Sierra said, “I am going to talk to Grandpa Jack about this tonight.”
“I doubt it. I’m betting Jack will be staying over at Tess Wyman’s place tonight. He will meet us in town in the morning.”
“Why on earth would he stay at that woman’s house when we’ve got this trip in front of us?”
“Tess is a special woman. They’ve been seeing each other for a spell.”
“Some young man-trapper, I suppose,” she said.
Jordy smiled. “Tess would likely be flattered at that remark. But she is a handsome woman.” He decided to tease her a bit. “And males and females of a certain age still got needs, you know. I imagine Tess can still light a fire in Jack’s furnace.”
Sierra squeezed her eyes shut. “Stop. This is disgusting. I don’t want that image in my mind. He is my grandfather, for God’s sake.”
There was a heavy silence between them as they crossed the yard toward the huge barn and twenty-horse stable that sat side by side with a connecting passageway between the structures. The wide barn door was open, and they found Rudy with a gangly towhead inventorying pots and pans in the storage boxes that lined the outside of the chuckwagon bed. Jordy noticed that Rudy had forgotten his cane this morning and was moving around as if he had shed twenty years.
Rudy looked their direction as they approached the barn, made a quick turn, fished something from his pocket and raised it toward his face. Fixing his mouth for female company, Jordy supposed.
“Howdy, Miss Sierra,” Rudy said, lifting his battered sombrero and displaying his mutilated scalp—he had favored sombreros for as long as Jordy had known him. “Didn’t expect to see you again so soon, but it’s a pleasure.” He gave her a big smile featuring his tobacco-stained, store-bought teeth.
“Just ‘Sierra’ will do.”
Donning his sombrero and nodding toward the young man loading the chuckwagon, Rudy said, “This here is Bram Potts. He’ll be helping me keep folks fed.”
Bram was noticeably nervous, Jordy thought. He suspected Bram had not had much experience with pretty, young ladies or any women, for that matter. “Hello, ma’am,” Bram said, “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Thank you, Bram.”
Rudy said, “Jordy, you got the guys from the ranch crew lined up yet?”
“We’re working on it this morning. Do you really think any of the boys would turn down a call for help from Jack?”
Rudy shrugged, “Suppose not. I don’t remember who you’re looking for. Irish was one. He’s breaking horses. Him and Mitch Eagle Eyes. I think Mitch was supposed to go, too.”
“And Swede Larsen and Possum Crowell. They’re both on ranch duty this week. Jack was going to get the rest of the crew from the freighting company.”
Rudy said, “Swede’s over in the blacksmith shop as usual helping Enrique replace a wagon axle. Possum’s with Rusty and Pete Collins, checking the east herd for calving cows and new calves, riding along the North Concho, most likely, maybe a half hour out I’d guess. I could have Bram run them down if you like.”
“No, I wanted to show Sierra some of the range anyhow. We’ll saddle some horses and head out that way after I talk to the guys here at headquarters. Before we go, I’ll come by and drop Thor off if you’d keep him company while we’re out.”
“Aw, you know he’s going to bitch and whine about being left behind.”
“We won’t be gone long. Thor just can’t take a long run like he used to.”
“I suppose when we go, the old mutt’s going to be riding in the chuckwagon with me.”
Jordy spoke under his breath to Sierra, “It’s best to have all the old dogs together.”
“You talking about me, kid?” Rudy said, head cocked and one eye squinted shut.
“I was telling Sierra that Thor likes to pal around with you.”
“My hearing might be off a mite, but I can still tell when you ain’t telling the truth. Don’t matter none. You’ll be old someday, too, if you’re lucky. Then you’ll get your comeuppance.”
Chapter Fourteen
Jack’s first stop in San Angelo was at his lawyer’s office. He thought of Frank Bell Russo as just a kid, too young to be giving a man Jack’s age advice. Then, he remembered Frank had been his law wrangler for a half dozen years, ever since Fort Concho was built adjacent to the town and triggered a serious boom and was probably not far from forty years old. Funny how time changed a man’s perspective.
It did not matter. Jack liked and trusted the man with sea-blue eyes and a handle-bar moustache. Russo had a head of thick black hair, wore a vested business suit that Jack thought would roast a man during a hot Texas summer, but he supposed Russo would feel naked without it. The lawyer was on the short side but trim for a townie.
“You are proposing a lot of changes,” the man on the working side of the desk said.
“Yep. And I need them by the middle of the afternoon. I’m leaving these parts in the morning.”
“You are not planning on dying, I hope.”
“Nope. Just prepared. Don’t start adding up your probate fees yet.”
Russo gave him an annoyed look. The lawyer was a serious sort, and Jack thought he needed to work on his sense of humor. Maybe that was just something a man either had or did not.
“We’ve got a typewriter now—a new Remington got here on one of your freight wagons last week. My law clerk has figured out how to work it, but it’s still slow going. You’re going to have the first will we’ve put out on it. You will have the fanciest will in Texas, and we won’t even charge you extra for it. Come back at three o’clock.”
Maybe Frank Bell Russo had a sense of humor after all.
After leaving the lawyer’s office, Jack went to the Lucky Five Freighting office. The small
