The Bride Wore Spurs. Janet Dean
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A short man with white thinning hair and shaggy brows, his faded blue eyes often held a fierce expression, perhaps from handling the harsh realities of life and death. Today his eyes had softened with kindness.
“I’m worried about my father. He avoids talking about his health, but he can’t do much. He’s lost weight. His skin tone isn’t good.” The words escaped in a rush. She bit her lip, waiting for Doc to allay her fears.
With a sigh, Doc Atkins leaned against the examining table. “I’m sorry I don’t have better news. Martin’s got a cancerous tumor in his abdomen.”
Pain exploded in her chest. Tumor? Cancer? Papa? Her trembling fingers found her lips. “Oh, no.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Isn’t there an operation? A medicine?”
He shook his head. “I’ve done all I can. The specialist in Dallas agreed.”
“Papa saw a doctor in Dallas?”
“He treats nothing but cancer. He tried what he knew, but...”
The “but” said it all. She released a shuddering breath. Nothing could be done. “How...how long?”
“Only God knows, but he’s...failing fast. All I can do is ease his pain.”
Doc turned to an oak cabinet and withdrew a bottle. “I’ll send out more pain medication with you.” He scribbled the dosage, then handed her the paper and bottle. “Wish I could do more. If we’d found it sooner, he could’ve gone to St. Mary’s, an excellent hospital in Minnesota, but...I’m sorry.”
With herculean effort, she rose and walked to the door, her limbs slogging through an invisible thick haze, the shocking verdict vibrating with each step she took.
“See that he takes the medicine.” Doc laid a gentle hand on her arm. “I’ll be out to see him in a few days.”
“Are you sure this isn’t some horrible mistake?”
Doc shook his head, his eyes glistening. “I never get used to the losses, especially of someone like Martin.”
As if she were a sleepwalker, Hannah found herself outside, dazed and disoriented, her hope shattered. She leaned against the building, shivering in the glaring sunlight, head and heart pounding.
Papa is dying.
A sob tore up her throat. She stuffed a fist to her mouth, biting down on gloved knuckles. What would she do without him? Papa and the ranch were her life. A squeezing fist of fear encircled her neck, closing her throat. She lifted her gaze to heaven. Lord, help Papa. Help me handle this.
She breathed slowly. In. Out. In. Out.
As she did, her heart regained its rhythm. She straightened, tamping down the paralyzing panic. Papa needed her. Needed her to be strong. She wouldn’t waste precious time she could spend with her father wallowing in despair.
She pushed away from the clapboards, untied Star and rode for home, happy memories with Papa parading through her mind.
In the stable, she met up with Jake. Eyes averted, he toed the ground.
“What’s wrong?”
“Tom picked up his back pay, said he don’t see a future here.”
“He what?”
“Said he wouldn’t work for a woman today or tomorrow.” Jake sighed. “Our top hand went with him.” He huffed. “Was a time when a man took pride in riding for the brand.”
The news slammed into her like a stampeding herd. She fought for footing. Matt had been right. What would she do?
“You have a problem working for me, Jake?”
“Nope. Way I see it, money is money no matter who’s paying.” He met her gaze with moist eyes. “I reckon this here’s my home.”
“Thank you.” She laid a hand on his arm. “The Lazy P is your home and always will be.” If the ranch survived. But she wouldn’t say that.
“Want me to round up some new hands?”
“I’ll take care of it.” How, she didn’t know. But Jake would have more than enough to do.
Once the last heifer dropped her calf, they needed to drive the cattle into pens, brand and cut the calves. Without a foreman and only two hands, how could she handle roundup? Especially now that she’d told Matt to stay away?
She believed in God’s power. With every breath she took, she prayed for a miracle for her father. Without one, Papa wasn’t getting better. Tears stung her eyes. Her father had spent his life running the Lazy P. If Papa didn’t make it, she wouldn’t let the ranch die with him.
Lord, please give me wisdom. Show me how to keep the ranch.
Only yesterday her world seemed secure. Only yesterday her future brimmed with rosy hopes and dreams. Only yesterday she welcomed the challenge of running the ranch.
Today Papa was dying. The foreman had quit. Most of the hands had either been let go or quit. Only two drovers remained.
She took a calming breath, steadying her wobbly emotions, and headed inside the house. Outside her father’s room, she pinched color into her cheeks and forced a smile.
Papa was lying down but not asleep. The bed dwarfed him. The pale color of his skin matched the pillowcase beneath his head. Were the lines edged into his face lines of suffering?
“Hi, Papa,” she said, then set the pain medicine on his nightstand.
His gaze settled on the bottle. “You know.”
“Yes.” She dropped onto the bed and clasped one of his hands in both of hers. Tears burned the back of her eyes. She blinked them away.
“I’m sorry, Daughter. I’d hoped to keep it from you a little longer.” He raised his other hand, cupped her jaw. “I’d do anything to change things. To be here for you.”
“I know.” She sucked in a breath. “Tom and our top hand quit.”
As if warding off the bad news, Papa closed his eyes, then met her gaze. “You’ve got decisions to make. I’m sure Matt will step up and run things until you can sell the spread.”
“I won’t sell.”
“Hannah, you’ve got no choice. It’ll take a while, but we’ll manage. I’ll hang on as long as I can. When my time comes, I want you to return to Charleston, live with Mary Esther. They’ll treat you well, be the family you’ll need.”
She wouldn’t leave the ranch. She couldn’t. Never.
With the strength of her will, she squared her shoulders. She and Papa couldn’t give up. She moved his blue-veined hand to her lips and kissed it. “You have plenty of time. Let’s talk about something else.”
“I have to know you’ll be taken care of after I’m gone. Please, hear me out on this. You can’t stay. This ranch is too much for a lone woman.”
Weary lines carving his face, Papa closed his eyes.
She tucked the blanket under his chin. “You’re right, Papa. Rest.”
“That’s my girl.” A smile curved his lips, yet his eyes remained closed. The smile eased, his breathing slowed. He slept.
Hannah slipped out of the room and headed for the stable. She had to give her father peace. But how?
Her mind churned with Doc’s diagnosis, the approaching roundup and Papa’s determination to sell the ranch. She needed the wisdom of God but with everything churning inside of her mind, she couldn’t hear His quiet voice.
A ride would clear her head. She threw a blanket and saddle on Papa’s horse. Lightning probably hadn’t been ridden much and needed the exercise.