CHAPTER1
Blanche Underwood grabbed her rifle, opened the window, and watched as the riders approached her home. Damn, damn, and double damn. It was that fella that her papa had lost the ranch to in a card game, and this time it appeared he looked serious as he had brought the sheriff with him.
For months now, she’d resisted him.
Knowing it wasn’t in her better interest, but unable to stop herself, she aimed the rifle and pulled the trigger. The bullet landed right in front of the new owner’s horse and he had to fight to control the animal. Loud cursing filled the air.
“Serves you right for stealing my ranch,” she said, pushing her red hair out of her face.
It wasn’t fair. This was her home, and her father had not only lost it in a card game, but then he had the audacity to die, leaving her alone. What was she going to do?
The sheriff continued toward the house. She knew better than to shoot at a lawman. Why had the new owner brought him out?
When the sheriff’s horse reached the house, he stared up at her through the window. She lowered her rifle and met him on the porch, wearing her pants and shirt. Skirts were beautiful, but they didn’t fit the lifestyle of a rancher.
They were cumbersome and no one could exactly call her a lady.
“Miss Underwood, that wasn’t right.”
“I’m just trying to keep vermin away from the ranch,” she said, pulling her shoulders back and narrowing her eyes at the man, her trusty rifle by her side.
The man who claimed he owned the property rode up beside the sheriff.
“Sheriff, I’ve been a patient man,” he said, glaring at Blanche. “But enough.”
“It’s not your property,” she hissed.
The man held up the piece of paper that he claimed her father had signed.
“That’s your father’s X right there, and witnessed by Brent Harvey,” he yelled.
“Brent Harvey is a liar and a cheat,” she said, her voice rising. “Anyone could’ve put that mark there. Even you.”
How many times was this man going to come out here and claim the land was his? She didn’t believe him. It couldn’t be true. And yet, she didn’t have a good feeling about this little visit.
When the sheriff got involved, it wasn’t good.
“Miss Underwood, you have no choice,” the sheriff said. “Today is the twenty-seventh, and I expect you to be out of the house by the first. Mr. Jones will take possession then, and if that means I have to haul you out the door, then that’s what I’m going to do.”
Rage filled her, and she knew she was at the end of her rope. She’d run out of options, and while she could get a lawyer and take the man to court, she had no money. They all knew she was as poor as they came.
After all, she was but a woman trying to survive in a man’s world.
And her big, beautiful house sat on one hundred acres of farmland perfect for cotton growing. Plus, a hundred head of cattle and twenty horses that were pure breeds. At one time, this land had been profitable, before her papa found himself at the bottom of a whiskey bottle.
Life wasn’t fair. She’d done nothing to deserve this.
Reaching for her rifle, she lifted it up and aimed. “Get the hell off my ranch. It’s still mine until the first. Get off now, both of you.”
The sheriff shook his head. “Blanche, I know this is not the news you wanted to hear, but I have no choice. I suggest you pack a bag and get going.”
But that was the problem. Where would she go? Her father was dead, she had no idea where her mother was, or if she was even still alive, and no brothers or sisters. Her nearest relative was in Texas, and they didn’t want her. She had no place to go and now she was losing her birthright.
With Papa’s death and the loss of the ranch, she had nothing left worth living for.
“Get out,” she yelled. “I’ve still got three days. Get off my property, now.”
She fired the gun into the air and the chickens squawked and ran from the yard.
The sheriff’s face turned red. “I should arrest you. But I’m going to leave, but we’ll be back on the first. Be gone before then.”
She was out of time. This time the ranch would no longer be hers.
As soon as they turned and rode away, tears flowed down her cheeks. Sinking onto the steps, she laid her rifle down and began to cry. Great big hulking sobs.
What was she going to do?
Rusty, her old hound dog, came up beside her and licked her arm and wedged his way to her face where he gave her another lick. She raised her head and glanced out from the only home she’d ever known while she petted her sweet boy. What would she do with him? She couldn’t keep him.
Looking out at the pastures, she saw the cattle and the horses and her heart cringed. As much as she hated Mr. Jones, he was going to hate her even more.
She had three days. Three days to sell everything she could. And then she didn’t know what she would do.
Going into the house, she packed a suitcase of everything she wanted to keep. Glancing around the home, she knew there was so much she couldn’t take with her. Grandma Edith’s rocking chair. Her mother’s spindle. Her father’s…
Damn him.