~ Bosslady ~

by

Sherry Derr~Wille

BJ leaned back in the plush seat of the train. It was a long trip from Illinois to Texas, one that began almost three weeks earlier. After living for twelve years in Illinois she was coming home.

If it hadn’t been for her grandfather’s letters and the pictures Don Parsons drew for her, she would never have been able to keep the dream of Texas alive.

She was but six years old when her father took her away from Texas, after her mother’s death. Now with her eighteenth birthday just a month behind her, she was coming home.

She started her journey by taking a riverboat from Northern Illinois to St. Louis, Missouri, where her Aunt Bernadine’s sister, Elizabeth, met her. Arrangements were made for her to spend some time with Elizabeth and her husband before boarding the train bound for Texas. She stayed in their home only two days when she received a telegram from her Uncle Paul.

Pa Dead--Lazy K Yours--Wire Arrival Time--Will Meet Your Train--Uncle Paul.

When she could, at last, get a train to take her home, she boarded with three young men. They were rude and she tried to ignore them. Her decision made her trip south very lonely. Looking across the aisle, she could see they were playing poker, the way they played it all during the trip. If they hadn’t seemed so serious, she would have laughed at them. None of them appeared to be particularly skilled at the game and they all seemed to have money they wanted to lose. If she hadn’t been a lady, she would have asked to sit in on a hand or two and shown them how the game should be played. Instead, she made no attempt at engaging any of them in conversation.

She reached into her traveling bag and pulled out the latest pictures Don sent. As she looked at them, she prayed Don’s art would help her recognize the men who worked for her.

At last the train stopped. Before she could get to her feet the young men across from her pushed their way into the aisle and hurried off ahead of her. She reached for the traveling bag, surprised to find an older man taking it from her hands.

"Let me help you, Miss," he said, carrying the bag down the aisle.

When they reached the doorway, he stepped out ahead of her and offered her his hand. BJ couldn’t help but smile at him. Graciously, she thanked him for his help before he left her standing on the platform.

Outside, she expected a cool breeze to kiss her cheek and clear the smoke and dust from her lungs. Instead the oppressive dry heat of June struck her, almost taking her breath away. The bright sunlight blinded her and she blinked several times to become accustomed to it. When she did, she noticed how much smaller things looked. I was only six when Papa took me away, she reminded herself. Of course things will look different to me now.

She looked around at the dusty street, the wooden sidewalks and the stores she remembered from her childhood. The buildings were no longer as overwhelming as they were twelve years earlier. She smiled at the familiar scene. It told her she’d arrived home.

So few people were assembled at the station, it took no time at all for her to realize her Uncle Paul wasn’t one of them. Instead, she recognized first Don Parsons then Dave Whitley. She smiled and noted Whit’s appearance. He looked remarkably like the pictures Don had sent her over the years, only more handsome.

She watched as Whit came toward her and she took in his appearance. His hair had a definite reddish cast to it and his green eyes seemed to lock onto hers, even though he kept looking away as though searching for someone.

"Mr. Kemmerman, Mr. BJ Kemmerman?" Whit questioned the three men who got off the train with her.

"Now you aren’t mistaking me for a Kemmerman, are you Whit?" one of the men asked.

"Not at all, Andy," she heard Whit reply. "I’d only mistake you for a snake. I just thought one of these gents might be the person I came here to meet."

BJ wondered about Whit’s statement, but let it pass. She smiled as each of the other two men shook his head and hurried away to meet family and friends.

"I’m BJ Kemmerman," she finally said, extending her hand.

"You’re BJ Kemmerman?" Whit gasped. "Mark left the Lazy K to you?"

"Does it surprise you, Mr. Whitley?"

"The name’s Whit and yes, it does. I can’t believe the old man would leave the Lazy K to a--a woman."

Inwardly BJ ached. She loved her grandfather dearly and never questioned his intentions to leave the Lazy K to her. The realization he’d kept her true identity a secret distressed her.

"BJ," Don said, hurrying to her side before she could dwell further on her thoughts. "You’re as pretty as your Ma." He hugged her tightly and swung her into the air.

Having Don hold her securely made her forget Whit momentarily. Although Don had never sent her any pictures of himself, she recognized him immediately. His hair had turned from light brown to gray but his eyes hadn’t changed in the least.

"Where’s Uncle Paul?" she asked, when Don set her back on her feet.

"Nancy’s Ma took sick and they went to Houston. They suggested I take you to their house so you could freshen up before going out to the ranch," Don replied.

BJ nodded. She wanted to clean up and to change clothes, but she couldn’t mask her disappointment at not seeing her uncle upon her arrival.

"You get BJ’s bags and trunks, Whit," Don called over his shoulder, as he escorted BJ to Paul and Nancy’s house.

"Mr. Whitley doesn’t seem too happy," BJ said, once they were out of earshot. "I can’t blame him. Why in the world didn’t he know about me?"

"Because it’s the way your grandpa wanted it. If any of the men at the Lazy K even thought they knew about you, your crew would have disappeared. Believe me, BJ, it’s for the best."

They neared Paul’s house and BJ stopped. In front of her she saw two horses tied to the railing. She mentally reviewed her grandfather’s letters.

Whit finally trained his gray. He’s a good horse but he’s no match for Thunder. That big black of mine has them all fooled. They think he’s a devil when in reality he’s little more than a big dog. If I give him a lump of sugar, he’ll jump through hoops for me.

"Mr. Whitley wants to know if I can ride, doesn’t he?" she asked, once she recognized the black stallion as her grandfather’s horse, Thunder. His sleek lines and blue-black color rivaled even the words her grandfather used to describe him. Don nodded. "He insisted on bringing Thunder. Of course, I knew he’d never let you ride him."

"Let me ride him!" BJ exploded. "He brought Thunder into town to see if I can ride and I think he’ll be pleasantly surprised."

"I think it’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. You can’t ride Thunder. If you don’t want to make a bad situation worse, you’ll stop calling him Mr. Whitley. Just call him Whit the way he asked."

BJ didn’t respond to Don’s comment. Angered by the predicament in which she found herself, she turned from him and went into the house.

"Why, Grandpa?" she cried, when she entered the downstairs bedroom. Without receiving an answer, she opened her traveling bag and pulled out a pair of pants and a shirt.