In His Will Page 2

  “I don’t believe it.”

  His jaw clenched. “Neither do I.”

  “He didn’t really. . .”

  “He did. You got it.” Dylan kept staring ahead. “What’s your address?”

  She stammered her cross streets. “You know I didn’t—” She shook her head. “I don’t understand. I didn’t know.”

  Finally, he shot her a sideways glance. The muscle in his cheek twitched, and his lips pressed together. Determination, grudging as it sounded, finally echoed in his curt words. “What’s done is done. I’ll pull you through for a year.”

  Sondra swallowed hard. She’d been a charity case all of her life and struggled so hard to be self-sufficient. The depth of his upset was clear, even if he’d not voiced a word of it. “You expected more.”

  His long fingers tightened around the steering wheel. “No. Absolutely not. And yes. We didn’t have it on paper. There was an understanding. I’ve already made arrangements for a loan; I planned to buy all of the Curly Q, and the money was to fund Miller’s favorite charities.”

  “I see.”

  “No, you don’t.” He hit the turn signal indicator with notable force. The clicking sounded preternaturally loud until he made a right turn and it automatically shut off. Though clearly upset, he kept his voice so carefully modulated and low, it gave her the willies. “I need the land.”

  Shocked by the whole turn of events, Sondra stared out the windshield. Month by month, she barely eked by. In one incredibly generous gesture, Miller rescued her. A home. I’ll have a home. None of it seemed real. She cast a glance at Dylan. The set of his jaw and way his fingers curled in a near death grip around the steering wheel made it clear her windfall was his loss. “I’m sorry the will ruined your plans.”

  He slowly eased his hold and flexed long, callused fingers. “Not ruined. Delayed.” He nodded resolutely, as if confirming something to himself, and kept his eyes trained on the road. “As soon as we’re through this year, that acreage will be mine; but I may as well put my offer on the table here and now—I want first bidding rights to buy the rest off of you when we finish the contract year.”

  Her chin lifted. He’d stung her with that demand. By willing her that land, Miller gave her a home—the one thing she’d never had. “I’m not going to sell it.”

  “Don’t get your dander up. The original agreement I reached with Miller stipulated the money would go to a charity. This way, you’ll get it instead.”

  “So instead of worthy causes, I’ve turned out to be Miller’s ‘charity.’ ”

  “It’s none of my business. As I said, what’s done is done. Like it or not, we’re partners for the next year.” A wry smile twisted his lips. “Actually, it’s a little shy of a year. The Curly Q is set up so the fiscal year hits in mid-March. I reckon we can tolerate each other that long.”

  “Not necessarily. I can turn down the ranch and take the fifteen thousand dollars Mr. Cheviot mentioned.”

  He snorted. “That’s as likely as us getting married.”

  “No kidding,” she snapped.

  “Okay, I’m sorry. I can’t believe Miller even put that as an option. I’ve got more pride and sense than to marry a woman to get land. Judging from today, you’re still reeling from your own loss.”

  “Maybe I should just hire a consultant.”

  Dylan pulled his truck to an abrupt stop next to her apartment building. He twisted to face her, his eyes alight with ire. “Not a chance, lady. You stick some idiot in there who messes things up, and the profit margin will be too low. You’re not putting my future in someone else’s hands.”

  “So you expect me to place my future in your hands?”

  “You got that straight.” He slid out of the truck and opened her door. Towering over her, he gritted, “Get it in your pretty little head right now: I’m running the show.”

  “Not unless I say so. I could take the money and let the developers cement in the whole place!” Sondra marched to her apartment, let herself in, and shut the door. A glance showed Dylan standing on the pavement, his hands on his hips and a scowl darkening his much-too-handsome features. If she accepted the conditions of the will and kept control of her life and affairs, she’d have an enemy for a neighbor.

  Two hours later, Sondra looked around her cramped apartment. Her teacher’s salary qualified as modest, and hefty college loans ate into her budget. Fifteen thousand dollars would barely get her out of debt. Financially, she needed to work—and she’d be forced to leave the baby with a sitter all of the time once it came. On the ranch, I can be a full-time mother. Miller did that for you and me, sweetie.

  She slumped on the sofa and rested her hand over her slightly rounded tummy. Just last week, she’d started to wear maternity clothes. They weren’t absolutely necessary, but some of her regular clothes felt binding. Three months of morning sickness had made her weight dip dangerously. Then, too, grieving didn’t do much for her appetite. Most women looked noticeably pregnant by the beginning of their sixth month.

  Lord, I don’t know what to do. Guide me.

  In the quiet, reality started to sink in. Miller’s friendship was such a blessing. When everything else fell apart, he cared and showed God’s love to me. I’ve been praying for months now. I’ve asked God to show me His will. Could this be it?

  By taking the ranch, she’d have to work hard—but that was nothing new. With this, she’d be financially stable. She’d have a place all of her own, a forever-ours home in which to rear her son, and they wouldn’t have to scrimp from week to week. Of all the people Miller knew, all the lives he touched, he’d singled her out. Why? She’d never know, but she’d eternally be grateful.

  What did she know about ranching? She was twenty-five and never once rode a horse. Cattle were cute, splotchy animals in picture books. Yes, she did a creditable moo sound. Other than that, ignorance abounded.

  The simple fact of the matter hit hard—she needed to enlist some sound help. Miller planned on having her go to Dylan Ward for advice. She ought to abide by Miller’s wishes—even though Dylan had gotten overbearing. Truth was, she needed him.

  Regardless of his dissatisfaction with the will, Dylan needed to work with her. He had too much riding on it—thirty percent of the value of the livestock and an awesome chunk of land, to be precise. If he tried to take his anger out on her, he’d be cheating himself, too. Whether she liked Dylan or not, Miller trusted him. That was the best endorsement she could get. For whatever reason, Miller bound them together in the deal, and their futures hinged on cooperating to keep the Curly Q profitable. Her child’s future depended on things working out, so she was going to have to set aside her ironclad rule of self-determination and control.

  She splayed her fingers over her tummy and slowly rubbed a few circles. “Miller did this so I could be there for you all of the time. Maybe that’s God’s plan, too. For you, my little one, I’ll do anything.”

  She took the business card the lawyer discreetly slipped into her pocket, picked up the telephone, and dialed. “Mr. Cheviot? This is Sondra Thankful. I’ve decided to move to the Curly Q as soon as we take care of the arrangements.”

  ❧

  Dylan dumped a bale of hay onto the barn floor. The wire snapped, just like his temper. How could Miller do this to him? He’d arranged long ago for the loan it would take to gain the greater portion of the land. He owned sufficient collateral and kept enough in the bank to swing the deal. No one knew the land better; no one loved it more. He didn’t want a handout. Hadn’t expected one. Accustomed to working hard for everything he ever got, Dylan never once presumed that Miller would simply hand over the ranch. Still, he’d said things over the years which made it clear that he fully expected Dylan to own the land when he was gone.

  The strange bequest came as such a shock. A nasty one, at that. Even worse, it went to a city-girl. She’d foul things up so badly, the Curly Q wouldn’t be worth a plug nickel in a year. It would serve her right for him to let her flound
er.

  Then Dylan looked out of the open barn door. Land was too precious to be squandered, too dear to be misused. Livestock was certainly too valuable to be mistreated. . .and thirty percent of the value of that livestock waited for him at the end of the year. He couldn’t let all of that go to rack and ruin any more than he could chop off his right arm. Kicking the hay, he bitterly accepted Miller had counted on that very fact.

  Even worse, the thought of the land being leveled, cemented, and turned into row upon row of cookie-cutter tract homes made his blood curdle. He loved standing in a field and seeing nothing but God’s beautiful earth for almost as far as the eye could see. Marring this with noise, traffic, and houses—never. Sondra actually threatened yesterday that she could opt for the fifteen grand and let the land go to the developers. Whatever it took, Dylan vowed he’d make certain the land wasn’t violated like that.

  What it would take was honoring Miller’s request. He’d call and reason with her. For the sake of a dead friend’s last request, Dylan would do it.

  “Okay. I bail her out for one stinking year,” he muttered under his breath. “I’m not letting her hire someone to run the show, though. That’s asking far too much.”

  ❧

  Sondra carried in her suitcase, set it on the bed, and opened the window. Sunshine filtered through the dusty window and a breeze made the brown paisley curtains sway. She looked around with a sense of awe.

  She’d been in the house on several occasions, but most of the rooms were closed off. Taking a tentative tour, she decided to occupy the master bedroom and turn the adjacent bedroom into a nursery. The third bedroom looked to be a guest room, so it could be left alone. Miller had converted the fourth bedroom into an office, and she felt a spurt of relief at the neatly arranged books and files that would help guide her through the next year. The kitchen looked old, but serviceable. The gouges in the walnut coffee table reminded her of Miller’s habit of propping his feet up. The house felt lived-in and comfortable. God, You’ve blessed me far beyond what I ever dreamed of.

  She traipsed down the stairs into the basement and noted with glee that the washer and dryer were in good condition. The far corner boasted an iron-reinforced, cement tornado shelter. Once, last spring, when the skies turned an ugly green and hail started falling, Miller had grabbed her and taken her there for safety. Yes, safety. This house was a monument to the security God was providing for her and the baby. Sondra came back upstairs, made a few quick phone calls, then went out into the yard.

  Unsure where to start, Sondra headed for the henhouse. She’d been there dozens of times, and it shouldn’t be too hard to gather eggs. The hens seemed crazy, squawking and trying to get out of the door. Fifteen minutes later, her wrists pecked raw, Sondra reached into the last nest. She jerked back with a shriek as a snake slithered from the bits of hay.

  Nothing, but nothing, could keep her there. Sondra rocketed out of the door, screaming bloody murder. She careened straight into none other than Dylan Ward.

  Three

  “Snake!”

  He braced her slender arms for a moment, then drawled, “Are you calling me names, or is there a snake in the henhouse?”

  Wide-eyed, she stood there.

  Grit beneath his boots scraped loudly as Dylan set Sondra aside. He strode into the henhouse and came back out holding a squirming, twenty-inch reptile. Extending it toward her, he grinned. “This is a common milk snake. They’ve been known to eat eggs. They certainly don’t eat people. If anything, the poor thing is terrified of you. You sure can kick up a powerful fuss.”

  Sondra made a strangled sound.

  “Any time you see a snake, just walk the other way or grab a hoe and chop off his head. Here by the stable, be sure to kill ’em, because they spook the horses.” Taking his own advice, Dylan tossed down the snake, armed himself with a hoe, and beheaded it. He then picked up the body and hung it over the nearest fence rail where it continued to squirm.

  Sondra barely made it around to the back of the barn before she lost her breakfast.

  Dylan shoved a bandanna at her so she could wipe her face. “I suppose I ought to be glad you got that out of your system straight off. The rest of the day probably won’t go any better.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to show you around. I’ve already checked on the horses, and Joseph’s mucking out the stable. You have plenty to do. Someone needs to clean out the water troughs. They’re getting slimy.”

  Sondra closed her eyes and swayed a bit.

  He felt a little sorry when she turned green after his last comment. After all, she’d just thrown up. Then again, he wasn’t about to handle matters for her just because she felt queasy.

  As if she dreaded asking, she gulped before asking, “What else?”

  “Chickens—they aren’t a profitable venture. Most ranches that run beeves don’t mess with poultry, but Miller was soft-hearted. He did it and donated the eggs to the Texas food bank. A local man picks them up as a public service. It’s a fair bit of work with no financial return. You could get a piddly sum if you sold off those hens and the incubator in the hatchery, but the coop and stuff would have to be trashed.”

  Without hesitation, she said, “I’m not selling. I want to continue with Miller’s plan. We loved what we were doing with those chicks.”

  “Caring for them takes time.”

  She looked him in the eye. “I make time for what’s important to me.”

  “Even if the chickens are a pittance, it’s going to cost you money. You’ll have to hire someone in to keep them for you. I’ve temporarily assigned my man, Luna, to cover for you since he grew up on a spread that kept laying hens.”

  “Thanks. I’ll start learning right away so I can assume full responsibility. I expect to pay his wages in the meantime.”

  At least she’s not shutting down a charity operation or asking for any more favors.

  Sondra gave one of the yard dogs a pat on the head. He was an ugly mongrel with a naturally mean-looking sneer, but she didn’t seem in the least bit afraid. Chickens and dogs—at least she wasn’t afraid of every small creature—just snakes.

  “I called the library, and they’re setting aside books on cows for me.”

  He tried to quell the smile, but it wasn’t possible. “You’re going to read up on everything?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Fine. Until you cuddle up with those books, schoolteacher, let me give you a glimpse at the real thing.” He took her around the ranch. They didn’t go far; she needed to get a feel for the major setup before he bogged her down with details, however important they might be.

  “Instead of taking Pretty Boy to my stable, I’ll leave him here. Times when I drive over and need a mount, he’ll be available.”

  Sondra nodded. “When can you take the guns?”

  “I brought my truck today.”

  “I’ll leave the house unlocked. Were there other things you’d like—anything with sentimental value?”

  He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “I got the coffee-pot. I’m happy.”

  Patting another dog, she said, “Holler if you think of anything else.” She straightened. “Back to business—when’s payday for the hands?”

  Dylan gave her an assessing look. “Know much about computers?”

  “Enough to get by.”

  “Miller kept spread sheets, feed records, supply lists, and the like computerized. I’ll keep you informed so you can update them.” He locked eyes with her to underscore the significance of what he said next. “Most important thing you’ll do is payroll. Payday is every other Friday; you’ll need to cut the men checks this week. Miller paid his men well, and they earn every cent of it.”

  She nodded. Funny how she wasn’t overly talkative like most women he knew. Kind of kept to herself.

  Dylan continued his instructions. “Most ranches end up with a fair percentage of drifters, but your crew is long-term and steady. Keep it that way. Th
ey’ll manage nicely with supervision.” Mine, he silently vowed. The minute he’d learned Sondra took up residence, Dylan had hightailed on over to reinforce his position. Resolved to fulfill Miller’s directive, he wasn’t about to let this city-gal plug someone else into a position of authority. Judging from how her men nodded or greeted him, they’d already accepted his presence.

  “Dylan?”

  “Yeah?”

  She stared up at him somberly. “I don’t like being dependent. I know it’s not much, but I’d be happy to take on your spread’s bookkeeping and payroll duties, too.”

  She took him by surprise with her offer, but he didn’t want her dabbling in his business. “My sister, Teresa, handles all of that for me.”

  “Oh. I’d like to meet her.”

  “She’s staying with a friend for a few days, shopping and stuff. I’m sure she’ll come by when she gets back.”

  Dylan squinted at the horizon and watched a calf wobble around on unsteady legs. Kinda like this woman—so brand-spankin’ new to the world, she didn’t even have solid footing.

  “Out here, we’re tight-knit. The Merriweathers have the spread off to the west of you. You know my spread is yonder.” He jabbed his thumb in the air toward the east. “Langstons are on the other side of me. Teresa’s marrying Jeff Langston.”

  “She’s really marrying the boy next door?”

  “Mom would have been thrilled.” He gestured toward a pasture and filled her in on the grazing rotation patterns, then continued the tour.

  At one point, Sondra turned around and gave him a quizzical look. “What?”

  He’d been noticing her attire. Sondra wore that same bedraggled flannel shirt, but it managed to give her a get-down-to-business air. Her choice of footwear was another story. “You can’t wear those shoes around here anymore. You need boots.”

  She blurted out, “I can’t afford boots right now.”

  Dylan gave her a sardonic grin. “I’m sure Miller would want you to buy some for yourself, Sondra. Nice ones.”

  Her lips parted momentarily, then thinned. “I’ll go see about the water troughs.”