Free In His Will by Cathy Marie Hake

jaw dropped.
    “Well?”
    “That’s none of your business!”
    He grabbed her arm. “Make way, guys. Sondra needs to eat up.”
    “Stop this!” she hissed.
    “Give her a roll. They taste mighty fine.”
    “You knothead! She made ’em,” Edgar announced.
    Dylan paused for a second and looked at her. “You’re supposed to be resting. You made the pies. What were you thinking, making rolls, too?”
    “If you’re going to give her the business, best you do it up right,” the man behind her tattled. “She made that there potato salad and the chocolate cake, too.” He then tugged on Sondra’s maternity smock. “If he fires me, I expect a job on your spread.”
    “Are you kidding? You’ve just gotten the man so mad at me, I’m mincemeat! All I owe you is indigestion!” She set her plate down. “I already have a good enough case of it to last both of us!”
    “It’s no wonder. You push yourself too hard and don’t eat right,” Dylan snapped. “This kid is going to be a sickly little thing if you don’t start filling up with decent grub. When’s the last time you ate liver?”
    Momentarily closing her eyes in horror, she shuddered. “Liver?”
    “You heard me right. Liver. For iron.”
    “I take an iron tablet.”
    “Not good enough. You don’t get all you need from a stinking, little artificial pill. Quit stalling. When’s the last time you had liver? Last week? Two weeks ago?” When she shook her head, he growled threateningly, “Last month?”
    “Kindergarten.”
    “That does it!” He raised his voice, “Teresa, where’s the liver from this beast? Fix it up right quick. Sondra needs to eat it.”
    Sondra shook her head. “I won’t.”
    “Yes, you will. Your son deserves it.”
    “What did he ever do to you?”
    Dylan gave her a disapproving look.
    Pressing her hand over her stomach, Sondra complained, “You’re making my indigestion even worse, so stop scowling at me.”
    “We’ll walk you.”
    She gave him an incredulous look. “Walk me?”
    Nodding curtly, as if he’d come to some momentous decision and solved the entire problem, Dylan informed her, “Walking. Until your colic passes. It works great for horses.”
    Sondra turned away, and everyone glared at him. Now what did I do wrong? Suddenly his eyes widened and he stepped back, but the table stopped him. “Sond—” A perfectly good apple pie hit his face.

Nine
    Her phone jangled incessantly for the next hour. Sondra finally unplugged it. She curled up in bed and stewed. How dare Dylan treat her like that? A horse!
    Mixed in with her anger was a dawning sense of embarrassment. She’d actually hit Dylan with a pie—took the tin and smeared the whole thing all over his face. He must be absolutely livid. She’d humiliated him in front of all of his men.
    He was clueless. I overreacted. She lay in the dark and winced. Apologizing to him wouldn’t be easy, but she owed him that much. In fact, nothing would ever cancel the debt she owed him. Yes, he’d get land and livestock at the end of the year. . . but he’d earn it.
    One thing for sure: Dylan needed the land. Wisely enough, he’d refrained from repeating his desire to have first bid at the remainder of the ranch after the year lapsed. He was doing the nearly impossible, running two ranches. She appreciated it, but at the same time, on nights like tonight, Sondra was reminded it wasn’t an altruistic gesture. He helped her because of what he’d get in the end.
    Doing the books let her plainly see what the value of the cattle would be, come reckoning time. Then, too, Mr. Cheviot had advised her to get the land appraised so she could adequately deduct it from the property tax when it came due. Dylan was putting in hard work—but in the end, he would walk away with a very handsome reward. If he failed, he was no worse off—but she’d lose her home, her dreams, and the future she wanted for her son.
    From the day she moved in, she’d never considered that tract