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Amanda left the house through the front door and trekked down the sidewalk and the six concrete steps toward the black Suburban. Chris scooted from behind the steering wheel and stood waiting for her. As she neared, his face broke into a broad smile that showed perfect teeth. “Good morning, Mrs. Lockhart.” He opened the door to the backseat and held it for her.
“Good morning, Chris.”
Before she and Pic married, Chris had called her Amanda. She hadn’t mentioned that she preferred that. Instead, she had given up on it ever happening again. Back then, he had flirted with her a little and she had thought he might even have a crush on her.
She had been so flattered by that. She had always had rotten luck with men. The ones she had liked always seemed to like someone else, including her present husband who had married another woman while he was supposed to be her boyfriend. That had been years ago, but it still smarted if she let herself think about it.
She missed the bottom step and stumbled forward. “Oh!”
“Amanda!” He caught her upper arm with a firm grip and steadied her, keeping her from falling. “I’ve got you.”
Rattled by hearing him say her name, she looked up into his blue eyes, even bluer than her husband’s. “I’m—I’m sorry. I missed that bottom step.”
He gave her a smile and squeezed her arm. “It’s okay. You good now?”
“Yes,” she said shakily.
He guided her into the backseat and closed her door. As he scooted behind the wheel, she tried to remember if he had ever touched her before. “I still think this is silly. You should let me ride in the front at least.”
“This is safer.” Still smiling, he looked at her in the rearview mirror. “Buckle up.”
She buckled her own seat belt. Safer. That word again. Her thoughts traveled back a month ago, to that night in Fort Worth when she had walked out of a meeting at nearly midnight and found her SUV too damaged to drive. The sure knowledge that some person had rendered her vehicle unusable and stranded her alone in a dark parking lot in a strange place had terrified her. At that moment, she finally got it. Really got what Texas Ranger Blake Rafferty and Drake had talked about for months.
She had rushed back into the building, which, fortunately, wasn’t yet locked, called 911 and waited there until the cops showed up. Later, Pic and Chris had picked her up at the police department, both men relieved at finding her safe, but furious at her at the same time.
As Chris backed in an arc, the hateful quarrel she’d had with Pic on that day came back to her:
“I can’t go with you. I’ve got an afternoon meeting in town. What’s so all-fired important about a school meeting on a weeknight?”
“Networking. Some of the coaches from other schools are getting together and they invited me.”
Big sigh of impatience from her husband. “Chris can drive you.”
“And what would he do while I’m in a meeting? People stare, Pic. Someone wearing a gun and following me around like I’m ten years old embarrasses me. You know that. I can’t keep my mind on what I’m doing.”
“Jesus Christ, Mandy. It’s for your own safety. Looking out for your safety is what he’s being paid to do. Drake says—”
“I do not care what your brother says. I do not need his permission to do a damn thing. And I do not need to be shepherded. You tell Chris he is not to follow me.”
She had stalked out of the house, slammed the door behind her and driven herself to Fort Worth. Without Chris.
If she had let him drive her like Pic wanted her to, the vandalism itself and the uproar that followed wouldn’t have happened. Should she buy a pistol and learn to shoot it? Like Kate? Her younger sister-in-law could outshoot her brothers.
Amanda gave another mental sigh. She hadn’t bargained for a curtailment of her freedom when she married Pic.
But exactly what had she bargained for? She no longer knew. Words like robbery and kidnapping and ransom and a news story she had read about one of the celebrity families that in reality probably had less money than the Lockharts, being robbed of $10 million in jewelry dwelled in her mind.
Amanda wore no jewelry that would invite a robbery, but she was now part of a family worth an inestimable fortune. She had to accept what Blake Rafferty had told them, that robbery, kidnapping and ransom were part of the zeitgeist of the wealthy these days. In addition, according to Blake, someone wanted revenge against the Lockhart family and she was one of the revengees.
She corrected herself. Revengees is not a word. The English teacher in her could not be quieted.
Revenge for what? What had one or all of them done that called for harassment and terrorizing for more than two years?
“Chilly this morning.” Chris’s voice halted her musing.
“Yes, it is.” What else could be said about the weather?
As they rode the two miles to the gate, she watched him in the rearview mirror. He had a classically handsome male face—straight nose, well-defined lips, thick brown brows and long dark lashes framing beautiful blue eyes. He was such a good-looking man. She had heard his peers call him “Pretty Boy” in jest.
“Are you going to be with us for Christmas?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Oh. Too bad you aren’t going to be able to visit your family. Didn’t you tell me they’re in Indiana? Won’t you miss being with them?”
“I haven’t been home for holidays much since I joined the army. I don’t mind being here. Weather’s a lot better and we didn’t suffer too much last year.” He grinned at her in the mirror.
Last year, following Bill Junior’s instructions, Johnnie Sue and her helpers had prepared a Christmas feast for all of the security people on duty through Christmas and served it in the ranch hand’s house where they stayed. Fortunately, it was a four-bedroom house because since Drake had added people, a whole damn army of them seemed to be in and out of there all of the time.
“Well, the Lockharts aren’t Scrooges. Bill Junior wouldn’t hear of your people not having Christmas dinner.”
“Yes, ma’am. Mr. Lockhart’s a good man.”
Hah. Maybe. Maybe not. There were definitely those who would argue that point.
They approached the Double-Barrel’s heavy wrought-iron gate that today was festooned with two huge Christmas wreaths with red bows fluttering in the breeze. They waited a few seconds for it to automatically glide open.
Life at the ranch had changed since she first came here as Pic’s teenage girlfriend eighteen years ago. Back then, only a cattle guard existed. No rock stanchions flanked it. The rock stanchions had been constructed while she lived in Lubbock. The automatic wrought-iron gate had been added only recently, after Drake’s pickup was rammed by a hit-and-run driver.
Chris made a right turn onto the highway and picked up speed, headed for town. She settled in for the forty-five-minute ride.
***
SARAH’S PHONE BLEATED while she was still in bed. Half asleep, she groped for it and keyed into the call.
“I don’t want to go back to that horse thing today,” Tiffany said. “I didn’t like it. Rudy scares me.”
Horse thing. Lord God. Tiffany might be drawn to the western lifestyle and fall in love with cowboys, but she would never be a cowgirl. Sarah blinked herself awake. “But your daddy paid for it and I don’t think the money’s refundable.”
“I know. I want you to take Rudy and go in my place.”
A hundred reasons she couldn’t or shouldn’t do this pulled Sarah’s brow into a frown. “I’m not even supposed to be getting on a horse, especially a smart-aleck like Rudy. What makes you think I can handle him?”
“You’re a good rider and you said you wanted to ride.”
Sarah sat up, combed fingers through her hair and pushed it off her face. “Maybe I was bullshitting, Tiffany. Look, I took off the whole damn day at the grocery store yesterday. If I don’t go to work today Elmer’s liable to fire my ass. If I lost that job, where in Roundup, Texas, would I get another one? I already don’t hold up my end around here. I look for Jericho to kick me out any day.”
Four days a week, Sarah worked six hours a day as a clerk and cashier at City Grocery, the only grocery store in Roundup. She could stand on her feet only six hours at a stretch. Her latest doctor didn’t want her to do even that much.
“Jericho’s not going to kick you out and you know it.”
“I need to do something else, too. I need to wrap Jericho’s boots and finish the Christmas tree. And I’ve still got to make that second batch of cupcakes for Wyatt’s party.”
“If you’ll take Rudy to the horse thing and leave the mixes and frosting stuff out where I can find them, I’ll go over to your house and do all of that. I’ll even go to grocery store and work in your place. I’ve done it before.”
Indeed, she had. Many days, due to multiple surgeries and physical therapy sessions, Sarah had been unable to get to her job. Tiffany had filled in so Elmer Thompson didn’t hire somebody else. That was the way small towns were, Sarah had learned. People might gossip and say mean stuff, but when the chips were down, they helped one another.
Even in the face of Tiffany’s promises, Sarah stalled. Did she want to take Rudy the Rude to the horse clinic, deal with his behavior and risk getting hurt? What good would that do anybody? He wasn’t her horse. Or for that matter, he wasn’t Tiffany’s horse, either. Most bothersome of all was that Jericho would have a fit. “Lord, Tiffany, I just can’t—“
“Pleeeze?” Tiffany whined. “Please, please, please, Sarah. You know it’d be good for Rudy.”
Damn, Tiffany. She knew Sarah had a soft spot for Rudy. “I don’t know, Tiffany—”
“Please, Sarah?”
“I don’t understand why you don’t want to go. It’s fun.”
“’Cause that horse whisperer said Rudy could hurt me. You heard him. I was awake all-night worrying about it.”
Tiffany was a good person, but she wasn’t tough or brave. A total girlie-girl, she spent hours primping, manicuring, shopping and doing shit like arts and crafts. Still, because Sarah was a cowgirl, Tiffany tried to be one, too.
Unfortunately, no matter how hard she tried, Tiffany didn’t have the cowgirl gene. It was as simple as that. But she did have the loyalty gene and that made up for a lot of other shortcomings. She was the most trustworthy female friend her age Sarah had ever had. Sarah heaved a huge sigh. “You’re sure you want to do all of that, huh?”
“I’ll make the Christmas tree look great. I promise. Jericho’s present, too. I’ve got some real pretty ribbon with boots and spurs on it. I’ll bring to put on Jericho’s present.”
Tiffany was artsy-fartsy. Without a doubt, she would make everything pretty. “I don’t know what I’ll tell Jericho, but okay. And I’ll have to call Elmer and tell him. One thing though. If I do this, you’ve got to stop bawling over Burke. There can’t be any tears on the cupcakes.”
“What do you mean? Do I sound like I’m crying?”
“I’m just saying...”
“I’m not crying. Honest.”
“I think Jericho’s got a busy day planned. When he gets back from taking Wyatt to the bus, I’ll see if he’s got time to haul me and Rudy over there. I’ll call you back.”
Sarah swallowed a quick breakfast and made a phone call to Elmer Thompson. When Jericho returned, she explained the situation and asked him to take her and Rudy to the horse clinic at the Beckman ranch. He griped and lectured, but didn’t say no.
Sarah gathered the ingredients for chocolate cupcakes with chocolate buttercream frosting and left them in a neat pile on the counter. Then she trekked to the barn. While Jericho hooked the horse trailer to his pickup, she dragged her tack out of the tiny tack room, keeping an eye out for snakes with every step.
Grumbling through the whole trip, Jericho drove to Fisher’s house. He helped saddle Rudy then together, they fought him into the trailer. The dumb horse had to be in a good mood because he tried to bite her only once.
At Louise’s ranch, Jericho helped her unload him and told her he would be back later in the day to pick her and Rudy up. “You be careful, you hear?” were his parting words.
As she tried to line up with the other horses and owners, Rudy stamped, snorted and farted and tried to bite the neighboring horse. She barely controlled him. Damn stallion. They should all be castrated.
She pulled him out of line and on out of the arena. “You know something, horse? Bringing you here probably isn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done.”
You’re right about that, her imaginary friend sniped.
She checked around in the grass at the base of the hitching post outside Louise’s big barn, then tied Rudy to it and walked over to watch what Mr. Rattigan was doing with another horse. Lord, he was even better-looking this morning than yesterday. Creased and starched jeans, yellow and brown plaid long-sleeve shirt, tan leather vest, all of it enhancing his olive skin. Today, he wore a gimme cap with a Tractor Supply logo. He knew how to look like a cowboy.
Mid-morning, he called for a break. He left the arena, lowering his mic as he walked, came toward her and walked right past her to Rudy, his wake leaving a clean woodsy scent to tease her nose. High energy exuded from him. “Mornin’,” he said.
Was he talking to her or Rudy? Sarah couldn’t tell. Still, she said, “Good morning.”
He tried to run his hand down Rudy’s neck, but the horse backed his ears and jerked his head back, showing the whites of his eyes. Sarah closed her eyes, drew a deep breath through her nose and expelled it through her mouth. “I think he might be in a bad mood. He tried to bite me earlier.”
Mr. Rattigan tightly gripped Rudy’s bridle. “Hey, boy, what’s put you in a bad mood today?”
The dumb horse shuddered all over and tried to back away. He had that wild horse look in his eye, but Mr. Rattigan held a firm grip and kept talking softly to him, even managed to pat his neck. God, he was so good. Besides being able to calm a wild horse, he had that quality that always knocked Sarah’s socks off, like he was in command of all that surrounded him, even a mean horse.
Relaxing his grip on Rudy’s bridle, he turned to her, “Where’s your friend? Did she give up? Did I scare her when I told her this horse could hurt her?”
Sarah tilted her head to the side and angled a look up at him, closing one eye against the sunlight. “More or less. She isn’t a cowgirl. I’m taking her place.”
“I thought Rudy was her horse.”
“He is, but I’m doing her a favor.”
“You’re not afraid of him?”
“A little.” She shrugged. “But I’ve known a horse or two. More than Tiffany anyway.”
Mr. Rattigan’s perfectly defined lips tipped into a grin, showing perfectly aligned teeth and a dimple. A twinkle popped into his eyes that were as dark as Rudy’s. Besides being handsome, he was just plain cute. That crazy flutter started up in her stomach again.
“So how did you girls come by this ornery horse?” he asked.
She fumbled to find her tongue. “Uh, well, he isn’t ours. He belongs to Tiffany’s boyfriend. He left four months ago. Rudy hasn’t been ridden since. And, well, he wasn’t ridden much before that. Tiffany’s boyfriend didn’t have time and he might’ve been more afraid of him than Tiffany is.”
“I figured nobody had ridden him. That’s too bad. How old is he?”
“I don’t know. Three or four maybe. Burke the Jerk already had him when Tiffany met him.”
“Ah. He’s still a baby. Who had him?”
“Tiffany’s boyfriend. His name’s Burke. I call him Burke the Jerk.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because he’s an asshole.”
Mr. Rattigan paused a few seconds. “... I see.” He turned his attention to Rudy. “Okay, here’s what I think. Rudy’s got some scars. That, coupled with the way he behaves, like I told you yesterday, I suspect he’s received some cruel treatment. Did Tiffany’s boyfriend—”
“I asked Tiffany about that. She said she’d never seen Burke mistreat Rudy.” Saddened by the idea that Tiffany might be lying about that, Sarah shook her head. “I don’t know. I can’t imagine someone being mean to a horse to the point of doing something that would leave a scar.”
“Happens every day, darlin’. It’s a damn shame and totally unnecessary. It’s why I do what I do.”
Sarah nearly swooned. There was just something about a sexy-looking cowboy who called her “darlin’.”
He stepped away from Rudy and gave him a onceover. “He’s a nice animal. Strong. Good conformation. I like blood bays. Needs grooming. Being a stallion and being big and strong and untrained, he’s picked up more bad habits than usual, but I don’t think he’s an outlaw. It’s just that nobody’s ever taught him what’s expected of him.”
Sarah gave a nervous laugh. “Well, news flash, Mr. Rattigan. Nobody’s gonna do that. For sure, not Tiffany. She has a hard time tearing herself away from QVC and the Hallmark romance movies. I’m not a horse trainer myself and even if I was, I couldn’t do it right now. Tiffany probably oughtta just sell him if she could ever find a buyer. Or do what her dad wants and take him to the auction.”
“Tell you what. I never met a horse I didn’t like and I hate to see a young, strong horse with potential sent off to slaughter.”
“Do you think that would happen? I mean, people buy horses at the auction to use on their ranch or something, don’t they?”
Mr. Rattigan shook his head. “That won’t happen with this one. His unruliness is too obvious. I’m gonna help a couple of folks with their colts this morning, but this afternoon, I’ll do some work with Rudy. I’ll show you some things to help you two get along.”
“Mr. Rattigan, it isn’t me that needs to get along with him. He isn’t my horse.”
He gave her a pointed look. “Then why did you, and not your friend, bring him here?”
Well, really. Why did she? Her mouth flatlined. She lifted a hand then let it fall. “Hell, I don’t know.”
Then dawning came. That Tiffany! She was trying to fix her up with this guy. Tiffany had wanted her to bring this dumb horse to this clinic so she could spend time with Troy Rattigan. Sarah was too flummoxed by her own reactions to Mr. Rattigan to even be pissed off at Tiffany’s insincere concern for Rudy. And now Sarah was stumped for an answer to his question that wasn’t embarrassing. “Okay, then. ... Let’s work with him, I guess.”
“Good. The others can watch how to deal with a troublemaker.” He started to walk away but stopped and turned back. “By the way, you don’t have to call me Mr. Rattigan. My name’s Troy.”
Sarah’s heart skipped a beat. She knew his first name because she had seen it in the notice Louise Beckman had put in Roundup’s weekly newspaper, which wasn’t a newspaper, but mostly a bulletin board for the town.
Troy. She turned the name over in her mind, trying to remember if she had heard anyone else call him Troy. Louise called him “Rattigan.” Most of the people at the clinic called him “Mr. Rattigan.” Her thoughts dared to venture further. Sarah and Troy. Troy and Sarah. Their names fit, like a key in a lock. She found herself smiling like a silly goose.
