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She grinned, showing an appealing little gap between her two front teeth. “You get down now, and he’ll wake up ornerier than before.”
Clint assessed his options. Even if he maneuvered around to the other side of the tree, the critter would feel his feet hitting the earth. A sudden movement drew his attention back to the woman. She’d swung around to sit on her tree branch, and situated her skirt to hang over her dangling legs.
“He won’t sleep long, and when he wakes up, he’ll have forgotten all about us and be on his way.”
It was Clint’s turn to raise a brow.
She grinned again. “I, Mr. Turnquist, know a lot about pigs.”
“Oh?”
Settled on her branch, looking as comfortable as if she sat on a porch swing, she asked, still whispering, “You from around here?”
Her relaxed manner quelled his urgency to get down, but he’d never been one to share information readily—not even to charming, young women. “Nope.”
“Just passing through?”
“Yep.”
“So, where you from?”
He shrugged.
“Where you headed?”
“Why do you want to know?”
She looked around. A few rolling hills, clusters of trees, and blue sky decorated with thick, floating clouds was about all there was. Her roaming gaze ended on him. “No reason. Just thought as long as we’re stuck here, we might as well converse.”
He sat quiet for several minutes, until boredom and the underlying sense of her disappointment made it impossible to remain silent. “You from around here?” he asked.
“Yes. My ranch is just over those hills. About three or four miles.”
“Your ranch?”
“For now anyway.” Her sigh was weighted. “I inherited it when my parents died, and until my younger brother turns eighteen, it’s mine.” She peered around the tree to make eye contact. “Nebraska doesn’t recognize women’s rights. Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton have been in Lincoln advocating on behalf of women. I’ve gone both times. But even with their help, every amendment introduced into legislation has failed.” Her thickly lashed eyes turned back to the landscape. “Of course most of the bills directly relate to a woman’s right to vote. I’m interested in other rights—particularly land ownership.”
A distressed expression covered her face, and Clint had an irrational thought. He wished the tree wasn’t separating them. It was hard to tell what a person was thinking without studying them directly.
“I’ve consulted a lawyer, but without a significant law change, I’ll have to turn the ranch over to Tristan on his birthday in two months.”
Clint didn’t respond. Not only was it none of his business, old habits were hard to overcome. The word lawyer made him twitch. The mention of anything close to a lawman kicked every outlaw’s nerves into a gallop.
“It’s silly really. If Papa had left a will, there wouldn’t be a problem.” She leaned her head against the tree trunk. “Actually, if Sheriff Drake didn’t have it in for me, even that wouldn’t matter.”
First a lawyer, now a sheriff. Clint’s nerve endings buzzed like flies on a windowsill. “How long you think that critter’s gonna sleep?”
Peeking around the tree with a smile that made her eyes sparkle, she answered, “I can’t say for sure, but it’s usually no longer than half an hour or so.”
The invite to tease her couldn’t be ignored. “Usually? You get treed a lot?”
She stifled a giggle by pinching her lips together. “No. But hogs in general don’t sleep that long when napping. I just got him last week. He rutted his way out of the pen the first night, and I’ve been searching for him ever since. Once I get him home, I’ll put a ring in his nose to stop it from happening again.”
Clint didn’t have a response. Besides being endearing, Doreena Buckman had grit.
“He’s my make-it-or-break it. That’s one of the biggest Chester Whites you’ll ever see.”
Sleeping, the pig looked bigger than it had rutting the ground around the tree. “I’d say.”
“Did you know it’s cheaper to ship one pound of live hog than it is three pounds of grain?”
He shook his head.
“Well, it is. And bacon is the mainstay of the Western coffer.” She pointed to the land. “My father ran cattle, but after he died the cattle business went sour for us. So I studied up on hogs.” Her gaze was utterly serious. “My first sow farrowed forty-five pigs in her first three litters. Thirty-nine of them made it to market. Can’t do that with cows.”
