Chapter 13
For Jubal, the hours of Sunday had crawled past. After seeing Gracie off to church with a neighbor family, he’d spent part of the morning cutting firewood with Travis and an hour wrapping the gifts Gracie had chosen at the mall. It saddened him that he had no surprise for her on Christmas morning, like the new saddle he’d given her last year. But until this business with the ranch was cleared up, that would have to wait.
He’d burned with impatience to do more checking at the county recorder’s office and pay another visit to Clive Huish at the bank. But since neither would be open until Monday, he’d settled for making dinner, then saddling up and taking Gracie for an afternoon ride around the ranch. Usually, being on horseback, his gaze sweeping over the yellowed pastures, helped to calm his nerves and put his world in order. But the thought that this land was no longer his had only torn at his heart. And the memory of his parting with Ellie, sending her off hurt and angry, had haunted his every waking moment. She’d been wounded by one man she’d cared about. Now he’d hurt her, too.
He remembered how she’d braved that terrible windstorm, almost dying, to bring him the vital information he needed. She’d been so eager to help him, and when he’d taken her in his arms, she’d seemed so ready to love him again. But the thought of letting her into his life only to watch her walk away had thrown up a wall of fear. He hadn’t meant to be cruel. He was only trying to protect himself.
Protect himself.
What a stupid, cowardly fool he’d been! He’d spent a restless night, lying on the pillow where she’d slept, her subtle fragrance triggering dreams of holding her, loving her, and sinking into desolation as he watched her disappear. Now it was finally Monday morning, and his mind was made up.
It was time to stop backing away and fight for the woman he loved. Maybe he couldn’t convince her to stay, but he’d never know if he didn’t make the effort.
It would take time to win back her trust and forgiveness. But he had to try. Convincing Ellie to stay would be worth whatever it took.
He was tempted to call her this morning and try to mend some fences. But it was too soon for that. She needed time to simmer down. Maybe later he’d have some news for her, and a better excuse for his behavior.
Christmas vacation had begun, so Gracie didn’t have school. Jubal settled her with a stack of library books, her art supplies, and her cell phone, and made the drive into town.
He drove straight to the county recorder’s office. For starters, he looked up the property that was now the B and B. Scanning the old records, he was able to verify that the old man who’d owned it was indeed J. D. Shumway, and that his signature, except for differences due to age and ill health, matched the one on the loan contract. And it was Donetta Huish, as his heir, who’d signed the deed to the old house over to Jess. So far, so good.
Jubal spent the next two hours searching the records for properties owned by Shumway and Sons. Aside from his own ranch, there were none. That was a disappointment. Finding other landholders who’d been swindled would have strengthened his case. He could have contacted them and worked up a plan to confront Clive Huish together.
But that was not to be. Evidently the crime against Seth McFarland had been one of opportunity—a desperate man with bad credit willing to put up his ranch for a small loan and not sharp enough to understand the terms. Jubal’s father had played right into their greedy hands.
Jubal would be dealing with the slimy banker on his own.
This morning he was out of time. He needed to get home to Gracie. In any case, he knew better than to go charging into Huish’s office angry and unprepared. He needed a sensible plan. And he was going to need Ellie. After the way he’d treated her Saturday night, he could only hope she’d agree to help him.
* * *
So help me, if she mentions the mango again . . .
Dismissing the thought, Ellie dressed, slipped on her coat, and prepared to leave the exam room after her routine weekly checkup. She’d been in a black funk since yesterday, when she’d driven away from the ranch. Even Beau’s antics had failed to cheer her. How could Jubal lead her on, welcome her help, give her that toe-curling kiss, and then just cut her out of his life? Had it all been a scheme to get back at her for leaving him ten years ago?
“Are you sure your due date is January third?” Dr. Ramirez asked as she returned to the room.
“Pretty sure, within a week or so.” Even though her periods had never been regular, that final reunion with Brent hadn’t lasted long enough to leave much of a window.
“Not knowing that, I’d have guessed you were a little farther along. From the looks of things, you could deliver anytime.”
“As long as it happens after the holiday weekend, I’m good,” Ellie said. “I don’t fancy spending Christmas in the hospital.”
The doctor laughed. “It’ll happen when it happens. But I’d stay close to home if I were you. I’ll see you next Monday, same time. Oh—and say hello to the—”
“I’ll see you then. And thanks.” Ellie cut her off and left the clinic before the perky woman could finish her sentence. If she never saw Jubal again, it would be too soon—although she was bound to run into him, especially since he planned to bring Gracie to the Cowboy Christmas Ball this Saturday. Ellie had let Clara talk her into helping take tickets. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t change her mind. There were plenty of people who could take her turn at the ticket table.
The more she thought about staying home that night, the better Ellie liked the idea. Why not just spare herself the discomfort? Surely her mother would understand if she didn’t feel up to a big, noisy party.
She drove down Main Street, under the glowing light strings that crisscrossed overhead. Even with the windows up, she could hear the speakers blaring “Silver Bells.”
Growing up, Ellie had always looked forward to Christmas. Even after her father died, her mother and the community had made it a magical time. But this Christmas in Branding Iron just plain sucked. Ellie had never felt such a dearth of holiday spirit in her life. Even last year in San Francisco, with her marriage falling apart, there’d been friends and shopping and dressing up for glittering parties to distract her. Here, there was little more than too much time on her hands, her worries over Jubal, and her anxieties about becoming a mother.
She was still feeling down as she approached the corner where Merle Crandall had her craft and yarn shop. Remembering the woman’s stunning gift, and the invitation to pay her a visit, Ellie braked and pulled up to the curb. She’d been hoping to find something extra nice for her mother. This quaint little shop, which looked like something out of the early 1900s, might have just the thing.
A string of hanging bells jingled as Ellie walked in the door. Merle was just bidding good-bye to a woman with a wrapped bundle. As her customer left, she turned to Ellie with a welcoming smile.
“Hello there. I was hoping you’d stop by.” She was wearing gray slacks and another beautifully patterned sweater, different from the one she’d worn to the baby shower.
“After seeing that lovely baby shawl you gave me, how could I resist your invitation?” Ellie returned the smile, her sour mood evaporating as she looked around the little shop. It was a charming place, the walls decorated with antique photos, the shelves and display cases stocked with skeins of silky, beautiful yarn in a rainbow of soft colors. One shelf held an assortment of knitting needles, crochet hooks, and books of patterns and instructions. Another set of shelves held finished pieces—exquisite sweaters, hats, scarves, and baby shawls like the one Merle had brought to the shower. An old-fashioned, ornate brass cash register stood on the counter. A lighted candle wafted the scent of bayberry into the air.
“What a delightful shop you have!” Ellie exclaimed. “You must do a lot of business this time of year.”
Merle replied with a sad smile and a shrug. “Look around you. Do you see many customers? The new Shop Mart here and the mall in Cottonwood Springs have all but run me out of business. If I didn’t own this building and have my apartment upstairs, I’d never be able to stay open.”
“But you have such lovely things here. I’ve never seen anything like these yarns and the things you make. They’re heirloom quality.”
Merle sighed. “Thank you, dear. But I can’t afford to sell them at Shop Mart prices. And the people around here aren’t wealthy. If they can get something made in a Chinese sweatshop for a lower price, that’s what they’ll go for.”
Ellie glanced around, thinking. “But there are people out there who’d love these things and could afford to pay your prices. Have you tried selling online?”
“You mean on the Internet?” Merle rolled her eyes. “Goodness, I don’t know anything about that newfangled technology. I wouldn’t know where to begin!”
“I could help you!” Seized by a sudden idea, Ellie couldn’t talk fast enough. “In San Francisco I had a friend who sold her cookbooks online. I helped her set up her business—learned how as I went along. Facebook, Pinterest, eBay, even a simple Web site. I know how to do them all.”
“You could do that for me?” Merle’s blue eyes were wide with wonder.
“I’d love to try.”
“That would be wonderful! Oh—” Her smile faded. “I’m sorry. It’s a fine idea, but I’m afraid I couldn’t pay you enough for it to be worth your time.”
“You wouldn’t have to pay me—at least not right away and not out of pocket. Once we have the business set up, I could take a percentage of what we sell online.”
“We?” Merle’s smile had returned. “Are you talking some kind of partnership?”
“That would be up to you,” Ellie said. “Think about it. It would take a few weeks to get started, but I really think we could make this work.”
“I could say yes right now. But”—Merle glanced down at Ellie’s baby bump—“you’re about to have a little one. That’s going to be a full-time job.”
“I’m sure I can manage it. Babies do need to sleep sometime.”
Merle laughed. “You’ll need sleep too, as you’ll find out, dear. New babies can really wear you out. But in any case, since I wouldn’t be paying you up front, I’d have nothing to lose by trying this, would I?”
“I’ll tell you what,” Ellie said. “Let me draw up a business plan, showing how it all could work. Then, after you’ve looked it over, you can tell me yes or no, or make suggestions.”
“Fair enough.” Merle extended a small, wrinkled hand for Ellie to shake. Her fingers were surprisingly strong.
Ellie was about to leave when she remembered her reason for coming here in the first place. After some browsing, she chose a dusky blue-gray angora shawl for her mother. It would be silkily warm, and the color would look stunning with Clara’s silver hair.
With the gift-wrapped box in her arms and her head buzzing with ideas, Ellie walked out to her car. Helping Merle sell her beautiful yarns and finished pieces would be just the challenge she needed. If she could grow the online business, it would give her an income and a job she could do right here in Branding Iron, without leaving her baby. Later on, when it came time to move, she might even be able to work long-distance.
Lost in thought, she didn’t notice the truck that had pulled up behind her car until she heard Jubal’s voice.
“Ellie. Glad I caught you.”
He was out of the truck, striding up the sidewalk toward her. She stood in place, saying nothing. Only now that she could see him—so tall and rugged, his face ruddy with cold beneath the battered felt Stetson—did she realize how much his earlier rejection had hurt her.
“I was going to call you later,” he said. “Then I saw your car. We need to talk.”
Ellie gave him a chilling look. “I can’t imagine we have anything left to talk about.”
His shoulders rose and fell as he released a long breath. “I deserve that, and I’ll take my whipping if you want to give it to me. But the truth is, I’ve come to ask a favor. I need your help.”
The man had no shame. Ellie had every reason to walk away, but she couldn’t help being curious. “What kind of help?” she asked.
“I have an appointment with Clive Huish at the bank tomorrow at ten. My plan is to confront the bastard, show him what I’ve found, and demand that he return my property. I need you to be there with me.”
There was a moment of stunned silence as she caught her breath. Then her confusion exploded. “What for?” she demanded. “You said you didn’t need me anymore. You told me to back off and let you finish this business on your own. Now you say you need me there. Why, Jubal? And why me?”
She fell silent as he held her gaze. His eyes were deep blue in the cold December sunlight. “Because I don’t want to do this without a witness,” he said. “And because you’re the only one I trust.”
She stared up at him. “You actually trust me? After those awful things you said?”
“Blast it, Ellie . . .” He shook his head. “It wasn’t about trust. It was all those old feelings that were starting up again. I was plain scared. I couldn’t stand the thought of what I’d go through when you left again, and what it would do to Gracie. I’m still scared. Scared as hell. But I hope I can still trust you to be honest, and to help me as a friend.”
As a friend ? A mist of tears blurred Ellie’s vision. She’d never loved a man the way she’d loved Jubal back in the day. Now something told her that, even if it was too late for them, she’d never love anyone that much again.
But what if it wasn’t too late? What if she could really make a life here? There had to be some part of her that wanted to. Why else did she keep finding reasons to stay, like helping Merle?
Jubal was looking down at her, as if waiting for her answer. Ellie cleared her throat but couldn’t hide the quiver in her voice. “That was quite a speech,” she said.
He forced a chuckle, lightening the mood between them. “It was, wasn’t it? So what do you say? Can I count on your help?”
Knowing there was only one possible answer, Ellie took a deep breath. “What do you need me to do?”
“Nothing much. Just be there, keep still, and listen. Okay?”
“I don’t know how well I can manage the ‘keep still’ part, but all right. Why don’t we meet at Shop Mart, the south corner of the parking lot? My mother won’t stop asking questions if she sees you pick me up.”
“Fine. I’ll see you at a quarter to ten. That’ll give me time to brief you on the way to the bank.” He turned to go. “Wish me luck.”
You’ll need more than luck. Ellie kept the thought to herself as Jubal walked back to his pickup and climbed inside. She’d never met Clive Huish, but if the banker was unscrupulous enough to take advantage of a grieving Seth McFarland, he couldn’t be expected to play fair.
If Jubal’s ploy didn’t work tomorrow, his hopes would be crushed before her eyes. It would kill her to see it, but she would be there for him.
What a time to realize—without a shred of doubt—how much she still loved him.
* * *
Ellie pulled the car into the driveway, parked, and switched off the engine. She needed time to compose herself before she went into the house to face her curious mother.
Clara meant well—she always did. But if Ellie burst through the door flushed and breathless, her mother would want to know why. And for now, Jubal would want to keep anything between them private.
At least she could talk about her ideas for helping Merle market her wares online. She also needed to break the news that she wouldn’t be going to the Cowboy Christmas Ball. Even with Jubal and Gracie there, she didn’t feel up to it. She could just imagine people eyeing her middle and taking bets on how soon she was going to pop.
As luck would have it, when Ellie went into the living room to put her gift under the tree, she found her mother asleep on the couch. She was lying with her hands folded and her ankles neatly crossed. A dainty snore escaped her lips.
Ellie slipped the package under the tree and stood for a moment, gazing down at her. In sleep this woman, who’d been a tower of strength all her life, looked like a frail child—too thin, with lines of weariness creasing her face. Clara had always made sure her daughter had everything she needed—the nicest clothes, dancing and music lessons, even a car of her own when she was old enough to drive. It couldn’t have been easy for her, but no sacrifice had been too great for her children.
Ben had been worth it. He’d always been the perfect son. But Ellie had been a self-centered, willful little drama queen.
If only she could go back in time. She would have been kinder and more appreciative. She would have gone out of her way to make her mother’s life happier. But it was too late to change the past. She could only touch the future.
Weeks, maybe days, from now, Ellie would have a daughter of her own—a daughter who would be her own little person from her first breath of air. What would their relationship be like?
Clara stirred, opened her eyes, and smiled. “So you’re home. How did the doctor visit go?”
“Everything’s fine. Can I make you some tea?” Over tea at the kitchen table, she could tell her mother about her ideas for Merle’s shop and broach the news that she’d be skipping the Christmas Ball.
“The tea can wait, dear. Right now, I have a surprise to show you.” Clara pushed herself up, took a moment to right herself, and hurried off down the hall.
Ellie took off her coat and hung it in the closet. She was about to go in the kitchen and start some tea when her mother came back with something hanging over her arm.
“What do you think, dear? Isn’t it pretty?” She held up a dress of blue and burgundy flowered chintz with puffed sleeves and a high waist with sashes to tie in back. The lower part of the dress was full enough to accommodate a small circus . . . or a full-term pregnancy. It was for her, Ellie realized with a sinking heart. How could she stay home now?
“It’s, uh, roomy,” Ellie hedged. “You must’ve been saving that much cloth for some big project. There’s enough fabric in that dress to reupholster the couch.”
“I was actually saving it for new curtains in my bedroom,” Clara said. “But yesterday I looked at it and thought, why not? Now you’ll have something to wear to the Christmas Ball!”
Ellie stifled a groan. Her mother was trying so hard to make her happy. She hugged her fragile shoulders. “Thanks, Mom. I guess if Scarlett O’Hara can wear her mother’s curtains, so can I.”
“It’s not my best work, mind you. But I realize you’ll only be wearing it one time. After that, maybe I can make some pillow covers or a bed ruffle out of that skirt.”
“Then I’ll try not to spill on it.” Ellie took the dress and laid it over her arm. “I’ll put this away upstairs. Then I’ll make us some tea. While we drink it, I’ll tell you about the great new idea I had at Merle’s today. If you have any suggestions, I’d love to hear them.”
* * *
The next morning, when Ellie drove into the Shop Mart parking lot, Jubal was standing outside his truck, waiting for her. Even from a distance, she could see the tension in his rigid posture. His future, and his daughter’s, could hang on whatever happened today.
With a murmured greeting, he helped her into the high passenger seat. He’d mentioned earlier that she’d be briefed on the way to the bank, but she knew better than to distract him with chatter. Jubal would talk when he was ready—and he did.
Hearing his plan didn’t make her feel any more confident. So many things could go wrong. But she had to agree it was worth a try. And since it didn’t involve money or the law, Jubal had nothing to lose.
They parked at the bank, and Jubal helped Ellie climb to the ground. She’d dressed up a little—if makeup, earrings, and a clean sweater counted as dressing up. She didn’t plan on saying much, but for Jubal’s sake, she wanted to make a decent impression.
He gave her his arm as they crossed the slippery parking lot. In his free hand he carried the manila envelope with the contract and other documents in it, which he planned to show to Clive Huish. As they passed through the double doors, she was tempted to squeeze his hand. But that, she feared, would only distract him.
The receptionist showed them back to Huish’s office, which was smaller than the bank president’s but furnished with a vast mahogany desk and a kingly red leather chair. The walls were decorated with photos of Huish with prominent Texas people—the current governor and his wife, a senator, even a former president of the United States. The man made no secret of his political ambitions. Ellie remembered her mother saying that he’d run for mayor in the last election. Evidently, he’d lost.
He rose from behind his desk, a big man, putting on weight and losing hair in middle age. His brown suit looked expensive.
“We haven’t met, but I’d know Ben Marsden’s sister anywhere. My wife mentioned meeting you at the baby shower.” He extended a hand to Ellie, all smiles and charm. “Please take a seat.”
Ellie accepted the handshake. “Thank you, Mr. Huish, but your business is with Jubal, not with me. I’m just here to listen.”
A startled look flashed across his face but he made a swift recovery. “So what can I do for you, Jubal?” he asked, sitting again. “If it’s a small loan, I’m sure we can work something out.”
His condescending manner made Ellie want to punch him, but she moved back to a chair against the wall and sat down.
“This isn’t about a loan.” Jubal was still on his feet. His voice showed no emotion. “It’s about the ranch that was stolen from my father.”
“Stolen? What makes you say that?” Huish’s expression betrayed nothing.
“I found the contract he signed—when he borrowed five thousand dollars from your wife’s elderly grandfather.” Jubal drew the papers out of the envelope. “It was a scam, Huish. A scam to take the ranch for the oil rights. And you knew about it all the time. I can’t prove it, but I’d bet money you were the one who set it up.”
“Let me see that!” He snatched the contract out of Jubal’s hand. His eyes scanned the pages, as if he already knew what was written on them. “This document is perfectly legal,” he said. “Your father signed a note and put up the ranch as collateral. He received his money and evidently never paid back a cent of it.” His gaze narrowed. Both men seemed to have forgotten Ellie, who sat with her hands gripping the arms of her chair and her heart in her throat.
“My father wasn’t in his right mind,” Jubal said. “If he had been, he would never have signed this contract.”
Huish rose. Standing, he was tall enough to look Jubal in the eye. “Exactly what is it you want?” he demanded.
“I want my ranch,” Jubal said. “Transfer the deed back to me, and everything I know about what you did, and how you lied to me, stays right here in this room.”
There was a beat of silence. Then Clive Huish laughed—a harsh, almost evil sound. “Who do you think you’re talking to, Jubal? So what if my wife’s grandfather made your dad a loan with terms that only a fool would accept? Do you see my name anywhere on this document?”
“No.” Jubal’s voice was flat and cold. “But I know that your wife’s grandfather was a recluse. My father could never have gained access to him without a family member to act as a go-between. I also know that you and your wife moved to Branding Iron six years ago to look after the old man. He wasn’t competent to draw up a legal document. Somebody had to do it for him and get him to sign it.”
A bead of sweat had formed on Huish’s temple. “That’s pure conjecture!” he snapped. “All your so-called evidence proves is that J. D. gave your father a loan on terms he agreed to. So if it’s legal action you’re planning, I’d advise against it. You’d be laughed out of court.”
“Maybe so.” A bitter smile twitched at a corner of Jubal’s mouth. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t tell folks what I know you did. An old classmate of mine works the local news in Cottonwood Springs—does one of those features where they root out cheaters and scammers and exposes them on TV. He’s always on the lookout for a good story. Then there’s social media—the Internet’s great for spreading news. I could also put in a word to your boss about how you flat-out lied to me when I tried to get a loan here. Even if you don’t lose your job, I can’t imagine you’ll have much of a future in politics.”
Huish glared up at him. “I could rip up this contract and swear that you’re lying and that this conversation never happened.”
“Go ahead. It’s a copy. The one with the real signatures is in my safe. And my friend Ellie, here, has a great memory. She can back up everything we said.” Jubal paused to let his words sink in. “You don’t need that ranch, Huish. You’re not cut out to work it. There’s not a damned drop of oil under the land. And if you try to sell it, your dirty trick will go public. I don’t want to ruin you. I just want my family’s property back. This is your one chance to set the record straight and keep your reputation out of the mud.”
Clive Huish had gone white around the mouth. Little by little, Ellie saw him crumble. His shoulders sagged. He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed his sweating face.
“It wasn’t me who did this,” he said. “It was Donetta, my wife. She was the one who came up with the scheme and got the old geezer to sign. As his heir, the property belongs to her.” He glared up at Jubal. “She’s a stubborn woman. Give me till the end of the week. If I can convince her to sign the deed back to you, we have a deal. If not, there’s nothing I can do—and Lord help us both.”
“You have my number. Either way, I’ll expect your call. And you can keep that copy of the contract.” Still stone-faced, Jubal turned away from the desk and extended his hand to help Ellie out of the chair. Together they walked out of the bank and into the clear morning air.
Only after they’d reached the parking lot did Jubal break into a grin. The war wasn’t over but at least he’d won the battle. He squeezed Ellie’s arm. “Thanks. It isn’t a done deal yet, but I owe you,” he said.
Ellie laughed, happy for him. “You don’t owe me a thing. The entertainment was worth my time.”
“This calls for a celebration,” he said. “What do you say we go pick up Gracie for double cheeseburgers and shakes at Buckaroo’s?”
“That sounds like just the thing!”
They had reached the truck. Jubal opened the door and offered his hand to help her in. Suddenly he paused.
“Oh, what the hell, girl!” he muttered, taking her in his arms. With that, he kissed her, deep and long and hard, by the open door where anybody could look.
Ellie kissed him back, the joyous tingle surging all the way to her toes. The colored lights on Main Street swirled in her head. Carols sang in her ears. For the first time since coming home to Branding Iron, she felt like Christmas.