Roughneck Cowboy (3 page)

“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?

“I
s 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.

 

C
HAOS.

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.”