Page 41 of If the Boot Fits

He pulled himself up to his full height and looked her straight in the eye. “I help breed cattle, Sam. I know where babies come from. And I think Ida Mae’s baby came from the love shack.”

“What on earth is a love shack?” She looked to her father, but his expression mimicked her confusion.

“I have no idea.” He turned to his son. “Clint?”

“A couple months ago, I heard Leroy bragging to some of the other hands about some old line shack he found a few years back. Said someone had fixed it up as a twisting place.”

Samantha shared a look with her father. A trysting place, perhaps?

“Instead of having a narrow cot inside like the other shacks, it had an actual bed, one big enough for two people.” Clint’s face reddened. “Leroy said he’d been takin’ girls out there for years. I bet Ida Mae was one of them.”

Her father scowled. “I lay in supplies once a month at every line shack we have, and I know for a fact that none of them sport a bed like that.”

“This ain’t a regular Three Cedars cabin. It’s over by Dry Creek Gulch. We haven’t run cattle over there for as long as I can remember.”

“Not since the creek dried up back in ’74. Before you were born. That area ain’t good for nothing ’cept cactus farmin’ these days. You say there’s a cabin there?”

Clint nodded. “I’ve seen it.”

“Why didn’t you say something to me, boy?”

Clint shrugged. “I assumed you already knew. You know everything about the Three Cedars.”

Her father crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. “Apparently not.” He raised a brow at Clint. “What else can you tell me about it?”

“Only that Leroy calls it the love shack and that sometimes when he goes to town, he’ll pay a girl from the saloon to meet him there.”

Samantha’s knees wobbled. “Good heavens, Clinton. You are far too young to be discussing saloons and the . . . the . . . women who work in them.”

Her brother rolled his eyes at her, but it was their father who surprised her most. He circled around behind his desk, opened the side drawer, and took out the gun belt he always wore when working on the ranch. “Fetch Martin,” he told Clint as he strapped on his gun. “Ask him to saddle a pair of horses and prep two lanterns.”

Clint nodded and dashed from the room.

“I don’t understand.” Samantha frowned. “Where could you possibly need to go this time of night?”

Her father grinned, his smile rather wolfish. “Leroy went to town today to pick up an order of barbed wire for me.”

“I know. I saw him. . . . You don’t think . . . ?”

“Men who run town errands are assigned night duty with the herd. Leroy volunteered for the north pasture. If he’s out with the stock like he’s supposed to be, I’ll make up some excuse as to why I’m checking on him. But if he’s at this cabin with a woman . . .”

“You’ll have a legitimate excuse to fire him.”

Her father nodded. “A good reason to take a ride in the dark, don’t you think?”

Samantha blinked a sheen of fast-developing moisture from her eyes. “Thank you, Daddy.”

He touched her arm, then strode for the doorway. He stopped on the threshold, though, and turned back. “You know, I’ve been thinking about hiring someone to help Mrs. Stewart with the cooking and cleaning. She’s not as young as she used to be. Talk to her in the morning. If she’s amenable to the idea, you can offer Ida Mae the position. Ten dollars a month, plus room and board.”

Too stunned to speak, Samantha barely managed a nod before her father left.

How she’d misjudged this man. All the resentment she’d carried around during her teen years had hardened her heart and obscured her vision, but now she could finally see clearly.

Eli Dearing wasn’t a cold cattle king who cared only for his ranch. He was a man of justice who harbored a tender and kind heart. A man any girl would be blessed to call Daddy.

19

Asher stepped out of the telegraph office the following afternoon, his heart heavy. The foreman from the Bar 7 had replied to the wire Asher had sent that morning with the expected answer. Mr. Tremaine, owner of the Bar 7, had approved an additional week of leave, but he made it clear that Asher’s position at the ranch would be filled at the end of that time if he did not return. Whoever they’d hired to fill his vacancy on a temporary basis would become a permanent hand by the end of the month. The terms were fair. Generous even. Yet the deadline failed to inspire any urgency.