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Forced off her feet by pain, Sarah sat on a stump outside Beckman’s big barn, watching Rudy graze in the pasture across the gravel driveway. And thinking. She couldn’t stop thinking about the dude in the white pickup. What plan did he have for the Hatch Ranch?
She forced her thoughts to the horse clinic. When she and Rudy had first arrived, Troy had told her he wanted to spend a little extra time with Rudy, but he wouldn’t be able to until later in the day. He helped her unsaddle him and put him in a pasture away from the other horses. Rudy was a fairly well-behaved horse around Troy. Sarah could almost forget that he was a stallion that refused to play well with others.
A hollow feeling gnawed at her stomach. She didn’t wear a watch, but she could tell by looking at the sun that dinnertime had passed. In her imagination, the lunchmeat sandwich she had put inside one of her saddlebags took on the image of a T-bone steak. She was talking herself into going into the barn where Troy had taken her saddle and saddle bags when he walked over, leading his horse. “Hey, girl, whatcha doing? You okay?”
She looked up with a squint, shading her eyes with her hand. “I had to take a minute. Is it lunchtime yet?”
“Sure is. Did you bring a lunch?”
“My sandwich is in one of my saddlebags.”
“I’m gonna eat dinner in my trailer. Come over and eat with me. I’ve got a comfortable chair you can sit in.”
What? OhmyGod! She looked up at him, saw the twinkle in his eye, the dimple in his cheek. He was so damn good-looking. He had to be used to women swooning over him. Well, she would not be one of them. Not obviously, anyway. “Really?”
“Sure.”
She rose, unstable on her feet after standing all morning. Damn. That last Abilene doctor and that physical therapist might be right. Maybe she shouldn’t stand for long periods of time without taking a timeout. Fuckin’ snakes.
Troy’s hand clasped her elbow, steadying her.
“I’m sorry, but could I, uh, ask you for a favor?”
He continued to hang on to her elbow. “Ask away.”
“Would you mind going into Louise’s tack room and getting my sandwich out of my saddlebag? I don’t like big barns, especially ones I’m not familiar with.”
“Sure. Where’s the sandwich?”
“Thank you so much. It’s in the left saddlebag.”
“Hold on to Batman.” He handed her his horse’s reins and strode toward the wide barn door. He soon returned carrying the paper sack with her sandwich in it and handed it to her. “I’m gonna put Batman in the corral, then we’ll go eat.”
He led Batman off toward the corral. Though unable to put weight on her leg without extreme pain, Sarah limped along behind him. After a few steps, the pain lessened in intensity, but the stiffness in her leg never went away. Fuckin’ snakes.
He came out of the corral and grasped her elbow again. “You sure you’re okay?”
She nodded. “It takes me a couple of minutes to get going. If you don’t mind, I can’t go fast.”
“Take all the time you need. Hang on to my arm.” He reached for her sandwich. “Here, let me take this. ... What’s up with your leg?”
“A snake bit me. On my ankle. I’m limping ’cause I just had a skin graft a little while ago. I haven’t been very good at doing the physical therapy this time around.”
“Skin graft? Was it a rattlesnake?”
“Just a plain old regular rattlesnake like you see all over.” She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “It wasn’t even a very big one, but it sure messed me up.”
If she told him all that had happened to her health-wise after that fateful snakebite, they would be here a week. She intended to say no more, not wanting to put him into the category of those who wanted to feel sorry for her. She might want a lot of things from and with Troy Rattigan, but pity wasn’t one of them. “Is your horse gonna be okay? What’s his name, Batman?”
“He’s got water and I gave him a snack. He’ll be fine. He’s used to our routine. He knows we’re partners.”
At the door to his trailer, a swarthy guy who was bigger than Troy and wearing sunglasses opened the door and held it. She hesitated. Who were the two men who followed Troy around? She had heard somebody say bodyguards. Could that be true? Not one time had she ever met anybody who needed a bodyguard.
“Here we go.” Troy urged her up the two metal steps, but she stopped on the first step and glanced back over her shoulder for one more look at the big guy. Jesus Christ. She was more nervous than the first time she had gone to church with Bonnie and Jericho.
“Problem?” Troy asked.
She turned back and faced the open door. “Uh, no.”
She stepped inside, into a typical LQ interior. She and Justin used to have a trailer similar to this one. After he hit the ProRodeo circuit, he hauled at least two, sometimes three rope horses, depending on where he went, taking no chance of finding himself without a trained mount in good shape.
After his death, she had sold all of his horses as well as the trailer. She and Justin hadn’t owned much that was all theirs, but they had owned those horses and equipment. The money from the sale had gone toward his debts. Traveling and hauling horses from one rodeo to another wasn’t cheap.
On top of the debts he had incurred chasing rodeos, he was a defendant in a personal injury lawsuit resulting from a bar fight in some hole in the wall in Montana. Justin was high-tempered all of the time, but when he was drunk, he was mean, too.
She had come back to Texas with nothing but Wyatt and what was in her suitcase. What would she have done if Bonnie and Jericho hadn’t welcomed her?
Troy lifted off his cap and dropped it on a long sofa upholstered in tan leather, then gestured toward the back of the trailer. “Restroom?”
Heat crawled up her neck. She hesitated, staring down at her boot toes. “Well...”
Her only choices were to go all the way to Louise Beckman’s house, which was a long walk or use the Porta-Potty Louise had brought in for the clinic. Or squat. Besides being unpleasant, the Porta-Potty was a perfect place for a snake to lurk. No way would she squat outside. A snake could be anywhere in the first place and her leg didn’t like to bend in the second place.
Well, hell. This was a small space. Silly to be embarrassed by natural bodily functions. “Okay. If you don’t mind.” She limped toward the bathroom door.
When she returned to the living room, he gestured toward a large reclining chair. “Have a seat. Put your feet up.”
She walked toward the recliner. “Who’s that guy outside?”
“Security. His name’s Sal.”
Was he kidding? Her heartbeat ticked up and a familiar trembling began to shimmy inside her stomach. Panic. An almost uncontrollable urge to break out and run like some wild horse. A long time ago, some psychologist provided by the great state of Texas had told her she had anxiety attacks. Not as often as in the past, but still ...
That visit from that Barton dude had set her off.
She stopped and looked at Troy, her brow tugged into a frown. “You need security? You’re in some kind of danger?”
He shook his head. “No, no. Nothing for you to worry about. It’s a long story. Go ahead and have a seat.” He gestured again toward the recliner.
She looked around, saw no other seating except a built-in leather sofa. Happy to get off her feet, she eased down to the edge of the chair seat. “But where will you sit?”
“There.” He pointed to the sofa. His head tilted toward the eating booth, the seats also made of leather. “Or over there.”
He disappeared into the restroom. She scooted all the way back in the recliner, releasing a huge sigh at the reduced pain. She had been inside a few other trailers, but she had never seen one with a reclining chair.
He soon returned, picked paper plates and two plastic cups out of a cupboard, followed by dragging a gallon-jug of milk from the refrigerator. He poured the cups full. “Sorry to be in a rush. We’ve got more horses and people than I expected. We ran a little late and I try not to take more than an hour at noon.”
“Oh, that’s okay.”
Smiling, he walked over and handed one of the cups of milk to her. She rarely drank milk, but she accepted the cup.
He went back to the kitchen counter, unwrapped her sandwich and placed it on a paper plate, “How did you manage to get a snakebite? They’ll usually run from you.”
“There’s some wooden steps off the porch of Jericho’s house and a bush in the corner. It was hiding underneath the bush. I was wearing sneakers with no socks instead of boots like I normally wear. I stepped off the bottom step and started along beside the flower bed and he got me on the ankle. It was dumb.”
And that’s when the nightmare began, but she couldn’t discuss that without breaking down. That day, she thought she was going to die. Then, a short time later, she thought she would lose her leg. Instead of letting that happen, Jericho had mortgaged his land and bought her the best medical care he could find. She had been treated by two of the best research hospitals in Texas and another one back East.
Troy added some potato chips from a big bag he pulled out of a cabinet. “Bad business, a rattlesnake bite.”
She nodded. “Yeah. It hasn’t been fun.” He brought the paper plate to her. She dredged up a smile. “This is nice of you.”
“Just be sure you leave me a big tip.” He grinned and winked.
Swooning time again.
He returned to the refrigerator and pulled out packages of ham and cheese and made himself a sandwich, opened a cabinet and brought out a package of Oreos. “My diet is pretty simple when I’m on the road.”
He smiled again and scooted onto the booth seat with his own sandwich. He opened the package of cookies. “You’re from Roundup?”
She nodded. “Well ... for now.”
He leaned across the small area and offered her cookies. “What, you’re going somewhere?”
If only she knew. She took two cookies. “I’m not planning on it tomorrow, but you never know what’s gonna happen.”
And nobody knew that to be true more than she did.
His mouth tipped up in that cute grin that showed his dimple. “That’s a fact.”
“Somebody said you do these clinics all the time.”
He nodded. “I do. Trying to save a few horses from their well-meaning owners. What’s going on with Rudy today?”
She shrugged. “Nothing much. He stayed at Tiffany’s house last night and Jericho and I picked him up this morning. I wish I’d never gotten involved with him. I wish my boy hadn’t gotten into it. He thinks he’s gonna end up with Rudy as his horse. I’m afraid we’re somehow gonna break his heart.”
“You’ve got a son?”
She nodded. “He’s nine.”
“What if I tell you I won’t let that happen? What if I assure you your boy will end up with a horse?”
“There’s more to it than that. Jericho doesn’t want any more horses.” She nibbled at her sandwich then swallowed a drink of milk. “This is really nice of you,” she said again. “I haven’t had a glass of milk in ages.”
“You’re divorced?”
Over three years had passed since Justin’s death, but she still had a hard time looking into somebody’s eyes and saying flat out that he had died. She hated the word died. “He, um ... passed away.”
A few beats of silence filled the space. Troy was the one who spoke next. “Oh, I didn’t know. ... I didn’t mean to be insensitive.”
She swallowed the tears that gathered in her throat every time she told someone about Justin and looked up. “I know. ... That’s okay.”
“How long have you been a widow?”
She studied the layers of cheese and lunchmeat in her sandwich. “That’s crazy, that word, you know? I never think of myself as a widow. Seems like you oughtta be old if you’re a widow.”
“Your husband was sick with something?”
She shook her head. “He was in good health. Great shape. He, uh ... had an accident.” She heaved a great breath. “A ladder fell with him on it. Broke his neck and fractured his skull.” She looked him in the eye. “He was thirty-three years old.”
Shock registered in Troy’s eyes. Shock was everybody’s reaction if she told them what had happened to Justin. She bit into her sandwich, chewed and swallowed. “Sometimes, if I let myself think about it, it takes my breath. It was so freaky. One minute I was standing there watching him and the next he ... he was on the ground and he was unconscious.”
A burn rushed to the back of her eyes, but she blinked it away. “He did a lot of things that could have killed him. I mean, he grew up on a ranch and rodeoed for years, but—” She stopped, shook her head again and swallowed a drink of milk.
“You don’t have to talk about it. ... unless you want to, that is.”
“I’m getting better at talking about it. I mean, he’s been gone over three years.”
A frown passed over Troy’s brow. “How old are you?”
Hah. He was trying to reconcile her age and Wyatt’s age to the fact that she had been a widow for three years. That was what everybody did. “Twenty-six. I know. The numbers don’t make sense.”
He appeared to think about that for a moment. Then, “I knew you weren’t a tenderfoot. I can tell you’ve been around horses.”
She nodded. “Once, I thought I was going to be a barrel racer. But I’m not supposed to ride at all right now.”
“Because of your leg?”
She looked up. He continued to eat and drink, obviously waiting to hear her answer to his question. “But it’s gonna get better,” she said.
They went on to discuss the NCHA finals and Troy’s horse. He even showed her pictures. Dandy’s Little Lady was a beautiful horse. She looked like a champion. Talking about her was easier than talking about herself. When they left the trailer, Troy exited first and offered her his hand as she stepped down the two metal steps. The big guy was there again.
As they started toward the corral, she glanced back over her shoulder at the “security.” Something weird was going on with Troy Rattigan.
From the corral, Batman watched and waited for them. Before going into the corral, Troy stopped her. “If you need the restroom, feel free to go into my trailer. I told Sal.”
“Thanks. That’s really nice of you. Guess I’m not as agile as I thought I was.”
Inside the corral, Troy patted Batman’s neck and talked to him. The horse nuzzled his cheek. The man seemed to have a love affair with every horse that got near him. Bringing Batman’s reins around, he grinned, flashing perfect, straight teeth. “Well, it’s show time.” He gave her a wink and mounted up.
She gave him a thumbs-up and he rode away. A bond had formed between them, but what did it amount to?
Janie popped up. Stupido!
Oh, God, you’re right, Janie. Just don’t let me forget it.
***
NO SWIM CLASS TOOK place on Wednesday afternoon. Eager to arrive back at the Double-Barrel before Pic came into the house, Amanda called Chris and told him to pick her up at the end of her English class.
Thank God he arrived on time. She still hadn't gotten past being embarrassed by a bodyguard dropping her off at the school and picking her up.
He stood with the SUV’s back door open and she dashed from the warm building. Shivering, she climbed into the backseat’s comfort. Only a few words of greeting passed between them. Amanda appreciated that he seemed to know when she preferred not to talk.
Soon, they reached the highway and picked up speed. The hum of heavy rig's big engine and the tires against the pavement lulled her. She rested her head against the back of the seat, her eyelids sagged and fluttered closed as she replayed last night's insane fight with Pic.
After cleaning the kitchen, she couldn’t bring herself to lie in bed beside him. He had crushed her. She went to the den where a low fire still burned in the fireplace. She wrapped herself in an afghan and watched TV through a veil of tears.
Unlike Betty Lockhart, Amanda found comfort in the den's rustic atmosphere. She liked the wood-paneled walls and coffered ceiling that matched them. A massive white limestone fireplace with a thick solid oak mantel stood on one wall, flanked by a wooden gun and knife cabinet and more cabinetry hiding a mini-bar and bookcases stuffed with books of all kinds. Aubusson rugs mixed with cowhides covered the hardwood floor. In that environment, the heavy leather-upholstered over-size furniture strategically arranged in front of the big-screen TV felt cozy and homey.
At midnight, she debated stretching out and sleeping on the long sofa, but Johnnie Sue would come to work at four-thirty or five and quiz her about why she was there. She could sleep in one of the guest rooms, but going into her and Pic’s suite for her warm nightshirt might wake him and that could turn out to be more awkward than she wanted to experience.
Even worse, Johnnie Sue would expect an explanation for her using a guest room. Then the busybody would whip her helpers from town into action changing the sheets and re-cleaning the room so everything would be spotless for guests who might come for Christmas.
The women who cleaned would go back to town and tell everybody they saw that Pic Lockhart and his wife were “having problems.” Amanda worked at not fueling gossip about the family she had married into. Enough of it traveled the county without her contribution.
So much activity was a damn waste of time and energy anyway. Without Betty coming, no one would be using the extra rooms. Even if Pic’s grandmother came, someone usually drove to town and picked her up on Christmas Day, then took her home at the end of the day. She hadn’t spent the night in years.
Amanda finally gave up the idea of sleeping in another room. When she went to her and Pic’s suite, he was sound asleep. Where she slept and what she wore—or not—didn’t matter. She changed into her nightshirt, eased into bed and clung to the edge of the mattress on her side. Pic didn’t know she was there.
She slept at some point. When she awoke this morning, he was already gone and she hadn’t heard him get up and dress.
Her thoughts bounced back to today at school. Fragile as a moth’s wings, her emotions had been in a turmoil all day, keeping her on the verge of tears. Half a dozen people asked her if she felt well. I must be picking up a cold, she told them. But the truthful answer was, No, I don’t feel well. I feel like shit.
She stared out at the passing winter landscape. The mesquite trees had lost their lacy light-green leaves. Their bare branches looked twisted and black. The only green foliage to be seen was the dark green cedar trees and a few scattered live oaks. This part of Texas looked nothing like West Texas where the landscape had a cleanliness about it. Even after so much time had passed, she still had a soft spot in her heart for the arid high plains.
Missed opportunities that would have taken her back there drifted into her thoughts. Opportunities such as the job as head coach of the girls’ swim team at Odessa High School. Coaching at a large prestigious West Texas school might have been a once-in-a-lifetime chance to become a highly respected coach, a springboard to going on and getting her Masters, followed by coaching in a college. She turned it all down to marry Pic.
He knew she had been thinking about returning to West Texas, which had probably spurred him to propose in the first place. She never told him Odessa High School had actually offered her a contract even before he proposed. Was declining that offer going to turn out to be one of biggest regrets in her life? Where would she be now if she had made a different choice? No day went by that she didn’t wonder at least once.
Then, all of a sudden, the SUV was slowing and they were turning into the Double-Barrel’s entrance. Motoring along the two-mile paved driveway, she forced herself awake and composed herself. She looked for Pic’s pickup parked in front of the office where it often was at this time of day, but didn’t see it.
They came to a stop in front of the ranch house. Not knowing what to expect inside, she hesitated. A rebellious part of her was tempted to march into the house, drag her suitcases out of the storeroom and leave the Double-Barrel. Unfortunately, she had leased her house in town to a new teacher and his family. Other than some motel room somewhere, she had nowhere to go.
Besides that, if she left, she would have to drive away in the Cadillac SUV Bill Junior had bought for her to drive and that galled her. Indeed, the shiny dark-blue vehicle was beautiful, with more luxuries than she had ever had in a car, but it wasn’t hers. It belonged to the damn ranch.
“Drop me at the back door, please,” she told Chris.
He dutifully pulled around to the side of the house, scooted out and opened the passenger door for her. She thanked him, he backed out and drove away.
As she shed her coat in the utility room and hung it in the closet, a delicious aroma wafted from the kitchen. She followed the smell and saw Johnnie beating something with a long wooden spoon in a big copper bowl. “Hey. Whatcha making?”
The housekeeper glanced up, but didn’t stop her task. “Well, hello. I didn’t hear you come in. I’m making some peanut brittle to take out to the bunkhouse. A little Christmas treat for those poor ol’ cowboys. I want to get it done before that storm moves in here and the humidity gets too high.”
“Ah. Good idea.”
Amanda had no idea that humidity affected peanut brittle. She had never made it in her life, or any other homemade candy. Sweets were not on her diet. Sugar was unhealthy and bad for her teeth. The housekeeper carried the bowl over to another counter and poured the contents onto a large flat pan lined with parchment paper. Amanda watched the hot mixture spread itself into an irregular circle. “What happens to it now?”
Idle talk. She wasn’t the least bit interested in the candy-making process. She would never make it herself.
“I let it cool and get hard, then I break it into pieces,” Johnnie Sue answered. “What’s going on in town today?”
“Hm, cold. It was quiet. No new gossip. Pic’s pickup isn’t at the office. You haven’t heard from him, have you?”
“He called earlier.” Johnnie Sue scraped the bowl clean with the rubber spatula and carried it and the bowl to the sink. She turned on the faucet and placed the utensils under the stream of hot water. “Somebody called and told him Bill Junior was down in Brownwood at an old friend’s house. Pic went down there to get him.”
Hah. Code for girlfriend. Most likely some floozy the old reprobate picked up in a bar. She shoved her hand into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone, checked for calls and text messages. Nothing. Worry began to nag at her.
“Did someone go with him? Brownwood’s a long way from here.”
Johnnie Sue opened the dishwasher and added dishes. “I think they have to have his pickup towed. Pic said Bill Junior had a wreck.”
Amanda’s heart jolted. Her eyes bugged. No point in even asking if the man was drunk. “Oh, my God. Was he hurt? Was anyone else hurt?”
“Didn’t sound like it. He drove into a bank of an irrigation ditch. Marcus took Pic down there.”
That Pic had communicated this information to the housekeeper rather than his wife sent a chill through Amanda. He knew she would worry, but he hadn’t cared? “Did he say what time he’ll be home?”
“Late was all he said.”
Still stunned that she hadn’t heard any of this information directly from Pic, Amanda turned to leave the kitchen. “I’m going to change my clothes.”
“I’ll get supper together soon as I finish cleaning up here,” the housekeeper said from behind her. “Since it’s just you and me, I made us some soup earlier. Hope that’s good enough.”
Striding toward her and Pic’s suite, Amanda didn’t turn and let Johnnie Sue see the tears gathered in her eyes. “That’s great. I had a big lunch.”
In fact, Amanda hadn’t eaten all-day. Johnnie Sue had made her a lunch to take with her to school, but she had been too upset to eat it. She had given it to another teacher.
Once inside the suite, she checked her cell phone more thoroughly. No messages, no missed calls. She pressed in Pic’s cell number, but the call went to voice mail. She disconnected and typed in a text message: JS told me ur dad had a wreck. Hope everything OK.
She changed into jeans and a red sweater with a jolly Santa face on front. It looked nothing like what she usually wore to school. She didn’t want Pic to see her in clothing that reinforced what he said last night just in case he came home sooner than “late.”
All through supper of creamy potato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches with the housekeeper, Amanda stewed over not hearing from her husband. The housekeeper prattled along, occasionally asking prying questions. Even if Johnnie Sue wasn’t a smart old bird, how could she not sense that something was wrong between her and Pic?
After the housekeeper left for home, Amanda again curled up under the thick afghan in the den and watched several shows on TV. At ten o’clock, she turned off TV. Her phone warbled and Pic’s name lit up the tiny screen. She quickly keyed into the call. “Hi, I’m so relieved to hear from you. Everything okay? I’ve been worried about you.”
“I told you last night there’s no need for anybody to worry about me. Listen, I’m still in Brownwood. Gonna spend the night. Looks like Dad’s truck’s totaled. I’ve got to get it towed and get Hank to come down here and get us. I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t know what time. Just go to bed and quit worrying about us.”
His voice sounded weak and strained, the way he sounded when he was worn out. She leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees, not wanting to miss a word he said. “Where—where are you staying? What can I do to help you? Couldn’t Chris and I come down there to get you?”
“Nah. No point in you missing school and the weather’s supposed to be bad. Marcus is here with us, so Chris will need to pick up the slack back there at the ranch.”
That was a sharp, talking-down-to-her tone. Concern turned into annoyance. Damn you, Pic. She straightened and drew in a breath. “Okay, then. I guess I’ll see you when I see you.” Scowling, she disconnected. Jerk!
She sat there thinking. As conversations went, that one was short and to the point. No “I love you,” no “I miss you” and no information about where he would be spending the night. Tears brimmed her eyes again. Dear God. What had happened to them as a couple? Once they had been so close. Now, in a matter of a couple of days, Pic behaved like a stranger.
In the wee hours, the expected storm arrived with a vengeance. Rain pelted the roof and windows. Strong winds whistled around the house’s corner and sent the windmill’s fan and tail to racing and shifting. She glanced at the alarm clock on Pic’s side of the bed. 4:00 a.m. Almost time for Johnnie Sue to show up in the kitchen.
Amanda left the bed and walked to the door, opened it a crack and listened for noises coming from another part of the house. She heard nothing from the kitchen, saw no trace of light. She had lived alone most of her life, had never been afraid, but she had never spent a night alone in this sprawling house. The maze of rooms and uncountable doors and windows made it damn spooky, even with hired security all over the place. For a second, she had an urge to make a sweep of the whole house to reassure herself that all of the doors and windows were locked.
Scolding herself, she returned to bed, lay back on the pillow and tried to plan, but Pic’s words echoed in her head: ... I’ve been taking care of myself a long time. No need for anybody to worry about me. ...
