sullen again. “But don’t blame me if he says it’s all your fault.”
“My fault?”
“Sure. If you were a better teacher, it would never have happened.”
Out of the mouths of babes, she thought wearily. With Petey regarding her triumphantly, she swore that if she survived this day, she was going to think very seriously about choosing another profession. Less than half a day on the job this year and she was already regretting not going into law with her mother or maybe ranching like her adoptive father, Harlan Adams. Heck, maybe even calf roping would have been a better choice. Then again, she’d tried that once at her father’s insistence. She hadn’t been very good at that, either.
For the rest of the day she pondered what sort of man would have a son as insightful and inventive and troublesome as Petey Adams. Just thinking about facing such a man was almost enough to make her choose to stick around school and square off with Patrick Jackson, instead. Almost, but not quite. Ducking out would irritate the pompous principal, which was pretty good motivation in and of itself.
In fact, by the time the final bell rang, she was actually looking forward to meeting Chance Adams. She was just itching to go toe-to-toe with an adult, instead of a classroom of pint-size hellions.
In retrospect, the decision to settle in Los Piños had been easier than Chance had anticipated. Even when he’d driven into town two months earlier, he hadn’t been sure he would stay. He’d just meant to keep his promise to his daddy, check out White Pines and then move on if West Texas didn’t suit him. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Petey, he might have kept on roaming for the rest of his life. He was too restless, too soul-deep exhausted to start over.
As it was, though, he knew his son deserved stability. Petey needed schooling and a real home to come to, his own bed to sleep in. The motel rooms they’d stayed in on the road when they’d first left Montana were fine for a night or two. But they were not the kind of places where he could raise a kid. No matter how sick at heart he was himself, he owed his son a better life than that.
He’d still been wrestling with his conscience when they’d crossed the border into Texas. He’d deliberately taken his time getting to Los Piños. They’d gone to the southeast part of the state first, taken a swim in the Gulf of Mexico, which Petey had declared way more awesome than the creeks back home. Then they’d spent a few days exploring the wonders of Houston, the biggest city Petey had ever seen, before moving on to Dallas, where Petey had wanted to see the stadium where his beloved Cowboys played. Whatever happened, Chance had wanted Petey to have his grand adventure. He’d hoped that would make up for all the grief in his young life. Two devastating losses in as many years were enough to shake up a boy’s whole world. A man’s, too, for that matter.
At any rate, it had been early July by the time they’d driven into Los Piños. Chance had expected to feel some sort of tug, some kind of connection to the place, but as far as he could see it was no different from any other ranching community in the West. The businesses catered to the cattlemen, nothing fancy, just good solid merchandise at decent prices.
They were just in time for the town’s annual Independence Day celebration. Flag-waving families had gathered all along the sidewalks for a parade that was twice the size of the one back home in Montana, even though the town was no more populated, at least as far as Chance could tell.
After the parade there’d been a picnic. Most folks had brought their own baskets of fried chicken, along with blankets to spread on the grass, but there were plenty of food concessions for those who wanted to buy hot dogs and fries and cotton candy.
The celebration was wrapped up that night with fireworks. Chance had choked back bile at the oftrepeated announcements that the lavish display had been donated by none other than Harlan Adams and his sons.
“Y’all be sure and thank ’em when you see ’em,” the mayor said.
Petey’s eyes had widened at the mention of Harlan Adams. “That’s Granddaddy’s—”
Fearing he’d be overheard, Chance had put a hand over Petey’s mouth, cutting off the blurted remark in midsentence. It was too soon for anyone to know he was connected in any way to the powerful Harlan Adams. He wanted to size things up before he made his presence and his intentions known—if he ever did.
But hearing all that boasting had solidified one thing: he was staying. He wanted to see just how the other half of the family had thrived after running his father off. Resentment he hadn’t known he felt simmered all night long.
During the day he had asked around about employment and learned that a rancher named Wilkie Rollins was looking for an experienced foreman.
“It’s a small place compared to White Pines.” one man told him. “Then, again, most are. White Pines is about the biggest cattle operation in the state, bar none. Harlan’s got himself quite a spread out there. That boy of his, Cody, has doubled the size of it these past few years. He’s a smart one, all right, every bit as sharp as his daddy.”
“Is that right?” Chance said, absorbing the information about his cousin and tucking it away for later consideration. “How do I go about finding this Rollins place?”
“You can’t miss it if you head west going out of town. If you come up on them fancy gates at White Pines, you’ve gone too far.”
The directions had been easy enough to follow. The next morning he’d driven out there, talked with Wilkie Rollins and had a job and a new home by the end of the interview. He and Petey had been settled in by sundown. Petey had been ecstatic that they were staying on.
In the weeks since, Chance had been happy enough with the familiar work. Wilkie’s spread was smaller than his own had been in Montana, but the man was getting too old to handle it himself. He left most of the decisions to Chance and drove into town every day to hang out with his cronies. Chance had been able to keep up with the work with time to spare to contemplate his next move with Harlan Adams.
Petey was hell-bent on charging over there and introducing themselves and staking their claim. He’d been all but deaf to Chance’s admonitions that slower was better. Fortunately, despite being the next-door neighbor, White Pines was too far down the road from Wilkie’s for Petey to sneak off there on his own to snoop around.
“Patience, son, patience,” Chance said over and over, but he figured he was pretty much wasting his breath. Petey was intent on fulfilling his grand-daddy’s last request.
Through the years Chance hadn’t gotten caught up in his father’s bitterness. It had always seemed a waste of energy to him. But now, the more he heard about those paragons of virtue out at White Pines, the more the high praise grated.
He wondered what folks would have to say if they knew that Harlan Adams had stolen half of that ranch right out from under his younger brother. He wondered how they’d react if they knew that Hank Adams had been sent away all but destitute. In the past two months Chance had started working up a pretty good head of steam over it himself.
While he debated the best way to go about making his presence known, he gave Wilkie his money’s worth and let the idea of revenge simmer. Some of his plots were subtle and downright sneaky. Some were blatant and outrageous. All of them ended with him and Petey ensconced in that fancy house a few miles up the road from the little foreman’s cottage they currently called home.
He was just trying a new scheme on for size when he glanced up from the wood he’d been chopping and caught sight of a slender dark-haired woman striding in his direction, a purposeful gleam in her eyes. Since she also had his son in tow, he suspected Petey had been up to some sort of mischief again. He’d hoped the start of school today would settle the boy down, but it looked like just the opposite had happened.
The boy was darn near out of control. He managed to find a way to do mischief where Chance would