Donavan. Diana Palmer
Abby came barreling in with an armload of files, her black hair askew around her face, her blue-gray eyes wide and curious when they met Fay’s green ones.
“Please be my replacement,” she said with such fervor that Fay laughed helplessly. “Do you take bribes? I can get you real chocolate truffles and mocha ice cream…”
“No need. I’ve already accepted the job while Nita is out with her baby,” Fay assured the other woman. “Oh, thank God!” she sighed, dropping the files on her husband’s desk. She grinned at Calhoun. “Thank you, too, darling. I’ll make you a big beef stew for dinner, with homemade rolls.”
“Don’t just stand there, go home!” he burst out. He grinned sheepishly at Fay. “She makes the best rolls in town. I’ve been eating hot dogs for so many days that I bark, because it’s all I can cook! This has been hard on my stomach.”
“And on my stamina.” Abby laughed. “The boys have missed me. Well, I’ll show you what to do, Fay, then I’ll rush right home and start dough rising.”
Fay followed her back to the desk out front and listened carefully and made notes while Abby briefed her on the routine and showed her how to fill in the forms. She went over the basics of feedlot operation as well, so that Fay would understand what she was doing.
“You make it sound very easy, but it isn’t, is it?”
“No,” Abby agreed. “Especially when you deal with some of our clients. J. D. Langley alone is enough to make a saint throw in the towel.”
“Is he a rancher?”
“He’s a…” Abby cleared her throat. “Yes, he’s a rancher. But most of the cattle he deals in are other people’s. He’s general manager of the Mesa Blanco ranch combine.”
“I don’t know much about ranching, but I’ve heard of them.”
“Most everybody has. J.D.’s good at his job, don’t get me wrong, but he’s a perfectionist when it comes to diet and handling of cattle. He saw one of the men use a cattle prod on some of his stock once and he jumped the man, right over a rail. We can’t afford to turn down his business, but he makes things difficult. You’ll find that out for yourself. Nobody crosses J.D. around Jacobsville.”
“Is he rich?”
“No. He has plenty of power because of the job he does for Mesa Blanco, but it’s his temperament that makes people jump when he speaks. J.D. would be arrogant in rags. He’s just that kind of man.”
Abby’s description brought to mind another man, a rangy cowboy who’d given her the most magical evening of her life. She smiled sadly, thinking that she’d probably never see him again. Walking into that bar had been an act of desperation and bravado. She’d never have the nerve to do it twice. It would look as if she were chasing him, and he’d said at the time that there was no future in it. She’d driven by the bar two or three times, but she couldn’t manage enough courage to go in again.
“Is Mr. Langley married?” Fay asked.
“There’s no woman brave enough, anywhere,” Abby said shortly. “His father’s marriage soured him on women. He’s been something of a playboy in past years, but he’s settled somewhat since he’s been managing the Mesa Blanco companies. There’s a new president of the company who’s a hard-line conservative, so J.D.’s toned down his playboy image. There’s talk of the president giving that job to a man who’s married and settled and has kids. The only child in J.D.’s life, ever, is a nephew in Houston, his sister’s child. His sister died.” She shook her head. “I can’t really imagine J.D. with a child. He isn’t the fatherly type.”
“Is he really that bad?”
Abby nodded. “He was always difficult. But his father’s remarriage, and then his death, left scars. These days, he’s a dangerous man to be around, even for other men. Calhoun leaves the office when he’s due to check on his stock. Justin seems to like him, but Calhoun almost came to blows with him once.”
“Is he here very often?” Fay asked with obvious reluctance.
“Every other week, like clockwork.”
“Then I’m very glad I won’t be around long,” she said with feeling.
Abby laughed. “Not to worry. He’ll barely notice you. It’s Calhoun and Justin who get the range language.”
“I feel better already,” she said.
Her first day was tiring, but by the end of it she knew how many records had to be compiled each day on the individual lots of cattle. She learned volumes about weight gain ratios, feed supplements, veterinary services, daily chores and form filing. If it sounded simple just to feed cattle, it wasn’t. There were hundreds of details to be attended to, and printouts of daily averages to be compiled for clients.
As the days went by and she fell into the routine of the job, Fay couldn’t help but wonder if Donavan ever came here. He was foreman for a ranch, he’d told her. If that ranch had feeder cattle, this was probably where they’d be brought. But from what she’d learned, it was subordinates who dealt with the logistics of the transporting of feeder cattle, not the bosses.
She wanted badly to see him, to tell him how big an impact he’d had on her life with his pep talk that night she’d gone to the bar. Her horizons had enlarged, and she was independent for the first time in her life. She’d gone from frightened girl to confident woman in a very short time, and she wanted to thank him. She’d almost asked Abby a dozen times if she knew anyone named Donavan, but Abby would hardly travel in those circles. The Ballengers were high society now, even if they weren’t social types. They wouldn’t hang out in country bars with men who treed them.
Her uncle had tried to get her to come back to his house when word got out that she was working for a living, but she’d stood firm. No, she told Uncle Henry firmly. She wasn’t going to be at his mercy until she inherited. And, she added, Mr. Holman was going to expect an accounting in the near future. Her uncle had looked very uncomfortable when she’d said that and she’d called Barry Holman the next morning to ask about her uncle’s authority to act on her behalf.
His reply was that her uncle’s power of attorney was a very limited one, and it was doubtful that he could do much damage in the short time he had left. Fay wondered about that. Her uncle was shrewd and underhanded. Heaven knew what wheeling and dealing he might have done already without her knowledge.
Pressure of work caught her attention and held it until the early afternoon. She took long enough to eat lunch at a nearby seafood place and came back just in time to catch the tail end of a heated argument coming from Calhoun’s office.
“You’re being unreasonable, J.D., and you know it!” Calhoun’s deep voice carried down the hall.
Unreasonable, hell,” an equally deep voice drawled. “You and I may never see eye to eye on production methods, but while you’re feeding out my cattle, you’ll do it my way.”
“For God’s sake, you’d have me out there feeding the damned things with a fork!”
“Not at all. I only want them treated humanely.”
“They are treated humanely!”
“I wouldn’t call an electric cattle prod that. And stressed animals aren’t healthy animals.”
“Have you ever thought about joining an animal rights lobby?” came the exasperated reply.
“I belong to two, thanks.”
The door opened and Fay couldn’t drag her eyes away from it. That curt voice was so familiar…
Sure enough, the tall, lithe man who came out of the office in front of Calhoun was equally familiar. Fay couldn’t help the radiance of her face, the softness of her eyes as they adored his lean, dark face under the wide brim of his hat.
Donavan.