Tucker's Crossing. Marina Adair
him a letter of recommendation for his first job.
As a kid, Cody had looked up to the man in awe. But as an adult, he couldn’t help but see a coward whose job meant more than protecting an innocent kid.
“I’ve been on here since before your dad took over. Put my whole life into this ranch,” Sam said.
“Me too,” Jessup Walt, another old buck, agreed, taking a step forward. Despite the lines caused from years of working the land, his eyes were sharp, threatening.
“Never said you didn’t. But the decision’s been made, gentlemen.” With a respectful tip of the head, Cody turned to give instructions to the hands left.
Sam, having other ideas on Cody’s stance, grabbed his arm, stopping his forward movement. Instinctively, Cody spun. His body was tense but he held tight to his control.
“Your daddy would be ashamed of what’s gone on here today. You’re letting go of some good men.”
“Reckon I am.” Cody looked down at Sam’s hand gripping his forearm. A warning flashed in his eye, letting Sam know Cody was no longer that kid.
Quick to get the message, Sam let go and took a step back. “Your daddy’s rolling in his grave right now.”
“Good.”
“One day, boy,” Sam snarled, kicking up dust as he headed across the field, “you’ll regret this.”
“If anyone else has issue with how I’m running things, please let me know. If not, saddle up. Tommy,” Cody addressed the man who he’d learned had worked under Sam for the past few years and had the most experience, “I need you to move the herd from the east-valley holding area to the pasture west of the foothills. And make sure there’s plenty of water.”
“You got it, boss,” Tommy said, but Cody didn’t miss the anger under his words or the look he sent Sam.
Cody turned and headed for the house, heart heavy.
He had known most of these men when they were young, newlyweds or proud papas who called Cody “son.” But he also knew these men when they turned their heads, went on working or hoeing or plowing when Cody stumbled out of his house, nose bloodied, lip puckered, his daddy’s fingerprints all over him. They hadn’t been his friends, they hadn’t been his family; they were just men working the land and because of the way they’d turned their heads, they had to go.
Cody was halfway through the barn when one of the younger ranch hands fell into step. “Mr. Tucker, sir.” Cody slowed his pace, but didn’t stop. He still had to face Ms. Luella before he could shower. “Name’s Dylan. Dylan Branson. I’m thankful to you for keeping me on.”
“But?”
“Well, a lot of those men have families counting on them. Finding work will be hard for the older ones.”
Cody stopped short, his voice tight with authority when he spoke. “I understand the ramifications. But understand that I also have a family to think about.”
“Yes, sir,” Dylan said, taking off his hat. “But, I don’t know if you’re aware, Sam Holden’s granddaughter moved in with him a few years back. She’s been having some sort of medical issues and I know money’s tight. Losing this job will be a real hardship for them.”
Cody took a breath, Dylan’s words giving him serious pause. Sam was a coward. Stood by while Silas beat Beau to a bloody pulp, but if Cody was responsible for making his grandkid suffer, did that make him any better?
Suddenly unsure of his plan, he was even more uncertain of his first impression of the younger wrangler. His original thought when he’d looked at the pretty boy was that Dylan was a pampered country kid with a too-big chip on his shoulder and too little dirt under his nails. But it took a good person to look out for the other guy. And guts to call the boss on his decision.
Cody shook Dylan’s hand. “I appreciate the heads-up and I’ll make sure his grandkid is taken care of.”
The kid looked shocked at Cody’s generosity. Well, if he was using Silas as a baseline for judging him and his brothers, then his reaction would make sense. If his dad had been faced with the same situation, there was no way he’d extend medical benefits. Hell, he probably wouldn’t even have paid the fired hands for the rest of the week like Cody was going to.
“If you need any help until you hire a new foreman—”
“You’re looking at the new foreman.”
Cody didn’t know who was more surprised by his admission—Dylan or himself. Being the foreman was a hands-on, down-and-dirty, full-time job. Not that Cody wasn’t up for the challenge. He’d never shied away from hard work. But taking over the role of foreman would mean he’d have to be more invested in Tucker’s Crossing than he’d originally intended.
Maybe that was a good thing. It would allow him to hear the happenings on the ranch firsthand. Let him see what his old man had done to take what was one of the most lucrative cattle ranches in this part of the state and run it into the ground.
Unable to sleep again last night, Cody had taken a look at the books. The ranch was doing fine until about three years ago—just about the same time Shelby moved in. Coincidence? Cody hoped so, even though his gut was telling him the two were somehow connected.
Plus, Cody didn’t believe in coincidences.
“I could use some help finding some new men though. We’re going to need a few new hands if I’m to get the ranch up and running like it used to be.”
Because suddenly he knew that’s what he needed to do. No sense in fulfilling the terms of the will, only to inherit a ranch that was a stone’s skip from sinking.
“You got it, boss. I’ll put the word around town that the Tuckers are hiring.”
“Appreciate it.”
Cody made his way through the barn, across the gravel drive, and up the back steps to the porch. The smell of Ms. Luella’s famous chili greeted him.
Cody reached for the screen door and hesitated. How did you tell a woman like Ms. Luella Puckett that after thirty years of service, she was fired?
Most people gave Ms. Luella—and her three-county-radius reputation—a wide berth. It was common knowledge that Silas had only kept her on all these years because of her blue-ribbon chili and sell-your-soul-for pies. But Cody knew that hidden beneath that stubborn pride and nasty disposition was a woman with a big heart.
“Do I need to get the swatter?” the housekeeper snapped her welcome home. Not even bothering to face Cody, she continued stirring the chili, her plump hips rotating with each swirl of the spoon. She gave a few disciplinary tuts of the tongue and mumbled loudly under her breath, “Hanging like flies on the screen door in Ju-ly. Did you lose all your manners in that big city?”
“And good afternoon to you too, Ms. Luella,” Cody replied to the woman who had practically raised him. After his mama died, Ms. Luella was the only maternal figure in the Tucker boys’ lives. And using the words “maternal” and “Ms. Luella” in the same sentence—hell the same conversation—was a stretch.
“It’s Ms. Luella, now, is it?” She spun around, the whites of her eyes wide with accusation and something new that made Cody’s heart give a little twist—disappointment. “Does that make it easier when throwing an old lady out on her rump?”
Cody was struck that after all these years, she still looked the same. A robust woman with “hands and legs made for ranching,” as his mama used to say. Her hair, more salt than pepper these days, was twisted tight into a bun and perched on the crown of her head. It seemed the only thing that had changed were her clothes.
Gone were the work pants and button-down Western top. In their place she wore a flowered print skirt that swished back and forth as she moved about the kitchen, a lavender blouse, and—hold up—was that blush on her cheeks?