"He's gorgeous." With a last pat, she and Betsy followed the man.
The good scent of horses and hay lifted her fatigue when they stepped into the barn. The man led them to the back, where they found a short, sinewy old guy tending to a laboring horse. The bay mare was down in the straw, and the man had her head on his lap. His brown skin was leathered with age and sun, but when the dark eyes under the cowboy hat met her own, she saw a depth of love and compassion that made her feet move toward him.
This was Elijah? She tried to hide her curiosity but was unable to look away. She hadn't known he existed until her mother died.
His stare seemed a bit intense for just having met, then his gaze settled on Betsy, and his face softened even more. "Hello, nina. Do you like horses? We're going to have a colt soon."
Betsy nodded, her gaze locked with the old man's. Allie's hope surged. Betsy's face held more interest than she'd seen in a year. The little girl stepped forward with her hand out, then pulled it back.
"You can pet her." Elijah's voice was gentle.
Betsy knelt and touched the mare's nose. The horse blew her breath into Betsy's hand, and she scrambled back. A huge yawn erupted from her mouth.
Mr. DeAngelos nodded to the corner. "It will be a long night. There are blankets for the nina. You both look tired."
"Want to lay in the hay, Bets?" Allie wouldn't have minded curling up in that soft mound herself.
Betsy nodded. Allie led Betsy to the hay in the corner and sat her down with a blanket over her lap. Dust motes danced into the air when the little girl rustled in the mound. Betsy kept her gaze fas tened on the horse, but her lids drooped, and Allie knew it wouldn't be long before she would be asleep. Then she could make their case to the old man.
And then she would find Rick Bailey.
Elijah glanced up at the other man. "Rick, would you get us some hot coffee? The stuff in the kitchen has been sitting there since morning, so brew some fresh."
Rick. Allie sank into the straw next to Betsy. How could Jon have told her to come to this tight-lipped man for help? The only assistance he'd give would be to escort her right out of here.
3
RICK MUTTERED UNDER HIS BREATH AS HE STRODE ACROSS THE YARD TO the ranch house. Jem did his little air dance at Rick's side, then stopped at the front door when he went inside. Women like that one gave the word mother a bad rap. Some just weren't born with a maternal instinct.
She had only been thinking of herself.
And what was wrong with the kid? Betsy hadn't said a word. Something weird going on there, and it was likely the mom's fault. Everyone that pretty had entitlement problems anyway. She wasn't much bigger than a kid herself, and she'd probably used her tiny stature and big blue eyes to her advantage.
He was going to advise Elijah to get rid of her as soon as he could.
He stepped into the kitchen and threw together some sandwiches while the coffee brewed. He put them in a knapsack along with some apples and bottles of water. The most he would do is feed them. After pouring coffee into a thermos, he started back to the barn.
To give Elijah and the woman more time to talk, he stopped at the smaller barn to check on the horse they'd hauled back this morning. Scooping up the sweet feed mixture, he offered the mare another handful. The dull eyes looked at him, then her teeth nibbled at his palm. She was far from out of the woods.
The wind changed and brought the odor of manure to his nose. He winced as memories of another stench washed over him.
He was back in Fallujah, moving past puddles of raw sewage running in the streets. Joking with his buddy Jon and tossing pennies at the children who ran shouting and laughing beside them.
At one time, he'd thought to save the world. Right now, saving this horse would make him happy.
ELIJAH RUBBED THE MARE'S BELLY. "MY FOREMAN IS NOT AS GRUFF AS he seems."
Allie didn't believe the old man, though she wished she could. Allie glanced at Betsy. She was asleep. Now was the time.
She wet her lips. "I've come a long way to talk to you, Mr. DeAngelos."
He held up his hand. "Please, call me Elijah." He nodded to Betsy. "The niiia has been hurt."
Allie nodded. "My name is Allie Siders, and this is my daughter, Betsy." The old man made a sudden movement, and she stopped. "Is anything wrong?"
"No, no, continue."
Was it her imagination or had he paled? She hoped he didn't have some kind of heart condition. When he didn't move, she went on. "She hasn't talked for a year. I've taken her to therapist after therapist, and there's been no change. I've tried everything I know to help her. You're my last hope." Especially now that she knew she'd rather die than ask Rick Bailey for anything.
"How did you hear about us?"
She hesitated. How could she explain without telling all? "One of your hired hands came to a rodeo I worked in El Paso. He told me about this place. I had to try it." She decided to see if she could get a reaction out of him. "I found a scrapbook about this place in my mama's things."
"Your mother? She stayed here?"
Allie nodded. "Her stage name was Anna Morgan." Something seemed to shift in the room when she said the name, but everyone reacted that way.
"The barrel racer?"
"Yes."
"She is dead now, killed in a plane crash."
Allie took a deep breath. It had been the worst day of her life. "A year ago.
Her mother had been as beautiful and flamboyant as a flamenco dancer. Her half-Hispanic blood was further diluted in Allie, who had her father's blue eyes and calm temperament. Her mother brought passion and excitement to everything she did, and Allie's life seemed to be lived in dull black and white since her mama's death.
She studied his impassive face. Did he know his Selena had changed her name and become famous? Until Allie found the scrapbook and began the research, she thought her grandparents were dead. She found no evidence the old man knew he was her grandfather.
"You are hurting too, mujercita. What happened to you and the niiia?"
He'd called her "little woman," and she drew herself up to her full five foot two. "It's Betsy I'm worried about. She's been like this for a year, and I've tried everything. I don't have any money to pay you, but I'll work. I know horses. I've grown up in the rodeo. I can cook, clean, anything you need." She rushed on, certain he would refuse when he found out she had nothing.
He didn't have to know she'd sold everything her horse, her new car. She had some pride left.
"I was once a bronco buster," Elijah said. Then his gaze shifted as the horse groaned, and the hay darkened with fluid. "Ali, our foal is coming. Sleep. There will be time to talk tomorrow."
Allie squatted beside him. "I can help you."
"Cupcake is an experienced mother. She'll do it all herself."
"I'll wait with you then." If she could show how much she knew about horses, maybe he'd find her a job. It was no secret Rick Bailey wouldn't be in favor of that. But Betsy needed Allie to do this. Though Elijah couldn't help the other things that threatened them, if he could heal Betsy, it would be enough.
Elijah lifted the mare's head enough to ease away. He stood back and watched the horse labor.
Rick came back in carrying a coffee thermos and Styrofoam cups. A knapsack was slung around his shoulder. He set the cups on a bale of hay and poured out a cup of coffee. Digging in his jeans, his hand came up with small containers of creamer. He still hadn't said a word.
"Thanks."Allie accepted two creamers and dumped them into her coffee. The aroma made her mouth water. Then the hot liquid filled her empty stomach. She'd been hoarding the last of her money to make sure Betsy had enough food and hadn't eaten herself since breakfast, part of an omelet in a greasy spoon at nine this morning. Even then, she hadn't eaten until Betsy was full.
Rick slipped the knapsack off his shoulder and unzipped it. "Turkey sandwiches," he said, handing her the sandwich wrapped in plastic. "There's fruit in here too." He handed her an apple.
>
Maybe he had some compassion to spare for adults after all. Allie smiled at him, but he still hadn't looked her in the eye.
"Let me see if Betsy wants some first."
"There's plenty for you both," Rick said. "And more where that came from. Let her sleep."
He was right, but Allie felt wrong to eat when her daughter might be hungry. A peek in the knapsack reassured her. There were two more sandwiches in it, and four apples. She took a cautious bite. Relishing the hot sting of horseradish on her tongue, she devoured the sandwich.
Food had never tasted so good.
She swallowed the last sweet bite of apple and looked up to find both men watching her. "Thanks," she said, clamping her lips against the explanation that pressed against her teeth.
Without a word, Rick held out another apple. She took it and squirreled it away in her backpack. Betsy might need it later. She did the same with the rest of the food. If Rick and Elijah turned down her plea for help, she and Betsy would be in desperate straits.
She settled on the hay to wait for the foal's arrival. With a full tummy, her lids drooped and her breathing eased. Maybe she'd close her eyes for just a minute.
4
"GOOD LINES," RICK SAID, EXAMINING THE WET ARRIVAL. CUPCAKE nudged the colt. The small, black foal stood on wobbly legs. He moved a few feet along her flank and nosed her belly before beginning to nurse.
Elijah grabbed a pitchfork and began to clean the wet, soiled straw out of the stall. Where did the old man get his energy? "I'll do that," Rick said. "Why don't you go on into bed? It's after two."
"Many hands make light work," Elijah said.
Rick shoveled with him. When they were done, he hung the pitchforks on a nail. "What about those two?" he asked, nodding toward the sleeping woman and girl.
The girl looked like a miniature of her mother. Fine, dark hair, blue eyes, dimples that flashed. At least the mother's dimples had flashed. Betsy hadn't smiled yet.
"You don't like Allie," Elijah observed.
"It's hard to like stupidity," Rick said. "She doesn't have an ounce of sense." He told Elijah how he'd found them fighting off bees in the bluebonnets. "And she didn't even have any water for the kid. I'll bet she did something to make the girl quit talking. Now she wants you to fix it."
"A snap judgment, Rick? You should get to know them before you point fingers."
A slow anger burned his belly. "You're going to let them stay? It's because she resembles Maria, isn't it?"
"I realize she is not my daughter, Rick. I would not be taken in so easily. And wasn't it you who just told me you weren't going to do the cooking anymore?" Elijah was smiling. "You have lost weight since Rosa left us. A woman's cooking might fatten us both up."
"For the slaughter," Rick said. "She'll steal you blind in the night."
The woman raised his hackles for some reason. For one thing, she was too pretty. He'd never seen eyes such an electric blue. In his experience, beautiful women expected pretty things handed to them. She just showed up here and expected Elijah to take her in. That whole wolfing down of the sandwich was probably an act to get Elijah's sympathy.
And it worked. Rick could see the softness in the old man's eyes. Elijah was a sucker for a sob story.
"Someone once told me the same thing about you," Elijah observed. "Trust my judgment, hijo."
Rick gave a grudging nod. "You made up your mind to help her when she ate her food like a starving street person."
"No, it was when she put the food away for the nina. You can't tell me that you were untouched by that, Rick."
He didn't want to be moved by her love for the child, but the gesture had affected him. "Yeah, I saw it too. It's the only reason I haven't thrown her out on her ear. The kid needs help."
"And so do we." Elijah went toward the door. "Let them sleep. If we wake them to move to a bed, the nina may have trouble getting back to sleep."
Rick followed his boss out of the barn to the ranch house. Stepping into the living room, he looked around, seeing it with fresh eyes. He couldn't remember the last time one of them had mopped the scarred wooden floors or dusted the battered furniture. Last autumn maybe?
A stale odor hung in the air as though the windows hadn't been opened in months. And maybe they hadn't. He should clean it up a little before Allie took over. But not tonight. Fatigue weighed down his legs. He'd do it in the morning.
ALLIE STOOD WATCHING THE SUN COME UP OYER THE MOUNTAINS. THE morning air made her shiver, but she couldn't go inside yet. Not while the sunrise gilded the peaks and valleys, and the air smelled like sage and creosote. Her hair still uncombed, Betsy stood beside her with their hands locked.
"You like it here, Bets?" Allie asked.
Betsy nodded and pointed. A flock of bluebirds blanketed the grass and pecked for insects.
Allie drank in the sight. If only finding the real bluebird of happiness was as easy as following a flock of birds. "I've never seen so many in one place. I wonder if this is a migration spot for them. We should ask Mr. DeAngelos."
Betsy nodded, her gaze still on the birds.
The old man had to let them stay. The bluebirds told Allie she and Betsy were in the right place. Betsy would talk again, and no one would find them here. She'd been careful to cover her tracks, and the faceless man wouldn't know where she'd gone. They would be safe here.
"I don't think they're up yet. If the door isn't locked, we'll go in and fix breakfast." Allie glanced at her watch. It was nearly seven, so the lack of lights in the house surprised her, but the men might have been up most of the night with the mare.
The thin, sandy soil felt cool under her bare feet, and she avoided the cactus in the path as she stepped toward the house.
A male voice spoke. "You made it."
Allie turned to see a fresh-faced young man. He looked like a fourteen-year-old trying to act twenty-four. A big rodeo belt buckle on his waist glinted. With his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his jeans and his cowboy hat pushed back, he stood with one worn boot on the fence rail as if posing for a documentary about cowboys.
Poor kid. If he only knew trying to make an impression on her would get him nowhere. He'd tried it at the rodeo last month, and though she hadn't caught his name, he was the one who told her about this place.
"We never introduced ourselves when we met at the rodeo." She extended a hand. "I'm Allie Siders, and this is Betsy. We came in last night."
"Like I'd forget a honey like you. I'm Charlie." He put his propped foot back on the ground, shook Allie's hand in a strong grip, then knelt in front of Betsy. "Hey kid, want to see some horses?"
Betsy buried her face in Allie's waist and didn't look at him.
"She's tired,"Allie said. "Maybe later."
The young man straightened. "I made a run to Marathon after oats yesterday," he said. "When I saw that old truck parked beside the barn this morning, I wondered who had blown in while I wasn't looking."
"I don't think anyone in the house is up yet."
He nodded. "Cupcake foaled. I think the boss was up most of the night. Otherwise, there'd be breakfast on the table. I could rustle us up some grub."
"Let me do it." Allie took Betsy's hand and moved toward the house again. "I was about to try the door when you called to me."
The house looked like it had grown out of the red soil, but as she neared, she saw red dirt coated the stone face of the home. The big pillars that supported the massive porch of the two-story dwelling sported a fresh white coat of paint. The place was bigger than she'd thought at first, easily three thousand square feet.
She followed Charlie up the stone steps and across the porch to the entry.
"It's always unlocked." Charlie twisted the doorknob and pushed open the door. "Go on in."
She stepped onto an oak floor, its patina of old age as fitting as the well-worn boots on her feet. Stucco walls painted a soft green invited her in, but they were bare of any ornamentation that would have enhanced the effect of the color. He
aped under the window was a jumble of discarded socks, boots, and shoes. They gave off a pungent odor, and Betsy wrinkled her nose.
Allie took Betsy's hand and moved down the hall to the door at the end. "Is this the way to the kitchen?"
"Yep. Don't mind the mess. The housekeeper left last fall."
Mess was an understatement. As Allie moved past the living room, she caught a glimpse of a large den littered with newspapers and piles of books. Some kind of video game controller lay on a recliner, its wires stretching to the TV.
She averted her eyes and stepped through the swinging door into the kitchen. And stopped short. Had no one cleaned the kitchen since the housekeeper left?
The sink overflowed with pots and dishes. Several cupboards hung open to reveal empty shelves. Every dish in the place must be dirty.
Charlie seemed oblivious to the chaos. He went to the refrigerator and opened it. "I know we've got eggs and bacon. There's bread for toast. I think there might be hash browns in the freezer."
"I'll figure it out. First I'd better do some dishes." Allie rolled up the sleeves of her blouse and went to the sink. "I can't cook in this ... dirt." She eyed the stove, thick with grime.
Charlie's smile was weak. "Yeah, it's bad."
"Want to dry the dishes?"
"Uh, I'll go feed the stock." He backed out of the kitchen.
THE SETTING OF THE SUN ONLY SLIGHTLY COOLED THE BRUTALITY OF THE Fallujah heat. Rick tossed his cards onto the battered wooden table. "You win," he told his best friend.
"I always win." His buddy grinned at him and began to gather up the cards. "I'm done. I need to write to my wife."
"You write to her every night." Rick's tone was sharp, but in his heart he wished he had someone to write to every night. Someone who cared if he lived or died.
His friend's smile faded. "I worry about her. What if I don't come back?"
Rick shuffled on his chair. "Don't talk like that. We're both going to get on that plane next month and fly home."
"Tomorrow's mission is dangerous, buddy. Promise you'll look out for my family if the worst happens."
Lonestar Sanctuary Page 3