Wind River Ranch

When Opal became ill, Simon had hired Nettie to take over the housekeeping and the preparation of meals for the ranch hands. Nettie had fit in at once. She and Opal had become close friends, and Nettie had suffered as much as Dena and Simon over Opal’s courageous battle with cancer.

And then it was over and nothing had ever been the same. Dena swallowed hard. She could fall apart so easily, and she would if she let herself dwell on the past. The present was difficult enough to deal with; dredging up her mother’s long illness and death was inviting disaster.

She shut the door behind her and walked over to the ancient desk Simon had used. There was a stack of ranching journals on one corner, a cup containing an assortment of pens and pencils about dead center, and some papers and file folders on the opposite corner. Dena sat in the old leather chair behind the desk and started to cry.

“Damn,” she whispered. She hadn’t come in here to cry. How was the human body able to produce as many tears as she had shed since her arrival home and Nettie’s emotional welcome? She carried a pocketful of tissues, because even while blocking out what she could of the emotional trauma caused by her father’s untimely death, tears would suddenly overwhelm her.

Taking one out, she wiped her eyes and blew her nose. Then she drew a deep breath and began opening drawers. In the bottom right-hand drawer she found a checkbook. Lifting it to the desk, she opened it. Seeing Simon’s handwriting caused more tears, and this time she let them flow. If only she’d seen this wonderful scrawl in replies to the dozens of letters she had written him over the years. How could he have been so hard as to protect and maintain a vow of silence where his only child was concerned, especially when she had tried so hard to atone for her rebellious behavior? Surely he had heard about her and Tommy’s divorce, and her departure from Winston.

But maybe he had also heard the lies that the Hogan clan had viciously spread far and wide about her.

Sighing helplessly, Dena again pulled out a tissue. Her stilldamp eyes widened in surprise when she read the amount of money in this checking account—over sixty thousand dollars. Well, there was certainly enough money to pay any bills that might come up, and to handle the men’s payroll for an extended period.

But it was in the bank and no one could sign checks. Maybe she had better call that lawyer, as Ry had suggested in a rather overbearing manner. Her hackles rose for a few moments. How dare Ry Hardin treat her as some kind of idiot child? Just who did he think he was?

Mumbling to herself about Ry being no more than an employee and acting like lord of the manor, Dena looked for and found her father’s personal telephone directory. She flipped pages until she saw John Chandler’s name and number, then reached for the phone and placed a call. After two rings a male voice came on the line.

“Hello. This is John Chandler. As I notified all my current clients of my vacation before I closed shop for two weeks, you must be unaware of my schedule. I will be back in the office on the fifteenth, so please either leave a message at the beep so I may return your call at that time, or call me again. Thanks for your patience.”

The message startled Dena so much that she hung up rather than identifying herself for John Chandler’s recorder. The man was on vacation and obviously not aware of Simon’s death. The fifteenth, Dena mused, glancing at the calendar on the wall. Four days away. Maybe she would still be here, maybe not.

But did she dare leave without solving the checkbook dilemma? Someone had to be given access to ranch money. The men couldn’t work without pay, nor could the ranch function without supplies.

She sat back in her father’s chair, stunned by the responsibility suddenly thrust upon her. She should not have to deal with this on top of her father’s death.

But the problem was not going to vanish just because she wished it would.

What on earth was she going to do?

Frowning, she wondered if anyone knew where John Chandler had gone for his vacation. Was it possible that he’d gone nowhere and was merely resting at home?

No, if he was in the area he would have heard about Simon.

Wait a minute. If Ry knew Simon’s lawyer was a man named Chandler, maybe he knew more—like, for instance, where he’d gone for his vacation. If she discovered the attorney’s location, she wouldn’t hesitate a moment in calling him. She needed legal advice, and the sooner the better.

Before going outside to look for Hardin, Dena went to her bathroom and washed her teary face. There was nothing to do about her puffy eyes except hold a cold, wet washcloth on them for a few minutes. It helped some, but there really was no way to conceal the ravages of so much sorrow. She brushed her hair and applied lipstick. It was the best she could do, and she left it at that.

Then she headed for the kitchen. Nettie was sniffling while she cut up chickens, breaking Dena’s heart all over again. Battling her own raw and wounded emotions, she cleared her throat.

“Nettie, would you have any idea of where I might find Ry?”

“He was looking for you about a half hour ago.”

“He found me and left. This is about something else.”

“Oh. Well, I never have tried to keep track of the men, honey. He could be anywhere on the ranch.”

“All right, thanks.”

Leaving the house through the back door, Dena stopped to look around. To her surprise, she spotted Ry walking into the barn. It looked as if he was carrying a large coil of rope.

Hurrying across the expanse of ground between house and outbuildings, she entered the barn and called, “Mr. Hardin?”

In the tack room Ry heard her and disgustedly shook his head. So he was Mr. Hardin now. What a peculiar woman.

“In here,” he yelled out. He pushed the coil of rope farther back on the shelf, fitting it in between other coils and some gallon containers of harness and leather oil. There were still harnesses hanging on wall hooks from the days when everything done on the ranch was accomplished with teams of horses. And saddles on racks, and bins of old horseshoes and metal parts and leather strapping to repair harnesses. As the tack room occupied a corner of the barn, there were two windows, one in each outside wall. Dust motes danced in the sun’s rays coming in through the east window. Simon obviously had never thrown anything away, and from the day Ry started working on the Wind River Ranch he had itched to clean out this room. At least half of its contents should be hauled to the dump. Some of it, of course, was saleable. But in Ry’s opinion, whatever was not needed in today’s operation should be either sold or discarded.

Dena walked in. Rather, she stepped just inside the doorway and stopped. In the years since she’d left, not one single thing had changed in this room. It was the same as the house, she realized, in need of a thorough going over.

Her gaze moved to Ry, and she suddenly felt accusatory. He was the foreman and certainly could have fit a little tack room cleaning into his work routine. Even if he hadn’t had the ambition to do it himself, he could have assigned the job to one or more of the other men.

“This place could use a good cleaning,” she said flatly.

Ry was in no mood for snide remarks. Rather than agree with her, which he most certainly did, he drawled, “Seems fine to me.”

“Are you saying you don’t see anything that could use some improvement in here?”

Because she sounded sarcastic, Ry took his time in looking around. When he finally brought his gaze back to her, he said, “I’m surprised you care about clutter and dust in here when you don’t give a damn about the overall operation of the ranch. Must be the female in you.”

Dena’s face colored, but she shot back, “A sexist remark if I’ve ever heard one.” Her mind, she realized, was shockingly dull, and for a few moments she couldn’t remember why she was even in the tack room. Why on earth was she standing here and trading insults with this man?

Then it came to her. “The tack room is more your business than mine. Clean it or wallow in the dirt, it’s all the same to me. The only reason I came out here was to find out if you knew where John Chandler went on his vacation.”

“Didn’t know he took one. I’ve only talked to him a couple of times. He’s not my lawyer.”

A dead end. Dena frowned and turned to leave.

“Hey,” Ry called. “If you really want to run him down, you might try calling his secretary. Her name is Sheila Parks. It’s possible she left town, too, but who knows?”

Dena stopped, one eyebrow raised. “Meaning she took her vacation the same time as her boss?”

Ry shrugged. “Makes sense to me.”

It did make sense. “I would imagine Ms. Parks is listed in the telephone book.”

“Beats me,” Ry said. “And it’s Mrs. Parks, but I don’t know her husband’s first name. Can’t be that many Parks in the area, though.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Ry didn’t like the way they’d talked to each other about the tack room. There was no earthly reason for them to bicker, and he decided then and there to turn things around. “Dena. I agree with you about cleaning up this place,” he said quietly. “I’ve wanted to do it since I started working here.”

Relief flooded Dena’s system over the drastic change in Ry’s voice and demeanor. The last thing she wanted was to be at odds with anyone right now. “But Dad wouldn’t let you, would he?”

Her perception surprised him, but why should it? If anyone had ever really known Simon Colby, it would be his daughter.

Ry took a step closer to her. “There’s something else I’d like to say. I’m not normally short-tempered, and I’ve snapped at you more than once. I’m sorry for it and it won’t happen again.”

She looked into his dark eyes and felt the sting of tears in her own. Her voice was husky when she spoke. “There’s really no reason for you and me to disagree about anything. I’m sorry I was so sharp-tongued about the condition of this room. If I’d thought at all before sniping at you about it, it never would have happened.”

Ry nodded in understanding. “You’re going through a bad time, and I guess you’re entitled to a little sniping.”

“I’m not sure that even grief entitles a person to treat other people rudely.” She managed a brave little smile that nearly broke Ry’s heart. He had to forcibly stop himself from moving closer to her and pulling her into his arms. Strictly to comfort her, of course.

“See you later,” she said then, and turned and left.

Ry walked to a window and watched her leave the barn and head for the house. Dena Colby aroused a complexity of emotions within him. Was it all because of the tragedy she was having to face more or less by herself, or was there more to it?

He wished he knew the answer to that question, because it suddenly seemed very important.

Three

There were three Parks listings in the telephone book, two with a rural address, one in Winston. Dena tried the town number first. A female voice sang out a cheery, “Hello?”

“Hello,” Dena said. “I’m trying to locate Sheila Parks, secretary to John Chandler. Is there any chance I might have reached her home?”

“Sheila’s my mother-in-law, so you didn’t miss it by much. Actually all three Parks in the directory are related. But that’s beside the point, isn’t it? Getting back to Sheila, she’s not in the area right now. I’d be happy to take your number and have her call you when she returns.”

Disappointed, Dena pressed on. “Would it be possible for you to tell me where she is, and if she can be reached by telephone?”

The woman was still friendly, but Dena noticed that a bit of reserve had entered her voice when she said, “Sheila’s on vacation. Who did you say you are?”

“I’m sorry, but I didn’t say. My name is Dena Colby, and it’s really Mr. Chandler I need to speak to. I called his office and apparently he, too, is on vacation. Do you know where he went, by any chance? I wouldn’t be bothering anyone about this if it wasn’t extremely important. You see, Mr. Chandler is...was my father’s attorney, and Dad...passed away quite...suddenly.” It was so difficult to say, and Dena hadn’t thought of that in advance. She cleared her throat and continued. “I really need to talk to Mr. Chandler about...well, several things.”

“Please accept my condolences, Ms. Colby. I believe Sheila mentioned John and his wife vacationing in England. As far as reaching Sheila, she and Doug, my father-in-law, are traveling in their motor home. They could be almost anywhere, although they did talk about exploring the New England states. I’m sorry I can’t be more help, but that’s really all I know. Oh, except that they’ll be back soon. Shall I ask Sheila to call you when she gets home?”

Dena thought a moment. “No, that won’t be necessary. Mr. Chandler will be back on the fifteenth, and I’ll wait and talk to him. Thank you for speaking to me.”

“You’re quite welcome. You said your last name is Colby. I just remembered reading Simon Colby’s obituary. Is he your father?”

“Yes. Goodbye, Mrs. Parks.” Dena put the phone down before Mrs. Parks could get in any more questions. Dena appreciated the woman’s friendliness and trust, but the conversation had started getting uncomfortably personal.

She sighed heavily. Merciful God, how was she going to cope with it all?

But it wasn’t a matter of merely coping as far as the ranch went, was it? No one could pay bills or write payroll checks. That was much more than an emotional upheaval. And what about supplies? Groceries?

Too worried to sit still, Dena left the office to find Nettie. The housekeeper was still in the kitchen.

“Nettie,” Dena said, walking in. “I’m afraid we have a real problem. How are you fixed for groceries?”

Nettie looked at her with some surprise. “Land sakes, honey, you had me alarmed for a second. The cupboards, freezer and pantry are loaded with groceries. Why would you think that’s a problem?”

“Because no one on the place can sign checks.”

“Oh. Well, everyone will still have plenty to eat. You see, when I run short of supplies I drive to town and shop at Whitman’s Food Mart. Simon arranged a charge account with Whitman’s, so I wouldn’t have to bother him about kitchen money. Land sakes, it’s been that way for years and years. Don’t you remember?”

“No, I don’t remember.” She still didn’t. It hurt to think how self-centered she’d been in her teens, but facts were facts. Small wonder she and Simon had butted heads so often.

Dena rubbed the back of her neck. “Is there anything you’d like me to do, Nettie?”

“You mean help with the cooking?”

“Or anything else.”

“No, honey. Don’t concern yourself with the household chores. You have enough on your mind.”

“I also have a splitting headache. I think I’ll lie down for an hour or so.”

“You go right ahead and do that.”

Dena went to her bathroom, swallowed two over-the-counter headache pills with a drink of water, then continued on to her bedroom. Lying on her bed, she closed her eyes and slept.

The next morning Dena didn’t even wonder if she would get through the funeral without falling apart. That soothing numbness had returned in the night, and she showered, dressed and ate a light breakfast on automatic pilot.

As she’d suspected, hordes of people attended the service. She had told the funeral director to make it as short and emotionless as possible. No singing, she’d said adamantly. No sad songs or eulogies. Simon Colby would not have wanted an emotion-filled service, with people weeping their hearts out because of soul-wrenching music, and neither did she.

To her chagrin, most of the attendees reconvened at the ranch to eat and talk about Simon. Everyone that came brought something, a cake, a casserole, a ham. It all passed in a blur for Dena, except for a few stand-out incidents. For one, she could hardly believe her eyes when Tommy was suddenly standing before her.

“Hello, Dena. Sorry about your dad, even if the old guy did give you and me a hard time.”

She stared at the man to whom she’d once been married. Tommy was as handsome as ever, reeked of cologne and looked prosperous. But she would bet anything that he had either borrowed the money for the new clothes he was wearing, or he’d charged them. In her experience, Tommy had never set a dollar aside for an emergency, and she couldn’t believe that irresponsible trait had evolved into thriftiness during her absence. What if she hadn’t had a savings account when the call came about Simon’s death? How would she have paid for her flight home?

“Hello, Tommy,” she said, while marveling that she had once believed herself to be madly in love with this man. Of course, in those days she hadn’t known that a handsome face was Tommy’s one and only asset. In fact, looking at him now, she felt pity. It was an impersonal pity and in no way touched her soul. But it was sad that he had no ambition to better himself. She would be surprised if he even had a steady job.

He grinned at her, that cute grin that used to give her goose bumps. “You’re looking good.”

She smirked because she couldn’t look worse if she’d tried. Oh, her black dress was attractive and her hair was nicely arranged, but her face was puffy and the tastefully small amount of makeup she had put on this morning was long gone.

“I’m surprised to see you here,” she said. Recalling his initial remark about Simon giving them a hard time, she added, “Especially in light of your dislike of Dad.”

“Hey, you didn’t like him very much, either. And you had good reason. We both did. If he would have shelled out a few bucks when we needed it, we might still be married.”

“It was not his place to ‘shell out a few bucks,’ Tommy. And if you care to remember, we always needed money. What did you expect him to do, give us a weekly paycheck? If you have the gall to blame Dad for the breakup of our marriage, don’t tell me about it. Now, if you’ll excuse me...”

She wound her way through the crowd, stopping briefly to accept condolences and words of sympathy, some of which she appreciated as they were from old friends of her father’s, neighboring ranchers, for instance. Eventually she reached the other side of the room. She was glad to see Tommy leaving through the front door, and wondered why he had bothered to get all dressed up and attend the funeral of a man he’d despised. Surely he hadn’t supposed she would be thrilled to see him. And how dare he make derogatory remarks about Simon, today of all days?

Had Tommy married her because he’d thought her father would support him? What a ghastly idea that was, but it probably should have occurred to her before this.

Still, it was water under the bridge and totally immaterial to not only today’s events but to her life in general. She really had no feelings at all for Tommy. There were memories, of course, some good, some bad, but feelings? No, there were none within her.

Another incident that stood out occurred when most of the crowd had dispersed and only a few people remained in the living room. They were talking to Nettie. Dena hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, and she went to the kitchen. Nibbling on a piece of ham, she stared out the window over the sink with her back to the room.

She felt drained and empty. For years she had been passionate about reconciling with her father. Without that driving force gnawing at her vitals, life seemed rather purposeless. Could she simply go back to Seattle, her job and friends, and act as though she hadn’t received the worst possible blow fate could have dealt her?

“Dena?” She turned slightly. Ry was standing there. “Are you all right?” he asked.

For the first time since she had met this man, she really saw him. He looked clean and crisp in his dark gray Western pants and shirt. There was a black string tie at his collar, and his black leather boots looked smooth as satin and shiny as a mirror. He wasn’t as handsome as Tommy. Rather, his features weren’t as perfectly arranged as Tommy’s. But he was tall and strongly built, and there was a mature, outdoorsy handsomeness to his face that Tommy would never attain. Tommy relied on being cute and thought the world owed him a living; Ry earned his own way and would probably be insulted if anyone referred to him as cute.

“I’m okay,” she told him. Ry had spoken to her before this today, but she honestly couldn’t remember what he’d said. In fact, much that had occurred—at the cemetery, especially—had seemed to vanish from her mind. Temporary memory loss, she thought. A measure of self-protection. It was natural and normal, and she was glad she didn’t recall every painful detail of the day.

Ry walked over to the table and took a cookie from a container. There was a lot of food left, and some plates and bowls to be returned to their owners when Nettie got her kitchen organized again.

Munching on the cookie, Ry looked at her. “I wanted to commend you for planning a sensible service.”

“A funeral is bad enough without wringing every drop of emotion out of everyone attending it,” she said quietly.

“Agreed. I arranged similar services for my parents.”

“You’ve lost your parents, too? Do you have any other family?”

Ry recalled mentioning one of his sisters the night he’d picked her up at the airport, but saw no good reason to remind Dena of it. “Two sisters,” he said. “They both live in Texas. I guess you’re an only child.”

“Yes.” Dena was suddenly choked up. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

Ry nodded. “Then we won’t. Dena, about the ranch...”

She cut in. “I’d rather not talk about that, either, if you don’t mind.”

“All I was going to say was that you can count on me to be here for as long as you might need my help. It’s pretty apparent that you don’t know what’s coming next, and while I feel Simon left you the ranch, I guess anything is possible. Whatever happens, I’ll hang around until you know your next move.”

“The other men won’t.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Can they work without paychecks? I don’t think so.”

“You just might be surprised about that. Besides, someone will have the authority to keep the ranch going, either you or a court-appointed manager.”

Dena frowned. “Are you saying that if Dad didn’t leave the ranch to me, the court will take over?”

“The state, Dena, and only if there’s no will. As methodical a man as Simon was, I can’t believe he didn’t have a will. Have you talked to John Chandler yet?”

“He’s out of town until the fifteenth.”

“Well, that’s only a few days away.”

“But I might not be here.”

Ry looked startled. “You’re not thinking of leaving so soon, are you?”

“I have a job in Seattle.”

“You have a lot more than a job here.”

“You’re only surmising that.”

“True, but it doesn’t make sense that you would leave before knowing exactly what Simon had in mind for the ranch.”

“If he had anything in mind for the ranch.” Even if there’s a will, I won’t be in it. Dena had a sudden strong impulse to explain everything to Ry, but she was so ashamed of the rebellious behavior that had caused the rift between her and her father that the impulse vanished with her next breath.

Ry’s information was disturbing. She couldn’t picture the ranch in the hands of a court-appointed stranger.

Neither could she imagine her father being negligent about a will. She didn’t believe that she was the recipient of Simon’s earthly possessions, but if there was a will, someone was. Her eyes narrowed slightly on Ry Hardin, who had finished the cookie and was dusting crumbs off his hands. Maybe Simon had left the ranch to him? Just how close had he and Ry gotten during their three-year association?

The question came out of her mouth almost as soon as it appeared in her mind. “Were you and Dad close?”

Ry gave his head a slight shake. “Not personally, no. He was my employer, and I respected his knowledge and abilities with the ranch. I believe he respected me in the same way.”