The Bull Rider's Cowgirl

by April Arrington

  Jack jerked his hands from his pockets. “Really? This is where we’re going to start?” He straightened his tie, tucking it beneath the edge of his jacket. “Picking right back up where you left off, aren’t you?”

  “What? By being honest? That’s the only way I operate.” A hard smile stretched Colt’s cheeks. “I’m sure the concept’s alien to you.”

  “Cut the shit, Colt.” Jack shook his head. “You haven’t come by anything honestly. Don’t have a clue what it’s like to work to the bone for something. You were born into all of this.”

  “Not everything’s about money,” Colt bit out.

  Jack’s laugh grated across the room. “It sure as hell isn’t to those who haven’t earned it.” He leaned forward, his palms on the desk. “Those of us that sweat blood for it have a greater respect for its value. You think this place materialized overnight? It took generations to build this estate and it’ll take several more to ensure its survival.”

  “And you’re the man to see to it, right?”

  “I’m the only one that can.” His brows rose. “What? You want to do it? Think you can waltz in here after seven years, step into Daddy’s shoes and make it happen?” He shoved himself off the desk. “It doesn’t work like that, Colt. You might own the place now but you’re no one out there—where it counts.”

  Colt balled his fists. “And Margaret? She counts as no one, too? That’s why you didn’t even bother to deliver the news of her parents’ death in person?”

  Jack brushed a hand over his upper lip. “She was at school. The headmistress was with her. What else could I have done? There were important business matters that had to be tended to. Things your father worked hard for. You know as well as I do how much he would’ve wanted me to finish them. Remember his mantra?” His jaw hardened. “No matter what.”

  Colt’s gut roiled, the taste of bile rising at the back of his throat. He eyed Jack, uncurled his fists and shook his head. “How lucky Margaret is to have you.”

  Jack hissed in a breath and rounded the desk. “You sanctimonious, condescending little prick.” His voice rose. “Where the hell were you, huh? Cruising through every Podunk spot on the map? Riding bulls and women? You couldn’t even be bothered to answer your damned phone last night when I called.”

  Colt flinched. Heat singed his face and chest.

  “She’s your sister.” Jack scoffed. “Not mine. But I was the one left to deal with it. Hell, I couldn’t get a single soul with her blood running through their veins to respond to my calls. Your grandmother’s the only one I managed to reach and she’s on a European tour. It took me an hour and a hefty support check to convince her to collect Margaret when she returns next month.”

  “Next month? Who’s looking after her till then?”

  A snide expression crossed Jack’s face. “Should be you. Your father designated you as her legal guardian in his will.”

  Colt’s stomach dropped. “What?”

  Legal guardian? The old man must’ve overlooked that detail when he signed off on the document. There was no way Colt was fit to be any kid’s guardian. Especially Meg’s.

  “That’s got to be a mistake.” He held up a hand. “There’s no way... I can’t—”

  “I figured as much.” Jack straightened. “I’ve already made arrangements with the school. She stays there during the week. Your father and Rachel had her picked up on weekends, though they didn’t always hang around to greet her when she arrived. People are paid to do that, and God knows, it costs enough. The headmistress has agreed to board her full-time at the end of next week. Right after spring break. There’s a nanny and enough staff here to meet her needs until then.” He gestured to the stack of papers on the desk. “Once you sign these documents, your grandmother will take over responsibility for her. Thank God money matters to most people. Otherwise, Margaret would end up being a worthless aggravation. As it is, money’s the only thing that’s going to ensure a solid future for her.”

  Colt’s legs grew weak and his shoulders sagged.

  Jack smiled, flashing bright white teeth. “Aw, buck up, boy. You’ll be back to groping bulls and beauties in no time.”

  “That’s enough.”

  Jen’s voice, quiet but firm, sounded at Colt’s back. She stood in the entrance, pulling the doors closed and fixing her eyes on Jack.

  “Margaret’s right down the hall,” she said. “This place echoes like a museum and your voice carries.”

  Jack’s smile morphed into a slow grin as his gaze drifted over Jen. “You must’ve changed course, Colt. Don’t think you picked this one up in Podunk. Though I doubt you found her in Tuxedo Park, either.”

  Colt stiffened, his skin prickling.

  Jack held out a hand. “Charmed.”

  Jen made no move to take it. “I’m not.”

  Jack’s eyes flared and he cut a look at Colt. “Fiery piece of ass, is she?”

  The crack as his fist met Jack’s face was enough to sharpen Colt’s focus. Jen yanked at his biceps, attempting to dislodge his grip from around Jack’s neck.

  “Let him go, Colt.” Jen’s low words barely overcame the roaring in his ears.

  His gut heaved on a renewed surge of pain and disgust. For his dead father. For the ambitious fool stretched across the desk beneath him. And for himself.

  “Colt.” Jen sobbed, her mouth moving against the skin of his neck. “Please. Margaret could come in. You want her to see this?”

  A wave of remorse flooded him. Colt let Jack go, hanging his head.

  “I might be no one out there.” Colt struggled to suck in air, lungs stinging just as they did every time he conquered a bull in the arena. “But in here, I own you.” His eyes burned as he glared at Jack’s crumpled form. “Now get the hell out.”

  Jack turned over, braced his palms on the desk and struggled to a standing position. He cupped a hand over his nose. Blood seeped between his fingers, trickling over his smile and onto his tie.

  “You might not have a taste for money, Colt, but you sure as hell have one for power.” Jack laughed, wincing as the sound left his lips. “You’re more like your father than you think.”

  Colt froze.

  The doors closed behind Jack with a sharp click.

  Jen touched his back. “Colt—”

  He jerked away, moving on weak legs to the window and almost choking on the words tearing from his throat. “Margaret heard? Everything?”

  “No,” she said. “But more than you would’ve wanted her to.”

  And more than he’d have wanted Jen to hear, too.

  Colt cringed, looking away from her faint reflection in the glass and down at the extensive grounds below him. The pristine gardens, sparkling pool and spacious tennis court were all beautiful. But barren and lifeless. Just like John W. Mead.

  You’re more like your father than you think.

  Colt sucked his teeth. To hell with Jack Evans and his arrogant declarations. Colt was nothing like his father. And never would be.

  “We’re leaving,” he growled. “Right after the funerals tomorrow.”

  The words were easy. They rolled off his tongue with finality. But they left a hollow in his gut. One that made him wonder if he could actually follow through.

  What kind of man would leave a little girl behind? Allow her to fade into empty surroundings, forgotten and unseen?

  Colt frowned, stilling his thoughts and avoiding the answer. But it whispered through his mind just the same.

  Men like Jack Evans. Men like John W. Mead.

  Chapter Four

  Jen had never seen so much green in her life. It covered everything.

  “Perfect.” Mac, an older stable hand with a kind face and friendly voice, propped his hands on his hips. “Absolutely perfect.”

  “Yeah
,” Jen breathed.

  She glanced around, taking in the sprawling acres of lush grass and the thick lines of trees forming a boundary on both sides of the wide pasture. If there was ever a paradise for horses, the riding grounds on the Mead estate were it.

  “He fast?”

  Jen glanced at Mac, squinting through the sharp rays of late afternoon sunlight. “What?”

  “Your horse.” He jerked his chin toward the field where Diamond had been frolicking for the past hour, pearl hide flashing through a sea of green. “He’s a fine specimen. But is he fast?”

  She cocked a brow and grinned. “What do you think?”

  Mac chuckled, his leathery cheeks lifting and white teeth gleaming. “I think if we let those pampered ponies out of the stable, he’d trample ’em just on principle.”

  Jen laughed with him, dropping her head back and soaking up the fading warmth of the day. It’d been nice to get out of that marbled mansion for a few hours. Colt’s father’s estate was void of any true warmth. Only cold corners and empty hallways could be found in that monster of a house.

  After that arrogant jerk Jack Evans had left, Colt had gathered up their luggage and led her up another massive staircase to the third floor, where the guest rooms were located. They’d stowed their bags in their bedrooms and Colt had immediately left to seek out Margaret. But Margaret hadn’t responded to any of his attempts at conversation. She’d just looked him over with narrowed eyes, then retreated to her room.

  Colt, more stoic than ever, had excused himself and holed up in his father’s study. Jen had tried to persuade him to join her outside, but he’d continued to pore over the guardianship papers Jack Evans had prepared, lingering over each page before moving grimly to the next.

  Jen glanced back at the long path up to the mansion. Neither Colt nor Margaret had come outside all day. Ms. Parks had insisted Margaret not be disturbed, and the door to the girl’s bedroom had remained shut for hours. Which was a shame. Fresh air and warm sunshine were the best antidotes for pain.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Mead never really cared for riding,” Mac said, a note of disgust in his tone. “Or the horses, for that matter. They just liked the idea of owning them.”

  “What about Margaret?” Jen asked. “She never rides?”

  “Not since—”

  “Never.”

  Jen spun to find Margaret standing behind them. She’d traded her school uniform for a white skirt and blue blouse, but still wore her hot-pink shoes. Her long hair fell in loose waves around her face, but her expression remained blank.

  “You should come in now,” Margaret said. “Dinner is being served.”

  Jen’s stomach growled at the mention of food. She’d stayed outside so long she’d missed lunch. “Sounds good.” She smiled. “Thank you for telling me, Margaret.”

  “Ms. Parks said it’s important to personally invite guests to the dinner table.” She shrugged. “Even if you weren’t expecting them. It’s the polite thing to do and it’s never polite to be late.”

  Margaret hesitated for a moment, her chestnut eyes lingering on Diamond, then turned and left.

  Jen released a bitter laugh. “Ms. Parks sounds like a pretty tough customer.”

  “I don’t know,” Mac said. “She’s a lot better than the last four nannies that little girl’s had.”

  “Four?” Jen shook her head. “Why so many?”

  “Mrs. Mead was real particular about who she kept around. She always found something she didn’t like about them.” Mac grimaced. “Usually right after they’d suggest she pay more attention to her daughter.”

  He squinted, staring at Diamond in the distance. “Imogene Holden was the child’s first nanny. Was with her from birth. She was Margaret’s favorite. Took Margaret out for her first ride.” He dragged a hand across the back of his neck. “They weren’t out long before the horse spooked. Took off so fast Imogene couldn’t catch hold of it. Margaret was thrown. Got hurt pretty bad.”

  “And now she doesn’t trust them,” Jen murmured.

  Mac nodded. “Imogene was fired right after. That kid loved Imogene something fierce. She cried for days after she left. Shed a lot more tears over that nanny than she has for her own parents, that’s for sure.” His features fell and his voice deepened. “Not that anyone can blame her for that.”

  Mac’s hunched shoulders and defeated expression proved the loss of Imogene had been a cruel blow to others besides Margaret. So strange that a place equipped with every material comfort imaginable would be filled with an equal amount of pain. Was no one happy here?

  “Well,” Jen whispered, clearing her throat. “I guess it’s time for me to go in. Would you mind tucking Diamond in for the night? I’d really appreciate it.”

  “No problem,” he said, straightening with a smile. “Any time.”

  Jen made her way up the winding stone path to the main entrance. A housekeeper met her at the door, ushering her inside with rapid waves of her hands and leading her quickly down several hallways to a formal dining room.

  “Good evening, Ms. Taylor.” Ms. Parks sat on one side of a long cherry table, Margaret seated at her side. “We were beginning to wonder if you’d make it.”

  Colt rose from his position at the head of the table and tugged out the high-backed chair to his left. “We weren’t aware there was a schedule,” he said in a firm voice.

  Jen winced. The circles under Colt’s eyes had darkened and new lines of strain were etched in his expression. His formal gesture only added to his distant demeanor.

  “I’m sorry I kept everyone waiting,” she said, unable to stop herself from squeezing his hand before taking her seat. “When we’re on the road, Colt and I don’t have time to stand on ceremony. We just grab and go. Right?”

  The corners of his mouth tipped up slightly as he sat. “Yeah.”

  Jen’s chest constricted. Grief was taking a toll on him and this place was only intensifying it. Fine friend she was being. Nothing she’d done so far had helped ease his pain.

  She glanced around the room and shifted uncomfortably in her chair. A large, crystal chandelier hung above from the center of a ceiling mural. Ornate floral arrangements and elegant place settings were strategically arranged on the polished cherry table.

  Jen flexed her fingers to shake off a fresh surge of anxiety, then tugged the napkin ring from the cloth in the center of her plate. “So,” she said, settling the napkin in her lap, “what’s on the menu?”

  Ms. Parks and Margaret exchanged glances, and after an encouraging nod from her nanny, Margaret recited, “Chilled scallops with saffron mayonnaise, asparagus and buttered leeks and radishes.”

  Jen suppressed a shudder. “That sounds...different.”

  It smelled different, too. And judging from the curl of Colt’s upper lip, he was just as impressed with the sparsely covered plate that appeared in front of him as she was. The housekeeper filled their crystal glasses with water and left to retrieve sliced lemon at Ms. Parks’s request.

  “Please eat, Margaret.” The nanny speared a scallop with her fork and dipped it in the yellow sauce.

  Margaret wasn’t as adept. Her scallop fell off the fork and plopped into the sauce bowl, splattering yellow drops onto the white place setting. She fished around for a few seconds with her fork, but when Ms. Parks turned her head, she retrieved it with her fingers and slipped it in her mouth quickly.

  One grimace and hard swallow later, Margaret placed her fork on the table and sat back. Colt followed suit, pushing his plate away with the tip of his finger and casting tired eyes over his sister.

  Ms. Parks sighed, forehead creasing. “Margaret, you need to eat.”

  Jen frowned. Colt needed to eat, too. But the meal in front of them was about as appetizing as baked rubber.

  The housekeeper returned, placing a small
plate of lemon wedges on the table near Ms. Parks. “May I bring you anything, Mr. Mead?”

  Colt shook his head. “No, thanks.”

  Jen leaned forward, halting the housekeeper’s exit with a raised hand. “I could use something, please.” She smiled. “I’m sorry—what’s your name?”

  The woman hesitated, darting glances at Ms. Parks and licking her lips. “Nancy.”

  “Do you happen to have any peanut butter, Nancy?”

  She tilted her head. “Yes, ma’am, we do.”

  “Could you bring it, please? And honey. Do you have honey?”

  “Yes, ma’am. How would you like it?”

  Jen shrugged. “Just a jar of both would be fine. And some bread. I’d like to fix it up myself.”

  The housekeeper nodded, then left, the fading swish of her slacks filling the silent room.

  Margaret sat up, confusion clouding her features. “Aren’t you supposed to eat jelly with peanut butter?”

  Jen’s smile widened. “That’s the go-to for most people. But I found something better growing up.”

  She picked up her plate of scallops and unappealing vegetables, then dumped them on top of Colt’s.

  Ms. Parks’s eyes widened. “There’s no point in making a mess. If you need another plate, we’ll happily provide one for you.”

  “Nah.” Jen met Colt’s eyes, her belly fluttering at the amusement brightening his dark expression. “Wouldn’t want to dirty up more dishes than necessary.”

  The housekeeper returned, placing the requested items on the table. Jen dipped out a hefty portion of peanut butter and honey, plopped them onto her plate and stirred them together.

  “When I was in elementary school,” Jen said, “the lunchroom lady, Mrs. Shirley, would sneak me a special sandwich every Wednesday. It was always white bread with this thick, sweet stuff in the middle that I loved. I knew peanut butter was in it, but it took me a while to figure out what the sweet stuff was.” She picked up a clean spoon and scooped up a dollop of the mixture. “Turned out it was honey. But you have to combine just the right amounts to get the same taste.”