West Texas Weddings

by Ginger Chambers

  Christine felt the other woman’s curious gaze, but refused to acknowledge it. There would be plenty of time to get to know everyone here once she had established her claim.

  “This way,” Shannon said, and led the way down a hall. As they followed her Christine noticed she favored her left leg.

  Mae was seated at a rosewood desk in a room lined with books. “Can we offer you some refreshment?” she asked formally.

  “Not for me,” Christine said. “Erin?”

  Erin shook her head.

  “At least be seated, then.” Mae motioned to the dark green leather couch and pair of cream-colored chairs set to one side. A vase filled with fresh flowers adorned a low table.

  “I’d rather stand,” Christine said.

  The two Parker women exchanged puzzled glances.

  “Morgan’s gone to get Rafe,” Mae said to Shannon, who nodded and perched on one of the chairs.

  A moment later two men came into the room. One was Morgan Hughes, and the other. There was no way to deny this man’s blood connection to Mae. He had the same strong features, the same tough edge, the same palpable streak of determination. Here was another force to be reckoned with, Christine knew, and felt her stomach clench. Maybe she should have let Eugene Hernandez place the preparatory call he’d offered. She had a bad feeling about the way the Parkers were going to react.

  Rafe went to Shannon, his arm encircling her shoulders. When Shannon gazed up at him, Christine had to look away. There was something wonderful in the look they shared—love, need, a tender caring. Once, a long time ago, Christine thought she’d had that herself. It turned out she was wrong.

  Her eyes settled on Morgan Hughes. He was watching her steadily. She frowned. What was he waiting around for? Why didn’t he go home? He had done his job by delivering them.

  Rafe released Shannon and turned his attention fully on Christine. “Morgan tells me you think you own a piece of the Parker Ranch.” He said it mildly, as one might mention the time of day, but Christine could sense the steel behind his words and the shock the information gave the other two women.

  “That’s right,” Christine confirmed, digging deep inside herself for some steel of her own.

  Mae Parker sat forward. “That’s impossible!” she snapped.

  “I’m afraid it’s not,” Christine said.

  “Rafe!” Mae ordered. “Tell her!”

  Rafe asked a question, instead. “What makes you think you have a claim?”

  From the pocket of her shorts, Christine extracted Ira’s map, his letter and the confirmation letter from Eugene Hernandez. “Here,” she said, “see for yourself.”

  Rafe’s dark eyes held hers before he accepted the papers. He then moved over to Mae’s desk. Both looked up with puzzled gazes once they’d finished examining them.

  “I don’t understand,” Mae said. “Ira knew he couldn’t do this. Why would he.?” Her question trailed off.

  Rafe spoke into the silence. “Ira can’t have willed you a share in the Parker Ranch. It’s purely family held.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Yes. Nothing’s changed.”

  Christine tossed her head. “The will is legal. You can ask Ira’s lawyer, Mr. Hernandez. His number’s at the top of his letter.”

  Mae jumped back into the fray. “What were you to Ira?” she demanded. “His mistress?”

  “Mae…” Shannon warned softly from the chair.

  Mae pretended not to have heard. “Well, mistresses don’t count for much around here, missy.”

  Christine smiled. “How nice for you and sad for them.”

  “You never answered my question,” Mae said stubbornly.

  “She’s good at that,” Morgan Hughes murmured, speaking for the first time since entering the room.

  Mae shot him a look, as did Christine. Mae’s was curious. Christine bristled with indignation.

  Erin’s hand crept into Christine’s. As usual when she was disturbed, the child’s hand was chilled. Christine patted it, then defiantly lifted her head. She wasn’t going to allow her daughter to be cheated out of what was rightfully hers because it didn’t fit in with the plans of a wealthy group of ranchers.

  Her action drew the Parkers’ attention to the little girl. Christine’s first instinct was to pull Erin behind her, to protect her from their hostile gazes. But the antagonism they’d shown before altered the longer they looked at her daughter.

  “This is your little girl?” Mae asked gruffly. “Who’s her daddy?”

  Direct and to the point, the way Christine liked to proceed. “That,” she said crisply, “is none of your business.”

  “Ira?” Mae shot back, guessing.

  Christine had prepared herself for the family to think that she and Ira were lovers. If Brendan and Abigail thought that, not to mention Eugene Hernandez, it would stand to reason that the Parkers would, too. But she hadn’t prepared herself for an accusation of this sort. Ira was old enough to be her grandfather! That they might think she’d have a child by him… Her mind moved quickly, making adjustments. Although if they did—even if it was only a suspicion—mightn’t it smooth the way into the Parkers accepting them? The tantalizing possibility that Erin was a Parker?

  Rafe frowned darkly and Shannon bit her bottom lip, while Morgan leaned against the doorjamb, his arms crossed over his chest. Christine flashed him another irritated look. Why didn’t he just leave?

  Silence was Christine’s best ally. She stood quietly, holding her daughter’s hand, coolly returning their inspection.

  Finally Rafe said, “You understand that this is going to take a little time—”

  “I don’t believe it. Not for a second!” Mae spat angrily. “This is something she’s made up.” She rustled Christine’s papers. “Just like these are.”

  “Call Mr. Hernandez,” Christine repeated, trying to hold on to her temper.

  “I think we’ll do a little more than that!” Mae snapped.

  “As I said,” Rafe broke in again, “this will take a

  little time to sort out. From our point of view, Ms.

  Grant, you don’t have a legal leg to stand on. Not the

  way our family trust is set up. But to be fair, while we check, you’re welcome to stay here at the ranch.”

  “How generous,” Christine murmured sarcastically.

  She heard Morgan Hughes give a snort of disbelief.

  “Rafe!” Mae protested. “That’s not—”

  “It’s what I think we should do, Aunt Mae,” Rafe said firmly.

  Mae looked ready to protest again, but ultimately

  decided against it. “All right,” she said. Then, surprising Christine, she added, “She’ll stay in the big house with Shannon and me.”

  Christine’s stomach clenched. Stay in the big house with Shannon and Mae? Shannon didn’t look to be a problem, but Mae.

  Erin must have had the same reaction because her fingers fluttered in Christine’s hand and lost even more warmth.

  THEY WERE SHOWN to a room on the second floor.

  “You’re from Houston?” Shannon asked, throwing wide a glass-paneled door that opened onto the balcony.

  “How did you know?” Christine asked warily.

  Shannon grinned. “The hats. AstroWorld.”

  Christine had forgotten about their hats. She immediately removed hers. “Ah…yes. Yes, we are. Pasadena, actually. It’s a little south of—”

  “I know where it is. I’ve been there. My father took me on one of his—” She stopped. “No need to bore you. Do you always have to explain to people from outside the state that it’s not Pasadena, California, where the Rose parade is held?”

  “Always,” Christine confirmed.

  “I’m from Austin. We’re just now getting known for something besides being the state capitol—music, computers, great food.”

  “Aren’t you a Parker?” Christine asked as Erin stepped out onto the balcony for a look around.

  Shannon’s gri
n deepened as she displayed a diamond engagement ring. “Almost. I’m marrying Rafe at the beginning of June.”

  Christine didn’t quite know what to say. She would offer congratulations, but her tenuous presence in the house wasn’t conducive to stating opinions, not even innocuous ones.

  Shannon, sensitive to Christine’s unease, went on with her hostessing duties. “You have a private bath through here,” she said, opening a narrow door. And there’s a linen closet in the hall if you need more towels or blankets. Believe it or not, it can get quite cool here in the evenings.” She glanced at the twin beds. “Marie—she’s the cook and housekeeper—will be up later to make up the beds. Oh, and by the way, I’m in the room next door. So if you need anything, just knock.”

  “Thank you,” Christine said.

  Erin slipped quietly back into the room and looked at them with big eyes.

  Shannon seemed arrested by sight of the little girl. Then she moved to the door. “We usually have dinner around seven. But if you’re hungry earlier, or want something brought up, instead, just tell Marie.”

  She was almost in the hall when Christine stopped her. “Why did Mae do this?” she asked. “Why does she want us to stay here in the big house?”

  “You want the truth?” Shannon asked. “She wants to keep an eye on you. And what better place?”

  What better place, indeed? Christine thought once she and Erin were alone. Keep the enemy in front and you’ll always know what they’re doing. But the strategy worked both ways. Because while Mae was busy keeping an eye on them, Christine could keep an eye on Mae.

  MORGAN DIDN’T SEE the toy horse until he was almost home. The little girl had forgotten it in the truck in her mother’s haste to confront the Parkers. Damned interesting afternoon, they’d all had. Mae fit to be tied, Rafe flummoxed, the rest of the ranch-based Parkers needing to be told.

  Morgan turned the truck around. Whatever else, the little girl shouldn’t have to spend her first night in Mae’s house without her favorite toy. She’d clutched it so tightly while up on Thunder, even though her eyes had shined at the thrill of riding a real horse. It obviously meant a lot to her.

  Now if there was only some way to deliver it without having to deal with her mother.

  Her mother. It was hard for him to believe that they were, in fact, mother and daughter. When he’d first seen them, he’d thought that they were sisters and that the older one couldn’t be more than twenty. But to have a child of eight—that was what the little girl said she was—meant that Christine Grant was.

  Morgan shook his head. Today, it could mean anything. He’d seen things in some of Texas’s larger cities that could curl a person’s hair. Babies having babies. Young girls who should still be looked after themselves, having one, sometimes two offspring. What had made him decide that Christine Grant was older, though—probably somewhere in her midtwenties—was the way she’d handled herself under fire. Fiercely protective, with a tart tongue and a bold, give-no-quarter conviction. She’d popped him a good one with a rock when she’d thought he was a danger to her daughter, and she’d gone toe-to-toe with Mae, holding her ground, not backing down.

  She was wrong, though. There was no way a person from outside the family could lay claim to any share of the ranch, unless it was through the death of a Parker spouse. And then, when that person died, the share reverted. It had been like that for the past eighty or more years. Nothing Christine Grant said or did could change that. She was out of luck. But damned if he didn’t find himself grudgingly admiring her. And he had the sense, without talking to him, that Rafe did, too.

  And it wasn’t just because she was pretty. Morgan liked women, enjoyed their company, but that was as far as it went. Nothing emotional or lasting. And if ever he began to think differently, all he had to do was talk to his brother, Russell. It had taken Russell years to finally get free of Adell, his children dragged through it all. No, it wasn’t because she was pretty. It was her spirit.

  When he showed up again tonight, she wasn’t going to be happy, because she’d taken a particular dislike to him. Even after he’d saved her daughter, rescued them from hours of walking in the heat, taken her to his parents’ house for revival, driven her to the ranch headquarters. He smiled to himself, remembering how her eyes had flashed resentment almost every step of the way.

  He turned onto the packed gravel drive of the compound and stopped in front of the big house. Old Shep, the cow-dog who’d been Rafe’s friend and companion for the past sixteen years, pulled himself up off the porch and came to greet him.

  “Hey, Shep,” Morgan said, taking time to rub the dog’s head. “How’re you doin’, boy?” he asked. A warm pink tongue licked his wrist. He patted the dog’s side. “Gonna miss you on the spring roundup. Last time I was on one, you were right along with us. But then I guess you deserve your retirement. Sleepin’ late, eatin’ good food, gettin’ lots of rest.”

  Shep’s ropelike tail wagged as he looked up at Morgan.

  Morgan laughed and went to the door, where he knocked and waited. How many times had he done this over the years? He couldn’t remember the first time. He’d always trailed after his dad, and as foreman, his dad had virtually had a second home at ranch headquarters. And since Rafe and Morgan were almost the same age, and Rafe had trailed after his father, it was only natural that the two boys would be fast friends, as close as brothers. In some ways, he and Rafe were closer than he and Russell had ever been. Russell had pursued other interests and had gone on to be an engineer. To Rafe and Morgan growing up, working cattle and being on the land were the most important things in the world. As necessary as breathing.

  Shannon answered the door. Although his dad thought she was “quite a little filly,” Morgan had been a bit leery when he’d come home last fall to visit his parents and found Rafe head over heels in love.

  “Morgan!” Shannon exclaimed. “Did you forget something? Rafe’s still in talking with Mae. I’m sure you don’t have to guess what about.”

  Morgan stepped inside and smiled. Much to his relief, he’d liked Shannon instantly. She and Rafe were a good match. They fitted each other perfectly. “Actually, I brought this.” He showed her the toy horse with the long flowing mane and tail. “Little Erin forgot it in the truck.”

  Shannon glanced up the stairs. “They haven’t come down again yet.”

  “Would you give it to her?” he asked, holding it out.

  “Of course.”

  At that moment Rafe came striding up to them. “Mae was riled enough to get on the phone and call Abigail, and she got herself an earful. Seems this Ms. Christine Grant has lived in Ira’s house for the past eight months—her and the girl—with her posing as his secretary-assistant. Abigail says she’s never trusted her. That if she’s here, we should nail everything down, because she’s out for all she can get. Then Mae asked her if the child could be Ira’s, which shut Abigail up pretty quick.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I just wish I could stand Abigail and her brother. As it is, I’m not sure how much their word’s worth. Ira was a good person, but his kids…”

  Shannon leaned against him. “Now how does Ira fit into the family tree?”

  “He was one of Virgil Parker’s descendants,” Rafe said, naming one of the two brothers who had originally founded the ranch. “Ira was a little younger than Mae. Seventy-nine, I think, when he died a week or so ago. None of us were told about it at the time, so nobody went to the funeral. Mae’s still ticked off about that, and while she had Abigail on the phone, she railed at her pretty good.” He paused. “Now Mae wants to hire a detective to look into Christine Grant’s history. Says we’ll prosecute if he finds anything useful.”

  “She might be jumping the gun a bit,” Morgan said mildly.

  Rafe’s dark eyes fastened on him. “What did you learn about her?” he asked.

  “Not a lot. Her car broke down out by the station-six windmill. I found ‘em walking and brought ‘em in. Gave ‘em a drink of water at our
place, then brought ‘em here.”

  “Nothing else?”

  Morgan hesitated. He knew Rafe was asking for his expert opinion. As a field inspector for the Texas Cattlemen’s Association, he was trained to ferret out wrongdoers. Morgan shrugged. “It’d be a good idea to check her out of course. If you want me to, I’ll—”

  Rafe interrupted. “I think you have enough on your hands right now, what with Dub being stove up and giving everyone a hard time, and me needing you for the roundup. I can’t afford to let you leave right now, Morgan.”

  “Then someone else. I can ask around for a name or two.”

  “Do that.”

  “Otherwise,” Morgan continued, “I don’t get the feeling she’s the kind of person to take somethin’ that’s not hers. Now, she could be foolin’ me, but—”

  “That tells me what I wanted to know—for now, at least, since she’s staying in the big house. It goes along with what I thought, too.”

  “The little girl…Erin,” Shannon said slowly. “She truly does look like a Parker. All those old photographs from the family history Mae and I are compiling, not to mention Wesley and Gwen.”

  “I saw that first thing,” Rafe said.

  Morgan lifted the toy horse again, ready to hand it to Shannon, when Christine Grant appeared at the top of the stairs. Her steps halted abruptly when she saw the three of them assembled in the entryway.

  She was pretty, Morgan reflected, no doubt about it. With her chestnut hair and her wide hazel eyes and a face that in all likelihood had haunted many a man’s dreams. Not to mention her body.

  Morgan swallowed, suddenly discomfited by his thoughts.

  Christine’s gaze went immediately to the toy horse, and she came downstairs, stopping directly in front of Morgan.

  “Did you drive all the way back to bring Golden Belle?” she asked, removing the horse from his unresisting fingers.

  For some reason Morgan had a hard time answering. “Yes,” he finally managed.

  She smiled tightly. “Then I have to thank you. Erin just realized she’d forgotten her. I was on my way—” a long glance at Shannon, a brief one at Rafe “—to ask someone to call you. Erin’s in tears right now, worried she’ll never see her again.”