Daisies in the Canyon (2 page)

“There’s only three people coming,” Rusty said. “And there’s a recliner right there.”

“This is fine,” Abby said.

Someone rapped on the door, and Rusty yelled, “Come on in.”

The sheriff walked in, followed by a tall, dark cowboy and a very pregnant lady with flaming red hair.

Rusty stood up and made introductions. “This is Jackson Bailey and his wife, Loretta, and Cooper Wilson. Jackson owns Lonesome Canyon on one side of Malloy Ranch. Cooper’s ranch is on the other side. Y’all come on in and have a seat. We were waiting on Jackson to explain things before we had dinner. Y’all are welcome to stay and eat with us.”

“Smells good in here. Ezra would have liked the idea of a dinner for his daughters,” Cooper said.

Dammit! Why did he have to have a deep Texas drawl to go with those brown eyes? He could have had a name like Andy or maybe Greg, to cancel things out, but not Cooper. Before Abby could blink, she’d already conjured up a picture of him whispering sweet words in her ear that sent her hormones reeling.

Get a hold of yourself, woman
.
At the outside best, you’ll be here one year and then you will sell this rotten piece of earth to the highest bidder. Remember your rules for life: number one is that you don’t start things you can’t finish.

Abby inhaled deeply. She didn’t give a damn what Ezra had liked in life or after death. He hadn’t even cared enough to take a look at her when she was born and he hadn’t been around to see one single solitary accomplishment in her life, so he didn’t deserve the right to call her daughter after he was dead.

Loretta sat between the two men and smiled brightly. “We know that you didn’t know Ezra, but we are sorry for your loss all the same. I can see y’all three got his blue eyes. He and I were friends of a sort, even though he was quite a character. Welcome to the canyon. It’s kind of bare right now, but in a few weeks when the wildflowers pop up, it’s lovely. Bluebonnets, wild daisies, coreopsis, and flowering cactus sure give it a different look. And trust me when I say it grows on you. The sunsets are beautiful and pretty soon you’ll wonder why you ever wanted to live anywhere else.”

It would take six bags of chips and at least a dozen of those little chocolate bars to wipe out the anger in Abby’s heart. Ezra could have a relationship with Loretta but not with his own daughters. That was just plain wrong.

Jackson combed back his dark hair with his fingers, laid a hand on Loretta’s knee, and said, “Ezra asked me to be the executor of his will and I brought a copy with me to leave here for you three to go over. But to cut past the legal jargon, the deal is like this. Rusty will pay each of you on Friday evening for forty hours of work at minimum wage. Room and board is provided. Rusty will bring in staples once a week. If you want anything he hasn’t bought, then it’s up to you to buy it yourself.”

“I wasn’t expecting a salary,” Abby said.

“The money is yours if you sit on the porch and do nothing or if you learn the business of ranching. Rusty will teach you if you have a mind to learn. Next item. Ezra died on New Year’s Day. Whoever is still here on that day one year from now inherits this ranch. If anyone of you wants to buy out the other two, there will be enough money to do that in the money he has left to you. If you leave before the year is up, you get your share of the money but relinquish any rights to the ranch. So if any of you want to go today, you can leave here a fairly wealthy woman. That’s your choice. Just call me or tell Rusty when you are ready to go and we’ll take care of the rest.”

“Is that all?” Abby asked when he paused.

“That is pretty much the whole thing,” Jackson answered.

“Y’all sure you don’t want to stay and eat with us?” Rusty asked.

“Thank you, but we’ve got family over on Lonesome Canyon,” Loretta said to the group at large. “Y’all are welcome to come visit anytime. Nona, that’s my daughter, and I would just love to get to know you better.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Abby said.

The other two nodded.

Jackson stood up and held out a hand to his wife. “So I take it that for now you are all planning to stay.” His eyes wandered to the array of bags setting right inside the door.

Three heads bobbed.

“Okay, then. Good luck,” he said. “Rusty, give me a call if you need anything.”

“Will do and thanks, Jackson, for everything.”

“See y’all in church on Sunday,” Cooper said.

“I’ll be the one who’s waddling.” Loretta laughed.

The door shut behind them and five complete strangers were left in the room together. Abby knew the cowboy’s name was Rusty Dawson and the sheriff’s was Cooper, but the two that she shared a father with—that was a different story.

“Okay, I’ll go first. I’m Abby,” she said.

The prissy one with dark hair nodded. “I’m Shiloh. Full name Shiloh Rose Malloy, born twenty-seven years ago in November.”

The wild hippie with the nose stud and stringy blonde hair said, “I’m Bonnie Scarlett Malloy
,
born twenty-five years ago in November. Mama had a thing for
Gone With the Wind
. And just so we’re straight, I’m not leaving. You can’t run me off. Money is only paper. Land is something solid. Are you military or what?” She pointed at Abby.

“I was in the army for twelve years.” Abby didn’t tell them that she, too, was born in November, thirty years ago. Maybe old Ezra didn’t have any luck getting the son he so desperately wanted because he was getting his wives pregnant at the wrong time of the year.

Rusty and Cooper both stood up. “The food is in the kitchen,” said Rusty. “Coop and I are going to start. Y’all can come on in when you want.”

Abby didn’t hesitate for a minute. Her stomach had been growling since she had been rudely awakened that morning in a rest stop. Half a dozen little candy bars couldn’t begin to satisfy her hunger.

To get there for an eleven o’clock funeral, she’d left Galveston at midnight with no sleep at all. She’d made good time so she’d pulled off the road on the west side of Wichita Falls at a welcome center to rest her eyes for an hour. She might still be dozing in the front seat of her pickup if it hadn’t been for some little yappy dog that saw a squirrel chasing up a tree and pitched an unholy fit. As it was, she’d had to really floor the gas pedal to get to the funeral on time.

Sheriff Wilson wore starched jeans and his uniform shirt bore all the right patches to look downright official. Abby had always been a sucker for uniforms, which made military service tricky, but not as much as she was a sucker for tight-fitting jeans and boots. Yet it was the way his brown eyes kept catching hers when Jackson told them about the will that really caught her attention. Lord, it would be so easy to let those eyes lead her straight to a bed, but it wasn’t going to happen.

Granted, it had been a long time since she’d had a relationship, but she had to get a grip on herself. She hadn’t come to the canyon for a one-night stand with a cop; she’d come to lay claim to her birthright, and nothing was standing in her way.

As luck would have it, when they lined up around the cabinet, subtle whiffs of Cooper’s cologne drifted back to her—something woodsy and musky that heated her hormones up to the boiling stage in spite of her resolve not to let any more pictures pop into her head. Add that to the fact that he looked like a young version of Travis Tritt, one of her favorite country music artists, with that cute little close-cropped goatee and mustache, hair kissing his collar, wide shoulders and twinkling eyes, and she had trouble keeping her eyes off him. To top it all off, he had a swagger that would put Timothy Olyphant to absolute shame. Dammit! Dammit! She had to switch her mind to something else.

Chapter Two

C
ooper’s breath tightened in his chest when Abby removed her jacket and hung it on the back of a kitchen chair. The camouflage pants belted in a small waist and the black turtleneck hugged a well-toned body that would turn any man’s head a second time. She pulled the ponytail holder out of her hair and tucked it away in her pocket. When she shook her long blonde hair loose, it fell to her shoulders in soft waves. Cooper tucked his thumbs in his back pockets to keep from reaching out and touching it, just to see if it was as soft as it looked.

Rusty picked up one of those Styrofoam plates with sections and said, “The church ladies put the food on the cabinet and I set up the folding card table for the desserts. We’ll be eating leftovers until the middle of next week.”

Shiloh shucked out of her duster and tossed it back into the living room onto the sofa. She pulled her shirttail out from tight-fitting jeans and picked up a plate. She sure wasn’t bashful.

Bonnie unzipped her leather jacket, revealing a snug red knit shirt with rhinestones scattered across the chest. The jacket went on the back of a kitchen chair on the opposite side of the table from Abby’s.

Cooper picked up two plates by mistake and handed one to Abby, who was right behind him in the lineup. His fingertips brushed against hers and static popped all around them. Dammit! He’d always been attracted to redheads, especially tall ones, like Loretta Bailey, but not blondes, and definitely not those with an attitude. And for damn sure not one who was likely to grab the dollar bills and be gone in an instant.

“The cook over on Lonesome Canyon made the fried chicken and the potato salad. She’s awesome,” Rusty said. “The corn salad, baked beans, and chicken salad are all good, but unless you really like pickled beets, leave that purple stuff alone. Paper towels are over there by the stove—the chicken is pretty greasy.”

The small kitchen table was made to seat four, but Rusty brought out an extra chair from the living room. Abby sat down where she’d hung her coat and Cooper eased into the chair right beside her. Bonnie was straight across the table from Cooper and Shiloh claimed the spot at the other end.

Cooper picked up a chicken leg and bit into it. “Mmm. This is some fine food.”

He wanted to ask Abby where she’d lived and how far she’d driven, but he couldn’t figure out a way to do it without sounding nosy, so he ate in silence. He’d seen her get into the fairly new truck after the funeral, but he hadn’t thought to check the license plates. He’d do that on his way out after dinner. Nothing could possibly come of the attraction he felt for her, seeing as how those cold blue eyes didn’t show a bit of the heat he’d felt when their hands touched.

Not a single one of Ezra’s daughters looked like she wanted to be there, but then, they had their reasons—and they were damn fine ones.

Abby really took his eye, even though she didn’t show much respect, showing up at a funeral in military camouflage and combat boots. But then, neither did the other two women. Shiloh wore an outfit that looked like she was about to go out dancing at a honky-tonk, and Bonnie reminded him of a punk rocker, with eyes a darker blue than her two sisters’ and rimmed with lots of black eye makeup. There was a cool determination in those blue eyes that said she might be the one who actually inherited Ezra’s place. It was the same look that Ezra had had in his eyes when he’d set his mind to do something. Everyone in the canyon knew that when he did, there was no talking him out of it.

Abby was still the prettiest one of the three, with a mouth made for kissing and porcelain skin that begged to be caressed.

“Okay, Abby? What’s your full name?” Cooper asked.

“On the birth certificate it’s Abigail Joyce Malloy. Mama called me Abby Joy when she wanted to make me feel special, and she used all my names when I was in trouble,” she answered.

“My mama refused to call me Coop. She said it sounded like a place where chickens live,” Cooper said.

Seeing the joy in her face when she mentioned her mother, Cooper could not disagree one bit. He’d be willing to bet all three of the women were unique in their own way and their mothers had made them that way because they didn’t have a father. His grandparents had done the same for him after his parents were killed. They hadn’t spoiled him, but they’d sure made him feel special.

Oh, Ezra, you sure missed a lot
, he thought,
especially your oldest one. She’s a fighter just like you were
. Cooper reached for the saltshaker sitting in the middle of the table. His leg brushed against Abby’s and sparks danced around the room. If a mere touch through clothing could create that much heat, what would happen if his bare skin touched hers?

“The lawyer said y’all were all in different states, but he didn’t tell me where,” Rusty said.

Cooper owed Rusty a beer the next time they wound up at the local watering hole, the Sugar Shack, for asking the question he so desperately wanted to know the answer to.

“I was raised in Galveston, Texas, right on the beach, but I haven’t lived there in twelve years. I got out of the army two weeks ago and I’m ready to start over right here on . . . what’s this ranch called anyway?” Abby answered.

“It’s the Malloy Ranch. I thought I could hear some Texas in your accent,” Cooper said. “My place is next door on the south.”

She turned her head to look at him, those blue eyes boring into his. “I thought you were a cop.”

“Sheriff is an elected position. I’ve always been a rancher, always will be,” he said.

“I’m changing the name next January,” Bonnie said.

“What are you changing it to?” Cooper asked.

Bonnie shrugged. “I’ve got a whole year to think about that.”

“What if I like it just the way it is?” Shiloh asked.

“If you’re still here, we’ll talk about it,” Bonnie answered.

Cooper slid a sidelong glance toward Abby. She kept eating and didn’t argue or comment, which made him wonder if she’d even unpack her bags. By Monday morning she could easily be headed back south to Galveston.

“How about you, Shiloh? Where’d you come from?” Rusty asked.

“Lewisville, Arkansas, since I graduated from high school. Before Mama went into business with her sister in a truck stop, we lived in Jefferson, Texas.”

Bonnie didn’t wait to be asked. “We got our mail out of Chappell, Kentucky, but we lived between Harlan and Chappell, back in one of the hollers. I was six when we moved there from Texas.”

Rusty nodded. “I can hear the Texas accent in all your
voices. Ezra only spoke of having three daughters that last year of his life, and I wondered where you were located. Now let’s talk about bedrooms. I’ve moved my stuff out of the room I’d been using since Ezra got sick and back out to the bunkhouse. There are three bedrooms down the hallway off the living room and one bathroom.”

Abby cocked her head to one side. Another gesture like Ezra’s.

“Tub or shower?” she asked.

“Claw-foot tub and a small walk-in shower we had installed when Ezra couldn’t get in and out of the tub anymore,” Rusty answered. “One room was Ezra’s. I’ve cleaned out the closet and the drawers. Packed it all up and put it in storage out in the barn. Who wants that room? It does have the added benefit that it has a small half bath to go with it.”

Bonnie blanched and shivered like someone had shoved an icicle down her backbone. Shiloh’s nose practically curled.

“I’ll take it,” Abby said.

“Did he die in there?” Bonnie asked.

Rusty nodded. “But he did not die in the bed. He got so weak that we rented a hospital bed. I sent it back yesterday. I was hoping Abby would take that room. Bonnie, you can have the room across the hall from her and Shiloh gets the last one.”

“Why?” Abby asked.

“That’s the way Ezra said it was to be done. I didn’t ask questions, but I would have changed it if no one wanted to stay in his old room,” Rusty said.

Abby shrugged and went back to eating. Someone dying in a room didn’t appear to bother her one bit. She polished off her first plate of food, trashed it, and filled another, taking two chicken wings and a thigh, another helping of potato salad, and a big scoop of sweet potato casserole.

She sat back down beside him and their knees bumped against each other as she got settled. The heat in his leg took a while to cool even after she moved hers.

“Hungry?” Cooper asked to take his mind off the electricity bouncing around under the table.

“In my business, you eat when you can and especially when the food is good like this is,” she answered. “So, Rusty, what’s the plan? I know nothing about ranching. Do lessons begin tomorrow or Monday?”

“Work is every day. If you want to learn, you get up at five, have breakfast, and be ready to go by six,” he said. “Quittin’ time is dark or when the job is done.”

“Then I’ll get up at four to get my PT—that’s army lingo for exercise or physical therapy—done before five. I started in the army as a recruit. I’m willin’ to start on the ranch in the same capacity.”

But for how long? A day, a week, a whole month?
Cooper wondered.