West Texas Match (The West Texans Series #1)

by Ginger Chambers

  They stopped in front of the first long low building. Like the others it had a narrow porch and numerous windows.

  “This is the bunkhouse,” Harriet explained. “It’s where the single cowboys live. Four of ’em right now.”

  “Rio?” Shannon asked curiously.

  Harriet lifted an eyebrow. “You’ve been talking to Jodie.”

  “His name has come up.”

  “I’ll bet it has. Yeah, Rio’s here and Gene and J.J. So’s Cecil. Cecil is really shy around women, so if you meet him, you may not get more than a word or two. It’s nothing personal—just him.”

  “I’ll remember.”

  “Over there—” Harriet pointed to the building she’d previously come out of “—is for tack and storage. And there—” she pointed to the building on the right “—are the workshops. I believe you’ve been to the pens and corral beyond?”

  “You know about that, too?”

  “Big operation, few people involved in running it. We’re all interested in what’s happening. Interested in each other. Even the three cowboys we have living in trailers on remote parts of the ranch. First thing they want to know when they come in every couple of weeks is the latest gossip.”

  “So everyone knows everything?” Shannon said, wondering if “everyone” knew about last night. She felt her cheeks grow warm.

  “Not everything,” Harriet answered, “and not everyone. We all manage to have our little secrets. If we didn’t, life would be impossible.”

  “You mean, you keep secrets from Mae?”

  “Exactly.”

  Shannon frowned. “But if she makes you all so miserable, why...”

  “...live here?” Harriet finished for her. She hooked her arm through Shannon’s and led her across the open area between the buildings. “Let’s go find something cool to drink, and I’ll try to explain.”

  She took Shannon to a small room in one of the long buildings that was set up as an office. A desk, burdened with papers, also boasted a telephone and an empty coffee mug. A well-used chair on wheels sat behind the desk. A metal four-drawer file cabinet had one drawer slightly ajar. Both this year’s and last year’s calendars hung on one wall, and another wall was dominated by a painting of an immense red-and-white bull.

  Harriet crossed to a small dormitory-style refrigerator in the corner. She squatted in front of it and retrieved a couple of cans of soda. She handed one to Shannon, then, straightening, popped the top of her can and took a long swallow. As Shannon copied her action, Harriet explained, “This, as you can gather, is the ranch office. It’s Rafe’s domain now. Before him, it was Mae’s. And before her, Ward—Rafe’s daddy. And before Ward, his daddy—Jeff, Mae’s brother.” She stopped to brush some of the papers aside on a corner of the desk, then settled a hip on its edge. “There’s an awful lot of Parker history in this room.”

  Shannon glanced warily around her. She wasn’t looking for Parker ghosts, but for one particular Parker who was very much alive. “In fact,” Harriet continued, “in that file cabinet over there you’ll probably find papers going all the way back to the original Parkers—Virgil and Gibson. They came out here in the 1850s at a time when the Comanches and the Apaches and bandits from across the border made life really hard for anyone trying to settle. Not to mention the small problem of almost no water. But the brothers persevered, built the ranch, added to it... If you end up doing the history Mae wants you to, you’ll get the full story. All I’m trying to do is answer the question you asked earlier—why we live here, why we put up with Mae. Because we’re Parkers. It’s as simple as that.”

  “You’re not a Parker,” Shannon reminded her. “Not by birth.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I married into the Parker family. That’s good enough.”

  “Family loyalty?”

  “It’s more than that,” Harriet answered, frowning as she tried to find a more adequate explanation. “It’s...a connection to the land, to the people who’ve come before us. It means something to be a Parker living on the Parker Ranch. It’s like you’re part of something bigger than yourself.” She released a breath and shook her head. “I can’t explain it any better than that.”

  Shannon said softly, “I think I understand.” Her family didn’t have a landed history like the Parkers, but loyalty and fealty played an important part in their lives, as well. That was why it was so upsetting to her that she could so easily dismiss—

  Booted footsteps sounded on the narrow wooden porch, drawing both women’s attention. To Shannon’s dismay it was Rafe who came through the doorway, filling the room with his presence.

  She froze. She wanted to look away from him, but couldn’t. A swell of remembered feeling washed over her. Dark hair, dark eyes, straight nose, high cheekbones...long strong body filled with heated demand...chiseled mouth that seemed so restrained, yet wasn’t...

  He froze, too, as his gaze met Shannon’s. It didn’t seem to matter that she’d returned to her previous drab attire. She saw the burst of attraction that flared in his eyes in the seconds before he controlled it, and all she wanted to do was scurry from the room.

  If it had been the two of them, she would have done just that. But Harriet was there, her regard curious as she looked from one to the other.

  Chapter Seven

  “Rafe,” Harriet said for the second time. She seemed amused by his continued distraction.

  He dragged his gaze away from Shannon to look at her. “Did you say something?” he asked.

  Harriet pushed herself off the edge of the desk, grinning as she moved the papers back into place. “Nothing of any importance. We helped ourselves to a couple of sodas, that’s all.”

  He shrugged.

  Shannon said nothing. She’d bite off her tongue before she’d speak to him.

  Harriet’s gaze moved back and forth between them again, waiting for one of them to break the silence. When neither did, she said, “Well, thanks anyway. There are only two sodas left. You might want to bring down some more. So...so I guess we’ll be going. Shannon? Are you ready?”

  More than ready, Shannon thought as she bolted for the door. She was behaving like a coward, she knew, but there was nothing she could do about it. The room seemed to shrink once he arrived. It was as if all the air had suddenly been sucked out of it. Her senses had tipped, whirled.

  She hurried back to the path, Harriet close on her heels. She was aware of someone stepping out of the bunkhouse, stretching and then pausing, hands low on hips, to watch her hurry away. But she didn’t turn to look at him, or to look to see if Rafe was watching them.

  “Shannon.” Harriet sounded slightly out of breath behind her.

  Shannon stopped her headlong flight, her leg throbbing dully from the undue stress.

  “My goodness,” Harriet said, catching up. “I didn’t know you were ready for a race!” She laughed.

  Shannon knew her cheeks had reddened. To cover the flush, she bent down to rub her leg. “I’m not really,” she admitted.

  Harriet watched her ministrations. “Have you hurt yourself?”

  “It’s just a twinge.”

  “That was an odd little to-do just then. What’s up? Why’d you take off like a scalded cat? It couldn’t have been anything Rafe said, because he didn’t say a thing. Neither did you.” Then inspiration dawned, “Ah! Mae’s told you!”

  “Mae hasn’t told me anything.”

  “Then you’ve heard some other way. Come on, let’s go to the house. We can’t talk about anything important standing out here.”

  They used the back entrance to the Dunn residence, which opened into the wonderful friendly kitchen area.

  Harriet seated Shannon at the table before going to the stove to stir the contents of a pot sitting on a low flame. The aroma permeating the air was familiar.

  “Black-eyed peas,” Harriet explained unnecessarily as she came to sit beside Shannon. “They have a while to go yet. Would you like something more to drink? Another soda? Something hot?”
/>
  Shannon shook her head.

  Harriet folded her arms on the tabletop and, grinning, urged, “Come on. Tell all.”

  “There’s nothing to tell,” Shannon evaded.

  “Was it Gib? He usually has a hard time keeping his mouth shut. Things just seem to spill out.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, you do. You have to! Mae’s not all that subtle.”

  “No one has said anything to me.”

  “But you know.”

  “I overheard—”

  “Aha!” Harriet cut in, greatly satisfied. “I was right!” She moved closer. “Who did you overhear?”

  “Mae and Rafe.”

  “Better and better.”

  Shannon shook her head. “Look, this is all so silly. I didn’t come here to marry Rafe. I don’t even know the man. He doesn’t know me. Neither of us want—”

  “You’ve talked to him about it?”

  “Briefly.” Shannon looked away. “This is so embarrassing!”

  “For Rafe, too. But I got the feeling just now... Never mind.” She waved the thought away. “This isn’t the first time it’s happened, you know. You’re number three in the past three years.”

  “I’m honored,” Shannon murmured dryly.

  “Mae wants him married.”

  “Why?”

  “She thinks it’s better for a man to be settled. Personally, I think she’s afraid he’ll take it into his head to leave. She’d be up a creek if there wasn’t someone in the family to run this place. She’s gotten too old to do it herself anymore. The doctor finally told her to stop or else. Gib is hopeless—always has been. LeRoy isn’t interested in it unless it runs on gasoline, and Thomas—the men wouldn’t listen to Thomas. He’s a nice man, too nice. It takes a lot of steel in your character to get a cowboy’s respect. Particularly the way the Parker Ranch is run. It’s hands-on, not fly-by like some of the other big operations where the owner calls in directions from the city or pays a quick visit when he wants to impress his friends, or even where he’s there all the time but doesn’t do the hard work. The Parkers have always done the hard work. It’s a tradition.”

  “Why would she think Rafe might leave?” Shannon asked.

  “I’m not sure she does. It’s just a feeling I have. Maybe she senses a wild streak in him, but then, that also makes him a good manager. I used to go out once in a while before the kids were born and watch the men work the cattle. Usually they were culling some old or sick cows off a section of the range. Rafe is fearless. He mixes it up with the best of ’em. Him and his horse—it was like a ballet. The horse cutting this way and that, forcing the cow to do what it didn’t want to do. The cow would charge, then change directions trying to get away, all the while doing her best to hook either one of ’em with her horns. Rafe leaning this way and that, watching the cow and giving the horse subtle direction. Then when they got that cow where they wanted, they go after another...and another.”

  “But that still doesn’t explain...”

  “Mae’s fearless, too. They’re a lot alike. Maybe leaving is something she’d like to have done, but didn’t.” Harriet paused. “LeRoy says I should be a writer because I like to think up ideas about people. Reasons why they do what they do. Maybe I will one day.”

  “Is that your secret?” Shannon asked, attempting to steer the conversation away from Rafe. In her mind’s eye she could see him as Harriet had described, doing the job that cowboys have done since the task was first conceived. Man in raw conflict with nature. The image made her uncomfortable because it was so appealing.

  “I play around with it now and again,” Harriet admitted.

  “Have you sold anything?”

  “Not yet,” she complained, then immediately looked chagrined, as if she’d said something she shouldn’t.

  “I won’t tell,” Shannon promised.

  “I didn’t think you would, but I haven’t told anyone I sent some things off, not even LeRoy.”

  “Why?”

  Harriet shrugged. “It’s just... I’d rather keep it a surprise—for if it ever happens.”

  “What do you write?” Shannon asked.

  “Children’s stories. You know—for kids ten to twelve or thirteen.”

  “Good for you! Could I read one sometime?”

  Harriet shook her head. “Not yet. I can’t— I don’t want anyone— It’s nothing personal.”

  Shannon nodded her understanding.

  “Gib paints,” Harriet went on. “Beautiful paintings. He’s really good. His pictures look exactly like the men at work. You can feel the rope looping through the air, taste the dust the horses and cattle kick up. You should ask him to show you one sometime. It’s about the only secret he’s ever been able to keep. Mae would have a fit if she knew.”

  “Why?”

  “She thinks Gib should pay closer attention to what Jodie’s up to. You see, when Gib paints, he tends to forget everything else. It’s like the picture is stuck in his head, and he can’t think of anything else until he gets it down on canvas. Jodie’s done most of her raising herself, except for Mae putting in her two cents’ worth on occasion.”

  “Like the way she disapproves of Rio.”

  “Not Rio so much as Jodie-and-Rio.”

  “Jodie told me Rafe thinks he’s reliable.”

  “He probably is.”

  “Do I sense a ‘but’?”

  “But it’s just not done. Cowmen—ranchers—don’t like their daughters to take up with cowboys.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s just...” Harriet struggled to find the right words. “It’s everything. From their way of life to—” She broke off and started again. “Most are wonderful people—hardworking, generous, always joking with each other—like little kids almost. But there’s another side to a lot of ’em, too. They drink too much, are too quick to fight, are too loose with the ladies and are up and off if they even think they’re being reined in. They’re not good husband material.”

  “Does Mae have other plans for Jodie?”

  “She wants her to go to college. Says she’s too smart to waste her time doing anything else. Jodie graduated at the top of her class last spring. Since then, nothing.”

  “How serious do you think she and Rio are?”

  “It’d be just a light flirtation if Mae didn’t come down so hard on ’em. Rafe thinks so, too.”

  “He doesn’t approve of what Mae’s doing?”

  “He’s told her over and over that she should mind her own business, but do you think she’ll listen? She likes to keep people under her thumb—at least, she likes to think she has people under her thumb.”

  “What does she want for you and LeRoy?” Shannon asked perceptively.

  “Another baby! Like I’m some kind of broodmare.”

  “How does LeRoy feel about it?”

  “He’d like another baby. He swears it’s not because of Mae. But I’m the one who’d end up doing most of the work, not to count being pregnant!” Harriet glowered at the tabletop. “That’s why I don’t blame Thomas and Darlene for not wanting Mae to know their son, Richard, and his wife, Ann, are splitting up. She’d butt right in. Particularly since Ann blames Richard. She says he has another woman, and he doesn’t deny it. What a mess! I wouldn’t tell Mae, either.”

  “How does the breakup of Richard’s marriage concern Mae?”

  “Divorce is frowned on by the Parkers. I’m sure Mae would try to find a way to force them to stay together and at the same time make Thomas and Darlene feel terrible if they wanted to support their son, even if he was the one in the wrong.” A long silence passed, then Harriet said hesitantly, “There’s something I haven’t liked to bring up, but, well, since we’ve been talking and everything...”

  “What is it?” Shannon asked.

  “I said before that Mae had told us about the accident you were in. What I didn’t say is how sorry we all are about your father. It must have been ter
rible for you...not being able to help and being hurt yourself.”

  Shannon’s heart twisted. “Yes, it was,” she said simply.

  “And there were other people, too. People who were your friends.”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  Only her father’s closest associates knew of her and James’s impending engagement announcement.

  “Wasn’t one your boyfriend?” Harriet asked, unknowing of the pain it caused Shannon to hear James described in such a trivial way.

  “Yes,” she whispered. The word was barely audible.

  Harriet reached out to cover her hand. “I’m sorry for that, too,” she said quietly, sincerely. “What was his name?”

  “James Colby,” Shannon responded thickly.

  Harriet nodded and her hand stayed reassuring on Shannon’s until the back door burst open and Wesley and Gwen ran into the room. The children were filled with excitement about something they’d done with their father and their happy voices chased away the gloom.

  ~*~

  If Rafe had been a drinking man, he’d have downed a good stiff drink right about then. As he watched the two women hurry from the room—Shannon first, as though the gates of hell had opened up behind her, and Harriet in close pursuit—he wished he still had the bottle of high-quality whiskey usually held in reserve in the bottom drawer of the desk. But he’d given it to the boys in the bunkhouse as a little extra reward after the roundup, and he’d yet to replace it.

  Tossing his hat onto the desk, he paced the narrow confines of the office. He’d hoped that last night had been an aberration. He thought he’d talked himself into a more rational frame of mind. Then he’d seen her and all bets were off. If Harriet hadn’t been there, in all likelihood, he would’ve given in to the surging need to kiss Shannon again. To feel her pliant body pressed to his. He would’ve closed the door, pulled the dusty curtains and—

  Good God! He had to get himself under control. He wasn’t an animal who obeyed only instinct. He had a mind and a will.