for a while. Clint, known far and wide as a wheeler-dealer, reportedly suffered from macular degeneration, a problem the senator preferred to hide. Failing health or not, maybe the old reprobate wasn’t willing to lose the land. Did he still want it?

Still, this business tonight, with the disembodied scream, smacked of something childish. Too amateurish for a man of Gallagher’s stature, he thought.

Although, if Greer was right and someone was trying to frighten her into leaving Homestead before she fulfilled her contract, who stood to gain the most from her departure? That was a million-dollar question Noah couldn’t answer.

He backtracked to the river again and came across a spot between two flat rocks, where a deep indentation in the sand might have been made by a small boat tying up. There were enough granite slabs between the riverbank and the small copse of trees that a person or two could’ve jumped from rock to rock without leaving footprints.

Noah did that, taking a route designed to keep him out of sight of Greer’s place. Some people were aware he’d bought one of the ranchettes, but he didn’t think it was widely known. So what if his crashing in from the southeast had prematurely upset the perpetrator’s plans to draw out and frighten Greer? He refused to think it might be anything worse.

A tree-by-tree search netted him something lodged in the fork of the largest cypress. This gave Noah immense satisfaction, but left him thinking that his second visit tomorrow morning, after Ryan Gallagher, would be to take his find to Sheriff Wade Montgomery. Dump this in Wade’s lap and see what he made of it.

GREER FELT NOAH’S eyes monitoring every step of her retreat as she hotfooted it home along the lumpy cattle track. Had she not been so furious, his laser-blue eyes would’ve had a paralyzing effect. He’d tried to act so darned innocent. Greer didn’t for one minute believe he was.

She took the pitchfork inside and stood it next to her bed, in case sometime between now and daylight she needed it again.

After locking the kitchen door, she checked to see that the front door missing its locking mechanism had remained shut—that the chair she’d shoved under the knob hadn’t been disturbed. Finding everything as she’d left it, she looked in on Shelby and was profoundly relieved to see that she was still fast asleep.

Greer couldn’t have gone back to bed if her life depended on it. Her nerves felt too ragged.

Remembering that she’d unpacked the box with her herbal teas, she put a kettle of water on the stove and sorted through an assortment of teas one of her favorite guests had given her last Christmas. Julie Masters and her contingent of Western writers happened to be the group Greer hoped would initiate her facility. The women had confessed that they loved exploring new places. Especially spots representative of the Old West. And bless the Sandersons, they’d urged Greer to get in touch with the women as soon as she’d set her opening date. Marisa and Cal both thought Homestead, Texas, would appeal to the writers as the site of their next retreat.