Billionaire Flawed 1(59)

Abigail nodded.

“Thanks, Daddy,” she acknowledged his compliment, adding as she made a broad gesture across the heather strewn fields around them, “The Diamond T is my home—not to mention my business. I’d far rather shuck corn than birth babies or clean up after some man, any day of the week.” She paused here, adding as she thrust a sturdy finger square at the center of her own denim clad chest, “This is my job, and I do it well. And I never have even the slightest desire to be anywhere else.”

Ray nodded.

“Well your Ma and I can’t be any prouder,” he affirmed, adding as he graced his daughter with a warm, loving smile, “As you well know, Girl, your grandparents were the settlers who claimed this land. And now that they’ve passed, your ma and I have every intention of doing them proud. But we can’t do it without our dear lady farmer.”

Striking a deep bow in response to his words, Abigail tipped her straw hat in her parents’ direction before stepping sidewalks down their row of planted corn; soon leaning forward to continue her work as she whistled absently to herself. It would only be an hour or two; she mused, until she and her folks would retire to their ranch house to enjoy a hearty noon meal made from home grown—and handpicked--ingredients.

“And before we come back to the fields, I do believe I’ll encourage Pa to take a good long nap,” she thought, adding with a slight frown, “He has been looking a bit weary as of late. He perhaps needs to take a bit of rest—that is, if Ma and I can hog tie him into staying out of the fields for five darned minutes.”

The joyful peace of a quiet Texas morning was shattered seconds later, as she heard a harsh, ragged cry rent the air around her; drawing her gaze toward the source of the sound.

She gasped outright as she saw her father’s wiry body collapse outright on the ground beneath him; clutching his heart as he let loose with a single pained moan and his eyes snapped shut.

Kneeling immediately beside her husband, a distraught Sandra grabbed her husband’s hands and screamed, “Ray!”

Running to join her parents at the center of the field, a stone-faced Abigail struggled to stay composed as she too knelt beside the motionless body of the man who lay still and silent between his own corn rows.

“Pa,” she breathed, shaking her head from side to side as she leaned forward to put her ear to his chest.

Her eyes flew wide as she heard no sign of a heart beat; and as she saw an aura of eerie stillness overtake her father’s body. His eyes remained closed, his lips relaxed, his tanned, robust face drained of all color, and his chest felt as hard and hollow as a jagged edge rock in the Texas desert.

“Pa,” she repeated, this time with a rough sob as she wrapped her arms tight around his limp shoulders. “No!”

Sandra said nothing, only wrapped her husband and her daughter in two loving arms as—true to her nature—she tried to love the hurt away.

“This time, though,” she said aloud, adding as she strove to wipe the tears that flew free down her daughter’s face, “I simply can’t do it.”





“I cannot believe that this has happened. Why?”

Since the death late last year of his beloved wife Elsa, Cal Hopkins had asked this question countless times; only to hear the empty echo of his own voice as—once again—he heard no answer.

How fast and far could a heart fall, he pondered; and how far and fast could a life fall apart? It was only a year ago that he and his beautiful Elsa, the love of his heart since their early school days, had been expecting their first child; receiving their good news in the wake of the most joyful and productive year of their lives.

Married at age 21, the couple was perceived by family and friends as the ideal representation of the perfect pair; a tall, muscular groom with thick ebony hair and eyes of crystal blue, paired with a petite golden haired woman who seemed the picture of femininity. Their wedding gift had come in the form of a large plot of land along the northern border of their native Texas; a lush green parcel that they knew would form the cornerstone of their lives together.

Soon they set to work side by side to turn a workable plot of land into a home and business; building a basic two-story wood plank house with a sloping roof and a homey front porch, and planting a field of Elsa’s chosen crop, the kind of sublime, sun-kissed golden roses that grew only in the heart of Texas.

“Elsa embodied the wild Texas rose,” Cal remembered, smiling slightly as he recalled his wife’s golden blonde, almond-eyed beauty. “It was no wonder that she loved those dang flowers so much. And when I saw how much money said dang flowers brought in, I grew to love them too.”