"Roberts, Nora - Mind Over Matter" - читать интересную книгу автора (Roberts Nora)

The hell with anybody who didn't like it.

The monument would be raised once the ground had settled, to join all
the others that tipped and dotted the stony ground, from Jack Mercy's
greatgrandfather, Jebidiah Mercy, who had roamed the mountains and
claimed the land, to the last of Jack's three wives■and the only one
who'd died before he could divorce her.

Wasn't it interesting, Bob mused, that each of Mercy's wives had
presented him with a daughter when he'd been hell-bent on having a
son?

Bob liked to think of it as God's little joke on a man who had stepped
on backs■ and hearts■to get what he wanted in every other area of his
life.

He remembered each of Jack's wives well enough, though none of them had
lasted long. Lookers every one, he thought now, and the girls they'd
birthed weren't hard on the eyes either. Bethanne had been burning up
the phone lines ever since word came along that Mercy's two oldest
daughters were flying in for the funeral. Neither of them had set foot
on Mercy land since before they could walk.

And they wouldn't have been welcome.

Only Willa had stayed. There'd been little Mercy could do about that,
seeing as how her mother had died almost before the child had been
weaned. Without any relations to dump the girl on, he'd passed the
baby along to his housekeeper, and Bess had raised the girl as best she
could.

Each of the women had a touch of Jack in her, Bob noted, scanning them
from under the brim of his hat. The dark hair, the sharp chin. You
could tell they were sisters, all right, even though they'd never set
eyes on each other before. Time would tell how they would deal
together, and time would tell if Willa had enough of Jack Mercy in her
to run a ranch of twenty-five thousand acres.

She was thinking of the ranch, and the work that needed to be done.

The morning was bright and clear, with the hills sporting color so bold
and beautiful it almost hurt the eyes. The mountains and valley might
have been painted fancy for fall, but the chinook wind had come in hot
and dry and thick. Early October was warm enough for shirtsleeves, but
that could change tomorrow. There'd already been snow in the high
country, and she could see it, dribbling along the black and gray
peaks, slyly coating the forests. Cattle needed to be rounded up,
fences needed to be checked, repaired, checked again. Winter wheat had
to be planted.