The Promise of Forgiveness (18 page)

“Why does he need a copy?”

“Someone broke into his house and stole the original one.”

“I'll have to check with my supervisor before I print off a copy.”

Ruby thought it strange that he didn't ask about the break-in or if anyone had been hurt. “I'm working at the saloon until ten tonight. You can drop off a copy there.”

Ruby went outside and moved Hank's truck across the street. “Stony, I'm here!” she shouted when she entered the bar. “Stony?” She hung her purse on a hook, found the spray cleaner and a rag, then went to work wiping down the tables.

Ten minutes later Stony came through a side door that led from the Dumpster in the alley. “You're early.” He grabbed a beer from the cooler and sat on the bar. “Heard you went to the carnival last night.”

She exhaled loudly. “The men in this town act like a bunch of clucking hens.”

He chuckled.

“If everyone knows we went to the carnival,” she said, “then everyone must know that Hank's house was burglarized while we were gone.”

Stony nodded. He'd probably heard about the break-in before she'd even left the jail.

“Don't know why anyone would want to rob Hank. The only thing worth any money on his ranch is the oil being pumped out of the ground.”

“I'm certain Sandoval is behind this.” She moved to the next table and cleaned the surface. “If your brother believes a piece of paper will make it easier for him to steal Hank's ranch, he's got a screw loose.”

The saloon doors opened and the first rush of patrons pushed their way into the bar. Ruby didn't make eye contact with the men and their glances bounced off her. She and the roughnecks had struck a silent truce—she pretended to be invisible and they left generous tips in the shit-kicker.

The bar grew crowded and the hours passed in a blur. Ruby was considering quitting early when she heard someone call her name.

“Ruby Baxter!”

A hush fell over the room. She stepped from the shadows, where she'd just delivered a round of tequila shots to three rowdy cowboys. “I'm Ruby.”

The man looked familiar. Then he removed his cowboy hat, revealing a full head of steel-gray hair.
Sandoval
. Her first impression of him hadn't been wrong—he was an attractive older gentleman. His lean face was wrinkled like Hank's, but his height and broad shoulders made him appear younger and healthier. He dressed the part of a wealthy rancher—Western shirt with black pearl snaps, gray slacks, and freshly shined black boots.

No surprise that her birth mother had strayed. Even in his prime, Ruby doubted Hank could have measured up to Sandoval. The rancher pointed his Stetson at her. “I haven't touched a hair on Hank's head. Nor have I instructed my men to destroy his property. You've got no proof and no right to accuse me of any wrongdoing.” He shoved the hat on his head and left the bar.

Ruby's gaze swung through the room. “Quit ogling me.” Conversation resumed, and she kept busy delivering drinks. At nine the place cleared out.

“Where's everyone going?” she asked Stony after the last customer left.

“Next door. Once a month Dwayne sponsors a billiard tournament.”

“Do you want me to take the trash out to the Dumpster?”

“I'll get it later.” Stony poured a glass of cold tea and brought it to Ruby. “Sit down and take a break before you head home.”

“Thanks.” After she guzzled the liquid, she asked, “Did you happen to see Steward Kline come into the bar tonight?”

No sooner had Ruby spoken than Kline opened the saloon door. The oil agent sent Stony a quizzical look before handing Ruby an envelope. “A copy of Hank's lease.” Kline left before she could thank him.

Ruby fetched her purse and collected her tips. “I won't be in tomorrow.”

“Why not?”

“I want to spend time with my daughter.” She skirted the tables.

“Hey, Ruby?”

“What?”

“Hank ever tell you why he and Sandoval don't get along?”

“It's obvious they both wanted the same woman.”

Stony shook his head.

“Cora's not the only reason. You should ask him.”

Maybe I will
.

R
uby turned the pickup onto the gravel road leading to the ranch house. The drive back from the bar took forever—too many jumbled thoughts racing through her mind. Unforgiven would make the perfect backdrop for a male-only soap opera—lies, cheating, deceit, corruption, intimidations, and grudges threatening to snuff out anyone who dared to challenge the status quo.

Well, screw that
. It was only a matter of time before the male morons figured out Ruby Baxter didn't back down from a fight or scare easily.

Except when it came to relationships.

The headlights swept across the front porch and she caught a glimpse of Hank sitting in the chair. What was he doing up past his bedtime? She set the parking brake, then took her purse and got out of the pickup. At the bottom of the steps, she caught a whiff of tobacco smoke.

“I thought you were giving up cigarettes.” She claimed the seat next to him and propped her sore feet on the rail.

“Tough habit to break.” After one last drag, he flicked the butt over the rail and it landed in the dirt, the red embers winking in the dark like a bewitching siren.

“Where's Mia?” she asked.

“Listening to music in her room.”

“And Joe?”

Hank looked sideways at Ruby. “Something going on between you two?”

“Maybe.”

“Joe's a good man.”

She knew that. “He's got a lot of baggage.”

Hank's caterpillar eyebrows inched up his forehead. “You got a few suitcases in your closet, and the biggest bag is sitting right next to you.”

Time to change the subject. “How did you end up owning the Devil's Wind?”

His shoulders stiffened. “Did someone tell you this place doesn't belong to me?”

“No, but Roy Sandoval came into the bar and insisted I stop spreading rumors that he's after your ranch.” When Hank didn't comment, she pressed him. “If I'm inheriting this land, I deserve to know how you came by it.”

He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his bony thighs. “I won the ranch in a poker game.”

He might as well have told her it had dropped out of the sky and landed on his head. “You're joking, right?”

“I was thirty-six when I hired on as a wrangler for the Bar T. Roy and I rubbed each other wrong from the get-go.”

No surprise that the son of a wealthy rancher would have nothing in common with a drifter like Hank, a man who hadn't even finished high school.

“I was a good poker player. Learned a few tricks from Mr. Charleston, one of my mother's regulars.”

Without a male role model in his life, Hank would undoubtedly look up to any man who showed him attention.

“Mr. Charleston said I needed a way to support myself if I was ever on my own. When I was old enough to gamble, I spent my paychecks at the casinos, practicing tricks. One day I got wind of a high-stakes poker game Roy had signed up for, and I wanted in.”

“Was Roy surprised when you sat down at the table?”

“He acted like he didn't know me.”

“Don't keep me in suspense. What happened?”

Hank cleared the phlegm from his throat. “The pot grew, and one by one the players dropped out. Came down to me and Roy. I won.”

Hank had beaten the boss's son. “But you cheated.”

Cricket chirps filled the silence until Hank spoke. “I paid the dealer to turn a blind eye.”

Ruby's stomach twisted. Just when she was opening her heart to him, he had to go and make it more difficult to trust him. “No one in the poker game accused you of cheating?”

“Roy did, but the dealer kept his mouth shut.”

“How much was the pot worth?”

“Two hundred fifty thousand.”

She whistled. “I'm guessing Roy's father didn't take the news well.” Ruby had caused her parents plenty of grief growing up but had never committed an offense that had taken a chunk out of their pocketbook.

“Instead of paying me, Roy's father offered me a thousand acres of the Bar T. I put up a fence and called my side the Devil's Wind.” He swept his hand in front of him. “The house and barn once belonged to Roy's grandparents. After they died, the place sat vacant until I moved in.”

“Why would Benson Sandoval give you land with oil on it?”

“He'd had the property tested a decade earlier, but they didn't find enough oil and gas worth drilling for. Benson figured he was gifting me acres of worthless scrub.”

“Did the oil company botch the tests?”

“No, but they didn't test all the land or Fury's Ridge.”

“Because it's an Indian burial site?”

He nodded. “Benson didn't want to mess with it, but I wasn't afraid of ghosts. I gave Petro Oil permission to explore the ridge and the other areas. They struck pay dirt.”

“Then why don't you have pump jacks on Fury's Ridge?”

“I got enough money coming in from the other ones. No need to be greedy.”

Ruby mulled over the fact that her biological father was a cheat. If she accepted the Devil's Wind as her inheritance, did that make her a cheat, too?

She was no saint. There were days when the fridge in the trailer had been empty and she'd snuck food home from Carmen's Chicken Fry without paying for it so she and Mia wouldn't go to bed hungry. Other times she hadn't reported all of her tips to the boss, because she'd needed the extra money for cigarettes. And once she'd siphoned gas from her neighbor's car so she could make it to and from work.

But Mia had placed Hank on a pedestal and worshipped the ground he shuffled across. What would happen to that love if she learned her grandfather was a swindler? Part of Ruby—the part still jealous of Mia and Hank's closeness—wanted to expose him for the fraud he was, but she didn't dare. Ruby's relationship with her daughter might be on the mend, but bad-mouthing Hank would turn Mia against her. Besides, exposing his faults was just a cheap way for Ruby to get back at him for abandoning her. And since Hank had hinted to Mia that he wished he hadn't put Ruby up for adoption, no good could come from holding on to the hurt and anger.

“When we painted the nursery, you asked a lot of questions about my adoptive parents.”

“Can't blame me for wanting to know who took care of my little girl.”

Little girl
sounded like an endearment. “My mother kept a diary, but I haven't read it.”

His slumped shoulders straightened. “Why not?”

“I forgot about the journal until Mia and I”—Ruby mostly—“planned our move to Kansas.”

“What's keeping you from reading it now?”

“Whatever my mother wrote isn't going to magically erase my anger at her and my father for not being honest with me about my adoption.” And what if her mother confessed that she'd regretted adopting Ruby and wished she'd brought home a different baby girl?

“Maybe they had a good reason to keep your adoption a secret.” Hank's stare pierced her—was he hoping she'd share the journal entries with him? Was he looking for redemption after choosing not to raise her—assurance that he'd made the right decision? What if neither of them found what they were looking for in the journal?

“Be right back.” Ruby went into the house and fetched the diary from the nightstand, then returned to the porch and dropped the leather notebook in Hank's lap. “Since you're so nosy, you read it first.” She'd taken a big step, trusting Hank with her mother's thoughts and allowing him a glimpse into the life he'd chosen for her. But it was best this way—she wouldn't feel pressured to pick and choose the details she believed he should know. He'd read the raw, uncensored version, and in doing so maybe he could help her see her way through the hurt and pain.

His gnarled fingers caressed the leather cover. “Did you get a copy of my oil lease?”

“I did.” She removed the envelope from her purse and handed it to him.

“Turn on the porch light,” he said.

She reached around the screen door and flipped the switch.

“The date's wrong,” he said. “It says the lease terminates on September thirtieth of this year. It should be September 2050.”

“Simple mistake?”

“Maybe.” Hank didn't sound convinced.

“Does your lawyer have a copy of the original lease?” she asked.

“I didn't have a lawyer look over the paperwork before I signed it.”

“What happens if they refuse to fix the date?”

“Then I'll lose my income.”

“Will you be able to afford to keep the ranch if you don't have money coming in from the lease?” If the Devil's Wind went on the auction block, she and Mia would have no choice but to move somewhere else.

“I've got enough money in savings to keep this place going until . . .”

You die
. “How much money do you have in the bank?”

“Little over a million.”

A million dollars and he lived like a pauper. If there was ever a man who embodied the saying “Money doesn't make you happy,” it was Hank McArthur. Ruby was positive he'd give away his fortune to bring Cora home.

She left him alone on the porch and retreated to her bedroom, where she sat in the dark, listening to the wind rustle the tree branches. When she'd first learned the ranch was her inheritance, she'd wanted nothing to do with the miserable place.

But a million dollars went a long way in saying
I'm sorry
.

•   •   •

S
unday morning Ruby pulled the string hanging from the naked bulb in the attic ceiling. Ever since she'd discovered Cora's trunk, she'd wanted to investigate the contents. The gold latches winked at her from the corner, beckoning her closer. The room was hotter than Hades, and sweat beaded across her brow.

Her mouth went dry when she knelt before the trunk. She knew what she wanted to find inside—something that would represent one single redeeming quality that Cora had passed down to her. She opened the lid—lace bras, panties, and corsets. The sexy material held Cora's secrets—maybe the ones she didn't want Hank to discover. Ruby buried her nose in a satin camisole, but there was no hint of perfume—just a musty smell.

Along with the photos of herself, Cora had left her costumes behind. Was she trying to outrun her past? Ruby pushed the clothing aside and found a pair of jeweled slippers. Tucked inside one of the shoes was a velvet pouch. She dumped the contents on the floor and stared at the earrings and bracelet that matched the teardrop ruby around her neck.

Now she knew why Hank had asked where she'd gotten the necklace when she'd first arrived at the ranch—he'd known it had belonged to Cora.

If only she understood what had been going through Cora's mind the day she'd fled the hospital. Maybe then Ruby could make sense of every wrong turn she'd made in life.

She placed the jewelry back in the pouch, then hid it in the slipper. When she tugged the silk lining at the top of the chest to close the lid, the thin material tore, exposing a packet of letters held together by a faded blue ribbon.

There were six letters in all, showing the Devil's Wind as the return address. Ruby shouldn't read Hank's private messages to Cora, but that didn't stop her. She slid the first letter out of its envelope.

Dear Cora,

Got another check from the oil company and bought twenty-five head of cattle. I'm a real rancher now. Wish you'd come see the place.

~Hank

Dear Cora,

I planted red rosebushes in front of the house. Say the word and I'll come get you.

~Hank

Dear Cora,

Bought a used piano at an estate sale. It's sitting here waiting for you to play it.

~Hank

How many letters had Hank written to Cora before she'd finally shown up at the Devil's Wind? Ruby closed her eyes and imagined a much younger Hank standing in front of a mailbox, full of hope and excitement as he dropped his love letter inside.

A surge of protectiveness toward him filled Ruby, and she wished she could throttle Cora for her insensitivity. She returned the letters to the compartment behind the lining, then closed the lid and left the attic, her heart swelling with more compassion for the old man than she believed possible.