Texas Rebels: Paxton

“Now wait just a minute.” She pulled a piece of paper out of her shirt pocket. “There’s four black with white faces, five red with white faces and two scrubby-looking things. That’s eleven.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Did she think he would try to cheat her?

“Gotta watch those people at the auction barn. They’ll cheat you if they can. Keep your eyes open.”

Holy crap. “Yes, ma’am.”

She pulled some money out of her pocket and handed it to him. It was a five-dollar bill. “Take this for gas.”

Was she freaking kidding? Five dollars for a diesel truck wouldn’t get them out of the driveway. But he knew better than not to take it.

“I’ll be on my way.”

She glanced toward the house and then back at him. “Just a minute. I need a favor. A big favor.”

Oh, no. But what did he say?

“I don’t have much time, Miss Bertie. I have to get back to the ranch to work.”

“Ah, don’t give me that.” She grunted again. “It’ll only take a few minutes.”

“Well...” He felt like a fish on a hook and he knew he wasn’t getting out of here without doing what she wanted. He just had a feeling it was going to be something he didn’t want to do.

“When you bring my sales receipt back, I’ll invite you into the house and I want you to meet my granddaughter.”

Oh, crap. She was playing matchmaker. The one thing he hated most in the world.

“She’s been feeling a little down lately and a nice-looking man like you could cheer her up real fast.”

“Miss Bertie...”

But the old woman wasn’t listening. “I’ll introduce you and you can say something like what a beautiful granddaughter I have. That’s it. Just a compliment to cheer her up. You can do that, can’t you, Handsome?”

“I’d rather not.” He figured honesty was the best place to start.

The butt of the shotgun rested on the ground. She lifted it into her hand. “I’d rather that you did. Do you know what I mean?”

No, he didn’t.

“Miss Bertie, I know you’re trying to help your granddaughter, but complimenting her is going to sound fake. It’s not done like that these days.”

“How’s it done, then?”

“With a look. It’s the way a guy looks at a girl or the way a girl looks at a guy to let them know they’re interested. That’s how it’s done. You can compliment someone, but they’ll probably laugh in your face.”

She shrugged. “Who knows how you young folks live these days. You just come into my kitchen and give her the look, and you better do it because if you don’t, I’ll come looking for you. Get my drift?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He climbed into his truck. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you.”

He sincerely hoped this would be their last meeting because he had no intention of returning to compliment her granddaughter. His mother could bring the sales receipt and he’d stay as far away as possible.

Chapter Two (#u1c879a5e-28ab-5caa-8ba7-cfa7004f5372)

One hour and thirty minutes later Paxton zoomed toward Horseshoe, Texas, and Rebel Ranch. He wasn’t being manipulated by Miss Bertie. But then the seeds of guilt began to play with his mind. His dad had always said once you start a job, you make sure you finish it. He could remember when he was a kid, he and his dad were fixing a fence and it began to drizzle and then it started to sleet. But his dad worked on, saying a man always finishes the job he starts.

If he gave the sales slip to his mother, so Miss Bertie could pick up her check, that meant he hadn’t finished the job. Disappointment would be in his mother’s eyes and in that moment he knew he couldn’t just run away like a little boy. What would it hurt to compliment Miss Bertie’s plain-Jane granddaughter? He’d flirted with more girls than he could remember. One more was a piece of cake.

He turned off the highway onto County Road 461 and drove across the cattle guard, the trailer clanging. The dog raced along the chain-link fence, barking his head off. Paxton stopped the truck at the back of the house and slammed the gearshift into Park. He picked up Miss Bertie’s sales receipt, which had a tag number and a description of each calf, from the console and headed for the back door.

Memphis jumped up and down, barking and wagging his tail, eager to see a person. He had a heck of a time keeping the dog from darting out the gate. A long porch adorned the back of the house with a couple of old rocking chairs. He went up the steps and knocked on the built-in-screen glass door.

“Come on in!” Miss Bertie shouted.

He opened the door and stepped into 1960, or the late 1950s. The floor was yellow-and-white linoleum and the chairs and table were an old Formica set. It reminded him of his grandmother’s old house. Miss Bertie came into the kitchen and this time she wasn’t wearing a hat. Her short gray hair stuck out in all directions. He wondered if she had a brush or a comb.

She winked at him. “Sweetie, come here. We have company.”

“Gran, I’m riding my bike.”

“We still greet company in my house. Get your butt in here.”

Paxton removed his hat, ready to get this over with as fast as he could.

A girl appeared in the doorway in jogging pants and a sweatshirt with the University of Houston on it. She was thin and frail, and her clothes hung on her. Her short light brown hair framed a pretty face. Familiar sea-green eyes stared at him.

The girl from Port Aransas.

She was as stunned as he was, grabbing the door frame for support.

“Remi, sweetie, this is Paxton Rebel. And this is my granddaughter—”

“What are you doing letting a Rebel into your house?” The girl turned on her grandmother.

Miss Bertie shrugged. “I have nothing against the Rebels.”

“John Rebel killed my father. Have you forgotten that?”

Oh, crap. It dawned on Paxton for the first time. This had to be Ezra McCray’s daughter. He’d been younger then and had forgotten a lot of the details. But Miss Bertie’s daughter, Ava, had married Ezra McCray. Paxton knew they had a son, Ruger, but he had no idea they had a daughter.

“Okay, missy, I’m not standing here and letting you paint your father as a saint. He was an evil man and I would have killed him myself, but your grandfather always stopped me. He beat your mother so many times and I begged her to leave, but she was scared to death of him. Everyone in this town was scared of him. And in case you’ve forgotten he tried to kill two of the Rebel boys.”

“I’d rather not talk about this and I’d rather not talk to him.” She nodded toward Paxton.

“Do you know what he’s doing here?” Miss Bertie asked.

“No.”

“He hauled my calves to the auction barn because Ruger wouldn’t. Your brother is under Ira McCray’s thumb and he won’t let him do anything for me. These are the people you’re protecting. People you don’t even know. You were less than two years old when your mother took you to Houston. Later, your mother remarried and Nathan adopted you. Nathan is your father and Ezra is nothing to you.”