Coming Home To The Cattleman. Judy Christenberry

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      After unpacking her belongings and putting them in the closet and chest of drawers, Jennifer sat down on the edge of the bed to shore up her emotions. She wasn’t going to spend her time at the ranch crying over spilt milk.

      She was going to be strong, as strong as her father had taught her to be.

      Until her mother had taken her New York, Jenny had spent most of her time with her father. The rest of the time she’d spent with Rachel. She had gone to New York—she’d had very little choice—but once there she had seldom seen her mother. Her mother hadn’t had time for her once they had gotten back to the big city and the whirling social scene her mother loved. Jenny had had a nanny who took her to school and oversaw her homework and generally had taken the place of her mother. She had been made to dine regularly with her mother and grandmother, but it had been a chore that she’d dreaded.

      They’d used the time at dinner to instruct her in manners and social etiquette. Then they’d gone out for the evening and she was turned back over to the nanny.

      So Jenny had drawn on the lessons her father had taught her, lessons of heart and beliefs of heritage and strength. They’d gotten her through. Maybe she’d exaggerated them in her mind. Maybe he hadn’t loved her as much as she’d believed.

      But now she was going to try again.

      She had to.

      She stood and opened the door to her room. Going back down the stairs, she was reminded of going down in the mornings as an eight-year-old, already dressed for her day, eager to get on her pony and accompany her father as he went about his duties.

      Would he let her ride? One of the few battles she’d won with her mother was for riding lessons in Central Park on Saturday mornings. She’d love to ride again on the endless prairies of Oklahoma.

      When she reached the kitchen, she found Rachel preparing lunch.

      “What can I do to help, Rachel?” she asked from the doorway.

      “Why, nothing, child. Just keep me company.”

      “Rachel, I know how to cook. Mother’s chef taught me quite a lot. I’ll be glad to help.”

      “A chef? My, that must’ve been interesting. But lunch is simple. It doesn’t require much effort.”

      “You always made your work seem easy, Rachel, but I know better. This is a big house. It must take a lot of your time.”

      “Well, yes, but it’s my job.”

      “While I’m here, I’d like to help you.”

      “Your father wouldn’t expect that of you, honey.”

      “He should. Now, what can I do?”

      “Come peel potatoes, if you want.”

      “I do.” Jennifer moved to the sink and picked up the potato peeler and began removing the skin from the potatoes.

      As the two women worked, Jennifer said, “Do you think Sam would let me ride out with him once?”

      “I’m not sure, honey. Do you think you can still ride?” Rachel asked.

      “I took lessons every Saturday morning in Central Park. It was on an English saddle, of course, but I’ve done a lot of riding. I’d like to get back on a horse out here on the ranch.”

      “That will surprise your father. He figured your mother wouldn’t allow anything that could remind you of life here.”

      “It was a battle, but not one I was prepared to lose. I didn’t win it right away. At first I thought we would be returning to the ranch. I kept pestering Mom about when we would return, but eventually she told me that she had no intention of us ever coming back.”

      “How long did it take her to tell you that?”

      “It seemed liked forever, but I remember that it was actually just before Christmas. I cried for days. The only thing that made me stop crying was riding lessons. She tried to stop them every once in a while. But I won. I became quite adept at riding.”

      “You’re pretty good at peeling potatoes, too,” Rachel said with a grin. “We’re going to cream them, so cut them into small pieces and put them in this pan with water and salt.”

      Jennifer did as Rachel asked and they worked together in silence for a moment longer. Then Rachel returned to Jennifer’s original question.

      “Ask your dad about riding out with him. I’m sure he’d like for you to, but he won’t suggest it himself.”

      “Thank you, Rachel. There’s so much we need to catch up on, and I don’t want to make any mistakes that might affect my chance to get to know him. I was afraid to mention it.”

      “Don’t be. I think he wants to get to know you as much as you want to get to know him. He hurt badly when you left, and it was hard…for all of us.”

      Jennifer turned to stare at Rachel and noted the affection in the older woman’s voice toward her father. Was she more than the housekeeper these days? Was Rachel in love with her father? Maybe СКАЧАТЬ