Catching Ember (Buckle Up Series Book 1) Page 4

He pinched the brim of his well-worn bone colored cowboy hat, band discolored from perspiration, giving a courteous tip of his head.

  “Ember, it’s not in my nature to beat around the bush. I’ve been wracking my brain, trying to sort out the best way to go about this unusual situation we’ve got here, and I figure the best thing to do is just get down to it.”

  A huge sigh of appreciation pushed from her lungs, puffing her cheeks. “I agree.”

  “My wife and I—” He nodded toward Bee. “—worked for your father for over thirty years. His passing served as a great loss for all of us. Mr. Walker was a great man and one hell of a rancher. I’d wager he was one of the best in Texas.”

  “Well respected around these parts,” Bee added.

  “I’ll be teaching you the ins-and-outs of the ranch. We’ll try to make you as comfortable as possible, but truth is, there’s not much comfort in cattle ranching.” His gaze slid over her attire, pausing at her tattoos. A slanted frown dug a deep crease between his wily gray brows. “Hope you got some pants and boots. If not, we’ll get you set up with the proper clothing.”

  “Yes, sir. I do. Not sure if my boots will do, they’re meant for kicking your heels up on a dance floor rather than riding or working, but I can get a new pair,” she assured, the drawn-out twang of her Texas accent already finding its way back home.

  “Now, don’t be calling me sir. If you decide to stick around, which we all hope you do, you’ll be my boss. So, let’s stick with Mr. Montgomery.”

  Boss? He wreaks of experience and knowledge. There’s no way I could ever be this man’s boss.

  A dose of harsh reality pounded in her chest.

  The ranch needed an owner.

  And everyone was looking at her to take the reins.

  It was the one detail Mr. Montgomery made crystal clear during their previous phone conversation. If she opted to sell the property, seventy plus ranch hands stood the very real possibility of losing their jobs.

  No pressure.

  Completely out of her element, Ember swallowed hard, forcing an ever-growing list of insecurities to the bottom of her gut. She didn’t possess one qualification to work at a ranch, let alone own one, yet determination and dignity swelled in her chest.

  “Yes, sir.”

  His lips hid beneath the coarse hair of his white mustache, but a web of deep creases surrounding his dark brown eyes deepened, indicating a smile.

  “Walker Ranch stretches across 160,000 acres.” Noting confusion in her wide eyes, he clarified, “That’s about ten miles wide by 22 miles long. Other than the ten thousand head of cattle and 70 quarter horses, the property includes ninety windmills and seventy pastures enclosed by more than two hundred and fifty miles of fence. The Brazos River runs between us and the neighboring Harris Ranch which offers us approximately thirteen sections of shinnery.”

  Ember didn’t miss a hint of disregard when he mentioned the neighbor. Clearing the hesitation from her throat, she asked, “What does shinnery mean?”

  “It’s a lush section of heavy native brush made up of long grass and shrub oak. Makes for excellent spring and summer grazing. It’s one of this ranch’s unique distinctions.”

  “This place sounds like every Texas man’s dream. All you’re missing is oil,” she said flippantly, high-strung on nerves.

  “Only if they dream of hard work.” His attention turned to the expansive view just beyond the wall of glass. “This land has oil, but your father, as well as his ancestors, preferred not to drill. It’s survived drought, flood, blizzards, and twisters with no income from oil. It’s something your daddy prided himself on.”

  Ember raked her fingers through her hair. Listening to the stranger speak of her father with such pride brought raw emotions to the surface of her skin. Raised bumps scattered across her shoulders. Curiosity that had welled inside for years boiled over, warming her insides with a fond sentiment for the father she’d never met.

  “The buzzards have already started to circle.” He shook his head in disgust. “There’s an all-out bidding war to purchase this ranch. There’s been interest by four separate parties so far.”

  Bee interjected, “A ranch that’s not even for sale, I might add.”

  Ember’s head bobbed up and down, remembering that Mr. Montgomery had mentioned there was already interest in buying the estate.

  “Your father, he stirred up a hornet’s nest leaving the ranch to you. Everyone’s in a tizzy.” A grumble of laughter rusted in his chest. “You see, Ember, oil can make even the nicest man with the best intentions turn to greed. And this property has an abundance.”

  Not wanting to give false hope, she clarified, “Mr. Montgomery, I told you before, I can’t make any promises. I agreed to stay here for four months because it was my father’s last dying wish, but that doesn’t mean I can keep the ranch.”

  “We know that, hon.”

  “I gave my word that I’d watch out for you and teach you all I could. That’s all I can offer. The rest is up to you. You’re gonna get mud slung at you from every direction, but the good thing about mud is that it washes off in the hose.”

  Ember had no idea of the point he was trying to make. Her head was spinning with information she needed to absorb, but her heart yearned to know more about her father.

  “I realize there’s a lot for me to learn about the ranch, probably a lifetime’s worth of knowledge. It’s going to be a lot of hard work, and apparently, there’s gonna be mud thrown at me, but before we get into all the details, I’d like to learn about my father.” She forced a firm smile in hopes of offsetting the flutter of apprehension coloring her cheeks. “What kind of man was he? What did he believe in? What were his aspirations for this place? What was his favorite food?”

  His wise brown eyes locked on her with an unblinking stare. Ember couldn’t tell if the man was impressed or agitated.

  “Mr. Walker was a hard, demanding man. He ran this ranch with stiff expectations and a firm boot. It earned him a heap of respect and a hard-working crew of loyal hands.”

  “He also had a heart as big as the state of Texas,” Bee exclaimed. She gave her husband an arched glance while patting his forearm. “No need to blurt everything out all at once. You’ll have plenty of opportunities to discuss imperative matters.” She glanced at Ember. “For now, let’s get you settled. I’m sure you’re exhausted from the long drive.”

  “Exhaustion comes from hard work, not a long drive.” Ember heard him mutter beneath his mustache.

  Taking his cue, he excused himself, giving the impression that he was leaving his wife to handle the more feminine matters. Mr. Montgomery wasn’t the type of man to be in tune with his emotions or succumb to feelings. He was the epitome of hard work and discreet optimism.

  Standing between him and the door, she moved toward him hesitantly with open arms, warning, “I’m a hugger.”

  He scowled, offering a swift, mechanical pat to her back, grumbling, “I’m typically not.”

  It took less than thirty minutes for her to feel like she’d known Bee her entire life. She bore a gentle easiness about her that Ember found comforting. The home was a sprawling five thousand feet with three additional homes on the property, one of which Bee and Mr. Montgomery resided in, another housed several young, single ranch hands, and the last was a cozy painting studio tucked into the tree line on the far edge of the property.

  The spry elderly woman offered to whip her up something to eat no less than half a dozen times. Ember couldn’t decide if Bee thought she needed to gain a few pounds or if it was simply the chef inside prompting the offers, but at some point, it became easier to accept the gracious offer, even though she wasn’t hungry. It turned out to be one of the best roast beef sandwiches she’d ever tasted.

  It was late in the day when they made their way to the door of her father’s office. Bee seemed to be saving the personal workspace until the end of her tour.

  “I’ll leave you to it. Best get to bed early. Your day begi
ns at sunrise,” Bee warned, leaving her in the privacy of her father’s office.

  The cold lever warmed in her hand as she worked up the courage to walk through the door.

  Entering the room, she was hit with earthy scents, a sweet concoction of tall grass in meadow, heated under a noonday sun. The space felt more like a gentleman’s study than an office with two built-in bookcases, one on each side of a large wet bar, filled with books and a dozen black and white photographs spanning several generations. A five-point buck hung on the wall behind a large wooden desk staring down at her with dark eyes, watching her every move.

  Fingers feathering over the dark wooden frames, she wondered how many meetings took place in the leather chairs surrounding the imposing desk. How many deals had been brokered over the whiskey filled crystal decanter on the bar?

  Spotting a familiar face amidst the pictures, her pulse began to race, tapping in a frantic rhythm along the pressure points of her wrists and throat.

  Ember reached for the photo of her father.

  He was recklessly handsome, wearing a black Stetson and a charming wide smile. The salt and pepper hair peeking out beneath the broad brim indicated he might be in his forties. She instantly understood why her mother would’ve been attracted to him. Ember wondered if the picture had been taken around the same time he’d met her mother.

  The strength she’d been grasping to all day flowed from her body like water running down a drain. Thickness in her throat signaled the onset of tears.

  All her life, she’d convinced herself she didn’t need a father, always justifying her curiosity as just that…curiosity, but deep down, Ember knew she missed out on all the things a father’s love would’ve brought to her life.

  Holding onto the photo, she maneuvered around the large desk, easing into the tufted, high-back chair. The weight of her body sagged against the cool leather. Gazing down at the image, she brushed her thumb across the glass. Ember didn’t see many similarities between them, however Bee was right, she bore the same smile as the one staring back at her from beneath the frame.

  Swiveling in the seat, she rolled the chair closer to the edge of his desk. Her heart nearly stopped beating seeing several color photos of herself, stair stepped in size, topping the corner of his desk. One was taken at the beach when she was about five years old, another in her cap and gown at high school graduation, and one standing in front of her Toyota proudly showing off the keys her mother had just handed her.

  Ember’s eyes narrowed, homing in on a photograph she’d sent to her mother after arriving in California. The picturesque photo was taken while she was teaching her first yoga class on the beach.

  Her jaw set tight, clenching her teeth against the wave of confusion taking up residence in her heart.

  “What the hell?” Scraping the wetness from her cheeks with the back of her hand, Ember grumbled, “You’ve got some explaining to do June Thompson.”

  Ember had already learned her mother had been in contact with her father after that day they ran into him, but she didn’t realize to what extent. Frustration and anger broke over her skin in a film of perspiration.

  “Wouldn’t it have been easier to grow some balls and just see me? You’re supposed to be some great man.” Her anger splintered, whooshing from her lungs in heavy pants. She glared at her father’s picture. “The two of you have been sneaking around behind my back! Talking on the phone and sending pictures. Why didn’t you just fucking call me? Why didn’t you just ask to see me?” Casting a finger, she bit, “You’re nothing but a chickenshit old man, that’s why!”

  Blind fury and hurt feelings pushed her heartache to a new low.

  Tears blurred her vision, and her hands shook, yanking open the desk drawers one at a time, tearing through their contents.

  Pushing away from the desk, she tugged on the narrow drawer underneath the center of the desk. Her face crumpled, and chin quivered seeing a hand addressed envelope with her name on it resting atop a hand-tooled leather book.

  Her entire body quaked as she ripped open the letter.

  Dear Ember,

  That day we met, as soon as you said you were celebrating your twenty-first birthday, I knew right then and there that you were mine. Your long legs and dimples were a dead giveaway.

  That day was the best and worst day of my life. I found out I’d been blessed with a beautiful daughter and got diagnosed with terminal cancer all within a few hours of each other.

  I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you growing up. Had I known you existed, I would’ve been a father to you. Not sure how good I would’ve been at taking on that role, but I would’ve done my best. From what I can gather, your mama has done a fine job raising you right.

  I’m sure you have more than a handful of questions, and I’ve done my best to answer them in this here book. Other than a warm, fatherly hug when you wanted it and a good swift kick in the butt when you needed it, these are all the things I would’ve liked to have taught you myself.

  I want you to understand that it tore me up inside, not reaching out to you sooner. I’ve done a lot of difficult things in my life, but this has been the hardest.

  It may seem selfish, but there are some things in life that a child shouldn’t have to witness. I’m not much on pity, and in those few moments we talked I could tell you were so much like your mother, kind and spirited with a big heart. You would’ve wanted to be here.

  I’ve got my limits and having my only daughter give up years of her good life to sit and watch the worst of mine, was not something I was willing to subject you to. No matter what the cost.

  I manage to get to my knees every night to pray that you’ll forgive me someday.

  I’m leaving this world with the two best parts of me, you and this ranch, in the capable hands of Mr. Montgomery. He won’t ever steer you wrong. You can trust him with your life.

  This ranch has been in our family for over a hundred years. Try not to let the daily workings of it intimidate you. Though, you may not have been raised one, you’re a Walker through and through, and ranching is in your blood.

  After four months, if you can’t see yourself here, the ranch is yours to sell. I expect you’re smart enough to figure out what’s best.

  Just remember that happiness, love, and a good sunset are the only things you can’t buy in life.

  Love,

  Your Daddy

  Mr. Walker

  P.S. Honey, I wasn’t sure what you’d prefer to call me, so I’m leaving them both here for you to decide.

  * * *

  The last sentence drew an awkward, almost catatonic, laugh.

  Her heart softened into a pile of mush reading the tender words of a dying man, a father she would’ve loved, and laughed, and probably fought with. Her shoulders slumped forward, and arms pinned against her stomach. The taste of saline caught in the creases of her lips and tears dripped from her jaw.

  A wave of mental exhaustion zapped any remaining energy from her body.

  Ember gathered up the letter and book to take to her room. Pushing to her feet, she paused at the edge of the desk, collecting his photograph.

  “I forgive you, Daddy,” she whispered, pressing her lips to his cheek. “I promise I’ll do my best.”

  Chapter 5

  Ember

  Trust your neighbor but brand your cattle.

  The tips of her fingers scrolled over the black ink scratched into the pages of her father’s journal. Ember closed the book, wrapping the thick strap around the worn leather to keep its secrets safe inside.

  Lifting the soft saddle-tan leather to her nose, she breathed in the subtle scent before cuddling it to her chest. She’d woke up expecting to feel nervous, almost dreading the day ahead, but his words of advice brought a feeling of calm inside. She was ready to bring on the day.

  Faint wisps of oranges and pinks crossed the early morning sky. The cool air swept over her skin carrying the distinct earthy aromas of pastures and animals. She found Mr. Montgomery at th
e stables delving out a list of chores to a dozen cowboys.

  Ember kicked a foot up on the bottom railing of the corral and leaned her arms on the fence, taking in the glorious Texas sunrise. A large gray horse, tall and heavily muscled with a jet-black mane, gently tamped its hoof on the ground, capturing her attention.

  Ears perked and nostrils flared, the horse walked forward getting a smell of her before sticking its head over the fence.

  A soft smile stretched across Ember’s lips.

  “Hey girl,” she said, slowly raising a hand allowing the horse to take cautious inspection.

  Short, stiff, black lashes circled its dark eyes, staring at her with inquisitiveness. The horse let out a good sigh and lowered its head, allowing Ember to stroke the white stripe running between its eyes and nostrils.

  Soothing the course hide, she fussed sweetly, “Well aren’t you a beautiful girl.”

  “She’s a he and he can be mighty unfriendly at times, so be careful,” Mr. Montgomery warned.

  Hearing his voice, the horse turned its head and took a few steps back.

  “Unfriendly? He seems nice.”

  Ember moseyed away from Mr. Montgomery and the horse lazily followed. The animal kept an alert ear pointed in Mr. Montgomery’s direction while the other twitched and turned listening to Ember’s voice.

  “You’ll be riding Penny.” He waved a hand, ushering her toward a coppery-brown horse at the far side of the pen. “She’s tried and true and a good horse for you to learn. Let’s get saddled up and get you ready to ride.”

  “I like this one. Can I ride him instead?”

  Mr. Montgomery stopped mid-stride and turned to face her, hands riding on hips. After a few beats, he cautioned, “According to your father, he’s a dream to ride, but I don’t trust him on the ground.”

  A spark of warmth centered inside her chest. “This was my father’s horse? What’s his name?”

  “That’s Storm.” He gave a little tip of the hat. “His reputation proceeds him. He’s a might bit cantankerous.”