“We run cattle here, too,” Gigi said. “It’s how we keep the place afloat. We might be rich in land, but we have to make ends meet somehow. Some years, it’s not easy what with the cattle market being up and down. We’ve thought about selling some of our land, but then what would we do with the horses?”
That wasn’t true. That wasn’t true at all, but if Sam here was after Clint’s wealth, like Julia had been, Gigi wanted to know about it. So she watched Sam’s face closely for signs.
She just looked sad.
“Have you ever thought about setting up a trust for the horses?” Sam asked. “You know, maybe gather together some private investors. I’ve met a lot of wealthy people—through showing horses—and so I could probably coordinate it all. That way, when money is tight, you wouldn’t have to worry about caring for the horses again.”
“No,” Gigi said honestly. Because in truth the Baers were wealthy. Very wealthy. They’d sold land over the years, invested it. Yes, they lived simply, hadn’t remodeled the house in the past fifty years, or added expensive horse barns or flaunted their wealth. No need for that. They kept to themselves.
“I’d like to help,” Sam said, “if you’ll let me. Horse people are great. If I tell them I need money for wild mustangs, they’ll be onboard. It’ll be a tax write-off for them. That’ll be a plus. And if they donate money we could generate annual income. That income would grow over the years. You guys would never have to worry about taking care of your horses again.”
And in that instant, Gigi made her decision: Samantha Davies would marry her grandson.
“That’s a fine idea,” Gigi said.
But she wasn’t talking about horses, she was talking about her grandson’s upcoming marriage to Sam.
Chapter Seven
Clint knew something was up the second he entered the house. “Where is she?” he asked Gigi.
“Upstairs.” She reached for a piece of bread, which she lay on a cutting board. Looked like turkey sandwiches for lunch. “Settling into her room.”
“The one next to mine?” he asked sarcastically.
“No. The one next to mine,” Gigi said, glancing up, a piece of lettuce in her hand. She wore an apron with a skull and crossbones on it, the skull wearing a chef’s hat. It’d been a Christmas present three years ago. “You will leave that girl alone, Clinton.”
It was hard to take a woman seriously when she wore something that said: My Cooking’s To Die For.
“Or what, Grandma Gigi?” he asked, plopping down on the kitchen chair that was already cocked in her direction.
“Or I’ll lock you in your room.”
He smiled, stretched his arms up behind him and yawned before saying, “You gonna ground me?” Gigi’s habit of treating him like a little boy was a running joke between them.
“I’m going to put a lock on her door, that’s what I’m going to do. Don’t think I didn’t hear you in that tack room. You want that girl.”
“And if I do?” he asked. “What’s wrong with that? You like her, don’t you? Cripes, you told her about the horses.”
“I do like her. She’s been through so much, poor thing. And the horses obviously mean a lot to her. She’s not going to do anything to harm them.”
“How do we know that?” he asked. “I mean, really, Gigi, what do we know about her? She shows up on our doorstep, unannounced. Doesn’t call beforehand. Doesn’t do anything but show up here claiming to be a geologist—”
“She’s a geologist?”
“She was. Guess she had to quit. But that’s beside the point. We don’t know anything about her.”
“I ran a Google search for her while you two were outside.”
Clint rocked back in his chair.
Why was he not surprised?
Ever since he’d installed that damn satellite dish Gigi had spent more time on the Internet than she did outside. Well, maybe not really…but still.
“And what did Mr. Google say?” he asked, crossing his arms in front of him.
“She’s an excellent rider,” Gigi said.
“Yeah?”
Gigi nodded, popping open a tub of processed meat. “I didn’t have time to scan for much, but what I found was impressive. She’s ridden horses at quarter horse shows. There’s pages and pages of horse show results where her name is listed. She’s won numerous awards. There was even an article written about her. A ‘hardworking amateur,’ that’s what they called her. They said she had to make a lot of sacrifices to keep on showing.”
“Terrific,” he said. “Great. But will she keep quiet about our horses?”
“I think so.” But then she stopped what she was doing and slowly faced him. “I saw something about the accident, too.”
“Oh, yeah?” He supposed it was sort of morbid to discuss that.
“It was a big deal where she lived. Made the local news. I guess she was in a coma.”
I was out of it for a little while.
It appeared that had been an understatement. And though he didn’t know Samantha Davies very well, he wouldn’t be human if he didn’t feel sorry for her. He couldn’t imagine waking up in a hospital only to be told by a stranger your parents were dead. When they’d broken the news to him it’d come from Gigi.
“She was horribly sick. One of the local papers did a follow-up. The girl didn’t wake up for two weeks. Missed her parents’ funeral.” Gigi shook her head. “According to the paper, she doesn’t have family. The only people at the funeral were friends. Sad. Very sad.”
Missed her parents’ funeral? That had to have been tough. While the day he’d buried his parents had been one of the most difficult of his life, it had provided him a small amount of comfort to say a final goodbye.
“So you’ve convinced yourself we can trust her simply because of what she’s been through?”
Gigi sucked something off her thumb—mustard by the looks of it. “I believe so,” she said. “But there’s no way to be certain.” She leaned back against the counter. “One thing I can tell you, though, is that the girl’s been through a lot. And really, when you think about it, what does it matter? We’ve been lucky to keep the mustangs a secret for this long. Sooner or later it was bound to get out.”
“Yeah, but I’d just as soon delay the inevitable. I’m not looking forward to a bunch of crazy people knocking on our door. My biggest fear is that one day someone will get the idea to designate our horses as a national landmark or something. And then they’ll impose all kinds of rules and restrictions on how we handle, care and manage them…even though they’re our horses. Technically, we own them and so nobody can have a say in what we do with them. Still, I wouldn’t put it past someone to try.”
“Yeah, but maybe it’s time we took our chances. I’m not getting any younger. And what if you never marry? What if we both die without someone to carry on the ranch? Wouldn’t it be better to have something in place—maybe a trust like she was talking about—as insurance in case something like that happens?”
Clint could tell all this talk of death had gotten to her. He got up from his chair, snatched a sandwich from the cutting board, then bent and kissed Gigi’s head. “Nothing’s going to happen to either one of us, Gigi. Not for a long time.”
But as he drew back and looked down at her, he noticed that her hair had gotten more gray in recent years; it was almost pure white now. And her face had more lines in it. And her eyes, once so full of life, looked tired.
“But what if it does?” she asked.
Or maybe she was merely sad—on Sam’s behalf. He shook his head. “You’re working yourself up over nothing. The horses will be fine. And if you trust this girl, then I’m willing to believe you, too, but you need to lay down some rules with her. Just because you like her doesn’t mean we shouldn’t take precautions.”
“Okay,” she said, smiling up at him.
Man, he loved his Gigi. He didn’t know what he’d have done without her all those years ago. The fact that there was a woman upstairs, one who’d ju
st lost her parents, too, and that she’d had nobody to lean on after her parents’ death…well, maybe it was fate that had brought her to their doorstep.
“Where you going?” she asked as he spun away while taking a bite of the sandwich.
“Gonna go see our new guest and lay down the law.”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full of food,” she said, frowning.
“Well,” he replied after swallowing, “don’t ask me a question after I’ve taken a bite.”
“Clint.”
Reluctantly, he met her gaze.
“I mean it when I say stay away from her. Poor thing’s been through enough. She doesn’t need her life complicated by some weekend fling.”
“By the sound of it, she’s going to be here longer than a weekend.”
His grandmother’s eyes narrowed, lips pursed. “You know what I mean.”
He knew. Of course he knew. And Gigi was right. “I promise to behave.”
SAM CHANGED HER MIND ABOUT staying with Gigi at least a hundred times. As she unpacked her suitcase upstairs she kept thinking about Clint and what had happened—or had almost happened—in the barn. There’d been a second or two there, a brief instant, when she’d thought he might kiss her.
And she’d wanted him to.
Had her bump on the head caused her to lose her mind, too? She’d just met the man.
That more than anything made her doubt her decision to stay. She would stop every once in a while, stare out the window—at the rolling green hills and the mountains in the distance—and wonder if she was doing the right thing. Her mother must be rolling over in her grave. The Davies family didn’t take advantage of other people’s wealth, and it was obvious the Baers were well off. Though they didn’t live extravagantly, even the room was a testament to how comfortable a home they’d created. Done up in shades of off-white, it was the quintessential girl’s room—right down to the umbrella-top lamp shade with tiny teardrop crystals dangling down. Yet here she was.
I’m going to see the Baer Mountain horses, Mom.
“You look like you’re about ready to get a root canal.”
Clint stood in the open door, the ultimate cowboy in his beige button-down, tan hat and tight, tight jeans.
Sam!
“Just thinking about my parents,” she admitted absently, then immediately wished she hadn’t. She didn’t want to talk about them.
But he seemed to understand. “You think you’ll be ready to ride with us next week?”
She nodded. “Prior to my accident, I spent a lot of time on horseback.”
“There’s going to be some long days,” he said, leaning against the door frame.
Why was she suddenly nervous? He hadn’t made a move in her direction. He hadn’t even checked her out like he’d done in the barn. He was just standing there. In the doorway. Looking big. And handsome.
And male.
“When I’m at a show,” she said, “I can be on my horse for hours at a time. Believe me, I’m used to it.”
“Tell me something,” he said, tipping his head to the side. “How’d you afford all these shows? I’ve heard they can be expensive.”
“I scrimp and save,” she said. “As an amateur, I’m not allowed to have sponsors, so I pay for everything myself. Some years it’s tough, but I love showing so much I’m willing to make sacrifices. My parents helped me out when they could. It was a terrific life…”
Before.
She didn’t say the word out loud, but she didn’t have to.
“You’re really going to give all that up?”
She had to look away for a heartbeat. “I’m going to have to.” There was no reason to hold on to her horse. Sooner or later—probably sooner based on the way her peripheral vision was shrinking—she’d be blind. Coaster was too sweet a horse to sit around. Plus, there’d been all those medical bills, and with his show record, he was worth a small fortune.
“I don’t have a choice,” she said through a throat thick with tears, because, damn she would miss him.
Come on, Sam. Buck up. At least you’re alive.
“But it’s okay,” she said. “Coaster’s young. He’ll have a happy life in somebody else’s barn.”
“Is that your horse’s name? Coaster?” he asked.
“Yeah. He’s down in Texas right now, at a barn that specializes in quarter horses. My trainer thought we’d get more money for him there so he covered the cost of having him shipped down. My trainer will get a commission when Coaster sells.”
And she’d be able to breathe a little easier. That’s what she needed to focus on. Getting set for the future is all that mattered now, that and getting through life one day at a time.
“Hey,” she said, having to inhale deeply to stop more unwelcome tears from falling. She hated being such a crybaby. “I’d like to finish unpacking, if that’s okay.”
“Sure,” he said, straightening away from the door. “But one more thing.”
Another deep breath. That was better. She could feel her eyes drying up. “What’s that?”
“Would you be willing to sign something?” he asked. “A nondisclosure form? If I draw one up?”
“Absolutely,” she said. “I’ll even promise to give you my firstborn son.”
He stared at her, something flickering through his eyes. “That won’t be necessary.”
And then he was gone.
Sam sank onto the window sill.
SHE DIDN’T SEE CLINTON for the rest of the day. And when dinnertime came around, Gigi told her he went into town.
“Oh,” Sam murmured, oddly disappointed.
“Come and sit down,” Gigi said, motioning toward a table laden with food. “I’m known throughout the county for my famous meatloaf. Hopefully you’ll like it. Go on. We can eat and chat.”
They did exactly that, Sam growing more and more comfortable in the woman’s presence. But though they stayed up late, Clint never returned. And when she got up in the morning, Gigi told her he was already out working. “He feeds the horses breakfast at five, and then he’s off checking fences, or riding out to check stock, or hauling feed or doing something. Lots to do on a ranch this size.”
“Surely he doesn’t manage this place all by himself?”
“Good heavens, no,” Gigi said as she set a plate of food in front of her. Eggs and bacon. “Our help comes in from town. They’ll be here soon. Give it an hour and this place will be like Grand Central Station. But on the weekend, like yesterday, Clint keeps to himself.”
“I see,” Sam said, taking a forkful of food. “Oh, my gosh,” she said, covering her mouth. “Those are the best eggs I’ve ever had.”
“Heavy cream,” Gigi said, standing at the stove and filling up her plate. When she turned back, Sam noticed she wore a white apron with a skull and crossbones. It covered most of the denim button-down shirt she wore and her darker blue jeans. “Just a dash,” she said, sitting down across from her. “Makes them fluffier and sweeter. Clinton loves them.”
Clinton.
Sam felt like a horse in a new pasture: on edge. Waiting for trouble to show up. Unable to settle down.
“So you think Clint’ll be out all day?”
“I do,” Gigi said, digging in. “You’re free to roam around. Or use the phone. You mentioned last night that you wanted to check with the person who has your horse for sale in Texas.”
“Coaster.” Funny name for a horse, but it stemmed from his show name: Coasting in for Blues.
“You need a coaster?” Gigi asked, poised to get up from her chair and fetch her one.
“No,” Sam said with a shake of her head. “That’s my horse’s name. Coaster.”
“Oh.” Gigi chuckled. “I see. Well, you can call after we finish breakfast.”
Which she did. The horse broker who had him sounded pleased with his performance.
“We’ve had a lot of interest in him,” the man said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if we didn’t have him sold by the end of the month.
”
Sold.
So soon.
She’d been hoping to get down there to see him before that. To ride him one last time….
“I see,” she said.
“But I’ll keep you posted.”
“Thanks.” She hung up the phone.
“What’s the matter?” Gigi asked.
Sam shook her head. “Nothing.” She pasted a grin on her face. “Good news, actually. There’s been a lot of interest.”
But Gigi didn’t buy into the false cheer. Sam saw that immediately. “Are you sure you want to sell that animal?” she asked gently.
No. She didn’t want to sell him, but she had to. “It’s the best thing for him,” she said softly.
“Yes, but is it the best thing for you?” Gigi asked, setting her fork down. “Sometimes, a horse is great therapy.”
Sam nodded, refusing to cry today. She’d made enough of a boob of herself yesterday. “I think that’s why I came here,” she said. “Lots of horses to see.” Though her savings account was running dangerously low thanks to her impromptu trip. She might not even have the money to get down to Texas to say goodbye.
“There certainly is that. And you’re free to ride whichever one you choose.”
But she had to ask Clint if she could do that, something she meant to do when she finally tracked him down in the barn. It was still dark outside—that was how early she’d gotten up. Roosters crowed in the distance. Cows moaned in complaint. Sam huddled into the thick, lavender-colored down jacket she’d brought along…just in case.
“Hey there,” she said.
“Hey,” he replied with barely a pause. He opened a stall door and slipped inside. He was mucking out stalls, the scent of pine shavings filling the air. And, of course, he acted as if he hadn’t just about scorched the pants right off her the last time they’d been together.
“Can I help?” she asked. “By the looks of it, you still have at least half the barn to go.”
“No thanks,” he said, shoving his straw cowboy hat down on his head. He didn’t need it. Not this early in the morning. There was no sunlight—just bitter cold, something he’d bundled himself up against by wearing a denim jacket, jeans and boots—but she had a feeling it was a permanent part of his wardrobe.
The Wrangler Page 5