A Tradition of Pride (6 page)

The man cupped a hand to his ear, a curious frown on his face as his mouth formed the word "What?" Her mouth thinned into an exasperated line. Quickly she signaled to Johh Porter to cut the engine. It sputtered and died, the cessation of noise intensifying the peaceful silence of the orchard.

"What's the trouble, Miss Lara?" An inquiring smile curved his mouth.

"Where's Cato, John?" Lara repeated her earlier question. "Why are you doing the plowing instead of him?"

"MacQuade's orders." The man shrugged, turning his head away from her to spit out his chaw of tobacco.

"Didn't you explain to him that Cato has always done the plowing here?"

"I tried." The dubious shake of the man's head indicated it hadn't made much difference. "But he didn't seem to care how things were done before he came."

Temper flared and Lara controlled it with effort. "I will explain it to him," she said determinedly. In the meantime, John, you can drive the tractor back to the sheds. Cato will be doing the plowing here."

The pangs of uncertainty flashed across the man's face. "MacQuade told me to plow the field," he argued hesitantly. "Your father made it very clear when MacQuade took over that he was the boss and none of us would be expected to take orders from anyone else, not even your father. It could mean my job, and my wife's going to have a baby in a couple of months. I can't risk MacQuade using me as an example to the others that he's in charge. You understand, don't you?"

"Yes." The admission was clipped out with irritation while her mind raced to find an alternate solution to achieve the same ends. "Give me the ignition key, John." She breathed in deeply. "Tell MacQuade that I stopped you and took the key. He would hardly expect you to fight with the boss's daughter, to try to get it back. This way he'll see that I'm solely responsible and not blame you."

"Well," he murmured uneasily, "if you think it will work."

Lara dismounted as John Porter removed the key from the ignition and swung down from the tractor. Reluctantly he handed it to her.

"MacQuade isn't going to be happy about this." He shook his head. "You know that?"

"I can handle Mr. MacQuade," Lara asserted confidently.

There was an upward flick of his eyebrows as if John Porter wasn't too sure that Lara knew what she was talking about. He glanced at the tractor and plow.

"I suppose I might as well start back," he sighed.

"I'll walk with you." Lara fell into step beside him, leading the horse by the reins. "I might as well find Mr. MacQuade and get this mess straightened out about Cato."

The man offered no encouraging comment as they followed the brown red furrows toward the road fence. Reaching into his shirt pocket, he took out a pouch of chewing tobacco, put a pinch between his cheek and gum, then returned the pouch to his pocket.

"Would he be at the sheds?" Her inquiry broke the uneasy silence.

"At the sheds or checking one of the fields. They're plantin' some new seedlings in that acreage that was cleared last winter. He might be there," the man suggested.

Lara pressed her lips tightly together and lapsed into silence. Just thinking how carelessly Rans MacQuade had cast aside one of the valued traditions of Alexander land made her blood run hot. She cautioned herself to deal with confrontation coolly and calmly, but it was going to be difficult not to allow her personal dislike of the man to get in the way. Nor was he the type to take kindly to being ordered around by a woman. To be successful she would have to be diplomatic.

They were nearly at the fence when a pickup truck rolled into view on the graveled road, a cloud of dust following it. The pickup slowed, tires crunching on the gravel; and turned into the orchard entrance, stopping short of the gate.

John Porter darted Lara a grim look. "You aren't going to have to go looking for MacQuade."

Mentally Lara braced herself for the meeting, wishing she had been allowed a little more time to formulate what she was going to say. The truck door on the driver's side was opened, then slammed shut. Sunlight glinted on the golden highlights of Rans MacQuade's brown hair as he walked around the cab through the gate.

His gaze flicked briefly to Lara then centered on John Porter. "Did the tractor break down?"

In the outdoors he seemed taller and leaner and more rugged looking than Lara had remembered him being the few times she had seen him at the house. He was definitely a man that the workers would look up to with decided respect. She understood why John Porter was reluctant to deliberately disobey him—which didn't alter her decision at all.

"Not exactly." John Porter shuffled nervously as he tried to answer the question put to him. He paused and spat a stream of yellow tobacco juice onto the plowed ground. "You see…"

He glanced expectantly at Lara. The action brought a thoughtful narrowing of Rans MacQuade's brown eyes, but they didn't waver from the man's face.

"I believe there's been a bit of a misunderstanding Mr. MacQuade," Lara inserted, coming to the man's rescue. At that point she was impaled by the hard, piercing gaze. Her fingers closed tightly around the tractor keys. "I can readily understand how it happened. You haven't been here long enough to be familiar with all of the ways we do things."

"Has this something to do with the man Cato and his mules?" Rans inquired in an ominously low voice.

"Yes." A stiff smile curved her mouth. "It is a tradition that he always plows Alexander ground. My father has stated many times that it is one that will continue for as long as Cato lives. To deprive him of his job would be the same thing as taking away his dignity and self-respect. It would hardly be the way to reward him after all his years of loyal service."

Rans MacQuade breathed in deeply and glanced away, irritation in the compressed line of his mouth. "Where's the tractor?" The question was addressed to Porter.

"About a third of the way down this row." The man gestured over his shoulder.

"I want you to go back to the tractor and—" Rans began.

"I haven't got the key," John interrupted and quickly avoided the sharp gaze that was directed at him.

"John was reluctant to stop plowing since you had ordered him to do it," Lara explained evenly. "So I took the ignition key away from him."

His jaw tightened as Rans MacQuade turned back to study her coldly. "May I have the key, Mrs. Cochran?"

There was a flash of triumph in her green eyes. Lara concealed it with a sweep of her gold-tipped lashes. She hadn't expected him to give in so quickly. Admittedly the stressing of her father's wishes had probably resulted in her success. She extended the hand with the tractor key to him.

"I knew once it was explained to you, you would understand, Mr. MacQuade," she offered graciously.

Her comment brought a sardonic twist to the ruthless line of his mouth. He took the keys and turned to John, holding them out to him.

"Here," Rans said shortly. "Enough time's been wasted. Get back on that tractor and get this orchard plowed."

Like Lara, John stared at him in stunned disbelief. With a surge of white-hot anger, Lara realized her explanation had meant nothing. She had been a fool to think she could reason with anyone as arrogantly confident as Ransom MacQuade. She had let herself be tricked into returning the key.

The riding crop hung from a strap around her wrist. During the instant when John was too surprised to reach for the keys, her fingers closed around the leather whip. Driven by her flaming temper, Lara struck out with the short whip, lashing it across the, back of the outstretched hand that held the keys.

Immediately they dropped from his fingers, falling onto the plowed sod. A hissing curse accompanied the abrupt spin by Rans in her direction, the chiseled features harsh with anger, Lara's breath was coming in uneven spurts, but her expression was completely composed, with a barely challenging, lift of her chin.

The air crackled with high-voltage tension. Her gaze slid to the angry red welt across the back of his hand, the fingers doubled to form a fist. She was absently aware of John glancing hesitantly from one to the other. Rans had not forgotten his presence, either.

"I left the keys in the truck, John,"' The smoldering glare of his eyes didn't leave Lara's face. "Drive it back to the sheds and report to Clive."

Lara did not make the mistake of interpreting his order as an admission that he was going to allow Cato to plow the fields. Rans was getting rid of John so he wouldn't witness the argument that was to come. Lara had no doubt that the gloves of politeness would come off when John left. Burning anger raged through her veins. She was in no way intimidated by him.

John spat again on the ground, glancing at her out of the corner of his eyes. He was torn between two loyalties. He had known Lara for years and was reluctant to leave her alone with Rans MacQuade. At the same time, he didn't want to risk losing his job since the welfare of his growing family depended on the money he brought home.

With an almost imperceptible nod of her head, Lara indicated that John should go. She was capable of fighting her own battles, even with an opponent as formidable as Rans MacQuade. Rans caught the exchange and his expression darkened as John walked toward the pickup truck parked at the gate.

The bay horse snorted nervously. Reacting to the turbulent tension in the air, he tossed his head and tugged at the reins in Lara's hand. The heavy silence continued until the pickup truck door was opened and shut and the motor growled. Lara didn't give Rans an opportunity to take the initiative.

"I don't believe you heard me correctly, Mr. MacQuade. Cato always does whatever plowing needs to be done on Alexander land. It is a longstanding tradition that not even you are going to stop."

"Let's get this straight, Mrs. Cochran." His cold voice would have made an icicle shiver. "I am the one in charge now. It makes no difference to me if your father whimsically indulged a senile old man. I have no intention of wasting precious time while an eighty-two-year-old man todders up and down a field behind some overweight mules. My concern is getting the land ready for planting in the fastest and most efficient way possible."

"What is time?" she flared. "It's a meaningless measurement. The ground, the trees, the wind, they have no conception of it. They are still here. They still exist. The efficient use of time is worthless if it means sacrificing the principles of human dignity." Green fires flashed in her eyes as she paused to catch her breath. "And you obviously have never spent any time with Cato to dismiss his worth so contemptuously. I assure you he does not todder, but strides with the physical ease that you do. His mules are always kept in condition. That's not fat but muscles you see."

"It doesn't change anything. My decision stands," Rans stated with unrelenting hardness.

A finely drawn brow arched upward. "It will stand only until my father hears about it," Lara declared haughtily. "And once the rest of the workers discover, that the Alexander family does not support you in this, you will have difficulty finding anyone to do the plowing. We have always taken great pride in the loyalty of the people who work for us."

"I wouldn't be too sure about your father, if I were you, Mrs. Cochran." A self-satisfied glint appeared in his narrowed eyes. "I have already discussed the matter briefly with him and he left the final decision to me."

"That's a lie!" she gasped in sudden, trembling outrage. "My father would never condone this! He would not betray Cato in the way you are suggesting!"

One corner of his mouth, quirked sardonically. "It's not betrayal," Rans harshly mocked her description. "The man will receive an ample pension to keep him comfortably for the rest of his life."

"Is that all?" Lara asked sarcastically. "Don't you want to throw in a gold watch, too?" A muscle twitched along his, jaw as his lips thinned into a straight line. "Have you told Cato of your decision, or do you intend to let the grapevine inform him that he's out of a job because he's too old?"

"I haven't had the opportunity," he replied coldly.

"Oh, you've been busy I'm sure," she responded caustically. "Too busy to do the dirty work. Let Cato think my father is to blame. What does it matter to you?"

"I have been busy. Some fool forgot to latch one of the bull-pen gates and two of our prize bulls got into a fight; I'm still not certain we aren't going to lose one of them. Plus one of the cows died giving birth to a calf, and I've spent the last three nights trying to keep the calf alive. Since the decision was mine, I chose not to delegate the responsibility of informing Cato to anyone else. When I do talk to him, I will make it clear that the decision was mine."

The bay pranced nervously behind Lara, who was now trembling with the fierceness of her anger. "I am going to fight you on this, Rans MacQuade. I don't accept that your decision is the final one. You will regret it if you try to carry it out. No one who works here is going to approve of what you're doing. Believe me, I won't be fighting you alone."

"You are a spoiled little brat who has got her way too often. You can rant and rave and throw all the temper tantrums you want, but if you ever try to usurp my authority with the workers, you will find that you have tackled more than you can handle!" The fire glittering in his eyes warned that it was not an idle threat.