with its old-style gingham curtains and modern appliances. “Where should I put this?”
“I’m sorry, Miss Byrd.” Tina got up from her seat at a polished, dark oak table. “I should have picked up that glass for you.”
“I don’t mind picking up after myself. And please call me Tammy.” She offered a smile, hoping that striking up a friendship of sorts with the household help would provide her with the details she wanted to know.
“All right. Then Tammy it is.” Tina took the glass from her and turned to a short, heavyset woman who was peeling potatoes at the sink. “Barbara, this is William’s youngest.”
The matronly cook, her hair tinted a coppery shade of red, her cheeks rosy and plump, reached for a paper towel. After drying her pudgy hands, she reached out to Tammy. “It’s nice to meet you, honey. Is your daddy coming?”
“He sure is.” Tammy accepted the handshake, hoping she was telling the truth and that her father would follow through as planned. “In fact, he should be here before dark.”
Both women glanced at each other, their gazes making a quick and intimate connection, before turning their focus back on Tammy and offering nods and smiles.
“That’s good news,” Tina said. “I haven’t seen your daddy since he left for college.”
What? No mention of the family argument? The angry words thrown at each other? The night it—whatever it was—had happened?
Hadn’t the women said both boys had run off, leaving Tex alone for almost thirty-five years?
If Tammy had known either of the women a little better, she would have quizzed them further. As it was, she’d let it go—at least, for now.
But come hell or high water, she was going to get to the bottom of it. And she would start by cornering her father as soon as he arrived.
Sure enough, William Travis Byrd arrived at the Flying B just as the sun was setting.
Tammy, who’d been gazing out the big bay window in the living room, was on her feet and out the door before he could turn off the ignition of the restored 1975 Pontiac Trans Am he’d owned for as long as any of his three kids could remember.
The classic vehicle only had 27,000 miles on it and looked as though it had just rolled off the assembly line, with its original camel-tan cloth interior and spiffy gold paint, including the firebird on the hood. Needless to say, the V-8 sports car was William Byrd’s pride and joy, so Tammy was more than a little surprised to see that he’d driven it all this distance, when he usually kept it in a garage back at the family ranch in Grass Valley.
Had he left the Flying B in that same car on that fateful day? If so, had he decided to return the same way—just as angry, just as stubborn, just as determined to hold a grudge?
“Hey,” she said, as she stepped off the porch. “How was the drive?”
Her dad shut the driver’s door. “Not bad. How was yours?”
“It was good—easy and quiet.”
Her dad nodded at the house. “What’s going on in there?”
“Not much. I haven’t met Tex—or rather my grandfather—yet. Right before I got here, he took some pain medication, so they tell me he’s sleeping.”
Her dad, his once blond hair faded to gray, tensed. Did it bother him to know that Tex was hurting…and badly? That he truly was dying?
Tammy couldn’t imagine why it wouldn’t. Why else would he have come back to the Flying B?
Once she crossed the yard and reached his side, she broached the question that had been burning inside her ever since she’d arrived. “I have something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
“What’s that?”
She folded her arms over her chest and shifted her weight to one leg. “What caused that falling-out you had with your dad and brother?”
His lips tightened, and his brow furrowed. Yet he didn’t respond.
About the time she figured he wouldn’t, he said, “My brother did something unforgivable. And my father was in cahoots.”
“What did he do?”
For a moment, her father’s stance eased and his expression softened. He lifted his hand and cupped her cheek, his eyes glistening. Then he stiffened again, rolling back the gentle side of himself that he rarely showed anyone. “That was a long time ago, Tam.”
Yes, it was. But he’d held on to his anger—or someone else had—for thirty-five years. So pretending to brush it all off wasn’t working. And nothing he said, short of spilling the beans, was going to convince her that it hadn’t been a big deal. It must have been huge.
“You know,” her father said, removing his hand from her cheek and scanning the yard, “now that I’m here, I’m going to take a little walk before it gets dark.”
“What are you planning to do?”
He shrugged. “I’m just going to check things out, see what’s changed and what hasn’t. I might even look for the foreman and ask him if any of the old ranch hands are still around. Some of them were friends of mine.”
“Okay. But, Daddy, what—”
He raised his hand like a traffic cop, halting her words with a warning look. “If things had been different, Tammy, I never would have met your mother or had you and your brothers. So just drop it.”
Then he walked away, letting her know the discussion was over.
Trouble was, everyone in the immediate family knew Tammy had a curious streak a mile wide. And now that she knew there was some kind of dark secret to uncover, she’d be darned if she’d back down and let it go.
Moments later, as her father reached the barn and Tammy was still standing in the drive, a woman drove up in a bright red convertible.
Tammy watched as she parked, then climbed from the car and removed a stylish, autumn-colored scarf from her head, revealing straight, shoulder-length blond hair.
She wore a pair of boots and a brown skirt that had to be fashionable as well as expensive. Yet more remarkable was a cream-colored sweater that showed off an amazing set of bazooms.
Would you look at that? Tammy had a pair a lot like ’em, but she kept hers hidden behind loose-fitting shirts, like the blue flannel one she had on today. After all, the darn things usually got in the way when she worked.
Besides, she’d never liked getting that kind of attention from men.
But then again, after meeting Doc today…Well, she wasn’t so sure about anything anymore.
Either way, she removed her hands from the front pockets of her jeans and moseyed a bit closer to the much taller woman, introducing herself and her connection to Tex.
The blonde stuck out a soft, manicured hand and gave her a solid greeting. “I’m
