In His Will (18 page)

“Thank you both!”

“We’re praying,” Eva added.

“Please do. It looks bad.” They loaded the jeep; then Sondra raced on to the vet’s and back home.

❧

Dylan paced the length of the barn and back again. Thirteen cows had died. He shook his head.
Lord, if I were a superstitious man, that would spook me. You’re in control of this, but I don’t understand why this happened or how we’ll get through.

The vet had just left after staying round the clock. His assistant would be here for the next shift. From the looks of it, one or two more cows wouldn’t pull through. The other eighteen would. Between the ones they lost and the medical cost of saving the others, the ranch had just suffered a nasty blow.

Lord, I’m grasping at straws here. You know how hard I’ve been working. You know how important it is to me to reach that goal so Sondra won’t just marry me out of pressure. With the feed prices high and beef prices low, it was already tight. This—well, this is a disaster. Four weeks. There are only four weeks until the lawyer figures out the profit margin. What am I to do?

“Dylan.”

He wheeled around. Sondra walked toward him. Over the past thirty-six hours, she’d brought mountains of food and gallons of good, strong coffee to the barn. Instead of getting underfoot and pestering the vet with a bunch of questions, she’d seen to the matters that didn’t disappear just because an emergency cropped up. Sweet little Sondra didn’t even make a big deal of it, either. Pitching in came naturally to her—a trait Dylan admired to no end.

Others noticed, too. Edgar wasn’t a man to do a lot of extra talking, but he’d come to the barn this morning. Sondra had gotten up early and already mucked the horses’ stalls in order to free him up to do something else. He’d slapped Dylan on the shoulder and murmured, “You best better claim that gal soon, or I’m a-gonna.”

Dylan folded his arms across his chest. “Over my dead body.”

Edgar let out a rusty chuckle.

The moment of levity ended. More pressing issues were at hand. Dylan lowered his voice. “I want you to ride the fence. Keep close watch.”

Solemnly nodding, Edgar rasped, “Gotcha.”

Before Sondra arrived at the pasture yesterday, Dylan had ascertained the mountain laurel didn’t end up in the pasture by accident. The sheer volume proved the wind couldn’t have blown the heavy branches over the barbed wire fence. That’s where it was, too—inside the pasture, not outside the wire, blown up by the fence. Someone intentionally set the poison in the pasture.

The hands knew it, too. Plenty of hot words and suspicions flew—until Sondra arrived. Dylan barely had a chance to order the men to keep their conjecture to themselves before she’d gotten out of the truck. Since then, they’d been circumspect. No use scaring the poor widow half out of her wits.

Sabotage. But who had a motive? More importantly, how could Dylan protect Sondra and the ranch from any further danger? Oblivious, she crossed the floor as if it were freshly swept linoleum instead of ankle-deep in cow patties. The tray she carried had several empty spots on it, telling him the men probably crowded around to grab sandwiches the minute she stepped foot out of the house. Even so, three big subs remained.

“I figured you must be starving.”

As she drew closer, he squinted at the baby sling she used to carry PeeWee. It looked wrong.

“Chips and soda.” She laughed weakly. “Teresa is at the house, watching Matt.”

“Good.” He took the tray from her and set it on a bale of hay.

“Middle one’s roast beef and cheddar—your favorite.”

Fishing into the roomy cloth sling, she pulled out a bag of barbecue chips and a soda.

“Mmm. Those are my favorites, too.”

A smile sketched across her face. “I know.”

She tilted her head toward the tray. “Roland, there’s plenty more where this came from. Help yourself.”

Nodding, the vet’s assistant finished fiddling with an IV going to one of the cows. “Much obliged.” He swiped a sandwich and soda, then cleared his throat. “They’re doin’ about the same. Mind if I go to the stables and look at the litter?”

“Go ahead.” Sondra made a vague gesture. “The only one promised is the pup with white socks. You’re welcome to any of the others.”

“Thanks.” He strode out.

Dylan took a bite. Her sandwiches always tasted great. This one might as well have been filled with sawdust. “Sondra, honey, I’m worried.”

She motioned toward his sandwich. “Eat. Worrying won’t change things.”

He washed the bite down with soda.

She opened a soda and took a sip. “You’re the one who’s counseled me to exercise faith. I guess it’s time for me to suggest it’s your turn.”

“Feeling sassy, are you?”

She lifted the can in a salute. “Probably. I’m a scrapper, you know.”

“Yeah. It’s an admirable quality. . .as long as you rein it in so you don’t gallop straight into trouble.”

“Trouble seems to find me often enough. I’m not about to issue any invitations!”

Studying her, he forced a smile. “Does it go with the hair?”

She smoothed back a few stray, twirly wisps. “Probably. Kenny’s mom said God painted me with red neon to warn men off.”

His last gulp of soda didn’t stay down. Dylan choked and crushed the can in his fist. “What did she know, anyway?”

Sondra shrugged, but Dylan knew her too well to be fooled by the nonchalant action. The words stung. He refused to let them remain unchallenged. Sauntering over, he tossed aside the can and stared at Sondra’s hair. Her eyes dilated with surprise.

“Neon red? The woman’s color blind. It’s mahogany. Rich, wonderful mahogany.” He unfastened the barrette, threaded his hands through her hair, and growled, “Your hair doesn’t warn a man off—it beckons him. Especially this man.”

Her lips parted in surprise.

Dylan couldn’t help himself. He’d longed to kiss her again, ever since that day under the mistletoe. Hands full of her hair, cradling her head, he lowered his head.

“Hey, boss!”

Sondra jerked away. His hands tangled in her hair, but she shook free, her cheeks scorched with color.

Nickels scuffled in. “Howie and me been think—oh.” He halted, and his gaze shifted from Dylan to Sondra and back. “I’ll get back to you later.”

“Don’t let me keep you.” Sondra sidled away. “I was just bringing food. There’s a sandwich. Help yourself.”

Once she was gone, Nickels smirked. “She’s cuter ’n a bug’s ear when she’s all embarrassed like that. Voice goes up a whole octave, too.”

Dylan didn’t say a thing.

Nickels grinned unrepentantly. “Only other time I’ve seen her do that was when she hit you with that pie. I suspect you got something even sweeter this time.”

“You’re wrong.” Dylan glowered.

“Sorry, my timing stunk. So anyway, Howie and me were talking. We wondered who had it in for you or Sondra. We’ve gotta puzzle out who’s got motive.”

Dylan turned to the side and gulped soda. “If you have any ideas, let me know.”

“Can’t think of anyone who’s got a bone to pick with you. As for Miz Thankful, well, it stretches my mind to imagine anyone bein’ upset with her.”

“She’s a good woman.” Dylan changed the subject. He didn’t want to say anything more, but he’d already called the sheriff. Dylan could think of several people with a grudge—Miller’s relatives.

The vet’s assistant returned. Weary to the bone, Dylan grabbed a blanket and headed toward the ladder to the loft. He’d ascended three rungs when his sister’s voice stopped him. “Dylan, the guest bedroom is ready for you. I stopped by your place and brought fresh clothes, too.”

He looked down at her. “No thanks. I’ll catch a few winks here.”

His sister gave him a searching look. “Okay. Gotcha. Best for you to sleep here. Definitely best.”

He didn’t reply. Once he settled into a bed of hay and covered himself with the blanket, weariness washed over him in waves.
Sondra couldn’t face me after that almost-kiss.

Eighteen

The printouts from the computer formed tidy stacks on the table. Dylan and Sondra sat side-by-side as she looked at the bottom line. It showed a deficit of five thousand dollars. Five stinking thousand dollars. If they couldn’t account for those monies, the ranch would fall below the guidelines listed in Miller’s will.

“So if we sell some steers right now, it still won’t boost the profit?”

“No. They’ll register at the same value as the price you’d get for them.”

“If we sell off most of the hay we have on hand, that could raise some money.”

Dylan grimaced. “Not enough. I’ve already cut it close on ordering. With feed prices at this level, I’d hoped to skim by.”

She chewed on the end of a pencil. “I thought you did that to reduce the chances for any other fires.”

He didn’t answer.

Sondra’s eyes narrowed. “That big roll of hay didn’t have any reason to catch fire, did it? It wasn’t green, so it shouldn’t have gotten hot. And there wasn’t a thunderstorm, either. You still don’t say anything about the fire.”

Dylan shoved the calculator across the table. The last figure on the sheet still told the same tale: They couldn’t wrangle an honest way of reaching the goal.

“What do you want me to say? It’s a bad situation.”

“This may sound paranoid, but I wondered if someone set it on fire.” She sucked in a quick breath and added, “And as long as I’m sounding like a nut case, I may as well confess that I suspect someone purposefully flung the branches into the pasture when the cattle got poisoned.”

Dylan studied his knuckles. They’d gotten scraped yesterday. “What made you think that, and who’d do such a thing?”

“I don’t know.” She spread her hands wide. “You have to admit, it’s pretty fishy that we’ve had two disasters in two weeks. There’s not mountain laurel anywhere around that pasture, and that road’s just a fire road that isn’t on the map. It struck me odd at the time, but we were all so busy, I didn’t say anything. Then the hay roll caught fire. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that it just happened to be the one next to the tractor barn.”

“Good thing Luna spotted the smoke. Replacing machinery is costly.”

“Exactly my point. This is the only ranch in the whole county that seems to be running into trouble.” She shoved back an errant curl. “Well, that’s not true. Compared to the Willards, I shouldn’t complain at all. Those poor little kids lost their parents and home last week.”

“That’s not a good comparison. The tornado was a terrible tragedy, but at least we know what caused it. What’s happened around here doesn’t have an explanation. Who do you think would attempt to sabotage the Curly Q?”

She shrugged. “I don’t have any enemies. And everyone in the community goes out of their way to sing your praises. The thing I keep coming back to is, if we don’t turn enough of a profit, the ranch gets sold.”

“But who benefits from that? None of Miller’s relatives gets a cent if we fail. A developer does.”

“I told you you’d probably think I’m acting paranoid. I can’t help it.” She blinked madly. “My son’s future is at risk.”

He cupped her face and rubbed away the tears that began streaking down her cheeks. “It doesn’t have to be, Sondra. Miller provided another way.”

She smiled bravely. “You’re right. Miller provided fifteen thousand in this eventuality. That’ll help Matt and me get started.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Fifteen won’t cover rent and child care for the first year.” His steady gaze held hers. “We’ll get married.”

“From the very start,” she said unsteadily, “we agreed that wasn’t an option.”

“We were total strangers back then. We’ve had almost a year to get to know each other. We’re far more compatible than either of us suspected.”

She stayed silent.

“We just finished tallying it up again. I’m sorry I didn’t pull you through.”

“Dylan, I’ve never once doubted your commitment or generosity. No one else would have worked as tirelessly or diligently. It’s not your fault.”

“But I can make it right. Marry me, Sondra.”

❧

Matthew started crying. Sondra wanted to wail right along with him. She pushed away from the table. “We have one more week.”

“Things won’t be any different next Friday.”

“Please excuse me.” She hastened out of the room and headed for the nursery. Sondra stood in the shaft of moonlight flooding the nursery and swallowed back her tears as she changed Matt’s diaper. A year and a half ago, she’d been planning her dreams-come-true wedding to Kenny. Now, she was seriously contemplating pledging her hand to a man who never once mentioned love in his proposal. Her heart ached.

Was it grief for having lost Kenny? Was it sadness that Dylan didn’t truly love her? She couldn’t untangle the knotted threads of emotions. Having someone to help her rear Matt would be an answer to prayer. She was so afraid of being a single parent.

That’s not a good enough reason to get married.

If she didn’t marry him, she and Matt would lose their home and precious time together. She’d need to go back to work as a teacher and leave him with a babysitter each day.
That’s a good enough reason for me to marry—but I’m just using Dylan. . .and that’s wrong.