Karen Whiddon - Texas Ranch Justice

A shadow crossed his face. “Cancer. I hate cancer,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. He turned his face, giving her his hawklike profile while a muscle worked in his too-thin cheek.

Wondering if he also had some sort of cancer, she waited silently, not sure what to say. Her mother’s passing had drained her, made her realize she was now completely and utterly alone in the world. Without family. Until she’d found the diary, buried deep in a box of old photographs and mementos in the back of her mother’s closet. She’d realized she wasn’t actually alone. She had him. Her father. Whether he wanted to be or not. For the first time she wondered if he’d even been aware of her existence.

Finally, he swiveled his head to look at her again. “Why have you come here?” he rasped. “Surely you didn’t travel all this way to bring me news of her death.”

“No,” she admitted, glancing toward the doorway to see that the other man had remained, standing in a defensive stance just inside the doorway. As if he thought she might attempt bodily harm on the old man and he might have to jump in and perform a rescue. She wished he would leave, but lacked the nerve to ask him to go. Instead, she squared her shoulders and turned back to face the old man in the wheelchair.

“When my mother left you, she was pregnant,” she told him, holding her chin high and hoping her voice didn’t quiver with nerves. “I’m realizing you might not have been aware of that.” Another deep breath. Steady, steady. “That’s why I’m here. I wanted to meet you. I’m your daughter.”

Hal stared, his mouth working. “No,” he said faintly. “She wouldn’t have done that to me.”

Behind her, she was conscious of the other man moving into the room and toward her. A gesture from Hal’s age-spotted hand stopped him.

Scarlett refused to look away from her father, fully expecting him to deny her, demand proof, a DNA test. She wouldn’t blame him. Here she was, showing up after thirty years, a grown child he hadn’t even known he had.

“Why?” The plaintive question tore at her heart. “Why wouldn’t she have at least let me know?”

“I’m not sure. She was a proud woman,” she said softly. “She never even told me your name. All she would say was that she’d loved you once.”

Pain formed new creases in the loose skin on his face. He swore, looking away and covering his face with his shaking hands.

“You need to go.” The younger man grabbed her arm. “Don’t be bothering him with your ridiculous claims.”

Furious, she jerked away, glaring up at him. “Don’t even think you can sum up my life that way. I came here to meet this man—my father. This has nothing to do with you, whoever you are.”

Eyes hard, he started to speak.

“Wait,” Hal interceded. “She’s right, Travis. This is private, between the two of us.”

The other man shook his head. He wouldn’t go easy, she saw. “Don’t let her come in here and try to con you. I’m not sure what she wants, but she wants something. I can see right through her. She’s a gold digger, nothing more.”

“A gold digger?” She glanced around the room with its threadbare carpet and worn furniture in disbelief.

He snorted, opening his mouth again. Hal’s sharp bark of laughter forestalled him.

Her first reaction was hurt, that he found her somehow amusing. Her second, alarm as his laughter segued into a wheeze, then a round of jagged coughing that appeared to steal his breath away, making him gasp for air.

She rushed over, ignoring the other man completely. Once she reached the wheelchair, she wasn’t sure what to do. She settled for patting Hal’s hunched back as if he was a small child, making soothing sounds while praying he wouldn’t choke to death or something.

After a moment, he recovered. Swiping at his eyes with his gnarled fists, he flashed her a wan smile. “I want you to stay and visit awhile.”

The other man made a sound of protest, which both Scarlett and Hal ignored.

“You must be hungry,” Hal said. “After such a long trip. Let’s go into the kitchen and I’ll have my nurse’s aide make you something to eat.”

Nurse’s aide. She wanted to ask out loud if he was ill, though the question seemed so superfluous since he clearly was. With what, she didn’t know, though maybe he’d tell her.

Her mother had been much younger than him, so much so that Maggie had written in her diary that the two of them had kept their affair secret. She’d wanted to marry, but Hal had refused, saying it wouldn’t be fair in the future, when he’d become an old man and she remained a young woman still.

This had only served to break Maggie’s heart. She’d believed their love could easily have survived such a test. Clearly, Hal had felt otherwise.

Scarlett followed the wheelchair into the kitchen, marveling at how easily he controlled it with his stick-thin arms. This room too had clearly seen better times. The faded linoleum had begun to crack and chip, and the wooden cabinets were scratched and dull.

She almost shook her head at the other man’s earlier comment. Why would she attempt to take anything from someone who clearly had so little? Her mother had left her wanting for nothing—their little home paid for, along with the proceeds from a nice life insurance policy. She had more than enough to open her own art gallery, a long-term goal of hers.

The nurse appeared, a stout, dusky-skinned, stern-faced woman with a mop of curly black hair. Seeing Scarlett, she smiled, which totally transformed her face. “A visitor!” she exclaimed, sounding delighted. “It’s been so long since someone came to see Mr. Hal. Have a seat, let me get you a tall glass of sweet tea.”

Smiling back, Scarlett pulled out a chair. “Thank you, I’d like that.”

“And something to eat,” Hal put in. “Please, Delilah. She’s come a long way to get here and I’ll bet she’s starving.”

“Definitely.” Delilah glanced toward the other room. “What about Travis? Will he be joining us?”

Travis. So that was the other man’s name. Who was he exactly? Did he work for her father or was Travis Hal’s son, her half-brother? She watched Hal carefully, curious to hear his answer.

“I think he went out to the barn,” Hal finally said. Catching Scarlett’s gaze, he grimaced. “Don’t mind him. He feels he has to look out for everyone, particularly me.”

“Does he work here?” she asked.

Hal smiled. “He’s my stepson and, yes, he runs the place.”

Stepson. So not related. She only nodded.

“Tell me about yourself,” Hal urged, covering her hand with his. The gnarled and age-spotted fingers made her inexplicably feel like crying. “After all, I have thirty years to catch up on.”

Delilah placed two plates in front of them. Huge sandwiches, overflowing with chicken and lettuce and tomato, as well as a generous dollop of potato salad, and a pickle. She beamed at Scarlett as she placed tall, sweating glasses of iced tea on the table. “Y’all let me know if you need anything else, okay?”

“This looks fantastic,” Scarlett said. “Thank you so much.”

Looking from one to the other, Hal nodded. “Yes, thank you, Delilah.”

“You’re welcome. Now, Scarlett, how long are you staying? Would you like me to make up one of the guest beds for her, Mr. Hal?”

“Please,” he rasped, before eyeing Scarlett. “If that’s all right with you? I’d really like you to stay as long as you like.”

“I’d love that,” she responded softly. “And Delilah, I don’t want to make extra work for you. If you’ll just leave the linens on the dresser, I can make the bed up myself.”

“As if,” the older woman sniffed. “Not in my lifetime. I’ll get everything ready for you myself.” She bustled off without a backward glance.