know. Thanks again, Mr. Brannt. I feel better now.”
“Your dad was a friend of mine,” he said quietly. “I miss him. I know you do, too.”
“I miss him a lot,” she said. “But Great-Aunt Sadie and I are coping. It’s just this ranching thing,” she added miserably. “Dad was good at it, he had charts in the barn, he knew which traits to breed for, all that technical stuff. He taught me well, but I’m not as good as he was at it. Not at all. I like to paint and sculpt.” She hesitated. “Creative people shouldn’t have to breed cattle!” she burst out.
He laughed. “I hear you. Listen, suppose I send Cort over there to help you with the genetics? He’s even better at it than I am. And I’m good. No conceit, just fact.”
She laughed, too. “You really are. We read about your bulls in the cattle journals.” She paused. “I don’t think Cort would come.”
“He’ll come.” He sounded certain of it. “He needs something to take his mind off that woman. She’s a sweet girl, in her way, but she’s got some serious growing up to do. She thinks the world revolves around her. It doesn’t.”
“She’s just been a little spoiled, I think.” She tried to be gracious.
“Rotten,” he replied. “My kids never were.”
“You and Mrs. Brannt did a great job with yours. And John Everett is a really nice man. So the Everetts did a great job there, too.” She didn’t mention the second Everett son, Tanner. The Everetts never spoke about him. Neither did anyone else. He was something of a mystery man. But gossip was that he and his dad didn’t get along.
“They did a great job on John, for sure.” He let out a breath. “I just wish Cort would wake up. Odalie is never going to settle in a small community. She’s meant for high society and big cities. Cort would die in a high-rise apartment. He’s got too much country in him, although he’d jump at the chance if Odalie would offer him one. Just between us,” he added quietly, “I hope she doesn’t. If she makes it in opera, and I think she can, what would Cort do with himself while she trained and performed? He’d be bored out of his mind. He doesn’t even like opera. He likes country-western.”
“He plays it very well,” Maddie said softly. “I loved coming to the barbecue at your place during the spring sale and hearing him sing. It was nice of you to invite all of us. Even old Ben. He was over the moon.”
He laughed. “You’re all neighbors. I know you think of Ben as more family than employee. His family has worked for your family for four generations.”
“That’s a long time,” she agreed. “I’m not selling my place,” she added firmly. “No matter what that fancy Las Vegas man does.”
“Good for you. I’ll help you make sure of that. I’ll send Cort on over.”
“He’s back from visiting his sister?” she stammered.
“Yes. Got back yesterday. They went trout fishing.” She sighed. “I’d love to go trout fishing.”
“Cort loves it. He said they did close the trout streams for fishing a couple of days after he and Dana—Morie, I mean, went. The heat makes it impossible.“
“That’s true.” She hesitated. “Why do you call Morie Dana?” she blurted out.
He laughed. “When Shelby was carrying them, we called them Matt and Dana. Those were the names we picked out. Except that two of our friends used those names for theirs and we had to change ours. It got to be a habit, though, until the kids were adolescents.
“Hey, Cort,” she heard King call, his hand covering the receiver so his voice was a little muffled.
“Yes, Dad?” came the reply.
“I want you to go over to the Lane place and give Maddie some help with her breeding program.”
“The hell I will!” Cort burst out.
The hand over the phone seemed to close, because the rest of it was muffled. Angry voices, followed by more discussion, followed like what seemed a string of horrible curses from Cort.
King came back on the line. “He said he’d be pleased to come over and help,” he lied. “But he did ask if you’d shut your rooster up first.” He chuckled.
“I’ll put him in the chicken house right now.” She tried not to sound as miserable as she felt. She knew Cort didn’t want to help her. He hated her. “And thank you again.”
“You’re very welcome. Call us if you need help with Lawson. Okay?”
“Okay.”
True to his father’s words, Cort drove up in front of the house less than an hour later. He wasn’t slamming doors or scattering chickens this time, either. He looked almost pleasant. Apparently his father had talked to him very firmly.
Maddie had combed her hair and washed her face. She still wasn’t going to win any beauty contests. She had on her nicest jeans and a pink T-shirt that said La Vie en Rose.
It called attention, unfortunately, to breasts that were small and pert instead of big and tempting. But Cort was looking at her shirt with his lips pursed.
“The world through rose-colored glasses?” he mused.
“You speak French.”
“Of course. French, Spanish and enough German to get me arrested in Munich. We do cattle deals all over the world,” he added.
“Yes, I remember.” She swallowed, hard, recalling the things he’d said at their last unfortunate meeting. “Your father said you could help me figure out Dad’s breeding program.”
“I think so. I helped him work up the new one before he passed away,” he added quietly. “We were all shocked by how fast it happened.”
“So were we,” Maddie confessed. “Two months from the time he was diagnosed until he passed on.” She drew in a long breath. “He hated tests, you know. He wouldn’t go to the doctor about anything unless he was already at death’s door. I think the doctor suspected something, but Dad just passed right over the lecture about tests being necessary and walked out. By the time they diagnosed the cancer, it was too late for anything except radiation. And somebody said that they only did that to help contain the pain.” Her pale eyes grew sad. “It was terrible, the pain. At the last, he was so sedated that he hardly knew me. It was the only way he could cope.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I haven’t lost parents, but I lost both my grandparents. They were wonderful people. It was hard to let them go.”
“Life goes on,” she said quietly. “Everybody dies. It’s just a matter of how and when.”
“True.”
She swallowed. “Dad kept his chalkboard in the barn, and his books in the library, along with his journals. I’ve read them all, but I can’t make sense of what he was doing. I’m not college educated, and I don’t really know much about animal husbandry. I know what I do from watching Dad.”
“I
