Cathy Mcdavid - Her Holiday Rancher

Josh had targeted Gabe’s one weak spot, and the blow inflicted the desired damage.

He knew with all his heart his father had loved his mother deeply. That didn’t make it right for him to disregard his marriage vows. Gabe’s mother had raised him to be honorable. It was hard for him to accept the fact his father hadn’t divorced his wife before becoming involved with Gabe’s mother.

He’d asked once when he was twelve. His mother’s face had immediately hardened, and she told him to never, ever bring up the subject again or she’d tan his hide. It was a private matter between her and his father.

In his early twenties, Gabe approached his father and got no further with him. The reason his father gave for not marrying his mother—that Gabe’s maternal grandfather was very traditional and didn’t approve—smacked of an excuse. When Gabe pressed, his father had stormed from the room. Only the love and devotion he felt for both his parents kept him from resenting them.

“We’re done talking.” Gabe strode ahead without looking back.

Good manners dictated he should return to the house and tell Hector goodbye. The attorney had been his father’s closest confidant. But, like yesterday, Gabe needed an outlet to vent his frustration.

It was too late and too dark for a ride in the nearby mountains. Not too late to clean out the tack room, he decided. Nothing beat tossing a few crates and harnesses around to burn off steam. Dress shirt be damned.

“I remember,” Josh called after him. “It was you who punched me in the nose at school. You had a pretty good right hook for a kid.”

Gabe didn’t miss a step, though it was the first thing his brother had said that made him smile.

* * *

REESE OPENED THE jewelry box on her bedroom dresser, lifted out the top tray and removed a tiny framed picture hidden beneath. It was a ritual. Every year on this day, Celia’s birthday, Reese studied the picture of her newborn daughter, let the memories of her birth warm her heart and then placed a phone call.

Today, Reese came home from the bank during her lunch hour in order to call Celia, but also to check on her father. His tumble off the porch yesterday could have been worse. Luckily, he hadn’t fallen far, but he had landed hard and badly bruised his knee. Loss of balance was a common side effect of Parkinson’s. As was stooped posture. Her father looked ten years older than he had mere months ago. She’d also noticed a slight tremor in his right hand and a quiver in his voice. Each new symptom increased her despair.

Feeling the weight of the little silver frame in her hand, Reese stared at Celia’s infant face and was reminded of why she’d excused herself after lunching with her father and retreated to her bedroom. How could she not be thinking of her daughter on this special day? The problem with Parkinson’s was it consumed the thoughts of the person afflicted with it, along with their family members.

While Celia’s parents made no secret of her adoption, they and Celia were the only ones who knew Reese was her birth mother. Shortly after her high school graduation, Reese had moved to Oregon to live with her older cousin Megan on the pretense of taking a year off before college. There, she’d given birth to Celia, who was then adopted by Megan and her husband.

They adored Celia. They also encouraged her to have a relationship with Reese, for which Reese felt grateful and blessed.

Ever since Celia could talk, Reese called her on a prearranged day once a month. Three times over the years, she’d flown to Oregon for a visit. In her closet, Reese kept a small trunk filled with letters from Celia, drawings, cards, photographs and, lately, school papers. Her computer contained numerous picture files organized by age.

Someday, when they were both ready, Celia would come to Mustang Valley for a visit and to meet her grandfather. Reese hoped it was soon, before the Parkinson’s advanced to the point her father couldn’t function or communicate.

“Hi, sweet pea,” Reese said when Celia answered the phone. “Happy eleventh birthday.”

“Reese! You called.”

“Of course.” Reese bit back a sob. Her emotions were getting the best of her today. “It sounds like you have a cold.”

“We were supposed to go out for pizza tonight.” Celia snuffled. “Now we have to wait for the weekend.”

“That’s too bad.”

“I got your present. Thank you. The boots are exactly the ones I wanted.”

They talked for twenty minutes until Reese had to say goodbye. The meeting at Dos Estrellas was scheduled for two, and she wanted to check on her father one last time before leaving.

“I hope you feel better soon,” she said.

“Me, too. But I get to miss school, so that part’s good.”

Reese enjoyed their easy banter. “Send me pictures of the pizza party.”

“I will. Goodbye, Reese.”

“Goodbye, sweet pea.” Reese disconnected before softly saying, “I love you.” She and Celia weren’t quite close enough for her to speak the words. Not yet, anyway. Maybe one day. She refused to push.

In the kitchen, she found her father sitting at the table, having his customary afternoon coffee.

“I thought the doctor said caffeine was bad for you,” she scolded.

“Would you rather I have a whiskey?”

“Dad!”

“I’ve given up everything worthwhile. You’re not taking away my coffee.”

“Fine.” She patted his shoulder and kissed the top of his head. “I won’t tattle on you.”

“Your Aunt Louise sent me an email earlier. She wants to come for a visit at Christmas.”

“Great!” Reese’s mood brightened. She adored her father’s younger sister, who’d been like a second mother to her after her parents divorced. “How long’s she going to stay?”

“I told her no. That we were busy.”

“What!” Reese dropped into the chair across from her father and gaped at him.

“It’s not a good time.”

“You can’t hide your Parkinson’s forever.”

“I’m not ready to tell her.”

“It won’t be Christmas without family visiting.”

“Your Aunt Louise is a busybody. Always thinks she knows what’s best for people.”

“She loves you.”

“She’ll interfere.”

Reese bit her tongue. Her father was the one sick, not her. It was his choice whom he told and when, regardless if she disagreed.

“Off to your meeting at Dos Estrellas?” He was attempting to distract her, and she let him.

“Depending on how long the meeting lasts, I may come straight home and skip going back to the bank.”

“I’m still trying to wrap my brain around you being the trustee of August Dempsey’s estate.”

She’d finally informed her father last night, when she was able to do so. “Strange, I know.”

“August must be having himself one heck of a good laugh up in heaven.”

“He did choose the bank to act as trustee.”

“Probably didn’t realize you’d be the one running the show.”

There was no way for Reese to respond without violating her client’s privacy, so she said nothing.

“Poor man,” her father said. “He must have hated seeing the ranch fall to ruin like it did.”

“Dos Estrellas is hardly in ruins.”

“It’s buried in debt.”

Buried was an exaggeration. Waist-deep, maybe. “I can’t discuss the ranch finances with you.”

“He should have sold it to me when he had the chance.”

Reese shook her head. “And what would you do with Dos Estrellas? Let’s be honest, you’re having enough trouble running the Small Change.”

He grunted in displeasure. “Don’t count me out yet.”

“Never.” She smiled and kissed his head again before retrieving her briefcase and a travel mug of coffee from the counter. “I’ll see you later.”