Wind River Ranch. Jackie Merritt

and when a load of barbed wire and posts were delivered the afternoon just before the day of the funeral, he took the invoice from the driver of the truck and went into the house. Nettie was in the kitchen with flour up to her elbows, kneading a large batch of bread dough. Nettie had always taken pride in the good meals she served Simon and his men, and her pragmatic attitude was that people had to eat whether she was grieving or not. She looked up as Ry walked in.

      “I need to talk to Dena, Nettie.” Nettie was a little bit of a woman, spry as a spring robin and much stronger than she looked. Ry estimated her age around sixty, but she could be ten years older or younger. Age, either his or hers, was not something they had discussed.

      “I think she’s in the living room,” Nettie told him.

      “Thanks.” Ry left and headed for the living room. From the doorway he saw Dena seated in a chair and staring blankly into space. Her vacant expression bothered him, and he wondered what, exactly, was going through her mind to cause it. Of course it had everything to do with Simon’s death, he knew that, but weren’t tears and sobs better than such concentrated stillness? Was she deliberately holding her emotions in check? That didn’t seem very healthy to Ry.

      But who was he to judge Dena’s method of dealing with grief? Everyone on the ranch was affected by Simon’s death, in one way or another. The men were unnaturally subdued, working without the wisecracks and tomfoolery they often engaged in. Nettie was carrying on in spite of her sorrow, and he had willingly taken over the operation of the ranch for the time being. Taken Simon’s place, actually, although he felt certain that Dena would resent that concept should anyone voice it.

      Well, he sure as hell wasn’t going to say any such thing to Dena, but he did have to interrupt her present revene. The invoice in his hand demanded a decision he didn’t feel he should make.

      “Dena?” he said.

      Slowly her head came around. Her look of total disinterest struck him as one containing a question—who is this man walking into my father’s living room? In truth she’d been miles into the past, thinking of her mother and envisioning how much differently things would have turned out had Opal lived.

      She blinked, as though coming awake, and said, “Yes?”

      Ry entered the room and walked over to her. “Dena, do you have the authority to sign checks for the ranch?”

      She blinked again. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

      Ry frowned. She seemed a million miles away and was speaking very slowly. Actually she seemed so withdrawn from reality that he started worrying about her. For certain he didn’t like bothering her with business at a time like this, but he had no choice.

      “I have an invoice here that’s marked C.O.D.,” he said, “and someone has to write a check for $1,254.33. My name’s not on the checking account. I was wondering if yours is.”

      Lines appeared in Dena’s forehead. Why ever would he think such a thing? “Of course it’s not,” she said, becoming slightly more alert. She paused to think about the amount of the check he needed and ended up speaking a bit suspiciously. “What did you buy for twelve hundred dollars?”

      That hint of suspicion in her voice didn’t sit right with Ry. Grief stricken or not, Dena had no right to intimate that he was anything but a hundred percent honest, which he was. His face hardened and so did his voice. “I didn’t buy anything. Simon ordered barbed wire and posts to cross-fence one of the big pastures. The material has just been delivered, and the driver is waiting for payment.”

      His defensive tone startled Dena. Good Lord, couldn’t she say anything to him without having her head bitten off? He’d done the same thing during the drive from the airport. What had she said then to cause such a reaction? Her head was aching and she couldn’t remember the incident clearly.

      But it didn’t matter. She couldn’t have mustered any genuine anger today if her life depended on it, especially not over something like this. “Ry, you’re the foreman. You handle it, please.”

      “How?”

      “I really don’t care,” she said listlessly.

      Ry could hardly believe his ears. “You don’t care. Dena, do you have any idea how many decisions have to be made nearly every day about something on this ranch? Do you care about that? Let me go one step further. Do you care about the ranch at all?”

      Did she? It wasn’t a question Dena had spent any time pondering. She’d grown up on this ranch, but did it mean anything to her? Should it mean something to her?

      She didn’t like that Ry Hardin had just brought to light a brand-new aspect of this ordeal.

      “Just so you know,” he said flatly, “this isn’t the only situation where someone’s going to have to write checks. I think you should do something about that.”

      “Like what?” She was truly puzzled by his attitude.

      “Get your name on the checking account.”

      “And how do I accomplish that? Simply walk into the bank and tell someone I want access to my father’s money?” Dena shook her head. “They’d either laugh me out of the bank or call the sheriff.”

      Ry looked at her for a long moment. “Call Simon’s lawyer.”

      “I didn’t know he had one.”

      “Well, he did. His name is John Chandler.” Remembering the hell she was living through, Ry spoke with less tension. “Dena, hasn’t it occurred to you that Simon probably left the ranch to you?”

      It took a second for that unlikely idea to sink in, and when it finally did she retorted, “Don’t make me laugh.”

      Ry felt thunderstruck. “Well, who else would he leave it to?”

      “I haven’t the foggiest.” Dena waved her hand. She’d had enough of this conversation. In fact, she wanted to sink back into the hole Ry’s appearance had pulled her out of. “Please go away. I don’t want to talk about any of this.”

      “What you should be saying is that you don’t want to face any of this.” Ry shook his head. “I think you’re in for one very big surprise, lady.” Turning on his heel, he walked out.

      “Oh, just shut up,” Dena muttered wearily, but Ry was already gone and didn’t hear her. It was just as well, she thought, although she was not going to put up with Ry Hardin or anyone else badgering her about the ranch. She was here for one week, and several days of that week were already over. The funeral was set for tomorrow. Someone had put an obituary in the newspaper announcing the time and place, so there would undoubtedly be a horde of people there.

      But it would be her final agony. After tomorrow she could start returning to normal.

      Dena laid her head back and looked at the ceiling. What was going to happen to the ranch? Did Ry really care or was he just concerned about his job?

      She clenched her hands into fists. Damn him for giving her another worry, another reason to weep and feel helpless.

      Outside, Ry walked back to the trucker. “There’s no one to sign a check, so I can’t pay you today. I could call your company and arrange a later payment, or you could take the wire and posts back to Lander.”

      The man shrugged. “Makes no difference to me. What d’ya wanna do?”

      Ry thought for a moment. Why was he so shook about this? About Dena’s disinterested attitude? To hell with it. If she didn’t care what happened to her father’s ranch, why should he? He probably wouldn’t be here to put in that new fence, anyway.

      “Take ’em back,” he said, and gave the man the invoice. “If and when things ever get straightened out around here, we’ll order again.”

      The man got into his truck and drove away.

      

      There were two rooms in the house that