Page 4 of Under an Oklahoma Sky

He tipped the brim of his ball cap. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Picking up his duffel, he swung it over his shoulder again and ambled over to the stone well with Benji on his heels.

Adam dropped his bag by the well and grabbed the crank handle. Someone had oiled it recently, and it turned easily as he hauled the bucket up and set the brake. He removed the bucket from the hook and rested it on the stone wall, then dipped his cupped hands into the water and drank. The cool water felt wonderful in his parched mouth and throat. After he’d had his fill, he splashed some over his face. Reverend Stevens had been nice enough to let him shower at the rectory, but the walk from town in the heat and humidity had already left him sweaty and grimy again.

After replacing the bucket and sending it back to the bottom of the well, he grabbed his foster father’s old army duffel and hefted it onto his shoulder. Reverend Stevens had suggested there might also be another rancher not much farther down the road who’d be willing to take him on for some menial work. Adam had hitchhiked across several states for the last three months, taking temporary jobs wherever he found them. Then, after collecting his pay, whether it’d been for a few hours or days, he moved on. Several of the people he’d worked for had begged him to stay on—he hadn’t lied about being a hard worker and fast learner—but something inside him had urged him to leave each time. He didn’t know his destination, but he felt something more awaited him somewhere. Until he found it, he would continue roaming the highways and back-country roads.

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Ms. Hammond waiting for him to leave. Her five-foot-six-ish frame stood rigid as her long, medium-brown hair lifted in the light wind. She was a beautiful woman, still holding onto the curves from at least one pregnancy. He may have been celibate for two decades, but he was still a healthy heterosexual male, so it didn’t surprise him when his body reacted to her attractiveness. Reverend Stevens had told him the woman was a widowed mother, and a couple also lived on the property while working for her.

He tipped his cap to her. “Thank you, ma’am. Have a nice day.”

“You, too, Mr. Westfield.”

“By the way, I like your shirt.”

He didn’t wait for a reply as she glanced down, probably trying to remember which shirt she had on. Hoofing it again, he hadn’t gotten more than a hundred feet when the sound of an engine coming up the drive, accompanied by a veil of dust, caught his attention. Ms. Hammond obviously saw it as well, and if her spat-out “damn it” was any sign, she wasn’t happy about it.

Stepping to the side of the drive to avoid being run over, he watched as two men in a black Ford pickup drove by. Something niggled in his brain and made him decide to stick around for a few minutes to make sure there was no trouble. Especially when he noticed Ms. Hammond pull a handgun from behind her back.

Oh, hell, this can’t be good.

Tossing his duffel over the fence of the front pasture, he took a few steps back toward the house as the two men climbed out of the truck. Ms. Hammond kept the weapon at her side and pointed to the ground, but Adam felt she wouldn’t hesitate to use it if she had to.

“Get the hell off my property, Bart, or you’ll be patching up bullet holes in that brand-new truck of yours. And take your attack dog with you.”

Oh, yeah. Definitely not good.

Since she glared at the tall man with the black cowboy hat, who’d been the front-seat passenger, Adam assumed he was “Bart.” That meant the shorter driver in the brown Stetson was the “attack dog”—whatever she meant by that. Both men were in their forties and dressed in typical ranching clothes—jeans, cowboy boots, and T-shirts, probably because of the heat.

Bart held his hands out to his sides. “Now, come on, Sage. There’s no need for the gun. I’m just here to make you another offer on the ranch. You know you’ll have to sell soon if you can’t get caught up on the mortgage with the bank.”

Her eyes went wide with shocked annoyance. “Who the hell told you that?”

The man shrugged. “You know how the small-town information mill is. Mark’s medical bills had to run over a hundred thousand—anyone with a brain could figure that out. I’m just trying to help you out. I’m more than willing to give you a fair price for the land. You’ll be able to settle with the bank and still have a little left over. If the bank forecloses, you will have nothing left. Hell, you can’t even keep any hired help besides Evan and Maddie. Nobody wants to work for the peanuts you’re paying.”

Adam stopped a few feet behind the arrogant jerk and crossed his arms. “Well, almost nobody.”

Surprised, Bart pivoted to face him. Apparently, the man hadn’t noticed him or didn’t realize he was still there. “Who the hell are you?”

“Adam Westfield. And you are?”

The rancher eyed him curiously from head to toe before answering. “Bart Sherman. I own Rosewood Hills Ranch up the road. You must be new in town.”

Behind the man, Ms. Hammond came down to the bottom step and thankfully lowered her weapon. “He is, and he’s also my new employee.”

The rancher’s gaze never left Adam’s. “Is that so?”

He wouldn't say otherwise. Ms. Hammond may have changed her mind about hiring him, or she may have said it just to get rid of the man. Either way…

“Yes, sir, it is.”

“Hmph.” Sherman put his hands on his hips. “You must be crazy to work for free or just shy of it.”

Ignoring the woman’s sputter of disbelief at the statement, Adam didn’t back down. “Well, some people may question my sanity, but I don’t. As for the pay, it’s a good thing money isn’t on my list of coveted things I need in life. I’ll take work wherever I can get it.”

“Well, don’t plan on keeping this one for long. Either Sage sells to me, or the bank will foreclose soon. When that happens, feel free to come over to my ranch. I’m sure we can find some work for you there.”

Movement at the side of the house caught his eye, and Adam’s gaze shifted to see an older man standing quietly but watching the confrontation with keen interest. A shotgun lay cradled in his arms. The man was probably one half of the couple who worked on the ranch, whom Reverend Stevens had told him about.