Janet Dean - The Bride Wore Spurs

Papa was lying down but not asleep. The bed dwarfed him. The pale color of his skin matched the pillowcase beneath his head. Were the lines edged into his face lines of suffering?

“Hi, Papa,” she said, then set the pain medicine on his nightstand.

His gaze settled on the bottle. “You know.”

“Yes.” She dropped onto the bed and clasped one of his hands in both of hers. Tears burned the back of her eyes. She blinked them away.

“I’m sorry, Daughter. I’d hoped to keep it from you a little longer.” He raised his other hand, cupped her jaw. “I’d do anything to change things. To be here for you.”

“I know.” She sucked in a breath. “Tom and our top hand quit.”

As if warding off the bad news, Papa closed his eyes, then met her gaze. “You’ve got decisions to make. I’m sure Matt will step up and run things until you can sell the spread.”

“I won’t sell.”

“Hannah, you’ve got no choice. It’ll take a while, but we’ll manage. I’ll hang on as long as I can. When my time comes, I want you to return to Charleston, live with Mary Esther. They’ll treat you well, be the family you’ll need.”

She wouldn’t leave the ranch. She couldn’t. Never.

With the strength of her will, she squared her shoulders. She and Papa couldn’t give up. She moved his blue-veined hand to her lips and kissed it. “You have plenty of time. Let’s talk about something else.”

“I have to know you’ll be taken care of after I’m gone. Please, hear me out on this. You can’t stay. This ranch is too much for a lone woman.”

Weary lines carving his face, Papa closed his eyes.

She tucked the blanket under his chin. “You’re right, Papa. Rest.”

“That’s my girl.” A smile curved his lips, yet his eyes remained closed. The smile eased, his breathing slowed. He slept.

Hannah slipped out of the room and headed for the stable. She had to give her father peace. But how?

Her mind churned with Doc’s diagnosis, the approaching roundup and Papa’s determination to sell the ranch. She needed the wisdom of God but with everything churning inside of her mind, she couldn’t hear His quiet voice.

A ride would clear her head. She threw a blanket and saddle on Papa’s horse. Lightning probably hadn’t been ridden much and needed the exercise.

She found Jake in the tack room. “I’m going to ride out to the north range.”

“Always do my best cogitatin’ on horseback.”

“Me, too.” She gave him a weak smile then led Lightning from the stable, mounted and headed north.

In her entire life she’d never carried the weight of responsibility she shouldered now. What if she couldn’t find the hands she needed? Most honest, hardworking cowpokes were employed. She didn’t trust those loafing around town.

She bit her lip. Matt had been right. She couldn’t handle things by herself. Not a camel back trunk, not a cattle ranch. Not her father’s death.

God, please, help me. Show me what to do.

Near the copse of cottonwoods alongside the creek winding through the Lazy P, Hannah slowed Lightning then stood in the stirrups. Her gaze scanned the herd dotting the landscape, a mix of breeding Hereford and longhorn, evidence of one of the many changes in ranching, along with fenced pastures, wells, windmills, earthen tanks and short drives to railroad heads. By fencing their cattle, they’d protected the land from overgrazing. Or so she hoped. Without rain they still faced that risk. They’d raised hay and saved half of their herd during the harsh winter of ’86 and ’87. Exactly why she couldn’t deplete their supply in spring.

She dismounted and the leather creaked, loud in the stillness. A fly buzzed near Hannah’s head then lighted on the horse’s flank. Lightning flicked his tail but the fly persisted.

Hannah shooed the pest, then walked the horse to a patch of shade, struggling to gather her thoughts and come up with acceptable options. Each alternative that paraded through her mind was worse than the last.

Her gaze roamed the pastureland she loved, settling on the prairie dogs playing tag across the way. The cattle lowing in the background was a sound she’d heard all her life. A few calves bunting each other brought a smile to her face.

How could she leave the ranch? She’d shrivel up and lose herself in Charleston. To remain on this land and give her father peace, she’d do whatever she had to do.

In the distance she spotted a lone rider. Even from here she could identify him and his horse. Matt. A man who cared about Papa and would understand her grief.

Papa trusted him. Matt had only been helping Papa, not trying for financial gain. He’d been right about the cowhands, but instead of listening to his advice, she’d suspected his motives. She’d misjudged the man. She had nothing to fear from Matt, a man she could lean on.

He loved the land. He’d help her find a way.

* * *

Matt had come to apologize. The fire he’d seen in Hannah’s eyes earlier had vanished, replaced with a gut-wrenching sorrow that slammed into him.

God help her, she knows.

Huddled on the ground in the shade of a cottonwood, she exhaled a shaky breath, turning her gaze to the pastureland beyond. Her shoulders sagged, as if the starch had left her spine.

“Papa’s dying,” she said, tugging on a weed that wouldn’t budge.

To hear the words from her lips, each word laden with anguish, knotted his throat. He sat back on his heels beside her. “I’m sorry.”

She stopped fiddling with the weed and folded her hands on her knees. “Me, too.”

“Your father doesn’t deserve this.” But then, who did?

“How long have you known he has...he was sick?”

“About a month, since I took him to the specialist in Dallas.” He took her hand. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” She raised determined eyes to his. “But I’ll tell you what I’m not going to do. I’m not going to leave this land.”

He’d seen Hannah as a nuisance, incapable of facing realities. Yet look at her now. Strong. Not falling apart as most women would’ve done. He bit back a sigh. Strong or not, she couldn’t run this ranch alone.

“Martin needs the peace of knowing you’re with family, back in Charleston. Best thing you can do for him is sell the ranch.”

“I’d do anything to please him.” Her voice broke. “Anything but that.” She rose and turned her back to him, swiping at her eyes. Yet that ramrod spine spoke of spirit and strength. Silhouetted against the horizon, small and alone, she had no one to turn to for comfort.

Except him.

Matt crossed the distance in two strides and gathered her into his arms. Something he’d do for anyone struggling with sorrow, for any one of his brother’s friends.

She laid her face against his chest, her tears dampening his shirt. He cradled her close, his heart pounding like the hooves of a herd of wild mustangs. What was happening to him?

“I can’t run the ranch alone,” she said, lurching away. “I can’t handle the roundup without a crew. I can’t make Papa well.” She lifted glistening eyes rimmed with spiky lashes, eyes filled with desperation.

“I’ll help any way I can.” He wanted to ease her burden. Ease her heartache, but he didn’t have the power. God, help her.

As if deep in thought, she stepped away, eyes fixed on the horizon, filled with a faraway look. What was she thinking?

She turned to him, resolve on her face. “You’d help me even after the way I treated you earlier?”

“Yes, of course. I care about Martin. About what will happen to you. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

She gave a nod, resolute blue eyes nailing him with the force of a blacksmith’s hammer shoeing a horse.