Roughneck Cowboy. Marin Thomas

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      “Sara Sanders.” She held out her hand.

      “Travis Cartwright.” He grasped her fingers, surprised when he felt calluses on her palm—not the hands of a typical schoolteacher. “My daughter’s name is Charlie.”

      A hint of a smile toyed with Sara’s mouth. “Ah, yes, the little walrus.”

      “I don’t know where she got the idea to stick straws up her nose.” Travis caught the clean scent that wafted in the air around Sara’s head. Soap. Not perfume. He looked out the kitchen window and spotted a white compact parked next to his truck. Sara drove an economical, no-frills vehicle.

      “The resemblance is uncanny,” she said, staring at his face.

      “Dominick is my father.”

      “My family’s ranch borders the Lazy River and we’ve never heard of a fourth Cartwright sibling.”

      “Dominick had no idea I existed.”

      “Amazing.”

      “Coffee?”

      “No, thanks.” Sara’s attention shifted to the doorway.

      “Dominick’s in the barn with Charlie.”

      “Where are the rest of the Cartwrights?”

      “Visiting the housekeeper.”

      Up close, Sara was definitely a plain Jane. Tall. Serious. Tiny crow’s-feet fanned from the corner of her eyes, insisting she spent as many days in the sun as she did in the classroom. He guessed her age to be around his own. “Are you and Dominick friends?” He emphasized the word friend, suspecting women of all ages pursued Dominick…or rather his millions.

      “Hardly. We’re not even friendly neighbors.” She motioned out the window. “Do you know how long he’ll be?”

      Travis shrugged. “You’re welcome to go out and speak with him if you want.”

      “I guess I’ll take that cup of coffee and wait.” She draped her coat over the back of the chair.

      Considering that most of his days and nights were spent in the company of rabble-rousers, when Travis was with a woman the last thing he cared to do was talk. “Where do you teach?” He set two mugs on the table and joined Sara.

      “Tulapoint Elementary. The school serves the ranching community in our area.” She sipped her coffee. “What do you do for a living?”

      “I work on oil rigs.”

      “I imagine Dominick appreciates having one son who loves oil as much as he does.”

      The verdict was still out. Before Travis had a chance to pry information about his father out of Sara, the front door crashed open.

      Charlie’s shoes slapped against the wood floor. “Dad! Grandpa says we can take Fred home with us if we want him.” She skidded to a halt in the kitchen doorway. “You’re the lady from that pink house my dad and I ate in.”

      Dominick joined Charlie in the kitchen. When he noticed his neighbor, the smile on his face evaporated. “Sara.”

      “Sara would like to speak with you.” Travis stood. “C’mon, Charlie, let’s check on—”

      “Stay.”

      Travis froze.

      “Have you decided to sell to me?” Dominick asked Sara.

      Sara’s broad shoulders stiffened. “Is there somewhere we can talk in private?”

      “Charlie, go upstairs and brush your teeth,” Travis said.

      “I already did.”

      “Then brush them again.”

      “Jeez,” Charlie muttered beneath her breath and stomped from the room.

      Sara pulled a letter from the pocket of her coat and thrust it at Dominick. “What’s the meaning of this?”

      “Self-explanatory, isn’t it?”

      “You intend to sue us for damages?”

      Sue? Travis gaped at his father.

      “I didn’t say much when one or two of your cows got loose on my land, but the whole herd broke through your fence last week and grazed my property.”

      “I’m sure the fifty head of cattle you keep for show didn’t miss the three acres of grass our cows consumed before Cole and Gabe herded them back to the Bar T.”

      “That’s not the point.” Dominick rubbed his jaw. “You Sanders are in over your heads.”

      “We’re not selling the Bar T.”

      “Your brothers feel differently about the situation.”

      “I’m keeping my promise to my father—I’m not handing over our ranch to a greedy old man who already owns half the state of Oklahoma.”

      “Then you’d better hire yourself a good lawyer.”

      Sara’s chin jutted.

      “Travis, talk some sense into my neighbor.” Dominick left the room.

      “Well?” Sara huffed.

      Travis blinked. “Well, what?”

      “How do you plan to persuade me to give in to your father?”

      “I don’t.”

      “Why not? I thought all you Cartwright’s stuck together?”

      “This is your fight, not mine. I’m heading back to Houston in a few days.”

      Was it Travis’s imagination or had the fire in Sara Sanders’ eyes banked at his pronouncement?

      Chapter Three

      “Is it true that some guy showed up at the Lazy River, claiming to be a Cartwright?” Sara’s eldest brother, Cole, asked when she entered the barn Thanksgiving morning.

      Tulapoint wasn’t a town, rather a map dot boasting a population of 323 people. It took only one phone call to crank the engine on the rumor mill. Not even a national holiday quieted the gossipmongers.

      “’Fraid so.” Sara had been shocked that the man she’d seen at Beulah’s two evenings ago had been a Cartwright—according to rumors, a son Dominick had never known existed. “Wilma phoned earlier and said Samantha brought her a pumpkin pie.” The retired Sunday-school instructor battled lupus and, since she’d never married or had children, the local women checked in on her.

      “What else did Samantha tell Wilma about the guy?”

      “Travis СКАЧАТЬ