Deception at the Diamond D Ranch by G. R. Stahl

Author:G. R. Stahl
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Epicenter Press Inc.
Published: 2022-06-15T00:00:00+00:00

Twenty-Seven

The windowpanes vibrated with a roll of thunder, and then all Cade could hear was the white noise of rain falling sideways into the side of the house. He watched through the big bay window as twilight swallowed the storm.

“Sit down,” he heard and turned to see Fey carrying a plate stacked with omelets.

“You sure I can’t help?” he asked, taking a seat as instructed. “Especially with your shoulder.”

“I’m fine, and I don’t mind serving up some food. Especially since Paul left, I hate eating alone. Sometimes I have all the ranch hands over at once, but I didn’t want to overwhelm you. I’m no traditional housewife, but I don’t mind cooking for friends.”

She sat at the end of the table, looked at him briefly and bowed her head. He copied her body language, but didn’t pray. Instead, he pondered all the years that had gone by since he’d last prayed for any reason other than when he felt helpless, alone or scared.

Fey lifted her head and put a cloth napkin in her lap. He did the same.

“Don’t stare too long, it’ll get cold. My mom called these sheep wagon omelets. They only take a few minutes of prep.”

The sound of the storm became background noise to the soft taps and clicks of their fork prongs and knife edges. Hungrier than he expected, Cade quickly finished an omelet and helped himself to a second, finally slowing enough to consider the food: eggs, onion, green pepper, parsley. The meat, though, was unique.

“These are good,” he said. “Thanks for the meal. Why’d your mom name them after a sheep wagon?”

“You tell me.”

“Is it lamb?”

“Not lamb, lamb fries. Wanna guess what part of the lamb they’re from?”

“You’re making me nervous.”

“That’s right, they’re little strips from a castrated ram. Basques—American Basques—use ‘em as part of a few different recipes.”

Cade poked at the rest of his omelet, prying out a small piece of meat and studying it.

“Fried in olive oil and garlic,” she continued. “It’s good meat, a lamb from the ranch here. I mostly run cattle these days but keep a few sheep around. My dad was truer to tradition. He ran this place as a pure sheep ranch, but I found better profit in beef.”

“What do you mean tradition?”

“Basque tradition,” she said. “That old murderer isn’t my only great-grandpa.”

Cade stared, surprised at himself for labeling her entire existence based on a single ancestor.

“Why didn’t you mention you’re Basque?”

“Because I’m American. What are you, Cade? German? Austrian? English?”

“German, I guess, among other things. My grandfather spoke some kind of German dialect, but I get your point. I’m American, too. How’d your Basque ancestors end up in Jarbidge?”

“Like most Basques around here, they showed up at Ellis Island and came out to run sheep and work the mines. That old Ben Kuhl might have homesteaded this place, but I’m lucky my Basque ancestors passed it down the way it is.”

“You’re lucky to have such a prized piece of land,” Cade agreed and took another bite of his eggs, thinking back a few days to another moment when she’d talked about sheep.

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