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  Praise for Lone Tree

  Engrossing tale of family and love with intriguing and well-developed characters.

  --Publishers Weekly

  Wonderfully written story about love with surprising depth.

  --Readers Views

  Character driven tale with the drama of conflict, danger and love that covers three generations of family. Hang on to your hats, folks, this saga has it all.

  --Romance Reviews Today

  Lone Tree

  Bobbie O’Keefe

  Copyright 2011 Bobbie O’Keefe

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.

  Dedicated in loving memory to Gwen and Vernon Bryan, two Texans who made their home in California. And, of course, Richard. This one was his favorite.

  (For special reasons the author wanted to place this story in West Texas, but acknowledges that its terrain is not fertile enough for the number of cattle given to the Lone Tree ranch.)

  Chapter One

  Three days behind the wheel of a car was tough on joints, muscles and nerves, but the worst impact was on the rump. Lainie Johnson rubbed hers through her khakis, trying not to be obvious about it, as she exited her midsize sedan into the hot sun. She hoped the café had a healthy air-conditioning system.

  Ahh. The cool air brought her head up like a drooping flower might straighten itself out after a drink of water. As she eased onto a counter stool at the far left, she glanced at the window overlooking the parking lot, and her eye caught a red pickup sliding in next to her car. The one dwarfed the other.

  The man behind the counter was talking with two men on center stools who apparently were locals—gabby locals. Lainie reached for a menu, and the counter tender glanced her way.

  “Go on ahead there, Clem,” one man said. “Time we got goin’ anyway.”

  Clem produced an order pad and pencil as he walked toward her. The door opened, its bell jangling, and a cowboy—he looked like a real one—entered. Between the western hat and dusty boots with rundown heels, he wore faded jeans and a long-sleeved, yoked shirt in a maroon-and-gray checked print.

  He looked at her the same moment she glanced at him. His eyes were friendly and blue and told her he liked what he was looking at. He dipped his head and tipped his hat with the forefinger of his left hand. Without really meaning to, she smiled back. Their gazes held a moment, then she remembered she was supposed to be reading the menu and got back to it.

  “Hep you?” Clem gave her a smile, too. His left eyetooth was missing.

  “The BLT looks good. And a cola, please. Lots of ice.”

  “Coke machine broke down, but I got some cold drinks in cans.” He pointed at the refrigerated case with its glass windows where there must have been a recent run on soft drinks. Two orange soda pops, three cherry pops, and a root beer stood in haphazard display.

  She wrinkled her brow. “That’s it?”

  “Iced tea?”

  She nodded without enthusiasm. Her throat yearned for a frosty hit of carbonation, but she’d never developed a liking for flavored drinks. Or doctored potato chips. A bag of chips was just fine the way it was. It didn’t need sour cream or chives or barbeque flavor or anything else.

  Clem walked away, wiping his hands on his apron, and stuck two pieces of bread into the toaster. The cowboy and other two men were talking about how hot it was. Why? If they lived in Texas, they should be used to it. It was only May and already in the high nineties.

  The door jangled as the two men left.

  “Howdy,” the cowboy said as he sauntered toward her, his boots clicking on the linoleum. He sat, leaving one stool vacant between them.

  “Hi.” She kept her tone noncommittal.

  He gave the menu a cursory glance, then gave her a longer one. “You belong to those California plates out there?”

  She gave him a thoughtful, sideways look, but no answer.

  “Once you opened your mouth,” he said with a grin, “your secret was out.”

  Her return smile was more reactive than intentional. “Meaning I sound as funny to you as you do to me?”

  “Yep.” Somehow, he’d given the word two syllables. She wondered what he’d do to a word that actually had two syllables. Turn it into one, probably.

  He removed his hat and set it on the stool between them, brim up, exposing hair so dark even the sun wouldn’t lighten it.

  Clem delivered her sandwich, accompanied by a bag of chips—plain, thank goodness—and iced tea, the glass cloudy with condensation. The cold drink looked so refreshing she forgot to sweeten it, took a healthy sip and then scrunched her face up.

  The cowboy chuckled and pushed the plastic boat of sugar packets her way, then caught Clem’s eye and pointed at the coffee pot.

  She opened two packets and stirred in the contents. “Iced tea. Texas drink,” she murmured.

  “We like our coffee, too,” he said, as Clem set a steaming cup before him.

  “Hot coffee on hotter days.” With a smile she shook her head. “I don’t know how you do it.”

  “Green salad, steak sandwich, ranch beans on the side,” he told Clem.

  She liked the slow, easy way the cowboy talked. She ate her sandwich and munched chips, aware of his gaze while he sipped the steaming coffee.

  “That’s not much of a dinner you’ve got there,” he observed.

  “That’s because it’s not dinner. It’s lunch.” She started on the second half of her sandwich. “You’ll eat yours later tonight and call it supper.”

  “Around the same time you’ll be eating your supper and calling it dinner?”

  “You got it.”

  The salad arrived, along with a whiff of tangy dressing, and he dug in. “Where in California?” he asked, cutting a tomato slice in half.

  “The northern coast. Just below San Francisco.”

  “Earthquake country.”

  “Uh-huh. And this is tornado country. Everybody’s got something to worry about.”

  “Yep. But we get warned when one’s on its way.” He forked a thick slice of cucumber. “How much warning you get?”

  “Okay,” she said with a soft laugh. “I’ll give you that one.”

  He pushed the empty salad bowl away. “Where you headed?”

  She shrugged without looking at him. “A ways yet.”

  “Same here. Wonder if we might be headed the same way?”

  The pull she’d felt when they’d exchanged that first glance was stronger now, and she figured the same went for him. Part of her wished they were headed the same way so they could explore this draw between them, while her practical side told her that wouldn’t be wise.

  She checked the amount on the bill above her empty plate. “Doubt it.”

  The steak arrived, still sizzling. He tested a piece, gave the plate a frown, and looked over at the cook, who was wiping down the middle counter. “Wouldn’t be averse to a jalapeño if one was to be had.”

  Lainie was amused by the way he’d phrased the request inside a statement.

  Clem’s face twisted with apology. “Chopped up the last one for chili, but I got some hot sauce. That might do it.” He turned back to his kitchen.

  Lainie withdrew enough bills to cover the check and a tip. With a nod at the cowboy, she slid off the stool. The door jangled when she opened it, then she heard his voice behind her.

  “Goodbye, California,” he said softly.

  She turned and gave him a long, slow-building grin. She was flirting, right along with him, but one more smile couldn’t hurt. She’d never see him again.

  “So long, cowboy.” She made her voice as soft and seductive as his.

  The faded-red pickup looked
like a workingman’s vehicle, dusty and dented, and it appeared to have a lot of miles on it. She eased into her car, grateful that the shade of the billboard belonging to the gas station next door hadn’t allowed the sun to turn the vehicle into a hotbox. Instead it was just smotheringly warm. After adjusting the air conditioner to high, she merged behind the one other vehicle traveling her way. As the café shrank in the distance, she tried to remember from which direction the pickup had pulled into the diner’s lot, but she hadn’t been paying attention.

  Which was fine, because romance with a cowboy wasn’t on her itinerary anyway.

  *

  Two hours later, she stopped on an unpaved road, blocking it, but no other vehicle was in sight. She angled her head to look through the passenger window at a wooden gateway, then she stepped out of the car to get the whole picture. And once she did, though she couldn’t see the cattle, she caught their unmistakable smell.

  Block letters were carved into the top bar of the gate, spelling AUBURN. The magnitude of the gate and name seemed to encompass the entire countryside. The simple outline of a tree was etched onto a wooden plaque that hung from the center, suspended on two short chains. It swayed gently in the breeze, its soft creak the only sound in the vast silence.

  Lone Tree Ranch.

  Other than the fact that it existed, Lainie knew little about Lone Tree Ranch. During her childhood, whenever she’d asked about the faraway place where her mother had grown up, either a frown of impatience or a look of pain had been her only response. Her mother’s sense of regret had caused Lainie to leave the subject in the background.

  Her mother was gone now, but Lainie still felt the turmoil she’d so often sensed from her. It’d brought her to this place to meet her grandfather, the person her mother had run from. Then, once she met him, she’d decide if he was worth bringing into her life and sharing the loss of her mother with, or leave him in the past where he’d been for twenty-five years.

  The sun bore down. When she touched the car door’s handle, she yelped, jerked her hand back and shook it as if she could rid it of the burning sensation that way. She used the hem of her blouse to grip the handle, got the door open and slipped inside. Another couple minutes and the steering wheel would’ve also been too hot to touch.

  Tomorrow would be soon enough to tackle Miles Auburn, the owner of Lone Tree. It’d been a long trip and Lainie needed to have her wits about her. She also needed to plan how to approach him. Walking in and announcing kinship didn’t appeal to her. If that had been her objective, she could’ve written him from California.

  But she wanted to meet him face to face. Who was he? What kind of man? One meeting might be all she’d need, and she’d turn around and head back home. Mission accomplished, without kinship turning the tide one way or the other.

  As she turned the key in the ignition, she glanced ahead at the road. It stretched forever, nothing but an occasional ball of tumbleweed to break its monotony. Rolling hills in the distance, hinting at green, but here it was flat, dry, and dusty.

  Movement in the rearview mirror caught her eye; a growing cloud of dust signaled company. She left the Lone Tree gate behind her, looked again, and saw a red pickup turning onto the ranch road. Her heart skipped a beat as she recalled the cowboy from the diner and his vehicle, then she laughed softly.

  “No way,” she told the mirror. “State’s too big for that much coincidence.”

  She executed a three-point turn and headed back to Lawary, the small town she’d passed through a half hour ago. First a motel, then a restaurant, and then she’d work on finding the fortitude to make her own turn onto the Lone Tree road.

  The town’s only motel conveniently faced a café across a two-lane street. As Lainie walked back from dinner, she bought a local newspaper from the machine outside the lobby. After a cooling shower, she pulled on an oversized t-shirt, propped bed pillows against the headboard and then herself against the pillows. She crossed her bare ankles and opened the newspaper. Looking for a taste of the town she read the editorial page first, turned to the want ads and then froze.

  For several seconds, she didn’t draw a breath.

  Personal secretary wanted. Temporary, possibly leading to permanent. Six-hour day, four-day week. Contact Miles Auburn, Lone Tree Ranch.

  Her paralysis broke and her mind raced. Talk about luck. A tailor-made opportunity dropped right into her lap. She didn’t want the job, but she wanted that interview.

  *

  The next day Lainie set out to discover if a handwritten, hand-delivered resume would get her inside the front door at Lone Tree. She dressed simply, in sandals and a sundress in pink pinstripes, hoping her casual attire would inspire a like manner.

  A knot formed in her belly when she passed through the Auburn gate. Glancing at the envelope-enclosed resume on the passenger seat, she took several deep breaths and reminded herself a case of nerves might hit her even if she were merely applying for a job.

  Within a few minutes buildings appeared in the distance, gradually taking shape like unfolding pages of animation. A corral and fenced pens were situated at the right of the ranch house and stretched beyond it. The dwelling was single-story, painted the color of cream with dark-green trim, squarish and huge, but not showy. Three posts, placed about six feet apart, supported a peaked overhang that sheltered the front door and porch.

  As she braked to a stop she glimpsed a slightly built, elderly man entering what she assumed was a stable. At each side of the main building, separated by a driveway that appeared to circle the house, were smaller structures that resembled cottages.

  The middle-aged woman who answered the door looked Hispanic and sounded Texan. After accepting the resume, she showed Lainie into a small, formal front room to wait. Lainie sat in an overstuffed armchair in dark-blue fabric with her back straight, ankles crossed, and hands in her lap. Curiosity and apprehension mixed within her as she looked around. The room apparently got little use. Nothing was out of place, no personal items anywhere. Her presence seemed to echo back at her.

  She couldn’t picture her mother in this room, and was glad because that allowed her to stay detached. Soon the woman reappeared and led Lainie a short way down the hall to another room, which, unlike the one she’d just left, was so massive it came close to intimidating her.

  The hall door through which she’d entered was standard-sized, but the set of French doors at the other end were as wide as a two-car garage. Outside was a patio, shaded by an arbor and decorated with pots of yellow and orange marigolds. On the long wall to her right was a brick fireplace with a cozy arrangement of a sofa, an armchair and a coffee table facing it. Two portraits hung above the fireplace. She had time for a brief glance at them before the man seated at the desk in the far corner looked up, then stood.

  Her heart was beating faster than she liked.

  “Miss Johnson, welcome to Lone Tree. I’m Miles Auburn.” His voice was as deep as his size would lead one to expect. At two or three inches more than six feet, and probably weighing better than two-fifty, he fit the oversized room well. Age appeared to be treating him kindly; his shock of hair had as much pepper in it as salt. He wore casual gray slacks, belted and fastened with a silver lone star buckle, and a western shirt in a blue and gray plaid.

  She crossed the room and extended her hand. “Hello, Mr. Auburn. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Pleasure’s all mine.” As he shook her hand, his gaze, personal yet impersonal, didn’t move from her eyes, but she sensed that he was weighing and sizing and measuring her nonetheless. Lainie suspected she’d just been appraised by a master, and she didn’t know if she’d been found wanting or not.

  He motioned for her to take the chair opposite his desk, then he seated himself. His gaze dropped to her resume, which lay flat and open atop his desk, its empty envelope next to it.

  “Lainie Johnson, from Millbrae, California,” he read aloud and then looked up. “Most interesting response by far I got to that ad, and it hooked
me. Now why would a California girl be looking for a job this far from home?” He leaned back, elbows resting on the arms of his chair as he swiveled from side to side.

  Well, she could establish one point quite quickly: boys became men when they grew up and girls became women. “Actually, I’m not a California girl, Mr. Auburn.” She kept her tone polite. “I’m a woman who was born in California.”

  His eyes narrowed at the gentle correction.

  She went on. “I’m on leave from my job, exploring Texas, and I saw your job advertisement.” She paused, smiled, and gave his words back to him. “And it hooked me. The short days and hours seemed tailor-made, as well as the fact that the position is temporary. I thought if I found a good match here, I could extend my time. So far, I like what I see of your part of the country.”

  His silence lingered, which was a tactic that might cause one to fidget, but she didn’t. Instead she returned his scrutiny, studying him as openly as he studied her.

  “Well, that’s half an answer,” he said evenly. “Now for the other half. What made you choose to explore Texas in the first place?”

  Okay, good question, though she’d hoped to avoid it. But she’d planned on the truth—as much of it as she was willing to impart.

  “My mother was born and raised here. I wanted to see a little bit of the state because of her.”

  “I see. Did she make the trip with you?”

  “No, uh, she...I—” She swallowed hard. “I...lost her recently, to a lingering illness.”

  She’d opened the door to that question; why hadn’t she anticipated it?

  Miles twisted his chair around to gaze at the patio, possibly to give her time. Lainie also looked outside as she tried to will her composure into returning. She studied a hummingbird hovering at a feeder.

  “Excuse me,” she said, voice steadier, and looked again at the man behind the desk. Still feeling raw inside, she clasped her hands tightly in her lap. One comment, one remark, and there went her poise.

  He faced her. “I’m sorry. For your loss, and for reminding you of it.”