Roughneck Cowboy

“Did Travis know about Dominick all these years?”

“No. Samantha told Wilma that Travis discovered his mother’s diary after Charlotte died and that’s when he learned Dominick was his father.”

“And Dominick didn’t know Charlotte was pregnant with Travis when she left him?”

“Obviously not or Dominick would have demanded custody of Travis, too, don’t you think?” Dominick’s wealth and standing in Oklahoma’s oil industry allowed him to do anything he wanted—like harass his neighbors and threaten his competitors until they were forced to lowball their leasing bids for the Bar T. No matter, she refused to negotiate a business deal with Dominick.

Sara wished she could skim Charlotte’s journal. During the final days of her father’s battle with pulmonary fibrosis, he’d drifted in and out of consciousness. Right before the end, he’d called out for Charlotte. For as far back as Sara could remember, neither of her parents had ever spoken the woman’s name or discussed her whereabouts.

“What does Travis do for a living?” Cole asked.

“He’s a roughneck.”

“The oil baron finally got his wish—a son in the oil business.”

Whether Travis lived and breathed black crude as Dominick did was anybody’s guess. Both men worked in the petroleum industry, but Travis’s shocked expression when Dominick had threatened her hinted that he might not possess his father’s cutthroat business acumen.

Two years ago, her father had been forced to take out a second mortgage on the Bar T after the cattle ranch had suffered financial losses from drought and disease. Afraid they’d lose the ranch, Cole had coaxed their father into commissioning a geological survey of the property. If the soil tests were positive for oil, then their father would lease the drilling rights and use the income to pay off the bank, invest in a new bull for the herd and make needed repairs to the property.

As soon as their father received the good news that there was oil beneath the Bar T, he sought leasing bids, but the oil companies lowballed their bids. Then Dominick had asked to buy the Bar T and Sara’s father had been certain that Dominick had manipulated his competitors. Furious, her father had sworn he’d die before Dominick Cartwright ever got his hands on the Bar T. Three months later, her father’s health took a turn for the worse and the ranch went further in debt as the medical bills piled up.

Unless Dominick dropped the bogus lawsuit and stopped influencing the other oil companies, there was no way Sara could prevent the bank from taking the ranch. She needed a miracle. Christmas was right around the corner—maybe Santa would stuff her stocking with a hundred thousand dollars. Ho. Ho. Ho.

“Turkey almost done?” Cole nudged her side, interrupting Sara’s musings.

“In about an hour.”

Sara lived in an old Victorian near the elementary school in town. After her mother had passed away, she’d made the trek out to the Bar T each Thanksgiving and Christmas to prepare a holiday meal for her father and brothers. When her father had died this past April, she’d decided to continue the tradition until she or one of her brothers married.

Right now the odds of any of them tying the knot were slim-to-none. Gabe was a notorious one-nightstand cowboy and the ranch kept Cole too busy to date, which left Sara. After being burned by love once, she was done with cowboys and ranchers—in this neck of the woods that meant slim pickings for husbands.

“Where’s Gabe?”

“Sleeping.” Cole snorted. “He stumbled in at three this morning.”

Gabe went through women faster than a seasoned cowboy ate cold beans.

“Need help in the barn?” Sara had chosen a teaching career, but she’d grown up punching cows alongside her brothers. With her height and sturdy build, there weren’t many ranch chores she couldn’t handle.

“Leave the mucking to Gabe. A little fresh air and manure ought to cure his hangover.” Cole walked off and Sara returned to the house.

Memories of Sara’s father kept her company while she put the finishing touches on the meal. She’d been daddy’s little girl—or rather, tomboy. Much to her mother’s dismay, Sara had been her father’s constant shadow around the ranch. In his final months of life when he’d been hooked up to an oxygen tank, struggling to breathe, he’d made Sara swear not to allow Cole or Gabe to talk her into selling out to Dominick. Easier said than done.

Sara removed the turkey from the oven and delivered it to the dining-room table, then clanged the supper bell on the back porch. A few minutes later, Cole walked through the door and Gabe stumbled from his bedroom—hair matted to his head and wearing the previous night’s clothes.

“Smells good.” Gabe yawned.

“You need a shower.” Sara placed a bowl of mashed potatoes next to the meat platter.

Ignoring her comment, Gabe took a seat, then reached for a turkey leg. Sara slapped his wrist. “Touch it and you die.” She made two more trips into the kitchen before sitting across from Cole. “We’re saying Grace.” She clasped her brothers’ hands and bowed her head. “Dear Lord, thank You for blessing us with this meal. I’m grateful for my brothers and ask that You keep them safe from harm.” She opened one eye and peered at Gabe. “What are you thankful for?”

“Thank You, God, for introducing me to Wynona last night. She’s one hot chili pepper.”

Sara kicked his shin.

“Ouch!” Gabe winced.

“Your turn.” She stared at Cole.

“Thank You for my sister, who cooked this fine meal. Amen.” Cole reached for the meat platter.

No use conversing until her brothers appeased their hunger. They tore into the food like vultures, scraping the bowls clean—so much for leftovers. Before she dished up the pumpkin pie she broached her least favorite topic—their neighbor. “Dominick won’t drop the lawsuit.”

“Figured he wouldn’t,” Cole said. “He wants our oil but he doesn’t want to pay us what it’s worth.”

Gabe slouched in his chair, rubbing his belly as he stared into space—probably dreaming about the hot chili pepper.

“Be right back.” Sara retrieved the pumpkin pie and whipped cream from the kitchen and returned to the dining room. She’d never told her brothers about their father’s final shout out to Charlotte Cartwright on his deathbed. Now that Travis had made himself known, she wondered if there was more to her father and Charlotte’s relationship than being neighbors. While her brothers finished dessert, Sara pondered. Was Dominick simply a greedy businessman or did he have a personal vendetta against her father? Whatever had caused the rift between the two men should have been laid to rest along with her father when he’d died.

“Don’t mean to change the subject—” Gabe pushed his plate away “—but since we’re all together, I might as well spill the news.”

Alarm bells went off in Sara’s head. “What news?”

“I’m leaving.”

“Where to?” Cole asked.

“Out on the road with a few buddies.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Might try rodeoing.”

“What about money for entry fees?” Cole glared across the table.

“I’ve got some saved.” Gabe shrugged. “If I run low, I’ll pick up work as a ranch hand somewhere.”

Sara flung her napkin at her brother’s face. “You’ll work for another ranch but you won’t lift a finger to help your own family?”

“I might if I knew this place would belong to us forever. It’s only a matter of time before we lose the ranch,” he said. “I know you promised Dad you’d do everything in your power to keep from selling, but even Dad would recognize when to cut his losses. You can’t best Dominick. Besides, his bid was generous and—”

“Generous? Dominick’s a crook,” Sara protested.

“If you don’t negotiate with him, the bank will take the ranch, then turn around and sell it to Dominick anyway. And we’ll walk away with nothing.”

Gabe made a valid point, but Sara wasn’t ready to raise the white flag.

“I’m taking off in the morning.” Her brother shoved his chair back and stood.

Sara poked Cole’s shoulder. “Say something.”

“What do you want me to say? ‘Stay, Gabe? Stay and work your ass off for nothing?’”