The Rancher Read Online Free Page B

accordingly in the ledger.

    “It happens.”
    “Not to me.” Cole’s jaw ached from grinding his teeth. He had never lost this many cattle in one drive and it ate at him.
    “How’s   your   brother?”   Jameson interrupted his self-criticism.
    “Tag’s fine.” Cole traced multiple times over the numbers he had written, the current entry now much darker than the last.  “Brenna’s having another baby and little Jamie says he misses his poppa.” He tried to appear casual.
    A deep hearty laugh erupted from Jameson’s throat.  Surprised, Cole dared look up for a fleeting moment.  His father took great pride in his grandchildren and he loved being called Poppa.  His dimples carved happiness into his face, a trait Cole saw in his own reflection—the

    dimples anyway.  When Jameson lowered his eyes to focus on his son and his lips returned to a simple smile, experience told Cole there was something else on his father’s mind.
    “How many horses did you pick up from Taggert on this last drive?” Jameson asked.
    “Twenty-eight.” Cole had handpicked each of the horses from Tag’s herd.  “Most are Morgans, but there are some Kentuckys and Appaloosas among the bunch.”
    “How many can be bred?”
    “Nine stallions.  Seven studs.  The rest have been gelded, but are of the highest quality work and trail horses.” Cole was anxious to be on his way.  The final leg of the drive to the Colorado territory would

be short in comparison to the trek from Texas, but with prairie wolves stalking the herd, Cole wanted to get on the trail as soon as possible.
    Cole could feel his father’s eyes tracing every movement he made.
    “So, McCallister wants me to be the foreman on his ranch there in Silver Falls.” Cole hated small talk, but he was tired and not at all sure he wanted to have a real conversation with the man next to
    him. Jameson had a tendency to get a little personal and he didn’t want to talk about what ailed him.
    “What about you?” His father asked, his
    voice laced with concern.
    “What about me?” Cole asked, careful not to roll his eyes.  He slammed the black box into the drawer and threw the ledger

    over it.  His tone played at the verge of disrespect and he immediately regretted speaking   the   words   aloud.   He remembered well the time his father had
    overheard him speak disrespectfully to his mother and never wanted to repeat the experience.
    If Jameson was perturbed by his son, he hid it well.   However, there was something brimming just beneath the surface in his father’s eyes. Hurt? Anger? Disappointment? Pity?
    “I’m told you drove the team pretty hard.” Jameson walked over to the desk
    and set his hat at the corner.
    “Raine needs to keep his mouth shut.”
    “Wasn’t Raine.”
    Cole wrapped his fingers around a
    stone paperweight at the edge of the desk

    and   gripped   it   until   his   knuckles whitened.  His other hand, balled into a fist, strained equally as hard against the desk top.
    “I know the Chisholm is overrun and
    there’s not lot of grazing left, but cutting your own trail? Crossing the Red in a rainstorm, especially two men down?”
    Cole dropped his head.
    Jameson placed an open hand on Cole’s stooped back. “I don’t have to tell you how dangerous that can be, son.”
    “The Griffin Trail is not exactly new.” Cole pounded the rock against the thick stack of papers it held.  His father’s hand fell to his side.
    “Some of the men say as long as you are
    Trail Boss, they won’t ride.”
    “So, we’ll find new men.”   Cole

    released his grasp on the rock and massaged his now aching fingers.
    “That’s not the point, Cole, and you know it.”
    Cole stood straight and faced his fathersquarely.  The two men locked stares.
    “Now we’ll need a setting for twelve.”  A woman’s voice carried through thekitchen and into the study,