Книга - Roughneck Cowboy

Roughneck Cowboy
Marin Thomas


When his mom passed, roughneck Travis Cartwright thought he'd lost the only family he and his daughter Charlie had.That is until he discovers an estranged father and siblings living just a few hours away. They might be strangers, but they're blood, and Travis needs to protect Charlie should tragedy strike at his dangerous job. Dominick Cartwright offers his son more than peace of mind.He gives Travis a new job, a place to live and a side project - to convince Dominick's stubborn neighbor, Sara Sanders, to sell her ranch. Travis is confident he can smooth talk the plain-Jane teacher into selling quickly, but there's more to Sara than meets the eye. Soon Travis loses sight of his missionand his heart.As their relationship grows, they uncover painful family secrets, and Dominick's real motives. Then, the sparks fly!









“Ask me to stay,” Travis said.


Sara sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

“Stay,” she whispered. I must be crazy. Sara stared at her and Travis’s reflection in the hall mirror. Her dress made her feel beautiful and desirable—but would she feel that way once it came off? Or would Travis see the plain Jane everyone in town saw?

Her gaze collided with Travis’s in the mirror and the heat in his eyes reassured her.

He slid a finger beneath her dress strap and moved it aside. She shivered at the feel of his fingertips on her skin.

“What are you afraid of?” he asked.

“Nothing.” Everything. Women like her didn’t win the hearts of fantasy men like Travis. He was out of her league.

Travis brushed aside a strand of hair clinging to her cheek. “Fess up, Sara Sanders, because when I get you upstairs there’s not going to be any room in that bed for doubts.”


Dear Reader,

Welcome back to Tulapoint, Oklahoma. When I began writing about the Cartwright siblings in The Cowboy and the Angel (November 2008), A Cowboy’s Promise (April 2009) and Samantha’s Cowboy (August 2009), I had no idea there would be a fourth sibling. Then my imagination took off. What if there was another son—a son the family never knew existed?

I wondered how I’d feel if one day I learned that the father I was led to believe wanted nothing to do with me, never even knew I’d existed. American Romance is all about family. When family dynamics suddenly change in a dramatic way, everyone’s lives are thrown into chaos. Travis’s struggle to claim his rightful place in the family encounters a snag when he falls for Sara—his father’s neighbor and longtime nemesis. Travis is torn between wanting to please his father and being with the one woman he trusts his heart with. Then Travis and Sara discover the secret responsible for the years of bad feelings between the families. Will their love be enough to heal the pain and bring both families together?

I hope you enjoy visiting the Cartwright family one last time. For more information on my books and to sign up for my newsletter please visit www.marinthomas.com. Information on Harlequin American Romance authors and their books can be found at www.harauthors.blogspot.com.

And if you like rodeo cowboys, get ready for my new Harlequin American Romance series…Rodeo Rebels! Look for Rodeo Daddy available in April 2011.

Yippie yi yay!

Marin




Roughneck Cowboy

Marin Thomas










ABOUT THE AUTHOR


Marin Thomas grew up in Janesville, Wisconsin. She attended the University of Arizona in Tucson on a Division I basketball scholarship. In 1986 she graduated with a B.A. in radio-television and married her college sweetheart in a five-minute ceremony in Las Vegas. Marin was inducted in May 2005 into the Janesville Sports Hall of Fame for her basketball accomplishments. Even though she now calls Chicago home, she’s a living testament to the old adage “You can take the girl out of the small town, but you can’t take the small town out of the girl.” Marin’s heart still lies in small-town life, which she loves to write about in her books.


To my niece, Tylesha

Find your inspiration—

the one thing that feeds your soul.

That makes you yearn to be more than you

ever imagined you could be. Chase after it

and don’t look back. There will be times you

want to give up. Don’t. Dig harder. Longer. Deeper.

The good stuff is always at the bottom.

Everything you need to succeed is already inside you.

Believe in yourself and dream big.




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen




Chapter One


“I gotta use the bathroom, Dad.”

Well, shoot. Lost in thought, Travis Cartwright had all but forgotten that his eight-year-old daughter, Charlie, rode in the front seat with him. They’d departed Houston, Texas, hours ago and she’d yet to release the glower from her face.

He sucked at fatherhood and had no one to blame but himself. His job as a roughneck kept him separated from his daughter for weeks on end, then whenever he returned to the mainland, he spent most of his time catching up on sleep and yard work.

“Keep an eye out for a place to stop.” Another ten miles and they’d clear the outskirts of Tulsa, Oklahoma. From there they’d drive northwest until they reached their final destination—the Lazy River Ranch. “I’m hungry. How about you, kiddo?”

One shoulder, no bigger than the bottom of a coffee mug, lifted, remained elevated a second, then dropped back into place. Her elfin face stared straight ahead, pale eyelashes blinking rhythmically in time with the windshield wipers.

Keep trying. “Snow’s coming down faster.” As dusk descended, flakes danced in the truck’s headlights and ribbons of white swirled across the road. Was he nuts for making this trip two days before Thanksgiving? “Maybe there’ll be enough snow to play in tomorrow morning.”

“I hate snow.”

Not the greatest attitude, but he’d take words over a shrug any day. Charlie was nothing more than an imp—a blond-headed sprite with blue eyes. He’d called her Twinkie as a toddler. Dripping wet, his daughter didn’t weigh more than forty-five pounds. What Charlie lacked in size she made up for in pure stubbornness.

Charlie inherited her slight build and fair coloring from her mother. Julie had split right after Charlie’s birth and hadn’t bothered to leave a forwarding address. Lucky for him Travis’s mother, Charlotte, had been there to help him raise Charlie.

I’m sorry, Travis. So sorry. His mother’s dying words clanged around inside his brain. He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them wide. Silence—thank God. Since her death, his mother’s voice had been a constant presence in his head.

“Maybe your grandfather has horses.”

The question thunked between him and Charlie like a boulder hitting the pavement. Travis strangled the steering wheel, recalling how often his mother had cautioned him that, if he didn’t pay more attention to his daughter, they’d grow apart. He’d heard the warnings but had ignored them. He’d counted on his mother always being there for him and Charlie and for there always being another time or another day to spend with his daughter. Well, another time and another day had arrived and were right now chasing his anxious ass down an Oklahoma highway. “I bet there’s a dog on the ranch.” They’d never owned a pet, because his mother had been allergic to animal fur. Fortunately, a neighbor allowed Charlie to play with his golden retriever, and that was almost as good as having her own dog. “There’s probably a cat or two in the barn.”

More shrugs.

He yearned to reassure his daughter that everything would be okay, but feared neither one of them would emerge from the wreckage of Charlotte Cartwright’s death without scars—how many and how deep time would tell. Two weeks ago, he’d taken a leave of absence from his job as a roughneck on the Exxon Mobil Hoover Diana and had sat by his dying mother’s bedside, listening to her perplexing apology before she’d slipped away.

More than his mother’s death had shaken the foundation of his and Charlie’s world. When Travis had gone through his mother’s personal property, he’d discovered a diary—Pandora’s box. Suddenly Charlotte’s apology had made perfect sense.

His mother’s secret had turned Travis’s world upside down and spurred the journey he and his daughter had embarked upon. On the yellowed pages of flowerpatterned stationery, Travis had learned the identity of his father—famous Oklahoma oil baron Dominick Cartwright.

Travis’s gut burned with anger and resentment toward both parents. He assumed his mother had kept his father a secret all these years to protect him from rejection. Still, the choice to know his father or not should have been Travis’s, and he was determined to learn why his father wanted nothing to do with him.

When Travis had done an internet search for Dominick Cartwright, the more information he’d uncovered, the angrier he’d become. He’d welcomed the anger. Better resentment than hurt—he was a roughneck, for God’s sake. Slaving away on an oil platform in the middle of the ocean in dangerous, harsh conditions should have toughened his hide and made it impossible to care one way or the other about his father’s disregard. No such luck. Add in the strange sense of relief he’d felt at learning he and his daughter weren’t alone in the world, and he was one confused, messed-up roughneck.

Charlotte’s death had also left Charlie in a vulnerable position. Travis had considered quitting his job in order to be home with his daughter, but he was in line for a promotion and without a college education he’d never make as much money on the mainland. Regardless, his position on the rig was risky—the Deepwater Horizon catastrophe in the Gulf of Mexico the previous year was proof of that.

With Charlie’s grandmother out of the picture, Travis worried that if he were to die while his daughter was young, she’d become a ward of the state. He’d decided to make the trip to Oklahoma for Charlie’s sake, not his. He didn’t need a relationship with his estranged father nor the brother and sister his mother had written about in her diary.

Yeah, right. Keep telling yourself that and maybe you’ll believe it.

Dominick had better not turn his back on his granddaughter—the man owed Travis for not claiming him all these years.

Rather than admit an attack of nerves had invaded his intestines, he blamed his queasy stomach on the fact that he hadn’t eaten in hours. Like a pendulum, his gaze swung back and forth across the road, searching for a place to eat and pee—as Charlie put it.

A Victorian house sprang up in the middle of nowhere and he pulled onto the shoulder of the road. He studied the pink-and-black monstrosity surrounded by an iron gate. Travis wondered if he’d stumbled upon a backwoods bordello.

“Beulah’s,” he said.

Charlie wrinkled her nose. “Huh?”

“The sign in the front yard says Beulah’s.”

“What’s a Beulah?”

“A restaurant, I think.” Travis turned into the driveway alongside the home and drove to the back of the lot where three pickups and one patrol car were parked. Patio tables covered in a dusting of snow sat in the backyard and a Welcome sign hung on the door.

Travis turned off the ignition and unbuckled his seat belt. “Let’s see if Beulah has a bathroom you can use.”

Charlie didn’t budge.

Most parents wouldn’t tolerate obstinacy, but he allowed his daughter’s behavior to slide. To his way of thinking, he deserved her sullenness. He’d been absent more than present during Charlie’s young life—even missed a few of her birthdays because he hadn’t been able to switch his shift on the platform. It would take time for him and Charlie to find their way without Grandma Charlotte to guide them.

When he opened the door, the smell of fried burgers and crisp evening air filled his lungs. His stomach growled loudly. Charlie took her dang tootin’ time getting out of the truck, but he kept a lid on his temper and pretended to enjoy the balmy thirty-two-degree temperature.

A clunky cowbell attached to the door handle announced their arrival when they entered the Victorian.

“Welcome to Beulah’s!” An older woman with a 1960s beehive hairdo dyed pitch-black and wearing a pink muumuu and house slippers greeted them. “I’m Beulah. We got a few tables left in the front room.” She motioned for them to follow her through the house.

With a hand on his daughter’s shoulder, Travis guided Charlie down the hall and into the dining area. All three tables in the room were occupied. They followed Beulah across the foyer and into the parlor, which boasted a fireplace. He and Charlie sat at the table near the windows.

Beulah handed them a laminated handwritten menu. “Special’s leftovers.”

Leftovers?

“With Thanksgiving right around the corner, I’m cleaning out the fridge.” Beulah batted her false eyelashes and smiled at Charlie. “You sure are a pipsqueak.”

Travis winced. Charlie hated people commenting on her small stature.

“Just ’cause I’m little don’t mean—”

“Doesn’t,” Travis interrupted.

Charlie glared at him. “—doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”

Beulah’s charcoal eyebrows arched into her hairline. “I never said nothing about you having trouble with your brain. For all I know, you might grow up to be the next president of these here United States.”

Before his daughter caused a ruckus with the restaurant owner, Travis asked, “Do you have a restroom Charlie can use?”

“Next to the kitchen. I’ll show you.” Beulah escorted his scowling daughter away.

A short time later, Charlie returned. While she played with the salt-and-pepper shakers, he perused the handwritten menu. Chicken fingers wasn’t one of the leftover specials. “Think you might want to try the rice casserole?”

“Yuck.”

Thought so. “What about a hamburger?”

“Double yuck.”

“What about—”

“A bowl of cereal?” Beulah stopped at the table.

“What kind?” Charlie asked. “Froot Loops.”

“You have really tall hair.” Charlie gaped at Beulah’s beehive.

“Twelve inches worth of it, sweetheart. You eating cereal or not?”

“I like Froot Loops.”

Beulah nodded at Travis. “You?”

“I’ll have a burger. Medium well.”

“Drinks?”

“A glass of milk for Charlie. Coffee for me.”

“Comin’ right up.” Beulah shoved the pencil into her hair chimney, took two steps, then stopped. “Where are you folks from?”

“Houston.”

“Passing through or visiting?”

“We’re going to see my grandpa.” Charlie’s eyes welled with tears. “’Cause I don’t have a mom and my grandma just died.”

Travis felt like he’d been punched in the windpipe. During the past week, his daughter had been so brave. She hadn’t cried in front of him, but he’d stood outside her bedroom door at night feeling helpless as he listened to her muffled sniffles.

“Ah, honey.” Beulah brushed a strand of blond hair off Charlie’s forehead. “I’m sorry about your mama and your grandma.” She sent an apologetic smile Travis’s way.

The bell on the back door clanged and Beulah rushed off. A minute later, a tall, plain-looking woman entered the parlor. Bundled in a long, brown coat, she clutched a bulging tote bag to her chest. Snowflakes dotted her shoulder-length dark hair, the white specks melting into water beads that sparkled in the firelight. She set the tote on the floor, draped her coat over the back of her chair, then sat down. Her eyes skipped over him, but when she spotted Charlie, she smiled. Travis waited for her to make eye contact with him, but instead she rummaged through the tote on the floor.

Travis wasn’t a vain man, but working on an oil rig in the middle of the ocean gave him a year-round tan and a muscular physique. Add in his dark black hair and killer smile and, more often than not, women noticed him. He wasn’t sure if he should protest or laugh that he’d been passed over by plain Jane.

“Food will be right up,” Beulah said, poking her head into the room. She switched her attention to the newcomer. “Sara, don’t you ever take a break from grading papers?”

So plain Jane was a schoolteacher.

The lady chuckled at Beulah’s comment, the husky sound conjuring up an image of a late-night necking session in the backseat of Travis’s truck. That he’d find anything interesting about a woman who wasn’t his usual type reminded Travis his love life of late had been dryer than Death Valley.

He’d had one long-term relationship in his thirty years—Charlie’s mother. They’d dated for three years before Julie had become pregnant. He’d suggested they marry but Julie found one excuse after another to avoid a trip to the courthouse. A week after they’d brought Charlie home from the hospital, Julie had ditched them.

No note. No call. Just gone.

After Julie’s betrayal, Travis had stuck to flings. His two-week work rotation on oil rigs made trusting a girlfriend out of the question. Affairs were clean, quick and emotionless. And right now, Travis had bigger problems than his love life. Once he took care of business with Dominick Cartwright, his first priority was finding a nanny to care for Charlie.

Once in a while Travis pondered what his life might be like if he didn’t have Charlie to raise. Most days she was a good kid and he never regretted being a single father—mainly because his mother had done most of the parenting. Now the full responsibility of raising Charlie sat squarely on his shoulders and he’d never felt more unprepared for anything in his life.

“Here you go,” Beulah said, delivering their food. She tweaked Charlie’s nose, coaxing a half-smile from her. “Holler if you need anything else.”

He took a bite of the burger and watched Charlie as she spooned cereal into her mouth. “How are the Froot Loops?”

Another shrug. The rest of the meal passed in silence. When Travis finished his burger, he said, “I’m going to use the restroom.” He made it to the doorway when the schoolteacher’s sultry laughter rang out. He checked over his shoulder, but the woman was engrossed in the schoolwork she’d brought with her. Maybe he’d imagined the sound.

When he entered the restroom, he did a three-sixty in front of the mirror. No embarrassing stains or rips in his jeans. No kick me note stuck to his sweatshirt. What had the schoolteacher found so damned funny?



WHEN THE HUNKY MAN returned to the parlor, Sara pretended interest in her second-graders’ spelling tests. Through veiled eyes, she studied the man, noting his bare ring finger. She wondered if he was the little girl’s father. Uncle? Family friend? The absence of a bowlegged walk confirmed he was no cowboy, but his muscular build and deeply tanned face suggested he made his living outdoors.

The imp fidgeted in her seat, peeking at Sara every few seconds. Oh, dear. The child realized she had an audience. When Beulah delivered her meal, Sara nodded toward the other diners and whispered, “Who are they?”

“Came up from Houston to visit the little girl’s granddaddy.” Beulah motioned to Sara’s coffee mug. “More?”

“Thanks.”

Sara had just taken a bite of corn bread when Mr. Coppertone bent to pick up his napkin from the floor. The girl stuck out her tongue, wiggling the appendage like a worm on a fishhook. Sara giggled, but looked away before the child caught her staring. Her resolve to ignore the comedian lasted less than a minute. When she glanced up, two white straws protruded from the girl’s nose. Sara awarded her an A for creativity—the walrus face was priceless.

The man stopped playing with his cell phone and scowled. “That’s not funny, Charlie.”

Charlie. Unusual name for a girl.

“Take the straws out of your nose.” His deep voice boomed. “Now.”

The troublemaker pointed at Sara. “She thinks I’m funny.”

Oh, you little stinker. Sara resisted the urge to duck her head. She offered a friendly smile, but the man’s scowl remained in place.

“I don’t care if the world thinks you’re hilarious. Finish your cereal.”

“I want to go home.” The pint-size rascal crossed her arms over her chest and pouted.

“Too late to turn back now. We’re in this for keeps.”

His words coaxed a quiet sigh from Sara. What she wouldn’t give to find a handsome man who wanted to be in it for keeps with her.



THE GRAVEL ROAD LEADING to the Lazy River Ranch felt like a dark, endless tunnel. Travis battled another round of second thoughts as they bumped along the path. Should he have phoned and given the old man a heads-up about his and Charlie’s visit? Or should he have waited until after the holidays to drop in? He shoved his worries aside. Dominick Cartwright didn’t deserve any courtesies from him.

What if your father didn’t know you existed all these years?

Travis had considered the possibility, but it was easier to assume Dominick had wanted nothing to do with him than to believe his mother—the woman who’d raised him single-handedly all these years—had denied him a relationship with his father.

“When are we gonna be there?”

No sooner had Charlie spoken than the ranch house came into view. Halogen lights lit the circular drive crowded with cars. Damn, he’d crashed a party. He parked by the empty coral.

From a distance, the barn appeared old but in pristine condition. He’d have expected an oil baron to possess a state-of-the-art aluminum-sided structure with central air and all the high-tech stuff. Maybe the small cattle herd they’d driven past was just for show. He switched his attention to the house. Light poured through the windows of the white two-story home with a wraparound porch.

“Well, I’ll be,” he mumbled when a hound dog limped from around the corner of the house.

Charlie unsnapped her seat belt and pressed her nose to the windshield. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Probably just old.”

“He looks sad.”

The dog barked once, swished its tail, then disappeared inside the barn. “I guess that means we’re welcome.”

“Aren’t we going in?” Charlie asked.

How did a father explain to his little girl that he was scared spitless?

You’re doing this for Charlie.

If he could fool himself into believing that, then he wouldn’t have to acknowledge his own need to know if he’d ever mattered to the man who’d sired him. The decision to stay or leave was taken out of his hands when the front door opened and two men stepped outside. They stood beneath the porch light and stared in Travis’s direction. A moment later, they shuffled down the steps and headed across the driveway.

“Stay put, Charlie.” Travis cut the engine and got out of the truck. One man walked with a cowboy swagger, the other possessed the steady gait of a confident businessman.

As they drew near, the swaggering cowboy spoke. “Need directions?”

Hardly. “I’m here to see Dominick Cartwright.”

Both men stopped a few yards away. Travis didn’t blame them for being cautious. He suspected all kinds of kooks claimed they had business with Dominick Cartwright in hopes of getting their hands on his millions. “Got a name?” the businessman asked.

“Travis Cartwright from Houston, Texas.”

Right then the front door opened again and an elderly gentleman stepped outside. There was no doubt in Travis’s mind that the man was Dominick Cartwright. He stood tall and straight with dark hair and a white mustache. “Matt? What’s going on out there?” He headed toward the group.

“Duke and I will take care of it, Dad!” the cowboy shouted.

Travis’s mother hadn’t mentioned a third child in her diary entries, so he had no idea who Duke was, but the cowboy must be Matt—his mother had mentioned an older brother by that name. As his father drew closer, Travis suddenly wanted to run. To pretend he’d never learned of his mother’s secret. To reject the idea that he was part of a family he hadn’t known existed most of his life.

Charlie hopped out of the truck and joined Travis, sliding her hand into his. He squeezed his daughter’s fingers embarrassed by the need for her support.

Despite the fact that there must be more than thirty years difference in their ages, the old man’s chiseled face was a dead ringer for the one that met Travis in the mirror each morning. They shared the same nose, high cheekbones and thick, black eyebrows. If there was any doubt, the pronounced Adam’s apple sealed the deal.

“Dominick Cartwright?” Travis said, cursing the break in his voice.

The old man stiffened. “Who are you?”

Disappointment stabbed Travis, but he squelched the feeling. Now was not the time to feel. “Travis Cartwright. According to my mother, Charlotte Keegan- Cartwright, I’m your son.”

Dominick stumbled back and the other men steadied him. Masculine hands covered in a network of thick veins clenched into fists. He opened his mouth, then shut it so tightly his lips vanished beneath the mustache as he stared at Travis.

Unfazed by the tension between the adults, Charlie asked, “Are you my grandpa?”

Before Dominick had a chance to answer, Duke said, “Help Dad inside, Matt.”

Travis’s brother took Dominick’s arm and led him away. Once the two were out of earshot, Duke said, “You better be for real or you’ll have a lot to answer for.”

Travis nodded toward the house, where a group of women and children had gathered on the front porch. “I don’t want to intrude. Charlie and I will return in a couple of days.”

“No one drops a bomb like you just did and walks away. C’mon.”

He was grateful Charlie hadn’t released his hand as they followed Duke. If he wasn’t so agitated, he’d laugh at himself—the big, bad roughneck afraid of a few rich people.

“What’s the matter, Duke?” one of the women asked when they neared the porch steps.

“We’ll talk inside.”

The crowd filed into the house, then Duke motioned Travis and Charlie ahead of him. They joined the others in the crowded foyer. Dominick stood to the side, staring into space.

After a tense silence, Charlie blurted, “How come no one’s talking?”

A pregnant woman with blond hair smiled. “I’m Renée.” She set her hand on the shoulder of a young boy. “This is my son, Timmy.” The woman motioned across the foyer. “You’ve met my husband, Duke.”

A tall woman with long black hair and a quizzical expression stepped forward. “I’m Samantha.”

My sister. Travis and Samantha shared the same dark eyebrows, olive skin and jet-black hair. Unlike his brother, Matt, whose blue eyes, brown hair and paler complexion favored their mother.

Samantha slipped her arm through the man’s next to her and hugged a little boy close. Both males wore identical eyeglasses. “My husband, Wade, and our son, Luke.”

“I’m Amy, Matt’s wife.” A petite woman with curly hair motioned to two little girls. “Our daughters, Rose and Lily.” The girls giggled and hid behind their mother’s legs.

“I’m Charlie.”

“That’s a weird name for a girl,” the boy wearing glasses said.

“Charlie’s my nickname.”

“What’s your real name?” the boy asked.

“Charlotte. That’s my grandma’s name, too.”

The adults froze at Charlie’s announcement.

“Where’s your grandma?” the little girl in pigtails asked.

“She died. And I don’t have a mom. It’s just me and my dad now.” Charlie fidgeted next to Travis, unaware of the bombshell she’d dropped.

Samantha slapped a hand over her mouth and tears flooded her eyes. Matt’s face drained of color. Travis searched out Dominick, but the old man had disappeared. A moment later, the echo of a slamming door thundered through the hallway.




Chapter Two


Travis wasn’t sure if his physical presence or the news of his mother’s death had caused his estranged father to leave the group. Regardless, Travis decided he wasn’t ready for this confrontation. “Charlie, let’s go.”

“Wait.” The blond woman named Renée stepped forward. “We were about to serve dessert. Please stay.”

“Last one to the kitchen’s a rotten egg.” Timmy took off, and the other kids followed. Renée held out her hand to Charlie.

Noticing Samantha’s pleading expression, Travis decided it wouldn’t hurt to answer a few questions about their mother. “Go ahead,” Travis urged his daughter.

Matt’s wife kissed his cheek, then joined the others in the kitchen. Samantha gazed into her husband, Wade’s, eyes and Travis swore the couple shared an entire conversation without speaking a word. Wade hugged her, shot Travis a be-nice-to-my-wife glare and left.

“I’ll make sure you’re not disturbed,” Duke said before vacating the hallway.

Travis nodded to the door Dominick had slammed moments earlier. “Maybe you should check on your father.” He’s yours, too. True, but for all intents and purposes, he and Dominick Cartwright were strangers who happened to look alike.

“This is unbelievable.” Samantha cast a worried glance down the hallway.

“We could all use a drink,” Matt said. They filed into the parlor and Travis positioned himself in front of the windows. His sister collapsed on the leather sofa and Matt poured scotch into three glasses at the wet bar. After serving the drinks, he sat in the chair near the fireplace.

Travis swirled the gold liquid in the crystal glass, thinking this was a three- or four-shot occasion—not a one-shot. He wasn’t a conservative drinker, thanks to his chosen career. As soon as his two-week rotation on the rig ended and he stepped onto the mainland, Travis and his coworkers headed straight for the local bars to blow off steam. Even though he hadn’t seen the harm in his bi-monthly binges, his mother had nagged him to cut back on his alcohol consumption. He hadn’t appreciated her concern until she’d been diagnosed with cancer. After helping to raise Charlie, Travis owed his mother a lot more than a promise to watch his drinking. He would have done anything for his mom if it would have cured her illness.

Then she’d died and he’d discovered his whole life had been a lie. He’d grown up a latchkey kid, living in one-bedroom apartments because that’s all his mom could afford on a secretary’s salary. Only when he’d landed the job on his first rig had they been able to scrape together the down payment for a small house. He hadn’t resented going without as a child—it was all he’d ever known. But the knowledge that he was the son of a wealthy oilman made him bitter.

“If you didn’t look so much like our father,” Matt said, “I’d accuse you of fabricating the story of Charlotte’s death in order to blackmail Dad.”

“I’ve lived thirty years without a dime of Cartwright oil money. No reason I can’t go another thirty years without it.” Travis sipped his scotch, savoring the burn of alcohol against his throat. Even though he understood his sibling’s mistrust, he hated that he had to defend himself when he was the one who’d been wronged.

Samantha waved a hand in the air. “Enough talk about money. How did Charlotte die?”

“Cancer. Multiple myeloma,” Travis said.

Matt tossed his drink back in one swallow. “What kind of cancer is that?”

“A tumor of the bone-marrow cells. Mom was diagnosed two years ago. After treatment she went into remission, which lasted nine months.”

“When did she die?” Samantha wiped at a lone tear on her cheek.

Travis felt empathy for his sister, the emotion surprising him. He didn’t know this woman, yet he couldn’t deny their physical similarities and the weird connection he felt in his gut when they made eye contact.

“Mom passed away three weeks ago.” Travis cursed the lump that formed in his throat. He was done crying for his mother. “I’m sorry.” Not that the apology meant anything coming from a complete stranger.

“Did Charlotte ever talk about Matt and me?” Samantha asked.

“No.” His answer startled Matt, and Travis regretted his bluntness.

“How did you find out about us?” Matt asked.

“Mom kept a diary.” She’d mentioned leaving Dominick and her two children—something poetic about heeding the call of her heart. All bullshit. When her remission ended, the entries had turned morose and she’d confessed that she’d regretted forsaking Matt and Samantha for a chance to be with her true love. Travis had yet to figure out just who the hell her true love had been. There had never been another man in his mother’s life—at least not one that Travis had known about.

“Do you have Charlotte’s diary with you?” Samantha asked.

“Yes.” Maybe his sister and brother would find solace in her words. The diary had only pissed off Travis.

Matt shot out of the chair and paced in front of the fireplace. “I just remembered something.” He stared at Travis. “This past summer Dad confessed that he should have gone after Charlotte when she’d walked out on us years ago. But he said his pride got in the way and he’d believed that she’d come to her senses and return on her own. Then months passed and there was no word from her, so Dad filed for divorce.”

Feeling shaky, Travis left his post at the window and joined Samantha on the couch. What would his life have been like if his mother had had a change of heart and returned to the Lazy River? Or if Dominick had gone after her and convinced her to give their marriage another try?

“Did Dominick talk about our mother often?” Travis directed the question to Matt.

“Anytime Sam or I asked questions about her, Dad changed the subject.” Matt glanced at Samantha. “Before Amy and I married, I considered hiring a private detective to find Charlotte.”

“You did?” Samantha’s expression softened.

Travis envied his siblings’ close relationship. All these years he’d believed growing up an only child had been better than having to share a bedroom, clothes or toys with a brother or sister. He wasn’t so sure now.

“I mentioned my plan to you, Sam, but you talked me out of it,” Matt said.

“Really?” Samantha spoke her next words to Travis. “When I was a teenager, I had an accident—a horse kicked me in the head and I almost died.” She smiled. “But I survived.” The smile flipped upside down. “The bad thing is that my short-term memory was affected and I forget things.”

“Amy encouraged me to invite Charlotte to our wedding,” Matt said.

“Why did I talk you out of it?”

“You believed if Charlotte came to the wedding, she’d upset Dad. After giving it more thought, I decided you were right. Dad’s always been there for us, and I didn’t want to do anything that might hurt him.”

“I felt the same,” Travis said. “There was a time I toyed with the idea of searching for my father, but I never had the money to hire an investigator.” And why bother if the man didn’t want Travis in the first place?

“I don’t understand how Dad couldn’t have known about you all these years.” The note of suspicion in Matt’s voice didn’t escape Travis.

“Poor Dad,” Samantha said. “I’m worried about the toll the news of Charlotte’s death will take on him.”

Matt helped himself to more scotch. “He’ll need time to get used to the idea that both his wives are now dead.”

“Both wives?” Travis asked.

“Matt and I were teenagers when Dad married Duke’s mother.”

That explained Duke’s presence in the family—a stepson.

“Laura died in a car accident several years ago,” Matt said.

Travis’s siblings had lost two mothers in their lifetime. “I’m sorry.”

“The whole situation is sorry.” Samantha stared into her drink.

“Did you bring proof of Charlotte’s death?” Matt asked.

Yeah, her body’s in the bed of my pickup. Travis squelched his anger. He couldn’t find fault with his brother for wanting to protect his father. He’d have the same urge if this had happened to his mother. “I’ll mail Dominick a copy of her death certificate as soon as Charlie and I return to Houston.”

A peek at the wall clock told Travis that the three of them had been together a half hour and Dominick had yet to make an appearance. “It’s best if Charlie and I leave.” Having a civilized discussion about his mother’s death was more than Travis could handle. “I’ll leave my cell number in case Dominick changes his mind and wants to talk.”

“Dad’s going to want answers before you leave,” Matt said. “You might as well stay here tonight so the two of you can talk tomorrow.”

“The kids are planning to sleep in the bunkhouse. Charlie will love that. And this couch—” Samantha pointed to the piece of furniture she sat on “—is a sleeper sofa.”

Okay, so they had room to put him and Charlie up for the night, but the invitation wasn’t heartfelt. Travis got the impression that Matt didn’t trust him and wanted to keep an eye on him. “Charlie and I don’t want to intrude.”

“Thanksgiving is a time to be with family,” Samantha said.

Family—the reason Travis and Charlie had embarked on the trip to Oklahoma in the first place. He couldn’t return to Texas until Dominick agreed to care for Charlie should Travis suddenly drop out of the picture. And what about his daughter? Charlie hadn’t smiled much or played with any friends since her grandmother’s death. “We’ll stay.”



“IF YOU’ RE MY GRANDPA, how come you never visit me?”

Charlie’s question met Travis’s ear as he reached the bottom of the stairs. After tossing and turning on the sofa bed all night, he’d showered and changed in the second-floor bathroom and had been heading to breakfast.

“Who said I never wanted to visit you, Charlotte?”

“Why do you keep calling me Charlotte? My name’s Charlie.”

“Are you always this impudent?”

“Did you call me a swearword?”

The two needed a referee. Travis entered the kitchen. “Mornin’.” He reached out to ruffle his daughter’s hair, but she saw his hand coming and ducked. Impudent little stinker.

“Grandpa keeps calling me Grandma’s name.” His daughter thrust out her lower lip.

“Charlie prefers to be called Charlie,” Travis said.

Dominick stood at the stove, flipping pancakes—avoiding eye contact. “Where is everyone?” Travis asked. The house was too quiet.

“Visiting Juanita’s family.”

“Grandpa said Juanita bosses him around.”

Dominick set five miniature pancakes in front of Charlie, then slid the syrup bottle across the table. “Juanita’s been my housekeeper since Char—for a long time.”

The conversation baffled Travis. This was the first time his father had spoken directly to him since their arrival last night, and they were discussing the housekeeper. Dominick poured batter into the frying pan, his movements careful and precise. A couple of minutes later, he added a second plate of pancakes to the table and a large mug of coffee. “Dig in.”

“Thanks.” Travis reached for the syrup bottle.

“You’re probably confused about who’s related to whom in the family.” Dominick refilled his coffee mug, then propped a hip against the kitchen counter.

Travis had a pretty good grasp on everyone’s relationship, but kept quiet.

“Matt married Amy this past summer. She was a widow. Her daughters, Rose and Lily, are from her first marriage.”

“Rose said that Lily pooped marbles all over the bathroom floor when Matt babysat them.”

“We don’t talk about stuff like that when we’re eating,” Travis said. Leave it to his daughter to add flavor to the morning meal.

“Amy owns a horse-boarding business in Idaho and Matt raises cutting horses on her farm. I wish they lived closer. I don’t get to see them often enough.”

Travis steeled himself against the painful twinge caused by Dominick’s words. Had Travis’s mother not isolated him from the family, his father might have missed him, too.

“I married Duke’s mother, Laura, when Duke was sixteen.” Dominick stared into his coffee mug. “Laura passed away when Duke was in college.”

“I’m sorry,” Travis muttered. Why was he always muttering sorry? When would someone apologize to him for being cheated out of his rightful place in the Cartwright family?

“Is Grandpa sad?” Charlie whispered.

“Not anymore, Charlotte,” Dominick answered.

Charlie opened her mouth to protest her proper name, but Travis nudged her hand and she settled for an eye roll.

“Duke transferred his information-and-technology company to Detroit a year ago. He met Renée there. She’s a social worker. They adopted Timmy. Their baby’s due in January.”

Travis shoved a forkful of pancake into his mouth. He’d lost his appetite but felt obligated to eat, since Dominick had gone to the trouble of cooking for him.

“Samantha married Wade this past September. Wade opened his own investment firm and Samantha runs a rescue ranch for horses. Luke is Wade’s son from his first marriage.” Dominick joined Travis and Charlie at the table. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?” he asked Charlie.

“Nope. I don’t even have a mom.” Charlie shrugged. “My dad said she ran away after I was born.”

Dominick’s dark eyebrows arched. Travis made no excuses for being truthful with his daughter. He wished more than ever his own mother had been truthful with him.

“Is Julie ever gonna be my mom?” Charlie always referred to her mother by first name. Travis assumed it was only natural, since she didn’t remember Julie.

“I don’t know, Charlie.”

“That’s okay. At least I got a dad and you always come back when your job gets over.” Charlie’s smile zapped Travis’s heart. He couldn’t remember the last time his daughter had said something so nice to him.

“That’s right, kiddo. I always come back.”

“What kind of work do you do?” Dominick asked.

“My dad works on a big—” Charlie raised her arms above her head “—oil rig in the ocean.”

For the first time since Travis had entered the kitchen, Dominick’s expression lightened. “What rig?”

“Exxon Mobil Hoover Diana.”

His father nodded as if he knew the exact location and history of the oil platform. “What’s your position-rig manager?”

Yeah, sure. He needed a college degree to run an oil rig.

Travis didn’t mention that he was up for a promotion following his leave of absence from the rig. After a few false starts with his career, he’d begun taking his job seriously. His dedication had paid off. The rig manager had rewarded his strong work ethic by assigning tasks outside a roughneck’s general duties. Travis had learned more about operating a rig in the past two years than he had in all his years working for oil companies. “I’m a roughneck.”

The light fizzled from Dominick’s eyes. “Everyone has to work their way up the ladder.”

Travis’s gut tightened. He shouldn’t care if Dominick was disappointed that his long-lost son was a lowly deckhand. What had the old man expected when Travis had been raised by a single mother who’d barely managed to make ends meet? Unlike Matt, Samantha and Duke, Travis hadn’t lived a privileged life.

“How long have you worked on rigs?” Dominick asked.

“Nine years.”

His father’s eyes rounded.

Travis had been young and rebellious his first few years in the business. He’d been put on probation twice and fired once. Like a lot of young hotheads without male role models in their lives, it had taken longer for Travis to settle down.

“So your grandmother took care of you while your dad worked?” Dominick’s voice shook when he asked Charlie the question. Travis wondered if the emotion was fueled by anger or sadness.

“Grandma was the best, but she’s in heaven now. She’s one of God’s angels.” Charlie tugged Travis’s shirtsleeve. “Can I go visit Fred?”

“Who’s Fred?”

“Grandpa’s old dog. He slept with us in the bunkhouse. He’s got ’thritus, right, Grandpa?”

“Arthritis,” Dominick clarified, then fired off another question at his granddaughter. “How old are you?”

“Eight. I’m in second grade and my birthday’s March 25th.”

“You’re awfully small for an eight-year-old. Do you drink enough milk?”

“I don’t know. Do I, Dad?” Charlie asked.

“Plenty.” Then Travis added for his father’s benefit, “Charlie’s mother is a petite woman.”

“What’s petite?” Charlie asked.

“Little, like you,” Travis answered.

“Julie’s really pretty. Dad’s got lots of pictures of her.”

Lots equated to a half-dozen snapshots he’d taken of Julie when they’d first begun dating. He’d kept the photos for Charlie’s sake—and to remind himself that pretty blondes were a waste of time.

“Brush your teeth before you play with the dog,” Travis said. A few weeks ago, he’d caught Charlie licking a dab of paste from the tube instead of using her toothbrush. Now he checked the bristles to make sure they were wet. She’d yet to figure out how he knew when she hadn’t brushed her teeth.

“I’ll brush ’em later.”

“Now.” He and his daughter engaged in a staredown. After several seconds, Charlie stomped out of the room.

“Spirited young gal,” Dominick said.

“I’d like to speak with you in private about Charlie before we leave.”

“You’re leaving?”

Had Dominick forgotten his rude behavior the previous night when he’d slammed his office door in Travis’s face? “It’s obvious you don’t want us here.” No sense beating around the bush.

“I don’t like surprises.”

Travis caught a glimpse of fear in his father’s eyes. What did the old man have to be afraid of?

“I’d like you and Charlotte to spend Thanksgiving with the family.”

Travis wasn’t used to being around a big family. Samantha seemed nice enough, but Matt and Duke had kept their distance the previous night. He’d rather settle his business with Dominick and leave.

Before Travis found a way to turn down the invitation, Dominick asked, “Do you have other plans for the holiday?”

“No.”

“Then it’s settled. You and Charlotte will stay here.” Dominick set his coffee cup in the sink, then lifted his coat from a hook by the back door. “Tell Charlotte I’ll be in the barn, waiting for her.”

As Travis gathered the dirty dishes, he didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried that Dominick had insisted he and Charlie remain at the Lazy River awhile longer. He wanted to learn what had gone wrong between his parents, but feared his mother would be made out to be the villain.

Charlie raced into the kitchen, shoving her arms into her jacket sleeves. “Where’s Grandpa?”

“Waiting for you in the barn.”

His daughter dashed outside.

A knock sounded at the door just as Travis had finished loading the dishwasher. The schoolteacher stood on the porch. Her eyes widened when their gazes connected.

“I can’t believe I didn’t notice the resemblance before now.”

Travis had better get used to that reaction if he intended to stick around the area. “C’mon in.” She stepped into the kitchen and he closed the door against the cold. She was taller than he’d first guessed, standing only a few inches shorter than his own six-foot-two-inch height.

“Sara Sanders.” She held out her hand.

“Travis Cartwright.” He grasped her fingers, surprised when he felt calluses on her palm—not the hands of a typical schoolteacher. “My daughter’s name is Charlie.”

A hint of a smile toyed with Sara’s mouth. “Ah, yes, the little walrus.”

“I don’t know where she got the idea to stick straws up her nose.” Travis caught the clean scent that wafted in the air around Sara’s head. Soap. Not perfume. He looked out the kitchen window and spotted a white compact parked next to his truck. Sara drove an economical, no-frills vehicle.

“The resemblance is uncanny,” she said, staring at his face.

“Dominick is my father.”

“My family’s ranch borders the Lazy River and we’ve never heard of a fourth Cartwright sibling.”

“Dominick had no idea I existed.”

“Amazing.”

“Coffee?”

“No, thanks.” Sara’s attention shifted to the doorway.

“Dominick’s in the barn with Charlie.”

“Where are the rest of the Cartwrights?”

“Visiting the housekeeper.”

Up close, Sara was definitely a plain Jane. Tall. Serious. Tiny crow’s-feet fanned from the corner of her eyes, insisting she spent as many days in the sun as she did in the classroom. He guessed her age to be around his own. “Are you and Dominick friends?” He emphasized the word friend, suspecting women of all ages pursued Dominick…or rather his millions.

“Hardly. We’re not even friendly neighbors.” She motioned out the window. “Do you know how long he’ll be?”

Travis shrugged. “You’re welcome to go out and speak with him if you want.”

“I guess I’ll take that cup of coffee and wait.” She draped her coat over the back of the chair.

Considering that most of his days and nights were spent in the company of rabble-rousers, when Travis was with a woman the last thing he cared to do was talk. “Where do you teach?” He set two mugs on the table and joined Sara.

“Tulapoint Elementary. The school serves the ranching community in our area.” She sipped her coffee. “What do you do for a living?”

“I work on oil rigs.”

“I imagine Dominick appreciates having one son who loves oil as much as he does.”

The verdict was still out. Before Travis had a chance to pry information about his father out of Sara, the front door crashed open.

Charlie’s shoes slapped against the wood floor. “Dad! Grandpa says we can take Fred home with us if we want him.” She skidded to a halt in the kitchen doorway. “You’re the lady from that pink house my dad and I ate in.”

Dominick joined Charlie in the kitchen. When he noticed his neighbor, the smile on his face evaporated. “Sara.”

“Sara would like to speak with you.” Travis stood. “C’mon, Charlie, let’s check on—”

“Stay.”

Travis froze.

“Have you decided to sell to me?” Dominick asked Sara.

Sara’s broad shoulders stiffened. “Is there somewhere we can talk in private?”

“Charlie, go upstairs and brush your teeth,” Travis said.

“I already did.”

“Then brush them again.”

“Jeez,” Charlie muttered beneath her breath and stomped from the room.

Sara pulled a letter from the pocket of her coat and thrust it at Dominick. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“Self-explanatory, isn’t it?”

“You intend to sue us for damages?”

Sue? Travis gaped at his father.

“I didn’t say much when one or two of your cows got loose on my land, but the whole herd broke through your fence last week and grazed my property.”

“I’m sure the fifty head of cattle you keep for show didn’t miss the three acres of grass our cows consumed before Cole and Gabe herded them back to the Bar T.”

“That’s not the point.” Dominick rubbed his jaw. “You Sanders are in over your heads.”

“We’re not selling the Bar T.”

“Your brothers feel differently about the situation.”

“I’m keeping my promise to my father—I’m not handing over our ranch to a greedy old man who already owns half the state of Oklahoma.”

“Then you’d better hire yourself a good lawyer.”

Sara’s chin jutted.

“Travis, talk some sense into my neighbor.” Dominick left the room.

“Well?” Sara huffed.

Travis blinked. “Well, what?”

“How do you plan to persuade me to give in to your father?”

“I don’t.”

“Why not? I thought all you Cartwright’s stuck together?”

“This is your fight, not mine. I’m heading back to Houston in a few days.”

Was it Travis’s imagination or had the fire in Sara Sanders’ eyes banked at his pronouncement?




Chapter Three


“Is it true that some guy showed up at the Lazy River, claiming to be a Cartwright?” Sara’s eldest brother, Cole, asked when she entered the barn Thanksgiving morning.

Tulapoint wasn’t a town, rather a map dot boasting a population of 323 people. It took only one phone call to crank the engine on the rumor mill. Not even a national holiday quieted the gossipmongers.

“’Fraid so.” Sara had been shocked that the man she’d seen at Beulah’s two evenings ago had been a Cartwright—according to rumors, a son Dominick had never known existed. “Wilma phoned earlier and said Samantha brought her a pumpkin pie.” The retired Sunday-school instructor battled lupus and, since she’d never married or had children, the local women checked in on her.

“What else did Samantha tell Wilma about the guy?”

“Travis broke the news that their mother recently died of cancer.” No matter the strain between the Sanderses and the Cartwrights, Sara felt sorry for Samantha and Matt. She suspected they’d held out hope that one day they might be reunited with their mother.

Cole grabbed a curry comb from the grooming belt around his hips and brushed Son of Sunshine’s coat. Her brother had purchased the infamous American quarter horse from Matt Cartwright for a measly five-hundred bucks. Their neighbor hadn’t said how he’d come to own the sterile stud and Cole hadn’t asked. SOS possessed a keen intelligence and plenty of “cow” attitude and heart. Pair those qualities with the animal’s ability to perform pinpoint stops, starts and turns, and Cole believed he’d landed the deal of the century.

“I doubt Dominick was too torn up over Charlotte’s death,” her brother said.

“According to Wilma, Travis and his daughter have been living in Houston with Charlotte all these years.”

“Is Travis married?”

“I don’t know.” Sara hadn’t noticed a wedding band, but that didn’t mean anything. Regardless of his marital status, she doubted a man as good looking as Travis suffered from a lack of female attention. Not that she cared about his love life. Sara was so over men, it wasn’t even funny.

Like most women her age, she wanted to marry and start a family of her own, but the one man she’d set her heart on had taught her a painful lesson—handsome men weren’t interested in country girls unless they had an ulterior motive. Her father had hired Josh as an extra hand during branding season and it didn’t take the cowboy long to cozy up to Sara and propose to her.

Once she’d fallen under Josh’s spell, he’d run off in the middle of the night with the Bar T’s prized bull, Sweetwater Blackie, in tow. The authorities had never been able to track down the bull and suspected Josh had sold the animal on the black market to a rancher somewhere in Mexico. Not only had Josh broken Sara’s heart, he’d stolen a fifteen-thousand-dollar bull and had made a fool out of her in front of family and friends.

After tucking the comb into the grooming belt, Cole led SOS outside and turned him loose in the paddock. Sara followed, planting her boot on the bottom rail. She stared into the distance for as far as the eye could see. Winter had turned the once lush green valley a dull, golden brown. Off in the distance, gently rolling hills were dotted with leafless oak and cypress trees. Sara loved this land. Come spring the area would transform into a verdant paradise as Black Angus grazed the green valleys, creating a picturesque setting.

I’m running out of options, Daddy. Help me find a way to save the ranch.

“Did Travis know about Dominick all these years?”

“No. Samantha told Wilma that Travis discovered his mother’s diary after Charlotte died and that’s when he learned Dominick was his father.”

“And Dominick didn’t know Charlotte was pregnant with Travis when she left him?”

“Obviously not or Dominick would have demanded custody of Travis, too, don’t you think?” Dominick’s wealth and standing in Oklahoma’s oil industry allowed him to do anything he wanted—like harass his neighbors and threaten his competitors until they were forced to lowball their leasing bids for the Bar T. No matter, she refused to negotiate a business deal with Dominick.

Sara wished she could skim Charlotte’s journal. During the final days of her father’s battle with pulmonary fibrosis, he’d drifted in and out of consciousness. Right before the end, he’d called out for Charlotte. For as far back as Sara could remember, neither of her parents had ever spoken the woman’s name or discussed her whereabouts.

“What does Travis do for a living?” Cole asked.

“He’s a roughneck.”

“The oil baron finally got his wish—a son in the oil business.”

Whether Travis lived and breathed black crude as Dominick did was anybody’s guess. Both men worked in the petroleum industry, but Travis’s shocked expression when Dominick had threatened her hinted that he might not possess his father’s cutthroat business acumen.

Two years ago, her father had been forced to take out a second mortgage on the Bar T after the cattle ranch had suffered financial losses from drought and disease. Afraid they’d lose the ranch, Cole had coaxed their father into commissioning a geological survey of the property. If the soil tests were positive for oil, then their father would lease the drilling rights and use the income to pay off the bank, invest in a new bull for the herd and make needed repairs to the property.

As soon as their father received the good news that there was oil beneath the Bar T, he sought leasing bids, but the oil companies lowballed their bids. Then Dominick had asked to buy the Bar T and Sara’s father had been certain that Dominick had manipulated his competitors. Furious, her father had sworn he’d die before Dominick Cartwright ever got his hands on the Bar T. Three months later, her father’s health took a turn for the worse and the ranch went further in debt as the medical bills piled up.

Unless Dominick dropped the bogus lawsuit and stopped influencing the other oil companies, there was no way Sara could prevent the bank from taking the ranch. She needed a miracle. Christmas was right around the corner—maybe Santa would stuff her stocking with a hundred thousand dollars. Ho. Ho. Ho.

“Turkey almost done?” Cole nudged her side, interrupting Sara’s musings.

“In about an hour.”

Sara lived in an old Victorian near the elementary school in town. After her mother had passed away, she’d made the trek out to the Bar T each Thanksgiving and Christmas to prepare a holiday meal for her father and brothers. When her father had died this past April, she’d decided to continue the tradition until she or one of her brothers married.

Right now the odds of any of them tying the knot were slim-to-none. Gabe was a notorious one-nightstand cowboy and the ranch kept Cole too busy to date, which left Sara. After being burned by love once, she was done with cowboys and ranchers—in this neck of the woods that meant slim pickings for husbands.

“Where’s Gabe?”

“Sleeping.” Cole snorted. “He stumbled in at three this morning.”

Gabe went through women faster than a seasoned cowboy ate cold beans.

“Need help in the barn?” Sara had chosen a teaching career, but she’d grown up punching cows alongside her brothers. With her height and sturdy build, there weren’t many ranch chores she couldn’t handle.

“Leave the mucking to Gabe. A little fresh air and manure ought to cure his hangover.” Cole walked off and Sara returned to the house.

Memories of Sara’s father kept her company while she put the finishing touches on the meal. She’d been daddy’s little girl—or rather, tomboy. Much to her mother’s dismay, Sara had been her father’s constant shadow around the ranch. In his final months of life when he’d been hooked up to an oxygen tank, struggling to breathe, he’d made Sara swear not to allow Cole or Gabe to talk her into selling out to Dominick. Easier said than done.

Sara removed the turkey from the oven and delivered it to the dining-room table, then clanged the supper bell on the back porch. A few minutes later, Cole walked through the door and Gabe stumbled from his bedroom—hair matted to his head and wearing the previous night’s clothes.

“Smells good.” Gabe yawned.

“You need a shower.” Sara placed a bowl of mashed potatoes next to the meat platter.

Ignoring her comment, Gabe took a seat, then reached for a turkey leg. Sara slapped his wrist. “Touch it and you die.” She made two more trips into the kitchen before sitting across from Cole. “We’re saying Grace.” She clasped her brothers’ hands and bowed her head. “Dear Lord, thank You for blessing us with this meal. I’m grateful for my brothers and ask that You keep them safe from harm.” She opened one eye and peered at Gabe. “What are you thankful for?”

“Thank You, God, for introducing me to Wynona last night. She’s one hot chili pepper.”

Sara kicked his shin.

“Ouch!” Gabe winced.

“Your turn.” She stared at Cole.

“Thank You for my sister, who cooked this fine meal. Amen.” Cole reached for the meat platter.

No use conversing until her brothers appeased their hunger. They tore into the food like vultures, scraping the bowls clean—so much for leftovers. Before she dished up the pumpkin pie she broached her least favorite topic—their neighbor. “Dominick won’t drop the lawsuit.”

“Figured he wouldn’t,” Cole said. “He wants our oil but he doesn’t want to pay us what it’s worth.”

Gabe slouched in his chair, rubbing his belly as he stared into space—probably dreaming about the hot chili pepper.

“Be right back.” Sara retrieved the pumpkin pie and whipped cream from the kitchen and returned to the dining room. She’d never told her brothers about their father’s final shout out to Charlotte Cartwright on his deathbed. Now that Travis had made himself known, she wondered if there was more to her father and Charlotte’s relationship than being neighbors. While her brothers finished dessert, Sara pondered. Was Dominick simply a greedy businessman or did he have a personal vendetta against her father? Whatever had caused the rift between the two men should have been laid to rest along with her father when he’d died.

“Don’t mean to change the subject—” Gabe pushed his plate away “—but since we’re all together, I might as well spill the news.”

Alarm bells went off in Sara’s head. “What news?”

“I’m leaving.”

“Where to?” Cole asked.

“Out on the road with a few buddies.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Might try rodeoing.”

“What about money for entry fees?” Cole glared across the table.

“I’ve got some saved.” Gabe shrugged. “If I run low, I’ll pick up work as a ranch hand somewhere.”

Sara flung her napkin at her brother’s face. “You’ll work for another ranch but you won’t lift a finger to help your own family?”

“I might if I knew this place would belong to us forever. It’s only a matter of time before we lose the ranch,” he said. “I know you promised Dad you’d do everything in your power to keep from selling, but even Dad would recognize when to cut his losses. You can’t best Dominick. Besides, his bid was generous and—”

“Generous? Dominick’s a crook,” Sara protested.

“If you don’t negotiate with him, the bank will take the ranch, then turn around and sell it to Dominick anyway. And we’ll walk away with nothing.”

Gabe made a valid point, but Sara wasn’t ready to raise the white flag.

“I’m taking off in the morning.” Her brother shoved his chair back and stood.

Sara poked Cole’s shoulder. “Say something.”

“What do you want me to say? ‘Stay, Gabe? Stay and work your ass off for nothing?’”

Tears clogged Sara’s throat. “But Dad—”

“Dad’s dead, and we can’t hold off the creditors forever. If we lose the ranch, which is the road we’re headed down now, you’ll have your house in town and Gabe and I will have nothing but our trucks and the clothes on our backs.”

“I promised Dad that Dominick would never get his hands on this ranch.”

“You made that promise, Sara.” Gabe pointed to Cole, then himself. “We didn’t.”

Cole got up from the table. “Thanks for making dinner.”

“Yeah, sure,” she whispered. Some Thanksgiving this turned out to be.



CHAOS.

Thanksgiving in the Cartwright household was unlike anything Travis or his daughter had ever experienced. Bodies everywhere. Kids shouting and racing from room to room. Good-natured arguing. And laughter. Plenty of laughter.

Travis stood in the family room, pretending interest in the football game on TV while covertly observing his siblings and their families. The past two days, he’d felt as if he’d been riding an emotional roller-coaster with no off switch. His mother’s death hadn’t sunk in, yet he found himself surrounded by family he hadn’t known existed until a few weeks ago.

“Having second thoughts?” Duke stopped at his side.

“About what?” Travis studied his stepbrother’s outfit—Western dress shirt with pearl snaps, bolo tie, Texas-size belt buckle and snakeskin boots. Obviously the Detroit executive loved dressing the part of a cowboy.

“Second thoughts about being a Cartwright.” Duke glanced across the room, his expression softening when he saw his wife. “Dominick can be overwhelming.”

“And evasive,” Travis said. “I’ve asked to speak to him in private, but he’s avoiding me.”

“Maybe he doesn’t trust you.”

Travis understood his siblings’ doubts about him, but shouldn’t his father feel differently? “Trust me how?”

Duke narrowed his eyes. “Maybe Dominick assumes all you care about is getting your hands on his oil money.”

“I don’t give a crap about his wealth.”

“If that’s true, I don’t know whether to admire you or pity you.”

“I get that you’re protective of Matt and Samantha, but—”

“Matt and Sam had a rough childhood growing up without a mother. Even though they’re adults, they’ve yearned for a mother’s love their entire lives, which makes them vulnerable to you.”

What about him? He’d yearned for a father’s love all his life.

“You’re their only connection to Charlotte.” Duke stepped in front of Travis, blocking his view of the family. “Don’t even think about taking advantage of Matt, Sam or Dominick. You mess with my family and you mess with me. Got it?”

Yeah, Travis got it, all right. No matter that he was Dominick’s biological son, he was still an outsider. “Message received.”

Duke’s posture relaxed when he changed the subject. “Renée said Charlie’s mom isn’t in the picture anymore.”

Evidently Charlie had spilled the beans about their life in Houston. Travis didn’t care. He had no secrets. “Julie left after Charlie was born.” Travis didn’t go into details. No matter how he told the story of Julie abandoning him and a baby, he always came out looking like an idiot.

“Renée’s seen everything in her job as a social worker. She says Charlie’s a well-adjusted little girl for having grown up without a mother.”

“Her grandmother gets credit for that.” Travis worried about the impact his mother’s death would have on Charlie in the long run. He wasn’t opposed to marriage, but his job on the rig made relationships stressful. Travis would hate to marry and then have Charlie become attached to the woman only to be abandoned again when the stress of his work schedule caused another woman to pack her bags and leave.

“You like rig work?” Duke asked.

Travis studied his stepbrother, unsure if he was making polite conversation or was genuinely interested in Travis’s answer.

“Don’t get me wrong—I love my job.” Duke shrugged. “But every day is the same. Meetings. Phone calls. Emails.”

Oil rig work was exhausting, but Travis preferred physical labor over a desk job. “The crew on the rig is like a second family. We celebrate and argue like brothers, uncles.” Fathers. “At the end of a two-week rotation, I’m more than ready to return to the mainland.”

“Mind if I join the conversation?” Matt motioned to Travis’s almost empty beer bottle. “Need another one?”

“No, I’m good.”

“Did you thank him?” Matt asked Duke.

“Not yet. We were discussing other matters.” Duke sent a warning smile Travis’s way.

“We’d like to thank you,” Matt said.

“For what?”

“For choosing a career in oil.”

Roughnecking wasn’t a career so much as a job.

“Dad’s been holding out hope that Duke or I would change our minds and work for Cartwright Oil.” Matt chuckled. “I’d rather shovel horse manure than dig oil wells and Mr. Corporate here would rather brainstorm information systems than analyze oil productivity spreadsheets.”

Travis directed his words to Matt. “Our mother was the one who pushed me to sign up with a rig.”

“Your days of roughnecking will soon be over.” Matt and Duke exchanged a silent message. “When you turn thirty-two, you’ll have access to your trust fund.”

Trust fund? “I didn’t come here for a handout.”

“No matter,” Matt said. “You’ll get your share of Cartwright money just like the rest of us.”

No one could force him to accept his inheritance, but if what his brothers claimed was true, then Travis had to consider Charlie. He wanted to make sure she was provided for if something happened to him. Still…he hated that his siblings assumed he intended to sponge off their father.

“What are you guys discussing?” Samantha joined the group. “Why the serious faces?”

Ignoring their sister’s question, Matt nodded toward the front door. “Where’s Wade taking the kids?”

“To the bunkhouse to teach them how to rope the fake steer Dad bought a few weeks ago.”

“C’mon.” Duke nudged Matt in the side. “Wade couldn’t throw a rope if his life depended on it.”

“Be nice,” Samantha scolded.

“Don’t worry, sis. We won’t hurt your hubby’s feelings.” Chuckling, Matt followed Duke outside.

Relieved to be rid of his brothers and their suspicions, Travis turned his attention to his sister. Her eyes were the same shape and brown color of his. He and Samantha looked more like brother and sister than she and Matt.

“I read Charlotte’s diary last night.” Her sad smile reminded Travis that he hadn’t been the only one hurt by his mother’s actions.

“Did it help you remember her?” he asked.

“Not really. I was two when she left. Matt was four. He claims he doesn’t have any memories of Charlotte, but I think he has a few.”

Travis had grown up with a mother’s love. Samantha and Matt had grown up with a father’s love. On that score they were even. But Dominick was still alive and that gave Travis the advantage of forging a relationship with his estranged father—if he cared to. His siblings would never have that opportunity with their mother.

“I think Charlotte missed me and Matt. That’s something, I guess.” The wobble in her voice sucker punched Travis in the gut.

“I’m sorry, Samantha.”

“You’d better stop calling me Samantha. Everyone in the family calls me Sam.”

“How come you’re not suspicious of me like the others?” His sister was the only person in the house who didn’t act uncomfortable around him.





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