“My mother died of cancer,” she said softly. “My dad...” She sighed. “He was out with another woman at the time.” Her eyes averted.
“That would never have happened in my family,” John murmured.
“Damned straight,” Cole agreed. “But I’m sad that it was that way for you,” he told Josie. “You’ve got a big heart.”
She started to speak but John, irritated, cut her off. “I’ll drive you back to Percell. I’ve got to meet with a member of the cattlemen’s association about some legislation they’re trying to get through.”
“Trying to drive out ranchers and farmers,” Cole added heavily. “So the big combines can own it all.”
“Richard King had one golden maxim. Buy land and never sell,” she added. “My family ranch has been in our family for over a hundred and twenty years.”
Cole whistled. “Like ours. I’ll never sell this place, either. And if anyone tries to take it... well, I know a few good congressmen and a couple of friendly billionaires.”
Josie smiled. “Nice to have friends.”
“Very. You take care,” Cole said. “Come back to check on JJ occasionally. He was sad that you were leaving.”
He had been. He and Josie had hugged and hugged. She didn’t like leaving him behind. Odd, to form such an attachment so quickly. But then, JJ was a special child. Very special.
“I was sad to leave him,” she replied. “Thanks for letting me stay overnight.”
“Anytime. I mean that,” Cole added.
She smiled. “Thanks.”
“Let’s go.” John climbed in behind the wheel, ignoring Cole’s flash of anger at his lack of courtesy as Josie opened the passenger door and jumped up into the cab beside him.
John ignored his dad’s glare. He’d catch hell later, he was sure. Another irritation to lay at Josie’s feet.
He started to back up. “Seat belt,” he said tersely, and waited until she fastened it before he turned the truck around.
She sighed, her eyes lingering on the beautiful landscape around Big Spur. It seemed to be all white fences and cattleexcept for the mechanical grasshoppers pumping oil right in the pastures with the cattle.
“What’s with all the sighing?” John asked tersely.
“Those beautiful Santa Gerts,” she said without thinking. “We ran mostly Herefords.”
“In Wyoming? I thought most of the herds up that way were black Angus.”
“The breed goes back a long way in our family.”
“Is it a purebred operation?”
She laughed. “Not really. We didn’t have that kind of money. Strictly cow-calf. We had mixed breed herds. Black baldies and such.”
They still did, but she wasn’t opening that can of worms.
“Will your friends be worried that you didn’t show up last night?” he asked curtly.
They had been. She’d made up a story about going along with the boy to pump the Everetts for information about their trucking schedules.
“Not really,” she said, feigning boredom. “They don’t own me.”
He glanced at her. It irritated him that he was bothered by her association with the roughnecks he’d seen at the rodeo.
“The boy didn’t mention any relatives?”
No,” she replied. “He said it was just him and his dad.” Her eyes were sad as they scanned the wide fields. “It must be rough on a child so young, a tragedy like that,” she murmured. “He’s a sensitive boy, too, which will only make it harder.”
