The Love of a Lawman, The Callister Trilogy, Book 3

by Jeffrey, Anna

  As John led Luke toward the corral, a conversation ensued between Isabelle and Dahlia about Texas places and people. Taken by the warmth and gentleness she sensed in the woman, Isabelle asked her if she, too, wanted to look at Dancer.

  "Of course," Dahlia said. "John told us he's blue."

  "Well, he is, sort of. He's a blue roan, which is a rare color. Really, the color is a deep gray, but it's mixed with white hairs, which gives a blue tint." They strolled toward the paddock where Dancer had been penned.

  "Why, he's beautiful," Dahlia said on a caught breath.

  Isabelle put her hand on Dahlia's arm. "Are you all right?"

  "I'm fine." Dahlia's hand splayed on her stomach. "There almost isn't enough room for this baby and my lungs."

  "If she doesn't come next week, will they induce?"

  "Oh, she'll make it. If she doesn't, Luke's promised to take me for a ride on a rough road. And Granny McRae wants to feed me castor oil."

  "Blech," Isabelle said and they laughed together.

  "Is this a Texas horse?" Dahlia asked, peering through the pole rails at Dancer.

  "Yes. I've had him since he was born. He's a love. He's one of my best friends."

  "John says you have a gift with horses, that you can communicate with them."

  Isabelle had wondered what John might tell others about her skill and occupation. She gave Dahlia a look. "Really? He said that?"

  "That's what he told Luke."

  Isabelle couldn't stop a huge smile. "He's probably partial."

  "You and John are together?"

  Words escaped Isabelle for a moment, but she bolstered her courage. "Well... yes, I suppose we are."

  "You look like you fit."

  Isabelle smiled again, feeling a tiny pride in saying John Bradshaw was her man. "I guess that's good, looking like you fit with someone."

  "I think so. I think I fit with Luke. We're both tall and sort of lanky. He's light and I'm dark, so we contrast. We made a very handsome son. Luke calls him a good cross."

  Isabelle laughed. "Like in cattle, huh?"

  "The first time I heard Luke say that, I was insulted, but later I realized, coming from him, it was a compliment."

  "John didn't mention that you and Luke have a son."

  "We have a houseful of kids. Luke's three from his former marriage, then our son, Joe. He's a three-year-old magpie."

  Dahlia's openness made Isabelle feel even more at ease.

  "Oh, look. He's impressed," Dahlia said, catching her breath again and veering her attention to her husband. They watched Luke make a circle around the stallion.

  "How can you tell?"

  "See how he's pinching his lower lip with his thumb and finger? He does that when he's either really interested in something or worried about it."

  Isabelle lifted her chin. "Ah, I see. Well, I'm glad he's interested."

  As Luke moved around the corral, Dahlia's eyes followed him. "You knew my husband when he was a teenager, didn't you?"

  "Not very well. He was a couple of years ahead of me in school. I remember, though, he always seemed to be in charge of things."

  A laugh burst from Dahlia. "I can well imagine. He's that kind of person." As Luke and John walked toward them, Dahlia's gaze lingered on her husband. "He's so strong and so smart."

  "Wow," Isabelle said, realizing she could say the same about John. "What nice things to say about him."

  "Isabelle," Luke said, approaching them, "that's a helluva horse. Go ahead and hit me with it. How much are you gonna want?"

  Isabelle's horse-trading experience kicked in and she began to talk breeding fees with Luke. He wasn't interested in paying for artificial insemination at first, but Isabelle stood her ground. He listened to her arguments and relented, said he would deliver four mares to the vet's office. The conversation ended with a handshake and Isabelle assured him she would follow up with written agreements to be signed.

  As Luke's arm slid around Dahlia's shoulder again, a gesture obviously meant to be both protective and possessive, she said to Isabelle, "After the baby comes, let's get together. I'll come to town one day and we can have lunch and talk about Texas."

  Isabelle agreed. She had observed that no matter where Texans were placed or misplaced, they always wanted to talk about Texas.

  As they drove away, Isabelle looked after them with an unexpected yearning. "They're really in love, aren't they?"

  John's arm came around her waist and she looked up at him. For a few seconds his eyes locked on hers. She was sure she saw the same emotion in his eyes she had just seen in Luke's when he looked at Dahlia.

  "Isabelle," John started, but she stopped him.

  "Don't say anything, John. We aren't there."

  His expression changed. What had almost fallen from his lips, what she saw in his face and what dangled unresolved within her was commitment.

  "Then where are we?" he asked.

  Fearing conversation could unweld the glue, she hedged. "I don't know, but this whole thing scares me. It's good between us right now. Let's leave it be."

  He continued to look at her for a few beats and she couldn't turn away, either. Finally he picked up her hand and kissed the back of it. And just like that, a distant sense of a pact sealed came to rest within her.

  Chapter 17

  As they walked toward the house, Isabelle reached for John's hand. He interlocked their fingers and she relaxed in the warmth and security of being near him. "Thank you for helping me today."

  "You don't have to thank me. I liked doing it. Just remind me to never get into a negotiation with you over money. I can't think of half a dozen people who could have squeezed that much out of Luke McRae for stud fees, especially when he started out not wanting to do AI."

  "You probably can't think of half a dozen people who're as desperate as I am or who need it more than I do, either."

  He planted a kiss on her lips. "Define 'it.'"

  "Money, John. Money."

  "Oh. I thought you were talking about something else." He grinned.

  She punched him on the arm. "That, too."

  He ducked down and kissed her again. "When's Ava coming home? I want to take you and her out for a steak dinner, up at the ski lodge. To celebrate a bunch of new foals sired by... what's his real name?"

  "Pepto's Blue Dan. What if someone sees us?"

  "What if someone does? Isabelle, it's okay for me to take a woman out to dinner."

  "But people will talk."

  He slapped her bottom. "Let 'em."

  "I'm not as fearless as you."

  He stopped her at the back door, his eyes catching hers. "You're wrong, Izzy-girl. You're a lot braver than I am."

  In the kitchen Isabelle pulled coffee mugs from the kitchen cupboard. She had made a decision she wanted to share. Since the day she and John rode in the mountains, she had been mulling over breeding the mares. "I've been thinking about Trixie and Polly."

  He grinned like an imp. No doubt he knew he had planted an irresistible idea in her head. "And?"

  "Polly's coming in heat. Trixie will be soon." She filled the coffeepot reservoir. "I'm thinking I should try to breed Polly again. Since I've gone this far and I'll be hauling Dancer to the vet's clinic anyway, it would be convenient."

  He came and leaned on his elbows on the counter, his arm touching hers as she measured the coffee. "You don't want to consider hand-breeding or just turning Dancer and Polly into the corral together?"

  "No. I don't want to risk either of them getting hurt."

  "Poor ol' Dancer. So good-looking. Full of piss and vinegar and he never gets any."

  Isabelle laughed and clicked the on switch. "It's his own fault. He shouldn't be so wild and crazy."

  "That's the way us super-studs are. Wild and crazy."

  She bumped his hip with hers and slid her hand along his belt. "I know. It's more than I can resist."

  "What made you change your mind?"

  "Reality. I could go broke before I ev
er get a horse training business going here and if my horses won every show in Idaho it still wouldn't be enough money to keep me afloat."

  "But what about the long-term commitment of a foal?"

  "Ava was always around the foals we had down in Texas, but she was too young to enjoy them. At the age she is now, I think she would love watching them grow up. And I'm not going anywhere anyway."

  He straightened, hooked an arm around her neck and drew her up to him. "That, lady, is the best news I've heard all day. And what about Billy?"

  "I'll have to make that call to Oklahoma. My horses can't be producing foals I can't register."

  One more thing she had been dreading for days had to be done. She flattened her hand on his stomach. "You're so good at favors. I need another one."

  He bent his head and kissed her. She turned in his arms, raised on her tiptoes and savored his soft, sweet-tasting mouth. In time, he lifted his lips from hers and brushed the tip of her nose with his. "You could talk me into just about anything," he said softly. "Name it."

  She leaned back and looked into his eyes, wanting to be taken into the magic of his space. A word for how she felt about him had so far eluded her. "The old breeding agreements Billy and I used are up in the attic. I need you to help me find one."

  She had already been into the attic bedroom and found the file box in which the agreements were stored, but attempting to sort one from the other and from various other filed documents became such a jumble of undecipherable words, she had given up on the task. A puzzled expression crossed John's face and the obvious question—why did she need help for that?

  "Remember when we were in bed and Paul came into the house?"

  "Hmm. I doubt if I'll forget that." He bent and teased her earlobe with his tongue. "You know, we've got an hour before Ava gets home."

  "You're distracting me." She closed her eyes and tilted her head for more of his warm mouth on her skin, a sensation that made her jittery. "Remember what he said about reading and writing?"

  "Who, Paul?" His mouth moved down her neck and he gave it a gentle bite.

  "It's true. I can only do it with a great struggle."

  "Do what?" His head moved back up and he placed a kiss at the side of her nose. "All this talk about breeding must have made me horny." He reached for her hand and placed it on his firm fly.

  She smiled as she rubbed his erection. "You're always horny."

  "Cool, huh?"

  "I should tell you something before we get too far into this. My period started this morning."

  "Not a problem for me. You?"

  "Yes," she said and smiled again.

  "Damn, you're tough." On a sigh, he released her. "Okay, why do we need to find the agreements?" He picked up the carafe of hot coffee and poured both cups full.

  "I want to copy one of them. I've never read them. I know what Billy said they say, but I haven't read them." She paused, shoring herself up for what she wanted to say. "I can't, John.... I'm dyslexic."

  She waited for his reaction—a gasp, a facial expression, something.

  He set his mug on the counter and placed his hands on her waist, pulled her tightly against his big body. He tipped up her chin with his knuckle and looked into her eyes. "So what? I'm left-handed."

  * * *

  Hoping he had hidden how Isabelle's revelation had stunned him, John followed her to an attic bedroom lit by bars of sunlight shining through a small octagonal window. There was an antique oak dresser, a tall stand-alone mirror in a frame and an iron bed covered with a homemade quilt.

  A dozen stacked cardboard boxes stood in one corner, tucked between the exposed roof joists. Isabelle handed him several file folders and he thumbed through them. The breeding agreements were legibly signed on the top line by William R. Bledsoe, but Isabelle's signature beneath his was childlike and often had missing letters.

  "I just need you to tell me what they say so I can pick the one to use," she told him.

  A lump formed in John's throat and stayed there through the perusal of the documents. They sat side by side on the edge of the bed and she kept her head lowered while he scanned them, then told her what each said. The agreements were simple, no ten-dollar words, no complicated lawyer jargon. After he read and explained the last one, she made her choice.

  He caught her chin with his thumb and finger and lifted her face to his, saw her eyes shiny. "This reading thing doesn't make any difference to me." He kissed her, hoping to prove it. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

  She sniffed and smiled. "It isn't something I brag about."

  "But this is me. You can tell me anything. I'll never criticize you."

  "It's hard. I didn't want you to think I'm dumb." She picked up the loose file folders and walked over to return them to the box. "I guess it's okay to go ahead. As far as the breeding fees go, we aren't talking about enough money for me and Billy to fight over. If he gets half of it, I'm sure he won't mind going along."

  She raised her head and stared out the octagonal window. "On the other hand, if I breed Trixie and Polly, the money from their foals could be substantial." She sighed. "I hate to bring up my finances, but I could really use that money. I've had to spend more here than I anticipated and the only paying customer I have so far is Mr. Fielder with his palomino. I'd really hate to have to share so much with Billy."

  And why should she, John thought as he sorted through other folders related to Isabelle's career. The sonofabitch deserted her. He felt a small twinge of guilt for pushing her in this direction. Still, maybe breeding the mares would spur her to settle up with Billy once and for all.

  John landed on one file folder holding copies of articles that had appeared in various trade magazines and newspapers about the Bledsoe-Rondeau training operation. Each article named Billy as the "trainer" and "handler," with no mention of Izzy. "I don't remember Billy being especially good with horses," he said.

  She smiled. "Well, he isn't that great. He's too impatient, especially working with the ones that are hard to handle. He's best at hanging out in the bars and BSing with the high rollers."

  "Your name is hardly mentioned in these articles."

  "When they were written it wasn't that important. Billy needed the boost to his reputation and that was okay with me." She lifted her shoulders in a shrug, telling him she had willingly accepted the second-place role. "I mean, we were partners and partners should support each other. Most of the owners knew who really did the important work with the horses. Some of them wrote me letters."

  She plucked another folder from the box. It held a dozen letters from grateful horse owners praising her skills.

  "Here's your leverage with Billy," John said, scanning the letters. "If he thought you might spill what a phony he is, he'd be glad to cooperate on signing the horses over to you."

  "Isn't that a little like blackmail?"

  "I don't see it that way. He had no conscience about shutting you out of the praise for the work done or about leaving you and his kid high and dry. He already said you could have the horses. And he already proved he didn't want them. All you'd be doing is reminding him of his commitments."

  "I don't know, John. I'm not good at being tough."

  "You don't have to be. You still know cutting-horse people. I know a few in the AQHA. They all like to gossip. A few well-placed words and Billy's reputation would be history. Under the circumstances, I see no harm in pointing that out to him. A prick shouldn't win every battle."

  * * *

  Isabelle waited until after Ava left for school the next morning to place the call to Ardmore, Oklahoma. With the time difference, she hoped to catch Billy before he left the house. She sat down at the kitchen table with the phone, her pad and pen and a fresh cup of coffee. To deal with the ten digit telephone number, she wrote only two numbers on each of the lines of the pad. Before keying in the number, she lectured herself on being cordial but businesslike. She no longer cared about him in the way she once had, so there was no reason for melodra
ma. No quarreling.

  A Hispanic woman answered the phone—Isabelle assumed she was a maid—and asked her to wait. Soon Billy came on the line. He sounded surprised, but relaxed, even friendly, which was a relief, since she knew his mood swings.

  Before she could say why she called, he launched a long story about how well one of his horses had done in a show somewhere, how successful his breeding program was and how much money his assets were returning.

  Isabelle cringed at the terminology. She hadn't heard that kind of talk about horses since she left Texas. Still, hearing him speak of doing so well gave her confidence and she asked if he had gotten her letter.

  "Yeah, I got it," he said. "Who helped you write it?"

  She ignored the barb. "I need you to sign those papers and get them back to me. I'm stuck without clearing up the registration."

  "I don't see why. You can do whatever you want to, sweet thing. If you make any money, just send me my half. I trust you, Izzy-darlin'."

  Her jaw tightened. He had always called her that when he talked down to her. "You washed your hands of these horses, Billy. You gave them to me." Drawing a deep breath, she built a mental picture of John standing behind her. "I expect you to keep your word."

  A few seconds of silence. "I don't know what you're talking about. Why would I give away my interest in good horses?"

  Anger began to grow as she recalled his stubborn stonewalling when she sold the place in Texas. John's image nudged her and she found courage she hadn't had when she dealt with her ex-partner before.

  She talked about a few mutual friends, including some who knew his Oklahoma girlfriend and a freelance writer who regularly contributed to Performance Horse magazine. She followed up by reminding him he had never paid a penny in child support and in the same breath she mentioned a mad-dog lawyer whose horse she alone had taken to a hefty cash prize. She concluded by telling him she wanted the signed transfer papers back via overnight mail.

  Billy argued, accused her of blackmail and hung up in her ear, but she wasn't put off. He wasn't a terribly fearless guy. She believed he would finally sign, would be afraid not to. He would bluster and cuss and call her names, whine to his bar buddies for a day or two, but faced with her threats, which he had never had to face before, he would sign. He knew she could make his life one long embarrassing moment and he had ample respect for the mad-dog lawyer, who had always liked her.