Texas Dad (Fatherhood) Read Free Page A

elected to go in search of food in town before calling it a night.
    Fewer than twenty minutes later, a short walk down the main street from her motel, she sat at the counter of a hole-in-the-wall café, checking her messages while awaiting delivery of her order. It was frustrating as she kept losing her signal. Purely by chance, she heard Mack’s name mentioned. A trio of rancher types in jeans and cowboy hats were discussing a year-long drought in the area that was of major concern, considering summer was just around the corner.
    “If Bannerman has to sell his herd early and take a loss, he might not be able to underwrite this year’s steak-fry festival,” the man closest to J.J. said.
    An older man bobbed his shaggy gray head. “Be a shame if Mack had to cancel the event when more wounded veterans than ever need retro-fitted homes. Last year Mack raised funds to help three local veterans.”
    “Yep, I know. But our pastures are as dry as I’ve ever seen ’em in the spring,” lamented a man J.J. couldn’t see past the bulk of the others.
    “Uh-huh, two bad grass fires already. Hey, Jody, how about a refill on the coffee,” he called to the waitress, wagging his cup in the air. “And slices of that lemon pie all around? My treat,” he told his companions.
    J.J.’s soup and sandwich came, and the men quit talking to wolf down their pie, after which they dropped money on the counter and trooped out. J.J. found herself feeling sad to think Turkey Creek Ranch might be struggling. And Mack. He was the fourth generation of Bannermans to raise cattle. His great-grandfather was one of a few old-timers who’d built a Hereford herd with cows and bulls brought over from England. Mack had planned to crossbreed and produce a strain of hardier cattle more able to survive the extreme Texas weather. She’d once promised to support him in every way. Obviously he hadn’t wanted her help.
    She pushed aside half of her sandwich, wondering why she’d recalled that or anything else about Mack. It had taken her a long time to bury her pain.
    Paying at the register, J.J. walked back to her motel, determined to put Mack out of her mind for the night.
    * * *
    T HE NEXT MORNING , just past 10:00 a.m., she hurried into the library. It smelled like all the libraries she’d spent time in during her school years in Texas. The odor of pungent wax didn’t quite hide the musty scent of old books.
    The heels of her boots clacked on the weathered wood flooring. Rising late after sleeping better than she’d expected to, she’d hastily thrown on a citified version of cowgirl wear—skinny jeans, a sleeveless black linen blouse and understated gold accessories that were a staple when she traveled. Assuming she’d be driving to the ranch later, she’d pulled her hair in an easy twist that looked elaborate but really wasn’t. It kept her hair contained and out of her face when she shot photographs in remote locations. Slung over one shoulder she carried her ever-present worn leather bag filled with cameras, light meters and other equipment she never found time to unpack between trips.
    “I’m supposed to meet a couple of teen girls,” she told the librarian. The woman pointed her to a round table partially hidden behind a counter on which sat two computers.
    Crossing over to the waiting pair, J.J. smiled and said, “Sorry I’m a bit late. I’m J. J. Walker. I’m from Her Own Woman magazine.” She was surprised that she couldn’t readily identify which of them was Mack’s daughter, given that she’d known both of the girl’s parents. She’d forgotten Texas ranch kids tended to look younger and more scrubbed than teens she encountered on a New York subway.
    For the girls’ part, they seemed struck mute.
    Not wanting to intimidate them, J.J. slid out a chair, dumped her bag on the floor and sat. “Well, I don’t know who’s who, but you know why I’m here. It must be exciting to have your essay and photographs chosen by our