Lester’s eyes grew wide, and he slowly shook his head. “Nope. That won’t work.”
“Why not?”
“It just won’t. That’s all.”
A lot of help he was. If Lester hadn’t always been a man of few words, Jared might have thought the aging ranch foreman was slipping, too. “Thanks. I’ll let you get back to work.”
A glimmer of relief seemed to cross Lester’s face, and Jared left him to it. Maybe it was time to go into the house and have a little chat with both the maid and the cook.
As Jared left the barn and headed toward the porch, he spotted Sabrina’s nephew playing with Sassy, one of two Australian shepherds that lived on the ranch.
With his mind on Granny and her well-being, Jared had no intention of stopping to talk, but the boy stood when he approached.
“Hey, mister. Can I ask you something?”
Jared’s steps slowed. “What’s that?”
“Are you a real cowboy?”
Jared had half a notion to tell him no and go about his business. There was no need to befriend a kid who wouldn’t be living on the ranch that much longer—especially if Granny sold out and moved in with Jared.
But he remembered his own first days on the Rocking C, his own wide-eyed interest in horses and cowboys and ranch life. In fact, the day Clem Bixby had taken him under wing had turned Jared’s life around and set the course of his future.
“I suppose you could call me a cowboy,” he admitted to the kid.
“And you used to live here, right?”
“Yep.”
“But you don’t anymore?”
“I own my own spread about a hundred miles north of here.” Jared wondered where the little guy was going with all the questions.
“Then I guess I’m allowed to talk to you all I want.”
“What do you mean?” Jared asked.
“Sabrina said I can’t bother the cowboys who live here because they’re working.”
So Jared was free game, huh?
The boy eased closer, his small hand lifted to shield the sun’s glare from his eyes. “Can I ask you something else?”
Again, Jared thought about making an excuse and leaving, but what would it hurt to stick around for a minute or so longer? “Sure. Go ahead.”
“Did you have to go to school to be a cowboy?”
A grin tugged at Jared’s lips. “Not the kind of school with desks and teachers and homework, if that’s what you mean. But I had a whole lot to learn, and it wasn’t easy.”
“Sabrina says I gotta go to college, but I didn’t even like first grade. And I don’t think second grade will be all that much fun, either.”
“Oh, yeah?” Jared hadn’t liked school, either. Not when he’d lived in Houston. It was a lot better when he attended Brighton Valley Elementary, he supposed, but he’d dreaded every minute he’d had to spend away from the ranch.
The boy clucked his tongue. “I’d rather stay here and watch the cowboys work all day long. Maybe, if I did that, they’d let me help round up cows and ride horses.”
“Cowboys don’t need a college degree,” Jared said, “although it might help some. But second grade is important. You sure don’t want to miss out on any of the basic lessons all cowboys ought to know.”
“Like what?”
“Well,” Jared said, rubbing his chin and trying to recall some of the things Clem had told him. “Let’s say there’s an auction and you’re in need of a few good horses. They advertise those in the newspaper. If you couldn’t read, you’d miss out.”
“Maybe one of my cowboy friends could call me on the phone and tell me about it,” the boy countered.
Sharp kid. Jared tried not to grin. “Okay, let’s say they did. How are you going to know how much money you can afford to bid? You need to be able to add and subtract pretty well to balance your bank account.”
“I could hire someone like Sabrina. She’s really good at math and could do that stuff for me.”
“But then you’d have to trust someone else with your money. What if they ran off with everything you owned?”
“Sabrina wouldn’t.”
Jared hoped the kid was right.
But in Jared’s case, he’d learned that some women, like Jolene, couldn’t be trusted. And when they ran off, they took more than a man’s money.
They took his heart and his pride.
Jared fixed himself a glass of iced tea, then took a seat at the kitchen table and watched Connie dry the last of the lunch dishes.
“Have you seen my mother?” he asked the socalled cook.
“She took her mare out for an afternoon ride.” Connie turned away from a three-layer cake she was frosting—a chocolate masterpiece that rivaled any of those in a bakery display case and put this morning’s hotcakes to shame.
So what was the deal? She could make moist, chewy cookies and cakes, but couldn’t whip up a decent meal for breakfast?
Jared cleared his throat. “Well, then, I guess I’ll have to wait to talk to her until she gets back.”
Connie nodded, then returned to her work.
Jared carried his glass into the living room, where Tori the housekeeper was dusting the shelves in the handcrafted bookcase that Granny’s husband had built many years ago. Matt had parked his wheelchair near the big bay window that looked over the driveway. He was holding a Western Horseman magazine in his lap and gazing through the glass into the yard, yet by his expression, Jared suspected his thoughts were anywhere but in the here and now.
He did look up as Jared entered the room, though.
“Did you get that guy stitched up?” he asked.
“Yep. He’s back on the job.” Jared slid his thumbs into the front pocket of his jeans. “Have you had a chance to talk to Granny this morning?”
“Not really.” Matt glanced to the bookshelf, where Tori stood on a footstool, her back to them. “She was busy outside for a while. Then, just after lunch, she saddled Bluebonnet and took off.”
If Granny hadn’t given up her daily afternoon ride, then maybe she was doing okay after all.
“She should be back in an hour or so,” the redhead said, obviously listening.
Jared would have to choose his words carefully, although now might be a good time to quiz the maid and get a feel for the kind of person she was. So he made his way to the bookshelf. “Tori, you mentioned something about Granny’s medication earlier, and I’m curious. What was that all about?”
The attractive redhead, stopped her work and turned, a dust rag dangling from her hands. “Granny was complaining about having to wake up at all hours of the night to use the bathroom, so I asked her what meds she was taking. When she showed me the prescription bottles, I suggested she take the diuretic in the morning. She noticed a big difference.”
“What’s a diuretic?” he asked, wondering if Doc was the one who was slipping.
“Some people refer to it as a water pill. It helps rid the body of excess fluids and sodium, or rather, salt. She’s taking it along with a beta-blocker for hypertension.”
Tori seemed to have a better than average handle on Granny’s medication. And after seeing how she’d dealt with