Bosslady

By Sherry Derr-Wille

Dave Whitley is shocked to find the new owner of the Lazy K ranch, BJ Kemmerman, is very much a woman. His resolve to leave as soon as he learns her identity is thwarted when she reminds him of the five year contract he signed only months earlier.

BJ is a woman taking on a man’s world when all she really wants is Whit’s love and respect.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: May 11, 2013
• ISBN: 9781590882566

Book preview

Bosslady

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.

Other Works From The Pen Of

Sherry Derr-Wille

Becky's Rebel

Log Line: Joe and Becky find they must fight the Civil War a second time when he conrtonts her Yankee brothers with their forbiden love.

Coffee, Tea or Love

Log Line: The secret Lane Allerton wanted to keep hidden was exposed the moment Grant Price walked through the door of Java Lane.

Transplanted Love

Log Line: Can Lori Carter, the Bionic Woman, overcome the prejudice and doubt Kent Saunders has concerning organ transplantation? Perhaps, with help from an unliekly source.

A Precious Jewel

Log Line: Best friends, Julie Weston and Devon Yates are reunited to find love only to be torn apart by circumstances neither of them can control.

Bosslady Coming November 2004

Log Line: BJ Kemmerman returns to her childhood home with thoughts of love for her foreman Whit. A woman boss terrifies

Her Tenant Coming June 2005

Log Line: The garage in the doorway between Dee and Brice's duplex goes from being a passport to love to a bone of contention.

Wings

Bosslady

by

Sherry Derr-Wille

A Wings ePress, Inc.

Historical Novel

Wings ePress, Inc.

Edited by: Leslie Hodges

Copy Edited by: Sara V. Olds

Senior Editor: Sara V. Olds

Managing Editor: Leslie Hodges

Executive Editor: Lorraine Stephens

Cover Artist: Laurie Thompson

All rights reserved

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Wings ePress Books

http://www.wings-press.com

Copyright © 2004 by Sherry Derr-Wille

ISBN 1-59088-256-3

Published by Wings ePress, Inc. at Smashwords

Published In the United States Of America

November 2004

Wings ePress Inc.

403 Wallace Court

Richmond, KY 40475

Dedication

To my critique group:

Without you, I would have never known

all the things I’ve been doing wrong.

What would I have ever done without all of your help.

Prologue

The smell of warm cinnamon and freshly baked cookies filled the Larson kitchen. Every available space was filled with racks of cooling cookies. The heat from the oven made the room warm, in contrast to the howling wind outside.

BJ Kemmerman helped her Aunt Bernadine Larson dry the last of the dishes. With Christmas coming in less than a week, 1884 loomed closer and closer. The coming of the new year meant her eighteenth birthday would be only five months away.

It certainly is a nasty storm out there, Herman Larson said, as he entered the kitchen. I didn’t think we’d ever get home from town.

Before BJ could comment, her younger cousins, Tanner, age fifteen, and Cassie, age twelve, burst into the room.

School’s out until after the first of the year, Mama! Cassie said, excitement evident in her voice.

You baked cookies! Tanner exclaimed.

Don’t touch those, BJ warned. We still have to frost them.

Well, if I can’t have a cookie, then I’ll just keep this package from your Grandpa Kemmerman.

Tanner pulled a package, wrapped in brown paper, from inside his coat.

Give BJ her package and stay away from the cookies, Bernadine ordered. You’re dripping wet. Get out of those clothes or you’ll catch pneumonia.

After taking off his coat, hat, mittens, and boots, Tanner held the package over his head, just out of BJ’s reach, and ran toward the living room.

Give it to me, Tanner, BJ said, chasing him up the stairs. It’s my Christmas present. Let me have it.

Will you two quit your bickering, Herman called, from the bottom of the stairs. Stop teasing your cousin, Tanner.

Reluctantly, Tanner handed the package to BJ.

I’m going to miss you most of all, BJ said, before she turned toward the door to go to her own room. She looked lovingly at the boy who was both her friend and greatest adversary. They grew up together, like brother and sister. When she returned to Texas and her Grandpa Kemmerman, their relationship would be forever changed.

I keep hoping you’ll change your mind and stay. I’ve noticed George Howard hanging around here like a lovesick calf. Hasn’t he asked you to marry him yet?

BJ turned back to face her cousin. Yes, George asked me and I told him no. He knows how much returning to Texas, to be with my grandfather, means to me.

What about us? Don’t we mean anything to you?

You’re not being fair. You know I love everyone here. I love Grandpa Kemmerman and the Lazy K, too. Can’t you understand? My papa gave me no say when he took me away from Texas twelve years ago. My return will be my decision.

Tanner moved closer to BJ and gave her a hug. I’m sorry. I know wanting you to stay is selfish. I don’t even like to think about you not being here.

BJ didn’t answer. She couldn’t get the words past the lump in her throat. All her life she’d been torn. Uncle Herman and Aunt Bernadine took her in when her mother died and her father disappeared without a trace. She loved them as though they were her own parents. Hundreds of miles away, lay the Lazy K ranch and her Grandpa Kemmerman. She loved him too, even though she hadn’t seen him in twelve years. Somewhere in the patchwork of her life was Joe Kemmerman, her papa, the man who’d left her. She knew she should hate him, as did Grandpa Kemmerman and Uncle Herman and Aunt Bernadine, but somehow she couldn’t. In the back of her mind, she still loved him, still waited for him to return for her. Somehow she would find a way to locate him.

With her eighteenth birthday only months away, the emotional taffy pull became more intense.

When she’d first arrived in Illinois, Grandpa Kemmerman promised not to take her away until her eighteenth birthday. Each year he reminded her of how long it would be until she returned home. At the same time Uncle Herman and Aunt Bernadine insisted they understood, but made it clear she was welcome to stay in their home until she married. As for her, she only wanted to know about her father. Every question brought the same response. As far as you’re concerned BJ, Joe Kemmerman is dead. Do you understand?

Alone in the bedroom she shared with Cassie, BJ fingered the package from Texas. She realized it would be the last one she would receive before her next birthday.

Aren’t you going to open your package? Cassie asked, interrupting her thoughts.

Package? Oh, yes, of course I am. BJ untied the string and removed the brown paper wrapping.

Several sheets of white paper lay atop a box wrapped in bright colored tissue. As usual, she set the box aside to be opened on Christmas morning.

Are there pictures? Cassie inquired.

BJ smiled. Of course there are. You know Don always sends me sketches for Christmas. She spread the pictures out on the bed and studied the pencil sketches.

Over the years, Don Parsons, the foreman of the Lazy K Ranch, sent her the pictures. They depicted rugged cowboys with leathery skin from years of exposure, beautiful women of Mexican heritage and the sprawling ranch house of the Lazy K.

Here’s a picture of Buck and one of Ramon, Cassie said. I wonder why the other men change so much from year to year.

Grandfather says cowboys are little more than drifters, BJ said absently. In her hand she held the sketch she always looked forward to seeing.

Dave Whitley, known to everyone on the Lazy K as Whit, had worked for her grandfather for almost ten years. After seeing years of sketches, she found he fascinated her the most. She enjoyed watching the boy grow into manhood.

According to her grandfather, Whit had red hair, green eyes, and a temper to match. BJ never considered him bad tempered. Don’s pictures always portrayed him as a mischievous child. She stared at the now familiar features and imagined the sound of his voice, the feel of his calloused hand caressing her face.

A week ago George professed his love and begged her to marry him. When she said no, she told him her future lay in Texas. What she didn’t tell him was that her heart belonged to a man she’d never met, a man who didn’t even know of her existence.

~ * ~

Whit sat on the back two legs of a chair propped against the bunkhouse. A warm southerly breeze carried the music of a guitar accompanying the rich baritone of a man’s voice.

I sure as hell wish Ramon and Teresa would get married, Buck said, as he hunkered down next to Whit’s chair.

Whit let the chair come back down on all four legs. What’s the matter Buck? Don’t you appreciate good music?

How can you call his caterwaulin’ music? Sounds like a bobcat with his paw caught in a trap to me, Buck grumbled.

If I didn’t know you better, I’d swear you were jealous. Can’t be you’re taken with Teresa, can it?

What man on this ranch isn’t taken with her? Ramon’s one lucky devil.

Whit laughed heartily. He’d known Buck for six years, Ramon for four and the three of them worked well together. Over the years, he watched as men came and went. He’d stayed out of loyalty to Mark Kemmerman. Mark had given him a chance when his father had thrown him out. It hadn’t been easy to make his way in the world. Buck and Ramon stayed for perhaps similar reasons, although they never discussed such matters.

Boss wants to see you up at the house, Whit, Don Parsons said, as he joined them.

Whit exchanged a puzzled glance with Buck and followed Don toward the brightly lit ranch house.

The Old Man never asks the hands up to the house, Whit said.

Don shrugged. Mark and me, we’ve been friends for over forty years but it don’t mean I ever try to understand him. Mark’s a strange man. I think the word is bitter. I’ve learned never to question his motives.

Whit said no more. He’d heard all the stories about Mark over the years. Every new bunch of hands brought another rumor about the old man. He’d stopped listening to them years ago. As long as Mark treated him well, he saw no reason to unfairly judge him.

Whit stood on the porch of the main house and waited while Don opened the door.

Mark sat opposite the door in a big leather chair. Come in Whit, Merry Christmas, Mark greeted him. Sit down, he continued, you too, Don. What I have to say concerns both of you.

Whit seated himself and tried to remember the last time he actually saw his boss. It must have been at least three months earlier. If Mark walked into the bunkhouse now, Whit might not have recognized him. The last months had aged Mark. He’d lost weight and his eyes were vacant and tired.

The Lazy K is my life. Now I realize its time to hand over the reins. This ranch needs a younger man. Don will be helping me as ranch manager and I’d like to see you as foreman.

Foreman? Whit questioned. Why me?

Because you’re young. You have young ideas and you’ve proven yourself. When I’m gone, I want to be assured my heir will have the best foreman available.

What can I say? Of course I’ll accept your offer. I only hope you know what you’re doing.

Don’t worry. I may be old, but I do know a good man when I see one. In my opinion, I couldn’t choose better.

They shook hands and the meeting ended as quickly as it started.

Once back outside Whit questioned Don. What happened in there?

You got my job. I won’t make no bones about it. I do have my doubts about this, but it’s his ranch and his choice. He thinks you’re the best man to be foreman, even if you are still wet behind the ears.

He’s dying, isn’t he? Whit questioned.

I’m afraid so.

Whit left Don standing on the porch. Still stunned by the offer he just accepted, he returned to the bunkhouse.

What did the boss want? Buck asked.

He offered me the position of foreman and I accepted.

Foreman? What about Don?

Mark’s dying. He wants Don to act as ranch manager and help run this place. I think we’re in for some big changes around here.

One

Texas May 1884

Whit saddled Mark Kemmerman’s big black stallion, Thunder. The horse pranced with excitement. I know, boy, Whit said stroking Thunder’s soft nose, it’s been a spell since anyone put a saddle on your back. It’s too bad Mark won’t be the one riding you this morning. I figure if this BJ wants to run the Lazy K, he’d better prove he can handle it. I can’t think of any better way for him to prove himself than to ride you.

Over the past months, Whit took his duties as foreman seriously. He knew the thought of young ideas didn’t set well with Don. Although they continued to be friends, Whit began to notice how Don had cooled toward him. Whit chalked it up to jealousy, to a younger man taking his place, doing the job he did so well for almost forty years. The strained relations between the two of them saddened Whit, but with his new duties as foreman he couldn’t find the time to dwell on it.

When Mark died, almost two weeks ago, there were speculations as to the future of the Lazy K.

The morning after the funeral, Paul Kemmerman, Mark’s son, stilled the rumors. Mark had left the ranch to his grandchild, BJ. The child of Mark’s youngest son, Joe, BJ was raised in Illinois after Joe’s wife died.

The thought of a green kid running the Lazy K angered Whit. Mark had no right leaving the Lazy K to a kid who probably didn’t even know on which side to mount a horse.

Well, Whit thought to himself, after today, we’ll see who’ll be laughing. I’ve tried to ride Thunder more than once and found myself lying in the dirt for my efforts. It will be the same with the kid.

Whit didn’t expect to have to meet the new boss’ train. Yesterday when he rode in from the north pasture, he found Don waiting for him.

Don’t make any plans for tomorrow, Don told him. Paul just left. His wife’s Ma took sick in Houston and he has to go there tonight. It looks like the two of us will have to meet BJ’s train in the morning.

Whit shrugged his shoulders. Guess it don’t make no difference to me.

Don smiled broadly, but Whit had no idea why. Don rarely smiled and when he did Whit knew there must be a reason behind it.

Still reliving last night’s memory, Whit walked the horses from the corral to the house. He noticed Don hitching a team to the buckboard. What’s the wagon for Don? Whit asked. Can’t the kid ride?

Don began to laugh. Of course BJ can ride. Don’t know what you’re thinkin’ of, bringin’ Thunder with us. You know no one but Mark ever rode him. Do you really expect BJ to ride a horse you can’t even master?

You bet I do. The kid has some pretty big shoes to fill, it’s best he start filling them now.

Knowin’ you, there’s no use in arguin’ the fact, Don said. Why don’t you tie the horses on behind the wagon and ride up here with me?

Whit secured the reins of both horses to the wagon and climbed up onto the seat.

You still didn’t answer my question. Why bring the wagon if the kid can ride?

Stop and think about it, Whit. BJ is movin’ here. Do you plan to take trunks and bags on horseback?

Whit nodded in understanding. What’s he like? I mean you’re the only one who knew him.

I can’t tell you what BJ’s like. It’s been twelve years, things change and kids grow. You should know better than anyone how things change. I remember when you came here ten years ago. You couldn’t have been more than fifteen. Just remember Mark took a chance on you. BJ deserves the same.

Don’s words only irritated Whit further. Give him a chance! I think he’s getting one hell of a chance having the Lazy K dropped into his lap. I can’t believe Mark didn’t leave this ranch to Paul. Why leave it to a grandchild and not his own son?

Mark had his reasons. I suppose you deserve to know about them before you go judgin’ Mark too harshly, Don said. Mark had three sons. Luke was the oldest and Mark doted on him. He got himself killed early on in the war and I don’t think Mark ever got over it. After Luke died, Mark decided to leave the Lazy K to Joe, the youngest. Paul was never even considered. I guess you might say Mark always thought of him as Lydia’s child.

Lydia? Whit questioned.

She was Mark’s first wife. He loved her more than life itself. They were married young and had Luke right away. The boy couldn’t have been more than a few months old when Mark and me went on a trail drive to take some cattle to the rail head fifty miles away. He didn’t like leavin’ Lydia and Luke alone with only a few hands, but it had to be done. While we were gone, a man Mark fired for drinkin’ broke into the house and raped Lydia. He left her carrying his child as a reminder of what he did. It took a long time for Mark to be able to get close to Lydia after it happened. He even left Kansas and bought this spread in an attempt to get away from the bitter memories.

So Paul isn’t Mark’s son? Whit questioned.

Now you understand. Paul had a thirst for knowledge, but it took almost losin’ him in the war for Mark to accept it. Before then Mark couldn’t understand why Paul always kept his nose poked in a book whenever he finished his chores. After the war, Mark realized Paul would never have an interest in the ranch. He sent him to college and set him up in a law practice with the stipulation he never lay claim to the Lazy K. In return for his promise, Mark promised not let the truth be known about his real father. He let everyone continue to believe Paul was his own son. You understand this has to be kept in the strictest of confidence. I’m only telling you now because of BJ. I know you’ve been confused about this. Anyone in your place would be. I’ve always wished I didn’t know the story, but I lived it, along with Mark. I argued long and hard for him to leave this ranch to Paul and not BJ, but he wouldn’t listen.

Whit drew in his breath sharply. He would have never thought he’d hear such a thing about Mark. The man treated had him like a son for the past ten years. Under the circumstances, Whit could now understand why Paul seemed hard put to even tolerate Mark’s special attachment to him.

So, where does this put you, Don? Whit questioned.

Don laughed. Right in the middle. Once BJ can handle things on the Lazy K, I’ll be leavin’.

Leavin’? Whit asked.

I’ve got a sister up around Dallas. She lost her husband about three months back. She can’t run her place by herself and so she asked me if I’d come and help her out. Mark knew all about it and agreed it would probably be for the best once BJ got here. I’m too old to keep up with a place this size. Like Mark said when he asked you to be foreman, this ranch needs young ideas. My time is past.

For the first time in months, Whit could feel the old friendship he enjoyed with Don return.

Before he could question Don further, they pulled up in front of Paul’s house.

Might as well leave the horses here, Don said. No use in dragging them down to the station. I’m certain BJ will want to freshen up before we go out to the ranch.

Whit agreed and secured the horses to the railing of the porch before he climbed back up onto the wagon seat for the short drive to the train station.

~ * ~

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