“Gotcha!” he yelled. “You wet on your uncle Tucker. Now you gotta pay.”
Cheyenne giggled as Tucker snatched her up, growled again, and pretended to devour her, paying special attention to her most ticklish spots. He made sure to avoid nibbling on any part of her from the knees down, however, namely her ankles or toes, which were transferring their wetness onto his shirt.
The tiny girl suddenly went quiet and still. Tucker stopped tickling her and raised his head. Solemnly, she reached out a pink, dimpled hand to touch the bandage over his nose.
“Owee,” she said.
“Yes, a big owee,” Tucker agreed, “but the doctor made it feel all better.”
Molly appeared behind her daughter, holding aloft a cream-colored bath towel. Short, generously curvaceous, and almost as cute as her little girl, she flashed Tucker a radiant smile as she enveloped the baby in terry cloth and scooped her out of his arms.
“She had an accident.” Tucker pointed to the wetness. “It spilled over and got the floor, me, and the recliner downstairs.”
Molly followed his gaze. “Uh-oh. Another bath for you, young lady.” Leaning over the railing, she called, “Daddy, cleanup time.”
Jake had already gone to the downstairs bathroom for a damp towel and a spray bottle of disinfectant. Looking like the Marlboro Man on a mission, he gave his wife a mock salute as he advanced on the target area. “Yes, ma’am, got it covered.”
Molly grinned. “I love it when he calls me ma’am. It’s so sexy.”
Jake chuckled as he crouched to clean up the mess. “I’ll remember that.”
“Say, ‘Bye-bye, Uncle Tucker,’” Molly instructed her daughter, grabbing the baby’s pudgy wrist to show her how to wave.
Tucker wiggled his fingers in farewell. Gazing after Molly as she disappeared through a doorway along the hall, he felt funny inside, sort of hollow and lost. He wanted what all his brothers had found, one special woman with whom he could build a life. His youngest brother had a second child on the way, and Tucker wasn’t even married yet. Even worse, he had no prospects and wasn’t sure he ever would.
It wasn’t for lack of trying. He dated regularly. Hell, he’d even traveled to Colorado in June, thinking he might get lucky if he returned to the place where this branch of the Coulter clan had first begun. Sadly, he’d found no magic in No Name, Colorado, only some weathered headstones and a handful of bewildered distant relatives who could never quite grasp why he’d gone to such lengths to find them.
In retrospect, Tucker wasn’t sure, either, and felt a little foolish. Love wasn’t like gold or buried treasure, something tangible that you could search for and unearth. And you weren’t more likely to find it simply because you traveled to a different place. If you were fortunate, love just happened, most times when you least expected it, according to his mother.
His thoughts circled back to the afternoon and that first moment when he’d seen Samantha Harrigan. He’d felt something when he was with her today—an expectant feeling he’d never experienced before. Had she felt it, too? Or was it just wishful thinking? She was a pretty lady, and he’d found a lot in her to admire during their short acquaintance. But chances were he’d never see her again.
The stable phone started to ring just as Samantha offered Blue the last of his apples and oatmeal. She allowed the stallion to nibble her palm clean before leaving the stall to answer the call.
“Hi, Dad,” she said without waiting to find out who it was. “No, I haven’t set the alarm yet. Yes, I’m out in the stable after dark. I’ll be going in and battening down the hatches in about ten minutes.”
Her father said nothing for a long moment. Then he cleared his throat and replied, “I’ll give you a call back in ten minutes, then.”
Samantha gritted her teeth. As much as she appreciated her father’s concern for her safety, his habit of constantly checking in with her was a pain in the neck. If she decided to have a long soak in the bathtub after calling it a day, she had to make sure she took the portable phone into the bathroom with her. If she needed something from the store and made an evening grocery run, God forbid that she forgot to let him know.
“I’ll be all right, Dad. Jerome is right upstairs in the stable apartment if I need him, and Steve hasn’t shown his face around here in over a year.”
Frank said, “I know that, Sammy, and chances are good that he never will again. But there’s still no harm in playing it safe.”
Samantha mouthed the words, An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure, while her father recited the familiar refrain in her ear. When he finished speaking, she said, “I love you, Dad.”
“I love you, too. Make sure you lock up tight when you go in the house.”
“I will,” she promised.
“And if you hear any odd noises, don’t hesitate to call me.”
“I won’t.”
“There’s my good girl.”
As she broke the connection, Samantha said, “That’s me, Daddy’s good girl.” Replacing the phone in its cradle, she returned to Blue’s stall. Looping her arms around the stallion’s neck, she pressed her face against his salt-and-pepper coat and soothed herself by breathing in his smell.
“Am I horrible, Blue?” She sighed wearily, wishing the horse could respond. He was her best friend, after all, and that was what friends were for, to give advice. “I just want a little privacy once in a while. Is that so wrong?”
Blue nudged her with his nose, bumping her off balance. She laughed and patted his shoulder. “I know, I know. I’m an ungrateful brat. The ranch, the house, and the very dirt I’m standing on were gifts from him. He even lent me the money to pay Steve off so I wouldn’t lose this place, and he never says a word about me paying him back. I should be more appreciative.”
The stallion snorted and dipped his head as if he were nodding. Maybe, Samantha decided, he could impart some advice after all. As she left the stall and closed the gate, she glanced at the telephone, tempted to call her father back. But, no. He’d be calling again in precisely—she glanced at her watch—six minutes. She’d just make it a point to be nice when she answered.
As she crossed the indoor arena, she called good-night to Oregano and Nutmeg, promising to bring them treats in the morning. At the personnel door she stopped to look back at the forty spacious stalls that lined the riding area before she turned out the light. A gift, her early inheritance, a dream come true. If her last name weren’t Harrigan, she would have none of it. She needed to remember that and try to be more patient with her father.
Once outside the building, Samantha stopped for a moment to enjoy the beautiful evening. The moon hung in the sky like a curved quarter shard of a broken supper plate, and stars twinkled around it like sequins that had been tossed willy-nilly onto dark blue velvet. When she breathed deeply she could smell alfalfa, freshly cut grass hay left to dry in the fields, and the faint perfume of wild clover.
She took a slow turn, keeping her gaze fixed on the sky. I wish I may, I wish I might… The verse carried her back through the years to her childhood and brought a sad smile to her lips. No matter how many times Clint had warned her, she’d never been able to resist telling him what she had wished for. How different things were now, with her most secret wishes held close to her heart.
When a sound came from behind her, Samantha assumed it was one of the wild creatures that frequented the property after dark and didn’t pause in her circling to look over her shoulder. The front window of her ranch foreman’s second-story apartment was just above her, and even though the lights were out, she knew he was home. Jerome, only a few years younger than her dad, went to bed with the chickens, but he was a light sleeper and would surely hear her if she called for help.
Not that it would ever be necessary. Unlike her father and brothers, she didn’t live in fear of Steve Fisher anymore. She’d put that demon to rest. Only five of the original kitchen chairs that went with her custom-made table still existed. The sixth had met its waterlo
o when she brought it down on top of Steve’s head and then proceeded to whale the tar out of him with the broken pieces.
It wasn’t one of her fondest memories, and she would never feel proud of the person she’d become that night. But the altercation had served two good purposes: teaching her that size, weight, and muscle didn’t always determine the outcome of a physical confrontation, and teaching Steve that the dictatorship he’d called a marriage was finally over.
He’d left that night and never returned, sending a friend in his stead to collect his belongings. He was a coward and a bully who pushed people around only when he felt confident they wouldn’t push back. He would never step foot on this property again. She felt confident of that.
Chapter Six
The following morning after her customary three-mile run and a quick shower, Samantha left the house at precisely six o’clock. On Sundays, especially, it was important that she began her work early so she could break free shortly after eleven to attend noon Mass.
En route to the stables, she carried five one-gallon freezer bags filled with treats for her horses—quartered apples, fresh baby carrots, and their favorite, oatmeal and diced fruit. A granola bar rode in her shirt pocket—her version of a human breakfast, which she liked to eat over coffee with her foreman before she began morning rounds.
After entering the arena via the personnel door, she hung a sharp left and ascended the wooden stairs to Jerome’s on-site living quarters. Rapping sharply on the door, she turned the knob and leaned in to yell, “You de cent?”
“When am I ever not decent at this time of day?” the fifty-four-year-old foreman answered. “Come on in, honey. Coffee’s made.”
Samantha stepped inside, closed the door, and hooked her straw hat over the knob, making a mental note to search through her closets for another ball cap as soon as she found the time. “Thank goodness. I need a cup of your black mud to get my blood pumping this morning.”
His graying brown hair still damp from the shower, Jerome flashed a welcoming smile, his brown eyes sharpening on her bruised cheek. “I figured you might need a jump start. How you feeling?”
“Better than I look.”
The compact apartment, originally intended to be used as foaling quarters, featured a tiny living room area divided from the kitchen by a breakfast bar. A closet-sized bathroom and bedroom lay at the back. Jerome had moved in eight years ago, right after the stables and arena were built. Prior to that, he’d worked twenty-two years as a ranch hand for Frank Harrigan.
Though technically their relationship was that of employer and employee, Samantha never thought of Jerome as her subordinate or treated him as such. She’d known him all her life, trusted him immensely, and couldn’t have loved him more if he’d actually been a blood relative. His knowledge of horses was second only to her father’s, and she picked his brain at least a dozen times a day.
She swung a leg over an oak bar stool, plopped the equine treats on the counter, and accepted the mug of steaming coffee that he slid toward her.
“Ah,” she said appreciatively after taking a careful sip. “Nobody but you makes coffee quite as good as Dad’s. What’s the secret?”
“Right before we set the pot on to boil, we spit in the grounds basket.”
“Liar.” Samantha wrinkled her nose but confidently took another sip. “No wonder you never got married. No woman in her right mind would put up with you.”
Jerome laughed. He was still a good-looking man, his medium frame trim and superbly fit. “The ladies like me just fine. And it’s not my old-fashioned boiled coffee that attracts them, either.”
Samantha had no difficulty believing that. Jerome had a lazy, relaxed manner that put everyone at ease.
“It’s a little after six on a Sunday morning,” she popped back. “You can’t tell me you had a hot date last night.”
“That Friday- and Saturday-night nonsense is for you young people. I do my socializing on weeknights. Over the weekends I hang around here to do early feedings so all of you can party at the honky-tonks until the wee hours.”
“Not me.”
“More’s the pity,” Jerome replied. “You could do with a little fun for a change. How long has it been since you went dancing?”
“Not long enough.” Samantha lifted her cup to her lips and smiled at him over the rim. “My dance-floor career was an abysmal failure. I was born with two left feet.”
“You dance pretty enough when you’re working with a horse,” he pointed out.
Samantha let that pass. “Who came in yesterday to work a half shift?”
“Carrie and Kyle. I let both of them leave an hour early so they could go to the fairgrounds and watch Blue win the cutting horse competition.”
“And he didn’t disappoint them!” Samantha said proudly. “I’ll bet afterward Kyle told everybody who would listen that he trained Blue himself.”
Jerome chuckled. “You’re probably right. That boy has an incredible talent with horses, but it’s mostly on the tip of his tongue.”
They passed a few minutes recalling comical moments in Kyle’s horse training career, the most notable the time he accidentally stepped inside the loop of a lasso when the other end of the rope was tied to the saddle of a green cow pony. Fortunately for Kyle, Jerome had been close at hand to prevent disaster, and Kyle hadn’t been badly hurt.
When their mirth subsided, Samantha asked, “How’s Carrie seem to be doing?”
“Well enough, I reckon. Doing her work, anyway, and she seems to enjoy the horses. Why do you ask?”
In the process of peeling the wrapper off her granola bar, Samantha shrugged. Carrie was a relatively new employee who’d been cheerful and friendly when she’d first hired on. “She hasn’t been very talkative lately. I’m concerned that the job may not be all that she hoped. I know her wages could be better.”
“You explained before you hired her that things would be tight for another year. She knows you’ll give her a raise as soon as you’re able.”
“Yeah.” Samantha took a small bite of the bar, then chewed and swallowed. “Promises don’t pay the bills, though. I know she’s pulled a couple of extra shifts recently for that nursing agency she used to work for. That tells me her check must not be stretching from one pay day to the next. Maybe she’s upset because I haven’t put her on full-time yet.”
“I don’t think that’s the problem.”
“So you’ve noticed it, too?”
Jerome nodded as he lifted the lid of the cookie jar to grab a handful of Oreo cookies. After popping one in his mouth and chewing industriously, he said, “I think she may be having boyfriend trouble.”
“A boyfriend?” Samantha considered the possibility. “I didn’t think she was seeing anyone. I know she wasn’t at the beginning. We used to joke around about our not so-exciting plans for Saturday night.”
“Could be she met someone,” Jerome said. “Relationships can be rough on girls like Carrie. She’s not very pretty, and she’s always struck me as being a little too eager to please.”
Envisioning the thirty-one year-old, Samantha decided Jerome was right. Carrie had lovely hazel eyes and golden brown hair, but her facial features were masculine, and her tall frame was a little too muscular to be attractive.
“You’d think some good fellow would look beneath the surface and realize what a nice person she is.”
“It’s a woman’s looks that usually attract a man first,” Jerome replied. “He doesn’t worry about things like personality and character until later.”
That was one of the many reasons Samantha never in tended to have another relationship. She did place a high value on personality and character, and very few men in her acquaintance, the members of her family and Jerome excluded, measured up to her expectations.
“Why the long face?” Jerome asked.
Samantha brightened her expression. “Nothing. Woolgathering, I guess.” She took another bite of granola. “Sorry for spacing out on you.”
r /> He treated her to a penetrating study. “If you’re honest with yourself, Samantha Jane, it’s a man’s looks that first attract you, too.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Honey, you’re either lying or kidding yourself.” He popped another cookie into his mouth. Cheek bulging, he added, “If you like what you see, you trouble yourself to learn more about him. If you don’t, he never gets to first base. What makes you think it’s so different with men?”
“Because most men don’t bother to learn more about a woman until after their trousers have hung on her bedpost.”
“Ouch!”
“Well, it’s true. As much as I love and admire you, Jerome, you aren’t looking for a long-term relationship every time you sleep with a woman.”
He didn’t bother to deny it. “And every woman I sleep with understands that before I hang my britches on her bedpost. Don’t blame every man you meet for the actions of one, or you’ll end up a lonely old woman.”
“A fine one you are to talk. The single life seems to suit you well enough.”
“Women aren’t the only ones who can get taken in by sneaky sidewinders. I just wasn’t lucky enough to get an earful of good advice after it happened to me.”
Samantha’s heart caught. Jerome had never before hinted that he had remained a bachelor because he’d been badly hurt. “You were in love once?”
“Of course I was in love once. Isn’t everybody?” He finished off the last Oreo and dusted his hands clean of crumbs. “Unfortunately, the experience was so awful that once was enough to last me. Looking back on it now, I wish I’d given love another chance. But I didn’t, and now I’ll grow old alone. Be a smart girl and don’t let the same thing happen to you.”
“I’m sorry you got hurt.”
He arched a silver-tipped eyebrow. “And I’m sorry you did. But that’s how real life goes, honey. Greenhorns step in horseshit. They have to scrape their boots clean a few times before they learn to avoid the piles.”
Samantha sighed and looked out the window. “What a serious conversation for such a beautiful morning.” She glanced back at him. “How did we get off on the pitfalls of relationships?”