to be followed without question. But he’d never made them feel like they should be afraid. He’d never raised a hand to them. His punishment was “You’re grounded. No television or horse privileges for a week.” And under all the bluster was a heart made of gold. Eva saw it even if her sisters didn’t.
But Timmy was afraid.
Eva could only wonder what would happen to the boy now that the man had been left in possession of his son. And she couldn’t quite shake the connection she’d felt with the man the first time his gaze had caught hers. There was something about him that made her want to get involved. But no, she’d held the enabler card before, and it never played well for her.
And this time, she hadn’t even gotten the name of the man who caused her such angst.
Pulling into the Lost Dutchman Ranch, she finally relaxed. She felt like she’d already put in a full day, though it was just past lunchtime. No way could she be a social worker like her sister Elise. Her small involvement with the people at the restaurant had totally drained her.
“We have nothing to complain about,” she announced to Patti de la Rosa, Jane’s mom, as she entered the lobby and headed for the front desk.
“I told you that a long time ago. Jane just called and told me all about what happened at the restaurant. Poor man. Jane says he’s still there trying to get his son to come out from under the table. I’m going to add him to the prayer list at church.”
Eva sat down behind the front desk and checked the answering machine and their website.
“You don’t want to do that,” Patti advised her. “It’ll just depress you.” As office assistant and head of housekeeping, Patti knew everything there was to know about the workings of the Lost Dutchman. “I already put up the cancellation specials. Not even ten minutes passed before a family called in, canceled their original reservation and hung up. Then, five minutes later, they called and re-reserved under the special price, this time using the husband’s name and card.”
Eva closed her eyes. When a block of rooms suddenly opened up, it was good policy to offer last-minute price breaks to potential guests who might be looking for spur-of-the-moment deals.
Today it hadn’t worked in the ranch’s favor.
“We did get two bookings for October,” Patti said helpfully.
October filled no matter what. Snowbirds flocked to Arizona for its perfect weather.
“I was really hoping for a good summer season,” Eva said. “I need to go find Dad and tell him we can’t afford this new hire. We can’t.” She checked the dining hall, the kitchen and her dad’s office. He wasn’t in their living areas. Standing on the back porch, she looked down the desert landscaping and toward the barn. That’s where he’d be.
She had a love/hate relationship with the barn. On one hand, she hated the way it made her feel: scared, trapped, inadequate. On the other, she came from a long line of horsemen and very much wanted to join their ranks.
She wanted to ride with her dad, her sisters, her someday children.
Go down there, she told herself. You’re a grown woman, strong, and you manage the Lost Dutchman. All of it.
Her feet obeyed, and one step at a time, she walked the half mile to the barn. She could have hopped on one of the ranch’s all terrain vehicles, but that would have gotten her there sooner. She’d face the barn when she got there, but she wasn’t exactly in a rush to make that happen.
She found her father in the saddle room, mending a hobble strap. Chris LeDoux played on the radio.
“You gonna tell me what’s going on, Dad? Do we really need another hand?”
Jacob Hubrecht still had a full head of hair, light brown and brushed to the side. His eyebrows were bushy, his mouth wide. Age had given him wrinkles, very defined, but he still looked strong, and had certainly held on to all his stubbornness through the years. He didn’t pause in his task. “I know what I’m doing. I’ve got the good of the ranch in mind. Leave it be.”
Her two younger sisters had rebelled against his unyielding authority. Eva, however, usually understood where her father was coming from and agreed. Not this time, though.
She didn’t move, just stared at him.
“I’m not getting any younger,” he finally said. “It’s time to put some new, young, strong employees into place—” his hands, always so capable, formed into fists “—so that when I need to work less, I can know all is being cared for.”
He had to be talking about the horses because Eva could do everything else.
She wanted to do everything. Then he wouldn’t be hiring a hand they couldn’t afford.
Behind her, a horse snorted as if reading her mind and knowing she couldn’t possibly care for the mares and geldings like her father did.
“So, this new guy is permanent?”
“Probably not. Mike Hamm called and asked for a favor.”
Mike Hamm was the prison minister. Yes, this was an example of her father not being able to say no to another hard-luck case.
And deep down, she knew he was thinking, “I have three beautiful daughters, but I needed to have me a boy.”
Well, Eva could shoot as well as any boy. Her younger sister Elise could ride like a boy. And the baby of the family, Emily, was a master with a hammer and nails. Half the fences on the ranch were still standing because of Emily. As a matter of fact, Emily had helped Dad draw the plans for most of the Lost Dutchman’s lodgings.
Eva shifted nervously on her feet, all too aware of the two ailing horses in the barn who restlessly watched her. One had stepped on a muck rake and suffered a gash near her eye. Dad was keeping her under observation for a day or two. The other had a dislocated ankle. His future looked grim.
Eva was no help at all. The sight of blood made her woozy, and the thought of trying to help hold a horse while a vet or some of the hands examined it made her...yup, just as woozy.
She’d owned fifty plastic horses as a preteen. She’d had posters of horses on her wall. She’d read Black Beauty and all the Walter Farley books twenty times. Yet the real McCoy, an actual horse, scared her to death.
Daisy, the horse with the gash, snorted again.
Her dad continued. “I know he needs a job. I know he moved a lot and was in foster care. He needs a place to set down roots. Mike says he worked at horse camps during a few summers and remembers the time as the best in his life.”
Great, she was being replaced by a city slicker who only had to muck stalls for two and a half months a few summers.
“I don’t like this change—” Eva had more to say, but Waylon Jennings and Willie Nelson’s “Mammas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys” started playing. Her father pulled his cell from his back pocket and answered, “Hubrecht.”
As she walked away, she could hear him saying, “Yeah, I’ve been expecting your call.”
And wasn’t
