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  Liar.

  Even though it was merely eight o’clock in the morning, she needed to get started with the noon meal and then supper for more than twenty hungry cowboys. She’d already served breakfast, having risen with the sun. After her short break to awaken Will and get him fed and started on his day, she returned to the cookhouse to prepare the noon meal.

  Her assistant, Mac, was already pulling out vegetables to chop. Earlier, he’d brought in a round of beef that she would cut into pieces and make cowboy stew. That would simmer all morning, and she would serve the meal at noontime, along with loaves of fresh baked bread and apple pies. She planned beans and corn bread for supper. With the men’s sweet tooth always looking for a treat, she would also make fried apples with bacon.

  “Rachel, if you have a minute this morning, can you look in on Mrs. Richardson? She wasn’t feeling too well today, and I think some company would help her.” Big Bob stood in the cookhouse doorway, leaning his forearm against the frame.

  The man stood well over six feet and weighed two hundred forty pounds of all muscle. Despite his size, he was soft-hearted and devoted to his wife. Suffering from arthritis for several years now, Mrs. Richardson’s world had shrunk from the ranch, to the house, to her room, to her bed. A woman from town came in each morning to tend to her personal needs. Rachel liked Mrs. Richardson immensely and felt sorry that the illness had deprived her of a full life.

  One of Rachel’s favorite things to do was to clean up after supper each night, and then she and Will would go to the ranch house where Rachel would read to Mrs. Richardson. She had tried on several occasions to get Will to read aloud, but despite his age, he still stumbled over the words and became embarrassed. She didn’t understand why a child his age didn’t read better.

  “Yes, sir, I’ll be glad to sit with her for a while. Perhaps I’ll bring a new book to start.”

  “Thank you, sweetheart. I really appreciate it.”

  Rachel hated the sadness in the big man’s eyes. He adored his wife; they’d been married for more than twenty years. Already in their forties when they wed, they’d never had children.

  She couldn’t imagine her life without Will. She and Billy had an acceptable marriage, but nothing so wonderful that she wanted to repeat it. They got along, but once Will was born their focus turned to him, and they more or less drifted apart.

  She was saddened when he died of pneumonia, but certainly didn’t feel the heartbreak she knew Big Bob would if Mrs. Richardson was taken from him. Perhaps she wasn’t capable of that kind of love. Another reason to avoid getting married again.

  The morning flew by, and by noon she was ringing the old bell outside the cookhouse for the men to return for dinner. Her always hungry son came dashing from the house, racing to where Rusty walked, taking his hand as they headed to the tables. Her stomach tightened. She really did not want him tagging after the ranch foreman. Besides the fact that she and the man disliked each other, she wanted Will to admire other men. Like Uncle Jesse or Uncle Michael. Not some cowboy.

  Once the room filled up, she stood behind the table that held the large pot of stew which she ladled into each man’s bowl. They moved along the line, picking up chunks of bread. Mac went from place to place pouring coffee.

  After all the cowboys had been served, she cut large pieces of apple pie and left it on another table for the men to help themselves. She wiped her forehead with the sleeve of her dress and watched her son and Rusty chatting away as if they were old friends. She needed to get Will into town to spend time with Michael and Uncle Jesse. Those were the men she wanted him to admire.

  “Ma, I finished my chores and schoolwork. Can I go with Mr. McIntyre to see about the north fence?” Will hopped up and down on one foot, his young face tight with excitement.

  She smiled at her son’s enthusiasm. Even though the last thing she wanted to do was let him go, she would never be able to stand the boy’s disappointment.

  Rusty strolled up and placed his hand on Will’s shoulder. “I’ll make sure the boy stays out of trouble.”

  Her heart sped up. What was it about this man that affected her so? That lazy smile was a deception. There was nothing lazy about Mr. McIntyre. She’d seen him at work when she was hanging her wash. One time he removed his shirt and hung it on the corral post as he worked with one of the horses. All golden skin over taut, rippling muscles. A vision she should not have enjoyed as much as she had.

  “It’s not that. I wanted him to practice his reading this afternoon.”

  “Aw, Ma. I did my schoolwork already.”

  “I know, young man, but your reading needs a lot of practice.”

  “Man does not live by books alone.” Rusty flashed her a smile.

  She rolled her eyes. “I won’t even comment on that since I’m pretty sure you know you just now misquoted the Bible.”

  He pushed his hat back with his thumb and looked down at Will. “I’m sorry, son, but if your mama says no, then that’s that.”

  Wonderful. Now she was the villain. If she was fully honest with herself, it wasn’t merely Will’s reading that held her back. She was uncomfortable with him spending time with Rusty. They really knew very little about the man other than what Big Bob had mentioned when he’d introduced Rusty to everyone. Seemed their new foreman hailed from Kansas. With all the cowboys in Oklahoma, why did Big Bob have to bring someone from Kansas?

  It wasn’t her place to question her employer, so she had nodded her ‘hello’ as if she’d never seen him before in her life. Since Big Bob had seen fit to introduce them, apparently Rusty hadn’t mentioned their prior meeting, either.

  Unable to stand the dejected look on Will’s face, she closed her eyes and said, “All right. You may go with Mr. McIntyre to check the northern fence. However, I expect you to do as you are told, and not wander off. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am!” Will turned to Rusty. “Can I take the palomino?”

  “Ah, I don’t think so, little buddy. I haven’t had a chance to evaluate all the horses yet, so I’d rather you take Cheshire. I worked with him yesterday, and I think he will suit you fine.”

  “But he’s an old horse.”

  “Will, if you don’t behave, it’s up to the house with you,” Rachel said.

  “All right, Ma. Sorry.” He turned to Rusty. “Cheshire is fine, Mr. McIntyre.”

  “Then we better head out. We have a lot of ground to cover.”

  Rachel bent to kiss Will’s cheek, only to have him wipe it off, as he glanced at Rusty. “Aw, come on, Ma. I’m not a baby.”

  Her brows rose. “Is that so? Well, I’ll have you know not only babies get kisses.”

  “Your ma has it right there, son. Kissing is certainly not just for babies.” Rusty tilted his lips in a slow, lazy, smile, his eyes full of mirth as he slanted her a look.

  Much to her annoyance, the fluttering started up in her stomach again. Drat the man, and how she reacted to him. Attempting nonchalance, she fixed the collar on Will’s shirt, then patted his shoulder and walked off. She had a great deal of work to do, and didn’t have the time to stand around accepting questionable looks from cowboys.

  ***

  Rusty watched Rachel stroll away, her hips gently swaying as she returned to the cook house. Ringlets that had fallen from her topknot teased the back of her long, slender neck where he’d love to place his lips.

  He had no idea why he taunted her like that. Oh sure, he’d love to take her to bed, but she was a forever woman, and that put her firmly on the ‘do not touch’ list.

  “Mr. McIntyre, are we ready?” Will’s voice brought him back to the present and his focus on where it should be. Certainly not on Rachel Stevens’ swaying hips.

  “Sure are, son. Let’s go saddle up.”

  Will was a cute little kid. He peppered Rusty with questions all afternoon. While they checked fences, he learned that Will never knew his father, thought his Uncle Jesse and Uncle Michael were nice, but not as much ‘fun’ as Rusty
was. His ‘real’ name was Zander William Stevens, a name his daddy insisted on. But his ma never liked Zander, so she called him Will. He disliked schoolwork, found reading hard, and wanted a puppy but his ma said no.

  After about an hour, Rusty realized Will had tilted his hat the same way Rusty did, and held the horse’s reins in an identical manner. He wanted to know why Rusty didn’t have any kids, why he left Kansas, and didn’t he agree that being a cowboy was the best job on the earth. In some ways it was flattering to be looked up to that way, something he’d never had before. But the reality was the boy’s ma was right. Being a cowboy was tough, hard work, and would never get you the respect in life that his two uncles had with their fancy college degrees.

  Maybe Rusty didn’t have a fancy degree, but he’d been saving his money for years, and in about another year or so, he’d have enough to buy his own ranch. Nothing big to start with, but enough for a beginning. It had been his dream since the first time he tied a bandana around his mouth to keep from eating dirt on the trail. He loved the work, but he wanted his own place.

  The time passed, with Will talking his ears off when he wasn’t asking questions. What amazed him more than anything was how much he enjoyed having the kid with him. Too bad a man had to have a wife in order to have sons. He could get used to this imitation the kid was doing all afternoon. But the idea of trusting another woman had him breaking out in a cold sweat. He’d done that before, and swore he’d never do it again.

  “It’s almost time for your ma to ring the supper bell. I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty hungry.” Rusty patted his stomach.

  “Yeah, I’m hungry, too,” Will said, rubbing his stomach in turn.

  They moved their horses toward the cookhouse just as Rachel began clanging the bell. “It looks like we’ll have just enough time to wash up before supper.”

  Rachel walked up to them as they rode into the yard. It was apparent something had set her off. The cool demeanor that had started their acquaintance was back. “You have visitors, Mr. McIntyre.”

  “Visitors?”

  “Yes. In the ranch parlor. Big Bob put them there so you can have privacy.” She reached for Will’s hand. “Come on, we have to get you washed up for supper.”

  “Can’t I go with Mr. McIntyre to wash up?”

  “No. He has visitors.” She tugged Will away, almost as if he would catch something nasty by standing next to him. What the devil was this all about? While he wouldn’t say he and Rachel were friends, they certainly had moved past the coolness she’d shown him when he’d first arrived. He couldn’t help but think this change in her attitude had something to do with his ‘visitors.’

  Since almost no one knew he was at the Lazy Sunset, he couldn’t imagine who would be visiting him. He took a quick wash and entered the ranch house. Not very familiar with the layout of the house, he glanced into two different rooms before he reached what had to be the parlor.

  An older man sat on the settee, looking decidedly uncomfortable. He was dressed in a suit, but kept pulling on his string tie. Next to him was a young girl. Blond, curly hair, slender, and about fourteen years old. She slumped in the seat, an adolescent scowl on her lovely face. A face that looked vaguely familiar.

  Rusty stepped into the room, an uncomfortable feeling clenching his innards. The man rose, and grasped the girl under her arm to raise her up. She stood and yanked her arm away from the man, glowering in his direction.

  “You behave yourself, girl,” the man hissed.

  She crossed her arms and stared at a spot on the wall in front of her, her lips pursed.

  “Mrs. Stevens said you wish to speak with me?” Rusty asked.

  “Yes.” The man tugged on his tie again.

  Rusty glanced from him to the girl. “I’m sorry, but do I know you?”

  “Not exactly.”

  When the man said nothing else, Rusty removed his hat and placed it on a low table, then sat and crossed his arms. “Well that clears everything up.”

  The man took his seat and tugged the girl down. She turned her back on him and continued to admire the wallpaper.

  “I’m tired, it’s been a long day, and my supper is waiting. I don’t know you, and you don’t know me. So why are we here?”

  “Mr. McIntyre, I am Beatrice Foster’s father.”

  “Beatrice?” He uncrossed his arms and sat forward. “You’re Beatrice’s father?”

  The man nodded.

  Rusty released a huge breath and leaned back. Beatrice Foster. The woman he tried to forget for almost fifteen years. They were young and had been in love, or at least he had thought they were. He had proposed, and the wedding was only weeks away when he found her in bed with one of the ranch hands.

  In a fit of rage, Rusty had dragged the man out of the bed, beat the living hell out of him, and walked out with Beatrice crying his name, asking for forgiveness. He kept walking and never looked back. Strange how he hadn’t recognized her father. Foster, apparently, had been easy to forget.

  “Why are you here?”

  Foster fidgeted some more, and seemed to finally make a decision. “I’ve come to bring Amelia to you.”

  “Who?”

  The older man jerked his thumb in the direction of the girl, who still sat with her back to the two of them.

  “What are you talking about? Why bring the girl here?”

  “Because she belongs with you, and I can’t take care of her no more. Her mother died of the flu, left her with the wife and me, but we’ve had enough.”

  Rusty shook his head in confusion. “I’m afraid I’m not following this conversation very well. Why bring her here?”

  “Because Amelia here is your daughter.”

  Rusty jumped from his seat. “What?”

  The girl finally turned toward him, her eyes hard, her expression mulish. “Yeah, Papa. I’m your daughter.”

  Chapter Three

  “How is it possible you have a fourteen year old daughter and didn’t know that?” Rachel stood in the doorway to her house, barring the way.

  With nowhere else to turn, Rusty had brought the girl to Rachel’s house. She now sat on her suitcase in the front yard, looking bored with the entire conversation.

  “Rachel, can we please go somewhere private to talk?” He looked back at Amelia, who immediately turned her head, unwilling to acknowledge them.

  “‘Mrs. Stevens to you. And I don’t see why you’re involving me in your private affairs.”

  “Please?”

  Rachel opened the door wider, but pushed him aside. She walked to Amelia and squatted in front of the girl. He couldn’t hear what she said, but Amelia shrugged, then stood and picked up her suitcase. She followed Rachel into the house. “The kitchen is straight ahead. My son, Will, is having a bedtime snack. I’ll be right with you.”

  She crooked her finger at Rusty and he followed her into the room on her right, which was a parlor of sorts. Crossing her arms and tapping her foot as if addressing a disobedient child, she said, “All right, now tell me.”

  Rusty rested his hands on his hips. “It turns out the visitors I had earlier today was Amelia and her grandfather.”

  “Your father?”

  “No. Both my parents are deceased. He was Beatrice’s father.”

  “Beatrice?”

  “Look, can we sit down? This is a long story, and frankly, I don’t even know where to begin.”

  Rachel sat on the edge of a worn char and waved to the one across from her. “I think a good place to start is with Amelia’s mother.”

  “Yeah. Well, Beatrice—Amelia’s mother—and I were engaged to be married. We were young. I was eighteen, and she was seventeen.”

  “Go on.”

  “A couple of weeks before the wedding, I returned to the bunkhouse in the middle of the day to get another pair of gloves. I had brought my older, worn ones with me, and they weren’t working well enough. Anyway, I found Beatrice and another one of the cowhands in his cot.” He looked up at h
er. “They weren’t taking a nap.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Actually, I was more angry than sorry. I whipped that boy’s ass—pardon—and left the ranch. Never looked back. Haven’t seen her since then.”

  “And Amelia?”

  “If she is mine—and based on what I had witnessed, there is some doubt about that—I never knew about her. I moved a few times over the years, but she never wrote.”

  “What about her mother?”

  “According to Beatrice’s father, she claimed the kid was mine. But when the girl was only about four, Beatrice died from influenza.” He leaned forward, his forearms on his knees. “That was about ten years ago. It seems they’d been looking for me all this time. Just now caught up with me.”

  “That poor girl. Abandoned by her mother, unknown to her father—”

  “If I am her father.”

  “—and now dumped by her grandparents.”

  Rusty stood and paced. “What am I going to do? I can’t keep a young girl in my house. I have no idea what to say to her, let alone finish raising her.”

  “You are the adult and you need to put aside your problems with it, Mr. McIntryre.”

  “Can we please do away with the ‘Mr.’ and ‘Mrs.?’”

  Ignoring his request, she continued. “You need to concern yourself with the little girl in there who nobody seems to want.”

  “It’s not that I don’t want her. I just—damnation, Rachel, can you understand how I feel? You’ve had Will in your life even before he was born. I just found out a couple of hours ago that I may or may not have a daughter.”

  Rachel jumped up from her seat. “Stop right there.”

  “What?”

  “I will not listen to any more of this talk about how she may or may not be your daughter. She is alone. Probably scared and miserable. She doesn’t know you any more than you know her. As I already said, you are the adult, and the responsible one. You need to put your feelings aside and take care of her.”