Liz Ireland Read Free Page A

we’re the end of the line.”
    Roy shifted uncomfortably, hating to be caught in a quandary. Not that it mattered one way or another to him about what happened to the McMillan line…except that there was the farm to take care of. He and Parker had worked hard to turn this parcel of land into something. Hard to think of it passing on to strangers after they were gone….
    Quandaries! That’s what came of letter-writing and gabbing at dinner about hypotheticals. “All I know is it’s about time we finished yacking and decided who’s going to clean up.”
    The three of them always decided that issue of dishwashing by a game of chance. And when it came to the nightly draw for the privilege of that chore, Roy was lucky and drew high. Pulling the ace of hearts off the top of the deck, he smiled broadly and let out a sigh. “Leisure at last,” he gloated, proppinghis feet on the table as he watched his brother draw. Parker looked worried when he drew a five of clubs.
    Roy’s smile disappeared. Good Lord, was Parker so eager to read a letter that he couldn’t spare a half hour?
    Of course, he didn’t want to clean up the supper dishes, either, and he didn’t even have a letter waiting for him. Just a snooze in front of the fire.
    “Oh, hellfire!” Ike cried as he slapped the three of hearts down on the table. “I’ve cleaned up the durned dishes three times this week!”
    “Bad luck, Ike,” Roy said, feeling little remorse for his good luck. “You want some help?”
    “Heck, no,” Ike replied quickly. Grumbling and arguing came naturally to the three men, but accepting help for work that was rightfully theirs wasn’t their way. “I’ll do ’em. I just wish my luck was a little better.”
    “It all averages in the end,” Roy assured him philosophically. “Chances are that next month you won’t have to do the dishes but once or twice.”
    “If’n one of you would marry, we wouldn’t none of us have to do dishes ever again,” Ike said.
    Roy shook his head. “You’re following a cold trail, Ike.”
    Parker, he noticed, didn’t say anything.
    Roy stood and followed his brother out of the kitchen into the sitting room. Parker was immediately absorbed in that letter. The fire had dwindled to a red glow, and Roy threw another log on, jumping back as the embers flew up.
    “Good lord!”
    Roy remained distracted by the new log, which he poked crossly with an iron, until he looked back at his brother. If shock had a face, it would have been Parker’s.
    “Is something wrong?” Roy asked, alarmed.
    “She’s coming here.”
    Their almost identical blue eyes met and held. She could only mean that Fitzsimmons woman—but that was impossible! “Here?” Roy asked, his voice a bullfrog croak. “To Nebraska?”
    “Here,” Parker corrected, “to our house. Mrs. Eleanor Fitzsimmons will be paying us a visit.”
    “Mrs?” Roy repeated. “You never said she was married.”
    “I never knew until just now.”
    That was peculiar. “Well why the heck doesn’t she stay in New York with her husband where she belongs?”
    “Her husband just died.”
    “A widow.” Roy shuddered with dread. Widows were the most hazardous females there were. A man really had to be on his guard around widows. “B-but she can’t come here!”
    “But she is,” his brother assured him.
    “Oh, no,” Roy said, gesticulating with his poker. “She can’t do this. Where would we put her?”
    Parker smiled, almost as if he found Roy’s panic amusing. Amusing! “In the barn?”
    Roy didn’t appreciate the humor. Especially since, more likely than not, he would be the one sleeping in the barn. “Write her back and tell her…”
    Smiling patiently, Parker waited for his suggestion.
    Did he want the woman to come here? Roy couldn’t tell. Sometimes Parker was hard to read. “Well, tell her it’s not a good time. We’ve barely finished the corn harvest, and now we’ve got to get the sorghum cut. We don’t have the leisure