Deborah Camp Read Online Free PDF Page B

dresses and perfume?” She tipped back her head and let loose a harsh laugh. “There was a time when I’d use this here garment as a polishing rag!” She tossed the parcel back at him and he caught it against his chest. “And I’ve got no use for perfume on a cattle ranch. No, thanks.” She stalked to the house.
    “You’re welcome,” he called after her before she could slam the door against his voice.
    “That peckerwood,” she grumbled, tossing her hat and gloves onto the table.
    Oleta was stirring a pot of beans on the stove. “Is that blue-eyed man back?”
    “Yes.” Cassie dropped into a chair, feeling depleted and defeated. She hated Junior for making her feel thatway. “You were watching out the window, so don’t pretend like you don’t know what happened.”
    “What was in the package?” Oleta asked, abandoning any pretense.
    “A dress and perfume. Can you believe that? He thinks he can buy me some clothes and I’ll get all giddy-headed and hand over my ranch to him.”
    “His ranch, he say. He is Junior.”
    “He is out of luck if he thinks he’s going to run this ranch while I head for the nearest town in my pretty new dress.” That he would treat her with such frivolous regard made her blood thicken to molasses consistency. “Where’s he been all this time anyway? Off gallivanting, that’s where,” she answered for Oleta. “He’s been whoring and gambling while I dealt with his ornery old pappy. He probably heard that A.J. died, so he came back here and expects me to hand over the ranch. Ha!” She shot up from the chair and began to pace furiously. “I’d rather eat a mile of dirt than turn over one acre to him.”
    Oleta pulled a bitter face. “Eat dirt? Phwu-ee! Why do that? Why not talk to him and maybe he can help you with this place?”
    “I don’t need his help.”
    “You need somebody’s help.”
    “Who says?” Cassie challenged, stopping to glare at the girl, then regretting it when Oleta ducked her head so that a black curtain of hair fell along either side of her face. “Don’t hide from me.” Cassie laid a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “I’m not yelling at you. I’m just—just yelling. Shouting at the Devil. I don’t mean to frighten you, Oleta. Now, why do you think I needsomebody’s help? I’m getting this place into shape. It’s better than it was before A.J. died.”
    Oleta shrugged. “I wasn’t here when he lived. All I know is that a woman cannot work a ranch by herself. She needs a man.”
    “I’ve got two.”
    “T-Bone is getting old, and Gabe, he is getting lazy. That man—that Junior man—he is strong and young. If he feels that this is his ranch, he will make sure it runs good. He could help you.”
    “I don’t want him thinking that this ranch is his.”
    “But it is his,” Oleta said, her simple statement slicing through Cassie like a hot knife. “He was raised up here.”
    “But he doesn’t care about it like I do. Otherwise, he would have stuck around.”
    The door opened and the object of their discussion strode inside. Dropping his bedroll, and the parcel containing the dress and petticoat onto the floor at his feet, he then hung his hat on a peg—the one usually reserved for Cassie’s hat—and pulled off his gloves.
    “What’s for supper?”
    “What’s f-for—?” Cassie stuttered in frustration. “You’re expecting to stay for supper, are you?”
    “Sure, don’t mind if I do, thanks.” He sniffed the air. “Beans and cornbread?”
    Oleta giggled and turned her back to him to remove a round pan of yellow bread from the oven. He glanced around and his gaze came to rest on the loft.
    “What’s up there now?”
    “I’m going to make it my office.”
    “Office?” He arched a brow. “You going into business? Maybe opening a bank?”
    “I’m putting my office up there,” she said, bristling. “Haven’t had time to arrange things yet, but I will. My desk is up there, and I’m going to build shelves