Read Online Last Chance Cowboys: The Drifter by Anna Schmidt - Free Book Online Page A

he and Miss Maria are there together.”
    â€œWait until your father hears about this, young lady.” Mrs. Porterfield was standing on the shore shaking her finger at her daughter. “Sneaking around with this no-good… And you.” She wheeled around to face Turnbull. “You may think you have my husband wrapped around your little finger, but when he finds out…”
    Chet stepped into the clearing. “Is there a problem?” he asked, his eyes on Maria, who motioned him toward her mother, keeping one hand on Turnbull’s arm to restrain him from interfering—as he seemed inclined to do.
    â€œOf course there’s a problem, Isaac. It’s after midnight, and I came here and found these two—”
    â€œMother, Roger and I came to find you,” Maria protested.
    â€œMrs. Porterfield…” Roger took a step toward her.
    â€œYou keep your distance, young man,” the older woman warned. “Isaac, do something. You have spoiled this child rotten, and I frankly wash my hands of the entire matter.”
    And with that, she stalked up the path that led back to the house with Eduardo at her side. Maria watched them go and then let out a breath she seemed to have been holding. “Well, at least now she’ll sleep,” she said wearily. “Thank you, Chet, for your help. It would appear that Mother continues to believe that you are my father and that calms her.”
    Roger snorted. “You call that calm? She nearly took my head off.” He focused on Chet for the first time. “You can go now.”
    Chet ignored him and turned his attention to Maria. “Will she be okay? Because I’m scheduled to take the early shift out on the range and—”
    Maria placed her hand on his bare forearm. “She’ll be fine now. I really appreciate that you… That she…” Tears glistened in her eyes.
    Roger stepped forward and wrapped his arm around her, dismissing Chet with a scowl that needed no words. “Come, Maria, you’re overwrought. Tomorrow, I’ll send for the doctor, and he can advise us on the best way to handle your—”
    Maria pulled free of him and glared up at the man. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Roger Turnbull. That woman is my mother—not some wild horse in need of ‘handling.’ She needs time, is all, and patience, and if you are unwilling…”
    As Chet made his way back to the bunkhouse, he couldn’t help but smile. Despite whatever Roger Turnbull hoped, it was pretty clear to him that Maria Porterfield—and her mother—could take care of themselves.
    * * *
    Weeks passed without any more late-night calls to rescue Mrs. Porterfield. Chet settled into the routine of the ranch, taking his turn keeping watch on the herd, handling chores, and when he was off for a night, he spent the hours between supper and bedtime with the other cowhands in the bunkhouse playing cards or sitting outside trying to catch a breeze. Talk now had turned to the ongoing drought and just when the rains might come—if they would come. Every night before turning in, Bunker drew a large X through the date on the calendar and announced, “Maybe tomorrow, gents.”
    But the cloudless sky and the relentless heat gave no sign of relief. Other than that little rain they’d had the morning after the herd was spooked, every day had been the same. They were more than halfway through June, and according to Bunker and the others, none of them could recall a season when the rain came so late.
    Riding the range was solitary work. Sure there were other men around—maybe a dozen or more. But with a herd the size of the combined stock of four ranches, even a dozen men were spread too far apart to do more than communicate with a whistle, a shout, a wave of a hat, or in the case of an emergency, a gunshot fired in the air. Chet had learned to use the long hours spent alone in the