Having almost slept the clock around, he felt energized and upbeat. He arrived at the Circle C on time and ate breakfast with the hands.
Jude awoke with real estate and Fred Whitmore on her mind. She wished she had never pursued the idea of owning the 6-0 Ranch. That one desire had caused her untold grief and aggravation. Anything that was that much trouble had to be steeped in bad karma. She no longer wanted any part of it.
Her mind churned all through showering and shampooing her hair. Perhaps she had jumped to conclusions. Perhaps Fred Whitmore had not yet presented her offer. She had to return his call ASAP and officially kill her offer to buy the 6-0.
She watched the morning news and waited impatiently for eight o'clock. At five minutes after eight, she returned Fred Whitmore's call. "I got your message yesterday," she told him, "but this is the first chance I've had to call you back." She steeled herself and asked, "Did the owner, uh, accept my offer?"
"He's thinking about it. I haven't heard from him, but I haven't given up."
She sat up straighter. Why hadn’t Brady told her someone had made an offer."Well, I'm giving up. I want to withdraw the bid."
"You can do that, Miz Strayhorn," he drawled. "Do you mind if I ask why?"
"I've changed my mind. You're sure you didn't reveal my identity?"
"No, ma'am. You asked me not to."
She closed her eyes and heaved a great breath. "I'll come by your office in the next few days and pick up my earnest-money check."
She hung up, deflating for the first time since yesterday.
By the time Brady finished breakfast, daylight had burst onto the scene with brilliant sunshine and a sky so clear and blue, tiny black specks danced in his sight. The downpour from Tuesday night had washed the red dust off everything, and the landscape shone and smelled like cedar and sage.
He met with the wagon boss and planned the workday, then walked over to the ranch house's back door, knocked and asked for Jude. The housekeeper let him in. He lifted off his hat as she led him to the breakfast room. Jude was sitting alone at the table eating cereal.
…I always do things alone. It's no big deal…. He remembered her saying those words Tuesday night, but seeing her alone at the big round oak table dramatically emphasized the point. Most likely, "doing things alone" was a bigger deal than she let on.
She looked so beautiful the sight of her almost took his breath. The morning sunlight pouring through a wall of French doors highlighted gold in her hair. She had on another one of those tight little T-shirts that made his mouth water. Would he ever get tired of just looking at her?
She looked up when he walked in. She didn't exactly smile, but she didn't frown, either. Now he knew for sure she had heard Marvalee's message.
As he approached the table, Windy brought him a mug of steaming coffee and set it on the table. "How ya doin' this mornin', Mr. Fallon?" the grizzled old cook asked. "What'd ya think o' that rain? A real frog-drownder, wasn't it?"
"And we sure needed it," Brady replied.
"Yes, sir, we did," Windy said. "But the boys tell me it didn't bring us much relief from this dang drought." He ambled back to the kitchen.
Conversation about rain and the lack of it was never ending in West Texas. Like a sponge, the thirsty ground had already sucked up Tuesday night's drenching.
Brady fixed his eyes on Jude and pulled out a chair adjacent to her. He wanted to kiss her good morning, wanted to take her in his arms, wanted to hear her say she shared his feelings, but he could hardly have an intimate conversation with her with the kitchen help so close. He noticed her cereal bowl was empty. "Wannna take a walk?"
“Absolutely,” she answered and stood.
He pulled her chair back, then picked up his own mug and they walked outside to the terrace. The wide expanse of red limestone slabs took up half of what was considered the backyard, a bigger footprint than the whole 6-0 house.
“Thought you didn’t like coffee,” he said.
She beamed a smile up at him. “I’m drinking green tea. It’s better for you.”
He set his hat on and they began to stroll the length of the terrace, squinting in the bright sunlight, their boot heels clunking against the solid stone.
"No one really comes out here anymore," she said, gazing at the orchard a hundred yards away. "A long time ago, there were parties out here. There would be politicians and businessmen. A few celebrities. People would fly in. Cable used to bring all of these rodeo people. Even some country-western musicians. I don't know what happened to all that. It just sort of went away."
As far as Brady could tell, there was little time for partying at the Circle C. Routinely, J.D. worked sixteen-hour days. It wouldn't be easy to party hard when a man went to bed before sundown and rose before daylight.
And Jeff Strayhorn, even at his age, worked long hours, too. Brady had heard J.D. say that on some days, the old man never came out of his office until supper. Brady had been surprised to learn that the ranch's money—outside of the huge cow and horse operations—came from Jeff Strayhorn's astute investments.
Someone Jude's age living in this environment with two old men and a few Mexicans employed as household help reminded him of some fairy-tale princess in a tower, protected from the outside world. "I wanted to talk to you," he said.
She stopped walking and looked up at him with those wide, wondering eyes and he felt it again—that spinning sensation, as if they were caught in a vortex. "What about?" she asked, keeping distance between them. Her tone was matter-of-fact, unemotional.
"You must have heard my ex-wife's phone message," he said.
Her shoulders lifted in a shrug, and they began to walk again. "That's what you want to talk about?"
"No. And yes."
They had reached the end of the patio. A rectangular concrete table with two benches sat at the edge under the shade of a giant old tree. The tree roots had heaved up the limestone slabs in several places. Tufts of grass grew in the cracks.
"Let's sit down," she said, and stepped up on the bench. She sank to the tabletop, placing her feet on the bench. He seated himself beside her, his hip and shoulder touching hers. The concrete had already been warmed by the sun and he felt it against his bottom. He rested his elbows on his knees and wrapped his hands around his mug. "What I'd really like is to kiss you good morning, but I don't suppose you'd want me to do that."
"Windy's probably spying on us through the breakfast room doors. He and Daddy have been friends their whole lives, you know. He tells Daddy everything that happens. They don't call him Windy for no reason."
Chuckling, Brady clasped her thigh and pulled it close to his, letting his hand linger between her legs. He just wanted to touch her. "What I came to say, Jude, is this. If we’re going to keep seeing each other, I think we need to come clean with J.D. We need to stop sneaking around and lying to him. I’m just not comfortable hiding."
"Are we going to keep seeing each other?"
He smiled. "Jude. We've slept together. And it was pretty damn good for both of us. You think we just ignore that like it never happened?"
She leaned forward, too. "I don't know. You slept with Ginger, too. Apparently for a long time. She had your things. Your friends thought you were together."
Uh-oh. This might be harder than he had hoped. He stopped and swirled the liquid in his mug. How could he explain Ginger without sounding like an asshole? "Ginger was, uh—well…"
"Convenience? Is that the word you’re looking for?"
"We were convenient for each other," he said, throwing the remainder of his coffee onto the grass. "Life's like that."
"Not my life. I don’t know any people who are convenient....Besides that, you and I have never exactly talked about anything serious."
"You don't think Tuesday night was serious?"
"Well, yes. It was for me. And that night in Stephenville was serious, too, but—"
"Jude, look at me.”
She turned her head and faced him. “Tuesd
ay night was about as serious as I get. Like I said then, I want us to give this a shot. I’m looking you in the face and saying I care about you. I’m not good with flowery words, but I’m saying I haven't felt this way in a long time, maybe ever. I can’t explain it, but in my heart, I believe you’re the one for me. And I mean for all time.”
He saw a glister of moisture in her eyes. “I care about you, too, Brady. I have since the first day I saw you.”
He reached up and brushed tendrils of her hair from her face. “Then let’s tell your dad how we feel, so we can be open and up front. I don't like lying."
Jude’s chest swelled with emotion, more than she’d ever had to deal with so quickly. Coming from him, that speech was an oration. A plain-spoken sonnet without rhyme. Now she was the one who was speechless, a handicap she had rarely suffered.
She swallowed, waiting for her voice. "If we tell Daddy, you're the one with something at risk. I’ll still be his daughter and he won’t kick me out of the house, but I don’t know what he’ll think of you. You have to understand that for my entire life growing up, I was told by him and Grandpa and Grammy Pen to stay away from the ranch hands."
"I know that. I can see why they'd say that, Jude. This is a world of men around here, some of them unruly. If I had a young daughter growing up in this environment, I might do the same thing."
"It's a moot point now. I'm friends with most of the hands. I know their families. I've taught their kids in school. I’ve even done babysitting for them. They respect me.”
"I know that, too. I hear the way they talk about you. Anyway, I'm willing to take a chance with J.D. When we went to Stephenville together, if I had known him like I know him now, I wouldn't have asked you to keep the trip a secret. I wouldn't have thought he'd be upset over your going with me. I believe he's a reasonable man."
"Hmm. You don’t know him well enough yet. He has selective reasonableness.” She looked up at him, seeking his eyes. “I don't like lying, either, Brady. And keeping this from Daddy bothers me.”
"Then if you agree, I'll talk to him today."
"I should be the one to tell him. He's due back from Amarillo this afternoon. I'll make it a point to have a drink with him before supper. I need to discuss Spike and Charlie Brown with him anyway."
"Who?"
"The bulls."
Brady studied her a few seconds, then chuckled. “Oh, the bulls. I didn’t know you had already named them. They're okay, by the way. I sent one of the hands over to my house to pick them up. Doc looked them over."
"I heard."
He gave her a serious look across his shoulder. "So now that we've settled on telling your dad, there's something else I want to talk to you about. I'm heading down to Abilene. I'm meeting my ex-wife. She and her husband are getting a divorce. I'm hoping she's gonna let my boy live with me. I’m hoping I’m gonna eventually get legal custody. It’s what I’ve been trying for for two years."
“That was that the phone call was about?”
Brady nodded. "I know it’s a lot to spring on you all at once, especially since we haven’t had much chance to talk about it. I’m hoping you’ve already figured out that I’m a package deal, Jude.”
She grinned. “Why, Brady Fallon. What are you saying?”
“Andy has a half-brother who might come along with him. I know taking on two half-grown kids is a lot to expect from any woman. Jarrett’s not my boy, but I took care of him since he was an infant and he looks up to me. I’m the only daddy he’s ever known. Besides that, I’m afraid it would break his heart to separate from Andy.”
“Do I strike you as someone who hates kids? I teach kids.”
“I know, but that’s not the same as being a mother, or that is, a stepmother to them.”
"We don't have a problem, Brady.”
“Really?”
“Really. A ranch is an ideal place for two boys to grow up.”
He draped his arm around her, pulled her close and planted a kiss on her lips.
"Stop that," she said, pushing against him with her elbow. "Windy's probably looking."
“So be it,” Brady said. He got to his feet and stepped off the concrete bench. "I gotta go. I'll call you when I start back from Abilene."
Jude was in such a good mood, she marched into the kitchen and began making a sack lunch. Windy was peeling potatoes and whistling. Oh, yeah, he had seen Brady kiss her out on the terrace. For now, she wouldn't worry about it. Daddy wouldn't even be home until late afternoon. She grabbed a bottle of water out of the pantry, then took her lunch with her to the tack room and saddled Patch. She hadn't been paying nearly enough attention to him lately.
She rode through the barn lots and corrals until she reached the vast range that butted up to the back of the ranch compound. She rode through thick, sun-baked grass, taking in all there was around her, the endless expanse of the rolling plain that stretched until it collided with the brilliant blue sky, all that she adored. The fact that so much unobstructed space represented a special kind of freedom only a chosen few ever saw for themselves was never lost on Jude.
A flock of quail burst into flight in her path. Patch shied, but she controlled him and kissed to him and assured him he was okay.
She rode past the old rock fences—layers of flat limestone pieces stacked without mortar. They had been built at the very beginning of the Circle C, before barbed wire. She reined Patch into the depths of Rimrock Canyon, where layers of prehistoric strata looked as if someone had painted stripes on the canyon walls. The canyon's sandy floor was still damp from the rain. She rode to where she knew a pool of rainwater would be standing and saw deer tracks in the soft sand that surrounded it. She stopped for Patch to rest, loosened his cinch and let him drink. There, on a flat outcropping of red limestone, she ate her lunch.
On the high canyon's rim stood the deteriorating walls of an old rock house that had been built before Grandpa was born. The roof had been gone for years. The Crowell house, it was called, after its occupant. It had been a dwelling for an outpost cowboy who kept an eye on the fences and the cattle herd. These days, with four-wheel- drive pickup trucks and other all-terrain rigs, there was no need for someone to live this far away from the ranch.
Rested, Patch easily carried her out of the canyon on a steep trail. At the old rock house she tied him in the shade of an ancient chinaberry tree growing at a corner of the walls and walked inside the rock shell.
She had been here many times. Once, when she came here with Daddy, he had killed a rattlesnake in the tall grass near the front stoop.
Weeds and grass had taken over the floor. Little mounds of sand lay where the floors joined the walls that faced west, deposited there by the ceaseless wind. There had been three rooms, delineated by rock walls. Other than erosion, the walls showed little sign of weakness. They had defied all that nature could throw at them. To Jude, they were a symbol of strength and endurance.
She tried to imagine how it must have been to live here a hundred years ago. How had a lone cowboy stayed warm when a blue norther swept across the plains in January? What did he do when a wicked tornado blasted through in the spring? Or when the relentless August sun seared everything under it?
She had to bring Brady here, to show him what it meant to be Alister Campbell's descendant.
Chapter 25
Jude returned to the ranch late in the afternoon and saw her father's pickup parked in its usual place in front of the garage doors. She could hardly wait to see him. He wasn't often gone for four days. At the same time, though she was glad he was back, she was anxious about telling him about her and Brady.
She unsaddled and brushed Patch, thinking through what she would say first. She tried several opening sentences on Patch, but he only snorted and kept eating. If only she could get the same reaction from Daddy.
She entered the house through the back door as she usually did. The housekeeper, Lola Mendez, intercepted her, obviously nervous. "Tu padre. Esta waiting en he oficina."
> "Thanks, Lola." Jude hurried toward Daddy's office, wondering what had the housekeeper in a dither. She found her father standing behind his desk reading a document. He looked up when she stepped in. The tension in the air was palpable. Lola had been right. He was uptight about something. "Hey, Daddy. Good trip?"
"Come in." He turned to face her, dropping the document onto the desk. He leaned forward, bracing his fingertips against the desktop. "Please tell me, Judith Ann, that you don't really have something going on with Brady Fallon."
He hadn't even said hello. Though she was standing and the wide desk separated them, Jude had the distinct impression he loomed over her. She held his gaze but didn't answer right away.
"Do you?" he shouted, and she jumped.
His aggression was as painful as a slap. He never yelled at her. She had hardly heard him raise his voice to anyone, ever. Reflexively, she shouted back. "Yes!"
Seconds passed. Unmoving, he glared at her, his face redder than she had ever seen it. "Sit down," he said sharply but more calmly. He gestured toward the leather wing chair in front of his desk. She dropped into it, still stunned and made off-balance by his outburst.
He took his seat behind his desk. "My God, Jude," he said quietly, as if shouting at her had shocked him, too. "You know the rules. Why would you take up with him, of all people?"
She set her jaw. This was not how she had expected this conversation to occur, but here it was. Time to fish or cut bait, as she had heard Jake say. "Because I care about him," she said firmly.
Her father drew a deep breath. His head shook. "Jude, we've entrusted him with the management of this place. And it was looking like it was going to work out. Do you think I can have you playing...playing whatever the hell you're playing at in front of the men? In front of their families?"
Jude had already anticipated those words—not precisely, but close. "No one knows. We haven't—"
"How long have you been seeing him?"
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