Dorothy Garlock - [Tucker Family] Read Free Page A

Charlotte’s
     car, its tires kicking up enormous plumes of dust, before finally turning away just short of town.
    Craning her neck out the window to get a better view, Charlotte could see the center of town ahead. Except forits water tower, it didn’t appear to be much different from Carlson. Businesses lined the main street, their signs and awnings
     announcing their wares, as people milled about on their daily business. On the far side of town rose a church spire, stark
     white against the brilliance of the blue sky. A group of children, with a yapping dog in tow, did their best to keep up with
     the train as it slowed. Near the small train depot, its iron wheels screamed against the iron tracks. With another blast of
     its whistle, it shuddered to a stop.
    Gathering her things, Charlotte hurried into the aisle, scarcely able to contain the nervous excitement that coursed through
     her. Up ahead, a man groaned exhaustedly as he heaved himself out of his seat, planted his cowboy hat over his sun-burned
     head, and headed for the door, stopping when he saw Charlotte approach.
    “Ma’am,” he said with a nod of his hat, letting her go by.
    “Thank you,” she replied.
    Once she had passed, Charlotte stifled a smile at the thought that the man looked as if he would have been much more comfortable
     on the back of a horse than inside the train. She wondered if he wasn’t the source of the snoring that had woken her in the
     night!
    Finally, she was before the door. Pausing until a box was placed beneath the steps, Charlotte took a deep breath, accepted
     the assisting hand of the conductor, and stepped out onto the platform.

Chapter Two
    T HE EARLY AFTERNOON summer sun felt warm upon Charlotte’s skin as she futilely tried to shade her eyes from the bright glare. A sniffing wind
     swirled the scattered dust at her feet. The air felt dry and heavy, a far cry from the oppressive humidity of Minnesota, but
     no less hot.
    Sawyer’s train platform lacked the activity of the depot in Kansas City; besides the cowboy who had nodded to her, the only
     other passenger who disembarked was an older woman, her shoulders hunched low from the weight of the pair of heavy bags she
     carried.
    At first glance, Charlotte saw no one waiting for her.
    “Miss Tucker?” a loud voice asked, startling her.
    Charlotte looked up as a middle-aged man, well-worn cowboy hat in his hand, strode toward her from deep shadows inside the
     depot. Trailing behind him was another man.
    “Yes?” she replied cautiously.
    Smiling broadly, the man stretched out his hand in greeting. “I’m John Grant. You’ll be stayin’ at my ranch while you’re here
     in Sawyer.”
    Immediately, Charlotte felt at ease. She had received a letter weeks earlier from Mr. Grant, offering her a place in his home
     on a horse ranch. Apparently, he rented out a couple of rooms in much the same way her grandmother had at her boardinghouse
     in Carlson. Having grown up in such an environment, Charlotte had readily accepted his offer.
    “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Grant,” she answered.
    “Now, the only men I ever knew that went by ‘Mr. Grant’ was my pa and my grandpappy before him, and since I ain’t half the
     man either one of them managed to be, it just don’t seem right for me to be takin’ their names. I’d like it best if you’d
     call me John.”
    “Only if you call me Charlotte,” she replied, taking his offered hand.
    “Then you got yourself a deal.”
    John Grant made a strong first impression with his neatly combed, snow-white hair, his deep-set, sparkling blue eyes, and
     his broad, welcoming smile. But the ruggedness of a rancher was hard to disguise. The many lines and wrinkles on his weathered
     face, his hands worn and calloused, and his bronzed skin were the result of his days spent working beneath the hot Oklahoma
     sun. With his shirt, pants, and boots caked with dust he would never be mistaken for a banker or lawyer.
    “This is