Longwalker's Child

by Debra Webb

  Her mind knew he was right, but her heart didn't want to accept the only feasible alternative. Lauren couldn't imagine her life without Sarah—she refused to even allow the thought to take form. She'd resigned herself to spending her life childless, then suddenly she had Sarah. Nothing could have prepared Lauren for the impact on her heart, her life. Sarah was her child in every sense of the word. Lauren held her when she cried, nursed her when she was sick, helped with her schoolwork. They had bonded on a level that amazed Lauren on a daily basis.

  She loved Sarah with all her heart….

  "What do I do?" she asked defeatedly.

  Don ushered her back into her chair and sat down beside her, in the very chair Gray Longwalker had occupied just three days ago when this nightmare began.

  "Be accommodating," Don told her gently. "Let him spend some time with Sarah on the condition that he not rush into telling her who he is. He'll surely see the need for discretion. After all, the child could be traumatized by too much too soon." Don patted the ice-cold hands Lauren had clasped in her lap. "Think about it, Lauren. What would Longwalker do with a child? He moves from place to place, and from all reports, feels some sort of compulsion to do this work of his.

  "He'll soon see that Sarah is where she should be, in a fine home and attending a good school. Just maybe, when the burning desire to take what belongs to him subsides, he'll see the reasonableness of leaving Sarah with you and settle for visitation rights."

  Lauren wiped the tears from her cheeks with the backs of her hands. Maybe Don was right. Longwalker did seem intelligent enough. If he saw all that it took to care for a five-year-old, he might just decide that leaving Sarah with Lauren was the right thing to do.

  "Do you think we have a chance?" She searched Don's eyes for reassurance.

  "I think it's our only chance."

  Chapter Five

  "I don't know, Longwalker," Jeremiah Manning muttered as he stroked his stubbled chin. "I don't think there's any hope for that devilish animal."

  The skittish black stallion's head shot up at the slightest movement in or around the corral. Gray grimaced as he recalled the threats, taunts and near-torture tactics a couple of Manning's ranch hands had used to usher a reluctant Shadow into the corral. No wonder the animal teetered on the verge of a complete breakdown. Gray could just imagine the fate the horse would have suffered had he not been present to intervene.

  "As long as he's alive," Gray replied, never taking his eyes off the wary horse, "there's always hope." Such a beautiful animal, he thought with growing frustration. A fine quarter horse with excellent breeding potential. Manning had a number of horses on his cattle ranch, but none with as much potential as this one. What a waste.

  "We've had our differences in the past," Manning offered with reluctance, "but I've heard rumors about what you can do with horses. I'm willing to let you have a try at him." He eyed Gray speculatively. "That is if you're up to the task."

  "I'll have a look," Gray agreed. Manning's admission skirted the definition of an apology, but it would do. Gray hadn't come here to mend fences.

  He cut a frustrated glance at the group of hands gathered near the barn. So far they had kept their distance and stayed reasonably quiet as he had asked once the horse was corralled. Now, if they would just stay that way until he had finished he would be thankful. Gray opened the gate and stepped into the corral. Shadow shifted backward a halting step.

  Gray took another step and so did the horse. He waited until he felt the horse had settled before he moved again. He watched the horse's body language carefully. He had no desire to upset Shadow any more than necessary.

  Gray shot another glance at the barn. He hated working with an audience, and the horses usually responded better if there were no distractions. But he wanted to show these cowpokes that all this particular horse needed was a little extra TLC.

  After repeating the step-wait-step process until Shadow was backed against the fence, Gray took the first step of what the horse would consider true aggression. Gray held Shadow's gaze and whispered soothing words. Everything and everyone else ceased to exist except the horse and the few feet of dusty ground between them.

  Gray could see the horse battling with its own instincts, ears pinned back, tossing its head. Instinct told Shadow to run, but Gray knew his eyes held the horse in a firm grip of curiosity. Shadow wanted to know what Gray was about. That simple curiosity would allow Gray much closer than anyone else had gotten without the use of restraints.

  When Gray stood within arm's reach of the horse, he remained still and quiet for a long while. He allowed his eyes and his relaxed posture to speak for him.

  The wind kicked up the dust around them, but Gray didn't move a muscle. The next few minutes were crucial. He needed Shadow to understand that he presented no threat.

  Gray watched the wariness slip from the horse's big brown eyes. Long minutes elapsed before he felt ready to make the next move. Gray could feel the tension and anticipation of those watching, but he kept his concentration fixed solely on the horse in front of him.

  "Shadow," he finally whispered as he slowly extended his right hand. The horse didn't flinch or jerk away, he watched in fascination as Gray reached out. Gray knew the horse still had its doubts, but he waited and watched just the same.

  Gray stopped short of touching the horse, but kept his hand steady for Shadow's inspection. Now was the turning point. Gray held his breath and all else faded from his awareness.

  Shadow's soft, warm muzzle pushed against Gray's hand and he released the breath he had been holding. Oh, yes, there was definitely hope. He murmured more soothing words as he permitted Shadow to examine both sides of his hand.

  Gray gently smoothed his right hand over the horse's face and scratched beneath his forelock. His left hand remained at his side. He wouldn't touch the horse with both hands today. Shadow had to accept and trust him before he could do anything more than what he was doing at the moment. Trust had to be earned.

  With one final word of promise to Shadow, Gray turned and strode back to the gate. He closed it behind him and faced Manning.

  "Here's the deal," he told the old man. "No one touches this horse while I'm working with him—no one—not even you."

  Manning huffed with indignation.

  "I don't want any of your hired hands to so much as look at that horse," Gray added before Manning could utter his protests. "I'll feed Shadow myself."

  Manning tucked his thumbs into his suspenders. "You don't ask for much, do ya?" he said with a snort of disbelief.

  Gray leveled a look of displeasure on Manning. "Your horse, your choice, old man."

  "I hear you fetch a handsome wage for breaking horses." Manning visibly measured Gray's worth, his gaze skeptical.

  "I don't break horses," he said carefully. "I help them understand."

  "What the devil do you expect that dumb animal to understand?" Manning inclined his head toward the stallion. "Danged thing ain't even got the good sense to come when it's feeding time. All I want is for you to make him saleworthy."

  "I wouldn't expect you to understand," Gray told the old man and then walked away. He would feed Shadow and put him out to pasture before he left so there would be no excuse for anyone else to go near the troubled animal.

  "Hey, wait a minute, Longwalker," Manning called out behind him. "You didn't tell me about your fee."

  "This one's for free," Gray answered without looking back. No way would he walk away from this job because an old goat like Manning didn't want to pay the price. Gray looked across the corral and his gaze connected with Shadow's. This horse needed him to come back.

  * * *

  GRAY BRAKED TO A STOP in the parking lot just outside his room at Thatcher's Tumbleweed Hotel. He eased out of his truck and scanned the near-deserted lot for anything that looked out of place. It was an old habit, one that had saved his neck on a number of occasions.

  Gray raked a hand through his hair and then settled his hat back
into place. He closed his truck door and dug into his jeans pocket for his room key. He needed a shower and change of clothes to rid himself of this layer of dust before he called on Lauren Whitmore. One way or another, he planned to see his daughter today. Three days was too long between visits.

  He wouldn't have waited this long if it hadn't been for the ridiculous and uncharacteristic guilt he felt over the possibility that he had caused Lauren that episode of headaches. No matter. Lauren Whitmore would just have to get used to having him around until the custody issue was settled. He was here for the duration.

  Gray shoved the key into the lock of the dingy green door and opened it. With the drapes closed the room was as dark as a cave. He dropped his key on the bedside table and sat down to pull his boots off. Gray intended to find a new place to have lunch today. He'd had about all the diner cuisine his stomach could handle for a while. But he wasn't quite ready to go down memory lane with Mrs. Jennings.

  Not bothering to turn on a light, Gray shrugged out of his shirt and then peeled off his jeans. The unbidden recollection of the appetite-teasing aromas in Lauren Whitmore's kitchen made his stomach grumble.

  He flipped the bathroom light switch and flooded the small room with a harsh fluorescent glow. Gray turned the shower on and grabbed a clean towel. He clenched his jaw against the memory of how good Lauren had smelled when he had held her in his arms and carried her to her bedroom. Her sweet scent had stirred another kind of hunger inside him. His groin tightened at the thought of touching her body with his mouth.

  Steam billowed around him as Gray stepped into the shower's spray of hot water. He forced the unbidden image of Lauren Whitmore from his mind. He refused to like anything about her, yet he couldn't seem to prevent his physical response to her.

  But he wouldn't like her. No matter how good she looked or smelled or felt in his arms, he would never like her.

  Pushing the wet hair out of his eyes, Gray sighed tiredly. Lauren, tempting though she was, stood for everything he'd had to overcome his lack of: respect, money, family.

  He closed his eyes as the water rinsed the soap from his body. He had money now. More than he would ever need. And he was highly respected for his work with horses. He didn't need anything else.

  He turned the water off and shoved the shower curtain aside. Truth was, he didn't need friends and he sure didn't need a woman like Lauren Whitmore haunting his thoughts. He had learned the hard way at a very young age that it didn't pay to care about anyone or anything. Caring would only put him in the position to lose.

  Gray towel dried his hair and then rubbed the rough material over his skin. A person had to trust to have friends or a relationship with a woman, and Gray didn't trust anyone. Oh, there were a few people he had come across with whom he had reached an understanding of sorts, but he trusted no one. There had been no shortage of willing females, either. But he never went back to the same one twice. Never.

  He tossed the towel aside and pulled on a clean pair of jeans. Gray didn't need anyone. He swiped his hand over the mirror to clear away the fog and stared at his reflection. A little girl's image transposed itself alongside his. "Well, nobody but Sarah," he amended aloud. He and Sarah would be a family.

  Family. A wave of old pain washed over him as the word echoed inside his head. He'd never had a family. For as long as he could remember it had been just him. Well, his mother had been there for a little while when he was very young. But by the time he was ten she had sunk so deeply into a pit of depression that no one could reach her. Gray had watched the once-vibrant and loving woman wither away for more than half a dozen years before death finally claimed her. Each passing year had hardened his young heart and made him more angry, more cynical until finally the rage had consumed him.

  Gray blinked and focused on his reflection once more. "Jesus, Longwalker, get your head out of your past and get on with what you came here to do," he ordered curtly. He would see to it that Sarah never knew that kind of pain or anger. She would have his name if it was the last thing he ever did. He would never ignore her as his father had ignored him.

  Gray pulled the door open and stepped out of the steamy bathroom and into the cool darkness of his room.

  "You didn't have to get all gussied up on our account," a male voice announced. Someone yanked the drapes open, and light poured into the room.

  Gray squinted against the sudden brightness. Four men spread out in an intimidating line across the room. With the blinding afternoon sun to their backs, they closed in on him. "What do you want?" Gray demanded, knowing full well what they had come for.

  "You mean you don't know?" another voice taunted.

  Gray sized up the young cowboy who seemed to be the leader of the group. All four looked young and capable enough to give him a hard time, but he had faced worse. He didn't recognize any of the men, but he knew who had sent them. "I have no idea what you could possibly want from me, but I'm sure you're going to tell me," he said flatly.

  The leader stepped forward. His lips curled into a sneer as he cracked his knuckles. "Consider this your welcome-home party, Longwalker."

  * * *

  LAUREN PUNCHED the off button on the receiver with a vengeance. She had a low tolerance level for people who didn't do what they said they would do, and Gray Longwalker had just put his name at the top of that list.

  If he hadn't intended to call her for an update, he shouldn't have made such a point of telling her that he would. Lauren had a sneaking suspicion that, rather than call, he planned to show up at her door about the time Sarah came home from school.

  Well, she would just see about that. Lauren snatched up her car keys and headed for the door. He hadn't called, and his phone had been busy for the past thirty minutes. The only thing left to do was give him his update in person, she decided. Lauren locked the door behind her and stalked across the yard, her anger building with each step she took.

  "Better at his place than mine," she muttered as she slid behind the wheel and started her car.

  Lauren spent the better part of the fifteen-minute trip from her ranch to town trying to decide how she would broach the subject of visitation with the man. Her anger had given way to anxiety. She had to choose her words carefully—let him know that he could visit Sarah, without making him feel welcome to drop by any time.

  And boundaries. She had to set clear boundaries. Lauren might not be able to prevent him from seeing Sarah, but he would play by her rules whether he liked it or not. At least she would have some sense of control over the situation until a judge told her otherwise.

  Lauren parked in front of the hotel's shabby office and was about to go inside to ask for Longwalker's room number when she spotted his fancy black truck. Lauren didn't know much about trucks but she did recognize that the one he owned was an expensive one with all the bells and whistles.

  The luxurious truck seemed oddly out of character for the man. Lauren trudged across the parking lot toward the row of rooms that lined the far side of the faded and cracked asphalt.

  Lauren glanced down at her watch. One-thirty. It still rankled her that the man hadn't called as he had said he would. Some father he would make, she fumed, he couldn't even make a simple telephone call. What if Sarah had been counting on his call and he had forgotten? Lauren sighed long and loud at the thought of Sarah being let down by anyone, much less her father.

  Her father. God, the words still disturbed her deeply.

  And what a fine start he had gotten off to in the fatherhood department. Give the man a break, she chided. Maybe he had taken the telephone off the hook and fallen asleep after lunch. Of course when a grown man needed a nap in the middle of the day, then he evidently wasn't sleeping at night. No telling what a guy like him did after dark.

  "Afternoon, ma'am."

  Lauren looked up in surprise at the unfamiliar male voice. A rough-and-tumble-looking foursome tipped their hats and grinned in a manner that barely skirted the fringes of being gentlemanly. Lauren forced a polite smi
le and hurried past. The group looked as if they had only just dragged themselves from the bar in which they'd had an early-morning brawl. Lauren hadn't looked long enough to see which of the group appeared to have gotten the raw end of the deal. They all seemed a bit the worse for wear.

  Longwalker's truck was parked in a slot with the number 112 stenciled on the curb. Lauren stepped up onto the walk and located the door with the matching number. She drew in a deep breath and knocked firmly. She frowned when the door swung inward a few inches.

  Why was the door open?

  Lauren tilted her head to try to see inside the room through the narrow opening. "Mr. Longwalker," she called as she pushed the door open a tad farther.

  She gasped at what she found. The room was a wreck. The table and a chair were overturned. Another chair was broken. The bed looked much the way Sarah's did after she and her little friends used it for a trampoline. And there didn't appear to be any sign of the occupant.

  "Mr. Longwalker," Lauren called out again, her voice oddly shrill in the too-quiet room. She stepped inside and noticed the telephone on the floor, an irritating high-pitched sound coming from the receiver. Lauren picked up the base and set it back on the night table. No wonder his line had been busy. She placed the receiver back in its cradle and surveyed the room again.

  Either there had been a fight or the place had been ransacked by a thief. Longwalker didn't strike her as the type to carry around valuables. In fact, Lauren had him pegged for one of those almost spiritual, back-to-nature types who believed material possessions hampered their oneness with the environment. Except for the truck, of course, she added.

  A ripping sound in the bathroom drew Lauren's attention to the closed door. She padded silently across the worn green-and-gold shag carpet. "Mr. Longwalker?" Lauren rapped on the door, then listened and waited for another sound or response of some sort.

  After a few moments the door opened and a battered Gray Longwalker glared down at her. "This isn't a good time for me, Ms. Whitmore," he said wearily, a guarded expression in his metallic gaze.