Read A Tradition of Pride for Free Online Page B

fields. They're plantin' some new seedlings in that acreage that was cleared last winter. He might be there," the man suggested.
    Lara pressed her lips tightly together and lapsed into silence. Just thinking how carelessly Rans MacQuade had cast aside one of the valued traditions of Alexander land made her blood run hot. She cautioned herself to deal with confrontation coolly and calmly, but it was going to be difficult not to allow her personal dislike of the man to get in the way. Nor was he the type to take kindly to being ordered around by a woman. To be successful she would have to be diplomatic.
    They were nearly at the fence when a pickup truck rolled into view on the graveled road, a cloud of dust following it. The pickup slowed, tires crunching on the gravel; and turned into the orchard entrance, stopping short of the gate.
    John Porter darted Lara a grim look. "You aren't going to have to go looking for MacQuade."
    Mentally Lara braced herself for the meeting, wishing she had been allowed a little more time to formulate what she was going to say. The truck door on the driver's side was opened, then slammed shut. Sunlight glinted on the golden highlights of Rans MacQuade's brown hair as he walked around the cab through the gate.
    His gaze flicked briefly to Lara then centered on John Porter. "Did the tractor break down?"
    In the outdoors he seemed taller and leaner and more rugged looking than Lara had remembered him being the few times she had seen him at the house. He was definitely a man that the workers would look up to with decided respect. She understood why John Porter was reluctant to deliberately disobey him—which didn't alter her decision at all.
    "Not exactly." John Porter shuffled nervously as he tried to answer the question put to him. He paused and spat a stream of yellow tobacco juice onto the plowed ground. "You see…"
    He glanced expectantly at Lara. The action brought a thoughtful narrowing of Rans MacQuade's brown eyes, but they didn't waver from the man's face.
    "I believe there's been a bit of a misunderstanding Mr. MacQuade," Lara inserted, coming to the man's rescue. At that point she was impaled by the hard, piercing gaze. Her fingers closed tightly around the tractor keys. "I can readily understand how it happened. You haven't been here long enough to be familiar with all of the ways we do things."
    "Has this something to do with the man Cato and his mules?" Rans inquired in an ominously low voice.
    "Yes." A stiff smile curved her mouth. "It is a tradition that he always plows Alexander ground. My father has stated many times that it is one that will continue for as long as Cato lives. To deprive him of his job would be the same thing as taking away his dignity and self-respect. It would hardly be the way to reward him after all his years of loyal service."
    Rans MacQuade breathed in deeply and glanced away, irritation in the compressed line of his mouth. "Where's the tractor?" The question was addressed to Porter.
    "About a third of the way down this row." The man gestured over his shoulder.
    "I want you to go back to the tractor and—" Rans began.
    "I haven't got the key," John interrupted and quickly avoided the sharp gaze that was directed at him.
    "John was reluctant to stop plowing since you had ordered him to do it," Lara explained evenly. "So I took the ignition key away from him."
    His jaw tightened as Rans MacQuade turned back to study her coldly. "May I have the key, Mrs. Cochran?"
    There was a flash of triumph in her green eyes. Lara concealed it with a sweep of her gold-tipped lashes. She hadn't expected him to give in so quickly. Admittedly the stressing of her father's wishes had probably resulted in her success. She extended the hand with the tractor key to him.
    "I knew once it was explained to you, you would understand, Mr. MacQuade," she offered graciously.
    Her comment brought a sardonic twist to the ruthless line of his mouth. He took the keys and turned to John,