Read Dorothy Garlock - [Tucker Family] for Free Online Page B

’member!”
    Whichever of the two names it was hardly mattered. Owen had packed whatever of their belongings fit into their dented trunk,
     sold their meager home for even less than the pitiful building was worth, and led them off in search of the unknown man who
     had helped give them life.
    The mare’s annoyed whinny brought him back from his memories; apparently he had been brushing too hard, lost in the rising
     of his temper. With a scratch behind the horse’s ear, he apologized.
    “Sorry, old girl,” Owen soothed. “I’ll try to be more careful.”
    Arriving in Sawyer at the onset of spring, they discovered that John Grant was a successful horse rancher, well respected,
     and an upstanding member of the community. No one would say a harsh word against him, not one offhanded slight. Owen had mentioned
     his mother’s name to a couple of people, but no one seemed to recognize it.
    He had not one thing to go on. He just knew he was right. He was certain John Grant was the man.
    Owen’s first impulse was to kick down the door to John Grant’s ranch house, pull him out into the yard by his hair, and give
     him the beating he undoubtedly deserved. Hannah restrained him, arguing that they had no proof that the rancher was the man
     they were looking for, nothing but the drunken ramblings of Franklin Sullivan.
    Over Owen’s protests, Hannah explained that it was in their best interests to try to learn the truth before resorting to violence.
     Swallowing his pride, Owen had gone to John Grant’s door, faced the man who just might be his father, and asked for a job.
     Fortunately, the ranch had just found itself a man short. John had looked him up and down, judging whether he was capable
     of backbreaking work, before finally nodding his head, taking Owen on right then and there. Within hours, he found himself
     working for the very man he had come to Sawyer to ruin.
    “And here I still am,” he muttered. “Still working…”
    The worst part was that Owen had found he had little reason to resent John Grant. Unlike other men Owen had known who, in
     a position of authority, lorded it over those who worked for him, the rancher never shied away from any demanding, grueling
     tasks; he could often be found pounding away on a hot anvil, corralling a stubborn horse, or even performing the same menial
     task in which Owen himself was now engaged.
    But Owen also knew that appearances could often be deceiving, as easily changed as a horse’s shoe. It was possible that behind
     Grant’s friendly exterior resided aconniving, manipulative son of a bitch fully capable of getting a young woman pregnant and then throwing her out on her ear.
     He believed that John Grant was such a man, and that if he looked long enough, watched him closely, his assumptions would
     be proven true.
    “You should have been nicer when you came in the house.”
    Owen looked up from his chores to see Hannah entering the barn. She walked over to where he was working and leaned against
     the closed gate, resting her head upon her crossed arms.
    “I didn’t see much of a point in it,” Owen argued, resuming his brushing. “Besides, you know I don’t like to spend a lot of
     time around him.”
    “You say that like it’s supposed to be some kind of secret.”
    “What’s that mean?”
    “It means that if it weren’t for the fact that you’re such a good worker on the ranch,” she said, a bit exasperated with her
     brother, “and that I’m so completely likeable, I believe that John Grant would have asked you to leave his ranch a long time
     ago.”
    Owen snarled in answer. From the first moment they had set foot on the property, he had marveled at Hannah’s ability to be
     so friendly, so
natural
, with the man who may have driven their mother to her grave. That she berated him for acting the way he did only made it
     worse.
    It made him angry.
    “Would it kill you to be nice to the man?”
    “It just might!” Owen snapped.
    “This