A Randall Thanksgiving

“Really? You don’t mind?”

“No, we think it will be better. However, it’s started snowing and this is supposed to be a big storm. She should come in now and spend the night. That way we’ll have her all prepped for the morning.”

“Okay. That’s what we’ll do. Thanks, Caro.”

She got off the phone and told her parents what her cousin had said.

Her mother looked petrified. “Now? But I was going to try to get more done before—”

Griff cut her off. “That’s great, Melissa. I’m going in with your mother and I’ll spend the night there with her.”

“I’ll go, too.”

“No, child, your mother and I will be together. You come in the morning for the surgery. Okay?”

Melissa leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Okay, Dad.” She knew her father had been hard hit by the news and wanted time with his wife. “But you promise to take good care of her.”

“You know I will. Now, go help her pack a bag, please.”

“Why is it that I have no say in what’s happening to me?” Camille complained.

“Because you never put yourself first, my love. But this time you have to.” He kissed her before he said, “I’m going to go talk to John before we leave.”

When he went outside, Griff saw someone parked near the barn. He hurried out of the chilly wind to find the owner of the truck inside, talking to his son.

“Harry! It’s good to see you. Why didn’t you come up to the house?”

“Hi, Griff. Good to see you, too. I had some information that I figured you’d need as soon as possible. At this time of the day, I thought you’d be out here.”

“What kind of information?”

Harry told him about the cattle rustlers and the need to move the herd.

John spoke up. “I was just coming in to tell you, Dad. We don’t have much time before dark.”

Griff stood there, staring at them. “I can’t help you, Son.”

“What are you talking about, Dad? Even if we could afford the loss, we don’t want to let these guys get away with rustling, do we?”

“No, Son, but your mother is going for surgery as soon as I can get her to the hospital. I just found out about it. She was planning on delaying the operation until Melissa went back to France, but it can’t wait.”

“Is she all right?” John asked, fear in his voice.

“She will be, but the surgery has to be done at once,” Griff said.

“I’ll stay and help you, John, if you’ve got a horse for me,” Harry said.

“You don’t have to do that,” he protested in a slightly embarrassed tone.

“Son, learn to take help when it’s offered.” Griff turned to Harry. “Thanks. We appreciate it.”

“What about Melissa? Is she going with you?” John asked.

“No, she’s coming in in the morning. You can come, too, if you want.”

“Yeah, I will. But ask Melissa if she can help us now.”

Harry stared at John as if he were crazy. But Griff just nodded. “Saddle a horse for her. I’ll send her right out.”

After Griff walked out of the barn, Harry turned to his friend. “Your sister will help us move the herd? Do you think she can? I mean, she probably hasn’t ridden in years.”

“Naw, she doesn’t spend all her time making jewelry.”

“She makes jewelry?”

“Yeah. You didn’t know?”

“Hell, I didn’t even know you had a sister, John!” Harry said in exasperation.

John grinned. “I guess I don’t talk enough. You want to borrow some chaps?”

“Yeah, if you’ve got a spare pair. They’ll help keep the cold out.”

“Sure, here you go,” John said, taking down a pair from the Peg-Board on the wall. “You don’t have to warn anyone else?”

“Nope. You’re the last on the list. We split the ranches up, Mike and I. I need to call him and let him know where I am, though.”

“That’s fine. You need a phone?”

“No, I’ll use my cell.” He called the sheriff and told him he was going to help John move his herd, and would be in later. Mike agreed to keep an eye on everything, since Harry had the late shift.

Just as he turned off the phone, the barn door opened and Melissa came in. Her eyes, he noticed, were suspiciously red.

“You all right, sis?” John asked at once.

After a quick look at her brother, Melissa said, “Yes, of course. Mom and Dad are getting in the car if you want to go tell her goodbye.”

“Yeah, I’ll go do that. I haven’t got your horse saddled yet, but I’ll do it when I get back.”

Harry watched John leave the barn. Then he said abruptly, “Which horse is yours?”

“Maybelle here. She’s eight years old, so she can still go.”

Harry moved over to check out at the gray mare. “Yeah, she looks good. Are you sure you can stay on?”

“Excuse me? You’re talking to a Randall, I’ll have you know.”

“Yeah, but you’re a Randall with a French accent,” Harry said with a wry grin. “Which saddle is yours?”