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Red & Ella Jean
Ella Jean Gallagher was just setting a sandwich tray in front of Red when she heard the rumble of a diesel engine out by the barn. Her husband slid the white eyelet curtain back, and they watched Hank’s new rig pull up. When Ella saw Daisy in the passenger seat, she couldn’t suppress her pleased smile.
They watched Hank take Daisy’s arm and kiss it. Then he grabbed her, and they both disappeared under the dashboard. Ella Jean laughed, but Red Gallagher’s mouth turned down further than usual. “Bah—what’s he pawing on that piece of trash for?”
Instantly, Ella Jean snatched the curtain from her husband’s arthritic fingers. “Frederick Henry Gallagher, how dare you speak that way about Daisy!”
“What happened to the dentist’s daughter? Now, that was a girl with some class,” Red grumbled, biting into his sandwich.
“Hank and Janie stopped seeing one another a year ago last spring. You know that as well as I do, Red,” Ella Jean said, burying the steely edge her voice had taken on with as much sugar as she could muster. She tucked a napkin into her husband’s collar. “Last winter he dated that bucking stock operator—that woman up in Bastrop, don’t you remember?”
“Hell, if he had any taste, he’da stuck by Janie. I don’t know what he thinks he’s doing, carrying on with Buck Antelerone’s daughter. She’ll bring nothing but trouble.”
“Hank’s always had a sweet spot for Daisy Mae, Red. She and her sister are both lovely girls. They always had such nice manners, even as little ones when they came by to play years back, remember?”
“He’ll not get a dime of my money if he sticks with that one,” Red grumbled.
“Well.” Ella Jean’s eyebrows arched, and she pursed her lips. The ranch had been Ella Jean’s grandparents, and when she and Red married, her daddy insisted it be titled in her name. Red worked hard and always made a good living on ranch proceeds.
Saving each year’s gain, they’d bought up adjoining parcels over time, all deeded as Gallagher Ranch, a corporation Ella Jean and Red owned jointly. Red sure has a bad memory when it comes to who owns what. . .
Setting her sandwich plate on her grandmother’s good cherry side table, Ella Jean recalled Hank’s beaming grin late Monday morning as he backed her car out and set her bags in the trunk. I just don’t get enough time here with Hank, not these days.
Settling in her chair, she took up her glass of iced tea. I’d be real tickled if Hank and Daisy Mae turn into something permanent. Might even bring along some grandchildren, sometime soon. . .
She couldn’t be expected to stand by and listen to Red day in and out, the way he’d gotten. Always too judgmental with a nasty temper, illness had made him even crankier. She wouldn’t stand by and let him take it out on the boy—or on Daisy, either, if she could help it.
It might be just as well Hank counts on me, Red. The way things are going, you might be gone and buried by the time he marries.
