His Favorite Cowgirl. Leigh Duncan

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       Chapter Two

      Kelly held her breath while the hospital caseworker pursed brightly painted lips. After spending far too long consulting her clipboard, the woman finally added, “Your best bet is to get in touch with your grandfather’s attorney. Find out if Mr. Tompkins has a care plan in place.”

      A half hour into a conversation in which she felt increasingly out of her depth, Kelly gave the woman a relieved smile. Margie Johnson had finally made a suggestion she could follow. “He always used Jim Buchanan over on the coast. I’ll call him today.”

      “Good. That’s good.” Margie gave the empty hospital corridor a quick study. She leaned forward, her features softening. “I really shouldn’t say this,” she whispered. “I’m overstepping my bounds. But if he hasn’t already named someone, don’t leave it up to the courts to assign a professional guardian. Those people will bleed the estate dry, then stick your grandfather in the cheapest facility they can find. I could tell you horror stories.” Margie drew back, sighing. “In times like these, we always prefer it if a family member steps in.”

       This just gets better and better.

      “I’ll look into it. Maybe he already has someone.” Though, considering her grandfather’s surly attitude and the long-standing bitterness he’d held toward his closest neighbors, Kelly didn’t think it likely. She combed her fingers through her hair, pushing it off her face. A trip to West Palm would delay her return to Houston, but did she have a choice?

      Though he’d never bothered to hide his resentment, her grandfather had kept a roof over her head when no one else would. Looking back, she knew he’d had it rough—a widower trying to raise his granddaughter on his own. Would things have been different between them if—just once—he’d told her he loved her? If he’d said he was glad her mother had left her behind when she’d taken off for the last time? Or given any indication he knew, much less cared, how often his granddaughter cried herself to sleep at night?

      He hadn’t. Instead, he’d treated her like any other chore on his South Florida ranch, all the while criticizing her every move. He’d objected to her friends, her clothes, her attitude until she’d given up any hope of ever pleasing him.

      Still, didn’t she owe him?

      Not that she had the time. No, she needed to get back to Houston, where final negotiations were underway for the big account she’d spent the past six months landing. She had to be there. Had to make sure every t was crossed, every i dotted. There was too much riding on this deal. Signing a major client would earn her acceptance into the Palmetto family. It would mean she’d finally have the financial security she’d worked for since the day she took that entry-level position stocking shelves. That she’d never again have to rely on someone who might let her down the way her grandfather had. The way Hank had.

      Stepping into her grandfather’s room, Kelly sank onto the chair beside the bed. The wrinkled neck and sunken cheeks above the stark white sheet had to belong to someone else. Not to the grandfather who’d ruled his household and his ranch with an iron fist. This man’s hand lay lifeless at his side. His coarse gray hair fluttered with his every exhale. Kelly leaned forward and brushed a few wisps off his forehead.

      “Did you miss me, old man?” she whispered.

      She straightened his oxygen tube. She’d give him one thing: Paul Tompkins could hold a grudge. He’d never had a good word to say about the neighbors who, he claimed, had stolen the Bar X’s water rights fifty years earlier. More recently, her grandfather had blamed the families next door for his wife’s death in a car accident. Every insult or slight, whether real or imagined, had only deepened his hatred for the Judds and the Parkers. And he’d never forgiven her, either, not since the day he learned she’d crossed the line—fallen in love with a boy from one of the families he despised above all others. As punishment, her grandfather had kicked her out of his house the day she graduated from high school. The figure on the bed moaned. Kelly withdrew her fingers.

       If wishes were horses...

      The doctors said he might never recover enough to heal the breach between them. Still, the time had come to repay the favors—slim as they were—he’d shown her when she was alone in the world. She’d arrange for his long-term care. She’d find someone to tend his ranch. But she couldn’t do those things sitting beside a man doctors said might never walk or talk again. A man who, in all likelihood, would drift through the next twenty-four hours in a dreamless sleep.

      She blotted a bit of drool from his leathery cheek and whispered, “See you later, Pops.” Trusting the nurses to get in touch with her if his condition changed, she headed out the door. On the drive, she made some of the calls the caseworker had suggested. One landed her an appointment the next day with Jim Buchanan.

      An hour later, she pried open the mailbox outside the gate to the Bar X. Bills and circulars slid across the seat as her sturdy SUV bounced over a drive in desperate need of grading and rolling. At the end of the road, she stepped from the vehicle onto hard-packed dirt in front of the house she’d once called home. Burnweed and chamberbitter had taken over the narrow strip of lawn she’d mowed once a week, every week, for eight years. She climbed carefully over the broken steps leading to the front porch. Her grandfather never locked the house, but humidity had swollen the door tight. Putting her shoulder into it, she shoved it open.

      Stale, overheated air clogged her throat as she stepped into the living room. Little had changed since the last time she’d crossed the threshold. Maybe the floral print on the overstuffed couch in front of the window had faded a bit. A thicker layer of dust coated the end tables. A few more cobwebs hung in the corners. СКАЧАТЬ