Jackie Merritt - Wind River Ranch

But did she dare leave without solving the checkbook dilemma? Someone had to be given access to ranch money. The men couldn’t work without pay, nor could the ranch function without supplies.

She sat back in her father’s chair, stunned by the responsibility suddenly thrust upon her. She should not have to deal with this on top of her father’s death.

But the problem was not going to vanish just because she wished it would.

What on earth was she going to do?

Frowning, she wondered if anyone knew where John Chandler had gone for his vacation. Was it possible that he’d gone nowhere and was merely resting at home?

No, if he was in the area he would have heard about Simon.

Wait a minute. If Ry knew Simon’s lawyer was a man named Chandler, maybe he knew more—like, for instance, where he’d gone for his vacation. If she discovered the attorney’s location, she wouldn’t hesitate a moment in calling him. She needed legal advice, and the sooner the better.

Before going outside to look for Hardin, Dena went to her bathroom and washed her teary face. There was nothing to do about her puffy eyes except hold a cold, wet washcloth on them for a few minutes. It helped some, but there really was no way to conceal the ravages of so much sorrow. She brushed her hair and applied lipstick. It was the best she could do, and she left it at that.

Then she headed for the kitchen. Nettie was sniffling while she cut up chickens, breaking Dena’s heart all over again. Battling her own raw and wounded emotions, she cleared her throat.

“Nettie, would you have any idea of where I might find Ry?”

“He was looking for you about a half hour ago.”

“He found me and left. This is about something else.”

“Oh. Well, I never have tried to keep track of the men, honey. He could be anywhere on the ranch.”

“All right, thanks.”

Leaving the house through the back door, Dena stopped to look around. To her surprise, she spotted Ry walking into the barn. It looked as if he was carrying a large coil of rope.

Hurrying across the expanse of ground between house and outbuildings, she entered the barn and called, “Mr. Hardin?”

In the tack room Ry heard her and disgustedly shook his head. So he was Mr. Hardin now. What a peculiar woman.

“In here,” he yelled out. He pushed the coil of rope farther back on the shelf, fitting it in between other coils and some gallon containers of harness and leather oil. There were still harnesses hanging on wall hooks from the days when everything done on the ranch was accomplished with teams of horses. And saddles on racks, and bins of old horseshoes and metal parts and leather strapping to repair harnesses. As the tack room occupied a corner of the barn, there were two windows, one in each outside wall. Dust motes danced in the sun’s rays coming in through the east window. Simon obviously had never thrown anything away, and from the day Ry started working on the Wind River Ranch he had itched to clean out this room. At least half of its contents should be hauled to the dump. Some of it, of course, was saleable. But in Ry’s opinion, whatever was not needed in today’s operation should be either sold or discarded.

Dena walked in. Rather, she stepped just inside the doorway and stopped. In the years since she’d left, not one single thing had changed in this room. It was the same as the house, she realized, in need of a thorough going over.

Her gaze moved to Ry, and she suddenly felt accusatory. He was the foreman and certainly could have fit a little tack room cleaning into his work routine. Even if he hadn’t had the ambition to do it himself, he could have assigned the job to one or more of the other men.

“This place could use a good cleaning,” she said flatly.

Ry was in no mood for snide remarks. Rather than agree with her, which he most certainly did, he drawled, “Seems fine to me.”

“Are you saying you don’t see anything that could use some improvement in here?”

Because she sounded sarcastic, Ry took his time in looking around. When he finally brought his gaze back to her, he said, “I’m surprised you care about clutter and dust in here when you don’t give a damn about the overall operation of the ranch. Must be the female in you.”

Dena’s face colored, but she shot back, “A sexist remark if I’ve ever heard one.” Her mind, she realized, was shockingly dull, and for a few moments she couldn’t remember why she was even in the tack room. Why on earth was she standing here and trading insults with this man?

Then it came to her. “The tack room is more your business than mine. Clean it or wallow in the dirt, it’s all the same to me. The only reason I came out here was to find out if you knew where John Chandler went on his vacation.”

“Didn’t know he took one. I’ve only talked to him a couple of times. He’s not my lawyer.”

A dead end. Dena frowned and turned to leave.

“Hey,” Ry called. “If you really want to run him down, you might try calling his secretary. Her name is Sheila Parks. It’s possible she left town, too, but who knows?”

Dena stopped, one eyebrow raised. “Meaning she took her vacation the same time as her boss?”

Ry shrugged. “Makes sense to me.”

It did make sense. “I would imagine Ms. Parks is listed in the telephone book.”

“Beats me,” Ry said. “And it’s Mrs. Parks, but I don’t know her husband’s first name. Can’t be that many Parks in the area, though.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Ry didn’t like the way they’d talked to each other about the tack room. There was no earthly reason for them to bicker, and he decided then and there to turn things around. “Dena. I agree with you about cleaning up this place,” he said quietly. “I’ve wanted to do it since I started working here.”

Relief flooded Dena’s system over the drastic change in Ry’s voice and demeanor. The last thing she wanted was to be at odds with anyone right now. “But Dad wouldn’t let you, would he?”

Her perception surprised him, but why should it? If anyone had ever really known Simon Colby, it would be his daughter.

Ry took a step closer to her. “There’s something else I’d like to say. I’m not normally short-tempered, and I’ve snapped at you more than once. I’m sorry for it and it won’t happen again.”

She looked into his dark eyes and felt the sting of tears in her own. Her voice was husky when she spoke. “There’s really no reason for you and me to disagree about anything. I’m sorry I was so sharp-tongued about the condition of this room. If I’d thought at all before sniping at you about it, it never would have happened.”

Ry nodded in understanding. “You’re going through a bad time, and I guess you’re entitled to a little sniping.”

“I’m not sure that even grief entitles a person to treat other people rudely.” She managed a brave little smile that nearly broke Ry’s heart. He had to forcibly stop himself from moving closer to her and pulling her into his arms. Strictly to comfort her, of course.

“See you later,” she said then, and turned and left.

Ry walked to a window and watched her leave the barn and head for the house. Dena Colby aroused a complexity of emotions within him. Was it all because of the tragedy she was having to face more or less by herself, or was there more to it?

He wished he knew the answer to that question, because it suddenly seemed very important.

Three

There were three Parks listings in the telephone book, two with a rural address, one in Winston. Dena tried the town number first. A female voice sang out a cheery, “Hello?”

“Hello,” Dena said. “I’m trying to locate Sheila Parks, secretary to John Chandler. Is there any chance I might have reached her home?”