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The next morning, Amanda felt Pic leave the bed. Instead of opening her eyes, getting up and showering with him, she feigned sleep. When the thrum of the shower stopped, she buried herself deeper into the warmth of the comfortable bed.
Pic must have dressed inside his dressing room because almost no sound came from him. She continued to pretend sleep, but her mind didn’t sleep.
Last night, though her heart hadn’t been in makeup sex, she participated. He had been sweet, pushing every one of her hot buttons. She could never fault him as a lover. Normally, he would have driven her to half a dozen orgasms. Last night, she struggled to reach one that she didn’t fake.
She accepted his apology. Refusing could be the beginning of the end of her life with him and she didn’t want that. But that didn’t mean she would ever forget Tuesday night’s severe dressing down. Too much alcohol was no excuse for a verbal assault.
They had talked until late, easier in the dark of night. For about thirty seconds of those long conversations, she considered confessing her sin and begging for Pic’s forgiveness, but her strong sense of survival told her to take a deep breath and move on. The passage of time glossed over many sins.
Given Pic’s history, if he knew what she had done, he would despise her and makeup sex, no matter how hot and sweet, wouldn’t cure that.
Beyond that, the whole Lockhart family would despise her. Pic and his family had already had a bitter and expensive experience with an unfaithful woman at a time when the ranch was under financial pressure and a large divorce settlement had created a great hardship. No one of them would tolerate another.
Pic left the room, quietly closing the bedroom door. She flopped to her back and stared into dawn’s gray light, concentrating on the faint outline of the ceiling fan. Oh, to be able to lie in bed and nurse her wounds, try to assuage the guilt that clawed inside her.
Until this moment, she thought the worst thing that had ever happened to her, after the loss of her parents, was being arrested and accused of being an accomplice in her ex-husband’s grand theft. This was worse because the day the police had hauled her away from her Lubbock home in handcuffs, she had been innocent. Her innate optimism had sustained her in believing the police and the court would come to see that.
This morning, no such saving grace existed. She wasn’t innocent. She had done more than cheat on her husband. She had risked hurting someone she considered to be her friend, endangered his job and his future and risked her own happiness and her own future.
She gave a huge sigh and covered her face with both hands. She would never drink again. If her moral compass hadn’t been knocked off-kilter by too much wine, a visit to a Fort Worth hotel with a man who wasn’t her husband wouldn’t have occurred.
Though she didn’t want to get up and dress for school, she had to. She wouldn’t be going back there until after New Year’s. A few tasks needed to be done to wrap up the year and couldn’t be easily handled by anyone else.
A light tapping sounded on the bedroom door. Johnnie Sue, no doubt, the nosiest old woman she knew. God, if only she could ignore her. She heaved another sigh. “Just a minute,” she called.
Leaving the bed, she picked up her robe and opened the door to the housekeeper. “Sorry to wake you up, hon. You’re gonna be late.”
“I know. I’ll hurry. Is it raining? Snowing? What?”
“Nope. No moisture. But it’s colder than—”
Amanda closed the door, cutting the housekeeper off. She dragged herself to the bathroom and turned on the shower. Lathering herself with shower gel, she found half a dozen tender places left over from last night. Sex with Pic could be a physically challenging event. At six-four, he was a big man in top shape who didn’t know his own strength. What would sex with him be like for a woman who was less athletic than she? She had pondered this question more than once.
In the privacy of the steam-filled shower, Chris barged into her mind and heart. He would be waiting to drive her. How would she face him? She fought back another spate of tears.
As soon as she left the shower, she checked her phone for a call from someone from the school informing her that no classes would be held today. No such luck.
She dressed in black slacks and a green turtleneck sweater adorned with a tiny candy cane print. Very Christmasy. Finally, she pulled on tall boots. She searched her closet for her long coat, then remembered that last night, she had left the coat and warm scarf in the utility room closet.
Calling on the inner steel that had taken her through every crisis she had ever faced, starting with Pic’s unfaithfulness when she was still in high school, she walked toward the kitchen.
In the warm kitchen, neither Pic nor his dad was anywhere to be seen, nor was Johnnie Sue. Happy not to encounter any of them, she drew a cup of coffee, then checked the warming oven to see what the housekeeper had cooked for breakfast. Toast, bacon and scrambled eggs that had lost their fluffiness.
She was still eating when Johnnie Sue came in from outside, peeling off gloves in the utility room. She shrugged out of a puffy coat. “Lord, it’s cold out there.”
“What’s the temperature?”
“Below thirty the weather report said and the wind’s a blowing. Thank God there ain’t no moisture. We’d have ice all over the place.”
Amanda picked up her phone, logged into a weather app and checked the report for herself.
“I’m supposed to tell you that Marcus will be driving you to school,” Johnnie Sue added. “He’s waiting whenever you’re ready.”
Amanda’s heartbeat made an uptick. She schooled her expression to show nothing. “Oh? Where’s Chris?”
“Marcus didn’t say.”
No doubt Chris wanted to face her this morning no more than she wanted to face him. She left breakfast unfinished, got to her feet and fixed a thermal mug of hot coffee. “Need anything from town?” she asked the housekeeper as she did every day.
“If you’ve got time, you could go by the grocery store and get me some cinnamon and a big package of corn tortillas. I didn’t get enough when I was at the grocery store up in Camden the other day. Troy will be in tonight. You know how he likes Mexican food. I’m cooking the whole shebang for supper. Enchiladas, tacos and beans and all the trimmings.”
“Oh, right. I almost forgot he’s coming home.”
She pulled on her coat in the utility room and left the house, one hand stuffed into her coat pocket and carrying her coffee with the other. Marcus waited at the end of the sidewalk, holding the back door of one of Redstone’s black SUVs open. He was more or less the leader of the security group. He was older than Chris and all business. He had been here for two years now and he and Pic had become friends.
Did he know what she and Chris had done? For that matter, did the whole security team know? ... And if they did, would they tell?
Once they moved past the cursory good-morning-it’s-cold-outside conversation, they said nothing else. They had almost reached the Drinkwell city limits before she summoned the nerve to ask, “Where’s Chris this morning. Is he sick?”
“Yes, ma’am. He said he caught a bug. He had a fever.”
Amanda swallowed. Dear God! How was she going to deal with the situation she had created? “Hope it’s nothing serious.”
***
TROY BEGAN HIS FINAL class with a smaller number of participants. Who could blame them for choosing not to brave the piercing north wind and cold temperature? He counted seven remaining. He classified them as the “true believers.” They paced, rubbing their hands together for warmth and petting their horses.
Before coming outside, he had pulled on silk long johns. He added a quilted vest, a down bomber jacket, a warm neckerchief and wool-lined gloves. Except for his feet, he was almost comfortable. “Time to end this clinic and hit the road for home,” he told Batman as he stripped off the stallion’s blanket and saddled him.
The horse snorted at him.
He disciplined himself not to look for Sarah and Rudy, although he regretted missing the chance to work with Rudy again.
He spent the first half of the morning giving each horse owner a summary of her horse and what she could do to make it and herself happier. He hoped he was making the horses’ lives easier. As for the owners, well, who knew?...
He called for a break mid-morning. Lou, bundled up to her ears in a thick parka and a red plaid scarf tied around her head, walked over to the edge of the arena where he was adjusting Batman’s cinch. “Mornin’, Lou. A little on the frosty side this morning.”
“Tell me about it. Water tanks don’t have that much ice though. Long as the ol’ cows can get a drink, we’ll get along. They say it’s gonna warm up this afternoon.”
“Let’s hope. Listen, I’m gonna try to wind this up around noon. By then, I’ll be an icicle and I’m sure people have got places to be for the holidays.”
“That’s okay, but I’ve got a favor to ask.”
“Shoot.”
“Sarah Karol? She’s got a nine-year-old boy.”
Uh-oh. He dropped the fender on his saddle, straightened and gave her his attention. “And?”
“He wants to be a horse trainer. Sarah told him she’d try to arrange for him to meet you. He gets out of school at noon and Jericho’s willing to bring him out here. I don’t suppose you’d hang around to say hello to him.”
Troy remembered being eight years old himself. With no father, his mother gone and no known person who wanted him, how diminished he had felt in the big world around him. He tried to never give kids short shrift, especially those who loved horses and had dreams of competing and winning.
Beyond that, he welcomed another opportunity to see Sarah again. “Okay, but it’ll have to be quick. My toes are numb and I’ve got a family gathering to go to tonight.”
“I understand.” Lou gestured toward the little group gathered around the arena. “Well, while I’m standing here blabbing, these folks over there waiting for you are pro’ly freezing. And I gotta get on in the house and finish up some cookies. I damn near forgot how to cook, but they’re having a bake sale in town and I’m donating cookies. It’s in front of the grocery store. Stop by on your way outta town and buy something. It’s for a good cause.”
“What cause is that?”
“Helping Sarah pay her doctor bills”
As she walked back toward her house, her last statement scrolled through Troy’s mind over and over. What did it mean precisely? Bills for treatment of Sara’s snakebite? For the last hour of the clinic, he was preoccupied with Sarah Karol and Rudy and a nine-year-old boy, even while he let Batman show off his fancy footwork. Troy had taught the horse to dance to the rhythm of music and he didn’t need much help from a human being. Some horses heard the rhythm and Batman happened to be one of them.
At the end of it, Troy brought out a dozen copies of the latest book he had written about horse care, “Your Horse is Your Friend.” He held up a copy for the group to see its cover. “This is about you and your horse. I’ve autographed these copies and there’s one for each of you.”
He walked over and handed the stack to one of Lou’s hands to pass out to the group.
“If you take what it says to heart, you’ll have a better relationship with your horse and it’ll give you better service. I’ve told you several times in these sessions, learn your horse’s personality and try to satisfy its needs. Treat it well and it’ll give you everything it’s got, including its very life. Horses are every bit as loyal as dogs and just as smart.”
By 12:15 p.m., the class participants were loading their horses and preparing for the trip home. A crew from town had begun to dismantle the bleachers. Lou returned and said good-bye and Merry Christmas to the departing horse owners. Troy intended to follow close behind them.
She came over to where he had tied Batman to the backend of his trailer and handed him a check. “I made this out to Mercy Horse Rescue.”
All of the net proceeds from his clinics went into the coffers of Troy’s horse rescue foundation. He had founded it soon after he finished college with part of his trust fund. Some of the horses he took in he and his team rehabilitated and eventually gave them away to what he hoped were good and loving homes, but more than half of them never left the farm. Thus, his horse population had been steadily growing.
Lou looked out the group of workshop attendees that had gathered for the last hour of the clinic. “Looks like you had a good workshop. Good turnout considering how shitty the weather is.’”
“Yeah. I’m surprised.”
“Don’t know why you would be. Everybody knows who you are.”
Just then, Hatch’s faded red truck showed up, driven by Jericho. A black-haired boy clambered out. Where was Sarah?
Lou met the kid in the driveway and brought him over to where Troy stood with his hands propped on his hips. “This is Wyatt McFadden.”
McFadden? Now Troy had heard three last names associated with Sarah. The kid was wearing a too-big cowboy hat, a thick coat and jeans and boots.
Lou placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder and looked down at him. “Wyatt, this is Mr. Rattigan. Him and his horse, Dandy Little Lady, just won the NCHA World Finals in Fort Worth.”
The kid looked up at him with piercing blue-green eyes like his mother’s and thick black lashes. “I know.” He stuck out his hand. “How do you do, sir. My name’s Wyatt Eugene McFadden.”
Troy peeled off his glove and shook the small hand. “How do you do, too, Wyatt. I hear you’re a horseman.”
“No, sir, not yet. But I want to be. I want to be a horse whisperer. Like you. My mom says I need to start learning while I’m young.”
“Smart idea. What kind of horse have you got?”
“I don’t have one right now, sir. My grandpa says we can’t afford any more horses. He says a good one costs too much to buy and too much to keep. He says they eat up everything in sight and what they don’t eat, they tromp on or crap on. He likes cows.”
Troy stifled a laugh. Coming from a young boy’s mouth, that statement sounded like something the kid had heard many times.
Lou gave a little titter of embarrassment. “Well, that’s Jericho for you. He’s a cowman.”
Troy chuckled, his attention focused on Wyatt. “Have you got a saddle?”
“Yessir. My mom’s friend borrowed me her boyfriend’s, but she said if he comes back and wants it I gotta give it back. It don’t fit me, but that’s okay. I’m growing.”
Just then, Hatch called out. “Hurry up, Wyatt. It’s cold. We gotta go.”
The boy started to run away but stopped and turned back. “That’s my grandpa. I gotta go. Thanks for meeting me, Mr. Rattigan.” He ran toward Hatch.
Lou’s eyes followed him and watched him climb into the old truck. As it rumbled away, Lou shook her head. “I wish the weather wasn’t so shitty and you could spend more time with him. Wish Jericho wasn’t dragging him away.”
She turned back to Troy. “Maybe you could let him look around your operation one of these days. After this weather clears up, me and Jericho or even me and his mother could drive him over to Drinkwell. We’d try not to take up much of your time. Maybe you could just show him around a little. Let him see what a real horse set-up looks like. Show him how you go about getting magic out of knotheads.”
Troy couldn’t keep from laughing. He placed a palm on his chest. “You wound me, Lou. The horses I work with aren’t knotheads. They’re smart, trained athletes. There’s nothing magic about it. It’s hard work for them and me and my crew.”
“I know, I know. I guess I don’t see it. I never did even when Carl was hip-deep in it. All that damn time and energy spent, not to mention money. And for what? Watching a horse chase a cow for two minutes? I can do that right here on this ranch ever’ day if I want to. I used to tell Carl that, too.”
When Carl Beckman was alive, Troy had heard Lou’s opinions of cutting horses and cutting competitions many times. He peeled the bridle off of Batman, replaced it with a soft rope halter and re-tied the horse to the backend of the trailer. “What’s the point of any sport? There’s a helluva lot more money floating up and down football fields and basketball courts.”
“Yeah, and I don’t see the point in that either.”
He grinned. “You’re a curmudgeon, Lou Beckman.”
“Hah. Don’t be using them fancy college words on me.”
Troy slung the saddle fender across the seat and began unbuckling and uncinching his saddle. “I don’t mind showing him around, but the problem is I expect to be busy the next few months. We’ve got eleven mares in foal. They’ll start dropping soon after Christmas.”
“Maybe we could come over before that. Would it be too much to ask if we could bring him over in the next few days? A trip like that would be a real nice Christmas present for a little boy like him. I ‘spect Jericho and Sarah don’t have a Christmas tree loaded with presents at their house. I ’magine Wyatt’s having a hard time with these holidays.”
“Why’s that?”
“Oh, it’s just one of those things. Jericho—seems like I’ve known the grouchy old fart ever since he was born—he’s just about broke.
“That’s too bad. But I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that’s the way it is for a lot of small operators. One bad year can sink ’em. The cattle business is tough these days.”
“That ain’t exactly Jericho’s problem. He’s a good rancher, but too much fell on him too fast.”
Now Troy was confused. “Louise, I got lost somewhere in this conversation.” He dragged his saddle off Batman’s back and installed it in a narrow closet on the outside of the trailer, then turned and faced Lou. “Are you asking me for a donation?”
“Naw. Not your money, though I know you got it to spare and I know you’re generous with it. They wouldn’t want that. I’m just talking about a little of your time. Sarah’s boy’s real smart. Sometimes, when I babysit him, I see how horses take to him and I try to help him a little.”
“You help him?”
“Just ‘cause I don’t love cutting horses don’t mean I don’t know nothing about what they do. My God, I lived with it my whole married life. Wyatt’s read all three of them books you wrote. He’s been counting the minutes ’til you showed up. He ain’t got nobody to look up to ’cept Jericho and he’s old. It’d mean a lot to a little boy like him if a man like you gave him some personal attention.”
Finally. The crux of what she wanted to ask. Troy had never personally mentored a young boy. “Where’s his daddy?”
“He ain’t got one.”
“What does that mean? Everybody’s got one.”
“Wyatt don’t. Sarah was a street kid. An orphan. To be honest, I’m not sure if she knows who his daddy is. She don’t even know who her own daddy is.”
Mixed emotions swirled within Troy. An image of the town of Roundup passed through Troy’s mind. From what he could see, it had no more to offer than his own hometown of Drinkwell. The unlikely idea that a homeless orphan would wind up living here didn’t jell.
The last thing he wanted was to stand outside and listen to a sob-story in thirty-degree weather, but now, Lou had his full attention. “How did she wind up in a place like Roundup?”
“The State took her off the street in Fort Worth when she was still a kid. They was looking for somebody to take care of her while she was expecting. Jericho and Bonnie—that was Jericho’s wife—they volunteered. After Wyatt came, they wanted Sarah and him to stay on with them. The State agreed and Bonnie and Jericho turned her around.”
“Drugs?”
“Naw, but she was a hard case. Tough. The slickest little thief you ever saw. They loved her and taught her it was okay for her to love them back. They gave her the only real home she ever had.” Lou glanced down at the ground and chuckled. “They made her go to school. Even made her go to church.
“Everybody thought a lot of Jericho and Bonnie,” she continued. “They didn’t have any kids of their own and everybody knew how bad they wanted to save Sarah. The whole town took her under their wing. Sarah must’ve felt like the people around here cared about her ’cause after she lost her husband, she came back here.
“Okay, now you’re forcing me to ask, what happened to her husband?”
“He fell off a ladder and cracked his noggin.” She placed her hands on her hips and stared down at her toes. “You just never know. Shit happens fast.” She looked up again. “He was a PRCA tie-down roper. Justin Karol. You probably heard of him—”
“I’m not a rodeo fan. Did that happen around here somewhere?”
“Naw. Sarah and him lived in Wyoming. Happened, oh...three or four years ago I’d say.”
Troy tried to square Sarah’s youthful appearance with a nine-year-old son and a ProRodeo husband, his curiosity amping up all the more.
“She told me he’s deceased,” Troy said.
“She told you about it, eh? That’s unusual. She don’t usually talk about it.”
“Not any details. She didn’t want to talk about it.”
“Well, that’s another story. I gotta go on in the house. I’m freezing. Thanks again for coming and doing this.” She turned and started to walk away.
“Wait, Louise...”
The older woman stopped and turned back. “What?”
“Tell me about Sarah’s leg.”
“Not much left to tell. We’re all hoping she ain’t damaged for life, but she’s lost a lot of muscle in that leg. It’ll pro’ly always be weak.
“She’s part of what’s caused all of Jericho’s money problems. First, his wife, then Sarah. Jericho had a little insurance on his wife, but not enough. None on Sarah. She got on Medicaid, but when you need the kind of treatments she did, it just ain’t enough. I think Jericho’s medical bills might be up to six figures now.”
“You know,” Lou went on, shoving her hands into her coat pockets and gazing out across the chilled landscape. “I been around them fuckin’ snakes my whole life. Pro’ly killed dozens. I never knew of any humans gettin’ bit. A dog or a cow once in a while. I took ’em for granted. I don’t do that no more after seeing what happened to Sarah.
“She damn near died. Our hospital ain’t much more than a first-aid station. They didn’t have none of that antivenom stuff. We’re seventy miles from a real emergency room. They sent her up there in a chopper. Her heart stopped twice.
“They saved her life at the hospital all right, but then her foot and leg started rotting away. They wanted to cut it off. Sarah was drugged up on pain medicine. She wasn’t able to make a decision about something like that. Jericho stepped in and said no. He would pay for whatever she needed. So, they started trying to save it.
“They sent her to a couple of those big hospitals in Dallas. Then to some big college back East. I’ve lost count of all the surgeries she’s had. That little gal’s got a lot of gumption. She’s lived with a lot of pain, but you never hear her complain.”
Being in and out of barns constantly and outdoors most of the time, Troy, too, had killed rattlesnakes. The varmints were a fact of life in rural West Texas. Copperheads, water moccasins, coral snakes, then there were the deadliest ones—plain old southwestern rattlesnakes. Rattlesnakes were solitary varmints unless they were threatened. Like Lou, he had never known any human being who got bit.
“She’s better now,” Lou went on. “When they can afford it, she’s taking physical therapy at the hospital. And it helps her. She ain’t had any rotten skin for a while and that last skin graft she had, they think it’s the last one. We’re all hoping.”
How far is Hatch’s place from here?”
“About ten miles on up the highway. Why?”
“I might stop by there.”
“Well, don’t mention that I told you about Jericho’s money problems. He’s a proud man.”
