Wind River Ranch. Jackie MerrittЧитать онлайн книгу.
“What happened?” Dena asked in a lifeless voice.
“To Simon?”
“Of course to Simon,” she replied impatiently. “Who else would I be asking about?”
“Sorry,” Ry said gently, realizing the shock he’d anticipated from Dena Colby was beginning to develop. “Dr. Worth thinks it was a cerebral hemorrhage. He can’t say for sure without an autopsy, which, of course, is your decision to make. The doc believes it happened some time this morning. Your father had taken a pickup truck and gone to the south end of the ranch early this morning. No one—the ranch hands, Nettie and myself—was alarmed when he wasn’t back by noon. Simon rarely announced or explained his plans for the day. By three I began wondering, however, and I asked Nettie if Simon had taken lunch with him. When she said no, I had everyone start looking for him.”
Dena’s voice had become quite hoarse. “And you found him dead.” In the far recesses of Dena’s mind was the fact that Nettie was still at the ranch. It was small comfort at this moment, but somewhat relieving regardless.
“Not me, personally, but yes.” Two of the hands had spotted Simon’s pickup from a hilltop. They were on horseback, and had ridden hard and fast from that hill to the truck. Simon was still in the driver’s seat, slumped over the wheel. Dr. Worth’s opinion was that he had died instantly. Ry didn’t think he needed to explain every tiny detail to Dena Colby during this call, figuring that she had enough to digest with what he’d already told her.
He couldn’t possibly grasp the true nature of Dena’s state of mind. She could just barely think; her heart was pounding hard enough to hear and her hands were shaking like twigs in a high wind. Her mouth was so dry that speaking was almost impossible.
“I—I’ll catch the first flight out,” she mumbled thickly.
“If you let me know your flight schedule, I’ll meet your plane, Miss Colby.”
“I...” She was beginning to crack. Her father had died without forgiving her. He was too young to die, barely fifty years old, and now there was no longer a chance of forgiveness, of reconciliation. “Th-thank you for calling. I’ll be in touch.” She put down the phone.
“Dena?” It was Gail, looking at her across several desks with a worried expression. “Are you all right?”
“My...my father died this morning,” Dena said in a choked whisper.
“Oh, Dena, I’m so sorry.” The phone rang and Gail sent it an irritated look before answering it.
There was a self-protective numbness in Dena’s system, which she knew had to be dispelled. She had to call the airlines for a flight from Seattle to Casper, Wyoming, and another from Casper to Lander... and rearrange her work schedule with Gail... and go home and pack. And all she wanted was to sit there and do nothing
These days Dena didn’t concern herself with the concept of pretty. She wore her nearly black hair short for the sake of convenience. Lipstick and blusher—used sparingly—were her only cosmetics. Her clothing was purchased with comfort in mind, and she didn’t even own a cocktail dress, as she had rarely dated since her divorce three years ago, and those occasions had always been strictly casual. She lived a quiet life with one all-consuming goal, to reconcile with her father, who had stated angrily, sternly and emphatically that he would never speak to her again when she had rebelled against his insistence she go to college and instead had married Tommy Hogan right out of high school. At the time she hadn’t cared how Simon felt about it. He’d been an overly strict parent with—in her opinion—unrealistic, old-fashioned ideas of how she should live her life.
It was only later on, when Tommy had proved to be the lazy, immature and not very honest person that Simon had declared him to be, that Dena realized in this case her father had been right. The whole Hogan family—dozens of them—were cut from the same cloth. Regardless of the many clashes with her father, Dena had absorbed Simon’s ethics and standards. The Hogans, including Tommy, had had no ethics. It had been quite a blow for Dena to look at her husband one day, who’d been unshaven, out of a job again and hanging around their pathetic little house in town drinking one can of beer after another, and realize what a horrible mistake she had made. Tommy was not going to change and suddenly turn into the kind of man she had thought him to be before their marriage.
Or maybe she hadn’t thought at all, beyond his handsome face and happy-go-lucky personality, she had decided with a sick feeling in her stomach.
That very day she had driven out to the ranch with the intention of making amends with her father. She had walked into the house, and Simon had immediately left it without a word. Nettie had smiled weakly. “Hello, honey. How are you?”
Dena’s knees had given out, and she’d folded onto a chair. “He hasn’t forgiven me, has he?” she’d said to the housekeeper. “Will he ever?”
Nettie had looked as though she didn’t know where to put herself. Finally she had offered what she’d obviously thought was consolation. “Give him a little more time, honey.”
Time had done nothing. In almost five years, while Dena had been getting her life on track, obtaining a divorce—which had infuriated the Hogan clan to the point of some of them telling terrible lies about her that had gotten back to Dena—leaving Winston, the small town where she had attended school and then lived after her marriage, moving to Seattle and entering a nursing program while holding down a job to support herself and her education, and finally receiving her nursing certificate and acquiring her present position with Meditech, she had tried contacting her father too many times to count. Her letters had not been returned, but neither had they been answered. Simon had never come to the phone when she’d called the ranch. True to his word, he had not spoken one syllable to her, either aloud or by mail.
And now he was gone.
Nausea roiled in Dena’s stomach, and she also felt cold and sweaty. She knew the signs; if she didn’t do something she was going to faint. Pushing her chair back from the desk, she leaned over and put her head between her knees. Vaguely she registered Gail saying goodbye to whomever she’d been talking with on the phone.
Then Gail was next to her, squatting to be on her level and rubbing Dena’s back. “You’re white as a sheet. I have some water. Can you take a drink?”
Slowly Dena sat up. “Yes, thanks.” Accepting the paper cup of water, she sipped. “I felt as though I was going to black out.”
Gail’s expression was sympathetic. “I know.”
“I’m okay now. I... I have to call the airlines.”
“I’ll do it for you. When do you want to leave?”
“Tonight, if possible.” She and Gail were friendly enough for Gail to know that she was from Wyoming. But she hadn’t told anyone about the heartrending break with her father, or the details of her unhappy and truly ludicrous marriage. Dena sometimes wondered why she had rebelled against her only living parent to the point of hurting herself, but it wasn’t a subject that she could discuss with even her closest friends.
“Seattle to Casper, right?” Gail asked.
Dena nodded. “Then Casper to Lander.”
“You just sit there and get yourself together. I’ll call the airlines right now.” With an air of efficiency—which was completely sincere as Gail Anderson was an extremely competent woman—the receptionist returned to her desk and began looking through the phone book.
Dena still felt numb, and maybe it was best, she reasoned. If her emotions started running wild, she might not have the strength to see this through.
And strength, both physical and emotional, was going to be crucial in the next few days. As dull-witted as her mind seemed to be at the present, she at least knew that much.
One
Returning to Wyoming was traumatic for Dena. It was