Going down on one knee, she gathered her daughter to her and gave her a hug, then asked huskily, “Erin? How would you like to live on a ranch? Mommy hasn’t decided for sure yet, but...what do you think?”
“Would it have a horse?” the little girl asked.
Christine smiled. “I’ll bet it would.”
Erin looked at her, her sweet face far too serious for her age. She seemed to have been born an old soul, with all the cares of the world already known to her. “I’d like that,” she said.
~*~
The house that had been their home for the past eight months was located in one of the older, more exclusive neighborhoods in Houston. Each time Christine drove along the tree-lined streets she expected to be stopped and questioned. What was someone from the poorer section of Pasadena, a person who had grown up with an oil refinery in her backyard, doing in a place like River Oaks? Trailer trash was the term she’d heard used to describe her prior social standing. At times it had been said in jest by people in the same situation. At others, very different people used it with disdain.
She directed her old wreck of a car into the driveway leading to Ira Parker’s house. The odometer had frozen at 120,000 miles, the engine generally wheezed and sputtered on starting, and both front doors and a fender had been transplanted from other cars. Ira had insisted she use his Mercedes while in his employ, but she didn’t think Abigail and Brendan—Ira’s grown children—would agree to her continued use of it. So this morning she’d fired up her old campaigner and tried not to worry.
Christine glanced at Erin, who rode in silence on the bench seat at her side. “Those ice-cream cones were good, weren’t they?” she asked.
“Mmm,” Erin replied.
Christine parked the car off to one side of the three-car garage and again glanced at her daughter. Erin was a quiet child by nature, but she’d been quieter than usual after leaving the law office. During the last months of Ira Parker’s life, Erin had grown close to him. He’d tried to explain what was happening, but at Erin’s young age, Christine wasn’t sure how much she understood. Christine had allowed her to go to the funeral service the previous weekend because Erin had requested it, and also because she thought it only right that the little girl be allowed to say a last goodbye. Now she wondered if she had done the right thing.
“Mommy?” Erin said. “Do you think the ranch will have more than one horse? They usually do, don’t they? And if they do, do you think I could have one of my very own?”
Christine gave a mental sigh of relief. It wasn’t the funeral that had been bothering her. “I can’t make any promises, sweetheart. And like I told you earlier, I haven’t made up my mind yet.”
“Is it Ira’s ranch?” Erin surprised Christine by asking.
“You know about Ira’s ranch?”
Erin nodded. “He used to tell me about it. About how when he was a boy he’d go for visits and ride horses and help gather cows and look for buried treasure and—”
“Erin!”
The little girl’s eyes grew large. “It’s the truth! He said—”
Christine stepped out of the car. “I believe you. I’m just surprised you never told me.”
“Ira said it was a secret.” Erin scrambled out.
‘Like him giving you permission to call him Ira?’
Erin looked ahead to the large house. “I wish he was still in there,” she said softly.
“So do I, sweetheart. So do I.”
Christine followed her daughter inside, where the white-haired housekeeper, Mrs. Tobin, took a moment to hug the little girl and listen to her excited talk of possible horse ownership before telling her that a batch of freshly baked cookies was waiting in the kitchen. Erin hesitated, unsure whether to accept the offer. Ice cream followed by cookies wasn’t something she was normally allowed.
“One cookie is fine,” Christine said. “If you promise to eat all your vegetables at dinner.”
“I promise,” Erin said, then skipped happily down the hall.
Once the little girl was out of sight, Mrs. Tobin’s smile faded. “There’s something you should know,” she said. “Miss Abigail called. She and Mr. Brendan are on their way over. She asked if you were here, and when I said you weren’t, she told me I should put your things out on the curb and not let you in when you came home. Now I ask you, is that any way for Mr. Parker’s children to act? I told her if she and her brother wanted any dirty work done they’d have to do it themselves! She said I could leave, too, if I wanted.” The housekeeper laughed. “Well, they have a little surprise coming, because I’m going to do just that! They think I don’t have anywhere else to live, but I’m retiring to my sister’s place in the Hill Country. She’s been after me for years to come live with her. I only stayed on here for Mr. Parker’s sake, and now that he’s gone—” her chin quivered, then firmed and lifted “—I’m not going to take orders from either of them. Not after the way they treated their father. Ignoring him when it suited them, then only coming around when they thought they’d soon have his money! It’s shameful, that’s what it is. Shameful!”
Privately Christine agreed. She’d caught which way the wind was blowing in that respect during her first meeting with Ira’s children. They were so busy holding their noses in the air they’d have drowned if it rained! Hateful and spoiled, they were nothing like their father. Christine knew that Ira had loved them, but it was the faithful love of a parent, not because they did anything to deserve it. Whenever they were scheduled to visit, Christine would take Erin to the park, effectively removing both herself and her child from their line of fire.
“When did Abigail call?” she asked Mrs. Tobin.
“About a half hour ago. They should be here any minute.”
Christine stiffened her spine. All right. It had come down to it. In truth, she had no right to stay on here. She was merely an employee, as she’d told Mr. Hernandez, and if her employer died, it was his heirs’ decision about what happened next. She extended a hand to the housekeeper. “While we have a moment, Mrs. Tobin, I want to thank you for being so kind to Erin and me. You didn’t have to be, yet you were.”
“Ahh,” Mrs. Tobin said, “it was easy to care for the little one, and for you, too. I hope you find another job right away, and that the little one...” She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “If you ever need a reference—I know I’m only the housekeeper—but I’ll be glad to vouch for you. Here, this is my sister’s address in New Braunfels so we can keep in touch.”
“Yes,” Christine promised, stuffing the slip of paper into her pocket. “When Erin finishes her cookie, will you send her upstairs? I want to be sure not to leave anything of hers behind.”
“Because who could guarantee it wouldn’t end up in the garbage? Not with those two running the place.”
Christine hurried to the suite of rooms she and Erin shared. She could have told the housekeeper that the months in this house were the most pleasant she’d spent in her life, even considering Ira’s decline. That she wasn’t accustomed to people actively trying to make things easier for her, or caring about what she thought or felt. But she found saying such things difficult.
She set about quickly packing their possessions—gathering their clothes from closets and drawers, then collecting their things from the bathroom. Fortunately she’d instructed Erin never to leave her toys outside their rooms.
She was adding the girl’s small collection of stuffed animals to the suitcase when Erin came hesitantly into the room. Her eyes followed her mother’s every move.
“Get the rest of your things together, honey. We have to leave.”
“Right now?” Erin whispered.
Christine heard the hollowness in her reply and paused to take her hand. “You knew we weren’t going to stay here forever. I told you that when we moved in. Now it’s time to go.”
“But I like it here, Mommy.”
“I know. I do, too. But we can’t stay any longer. Ira’s son and daughter have other plans
for the house.”
Erin thought for a moment. “Are we going to Ira’s ranch, Mommy? Because if we are, I won’t mind so much.”
Christine didn’t have the slightest idea where they were going next. She’d been able to save a small amount of money from the generous salary Ira had paid her, but after settling a number of long-standing debts and paying Erin’s school fees... She groaned. In all the upset she’d forgotten about school! It was only the first part of April. Close to two months of the term remained!
Erin stroked her mother’s cheek. “It’s okay, Mommy. We don’t have to go to the ranch. And I don’t need a horse. I already have one. Look!” She ran to get her favorite toy—a miniature palomino with a flowing mane and tail that she was forever combing and brushing. She thrust it forward. “Golden Belle, remember?”
Christine folded the little girl close and smoothed her thick hair. It was like touching black silk—smooth and glossy and finely textured. Christine didn’t know where hair like this had come from. Not Erin’s father, or her own family. Her mother had been a natural blond, and her father—at least, the man she’d deduced was her father—had had reddish-brown hair like her own, and similar hazel eyes.
She was going to do better by her little girl than her mother had done by her. No matter what it took, no matter what she had to do to insure it. She’d already taken a number of steps. She’d gone back to school, earned her high-school equivalency diploma and gone on to business school to learn a profession. She’d moved them out of the trailer park, and Erin didn’t have a procession of “uncles” drifting in and out of her life. The opposite, in fact.
“I’ve decided,” she said pulling back. “I think we should get you a real horse and be somewhere you can learn to ride it.”
Happiness sparked in Erin’s dark eyes. “Oh, Mommy, that would be wonderful!”
Someone rapped on the door. “Christine!” Mrs. Tobin called tersely. “They’re here!”
Christine straightened. “Put all your things in the suitcase, honey. Quickly.”
Erin hurried to do as she was told, while Christine gave another hasty glance around the room. Then she moved to help Erin close the case. As the last clasp caught, voices could be heard at the top of the stairs, then outside the door. Loud voices, sharp with argument.
The door burst open, Mrs. Tobin backing in and Abigail Parker sweeping forward. Bringing up the rear was Brendan Parker, who seemed to find the whole scene amusing. A smirk tilted the comers of his well-shaped mouth and fit his eyes—the same eyes that ran over Christine with unconcealed sensual interest.
It was a look Christine had known from the time she was twelve, directed her way by some of the men her mother had entertained. Her mother hadn’t liked it, not because she was upset by the unseemly notice, but because she hadn’t wanted to share the attention. Later on Christine had had to deal with such looks in almost every job she’d taken. Until she’d come here.
“You weren’t supposed to let her in!” Abigail Parker shouted at Mrs. Tobin. “She’s probably stolen half the antiques in the house by now!”
“You’re welcome to search my luggage,” Christine invited with icy anger. Erin clung to her side as she threw open the suitcase, spilling some of the stuffed animals onto the bedcover.
“In there, then!” Abigail pointed to the medium-sized cardboard box waiting by the door.
“Mr. Parker’s turning over in his grave,” Mrs. Tobin murmured, shaking her head.
“You shut up!” Abigail ordered. “It’s all your fault we’re in this mess! If you’d helped our daddy a little more, he wouldn’t have needed to hire this—”
“Me?” the housekeeper protested, her voice rising. “What about the two of you? Why didn’t you give him a little help? Saints preserve us! It’s you who should be ashamed. Not—”
“You’re fired!” Abigail shouted. “Get out. Right now! Get out!”
“Abby,” her brother cautioned, “you might be letting your temper get just the tiniest bit the better of you. What are we going to do about preparing the house for the sale? We’ll need someone to—”
“I’ll hire a cleaning service!” his sister snapped. “I’ve had enough of her prune face to last me a lifetime! Every time we come over she looks at us as if we’re worms. As if we—”
Brendan Parker chuckled at her vehemence. “Well, in that case...”
Christine pushed the stuffed animals back into the suitcase, except for the toy horse, which she put into Erin’s hands. “I think it’s an insult to compare you to worms,” she said. “An insult to the worms. Maggots are more like it.”
Abigail lunged at her, but Brendan quickly intervened. “Ah-ah, sister dear,” he cautioned. “No more violence. You promised the judge, remember?”
At mention of the judge—had the woman been in some kind of trouble that Christine hadn’t heard about?—Abigail deflated and looked at Christine with suddenly dead eyes. “Just get out of here,” she said flatly. “Take everything you’ve got packed and go!”
“I want you to check for theft,” Christine said firmly.
“Just go!”
Christine held her ground. “Mrs. Tobin is witness to my request. I want you to inspect our things and see if you find anything that shouldn’t be there.”
Abigail broke her brother’s hold and taking a step forward, hissed menacingly, “Stop playing the sainted martyr! If you’ve managed to squirrel something away, more power to you. You probably earned it being at our father’s beck and call all day. Not to mention having to share his bed at night!”
Christine was very aware of Erin’s presence. She wanted to say something equally scathing, something that would singe the other woman’s pampered skin, but she kept silent, except for a brusquely murmured, “We’ll be out of the house in five minutes.”
~*~
The car started on first try. As the engine rumbled and grumbled, Christine spoke to the housekeeper, who stood nearby. “Can we take you anywhere?” she offered.
Mrs. Tobin shook her head. “Ahh, no. I’ll be fine. I’ve lived in this house for over sixteen years. It’s going to take me more than a few minutes to pack. Two weeks is what my contract says. Either way—me giving notice to them, or them giving it to me. And I intend to use every second, just to annoy them.” She laughed. “Maggots! I like that! Wish I’d thought of it.”
Erin waved as they backed out of the long drive and Christine smiled, though she didn’t feel like it.
Upon awakening that morning, she’d had no idea what the day would bring. That by evening their car would be packed with everything they owned, and they would be on their way to a ranch in far West Texas. A large successful ranch, she’d been assured. One in which she was now part owner.
Somehow it just didn’t seem real.
West Texas Weddings | Coming late February 2017
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Dear Reader
Other Books Published by Ginger Chambers
About the Author
Excerpt from WEST TEXAS WEDDINGS, Book 2 of The West Texans series:
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West Texas Match (The West Texans Series #1) Page 23