Plots and Pans (20 page)

Used to be close …
The words hit hard.
We were close, until he sent me so far away, saying it was to keep me safe. Maybe Mama was right
.

“Mama always swore it’d be the death of her, the way we all ran wild on the ranch. She was almost right.” Jess wrapped both hands around the rail, grappling with those memories. “Instead, it was Papa who died. I have no one to blame but myself for the fact I’m looking over his grave instead of talking to him now.”

“I shouldn’t have let you try to bust the bronco.” In spite of their differences, Tucker wouldn’t let her shoulder all the blame. “And Simon knew better than to jump the fence and rush up behind a bucking horse.”

“He was worried for me, so he wasn’t thinking. Just like I was worried about being sent away, so I tried to prove I belonged.”

“You don’t have to prove you belong. You never did.”

His words slammed into Jessalyn’s heart, and if she’d had any room, she would’ve staggered back. She couldn’t. Nor could she walk away. No way to avoid the painful truth behind his observation. She braced herself as she would against a strong wind, hunching over and hoping the worst of its force would blow by.
I will not fall apart. Not up here. Not in front of him
.

The longed-for landscape, which had so deeply delighted her moments before, blurred. She thought she’d held herself together better than to start crying. Again.

Jess blinked, furious. Then she stopped. Her eyes felt … dry and gritty. She blinked again and felt better.
I stared down my own tears
, she thought with grim satisfaction.

“That didn’t come out right,” he apologized. Even after knowing him for such a short amount of time, it startled her to hear him sound so awkward. If his characteristic confidence deserted him for any other reason, it might have been endearing.

“Oh, I think it came out exactly right,” she said dismissively, proud of the way her voice didn’t catch. “I never did belong here—otherwise Papa wouldn’t have sent me away.”

“I meant you never needed to prove yourself!”

“Of course I did, but I failed, and so did my father.” Jess swallowed her sorrow and pivoted to meet Tucker’s gaze. “That day fear ruled me and my father, and we paid a terrible price for our poor decisions. Now that I’m finally home, I won’t let fears stand in my way again. Not mine, and certainly not yours. So step back, stop shadowing me, and start treating me like you really believe I belong!”

You don’t have to prove you belong… . You never did
. This ridiculous loop spun through Tucker’s thoughts like a dropped dime. His offhand remark did more than strike a vein—it hit an artery. Only when she’d curled in on herself, going pale, did he realize he’d dealt such a brutal blow.

Still, she withstood it. Tucker couldn’t shake the memory of Jessalyn, stricken but strong, as she faced him atop the windmill. She refused to allow someone else’s decisions to define or defeat her. Jessalyn accepted neither her father’s perceived rejection nor Tucker’s attempts at protection.

His unthinking comment knocked her back, but couldn’t make her knuckle under. To the contrary. Past pain pushed her forward, driving her determination and inspiring her to issue edicts of her own.
Step back… . Stop shadowing me…
.

After his foolhardy rush up the ladder, Tucker didn’t think he had legitimate grounds to refuse her. She’d adhered to his guidelines, but today he’d failed to follow her single rule—speak to her with respect. And he couldn’t deny that he’d trailed hard on her heels since her first morning on the ranch.

Of course she noticed—and so had every other man on the place. He planned it that way. Tucker made sure everyone knew Jessalyn was under his protection. By now the men got the message. They understood and accepted that he’d be keeping a close eye on her. It played out so well he hadn’t seen the flaw until after the fact.

What works on the men will never work the same with women
. Jessalyn did not recognize the need for him to keep a close watch over her—and her unconventional pursuits—and would no longer tolerate it.
I have to find a new way to watch her. Sneakier this time
.

He couldn’t argue with the timing—Tucker already postponed things more than he should have to keep an eye on Jessalyn. Now that she’d settled in as much as a woman like her could be settled, he had no time to lose. With Ed coming back with that supplemental herd, Tucker needed to get a de-horning corral and run built by the end of the week. The seller warned they’d be getting a temperamental lot—otherwise he wouldn’t be selling so cheap. He wanted them off his hands and no one local wanted to buy.

The fact no one in the Victoria area would purchase the beef at such a low price and put it on the trail made Tucker leery. When Simon died, some of the standard crew packed up and moved on. No surprise there, but it left them shorthanded right at the start of the busy season. This year’s trail drive would be hard slogging as things stood, and they didn’t need cattle so cantankerous nobody else would take them on.

Ed disagreed enough to pull rank—something he’d never done before. This was the latest in a string of differences his partner displayed, and by now Tucker was downright worried about Ed’s behavior. After folks stopped dropping by with condolences and cooked meals—which Tucker knew Ed never refused, as it gave Desta a break from the kitchen—he isolated himself.

Aside from church and any town trips Desta initiated, Ed didn’t leave the Bar None at all anymore. He accepted no invitations to visit other spreads and gave none out. Worse, he’d increasingly withdrawn from ranch activities. He hadn’t joined the men after church in so many weeks he’d finally forfeited his five-month run as checkers champion.

So when Ed dug in his heels and insisted on buying the bargain herd hundreds of miles away, Tucker tried to persuade him otherwise. But when Ed threw out that he’d go personally to supervise the transfer and transport, Tucker got on board. He’d take on a hard-to-handle herd if they pulled his partner back into the saddle. Besides, the dry winter pushed back the county roundup to early June. They’d be taking a late start since the cattle needed feeding up before they turned travel-ready.

The three-sentence letter Ed sent right before leaving Victoria sounded downright gregarious compared to his conversation before the trip. Ed reported that he found the animals as advertised—stringy, stubborn, and surprisingly aggressive for such a slow-moving set. He warned Tucker they’d need to clip their horns before trying to integrate the newcomers with the standing herd.

It only took a couple of ornery longhorns to throw off an entire herd. A couple of aggressive bulls made the others territorial and adversarial until the beeves got anxious. They didn’t feed as well, they didn’t travel well, and they caused all sorts of rumpus during roundups. Basically, cattle were like people—bad habits spread quickest and were hardest to get rid of.

And with the county roundup already making its way to the Bar None, Tucker needed to move fast. Since the cattle proved so slow moving, Ed was behind schedule and didn’t think he could make up much time over the last stretch. According to his telegram at the halfway point, he’d make it before roundup reached the ranch—but barely. They’d scramble to get the new additions ready, settled, and out of the way.

So even if Jessalyn hadn’t flat-out ordered him to stop hovering, Tucker wouldn’t have been able to stick close anymore. It bothered him. He no longer questioned whether or not Jess would find trouble if not watched closely. But he still questioned whether or not she’d be able to handle whatever mess she made.

I can’t watch after her
. Tucker hitched Happy Jack and headed for the mess hall, late for the midday meal but not feeling much hunger. He’d been planning on enlisting Miss Desta to keep an eye on her niece, figuring that once Jess settled in he wouldn’t need to worry so much.
But now that I’ve seen her notion of “settled,” I know better. Worse, now I know Desta can’t keep track of her—or Jess wouldn’t have made it out to the windmill today
.

Tucker decided to ask for guidance.
Lord, I know You watch over us from above, but down here Jess gets pretty hard to handle. I’d appreciate it if You saw fit to send help a little closer to home
.

Y
ore sportin’ more wrinkles ‘n a hard-boiled shirt, Boss.” Ralph’s comment caught Tucker before he walked right past the mess hall. “Means somethin’s been wearin’ on you. Why all the frownin’?”

“Trying to work out a plan, Ralph.” Tucker backtracked a bit to where his friend propped up a wall. For most people that was just an expression for someone leaning around doing nothing, but Ralph Runkle stood taller and wider than anyone Tucker ever saw before. It seemed anyone’s guess whether the man or the wall was the one doing the leaning.

“Chewing over a problem can get easier if ‘n you siddown and chew on somethin’ else for a while. Fill yore stomach, clear yore mind, and when yore done, you might see things in a new light.”

Tucker eased his hat up off his forehead, the better to look at his friend. “Seems to me most of your advice centers around eating, but I reckon that makes sense. You’re so big it takes up half your time just to keep fueled. But for the rest of us, there’s plenty of problems food can’t fix.”

“The right food from big enough platters could near ‘nough fix the world, Boss.” Ralph drew in a deep breath, as though smelling a far-off feast. Or maybe the smell of beef stew wafting from the mess hall. Either way, it underlined his statement with a sense of conviction.

“I doubt it. A good meal can’t fix every problem.” Though hearing Ralph talk about it so much prodded Tucker’s appetite enough to have him walking into the mess hall.

“Think on it.” His friend followed him in. “It’s hard to find kindness in a man with his stomach lickin’ his backbone. Hunger makes even the best of folks plain ornery.”

“True enough.” Tucker scraped the sides of the stewpot, rustling up enough to fill a tin. He found a pan of biscuits left warming in the oven and pulled out the whole thing. He carried the lot over to the nearest table, plunked it down, and looked up to see Ralph holding out a cup of water and a mug of coffee. “Thanks.”

“So take away hunger, and already the world smiles more and squabbles less.” Ralph hunkered down on the bench opposite Tucker. “Then you add in something sweet—like those custard pies from the other night—and a special sort of happiness perks up the place.”

“Don’t let Cookie hear you talk about those pies,” Tucker warned after he swallowed half his stew. By focusing on the cook, he put off thinking about the women for a little longer. “He’s riled over not going out on roundup and knowing he’ll sit out the cattle drive. Rubs him wrong to see the men whose guts he keeps from grumbling go wild over someone else’s grub.”

“Nah. He might act persnickety, but Cookie knows there’s a world of difference atween hearty chuck and a tasty tidbit,” Ralph explained. “The meal sticks to a man’s ribs, but somethin’ with a li’l sugar sticks in his memory. Beans and sowbelly keep a man going through fair weather and foul with no bones ’bout it—but he’ll go a whole lot farther on a whole lot less for that hint of sweetness.”

“Why do you think that is?” Jessalyn’s smile flashed through Tucker’s thoughts. “Something might be sweet enough to stick in a man’s mind, but it’s gone and done with almost before he gets to enjoy it. How is something so fleeting powerful enough to make such a strong impression?”

“‘Cuz it
is
strong. Sweetness lingers long past the last swallow, so when you think back on it, you can almost taste it again. Kind of like the best sort of dreams, the ones that leave you warm and hopeful even after you wake up and can’t remember most of it.” Ralph looked at the wall without seeing it then shook his head, looking sheepish. “Fanciful, but there you go. Sounds silly when you say it out loud.”

“Nah, I know what the problem is.” Tucker snorted with laughter at a sudden memory. “Sweet teeth. Some folks have a powerful sweet tooth, but you sound like you’ve got a whole set.”

Ralph’s deep, booming laugh joined his. “I like that,” his friend decided after their mirth had run its course. “And not just because I have an excuse to hog the next pie. You stopped frowning.”

“Thanks for that.” Though now that he mentioned it, Tucker had a hard time keeping from doing it. “Though I haven’t solved the problem yet. It’s the kind I think I might never be able to solve.”

“Well, how ’bout you tell me what set yore brain itchin’ in the first place?” Ralph stretched and looked at him expectantly. “Maybe a spare pair of eyeballs can spot a solution.”

“Funny you should say that.” Tucker couldn’t help but grin at the irony of Ralph’s choice of words. “Because a spare pair of eyeballs is just what I need.”

“Here I sit with two in fine working condition.” Ralph widened his eyes and blinked for emphasis. “I can probably help you out.”

That’s it!
The answer hit him so hard and so fast Tucker figured he should’ve seen it coming from a mile away.
Thank You, Lord. Ralph’s my best worker and I’ll have to come down heavy on everyone else to make up the difference, but I’d trust no one else to watch the women anyway. Now I just have to get him to agree
.