do?” Josiah said.
“Sure. And eldest daughters sometimes scrabble with their mothers. I argued a time or two with mine. And my brother.” Jack heard cards being shuffled. “Anyway, you can tell him how proud you are tomorrow.”
“Yes,” Josiah said, sounding happy. “I can. And you know, if he really wants to go into ranching, his brothers have started a new breeding business between them. They’d probably really appreciate the help. Heavens knows I’ve got the land. In fact,” he said, lowering his voice so that Jack had to really bend an ear to hear, “it’s time for me to rewrite my will.”
“Oh, dear,” Cricket said, “let’s play Twenty-one and not think about wills, Josiah.”
“Are preachers supposed to know how to play cards?” Josiah demanded.
“It’s either this or dice. Pick your poison, sir.” Jack heard the sound of cards being slapped down on a table.
“I’m going to have to divide up the ranch, you know,” Josiah said. “Last month I realized I was going to have to leave Jack out. But maybe I’ve just misunderstood him.”
“Most likely,” Cricket said.
Jack frowned. Why was the deacon cozying up to his father on his behalf? She wasn’t very honest for a cleric—she was a pretty face who told outrageous fibs. Too bad she was such a storytelling wench; she’d almost had him believing all that sweetness she was peddling. Almost. But now he knew Cricket was a woman who would say anything to get what she wanted.
He wasn’t sure what Cricket wanted, but he’d know soon enough. Everybody had a price. Except him, of course.
She came out the door suddenly and squashed his toe on purpose. “That’s what you get for eavesdropping,” she whispered. “You’re going to have to think fast to keep up with your old man, cowboy. Let’s see if you can do that, okay?”
Then she popped him on the arm like he was no more than a baseball-playing buddy, tossed her enormous handbag over her shoulder—Pop could have fit a case of whiskey in that thing—and headed off, looking remarkably like a tall, but still cute Audrey Hepburn.
Jack stared after her. That was one pain-in-the-well-worn-butt woman. And unfortunately, she had the asset Jack most appreciated on a female—a very sassy derriere.
Somehow that was even more annoying.
J OSIAH LEFT the hospital that night. Jack wasn’t really surprised when he got the call. He would have done the same. Jack figured if anybody was like him, it was the old man. Pop wasn’t going to be a burden, and like his sons, he knew how to hit the escape hatch.
It was up to him to fetch his father. This wouldn’t be the easiest thing in the world because Pop didn’t want his life extended by taking something from Jack. Pop would consider this gesture sacrilegious, wasteful and downright wrong.
He couldn’t blame his father. Since they hadn’t spoken in over ten years, Josiah had every right to his feelings. It was bad luck that only Jack was the perfect donor match, which he’d found out after being tested—something he did only after Laura, Gabe’s nurse wife, left a message for him at a local rodeo that they were running out of options with Pop. It had been a warning, not a solicitation for help. Still, Jack had felt a curiosity and an obligation to find out if he was an eligible donor. Quietly, he’d had the testing done—and bad luck as always, the prodigal son was the “perfect” match. It was the only time in his life he could remember someone using the word perfect to describe something about him.
He was going to have to go find Pop, somehow reel him in to the hospital. Cricket had been right—he was going to have to think hard to keep up with the old man. Pop was sharp from years of business dealings—he was focused, determined and ornery. Fortunately, Jack knew something about determination.
He’d find him. Somehow, he’d drag him back.
C RICKET WENT to the Morgan ranch, pulling into the driveway in her old Volkswagen that had served her well for many years. The sight of the ranch and the large house that graced the property, out in the middle of nowhere, never failed to take her breath away. She parked, shut off her car, grabbed her tape measure and notepad. A promise was a promise. If Josiah Morgan was going to be on a first-name basis with the angels—unless he accepted his son’s kidney, and if the operation and match was a success—she was determined he would come home to a pleasant-looking house.
No one answered her knock at the front door. Cricket decided she could call either Laura, Suzy or Priscilla and ask them to come let her in…or perhaps she could find an open door. If one of the Morgan men were here today working somewhere on the ranch, it was possible they’d left a door unlocked. They wouldn’t mind her slipping in to measure, particularly as she’d mentioned her plans to Josiah.
She turned the knob.
Sure enough, it was unlocked. That meant one of the Morgans was nearby, so she carefully slid the door open and called, “Hello! It’s Cricket Jasper!”
She waited for a “Hello, Deacon!” or something to that effect, but no one answered. Closing the door behind her, she walked into the hallway. “Hello! Gabe? Dane? Pete?”
All the brothers had moved into houses with their brides, leaving the ranch house to Josiah. Pete was the most recent to move, needing private space for his four new babies and wife. He and Priscilla had bought a house only a few miles down the road once the adoption was final, and Cricket was pretty certain Josiah had been crushed by the departure of the babies. “Anybody home?” she called.
Jack appeared in the hall like a ghost. “Hey, Cricket.”
He startled her into the fastest heartbeat she’d ever experienced. “You scared me, Jack!”
He grinned at her. “I can’t exactly claim that I’m home, to answer your question. But I’m here.” He looked around, his gaze returning to the flat stare he almost always wore.
“So what are you doing here?” Cricket demanded, her heartbeat still jumping around.
“What are you doing here?”
“Measuring for drapes.” Cricket slid past Jack, keeping an eye on him. After Josiah’s warning about his son, Cricket had decided her unhealthy crush was something she needed to put away. The man was sexy, but as a deacon she had no business mooning after a hunk who had not one good side but two bad. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just measure, draw some sketches and go.”
He caught her arm as she went by. Cricket jumped, snatched her arm back.
“Hey,” he said, “I think you and I got off on the wrong foot.”
“No,” Cricket said. “We’re fine. Let’s not trouble ourselves about anything except getting your father well.”
Jack looked at her, his gaze direct, sending a shiver over her. “I heard you telling a bunch of fibs to my father last night.”
She shrugged, clearly not remorseful. “So? Is it wrong to want him to be happy? Is it sinful to put him in a happy frame of mind before he has major surgery?”
He eyed her. “A fibbing deacon.”
She raised
