The Wrangler's Woman. Ruth Dale Jean
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at the glum man beside her. “I guess the one you really hate to see go is Niki,” she announced, not guessing at all.
“We’ll never see her like in this town again,” Mason said sadly. “Our loss is Texas’s gain.”
Tilly understood his cheerless state. Niki had worked for Mason for five years, both in his photography studio and at the chamber of commerce office. Known as “the pretty one,” she’d won the Miss Elk Tooth contest three years running and she’d never even entered; Mason had entered for her. She’d probably still be Miss Elk Tooth today but she’d refused the title the fourth time it was offered.
Spotting Niki was easy, even in this crowd; she was always surrounded by men. Taller than her sisters, she wore her thick hair long and straight, cascading in a heavy fall all the way to her waist—and it was black instead of brown like theirs. She was the only one who’d got Wil Keene’s blue eyes instead of their mother’s brown ones, and where she’d got those cheekbones and long legs was anybody’s guess.
Bottom line: Nicole Keene was the most drop-dead-gorgeous woman anyone in Elk Tooth had ever seen, and probably the most modest to boot.
Mason stood up, his knees creaking. “Guess there’s nothing to be done,” he said. “I better go see if the wife is ready to go home. Good luck in Texas, Tilly.”
“Thanks, and good luck to you, too.” She watched him thread his way through the crowd, thinking that Texas was sure to be a great adventure. She only hoped her granddaughters would find the happiness and security—the love—that had eluded them in Montana.
THE KEENE TRIPLETS and Grandma finished loading up the Jeep Cherokee on a blustery Montana March day. After hooking up the horse trailer and loading Dani’s prized Appaloosa gelding, they stood for a moment looking nostalgically at the little house on the edge of town. They’d called this place home for as long as they could remember—since before their mother’s death in a riding accident when they were only seven. After that, it had been just Grandma and the girls all the way.
Toni sighed and shoved wind-tossed hair away from her cheeks. “Now that it’s time to go—” her voice faltered “—I feel a little funny about leaving this old place. Do you think the new owners will be as happy here as we were?”
“Absolutely.” Niki, managing to look gorgeous as usual without even trying, hugged her sister. “It’s just an old house,” she said encouragingly. “As long as we’re together, it doesn’t matter where we live. Besides, we’ll have a better home in Texas.”
“I suppose.” But tears sparkled on Toni’s lashes.
Dani grinned at her sisters. “I knew you two would get all choked up,” she teased, “so I decided to do something about it. Wait right here!” She disappeared around the corner of the house at a run, heading for the little corral in back.
Her sisters looked at Grandma, who merely shrugged. Tilly had no idea what Dani was up to, but had faith that it would be something to cheer their departure.
Sure enough, Dani reappeared carrying a flat slab of wood. “Take a look at this,” she said proudly, turning it so they could see what she’d written there in big black letters: GTT. Beneath that, in parentheses, she’d translated: Gone to Texas!
Toni frowned. “I don’t get it.”
“Because you slept through history class,” Niki accused. “Early settlers posted signs like these on their doors when they pulled up stakes to head for the promised land. GTT—Gone to Texas!”
Toni giggled. “I never thought of Texas as the promised land,” she protested.
“Well, it is,” Dani declared. “We’ve fallen into the lap of luxury, ladies, and all we have to do is go claim it. One of you grab the hammer out of my coat pocket and the other help me hold this sign in place so we can nail it on the door.”
This they accomplished with much giggling and horseplay. Then, flanking their grandmother, they stood arm in arm for one final look before piling into the Jeep.
“Gone to Texas!” Dani sang out as she turned the car and trailer south. “Hey, it worked for the pioneers and it’ll work for us!”
In the back seat, Tilly sent up a silent prayer.
1
TEXAS BARBECUE WAS the best barbecue in the world, hands down. Jack Burke figured everybody knew that.
Since the Sorry Bastard Saloon in Hard Knox, Texas, served the best barbecue in the state, that’s where local barbecue fans gathered. The saloon was packed with rowdy young cowboys and indulgent townfolk on this Saturday afternoon in March, Jack among them.
Until lately, the Sorry Bastard could also boast of having the best-looking barmaids in Texas, but recent marriages had thinned those ranks. Not that Jack Burke ever came in for the scenery, heck no.
“Hey!” One of the cowboys bellied up to the bar and yelled in Jack’s face. “I said please pass the hot sauce!”
“Oh, sorry.” Jack passed the dangerous red condiment, then carefully picked up the last sloppy bite of his barbecue-beef-brisket sandwich. “I was thinkin’.”
“Yeah,” the cowboy said wisely, “like we all been, I bet, about them Keenes comin’ in to take over the Bar K. It’s a real shame your daddy and grandpa won’t be able to buy that place now. Just when they’s gettin’ close, old Wil Keene up and kicks the bucket.”
This was greeted with somber nods all around. Everybody in the county had known old Wil Keene and none of them had liked him much, especially the Burkes of the XOX Ranch. Wil had been a cranky SOB, but his neighbors had coexisted uneasily with him for the sake of his wife.
Miss Elsie Knox had been revered locally as a kind lady from pioneer stock. Hell, the town of Hard Knox got its name from one of her great-great-something or others. Why an aging maiden lady had waited all those years for her prince to come and then up and married a carpetbagger like Wil Keene five years ago was anybody’s guess. But she had, and out of respect they’d tried hard to get along with the abrasive foreigner plunked down in their midst.
They managed fairly well until Miss Elsie—no one ever called her Mrs. Keene—died. Then they moved in on Wil Keene like a flock of vultures, determined to rid themselves of a constant irritation.
The fastest way was to buy him out. Three ranchers whose land touched on Bar K borders made the widower offers they hoped he couldn’t refuse, Jack’s pa and grandpa among them. But Keene, who was getting up there in years and growing more surly by the minute, just sneered at all comers.
There was nothing for locals to do but stand by shaking their heads in collective disapproval while they watched the little Bar K go to hell in a handbasket.
Now Wil’s three sons were coming in to take over the failing dude ranch, and nobody was very enthusiastic about that, either.
“Those Keene boys are due in any day now,” one of the cowboys at a table near the bar offered. “Them ol’ boys are gonna have a real job of work gettin’ that place fit for dudes.”
Joe Bob Muskowitz, the long drink of water at the end of the bar, nodded. “They’ll play hell gettin’ any help from around here,” he predicted. “Their daddy ticked off just about everybody in this town at one time or another and they’re probably just like him.”
Heads nodded solemnly, all except Jack’s. Disgusted with himself for doing it, he still felt duty bound to speak up. It was hell to be beholden to a man you disliked and then have him die before you could repay your debt of honor.
“Wil Keene wasn’t—” he swallowed hard “—all bad.”
“Wal, where’s that comin’ from?”
Joe Bob gave the speaker an incredulous glance. “Where you been? Remember when Jack’s grandpa rolled his pickup