West Texas Match (The West Texans Series #1)

by Ginger Chambers

Jingling spurs signaled someone’s approach. Dub Hughes tapped once on the doorframe. “Can I come in?” he asked, tongue placed very firmly in cheek.

  Rafe motioned the foreman inside. He had never refused the man entry to a room in his life.

  Dub looked him over and frowned. “What’s the matter with you? You’re all— Mae just been to see you?”

  “Not Mae,” Rafe said, and slumped into the desk chair.

  Dub drew a chair up, leaned back and planted his crossed boots on a corner of the desk. “Something’s wrong,” he stated.

  Rafe shook his head. He didn’t want to talk about it.

  “You look like Morgan does when he has a problem,” Dub said.

  At the mention of Dub’s eldest son and his own best friend, Rafe sat up straight and said, “You hear from Morgan lately?”

  “Mail seems to be havin’ trouble gettin’ here from Fort Worth. Telephone’s havin’ trouble, too. Either that or the boy’s still bein’ run off his feet. Last we heard from him was just before the Association sent him to the Panhandle.”

  “Rustling bad up there?”

  “They’ve had a lot of complaints, Morgan says. He thinks it’s one guy—but he’s good. Keeps hittin’ the same ranches but in different spots. He’s in and out ’fore anyone knows it.”

  Morgan Hughes was one of the best cowboys Rafe had ever seen. Because he was so good, he was a natural to be hired by the Texas Cattlemen’s Association to ferret out those who tried to profit from other people’s hard work. Rustlers were as much a problem today as they’d been in the past. They just used different methods. Back a truck or trailer up to a fence, cut it, pick the cattle you want, send them up the ramp and drive away. And the rancher was out some prime stock.

  “He’s due for a visit soon, isn’t he?” Rafe asked.

  “Delores is starting to worry. But then she always worries about her babies, even when they have babies of their own. At least Morgan hasn’t pulled that particular trick on us yet.”

  “He told me he’s never getting married. Not after what he’s seen Russell go through.”

  “Russell’s a good boy. He just got messed up with the wrong woman. Now...if you happen to find the right one—”

  “How’re all the kids?” Rafe broke in quickly.

  “Missing their daddy. But they’re fine. So’s Russell. He called last night. He’s gettin’ settled in Denver. Said to tell you hello.”

  Rafe nodded. He picked up a pencil and started to roll it between his fingers.

  Dub watched him for a moment before he asked, “How’s it goin’ with the little filly?”

  The pencil snapped.

  Dub chuckled. “Sorry I asked.”

  Rafe shot him a hard look.

  Dub recrossed his legs and cleared his throat. “Been thinkin’ ’bout that,” he said.

  “Oh?” Rafe’s tone was wary.

  “Well, bein’ that she’s been poorly, maybe it’s affected her mind enough so’s she just might take you on. I mean, she could do worse. I understand Gene’s thinkin’ of poppin’ the question.”

  Rafe saw the slanted smile and the teasing glint in the older man’s eyes. Dub loved to tease, and the more he liked you, the more he teased you.

  Dub had been a substitute father to Rafe from the time Rafe’s own father had died when he was twelve. Dub had taken him under his wing and continued his education in tending cattle and working with horses, just as if he’d been one of Dub’s own sons. Almost everything Rafe knew, he’d learned from Dub.

  “Old man,” he drawled easily, “I suppose you’d like to see your next birthday?”

  “Not particularly. After sixty, I decided to stop countin’.”

  “Then how about your next meal?”

  Dub chuckled again. “Depends on what it is and who’s cookin’ it. Delores is plannin’ hot dogs for the kids, and I can’t stand hot dogs.”

  “If you’ll shut up about the filly, I’ll see if I can get Axel to throw another steak on the grill when he cooks dinner for the boys in the bunkhouse tonight.”

  “I’ll shut up.”

  “I thought so.”

  “Except...”

  Rafe frowned with mock fierceness. “Yes?”

  “It could be interestin’ to see how Gene managed as a married man. Would he stay the same? Or would she change him? You know, get him to wear clean clothes every so often and take a bath more than once a month.”

  “I wouldn’t wish Gene on any woman,” Rafe replied.

  “Neither would I. Not really. You’re a much better catch!”

  Rafe picked up a thin catalog of feed products and flung it at his foreman’s head. Dub ducked and the catalog hit the wall, falling to the floor with its pages fluttering.

  Both men started to laugh.

  ~*~

  Shannon found Mae sitting in the living room. The woman had several large photo and keepsake albums spread around her while she peered at one particular picture through a magnifying glass.

  “Hello,” Shannon said in greeting.

  Mae swung her dark gaze over her, clearly noting the makeup Shannon had once again applied and the fact that her hair had been caught back neatly with a band.

  The attention to grooming had been performed purely for herself, Shannon had insisted to her reflection in the bathroom mirror, because it made her feel better. Nothing more, nothing less. She assured herself of that once again as she claimed a seat on the couch next to Mae and tilted her head, the better to see a page of photos.

  On the first pages, the photographs were old, tinted in sepia and applied to a stiff backing. Most were of children, staring seriously at the camera and dressed in clothes from the late 1800s. It was difficult to differentiate between the very young boys and girls in that period because both sexes wore dresses and had long curls.

  “I love old photographs,” Shannon murmured.

  “They’re all Parkers,” Mae said, slowly turning the pages. “Ah!” she exclaimed a moment later. “This is my brother, Jeff.” Mae pointed to a later photo of a boy of about eight, with dark hair and dark eyes. He sat in a chair next to a steamer trunk, his clothing vaguely nautical. The back of the picture was stamped with the name of a studio in San Antonio. “This—” she handed Shannon another photo “—is of both of us. I was nine months old.” The picture showed a more mature Jeff, in his mid-teens, seated in a straight-backed chair, with a baby on his knee. The baby, Mae, looked out at the world with watchful eyes that probably even then rarely missed a thing.

  Shannon flipped the photo over. It, too, was stamped with the name of the same studio in San Antonio...and just above that, written in a flowery script, were two names: Jefferson and Mary Louise. Shannon looked up in puzzlement.

  “Mary Louise is my real name,” the older woman said, “but no one’s ever called me anything but Mae.”

  “Both names are pretty,” Shannon said.

  Mae replaced the photographs, then she removed another photo and passed it to Shannon. “That’s my other brother, Theodore. He died in the war in Europe, just before it ended in 1945. He was twenty-two.”

  Several young men stood in infantry uniforms, posing with their rifles at their sides. It was easy for Shannon to pick out Theodore. “He was very handsome,” she said.

  “Yes,” Mae agreed. She returned the picture to its slot.

  Great time and care had been spent mounting the photographs in the albums and in labeling each one individually. The year was noted, as were the names.

  Shannon sat back. “I suppose this is a natural time to ask when you’d like to start work on the family history.”

  “Are you up to it? You haven’t been here all that long yet.”

  “I feel much stronger. And I—I need something to do.”

  Mae shot her an inquisitive look, but asked no questions. Instead, she said slowly, “I suppose we could.”

  “Tomorrow?” Shannon prompted.

  “I suppose.” Mae seemed strangely reluctant to be
gin, especially in light of the fact that writing a family history was her idea. “But only half days. I don’t want anyone saying I caused you to relapse from working you too hard!”

  “No one would say that.”

  “Now that’s where you’re wrong. I’m a mite older than you, young Shannon. I know people. They’d say it.”

  “Would that matter when we know the truth?”

  The corners of Mae’s mouth tilted up. “I knew you were like your daddy, but I didn’t know how much. The people of this state are going to have a hard time replacing him.”

  Shannon looked down at her hands. The reality of what had happened sometimes seemed impossible to accept. She’d grown up accustomed to her father’s periodic absences. There were times when, even now, if she let herself, she could pretend he was off at some meeting or other...in Dallas, in Houston, in Washington, D.C. Her mother was with him, of course, and they would return home, her father proud of what he’d accomplished, her mother excited about all the shopping she’d done, the places she’d seen.

  A smile of remembrance lit her face before slowly ebbing away. That was the past. A good past, but it was gone all the same, except in memory.

  “It’s best to face these things, you know,” Mae advised gruffly, as if privy to her thoughts.

  “I know, but...it’s hard.” Shannon’s voice thickened as she spoke.

  “I never said it was easy.”

  Shannon decided this was a good moment to get something out in the open. If Mae didn’t know about it, she should. And making an issue of it might help put an end to any further attempts at matchmaking. “I’m not sure you’re aware of this,” she said tightly, “but I didn’t just lose my father in the plane crash. I lost someone else, too. Someone very special to me.”

  “James Colby,” Mae supplied. “Yes, I know all about him.”

  “We were about to announce our engagement.”

  “I know that, too.”

  “How—?” Shannon stopped abruptly. Mae had a far reach, she’d been told before. A question in the right ear would bring the correct information. But if she knew that... “Then how could you...?” Shannon stammered to another stop.

  “How could I what?”

  “Try to put me together with Rafe!”

  “Tell me how I’m doing that,” Mae said calmly.

  Shannon couldn’t answer her. There’d been no overt actions.

  “I told you before,” Mae said after a moment, “Rafe’s got hold of the wrong end of the stick. I asked you here for exactly the reasons we talked about.”

  “But Harriet said…

  Mae closed the photo album and placed it with the others, before she sat back, chuckling. “Harriet loves to hear herself talk. She’s a wonderful person, but, more often than not, she gets things wrong. Especially about me.”

  “She said you’d brought two other potential wives here for Rafe over the past three years.”

  Mae shrugged. “So what if I did? That doesn’t mean I’ve brought you here for the same purpose.”

  Shannon blinked at the admission. “But then...can’t you see where other people might think...”

  “What would that matter when we know the truth?”

  Shannon’s words, come back to bite her. She stared at Mae, marveling at the woman’s cunning. She certainly knew when and how to take advantage! No wonder she was such a natural at behind-the-scenes political maneuvering and had won the grudging respect of friend and foe alike.

  “Yes, well...” Shannon murmured weakly, and was rewarded by a motherly pat on her wrist.

  Chapter Eight

  Mae begged off starting work the next afternoon with the excuse that she had something else she needed to take care of. Shannon didn’t see her after lunch, but she did see Thomas and Darlene make a trip through the house in the direction of Mae’s private office, their expressions anxious.

  Thomas was a year or two older than his brother, Gib, his hair almost completely silver, and he had the same nice smile and easy manner. But where Gib was something of a will-o’-the-wisp, Thomas was much more serious. He was a quiet man, who measured his words and kept frequently to himself. Yet even in his haste, he paused to offer Shannon a greeting, as did Darlene. Shannon smiled back at them, wondering if this was the meeting Darlene had been dreading. Had Mae finally learned of their son’s impending divorce?

  She watched them disappear from view, the large man with his arm placed comfortingly around his much smaller and much more vulnerable wife. Then she wandered outdoors, sensitive to the fact that any confrontation that might follow was entirely a Parker affair.

  She stepped to the edge of the porch and leaned against the railing. Some of the flowers Harriet claimed responsibility for grew in beds along the front of the house. Clusters of dark gold and red chrysanthemums were interspersed with smaller white flowers Shannon couldn’t identify. And seeing them, she couldn’t help but remember what Harriet had said—that flowers, like a lot of things, needed only a little care and some space to bloom. A philosophy that at this very moment Thomas and Darlene undoubtedly wished Mae shared.

  A sound caused Shannon to turn, her heart in her throat. Once she saw who the new arrival was, though, she relaxed.

  “Shep! Hello. Come here, boy.” She bent forward and held out a hand.

  The big yellow dog approached her with what could only be described as a shy smile.

  “How’re you doing, boy?” she asked, rubbing his head and neck. “Did you miss me yesterday? I didn’t come sit in the courtyard, did I?”

  Warm brown eyes met hers as his tail wagged forgiveness. Shannon’s fingers moved to his ears, and for a long time the dog enjoyed her attention. When she stopped rubbing, he shook himself from head to tail.

  “You’re a good boy, aren’t you,” she murmured.

  James had had a dog; his sister had taken it to live with her after the accident. If she’d been well, Shannon would’ve asked to care for the terrier herself. One small remaining link. But circumstances had worked against her, and James’s sister had children who already loved the little animal.

  Impulsively, Shannon hugged Shep’s neck, and he seemed to enjoy that, too.

  Mae’s raised voice carried out to the porch. Shannon couldn’t understand what was being said, but the tone was angry.

  “Want to go for a walk?” she invited Shep.

  The dog’s ears pricked with interest.

  “You do?” Shannon straightened. “Well, all right then, let’s do it. Where would you like to go?” she asked as the pair moved off the porch.

  Shep showed no hesitation. He turned in the direction of the work area and barn.

  Shannon was the one to hold back. “Wouldn’t you like to go the other way? I saw a gate where we can get through the fence.”

  The dog barked his disagreement.

  Shannon sighed. “That’s what I get for giving you the option.”

  Woman and dog strolled along the path, enjoying the warmth of the day. Shannon kept her gaze fixed firmly ahead, looking neither left nor right as they passed in front of the barn and the long low buildings. If Rafe was somewhere about, she was determined not to know it.

  Shep didn’t stop at the last building. Instead, he led the way around it, heading for the pens.

  Shannon hesitated. “This is far enough, isn’t it, boy?” She could see that a group of cowboys had gathered along the fence of the central corral, watching as dust swirled up into the air. They were laughing and talking amongst themselves and calling words of encouragement to the person working inside. As Shannon looked closer, she could see a man seated on a dun-colored horse—or rather, trying to be seated on the horse. The animal had other ideas. It gyrated and pitched and came down on four stiff legs, and within seconds, the man was flat on his back on the ground to the accompaniment of the spectators’ good-natured gibes.

  “That horse is gonna get the best of you yet!”

  “Why don’t you just give up and hand him over to the
trader when he comes? Let him see if he can make it in a rodeo. That’s what he wants. Ten seconds with a flank strap makin’ him buck, then the rest of the day it’s good eats an’ easy livin’. No workin’ the range for him.”

  “Yeah, it’s either that or the cannery.”

  “That horse is too smart!” another cowboy disagreed. “He’s aimin’ for the rodeo!”

  The man on the ground picked himself up, dusted himself off and prepared to remount. Rafe.

  Shannon started to back away, ready to retrace her steps before she was seen, but Shep had other ideas. He trotted closer to the action.

  “Shep!” Shannon hissed, trying to call him back. She wasn’t even sure if he was supposed to be here.

  She knew he’d been a cowdog when he was younger, but she didn’t fully know what that entailed.

  Shep moved quickly through the weathered boards of the outer pens, stopping just outside the main corral. None of the cowboys took notice of him. They were too intent on watching Rafe, who’d swung back into the saddle.

  Shannon drew closer herself, thinking that if she could somehow gain Shep’s full attention, she could make him come back with her. She climbed one fence, moved across the same open pen as Shep had, then attempted to hide behind the second flat-board fence.

  “Shep!” she hissed again, motioning furtively. Shep looked at her, his pink tongue hanging out, then he looked back at Rafe.

  Shannon sighed in frustration. There was nothing she could do but hook her finger in his collar and pull him away. If she timed it right and was very quiet, no one would notice. She started to climb the second fence, but as she slung a leg over the top board, the activity in the corral once again demanded her attention. The dun-colored horse was trotting placidly across the loosened dirt, then without warning he dipped his front legs and tried to roll the rider off over his head. When that didn’t work, when Rafe stubbornly hung on, the horse darted toward the fence in an attempt to crush the rider’s leg. Within a second Rafe forced the horse to move in a tight circle, out of harm’s way. The horse took a few more steps, swiveled and pitched, and when the rider continued to cling to his back, the horse’s eyes glinted and he reared up on his hind legs, so high that he staggered to one side, then completely lost his balance. Obviously aware of what was happening, Rafe jerked his boots from the stirrups, ready to jump free of the saddle, just as the horse went down.