Mom's The Word. Roz Denny Fox

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СКАЧАТЬ the devil had happened? It’d been years since he’d tumbled from a horse. Not since his rodeo days.

      All at once Jake remembered the woman with the big eyes and the even bigger gun. Had she shot him? He struggled to sit up and, though woozy, nearly smacked his nose into a face peering at him from close range. Had he met his maker? Was this the angel of death? Somehow he’d never expected the angel of death to be so pretty.

      So pretty, or so solidly real. It dawned on Jake that his head lay on the lap of a flesh-and-blood woman. He was so deliriously happy to discover he was alive he started to laugh.

      His angel of death’s beautiful eyes narrowed warily. Jake noticed they weren’t blue as he’d thought at first but almost lavender—unless it was a trick of the light created by a fading sun.

      “What’s so funny?” the woman demanded, beginning to edge out from beneath his shoulders.

      “You are,” Jake said, planting a hand near her hip so he could lever himself into a sitting position. “If I’d been the kind of guy you thought I was—the kind who needed killing—you’d be in a heap of trouble about now, lady.”

      She scrambled backward, still on her knees. “I wasn’t trying to kill you. I’ll have you know I generally hit what I aim for.”

      Jake touched his bloody head. “I’ll vouch for that.” He climbed shakily to his feet and whistled for his horse, who now stood quietly lapping water from the spring.

      “I aimed over your head. The sun was in my eyes. I didn’t know the shot would sever a dead limb on that big old mesquite.”

      Jacob now understood why he couldn’t hear so well. It’d been the nearness of the shotgun blast. He glanced at the ground, saw the size of the limb and thought it was a miracle he and Mojave hadn’t both been killed. The base of the limb was as big around as his thigh, and the front portion looked like a spike. “Loggers call limbs like this widow makers,” he muttered. “Only I don’t have a wife.”

      The woman obviously wasn’t anywhere near ready to trust him. While he patted down his horse, checking him for injuries, she stretched out a hand to retrieve her gun.

      It was then that Jake noticed how dark it had become. The only light now came from the woman’s campfire. Yet he could clearly see what she had in mind. In two long strides he beat her to the weapon. “Oh, no, you don’t. I’m not letting you finish the job.” As easily as taking a lollipop from a toddler, Jake divested her of her weapon.

      “How about we start with introductions,” he said when she shied away. “I’m Jacob—Jake—Cooper from the Triple C ranch. I admit this spring is on Bureau of Land Management property, but it’s got water crucial to our cattle. In fact, there are some ten ranchers in the area who need that water. July to October our range land is almost dry. The vaqueros we hire to help with roundup start that pump over there at intervals to feed water through the ditches. Well, it’s not really a pump, but a set of four flow valves that work off the water pressure when someone turns the wheels and opens the valves.” He pointed.

      “I don’t think so, Mr. Cooper.” She crossed her arms. “I’ve recorded a legal claim to prospect here. My claim starts at that pile of rocks—at the sign declaring it the Blue Cameo Mine. This plot of ground is mine from now until next July.”

      “Sorry. I didn’t catch your name.”

      “Hayley. Hayley Ryan. Feel free to check with the county recorder and the state BLM office. You’ll find my paperwork in order and my fees paid.”

      Jake bent at the waist and scooped up his hat from where it had fallen. He jammed it on his head and then grimaced because it scraped the bloody reminder of his encounter with this woman. “I hate to burst your bubble, Hayley Ryan. You’re claim-jumping. A man by the name of Ben O’Dell filed on this site—and the Triple C has an agreement with Ben. He promised to notify us when he’s finished prospecting, and we’re going to the recording office with him when he releases the mineral rights. Then we’ll buy this twenty acres, plus the hundred that adjoins it.”

      “Did my grandfath…uh…Ben…did he put that in writing?”

      Jake removed his hat again and slapped it against his thigh. “I shot the breeze with Ben a lot. We swapped stories and drank coffee or an occasional beer. I suppose you could call what we had a gentlemen’s agreement. Are you and he related? He never mentioned having a family.”

      “Everyone has a family. Ben passed on recently. That nullifies his claim. If you two had an agreement, he didn’t tell anyone. My claim is good, Mr. Cooper.”

      Jake’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Well, I hope you’ll pardon me if I ride into Tombstone to see if you’re telling the truth.”

      “Be my guest.” Hayley waved him off. “Don’t let me keep you. It’s been a long day. I’d like to eat my evening meal in peace, if you don’t mind, Mr. Cooper.”

      “It’s Jake, or Jacob, please.”

      “Jacob, then,” she said sweetly, extending a hand. “And, if you don’t mind, I’ll take my shotgun before you go.”

      Jake let his disgruntled gaze circle the isolated campsite before he silently handed back her gun. “Ben never said what he was digging for. It must be something valuable for a pretty lady like you to bury herself in such a desolate place. Are you aware of how far it is to the nearest ranch house?”

      When she said nothing, only clamped her pointed little jaw tighter, Jake went ahead and filled her in before he swung into the saddle. “Your closest neighbor would be the Triple C. Eight miles from here as the crow flies. Closer to twelve if you follow the trail. Our ranch sits practically on the Mexican border.”

      Again Hayley said nothing. She simply cocked her head.

      “Dang! It goes against my grain to leave a lady alone among coyotes and wolves. To say nothing of any two-legged varmints who drift past here, or any illegals jumping the border. Say the word and I’ll help you hitch up that trailer so you can park closer to civilization.”

      “I just unhitched, Mr. Cooper, er, Jake.” Hayley enunciated clearly, as if to a child.

      “I’m offering you the Triple C’s hospitality, woman.”

      “My name is Hayley,” she said pointedly as he’d done with his earlier. “Nice try, but nothing you say is going to frighten me off my claim. You may as well give up. If you have eight miles to travel before sitting down to supper, hadn’t you better take off?” Hayley delivered the advice through a dazzling smile.

      Jake pinched the bridge of his nose. Stubborn didn’t begin to describe Hayley Ryan. He could just imagine what his dad and his brother, Dillon, who lived with his wife in a separate house on Triple C land, were going to say when he delivered the news about this squatter. He’d catch hell from his mom and his sister-in-law, Eden, too, for leaving a defenseless woman to fend for herself. Jake was torn between going home to impart the news or sticking close to look after the damn little fool.

      A sharp pain sliced through his skull. He changed his mind about calling the woman defenseless. She was one tough cookie.

      Touching two fingers curtly to the brim of his hat, he wheeled Mojave and rode off the way he’d come. If she didn’t run out of lead for that scattergun, she ought to be СКАЧАТЬ