“Doesn’t ring any bells,” Consuelo hissed as she circled with her coffeepot. “You set a bad example for my José.”
José ducked his head.
“I mean,” Charlie continued, “what if her name was Alexandra Davis Murray?”
“She is marry to the newspaper man?” Juan guessed.
Charlie gulped a swallow of coffee. “Nah. She is the newspaperman. Or, rather, newspaperwoman. This here lady is A. Davis Murray.”
“Ees not possible,” José protested.
Zach stared across the table at Miss Murray. Miss Alexandra Davis Murray. José was dead right, it wasn’t possible. Just what kind of game was Charlie playing?
Miss Alexandra Murray sent Zach an apologetic smile. “It’s true,” she said. “I write newspaper articles for the Chicago Times.”
Skip gaped at her. “You write about all them horse races?”
“I do.” She looked around the table at each of the ranch hands in turn until she came to Alice, who was still tight-jawed. “Aunt Alice doesn’t approve, obviously. But I like horse races. And I like writing about them.”
“Jehoshaphat,” Jase breathed.
“Madre mia,” José muttered.
Zach wanted to laugh. The thought of this soft, ruffly female tramping around a horse stable made his lips twitch.
Then they were all talking at once. During the hubbub, Charlie leaned forward and addressed Zach. “I want to talk to you,” he intoned. “In private.” He heaved his bulky frame out of the chair and led the way to his office across the hallway.
“Whiskey?” he asked when he’d shut the heavy oak door.
“No, thanks. Gotta ride out at first light.”
Charlie pushed the cut-glass decanter across his desk toward him anyway. “I’d change my mind if I was you, Zach.”
Without another word, he filled two glasses.
“Spit it out, Charlie, what’s up?”
His boss touched his glass to Zach’s and tossed back the contents. “Kinda hard to come right out and tell you, son.”
Uh-oh. Charlie only called him “son” when bad news was coming. Zach swigged down half his whiskey. “Let’s have it, Charlie. Like I said, I’ve got an early get-up tomorrow.”
“Well, Zach, it’s like this. It’s true that Alexandra is a newspaper reporter.”
“You already said that. Or somebody did. Anyway, I know that.”
“Yeah, well. See, her newspaper, the Chicago Times, wants her to do a story about a cattle drive.”
Zach slapped his empty glass onto the desk. “No.”
“I understand how you feel, Zach, but you see the answer’s gotta be yes.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
Charlie just nodded. “Yeah, it does.”
“Why?” Zach demanded. “Why does she pick this ranch? Tell her to choose another cattle drive.”
“Can’t.”
“Why can’t you?”
“Because.” He refilled his glass. “Because not only is Alexandra a newspaper reporter, she is, uh, as you’ve no doubt realized, my niece. Her mama is Alice’s sister.”
Zach said nothing for a long minute. “So?” he inquired at last.
“So,” Charlie said, “she wants to—”
“No,” Zach repeated.
Charlie reached for the whiskey decanter. “You want to keep your job, don’tcha, son?”
Damn, he hated to be threatened, especially by the man who had his financial ass under his boot heel. Zach sighed and refilled his glass.
“Well, hell, Charlie, can she ride?”
Aunt Alice settled on the edge of Alex’s bed. Her aunt hadn’t lit the lamp, but the moonlight streaming through the multipaned window illuminated her usually serene face, which at this moment looked pinched.
“Alex, you simply cannot go through with this. Surely you—”
“Stop!” Slowly Alex pushed up on one elbow. “Aunt Alice, you don’t understand. My newspaper editor came up with the idea. He is very insistent.”
“But a cattle drive! Women just don’t go on cattle drives.”
“I know. It’s a far cry from my stories on horse racing. It’s a far cry from anything I thought I’d ever, ever do. But my editor pays my salary, and he is adamant.”
“Oh, Alex, why?”
“Back East people are mad for stories about the wild, untamed West.”
“I feel responsible for you,” her aunt said. “And a cattle drive is dangerous.”
“I don’t have a choice, Aunt.”
Alice snorted. “Of course you have a choice. Just tell your editor no.”
“I can’t. If I refuse, he’ll fire me, and I’ve worked too hard to risk losing my job. Eight long, grinding years I’ve spent working my way up from the proofreading desk to being a top reporter. I’m the only woman on the entire staff, and I won’t give it up. I can’t.”
Alex bit her lip and smoothed a crease in the top sheet over and over. Why, why did her job depend on the harebrained idea of a newspaper editor who’d never traveled west of his favorite restaurant?
Alice sighed. “Your mother would never allow this.”
Alex flung back the sheet and sat up. “Aunt Alice, my mother is dead.”
“Yes,” Alice said quietly. “I know. And you’re just like her. Bright. Beautiful. And...” her voice tightened “...bullheaded.”
Alex slid her arms about her aunt’s rigid form. “Mama always said you were the bullheaded one.”
“Don’t change the subject,” Alice snapped.
“Aunt Alice, you can’t stop me. You can’t keep me from holding on to my career as a newspaper reporter.”
“Oh, I know, honey. I just wish you’d—”
“Settle down and get married,” Alex finished. “That’s what Mama always wanted, too. But I’m twenty-six. On the shelf.”
Alice shook her head and blew out a sigh. “You will be careful, won’t you? At least try to?”
“Of course I will. Uncle Charlie says Zach Strickland’s the best trail boss in three states. I’ll be in good hands.”
Her aunt let out a long sigh and said nothing.
* * *
Zach stuffed his thumbs in his front pockets and watched Miss Newspaper Reporter trip down the porch steps ready to go cattle driving. She looked so bright and shiny it made his head hurt. And, Lord love little chickens, what her butt did to a pair of jeans was indecent.
“Good morning!” she sang.
“Mornin’,” he growled. “Got a lot of miles to cover today. Sure hope you can ride.”
“Why, certainly I can ride.” She rested her hands on her shiny