Holt, who was also head horse trainer for Three Rivers, reached for a biscuit. As he tore the bread apart, he said, “Ray was a widower for years and never bothered to marry again. That was the sad part.”
“Sad!” Joseph blurted in disbelief. “You’re a good one to talk, Holt. You’ve gone through women like a stack of laundered shirts. And you’ve never bothered to marry any of them!”
Holt frowned as he slathered the piece of biscuit with blackberry jam. “Well, you sure as hell aren’t married, either, little brother.”
“From the way Joe talked about this Ms. Parker, I’m thinking he’s getting the idea on his mind,” Vivian teased.
Joseph didn’t rise to his sister’s bait. He figured if he protested too loudly the whole family would become suspicious about him and the lovely stranger from Nevada. And that was the last thing he needed.
“As a deputy, I’m supposed to take in details,” he said flatly.
“From the description you gave us, you certainly took in plenty of details about the woman,” Vivian said slyly.
“Except the most important one.” Blake spoke up, “Like why she ended up with Ray’s place.”
Being the eldest son of the family, Blake had always taken his position as manager of the ranch very seriously. But then, Blake had always been the serious-minded one of the Hollister kids. There was rarely any joking going on with him. Whenever he did try to be funny, it was so dry he wound up getting more blank stares than chuckles.
“We’d all like to know that, Blake,” Maureen interjected. “But, frankly, it’s none of our business. And it would look mighty suspicious if Joseph started interrogating her for information.”
“Amen. Thank you, Mom,” Joseph told her.
Holt leaned forward, his gaze encompassing everyone at the table. “As far as I see things, it would be damned awful if we sat around and let someone take wrongful possession of our old friend’s property.”
Joseph tossed down his fork and shoved back his chair. “Holt, you can accuse the woman all you want, but she has legal, binding documents. And, by the way, she lives on the Silver Horn Ranch in Nevada.”
His brother’s jaw went slack. “Are you joking? You mean the ranch I bought Lorna’s Song from?”
“That’s right. She volunteered that piece of information on her own. I didn’t ask for it.”
A sheepish expression stole over Holt’s face. “That ought to be easy enough for you to check out. I guess the woman is legitimate.”
“I’m certain of it,” Joseph said bluntly.
Maureen put down her coffee cup as her gaze traveled over her children. “The way I see it, the questions are about Ray, not Ms. Parker. And we really should keep our noses out of the situation. Still, it would be neighborly of me to stop by and welcome the young woman to the area.”
Blake smirked while Vivian gave their mother a clever smile.
Joseph said, “I got the impression Tessa has plenty of questions, too. Maybe you’d be a help to her, Mom.”
“I have a Cattlemen’s Association meeting in Prescott early this afternoon,” Maureen said. “I might stop by the Bar X on my way out.”
Joseph rose and walked down to the end of the table to drop a kiss on his mother’s cheek. “Thanks, Mom. I’m off to work. Don’t look for me until much later tonight. I’ve got extra duty,” he said.
Vivian wailed out a protest. “Again? You worked half the night last night!”
He grinned at her. “A deputy’s work is never done, sis.”
He left the room with the group calling out their goodbyes amid reminders for him to stay extra safe. A morning ritual that never failed to make him feel loved and wanted.
Inside the kitchen he found Reeva, the family cook, standing at the cabinet, peeling peaches that had come straight from the ranch’s own orchard.
Poking his head over the woman’s shoulder, he asked, “What’s that going to be? Cobbler?”
“No, I’m making preserves.” The bone-thin woman with an iron-gray braid hanging down the center of her back turned and poked a finger in the middle of his hard abs. “You don’t need cobbler. It’ll make you fat.”
Chuckling, he said, “Well, I wouldn’t have gotten to eat it, anyway. Got to work late tonight, so don’t bother saving me any supper, Reeva.”
“But Uncle Joe—you said you’d go riding with me this evening! Have you forgotten?”
Joseph glanced across the room to see Hannah, Vivian’s ten-year-old daughter, sitting at a small round table with a bowl of cold cereal in front of her. At the moment, she looked crestfallen.
“Hey, Freckles, I thought you were still in bed.” He walked over to where she sat and planted a kiss on top of her gold-blond head. “Why are you eating in here? You’re too young to be antisocial.”
She wrinkled her little nose at him. “Sometimes I don’t want to hear all that adult stuff. It’s boring.”
“And Reeva isn’t boring?” He looked over at the cook and winked. “Reeva, I hope I’m as cool as you are when I get to be seventy-one.”
Reeva let out a short laugh. “Cool? You’ll be using a walking stick.”
Grinning, Joseph turned his attention back to Hannah. “Sorry, honey, I have to work this evening. A buddy needed time off. We’ll have to ride another evening. Maybe Friday. How’s that?”
She tilted her little head to one side as she contemplated his offer. “Okay. But if you cancel again, you’re going to be in big trouble,” she warned.
“I’m not going to cancel on my best girl,” he promised.
“Not unless there’s an emergency.” Reeva spoke up.
Joseph walked over to a long span of cabinet counter and picked up a tall thermos. No matter what was going on in the kitchen or with the rest of the family, Reeva always made sure his coffee was ready to go to work with him.
“Let’s not mention the word emergency.” He started toward a door that would take him outside, but before he stepped onto the back porch, Hannah called out.
“’Bye, Uncle Joe. I love you.”
“I love you, too, Freckles.”
“I don’t have freckles!” she wailed at him. “So quit calling me that!”
Laughing, Joseph shut the door behind him, trotted off the wide-planked porch and out the back gate to where his vehicle was parked on the graveled driveway.
The summer sun was just peeping over the rise of rocky hills on the eastern side of the ranch. The pale light filtered through the giant cottonwoods standing guard at both ends of the three-story, wooden house. The spreading limbs created flickering yellow patches on the hard-packed ground, which stretched from the yard fence to the main barn area.
Already, Joseph could hear the ranch hands calling to each other, the broodmares neighing for breakfast, and a pen of weaning calves bawling for their mommas. A hundred feet to the right of the main cattle barn, a big bunkhouse built of chinked logs emanated the scent of frying bacon.
Not one of the ten ranch hands who worked for Three Rivers would sit down to eat until every animal in the ranch yard had been fed and watered. It was a schedule adhered to ever since the original Hollisters had built the ranch back in 1847.
If Joseph took the time to walk out to the holding pens, he’d find Matthew Waggoner, the ranch foreman, making sure the using horses were already fed, watered and saddled for the day’s work.
As