B00DVWSNZ8 EBOK

by Jeffrey, Anna

  They've both got boys the same age.

  Brady hadn't said much about his son, not even his name. But he had made three trips to Fort Worth to see him in the time he had worked at the Circle C. At dinner in Stephenville, he had avoided her questions about him. But then, he had discussed him with Joyce Harrison?

  At home, she found Daddy and Grandpa still at the supper table with two guests she didn't recognize. Not even the aroma of charbroiled steaks lured her to join them. She said a cursory hello, made small talk, then jogged upstairs to her room. She had to be alone so she could think.

  For all of the times Brady had waltzed through her head since the hook-up—and that was really all she could call it—a month ago, she hadn't considered the possibility of his being interested in another woman. She had thought about his relationship with Ginger a few times but Ginger was in another town.

  …I wasn't holding up a sign saying I was looking for a girlfriend, either….

  Was a convenience all Brady really wanted? In Stephenville, she hadn’t thought so.

  She went to bed with a new quandary at the forefront of her thoughts. Before Brady, she had never met a man she wanted, hadn't even considered that when the day came that she did, she might not be able to have him. The realization was as sharp as a spear through her heart. She didn't know how to handle the situation. And now she wasn't sure she could rely on Suzanne for help and advice.

  Her mind drifted to a deeper truth. When had she ever had a female friend or relative to rely on when she had questions that begged for answers or problems that called for solving? Suzanne had left Lockett after high school and they'd had little contact until she returned three years ago. Though Grammy Pen had bestowed countless words of sagely advice through the years, really, she had been too old to help with many of Jude's issues growing up.

  Jude had floundered through her snags and obstacles alone. She had made decisions alone.

  The strong are always alone, because the weak have nothing to offer them. Those words had come from Grammy Pen. How many times had they forced Jude to find the right path through her setbacks? She was strong. She knew she was. And she had to be strong now.

  She would start over, ceasing to let Brady Fallon appeal to her baser urges. But at the same time, she wanted to maintain their connection. She was a smart, well-educated woman. She would figure out how to be friends with a man with whom she couldn't be anything else.

  The next morning, after a restless night, she loaded up her working saddle and other miscellaneous tack. All the way to the 6-0 barn, she told herself she was doing this because she loved horses. The fact that they were Brady's horses was of secondary importance.

  Inside the tack room, she saw the fine fix-up job Brady had done—new boards on the walls, new shelves. The area was small, but it was every bit as clean, neat and organized as the huge tack room at the Circle C.

  She rode all three horses, which consumed the morning. They were frisky and rebellious and Sal threatened to buck, but Jude had no trouble gaining control. She had spent her life on horses. She knew them better than they knew themselves. Brady's horses were strong, healthy animals under ten years old and she liked all of them.

  At dinnertime, she returned home. Only she and Daddy were at the table. These days, Grandpa often passed up the noon meal. The opportunity was perfect to discuss Sal. Over salad and Irene’s delicious tamales and beans, she gathered her courage and told her father she had volunteered to ride Brady's horses as a personal favor.

  To head off his questioning how she even knew Brady, she added, "He has a grullo mare that's beautiful, so one day when I saw his pickup at home, I stopped and asked him about her."

  Lying to her father had become so easy it was frightening.

  "Huh. He hasn't mentioned her to me." Daddy chowed into his food as if he were starved. Jude was sure he had eaten breakfast with the hands at four forty-five this morning.

  "Oh. Well, I've been seeing her in the pasture every time I've gone to town. She goes back to a King Ranch stud and a mare that won on the track. A little high-spirited, but—"

  "Which stud?"

  "Peppy Sand Badger."

  Daddy stopped his fork on the way to his mouth. "Hmm. Brady and I talked about horses just a few days ago. Wonder why he didn't mention he owned a horse of that caliber."

  She didn't dare tell him Brady hadn’t known it until she told him. Nor did she tell her father that she had taken it upon herself to learn Sal’s lineage. "I rode her this morning and—"

  "This morning? You've already started?"

  "I thought I should. In another few weeks, school will be starting. Since I'm going to be helping coach the girls' teams, I need to do something to get in shape."

  He nodded, returning to his meal.

  "Daddy, I was thinking about bringing the mare over here so I could work with her in the big corral. She hasn't had much training, but I think she's got cow-horse potential."

  He nodded, still more interested in his food than Brady's horse. "Clary would probably be glad to help you with that."

  She nodded, too, at the same time breathing a sigh of relief. Her father would never have told her she couldn't use the big corral, but she was glad he didn't ask her more questions about the horse or Brady.

  Through the next week, she rode at least one of the horses every morning, but saw nothing of Brady, a deliberate plan on her part. After learning he was seeing a woman in town, she would feel even more awkward around him.

  Friday morning, instead of riding the horses, she attended a faculty meeting at the high school. A tea followed. It was a social gathering for the new teachers to get acquainted and the old ones to get reacquainted before the fall. Willard County High School had three other single female teachers—one Jude's age who had never been married and two divorcees.

  While the teachers sipped some red punch, which was probably Kool-Aid, and nibbled homemade cookies, talk among the women turned to the new owner of the 6-0, Brady Fallon—how good-looking he was, how well built he was, naughty double entendres about how he filled out a pair of jeans. Jude listened to the prattle. Amazing how quickly word of a sexy eligible man got around. It was as if he gave off a scent, like a mare in heat.

  The last item of gossip concerned Joyce Harrison and how a woman who had three kids with three different men—only one of whom had been her husband—had managed to be asked out on a date by Brady. Jude clenched her jaw and said not a word.

  Brady had just unsaddled his mount and turned him loose when J.D. walked up. "Glad I caught you before you left. I want to talk to you about something. Let's go to my office in the house where we won’t be interrupted."

  Shit! Brady’s stomach did a flip. Had J.D. learned about the weekend with Jude in Stephenville? “Sure. Just let me put my tack up.”

  With unsteady hands, Brady put away his tack, unbuckled his chaps and followed his new boss toward the ranch house, his heart beating faster than normal. They entered through the back door.

  Brady had been in the Circle C ranch house before, but not since he was twelve. Back then, he had thought it a palace. Once, a president had actually slept here. Today, through his homebuilder's eye, he estimated the place must be around fifteen thousand square feet. Besides being big, it seemed to be mostly old and outdated. The place still had tile floors with antique rugs strategically placed. Western art hung on the walls. Western-themed sculpture filled corners. His childhood memories didn't include seeing any of that. He heard no sound, but he smelled food as they passed the entrance to the dining room.

  He didn’t know where J.D.’s office was located, so he dutifully followed, his clinking spurs echoing off the stucco walls and high ceilings. Inside the office, J.D. strode toward slatted bifold doors and opened them to reveal a hidden wet bar. Brady had built many homes with the same concealed bar feature—in offices, dens, playrooms, living rooms, even bedrooms.

  While he waited for J.D. to reveal the reason for this meeting, Brady’s experie
nced eye took in the office’s dark paneling, obviously real wood and old. Even the blinds on a tall window were made of wood. Hunting trophies were everywhere. Not even a hint of feminine influence showed in the surroundings.

  "How was your weekend?" J.D. asked. "You drove over to Fort Worth?"

  How was his weekend? Truthfully, except for seeing his son, Brady's weekend hadn't been worth a damn. He felt as if he had been on the road for a solid three days. He had left Lockett before daylight on Friday, driven six hours to the home he had once owned in Fort Worth and picked up Andy. With the nine-year-old distressed about leaving his older stepbrother behind, Brady picked up Jarrett, too. Andy always wanted Jarrett to be included. Brady didn't mind. He was the closest thing to a real father Jarrett had. Marvalee had been glad to unload the two kids. She and her husband had planned an adult weekend, as she called it, gambling in Shreveport.

  "Uh, yeah," he answered, his hat hanging on the fingertips of one hand. J.D. was dropping ice cubes into two glasses. He couldn't be too pissed off if he was making drinks.

  "Spent time with your boy, huh?"

  Brady had taken the two boys to his mom's house in Weatherford. From there, they went to a calf-roping play day on Friday afternoon. The next day, he took them fishing at the local lake. On Sunday, before he returned them to Marvalee, they saw a movie in Fort Worth, and ate at a pizza joint afterward. Then he had made the six-hour drive back to Lockett.

  His visits with Andy were always like that, always hurried, as he rushed to cram as much nine-year-old "fun" as possible into a short time. There was usually a tearful goodbye. Leaving the boys behind on Sunday afternoon had been hard, but no harder than it ever was.

  "Yeah, it was my turn," he said.

  "What's your poison?"

  "Whiskey'll do," Brady answered. "Any kind's okay."

  J.D. busied himself splashing Crown Royal into the two glasses. Brady didn't often drink high-end whiskey.

  "Your boy’s okay?"

  "Growing like a weed,"

  "Have a seat," J.D. said, handing him a heavy glass of whiskey.

  Covered in red dirt that was stuck to his sweaty clothing, Brady looked around. He chose a leather-covered chair he figured would be the easiest to clean after he left. He sat down, propping his left ankle across his right knee, and hung his dirty hat on his knee. J.D. seated himself behind a huge antique desk. Brady recognized the wood as cherry.

  J.D. opened a drawer and brought out a wooden box of cigars. He leaned across the desk and offered them to Brady, but Brady declined with a lift of his hand. "No, thanks. I'm not a smoker."

  J.D. took his time snipping the tip of a long cigar. "Nothing I enjoy more at the end of the day than a good cigar." He lit up and a pleasant fruity scent filled the air. He picked up his glass, lifted it to Brady and sipped. Brady did likewise, shuddering as the whiskey burned all the way down his gullet.

  "I know your day has been as long as mine, so I'll get right to the point," J.D. said, a swirl of smoke rising from the cigar. He rested his forearms on the desktop, the cigar fitted between his thumb and finger.

  "I don't know if you've been here long enough to learn the nuts and bolts of our operation,” he said. “In a nutshell, the way it's worked for years—and worked well, I might add— is my dad has handled the financial end of things. He's been sort of the CEO or CFO, you might say, and I've run the ranch. A lot of the larger outfits have general managers, but we've never seen a need for that arrangement here. We've gotten along with me and a wagon boss who's in charge when I can't be around."

  Brady had yet to see a day when J.D. had not been present. He started to feel a nervous twitch in his jaw. "I see."

  "I believe you told me when you hired on you have a BBA?"

  "Yes, sir," Brady said. "I thought for a while about going on for an MBA after I moved to Fort Worth, but never got around to it."

  He had become a father instead, but he had no regrets about that.

  J.D. nodded. "So you've got education in management. And you owned a business in Fort Worth?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "My daughter's got a business degree. Business ag. She's also got a degree in biology and has a keen interest in genetics." He drew on his cigar and exhaled, then let out a low laugh. "Sometimes I think that girl's got more brains than her pretty head can hold. I rely on her to keep up with our bulls.”

  By now, Brady knew the Circle C owned around three hundred highbred bulls that were constantly rotated. Small ranchers were lucky to own that many cows. “Big job, keeping up with so many bulls.”

  “She does a fine job. Better than I could do myself."

  Brady couldn't figure out where J.D. was leading him in this conversation. His right leg wanted to bounce up and down, but he willed his heel to stay on the floor. He sipped another drink, hoping for the whiskey to calm his nerves. "Yes, sir," he repeated.

  J.D. leaned forward, his chin thrust out. His eyes were friendly, but serious. "My dad will be eighty-five next month, Brady. He's a sharp old guy, but he's slipping. And I think he's tired. He's spending more than half his time in his room. The last year, I've been taking on the biggest part of his chores on top of my own. To tell you the truth, I'm a little tired, too."

  "I'll bet," Brady said.

  "I've seen you work, Brady. You're low-key, but you get things done. I like that in a man. I've seen you with the men. I can tell they respect you and trust you. That's important in an outfit like this. We have high regard for our hands. We try to take good care of them and keep them happy. It's part of our philosophy and our reputation. We want them to stay with us. Some of them have been here their whole lives. Some have brought their own sons into our employ."

  Brady thought of three father-son teams who worked as ranch hands. "Yes, sir, I'm aware." He swallowed another sip.

  "What I'm getting at is this. I'd like to give Dad some relief and I'm asking you to give me some."

  The twitch in Brady’s jaw became a steady tic. He sipped again. "In what way?"

  "I want you to take part of my job. In time, perhaps all of it."

  Brady swallowed and sat straighter in his chair. Now his right leg really wanted to jump up and down. "I see, sir."

  "I've talked to Jack Durham. He told me he would've had no problem putting you in charge of his whole place."

  Brady knew Jack liked him, but handing over responsibility for his whole ranch? That was a damn big exaggeration. Besides that, Jack's operation didn't come close to being as big and complex as the Circle C's. "He did?"

  "As I said, we've never had a general manager, but if you're not averse to trying it, I'm not, either."

  Statistics zoomed through Brady's head like lightning flashes—cows and bulls and mares and studs and unending acres of land and dollars. He might have a college degree in business administration, he might have owned his own business, but he had never had responsibility for something as vast as the Circle C Ranch.

  But he had never suffered from a lack of self-confidence, either and the very thought of J.D.’s challenge set his pulse to racing. He threw back the remainder of his drink, the burn making his eyes water. "Well, sir, I don't know," he almost croaked.

  "The pay would be commensurate with the added responsibilities, of course. And we usually furnish our upper-tier folks with a nice home if they need it or want it."

  "I see, sir."

  J.D.’s normally serious expression gave way to a smile. "No need to call me 'sir,' Brady. I'm not my dad."

  "No, sir. I mean, yes, sir."

  J.D. leaned back in his chair again and drew on his cigar. "Well, what do you think?"

  Brady didn't answer. He couldn't. First, because he couldn't believe what he had just heard. And second, because this was the job Jude wanted. And it was the job she thought she was going to get.

  Finally, he found his voice. "I guess I have to say, J.D., it sounds like your daughter's got the qualifications to do the job. And the right. And I bet she'd want to."

>   "Oh, she thinks she does. She's smart enough, for sure. But Jude doesn't understand. She can't ramrod the ranch hands and do day after day of man's work. No woman could.

  “That girl means everything to me, Brady. I don't want to watch her turn into a weathered woman with a back broken by hard work. I have no doubt the day will come when she can and will oversee Strayhorn Corp, but that's not the same as managing the hands and the day-to-day work. For now, Dad and I wish she’d settle down and concentrate on getting married and having a family."

  Whoa! Exactly what Jude had told him about her father and grandfather. J. D. obviously didn't know his daughter very well. Or perhaps he did, but chose to ignore her wishes just as Jude had said.

  "Jude's never had much female influence in her life, you see,” J.D. continued. “Fortunately, my grandmother lived a long time and was able to be there for her at times. But on the whole, it's been hard, my dad and me trying to bring up a girl to be a lady, especially one as spirited and bright as Jude."

  He leaned forward again and smiled. "You and I haven’t talked enough to really get to know each other, but I believe the world would be an easier place to live in if people would conform to the roles God intended. Like animals do. You never see mares and cows raising hell about their places in the pecking order. God didn't make mares and cows to be in charge of the herd."

  Well, that was an attitude that would make the feminist movement grind its teeth. Jude, too. But Brady didn't entirely disagree with J.D. He had spent too many years working with and around animals and nature to take issue with the point. Life just had more balance when women behaved as women and men stepped up and assumed their roles as men. "Uh, no, I guess He didn't," he said.

  "Sometimes Jude and I lock horns over the issue," J.D. said, still smiling.

  Brady needed something to hide the trembling in his hands. He set his glass on a table beside a stuffed wild turkey, picked his hat off his knee and sat straight in his chair. "I appreciate your confidence in me, J.D. and I'm flattered. I'll think about it. I'll have to figure out how the increased responsibility here would mesh with my responsibility to myself. As I've said, I'm hoping to get the 6-0 up and operating within the next year. Or two at the most."