Plots and Pans
© 2014 by Kelly Eileen Hake
Print ISBN 978-1-62029-958-6
eBook Editions:
Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-63058-027-8
Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-63058-028-5
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.
All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
Cover Design: Kirk DouPonce, DogEared Design
Published by Shiloh Run Press, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, OH 44683,
www.shilohrunpress.com
Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses
.
Printed in the United States of America.
For God, first and foremost, and my husband—you inspire and humble me with your love and encouragement!
I cannot thank you enough….
Bar None Ranch, Texas 1872
D
on’t let go, Jessie!” Her brother’s shouts somehow made it past the sound of her pounding pulse.
I won’t!
With no breath to spare for screeching, she gritted her teeth too tight for words anyhow.
I can’t
, she reminded herself, swallowing a sob.
Papa wants to send me away…
.
Jessalyn half rose out of the saddle as the horse’s hooves hit the ground with bone-rattling force. Seconds spooled past, as if time itself couldn’t keep up with her battle against the bronco. He reared, hooves flailing in the air as though beating back defeat. Jessalyn felt like she was doing the same thing, fighting a force she couldn’t see but that would change her life if she lost.
If she could just break this bronco—the meanest, wiliest mustang ever brought to the Bar None Ranch—she’d prove she belonged here. The horse moved into a series of hops. Faster than thought, Jess turned her toes inward and clamped her thighs tight against the saddle, hanging on as the horse twisted. His vicious determination to unseat her was matched by her will to master him.
But strength of will, Jessalyn was coming to realize, just might not be strength enough. The horse showed no signs of tiring, but Jess gripped the reins so tight her fingers started prickling—an unwelcome warning they were going numb.
No!
Gasping, she tried to tighten her fists, but it was too late. The bronco reared, went into a twist, and bucked again before Jess could compensate. She sailed over his head, crashing into a fence post. In the moment before pain cracked through her arm and ribs, Jess saw her father jump into the corral and head toward her. The spark in his eyes spoke her sentence loud and clear, even though she couldn’t make out the words he was yelling.
I lost
. Jess struggled for air, unsure whether it was her bruised ribs or her determination not to cry that made breathing so hard.
He’ll send me away for sure
.
Bar None Ranch, Texas April 1879
C
ome quick, Boss! Doc says Culpepper’s fixin’ to rope a rainbow, saddle a cloud, and ride to the Great Beyond.”
Tucker Carmichael spurred his mount to a gallop before the cowhand finished talking. He raced back to the ranch house, slid from his horse while it was still slowing, and hit the ground running. He barreled up the stairs, snatched the hat off his head, and didn’t stop moving until he reached his mentor’s bedside.
“You made it.” Simon Culpepper gave a hacking cough, those three simple words enough to tax his strength. He nodded at Tucker but looked to where his son already hovered beside the bed. He squeezed Ed’s hand as though drawing strength for the journey ahead.
From where Tucker was standing, it didn’t look like Edward Culpepper had much strength to spare. His best friend had aged a good ten years in the two days since his dad’s latest relapse.
“Yep.” Tucker said nothing more—no words could fix the problem.
Seven years ago Simon Culpepper lost his head, running past a bronco that had just thrown his twelve-year-old daughter. She’d gotten a broken arm and a trip to a British boarding school out of the deal, but her dad suffered a kick to the ribs and a collapsed lung.
It healed, but Culpepper ignored medical advice and kept riding the range, smoking cigars, breaking broncos, and generally living hard enough to wear out a much healthier man. During the past half-dozen years, the damaged lung collapsed twice more. This time Tucker didn’t need to be a physician to see that Simon wouldn’t pull through.
“Tell …”—Culpepper drew a painful, rattling breath—“him.”
“Pa’s changed his will.” Ed’s throat worked visibly as he stifled his grief. Still, he met Tucker’s gaze and held up his free hand to forestall any protest. “Now twenty percent of the Bar None goes to you. We’ll continue to manage things as we’ve always done, but now you’ll own a solid stake in the business. As you should.”
“I can’t accept.” Tucker slid his Stetson brim between his hands to keep from crushing it. Guilt made his fingers tense.
“We’re not asking. Whether you want to acknowledge it or not, the property will be in your name from here on out.” The ghost of a smile passed over Ed’s face. “Besides, you’ve earned it. The Bar None wouldn’t be what she is today if it weren’t for you. Pa’s right to do this.”
“I don’t deserve it.” He squeezed the protest through a windpipe that suddenly seemed two sizes too small. Didn’t they remember this was his fault? That he’d been the greenhorn foolish enough to let Culpepper’s daughter saddle the bronco in the first place? Without his mistake—and Jessalyn’s arrogance—that wild ride wouldn’t have cost the Culpepper family so dearly.
“Take it.” Culpepper slapped his palm against the bedcovers, his agitation stronger than his ability to express it. Even his voice sounded fretful and weak as he fought to speak. “Just …”
“Let him pass in peace,” Ed growled at him over his father’s coughs.
When Simon rested a bit easier, Tucker managed a short nod.
Culpepper sucked in a scraggly breath. “One thing …”
“Yes?” Ed and Tucker leaned close to catch his last whisper.
“Take care …” The old man’s eyes gleamed with a familiar determination. His soul might be moving on, but his stubborn streak stayed long enough to see his sentence finished. “… my Jessie.”
“We will,” they promised immediately. Ed reached out at the same moment Tucker did, joining the three men in a three-point circle—a wordless enforcement of a pledge that couldn’t be broken.
Tucker managed a gruff prayer as Culpepper breathed his last. Without his outsize personality, the figure on the bed seemed small and infinitely sad. The room started to stifle Tucker, but he and Ed stood for several moments before Ed broke the silence.
“Thank you for accepting his last wish.” His friend couldn’t meet his eyes, but Tucker caught the glassy glint of tears Ed wouldn’t let fall just yet. “For letting him pass in peace.”
“I’ll sign it back over to you as soon as I can,” he promised.
“No.” Ed swung around and glared at him. “I won’t dishonor my father’s wishes. So put down whatever blame you’ve been packing since Jess left and help me get on with making the Bar None into something befitting Papa’s memory.”
Emotions already rubbed raw from Simon’s loss, his friend’s reproach pained him worse than it would have on any other day. Tucker stiffened. “I’ve been doing that for half a dozen years!”
“Working the Bar None? Yes.” Ed’s acknowledgment sapped away some of the sting, only to lash him again with fresh accusation. “Trying to order everything and everyone on the ranch to atone for the past? Yes. Letting go of the guilt? Not even close. You still blame yourself.”
“Our mistakes make us who we are.”
And show who we should be
.
“We’re more than our mistakes.” Ed clapped him on the shoulder. “They’re just part of what we grow from. God gives us grace, and even Pa gave you another chance. So why refuse to forgive yourself?”
Tucker shrugged away from his friend’s hand and the orders that went with it. “Quit preaching at me. It’s done and over with.”
“It’s not over until you face it.” Ed moved to block the doorway. “It’s not just about you anymore. You have to forgive yourself, and you have to prepare for the fact Jess is coming home and sure as the sun shines you won’t be able to control her.”
“I don’t need to control her. Just help take care of her.”
“And how do you plan to take care of a woman who won’t follow orders?”
“Easy. I order the men to keep their eyes open and their hands off—that’s my part done.” Tucker shoved his hat back on his head. “When it comes to anything more personal, you can take care of your sister!”
