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Her Right-Hand Cowboy
Marie Ferrarella
Where there's a will,there’s a way back home! When Ena O’Rourke left Forever she never looked back. Until a letter from her father’s lawyer brings her back to the family ranch, if she wants to inherit the ranch, she needs to work on it for six months! With only Mitch Parnell to help Ena will she see that perhaps she has a future in Forever…


Where there’s a will, she might find her way home
Can a cowboy convince her to stay?
A clause in her father’s will requires Ena O’Rourke to work the family ranch—site of many unhappy memories—for six months before she can sell it. She’s livid at her father, but Mitch Randall, foreman of the Double E, is there for her. As Ena spends time on the ranch—and with Mitch—new memories are laid over the old...and perhaps new opportunities to make a life.
USA TODAY Bestselling Author Marie Ferrarella
USA TODAY bestselling and RITA® Award-winning author MARIE FERRARELLA has written more than 250 books for Mills & Boon, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide. Visit her website, marieferrarella.com (http://www.marieferrarella.com)
Also by Marie Ferrarella (#u24835d01-3b54-5852-8dd5-bf75274c8407)
Coming Home for ChristmasDr Forget-Me-NotTwice a Hero, Always Her Man Meant to Be MineA Second Chance for the Single DadChristmastime CourtshipEngagement for TwoAdding Up to FamilyBridesmaid for Hire
The Cowboy’s Lesson in Love
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Her Right-Hand Cowboy
Marie Ferrarella


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-0-008-90314-5
HER RIGHT-HAND COWBOY
© 2019 Marie Rydzynski-Ferrarella
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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Note to Readers (#u24835d01-3b54-5852-8dd5-bf75274c8407)
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To
Charlie,
My one and only
Love,
After fifty-one years together,
You still make the world fade away
Every time you kiss me.
Contents
Cover (#u4c8d64a8-1e1b-5cbd-82ec-66114e2812a1)
Back Cover Text (#u3fe35bf2-1730-536f-a86f-2b1e19c23802)
About the Author (#u36cca8b5-cc8f-542b-a2b4-1df1c4871950)
Booklist (#uf891a1d0-6b54-5596-b09a-895c58c69ee2)
Title Page (#ud82a40db-0d86-5a56-b231-efe31cfce76a)
Copyright (#uffb84abf-c582-58ab-929e-7eb5d9e46ea6)
Note to Readers
Dedication (#u3045f39d-83b8-5636-84fd-3358f00925b7)
Chapter One (#ubbd0c60b-506d-5cf3-897f-bd94cc6d931b)
Chapter Two (#uf1d294dd-c6d4-5673-946a-4acb6e04f25e)
Chapter Three (#ufddffb63-a0a8-53f6-9af8-00a06d7c8d2c)
Chapter Four (#ube4f8916-0088-5b19-9b54-b30cb987eb48)
Chapter Five (#u0dd546ec-e0c7-510f-b812-faad33b29884)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u24835d01-3b54-5852-8dd5-bf75274c8407)
It felt familiar, yet strange.
The closer she came to the sprawling two-story ranch house, the simple five-word sentence kept repeating itself over and over again in Ena O’Rourke’s brain like a tuneless song. Part of her just couldn’t believe that she had returned here after all this time.
She could remember when she couldn’t wait to get away from here. Or rather not “here” but away from her father because, to her then eighteen-year-old mind, Bruce O’Rourke was the source of all the anger and pain that existed in her world. Back then, she and her father were constantly at odds and without Edith, her mother, to act as a buffer, Ena and her father were forever butting heads.
The way she saw it, her father was opinionated, and he never gave her any credit for being right, not even once. After enduring a state of what felt like constant warfare for two years, ever since her mother lost her battle with cancer, Ena made up her mind and left the ranch, and Forever, one day after high school graduation.
At the time, she had been certain that she would never come back, had even sworn to herself that she wouldn’t. And although she wavered a little in the first couple of years or so, as she struggled to put herself through college, she had stuck by her promise and kept far away from the source of all her unhappiness.
Until now.
She swung her long legs out of her light blue sports car and got out. She had sincerely doubted that a man who had always seemed to be bigger than life itself was ever going to die.
Until he did.
Bruce O’Rourke had died as tight-lipped as he had lived, without ever having uttered a single word to her. He had never even tried to get in contact with her. It was as if, for him, she had never existed.
It figured, Ena thought now, slowly approaching the house where she had grown up. Her father hadn’t bothered to get in contact with her to tell her that he was dying. Instead, he had his lawyer summon her the moment he was gone. That way, he hadn’t given her a chance to clear the air or vent her feelings.
He hadn’t wanted to be held accountable.
Because he knew he had driven her away, she thought now, angry tears gathering in her eyes.
“Same old Dad,” she bit off angrily.
She remained where she was for a moment, just staring at the exterior of the old ranch house. She had expected to see it on the verge of falling apart. But apparently her father had been careful not to allow that to happen. He had taken care of the homestead. The house looked as if it was sporting a brand-new coat of paint that couldn’t have been more than a few months old.
She frowned to herself. Bruce O’Rourke took a great deal more care of the house and the ranch than he ever had when dealing with her. Her mother, Ena recalled with a stab of pain, was the only one who could effectively deal with the man. What Edith had advised her on more than one occasion was to just give the man a pass because he was under so much pressure and had so much responsibility on his shoulders. It wasn’t easy, the genteel woman had told her in that soft low-key voice of hers, trying to keep the ranch going.
“So you kept it going while pushing me away—and what did it get you in the end, Old Man? You’re gone, and the ranch is still here. At least for now,” she said ironically. “But not for long. Just until I can get someone to take it off my hands. And then I’ll finally be done with it, and you, once and for all,” Ena concluded under her breath.
She was stalling. She supposed she was putting off dealing with that oppressive wave of memories that threatened to wash over her the moment she walked through the front door and into the house.
But she knew that she couldn’t put it off indefinitely.
Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and took another tentative step toward the house. And then another until she reached the steps leading up to the wraparound veranda. The place, she recalled, where her mother and father used to like to sit and rock at the end of the day.
As she came to the second step, Ena heard that old familiar creak beneath her foot.
Her father never had gotten around to fixing that. She could remember her mother asking him to see to it and her father promising to “get to it when I have the time.”
“Obviously you never found the time to fix that that, either, did you, Old Man?” she said, addressing the man who was no longer there.
“Is that a Dallas thing? Talking to yourself?” a deep male voice behind her asked.
In the half second that it took Ena to swing around to see who had crept up so silently behind her, she managed to compose herself and not look as if the tall, handsome, dark-haired cowboy behind her had launched her heart into double time.
“Is sneaking up behind people something you picked up while working here?” Ena countered, annoyed.
Her father had had that habit, materializing behind her when she least expected it, usually to interrogate her about where she had been or where she intended on going. And no matter what she answered, her father always sounded as if he disapproved and was criticizing her.
The cowboy, however, sounded contrite. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I wasn’t making enough noise for you.” He then coughed and cleared his throat. “Is that loud enough?” he asked her with an easy grin.
Ena pressed her lips together and glared at him without answering.
The cowboy nodded. “I take it from that look on your face that you don’t remember me,” he said.
Ena narrowed her clear blue eyes as she focused on the cowboy, who must have towered over her by at least a good twelve inches. There was something vaguely familiar about his rugged face with its high, almost gaunt cheekbones, but after the restless night she had spent and then the long trip back, she was not in the mood to play guessing games with someone who was apparently one of her father’s ranch hands.
“Should I?” she asked coldly.
Mitch Parnell winced. “Ouch, I guess that puts me in my place,” he acknowledged. He pushed back his worn Stetson and took off his right glove, extending his hand out to her. “Welcome home, Ena.”
The deep smile and familiar tone nudged forward more memories from her past. Her eyes slowly swept over the dusty, rangy cowboy. It couldn’t be—
Could it?
“Mitch?” she asked uncertainly. But even as she said his name, part of her thought she was making a mistake.
Until he smiled.
Really smiled.
Even as a teenager, Mitch Parnell had always had the kind of smile that the moment it appeared, it could completely light up the area. She and Mitch had gone to high school together, and for a week or two, she had even fancied herself in love with him—or as in love as a seventeen-year-old unhappy, lost girl desperately searching for acceptance could be.
Her mother had died the year before and communication between her father and her had gone from bad to worse. It felt as if the only times Bruce O’Rourke spoke to her, he was either lashing out at her or yelling at her. Hurting, she had been desperate to find a small haven, some sort of a retreat from the cold world where she could pretend she was loved and cared for.
But at seventeen, she had been awkward and not exactly skilled in womanly wiles. Consequently, she just assumed that Mitch had missed all her signals. It even felt as if he had dodged all her outright romantic gestures. In any event, she wound up withdrawing even further into herself, biding her time until she finally graduated high school and could flee the site of her unhappiness.
At the time, Mitch had just been someone she’d gone to school with. If anything, he had been a further reminder of her failure to make a connection with someone. She didn’t associate him with her father’s ranch. Had he come to work here after he had graduated high school? The few conversations they’d had back then, he had never mentioned anything about wanting to work on a ranch. Seeing him here was a surprise.
It occurred to her that she knew next to nothing about the good-looking guy she had briefly thought of as her salvation.
“Mitch?” she repeated, still looking at him, confused.
Pleasure brought an even wider smile to his lips. “So you do remember me.” There was satisfaction evident in his voice.
Ena fervently hoped that he merely thought of her as someone he’d gone to school with and not as the girl who had made an unsuccessful play for him. This was already awkward enough as it was.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I work here,” Mitch answered. His tone was neither boastful nor solicitous. He was merely stating a fact. “As a matter of fact, your dad made me foreman of the Double E almost three years ago.”
Ena stared at him, trying to comprehend what Mitch was telling her. When she’d left, her father only hired men to work on the ranch who he’d either known for years or who came highly recommended by men he had known for years. Apparently, some things had changed in the last ten years.
“Where’s Rusty?” she asked, referring to the big barrel-chested man who had been her father’s foreman for as long as she could remember.
The smile on Mitch’s lips faded, giving way to a somber expression. “Rusty died.”
She stared at Mitch in disbelief. “When?” she finally asked.
This was almost more than she could process. Rusty Hayes had been the man who had taught her how to ride a horse. When she was really young, she remembered wishing that Rusty was her real father and not the man who periodically growled at her and even growled at her mother on occasion. Rusty had been even-tempered. Her father couldn’t have been accused of that.
“Three years ago,” Mitch told her. There was sympathy in his eyes. “You didn’t know,” he guessed.
“There’s a lot I didn’t know,” Ena bit off. “My father and I didn’t exactly stay in touch,” she added angrily, trying to process this latest blow.
Mitch continued to look at her sympathetically. “So I gather.” She was still standing on the top step of the veranda. He decided that maybe she needed a gentle nudge. “Would you like to go in?” he asked.
The question seemed to snap her out of the deep funk she had slipped into. Ena pulled her shoulders back as if she were gearing up for battle. “I lived here for eighteen years. I don’t need your invitation to go in if that’s what I want to do,” she informed him.
Mitch raised his hands up in mute surrender. “Didn’t mean to imply that you did,” he told her, apologizing without saying the actual words. The next moment, he saw her turning on her heel. She walked down the three steps, away from the porch. “Are you leaving?” he asked her in surprise.
“Are you trying to keep tabs on me?” she demanded.
To Ena’s surprise, rather than answer her, Mitch began to laugh. Heartily.
Scowling, she snapped, “I wasn’t aware that I had said something funny.”
It took him a second to catch his breath. “Not exactly funny,” he told her.
Her eyes had narrowed to small slits that were all but shooting daggers at him. “Then what?” she asked.
This whole situation had made her decidedly uncomfortable, as well as angry. This person she had gone to school with—and had briefly entertained feelings for—was acting more at ease and at home on this property than she was. For some reason, that irritated her to no end.
Mitch took in another deep breath so he could speak. “I was just thinking how much you sounded like your father.”
If he had intentionally tried to set her off, he couldn’t have found a better way. Anger creased Ena’s forehead.
Struggling not to lose her temper, she informed him, “I am nothing like my father.”
Mitch’s response was to stare at her as if he were trying to discern whether or not she was kidding him. Before he could stop himself, he asked in amazement, “You honestly believe that?”
“Yes,” Ena ground out between clenched teeth, “I honestly do.”
The smile on Mitch’s face was almost radiant. He pressed his lips together to keep from laughing again, sensing that she really wouldn’t appreciate it if he did. But he couldn’t refrain from saying, “Wow, you really are like your father.”
No wonder her father had made this man his foreman. Mitch Parnell was as crazy in his own way as her father had been. “Stop saying that,” she insisted.
“Okay,” he agreed good-naturedly, relenting. “But it doesn’t make it any less true.”
Ena curled her fingers into her palms. She wasn’t going to give Mitch a piece of her mind, even though she would have liked nothing better than to tell him what an infuriating idiot he was. Which only left her with one option.
Ena turned on her heel and headed back to her vehicle—quickly.
Mitch followed at a pace that others might refer to as walking briskly, but he cut the distance between them so effortlessly it didn’t even look as if he was walking fast.
“Hey, was it something I said?” he asked. “If it helps, I can apologize,” he said, although he had no idea what he could have said to set her off.
But because he had just lost a boss who over the years had become more like a surrogate father to him, Mitch was willing to apologize to Bruce’s daughter. He knew that having her here would have meant a lot to his boss. Besides, he had looked into Ena’s eyes, and while she probably thought she had covered up things well, he had glimpsed pain there. Having her run off like this wasn’t going to eliminate that pain.
“I came to see the ranch house,” Ena informed him crisply. “And I saw it. Now I’m going to see my father’s lawyer and find out what he has to tell me so I know exactly where I stand.”
“You’re talking about your dad’s will.” It wasn’t a guess on Mitch’s part.
Ena’s antenna went up. The accounting firm in Dallas where she had worked her way up to a junior partnership had seen all manner of fraud. Fraud that had been the result of greed and a sense of entitlement. Initially, when she had first encountered it, she had been surprised by the way people treated one another when a little bit of money was involved. But eventually, she came to expect it, just as she now expected to have to fight Mitch on some level because he had probably come to regard the ranch as his own and had hung around, waiting for her father to die. He undoubtedly expected to have her father leave the ranch to him.
Maybe, for all she knew, Mitch had even helped the situation along.
Well, too bad, she thought. If her father had left the ranch to his “trusty foreman,” Mitch Parnell was going to have one hell of a fight on his hands.
Calm down, Ena. You’re jumping the gun and getting way ahead of yourself, she silently counseled.
But she wasn’t here to try to prove that Mitch had somehow brought about her father’s demise because he had designs on the Double E. She was here to try to make the best of the situation, sell the ranch and move on. With any luck, by the end of the week she could put her whole childhood behind her once and for all.
Starting up her car, she half expected Mitch to run up to her window and try to stop her—or to at least say something inane such as “Don’t do anything hasty.” But as she pulled away, the foreman remained standing just where he was.
She could see him in the rearview mirror, watching her and shaking his head.
The smug bastard. Was he judging her?
Deep breaths, Ena, she instructed herself. Deep breaths. You can’t let someone out of your past get to you. You’re here to listen to the reading of the will and to sell the ranch. The sooner you do that, the sooner things will get back to being normal and you can go on with your life.
A life she had fought hard to forge, she reminded herself. On her own. Without asking for so much as a single dime from her father.
She was proud of that.
At the same time, the fact that she had had to do it on her own, without any help, or even an offer of help, from her father managed to sting bitterly. It reinforced her feelings of being by herself. She hadn’t always been alone. There’d been another child, her twin brother, but the baby had died at birth. While her mother had treated her as if she were a perpetual special gift from Heaven, she had always felt that her father resented that she had been the one to live and her brother had been the one to die.
“Sorry, Old Man,” she caught herself saying as she drove into town, on the lookout for the attorney’s office—there had been no lawyers in Forever when she had left. “Those were the cards you were dealt. You should have made the most of it. I would have made you forget all about the son you never had. But you never gave me the chance.” She shrugged, her shoulders rising and then falling again carelessly. “Your loss,” she concluded.
The next moment, not wanting to put up with the silence within her car a second longer, Ena turned on the radio and let Johnny Cash mute her pain.
Chapter Two (#u24835d01-3b54-5852-8dd5-bf75274c8407)
Mitch watched as Ena’s rather impressive but highly impractical car—at least for this part of the country—become smaller and smaller until it was barely a moving dot on the winding road.
She had come back, he marveled. He’d had his doubts there for a minute or two after Bruce O’Rourke had died and Cash, her father’s lawyer, had sent a letter to notify Ena, but she had come back.
Ena was even more beautiful than he’d remembered, Mitch thought. Hell, every memory involving her was sealed away in his mind, including the very first time he ever laid eyes on her.
He smiled to himself now, recalling the event as if it were yesterday. It was a Tuesday. Second period English class. He’d been a new transfer to the high school and had just been handed his class schedule. He’d walked into Mrs. Brickman’s class fifteen minutes after it had officially started.
Everyone’s eyes in the class had been focused on “the new kid” as he walked in the door, doing his damnedest to look as if he didn’t care what anyone thought of him, even though he did.
And then, as his eyes quickly swept over the small class, he saw her. Ena O’Rourke. Blue eyes and long blond hair. Sitting up front, second seat, fourth row. He caught himself thinking that she was the most beautiful girl who had ever walked the face of the earth.
He’d almost swallowed his tongue.
It took everything he had to continue with his blasé act, appearing as if he didn’t care one way or another about any of these people.
But he did. He cared what they all thought.
Especially the blonde little number in front.
And because she had suddenly become so very important to him, he deliberately acted as if he didn’t give a damn what any of these people thought of him. Especially her.
With a Navajo mother and an Irish father, Mitch felt as if he had one foot in each world and yet belonged nowhere.
He remembered Ena smiling at him. Remembered Mrs. Brickman telling him to take the empty seat next to Miss O’Rourke.
Remembered his stomach squeezing so hard he could hardly breathe.
Wanting desperately to come across as his own person and not some pitiful newcomer, he had maintained an aloof aura and deliberately kept everyone at arm’s length, even the girl who reduced his knees to the consistency of melted butter.
Why had he ever been that young and stupid? he now wondered. But life, back then, for an outsider hadn’t been easy.
It hadn’t become easier, he recalled, until Bruce O’Rourke had gruffly given him a chance and hired him to work the ranch shortly after his parents died, leaving him an orphan.
Funny the turns that life took, he mused.
Mitch observed Wade McCallister making his way over to him. The heavyset older man looked more than a little curious. He jerked a thumb at the departing vehicle. “Hey, boss, was that—”
Mitch didn’t wait for the other man to finish his question. He already knew what the ranch hand was going to ask and nodded his head.
“Yup, it was.”
Wade had worked off and on at the Double E Ranch for a long time. Long enough to have known Bruce O’Rourke’s daughter before she was even a teenager.
Turning now to watch Ena’s car become less than a speck on the horizon, Wade asked, “Where’s she heading off to?”
“She’s on her way to talk to the old man’s lawyer,” Mitch answered. Even the dot he’d been watching was gone now. He turned away from the road and focused his attention on Wade.
Wade’s high forehead was deeply furrowed. The ranch hand had never been blessed with a poker face. “She’s gonna sell the ranch, isn’t she?” the older man asked apprehensively.
“She might want to,” Mitch answered. “But she can’t.” His smile grew deeper. “At least not yet.”
“What do you mean she can’t?” Wade asked him, confused.
Wade had known Bruce O’Rourke longer than Mitch had. But Wade didn’t have a competitive bone in his body and he wasn’t insulted that his normally closemouthed boss had taken Mitch into his confidence. As a result, Mitch had been devoted to the old man and everyone knew it. While the rest of them had lives of their own apart from the ranch, Mitch had made himself available to Bruce 24/7, ready to run errands for him no matter what time of day or night. No job was too great or too small as far as Mitch was concerned.
“The old man put that in his will.” He had been one of Bruce O’Rourke’s two witnesses when his boss had had the will drawn up and then had him sign it. Afterward, Bruce had expanded on what he had done. “He said the ranch was hers on the sole condition that she stay here and run things for six months.”
It sounded good, but it was clear that Wade had his doubts the headstrong girl he’d watched grow up would adhere to the will.
“What if she decides not to listen to that—what do you call it? A clause?” Wade asked, searching for the right term.
Mitch nodded. “A clause,” he confirmed. “If she doesn’t, then the ranch gets turned over to some charitable foundation Mr. O’Rourke was partial to.”
The furrows on Wade’s forehead were back with a vengeance. “Does that mean we’re all out of a job? ’Cause I’m too old to go looking for work with my hat in my hand.”
Mitch shook his head and laughed at the picture the other man was attempting to paint. “Too old? Hell, Wade, you’re not even fifty.”
Wade wasn’t convinced. “I’d have to pull up stakes and try to find some kind of work somewhere else, and I’m comfortable where I am.” The ranch hand’s frown deepened. “Like I said, too old.”
“Well, don’t go packing up your saddlebags just yet,” Mitch told the man he regarded as his right-hand man. “Even if the ranch does get sold down the line, whatever organization takes over is doubtlessly going to want the ranch to keep on turning a profit. But don’t worry,” Mitch assured the other man. “The old man was banking on the idea that once his daughter gets back to her roots, she’s not going to want to let this place go.”
Wade, however, wasn’t convinced—with good reason, he felt. “You weren’t here when she left. To be honest, I’m surprised the old man’s daughter came back at all.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Mitch said, thinking back to his own childhood and adolescence. It had taken him time to make peace with who he was and where he had come from. Now he was proud of it, but it hadn’t always been that way. “Our past has a greater hold on us than we’d like to believe.”
But Wade was still far from swayed. And other problems occurred to him. “Even if she does wind up keeping it, she’s bound to make changes in the way the ranch is run.”
Mitch was used to Wade’s pessimism. It hadn’t been all that long ago that he had been just like Wade, seeing the world in shades of black. But then Bruce had taken him under his wing and everything had changed from that day forward.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Mitch advised. “Let’s just see how her visit with the old man’s lawyer goes.”
Wade took in a deep breath, centering himself. “Okay, you’re the boss, Mitch.”
Mitch grinned. “That’s right. I am. At least for now,” he allowed, deliberately playing on the other man’s natural penchant for gloom and doom.
For Wade’s sake, as well as for the sake of all the other men who worked under him at the Double E Ranch, Mitch maintained a positive attitude. The old man had taught him that there was nothing to be gained by wallowing in negative thoughts, saying that he himself had learned that the hard way. If things went well, then being negative was just a waste. And if things didn’t go well, there was no point in hurrying things along. They’d catch up to him soon enough.
Besides, who knew? Mitch thought. Maybe coming back here would help heal whatever was broken within Ena’s soul.
“C’mon,” Mitch urged, turning toward Wade. “We’ve still got work to do.”


Forever had built up since she’d been here last, Ena thought as she drove down the town’s long Main Street. The last time she’d been here, the town’s medical clinic had been boarded up, the way it had been for close to thirty years. From what she could see by the vehicles jammed in the small parking lot, the clinic was open and doing a healthy business.
She smiled to herself at her unintentional pun.
And that was new, Ena noted as she continued to travel along Forever’s Main Street. Slowing her vehicle, she took a closer look at what appeared to be—a hotel?
Surprised, she slowed down even more as she passed a small welcoming three-story building. Yes, it was a hotel all right.
Was there actually an influx of tourists to Forever these days? Enough to warrant building and running a hotel? Was it even profitable?
Ena looked over her shoulder again as she passed the new building. She had never thought that progress would actually ever come to Forever. Obviously she had thought wrong.
The law firm where she was supposed to go to see her father’s lawyer was new, as well—as was the concept of her father actually having a will formally drafted and written up. If her father had actually wanted to put down any final instructions to be followed after his demise, she would have expected him to write them down himself by hand on the inside of some old brown paper grocery bag, its insides most likely stained and making the writing illegible.
To see a lawyer would have taken thought on his part, a process that she had a hard time crediting her father with. Anyway, to draw up a will would have been an admission of mortality, and from the bottom of her heart, she was certain that her father had honestly believed he was going to live forever.
He’d certainly conducted himself that way while she lived here.
Ena realized that she was driving past the diner. She caught herself wondering if that, too, had changed. Was Miss Joan still running the place? She couldn’t bring herself to imagine that not being the case. Miss Joan had been a fixture in Forever for as long as she could remember.
When she’d been a young girl, Ena could remember that she’d been afraid of the sharp-tongued woman. It was only as she got older that she began to appreciate the fact that everyone turned to Miss Joan for advice or support, even though, at least on the surface, Miss Joan was a no-nonsense, opinionated, blustery woman who could cut to the heart of any matter faster than anyone she’d ever met.
Ena made a mental note to stop by the diner when she finished with her father’s lawyer. She wanted to see for herself if Miss Joan was still running the place.
And, while she was at it, she wanted to ask Miss Joan why she at least hadn’t gotten in contact with her to tell her that her father was dying of cancer. Never mind that she hadn’t given the woman her address or phone number and had maintained her own silence for ten years. Miss Joan had her ways of getting in contact with people. She always had.
After pulling up in front of the neat, hospitable, small freshly painted building with its sign proclaiming Law Offices, Ena carefully parked her sports car.
As she emerged out of the vehicle, she saw a couple of vaguely familiar-looking people passing by. They were looking in her direction as they walked. By the expressions on their faces, they appeared to be trying to place her, as well.
Getting this uncomfortable bit of business over and done with was the only thing on her mind at the moment. She looked away from the duo and went up to the law office’s front door.
Ena had barely rung the bell when the door swung open. She found herself making eye contact with a tall, good-looking, blond-haired man she didn’t recognize. The man had a friendly, authoritative air about him despite his age, which she judged to be somewhere around his late thirties.
Ena dived right in. “Hello, I have an appointment with Cash Taylor,” she told the man.
Warm, friendly eyes crinkled at her as he smiled. “Yes, I know. I’m Cash—and you’re right on time,” he told her. “That isn’t as usual as you might think.” Cash opened the door all the way. “Won’t you come in?”
“Thank you,” Ena murmured, making her way into the small homey lobby. And then she turned toward Cash, waiting.
“My office is on the right,” he told her, sensing his late client’s daughter was waiting for him to tell her which direction to go in.
There were two main offices in the building. Cash had one, while the sheriff’s wife, who had initially started the firm when she married Sheriff Santiago, had the other. Both were of equal size.
“This is new,” Ena heard herself saying as she followed Cash into his tastefully decorated office.
“It is,” Cash agreed. “Although I can’t take credit for it. My partner started the firm when she decided to stay in Forever after she married Sheriff Santiago.”
“Sheriff Rick’s married?” Ena asked, surprised by the information.
Cash nodded. “Married and a father. So am I.” Not that she probably remembered him, Cash thought. However, there was someone she probably did remember from her early days in Forever. “You might know my wife. She was Alma Rodriguez before she decided to take a chance on me,” he told her with an engaging smile.
The surprises just kept on coming, Ena marveled. “You’re married to Alma?”
Cash was obviously proud of that fact. He nodded. “You’ve been gone ten years, is it?” As he sat down at his desk, he checked the notes in the open file before him. “I guess you have a lot of catching up to do.”
“I don’t plan to stay here long enough to catch up,” Ena politely informed him. “I’m just here long enough to get the property ready to put up for sale and then I’m going back to Dallas.”
Cash frowned slightly. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to postpone your return back to Dallas,” he informed her politely.
Ena’s eyes widened as she stared at the lawyer. “Wait, what? Why?”
Cash realized that he had forgotten one very important step. Extending his hand to her, he said, “First of all, please allow me to express my condolences on the death of your father—” He got no further.
Ena waved her hand, symbolically wiping away whatever else he had to say along those lines. She didn’t want his sympathy or anyone else’s.
“You can save your breath, Mr. Taylor,” Ena said. “My father’s been dead to me a long time, just as, I assume, I have been dead to him.”
Cash shook his head, wanting to correct her mistaken belief. “I’m afraid I—”
“If he didn’t tell you, Mr. Taylor, let me,” Ena volunteered. “From the minute I was born, my father and I never got along. After my mother died, that hostility just increased by a factor of ten. I took off the day after I graduated from high school. And I’ve never looked back.” That wasn’t strictly true, but she saw no point in elaborating.
Cash nodded. “Yes, your father told me.”
Ena shifted in her seat, uncomfortable at the very idea of being here. “To be honest, I’m not really sure why he left the ranch to me. I just assumed he was going to run the ranch forever.”
“Unfortunately,” Cash began, “forever had a timetable.” He lowered his voice a little as he added, “And we are all very sorry to have lost him.”
Right. He had to say that, Ena thought.
“Uh-huh,” she finally responded, only because she felt she had to say something.
“As for leaving the ranch to you,” Cash continued genially, “you are the only living member of his family.”
She wanted to be on her way back to Dallas. “All right, so tell me what I need to sign or do to get this sale moving along,” she requested. As far as she was concerned, this was already taking too long.
“What you need to do,” he informed her, “is to stay here for the next six months.”
Ena stared at the man opposite her in disbelief. “You’re serious?” she asked, stunned.
Cash nodded. “Absolutely. Those are the terms of your father’s will.” To prove it, he read the brief section to her.
Ena made an unintelligible noise. “Even from beyond the grave, that man found a way to put the screws to me,” she cried.
“In your father’s defense, I think that he thought of it as a way to bring you back to your roots,” Cash told her.
“My roots,” she informed him stubbornly, “are in Dallas.”
“That might be,” Cash conceded. “But your father saw it differently.”
Ena rolled her eyes. “My father saw everything differently. He made it his mission in life to contradict every single thing I said or did,” she informed him.
Cash did his best to attempt to smooth over this obviously rough patch. “I realize that there was some bad blood between you years ago—”
“There was always bad blood between us,” she informed the lawyer tersely. “The only reason it wasn’t spilled was because my mother—who was a saint, by the way, for putting up with the man—acted as a buffer between us. Once she was gone, there was no one to step in and try to make my father be reasonable—so he wasn’t. Everything that ever went wrong was, in his opinion, my fault.”
Ena stopped abruptly, catching herself before she could get carried away.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “My father always had a way of bringing out the worst in me. How long do I have to decide whether or not I’m going to abide by the terms of this will of his?” she asked.
“I’m afraid you have to if you want to keep the ranch,” Cash told her.
“So I guess that’s the decision before me,” she said. “Whether or not I want to keep the ranch. Tough one,” she said flippantly. “How long did you say I have before I have to give you my decision?”
Cash stared at her. For the moment, she had managed to stump him.
Chapter Three (#u24835d01-3b54-5852-8dd5-bf75274c8407)
Knowing some of the circumstances behind Ena’s relationship with her father, Cash cleared his throat and tried to be as diplomatic as possible. “I realize that the situation between you and your father wasn’t exactly the best.”
Ena suppressed the involuntary harsh laugh that rose to her lips. “I take it that you have a penchant for making understatements, Mr. Taylor.”
“Call me Cash.” He didn’t comment on Ena’s observation. “Things aren’t always the way that they seem at first glance.”
Ena folded her hands before her on the desk. Her knuckles were almost white. “If you’re referring to my father,” she told the lawyer evenly, “Bruce O’Rourke was exactly the way he seemed. Cantankerous, ornery and dead set against everything I ever said or did.” She drew back her shoulders, sitting ramrod straight in the chair. “My fate was sealed the day I was born, Mr. Taylor—Cash,” she corrected herself before the lawyer could tell her his first name again.
“That’s being a little harsh, wouldn’t you say?”
“No,” she replied stiffly, “I wouldn’t. If anything, I’m being sensitive. My father was the harsh one.” A dozen memories came at her from all directions, each with its own sharp edges digging into her. Ena winced as she struggled to block them all out. “He never forgave me for being the one who lived,” she told Cash quietly.
Cash looked at her, completely in the dark as to her meaning. “I’m sorry?”
She had probably said too much already. But word had a way of getting around in this little town and if he didn’t know about her father’s tempestuous relationship with her, he would soon. He might as well hear it from her. This way, he’d at least get a semblance of the truth. It was his prerogative to believe her or not.
“I had a twin brother. It turned out that my mother was only strong enough to provide the necessary nourishment and bring one of us to term.” She took a deep breath as she regarded her folded hands. “My brother didn’t survive the birth process. I did. My father had his heart set on a boy. I was just going to be the consolation prize.” She raised her eyes to meet Cash’s. “He never got over the fact that I survived while my brother was stillborn. My father spent the rest of his life making me regret that turn of events.”
Deeply ingrained diplomacy kept Cash from arguing with Ena’s take on the matter. Instead, he said, “Still, he did leave the ranch to you.”
“No,” she contradicted, “he dangled the ranch in front of me and left me with a condition, which was something he always did.” She thought back over the course of her adolescence. “He enjoyed making me jump through hoops—until one day I just stopped jumping.”
Over the course of his career, Cash had learned how to read people. Right now, he could anticipate what his late client’s daughter was thinking. “I wouldn’t advise doing anything hasty, Ms. O’Rourke. Give the terms of your father’s will a lot of thought,” Cash advised.
“I’ve already thought it over,” Ena informed the lawyer, “and I’ve decided not to play his game.”
Cash’s eyes met hers. “Then you’re going to let him win?”
Ena looked at the attorney sitting on the other side of the desk. Her brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”
“Well,” he began to explain, “from what you’ve said, your father always made you feel that you were a loser. And if you walk away from the ranch, you’ll be forfeiting it, which in effect will be making you a loser. And that, in turn, will be telling your father that he was right about you all along.”
Ena scowled at the lawyer. “You’re twisting things.”
The expression on his smooth face said that he didn’t see things that way. “Maybe, in this case,” he responded, “I’m able to see things more clearly because I don’t have all this past baggage and animosity coloring my perception of things.” He slid to the edge of his seat, moving in closer to create an air of confidentiality between them. And then he punctuated his statement with a careless shrug. “I’m just saying...” he told her, his voice trailing off.
He was doing it, Ena thought, irritated. Her father was boxing her into a corner, even though he was no longer walking among the living. Somehow, he was still managing to have the last say.
Ena frowned. As much as she wanted to tell this lawyer what he could do with her father’s terms, as well as his will, she knew that Cash was right. If she tore up the will and walked out now, that would be tantamount to giving up—and her father would have managed to ultimately win.
She hated giving him that, even in death.
Blowing out a breath, she faced her father’s lawyer with a less-than-happy look.
“I have to stay here for six months?” She asked the question as if each word was excruciatingly painful for her to utter.
“You have to run the ranch for six months,” Cash corrected, thinking she might be looking for a loophole. There weren’t any.
“Can I delegate the work?” Ena asked, watching the man’s face carefully.
“You mean from a distance?” Cash asked. She wanted to oversee the operation from Dallas, he guessed.
“Yes,” she said with feeling. “That’s exactly what I mean.”
“No.” The lone word shimmered between them, cloaked in finality. “Your father was very clear about that. He wanted you to be on the ranch while you oversaw the work that needed to be done.”
Ena swallowed a guttural sound. It was all she could do to keep from throwing her hands up in frustration. “I don’t know anything about running a ranch. My father told me that over and over again,” she emphasized. “He deliberately kept me away from the day-to-day process—other than mucking out the stalls. That he was more than happy to let me do.”
“Obviously he’d had a change of heart about the matter when he had me write up the will. And anyway,” Cash went on, “you have some very capable men working at the Double E. I’m sure that they all would be more than willing to help you.”
He was right and that was exactly her point. “So why can’t I just tell them to use their judgment and keep the ranch running just the way that they always have?” she asked.
The look on Cash’s face was sympathetic. He could see how frustrating all this had to be. “Because your father’s will was very specific,” he told her.
Ena’s laugh was totally without any humor. “Yes, I’ll bet. It probably said, ‘Keep sticking pins in her side until she bleeds.’”
For the first time since they had sat down together, she saw the lawyer grin. “Not even close,” Cash assured her.
She wasn’t so sure. The sentiment was there all right, just probably hidden between the lines. “You obviously didn’t know my father as well as you thought you did.”
“Or maybe you’re the one who doesn’t know the man, at least not the way he was in his last years. It’s been ten years,” Cash reminded her. “People change in that amount of time, Ms. O’Rourke.”
“Normal people do,” Ena agreed. “But not my father. He was as set in his ways as any mountain range. To expect that mountain range to suddenly shift would be incredibly foolish.”
“So you’re turning your back on the will?” Cash concluded.
“No.” She saw that her answer surprised him, so, since he’d been the one who had attempted to talk her out of forfeiting her claim, she explained. “Because you were right about one thing. If I just metaphorically toss this back in my father’s very pale face, then he will have won the final battle and I’m not ready to let that happen. So,” she continued, taking in a deep breath, “even though it’s going to turn my whole life upside down, I’m going to stay on the Double E and work it so that I can meet those terms of his. And when I do, I’m going to sell that burdensome old homestead so fast that it’ll make your head spin, Mr. Taylor.”
Cash smiled at her. “I believe that at this point I’m beyond the head-spinning stage. Don’t forget,” he reminded her, “Miss Joan is my step-grandmother. Thanks to her, very little surprises me these days. By the way, she asked me to remind you that if you haven’t yet. She’s waiting for you to drop by to go see her.”
Ena shrugged away the reminder. “I don’t want to bother her. She’s working.”
The expression on the lawyer’s face told her that he saw right through her excuse. “You have met Miss Joan, right?”
Ena stiffened. She had no idea why he would ask her something like that. He had to know the answer was yes. “Yes, of course I have.”
“Then you know that she’s always working,” he reminded her. “I don’t think that the woman knows how not to work.”
If Ena had had any lingering doubts that Cash Taylor was actually related to Miss Joan, that put them all to rest. The man was obviously familiar with the diner owner’s stubborn streak, as well as her way of overriding any and all who opposed her no matter what that opposition was rooted in.
Ena inclined her head, conceding the point. “You’re right. I guess I’ll stop by and see her before I leave town today,” she told him, hoping that was enough to table this part of the discussion.
Nodding, Cash smiled and then extended his hand to her. “Well, welcome home, Ms. O’Rourke. I just wish this could be under better circumstances.”
“So do I, Counselor. So do I,” Ena responded with feeling. “Anything else?”
Cash shook his head. “No, I believe we’ve covered everything.”
Gripping the armrests, Ena pushed herself to her feet, ready to take her leave as quickly as possible. “Then I’ll be going now. Thank you for telling me about my father’s will—and for your guidance,” she added.
Although she silently thought that she could have done without his guidance since it made her agree to put up with her father’s terms. She was, in essence, playing the game in her father’s court. Which would make her victory when it came—and it would—that much sweeter.
She just needed to remember that.
On his feet as well, Cash said with genuine feeling, “My pleasure, Ms. O’Rourke. Here, I’ll walk you to the door.”
“That’s really not necessary,” Ena said, attempting to deflect the offer.
“I don’t know about that. Miss Joan would give me a tongue-lashing if she found out that I’d forgotten my manners. Besides, one of us needs to stretch their legs,” he added with a wink.
The “trip” to the law office’s front door was an exceedingly short one. She was standing before it in a matter of seconds. Cash managed to open it one moment earlier, holding it for her.
“And don’t forget to swing by Miss Joan’s—when you get the chance,” he added politely. “She really would love to see you.”
Ena nodded, although she sincerely doubted that Miss Joan would actually love to see anyone, especially someone who had walked away from Forever ten years ago. She knew for a fact that Miss Joan had little patience with people who felt that they needed to run away from Forever in order to either make something of themselves or, at the very least, find something more meaningful to do with their lives.
Feeling less than triumphant, Ena got into her sports car and drove the short distance to the diner.
She almost wound up driving past the diner. After listening to her father’s will being read, she really was not in the mood to politely listen to someone tell her what was best for her. Miss Joan was not exactly a shy, retiring flower. But she also knew that offending the woman was not exactly the best course of action. So, at the last minute, Ena backed up her vehicle and pulled into the small parking lot.
Because of the hour, the lot wasn’t packed.
Or maybe, Ena mused, business had slacked off. She knew that things like that did happen. She had seen it occur more than a few times during her years living in Dallas. One minute a business seemed to be thriving, even turning people away. The next, that same business was trying to figure out just what had gone wrong and why their patrons had forsaken them and were now frequenting another establishment.
But then those businesses, especially the restaurants, had a great many competitors. It was a toss-up as to which of them could come out on top and lure customers away from the others.
As far back as Ena could remember, Miss Joan had had no competition. There was only one other establishment in Forever. That was Murphy’s, owned and run by three brothers who proudly proclaimed the establishment to be a saloon. The Murphy brothers had a running agreement with Miss Joan. They didn’t serve any food—other than pretzels—in their saloon and Miss Joan didn’t serve any alcoholic beverages in her diner. That made Miss Joan’s diner the only “restaurant” in town.
So if the good citizens of Forever wanted to grab a meal during their workday, they would all need to head out to Miss Joan’s. Ena caught herself wishing that the diner were crowded now. That way, she could just pop in, officially tell Miss Joan that she was back in town, then slip quietly out. If there was any extra time, she might possibly tell the woman that she was debating temporarily sticking around in Forever, at least until such time as she met the conditions of her father’s will and could sell the ranch.
Although she doubted that was necessary. Miss Joan had a way of knowing things before anyone told her. She just intuited them. Some hinted it had something to do with a Cajun ancestor in her family tree, but Ena doubted it. There was just something about the woman that couldn’t really be pinpointed. She was just uniquely Miss Joan.
Getting out of her vehicle, Ena slowly approached the diner. She climbed up the three steps leading to the diner’s door even more slowly.
Staring at the door, Ena decided that this wasn’t one of her better ideas, at least not now. With that, she turned away from the door.
She had made it down all three steps when she heard the diner door behind her opening.
“You waiting for trumpets to herald your entrance to my diner? Or maybe I should be dropping handfuls of rose petals in your path?”
Ena would have known that voice anywhere. Stiffening her shoulders, she turned around and looked up at the small compact woman with deep hazel eyes and hair the color of not quite muted flame. Miss Joan had caught her in the act of escaping. She should have seen this coming.
“I thought you might be too busy for a visit right now,” Ena told her.
Miss Joan continued to stand there, one hand fisted on either side of her small, trim waist as she looked down at the girl she viewed as the newly returned prodigal daughter.
She shook her head. “Ten years and you still haven’t learned how to come up with a decent excuse. Not that that’s a bad thing,” Miss Joan said. “At least they didn’t teach you how to lie in Dallas. Well?” she asked expectantly when Ena continued to stand where she was. “Are you posing for a statue? Because if you’re not, stop blocking the stairs to my diner. Use them and come in, girl.”
Miss Joan didn’t raise her voice, but the command was clearly there.
Moving like a queen, Miss Joan turned around and walked back into the diner. Everything about the way she moved clearly said that she expected Ena to follow her inside.
Ena’s internal debate was very short-lived. She decided that coming into the diner was far easier than walking away from what was clearly a mandate from Miss Joan.
Ena quickly hurried up the three steps. With each step she took, she told herself that she wasn’t going to regret this. After all, she had spoken to Miss Joan hundreds of times before. This would just be another one of those times. Lightning was not going to streak across the sky and strike her the moment she entered. She was just paying her respects to an old friend.
A rather scary old friend, she thought as she pushed the diner door open with fingertips that were positively icy.
Chapter Four (#u24835d01-3b54-5852-8dd5-bf75274c8407)
“Take a seat at the counter, girl,” Miss Joan instructed without sparing Ena so much as a glance over her shoulder.
Miss Joan waved a very thin hand toward an empty stool that just happened to be right in the middle of the counter. It was also directly in front of where the woman usually stood when she was observing the various activities that were going on within her diner.
When Ena complied, Miss Joan got behind the counter and asked, “You still take your coffee black?”
“I do,” Ena answered.
Nodding, Miss Joan filled up a cup straight from the urn. The coffee in the cup was hot enough to generate its own cloud directly above the shimmering black liquid. Years of practice had the woman placing the cup and its saucer in front of Ena without spilling so much as a single drop.
“Are you hungry?” Miss Joan asked.
Ena shook her head. “No, ma’am, I’m fine,” she answered.
Miss Joan’s eyes narrowed as they pinned hers with a penetrating look. “When did you eat last?” she asked.
She should have known that she couldn’t get away with such a vague answer. She would have no peace until she gave Miss Joan something a little more specific. “I had something at a drive-through early this morning,” she told the woman.
“You’re hungry,” Miss Joan declared in her no-nonsense voice. “Angel,” she called out to the chef she had come to rely on so heavily. “I need an order of two eggs, sunny-side up, two strips of bacon, crisp, and one slice of white toast, buttered.” Her eyes met Ena’s. “Did I forget anything?”
Ena moved her head from side to side. “No. You never do.” It was as much of an observation as it was a compliment.
Other than the fact that Miss Joan’s hair looked a little redder than it had when she’d left Forever, the woman hadn’t changed a bit, nor had she missed so much as a beat, Ena thought. There was something to be said for that.
Waiting on the order, Miss Joan crossed back to Ena. “You back for good?” the woman asked bluntly, not wasting any time beating around the bush.
She wanted to yell out “No,” but instead, she proceeded with caution. “I’m taking it one day at a time.”
Miss Joan surprised her by letting the response stand. “That’s as good a plan as any,” the woman allowed. One of her old-timers seated at the end of the counter called out her name and Miss Joan glared in the man’s direction. “Can’t you see I’m busy talking to Bruce O’Rourke’s prodigal daughter?” Shaking her head, she looked back at Ena. “Some people act as if they were raised by she-wolves and have no idea what it means to have manners.”
Just then, Angel placed the order on the counter between the kitchen and the main room. “Your order’s ready, Miss Joan,” Angel told her.
“I see it, I see it. Keep your shirt on,” Miss Joan replied testily. Picking the plate up, she brought it over to Ena and put the meal in front of her beside the half-empty coffee cup. Moving seamlessly, she automatically filled the cup up. “Let me know if there’s anything else that you need.”
Ena had been debating whether or not to say something from the moment she had finally walked into the diner. She decided that she had nothing to lose. “There is something.”
Miss Joan retraced her steps and returned to the center of the counter. She looked at the young woman expectantly. “Okay, go on.” But before Ena said a word, Miss Joan held her hand up to temporarily stop her. The man at the end of the counter had apparently leaned in to listen to what was about to be said. “This doesn’t concern you, Ed,” Miss Joan said sharply. “Drink your coffee.” It was an order.
“Yes, ma’am,” the old-timer murmured, picking up his cup.
Miss Joan’s eyes shifted back to Ena. “All right, go ahead.”
Ena pulled her courage to her. “Why didn’t you try to find a way to get word to me?” she asked, the question emerging without any preamble.
Miss Joan raised one of her carefully penciled-in eyebrows. “About?”
The woman knew damn well what this was about, Ena thought, exasperated. But because this was Miss Joan, she played along and answered, “My father. And before you say that you didn’t know how to reach me, your step-grandson knew where to find me in order to send that letter notifying me about my father’s death and the fact that there was a will. We both know that nobody knows anything in this town without you knowing it first.”
“You’re giving me way too much credit, girl,” Miss Joan said, deflecting the comment.
“That’s not true, Miss Joan, and you and I know it,” Ena informed her. Her voice grew even more serious. “Why didn’t you let me know my father was dying?”
Miss Joan moved in closer over the counter, lowering her voice. “Because your father didn’t want me to let you know.”
Anger mingled with frustration flashed through Ena’s soul. “The noble warrior, dying alone, was that it?” she asked sarcastically.
Miss Joan didn’t react well to sarcasm, but for once, she let it slide. She answered the question honestly. “You left ten years ago and stayed away all that time. Your father didn’t want some spark of belated guilt being the reason you came back. Besides,” she continued, “your father wanted you to remember him the way he was, not the shell of a man he became just before he died.”
Ena stared at Miss Joan. She wasn’t sure what to believe. “So it was vanity that kept him from getting in touch with me?”
Miss Joan shrugged at Ena’s conclusion. “If that’s how you want to see it. But I always thought you were smarter than that.”
“How else am I supposed to see it?” Ena asked, raising her voice.
Miss Joan looked at her sharply. “Eat your breakfast before it gets cold,” she ordered just before finally turning her attention to the man seated at the end of the counter.
Any appetite she might have had was gone now, but Ena knew better than to just walk away without at least eating some of the breakfast in front of her. Miss Joan would take that as an insult, not just to her but also to the woman she had working in her kitchen. Miss Joan had never been big on compliments, but in her own way she was fiercely protective of the people she took under her wing.
So Ena forced herself to eat as much as she could keep safely down, then, when she was certain Miss Joan was otherwise occupied, she quietly slipped away from the counter. Ena left a twenty-dollar bill beside her plate, thinking that would cover breakfast and then some.
She had reached the entrance and had almost made good her getaway when she felt a hand on her arm. Startled, she looked and saw that the hand belonged to a waitress she didn’t recognize.
The waitress, a girl who might have barely been out of high school, pressed the twenty she’d left on the counter into her hand. Ena looked at the waitress quizzically.
“Miss Joan told me to tell you that she never said anything about charging for the meal,” the waitress told her.
Ena looked down at the twenty. Damn that woman, always getting in the last word, she thought. Just like her father.
Out loud, she observed, “I guess she never said a lot of things.”
“Do you want me to tell her that?” the waitress asked.
Ena shook her head. “No, never mind. Here,” she said, trying to give the money to the waitress. “Consider this a tip.”
But the other woman kept her hand tightly closed. “Can’t,” the waitress protested. “I didn’t earn it and Miss Joan wouldn’t like me taking money like this for no reason.”
With that, the waitress turned on her heel and retreated back into the diner.
Ena sighed. Looks like we’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto, she thought. Ten years in Dallas had caused her to forget just how frustratingly set in her ways Miss Joan could be.
The next six months were going to be hell.
But that didn’t change the fact that Miss Joan’s step-grandson was right. If she walked away from the ranch, her father would have won their final battle. There was no way she was about to allow that to happen. She couldn’t bear it.
“Into the valley of death rode the six hundred,” Ena murmured under her breath, quoting Tennyson’s epic poem “The Charge of the Light Brigade.” She felt as if she were going through the motions of reliving the actual events depicted in the poem.
Except that she was determined to come out of this alive and victorious.


“Hey, boss,” Roy Bailey, one of the hands working on the Double E, called out into the stable. Mitch was inside working with an orphaned foal that was having a great deal of trouble taking his nourishment from the bottle that was being offered to it. “I think she’s back.”
“You’re going to have to be more specific,” Mitch responded, raising his voice while keeping his attention on the foal. “Which she are you talking about?”
“He means Mr. Bruce’s daughter,” Wade answered, speaking up for the other ranch hand. “And from what I can see, she doesn’t look all that happy.”
“I’m guessing she’s had the terms of the will spelled out for her,” Mitch said. “Hey, Bailey, take over trying to feed this little guy,” he instructed the ranch hand, holding out the bottle to him.
Bailey looked rather reluctant, although the hired hand took the bottle from Mitch. “I’m not good with a bottle,” he protested.
“That’s not the way I hear it,” Mitch said with a laugh. “Just hold the bottle. With any luck, the foal will do the rest,” he told Bailey.
Rising to his feet, Mitch dusted off his hands. He stepped out of the stables just as Ena was making her way to the ranch house.
He cut her off before she had a chance to mount the steps leading to the porch. Bailey was right about Ena’s appearance, he thought.
Out loud, Mitch observed, “Well, you certainly don’t look very happy.”
Startled, she looked in his direction. Her expression hardened. “I’m not,” she told him.
“I take it that your dad’s lawyer told you the terms of the will?”
Mitch put it in the form of a question, but he already knew the answer. She wouldn’t have been frowning that way if she had been on the receiving end of news that she welcomed.
“Yes, he did,” Ena said grimly.
He looked at her for a long moment. “Is that scowl on your face because you’ve decided not to stay—or because you have?”
Diplomacy was obviously a lost art out here, Ena thought.
“That’s pretty blunt,” she observed. “You certainly don’t believe in beating around the bush, do you, Mitch?”
“Only when it’s fun,” he said. Then he sobered and added, “But no, not usually. And not, apparently, in this case.” His eyes searched her face, looking for a clue. “So, you haven’t told me. Are you staying?” he asked, phrasing his question in another form.
Her eyes narrowed. Was he being cute or was he just toying with her? “Do I have a choice in the matter?”
He spread his arms wide. “You could leave,” he reminded her.
“Right,” she said sarcastically. “And forfeit my birthright?” she asked, stunned that he would even suggest that.
“Is that important to you?” Mitch asked. He was curious to hear what her response to that would be.
“Honestly?” she asked. When Mitch nodded, she told him, “What’s important to me is not letting that old man win.”
There was that stubborn spirit of hers again, Mitch thought. “Despite whatever I might have alluded to earlier, I don’t really think it matters all that much to him one way or the other,” he told her, covertly observing her expression. “The old man is past the point of caring.”
“Well, I’m not and it does to me,” Ena informed him. “And I’ll be damned if he gets to ace me out of something that’s been in the family for three generations just because I had the audacity to be born a female and not his male heir.”
He, for one, thought that her having been born a female was a great boon to the world, and especially to him, but he wasn’t about to voice that sentiment to her, at least not right now. It would get him into a lot of hot water for a hell of a whole lot of reasons.
“Just so I’m clear on this, you’re going to stay on and run the ranch?” he asked, waiting for a confirmation from her.
Ena closed her eyes. The frustrated sigh came up from the bottom of her very toes. “It certainly looks that way,” she replied, opening her eyes again.
If he let himself, he could get lost in those eyes, Mitch thought. He always could.
“You’re going to need help,” he concluded.
“Ordinarily, I would take that as an insult,” she told him. She liked to think of herself as self-sufficient and independent, but she also knew her limitations. “But right now, I have to admit that you’re right. I’m going to need help. A lot of help. To be perfectly honest, I don’t really know the first thing about running a ranch—” She saw him opening his mouth to say something and she got ahead of what she knew he was going to say. “And yes, I know I grew up here, but just because you grow up next to a bakery doesn’t mean you have the slightest idea how bread is made. Especially if the baker won’t let you into the kitchen.”
He looked impressed by the fact that she could admit that. “Best way I know how to get started is to just jump right into the thick of things and start working,” he told her. She was looking at him quizzically, so he explained, “There’s a foal in the stables whose mama died giving birth to him and he needs to be fed if he has any chance of surviving.”
The very abbreviated story unintentionally brought back painful memories for Ena. Her mother hadn’t died in childbirth, but her twin had. She could definitely relate to that foal on some level.
“Take me to him,” she told Mitch.
Mitch suppressed a smile. He’d been hoping for that sort of reaction from her.
“Right this way, Ms. O’Rourke,” he said politely, leading the way into the stable.
The foal was skittish when she came up to him. Ena was slightly uncomfortable as she glanced toward Mitch for guidance.
“Just start talking to him,” he told her.
“What am I supposed to say?” Ena asked, at a loss for how to proceed.
Mitch shrugged. He’d never had to think about it before. “Anything that comes to mind. Pretend you’re talking to a little kid,” he suggested.
But she shook her head. “Still not helping. Not many little kids need an accountant,” she pointed out.
He thought for a moment, searching for something she could work with. “Tell him how good-looking he is. Every living creature likes to hear that,” he told her.
Ena wasn’t sure about that. “Really?” she asked him uncertainly.
“Really.” Rather than demonstrate, he thought it best to leave it up to her. “Come on,” he coaxed. “You can do it. You know how to talk. I know you do,” he insisted. “I’ve heard you.”
Ena looked at him sharply. Was he telling her that he remembered going to school with her? That he’d eavesdropped on her talking to someone? Just how much did he remember? Because she instantly recalled the less-than-flattering memories of all but throwing herself at the mysterious new stud who had walked into her school and her life. She also painfully recollected having him politely ignore each and every one of her passes. If he did remember all those passes that fell by the wayside, then working with him to run the ranch was not an option. She didn’t handle humiliation well and she’d worry that he was laughing at her.
“What do you mean by that?” she asked suspiciously, bracing herself.
“Just what I said,” he answered innocently. “I’ve heard you. You talked to me when you came here this morning.”
“Oh,” she responded, simmering down. “That’s what you meant.”
“Yes. Why?” Mitch asked. “What did you think I meant?”
“Never mind,” Ena told him, waving away the foreman’s question.
Taking the bottle from one of the men she gathered was working with Mitch, she turned her attention to the foal. The wobbly colt all but attacked the bottle, sucking on it as if his very life depended on it.
He was probably right, Ena thought. “What a good boy,” she murmured to the foal, pleased by the success she was having.
Chapter Five (#u24835d01-3b54-5852-8dd5-bf75274c8407)
Mitch stood off to the side of the stall, observing Ena as she fed the foal.
“See, it’s coming back to you,” Mitch told her. The bottle was empty but the foal was still trying to suck more milk out of it. Drawing closer to Ena and the foal, Mitch took the bottle out of her hand and away from the nursing foal. “You’re a natural.”
Ena shrugged. “It doesn’t take much to hold a bottle. The foal’s doing the work. It’s not like I’m forcing the liquid down his throat.”
Mitch shook his head. He didn’t remember her being like this when they were in school together.
“I would have thought that being away from here would have made you less defensive, not more,” he said. “There’s nothing wrong in accepting a compliment.”
“I don’t need you to tell me what’s right and what’s not right,” she informed him.
Mitch was not about to get embroiled in an argument, not over something so minor.

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