“I’ve had a lot of experience,” Zane argued. That much was true; before stumbling into the movie business, Zane Sutton had faithfully followed the rodeo circuit, getting his share of bruises, bloody noses and broken bones along the way, but making a name for himself, too.
Landry rolled his shoulders, loosening up and dead sure there was no sense in refuting the irrefutable. Zane knew his rodeo, all right, and he was way ahead of Landry when it came to buckles and prize money—but then, this competition wasn’t about following in his big brother’s boot-prints. It was about meeting a challenge Landry had set for himself and himself alone. It was about being scared as hell, pinning a number on his shirt the day of his event, lowering himself into the chute and riding in spite of the fear any sensible man would have, faced with fifteen hundred pounds of badass horse.
“And there’s only one way to get experience, now, isn’t there?” he asked.
A vein pulsed at Zane’s left temple, and he clenched his teeth for a moment, gathering his temporarily scattered forces before leaning in and snapping, “Damn it, Landry, this is crazy—like it or not, you’re still a greenhorn—and besides that, you have nothing to prove—not to me or anybody else!”
“You’re wrong there, big brother,” Landry answered calmly. “I do have something to prove—to myself.”
With that, he turned his back on Zane and walked away, leaving his horse for his brother to take care of and climbing the corral fence to wait for the first ride.
Zane still didn’t back down, being cut from the same cloth as Landry. Instead of standing down, he turned the two horses over to a ranch hand and stalked after Landry, scrambling up the rails in the fence to perch beside him.
“Don’t do this,” he said. He’d probably meant the words as a command, but they came out sounding more like a plea. “If you get hurt—”
“If I get hurt,” Landry replied reasonably, “I get hurt. Same as you, same as anybody.”
“But—” Zane started out, before losing his momentum and beginning again. “Why, Landry?”
By then, Walker was leading a fractious, balking bronc, one of the new bunch, their way.
“Because I need to know I can do it,” Landry said, without looking at Zane. “It’s that simple.”
Zane swore under his breath, and it was colorful.
Simultaneously, Walker rode up alongside the fence with the bronc, expertly releasing the slipknot in the lead rope when Landry swung out onto the animal’s heaving, dusty back.
For a nanosecond, nothing happened. And then all hell broke loose, a fitting description, since that critter bucked as if it was possessed by the devil. It swiveled and lunged, pitched forward, then reared back, evidently trying to shake Landry’s skeleton apart and leave the bones on the ground in a bloody heap.
It was terrifying. It was great.
Landry gave a shout of laughter and held on for dear life.
* * *
ON MONDAY MORNING, while Ria and her niece and the dog were on their way to the bank in Three Trees, in Ria’s unprepossessing compact car, planning to deposit the take from Saturday’s farmers’ market, Quinn’s cell phone rang.
Ria knew instantly, by the girl’s tense expression, that the caller was Meredith.
“Okay,” Quinn said, after a wary “hello” and some listening. “Okay, yeah—I understand. Right. Well, I’m sure we can figure something out—sure, I’m fine—”
Ria did her best to concentrate on the road, not Quinn’s end of the conversation, which was patently none of her business, but she couldn’t help what she felt—a sense of impending change, irrevocable change. Something was coming, she knew that for certain, something colossal and possibly awful.
Quinn went on talking. Listened. Talked again.
Meredith’s voice was mere static, her words indiscernible from where Ria sat.
Finally, Quinn said goodbye and ended the call.
They were on the outskirts of Three Trees by then.
“What?” Ria asked, unable to contain her trepidation or her curiosity.
“Meredith’s coming to Three Trees,” Quinn said, sounding and looking like a person in a trance.
“Why?” Ria said, though she was all too sure she already knew the answer.
Meredith was coming to collect her daughter, drag her back to Portland or force her to go to camp, and there wasn’t a single thing Ria could do about it.
Thoughtfully, Quinn tucked her phone back inside the special pocket in her purse. “She said she needed to get away from things for a while,” the girl replied. “So she booked a room at some bed-and-breakfast place. She’s driving, and she’ll be here in a couple of days.”
“That’s all she said?” Ria was reeling. Meredith was coming here, to Three Trees, Montana? It was still too incredible to fully comprehend.
“She didn’t say anything about making me go to camp, at least,” Quinn said, obviously as stunned as Ria was. “Or making me go with her when she leaves.” A sigh, too deep and too heavy to come from a seventeen-year-old. “All she really said was that she needed some time to think—lots of it—and a place fifty miles from nowhere might be just the place to do that.”
Ria was glad to see the bank just ahead, because her palms were damp, and therefore slippery on the steering wheel, and her knees had dissolved, broken themselves down to the particle level.
At the moment, not hysterical but shaken, just the same, and seated behind the wheel of a moving vehicle, she represented a danger to herself and others, and even though there was hardly any traffic, the only responsible thing to do was get off the street.
Operating on automatic pilot, Ria pulled into the parking lot at the bank, chose a slot near the entrance, in the shade of a well-established maple tree, and zipped into it to brake, shift into Park and shut off the engine. Then she sat there, numb, confounded and just a smidgen pissed off at the prospect of her half sister about to land, practically without warning, square in the middle of her life. Knowing Meredith, she’d arrive with all the subtle grace of a storm trooper, after which things would start blowing up on all sides like a scene from one of the Die Hard movies.
It was crazy.
Meredith, who probably didn’t own a pair of jeans, beating a retreat to Cowboy Town, of all places? Meredith, who wore white—off-white when she felt adventurous—mincing around in rural Montana, land of mud and manure and unpaved roads, perennially dusty?
She was obsessing, Ria knew that, and it had to stop, this instant. Ria Manning would not allow herself another meltdown, especially in front of her niece.
“I’ll go inside and make the deposit,” Quinn volunteered. “You just sit here and breathe, okay?”
“Okay,” Ria agreed, unclamping her back molars and sucking in some air.
Her silent mantra was everything will be all right.
Quinn pushed open her car door, zippered deposit bag in hand, and headed off on her mission, leaving Ria and Bones, who was ensconced in the backseat, to—what?
Oh, yeah. She remembered now.
They were supposed to breathe.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
TRUE TO FORM, Meredith rolled up in front of Ria’s modest house two days later, driving her pearl-white Jaguar and looking beautiful, in her patently Nordic ice-princess way. She gave the horn a merry toot and waved through the spotless windshield.
Ria and Quinn were busy weeding flower beds in different parts of the yard when zero hour finally came, both of them on their knees, both of them grass-stained, sweaty and grubby with garden dirt and, up until now, perfectly content and present to what they were doing.
Ria got to her feet, rummaging for a smile as she did so, silently reprimanding herself for not being the least bit glad to see her only sister, her one remaining blood relative besides Quinn. Hadn’t she offered to help Meredith in any way she could, after learning of her business problems? Why was she so resistant to the idea now?
Quinn, meanwhile, called Bones to her side, as ur
gently as if he’d been about to dash out into heavy traffic, rose to her feet, and, when the dog reached her, she quickly scooped him up into her arms. Held him protectively.
Meredith swung gracefully out of the Jag, clad in her usual pristine white. At least she wasn’t wearing a tailored suit and high heels, Ria thought stupidly—or chain mail and other battle gear.
Predictably, Ria’s sister had chosen an cotton-eyelet sundress that set off her artificial tan, completing the look with matching sandals. There wasn’t a wrinkle or a smudge anywhere on her person—the woman might have been magically teleported straight to this little farm in Montana from a dressing room at Nordstrom or Neiman Marcus, instead of driving for hours and hours and then more hours.
How did she do that? Ria wondered, as she had so many times before.
Meredith, for her part, didn’t move for a long time—she seemed poised to jump back into her car and speed out of there, if it came to that. Maybe she expected a grizzly to come bounding out of nowhere, growling and slavering, intent on gobbling her up like a character in an old-time fairy tale of the unvarnished variety, such was her aversion to wide-open spaces. Meredith preferred skyscrapers, paved streets and plenty of concrete sidewalks.
Ria finally shook off these thoughts, scraped up a smile and started toward her sister, flanked by a singularly unenthusiastic Quinn. The dog, who had recently developed a penchant for finding icky things on the ground and rolling in them, gave off a distinctly unpleasant scent, though he showed the good sense not to bark the way he did when the mail carrier or the UPS man pulled in.
Maybe, Ria thought, Bones was scared to let out a peep. Smart dog.
Meredith, meanwhile, eyed both Ria and Quinn with an attempt at smiling aplomb and a quick step backward. If she’d been wearing a sandwich board, the words scrawled on it, in big letters, would almost certainly have read Please do not hug.
“Isn’t anyone glad to see me?” Meredith trilled, clearly uncomfortable and doing her damnedest to look otherwise.
“That depends,” Quinn replied cautiously, and with a slight edge to her voice. “I’m not going to camp, and you’re not going to put Bones in some shelter, either. Once I’m sure we’re on the same page, I might be a little glad to see you.”
Meredith flinched and kept her mouth shut, stuck for an answer, it seemed.
Ria moved closer to Quinn, slipped a reassuring arm around the girl’s shoulders, which were trembling a little. “Take it easy, sweetheart,” she said quietly.
Meredith’s smile clung, brittle, to her perfectly outlined, rose-colored lips, and she flung manicured hands out from her sides, doing her imitation of good-natured frustration. “You can keep the dog,” she said, in sweet-and-sour tones, still maintaining her careful distance. “And, in any case, it’s too late to start camp. They’re well into the summer program and it’s very comprehensive, so they’re not admitting anyone else.”
The implication was plain enough: you blew it, kid. You’re missing out on some really great stuff.
“Meredith,” Ria ventured politely, “why don’t we go inside? There’s iced tea, and it’s much cooler in the house—”
Meredith cut Ria off with a glance sharp enough to slice overripe tomatoes paper-thin. “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you,” she said coolly, with a shake of her head. “I’ve taken adjoining rooms at what passes for a hotel in the fair city of Three Trees, and my daughter and I will be staying there for the time being. We need privacy if we’re going to save our relationship, and there are other decisions to make, as well.”
Decisions that don’t, of course, concern you, Ria Manning.
Ria didn’t react, not visibly, anyway. She should be used to this by now, she reasoned silently, since she’d always been the outsider. But she wasn’t used to it—she felt like a social climber, a party crasher, not a member of the Whittingford family.
Oh, no, never that.
Quinn, looking on, went rigid, holding poor Bones in such a viselike grip that he gave a little yelp of protest and scrabbled at the girl’s chest with his front paws, wanting to be put down.
Reluctantly, her throat working visibly, Quinn loosened her hold on the dog and then, with the greatest reluctance, set him gently at her feet.
“I told you,” Quinn said, when she found her voice again, “I’m not leaving Bones.”
This, Ria knew, was a bluff, and a bold one. Quinn was under eighteen, which meant Meredith was still running the show. And she had the full weight of the law behind her.
Ria ached—for the frightened girl, for the helpless little dog, for her half sister, who couldn’t seem to get the hang of being a mother.
Meredith gave a sharp little huff of exasperation in response to Quinn’s brave statement. “All right, all right, you can keep the dog,” she said, unable to hide her distaste but, remarkably, willing to make a concession. Meredith didn’t make concessions.
Bones immediately trotted over to sniff at Meredith’s gleaming coral toenails, and she gasped in alarm, her expression pained as she met Quinn’s gaze again. “This creature had better behave himself, though,” she added, with a kind of tremulous bravado, “because I had to put down a big damage deposit before the hotel would agree that we could bring him inside.” The pitch of Meredith’s voice rose slightly and she did another slight jig as Bones took an interest in her ankles and commenced to sniff those instead of her toenails. “H-honestly,” she declared, elegantly fretful, “I thought these country towns were supposed to be oh so tolerant of livestock, and that hotel has the nerve to tout itself as ‘pet friendly’ on its website, then turns around and demands a ridiculous sum for doing the customer a ‘favor.’”
Quinn and Ria exchanged a look of grim amusement. Bones was livestock?
Quinn decided to round up the herd, gave a low whistle and smiled very slightly as Bones came right back to her. He was officially her dog now, since he was duly licensed, and Quinn took good care of him. He’d even been to the vet for an exam and the necessary shots, and when it came to training, he was a quick study.
Ria glanced at her niece, saw that she was biting her lower lip, engaged in some inner struggle as she looked warily at Meredith—but there was hope there, too, a fragile yearning to make lasting peace with the woman who had, after all, given birth to her.
Quinn might be nearly grown, but she still wanted, still needed, a mother.
And it did appear that Meredith was really trying to bridge the gap between herself and her daughter; she was willing to give a bit of ground for once, an astounding thing. Moreover, her overture had included Bones, and that was even more astounding. Anybody who knew Meredith, at all, would have bet she’d dig in her heels for sure when it came to accepting the dog.
“Is this for real?” Quinn asked, and it was clear that she desperately wanted a yes, but, nobody’s fool, she was plagued by lingering doubts. Little wonder, given her and Meredith’s history of casual estrangement. “Because if this is some kind of trick, Mom, and your actual plan is to ditch Bones at the first opportunity, I will never forgive you. Never, ever, ever. I swear we’ll hit the road again if you try anything, Bones and me both, and that’ll be the end of it—no second chances.”
The kid drove a hard bargain, Ria thought fitfully. How would this all turn out?
She felt a shudder go through her, even though the early afternoon was warm and sunny. No doubt about it, Quinn meant what she said, and Ria could only offer a silent prayer that Meredith understood just how much was at stake here.
To everyone’s surprise—probably even her own—Meredith’s pale blue eyes suddenly filled with tears. “Do you have any idea, Quinn Whittingford, how many dreadful, horrible, unspeakable things can—and do—happen to teenage runaways—girls and boys, every minute of every day?”
“I watch the ID network,” Quinn replied nonchalantly, with a curt little nod. “So yeah, I guess I have a pretty good idea. But I’ll still take the chance, if that’s what I have to do.”
> While Meredith was still recovering from that statement, not even bothering to swipe at the tears that were washing away her mascara and slipping down her cheeks in small black runnels that zigzagged like little rivers to drop off her chin and stain her formerly impeccable white dress, Quinn stood stock-still, silently unrelenting.
“If we’re going to make this work,” Meredith finally blurted out, between soft, shoulder-quaking sobs, “I’ll have to be the mother, Quinn. I promise things will be different—we’ll talk things through, and you’ll have your say in every decision that concerns you—but if you think I’m going to let you raise yourself, while I conveniently look the other way, you are so, completely, spectacularly wrong!”
Ria was downright proud of her half sister in that moment—Meredith was willing to lighten up, but she wasn’t about to abdicate her role as a parent, either.
You go, girl, Ria thought.
Meredith reached into the car for her designer handbag, opened it and plucked out a clump of tissue, dabbing at her eyes, swiping at her wet cheeks, rubbing away the last of her foundation and blusher. Then, having regained a semblance of dignity, she straightened her spine, looked directly at Quinn and said, “You have my word—whatever happens after our peace talks, whether you decide to stay here with Ria or go back to Portland with me, the dog stays. I’ll—I’ll just have to get used to him. Somehow.”
Quinn, it seemed, was finally convinced. “I’ll get my things,” she said.
Then she and Bones crossed the lawn, bounded up the porch steps and vanished into the house.
Meredith and Ria just stood there, enveloped in awkward silence, Meredith with her eyes fixed on the far horizon, Ria looking straight at her half sister. It was a one-sided stare-down, and winning by default was still a victory.
Finally, Ria folded her arms, tilted her head to one side and asked, “What happened, Meredith? What’s changed?”
At last, Meredith returned Ria’s gaze. “I’ve lost so much,” she said, her voice small again, void of its usual crisp disdain for the inconvenient daughter of Daddy and the showgirl. “The company’s going under—there’s no way around it—and most of the little money I have left will be gone by the time this is all over.” Pain shadowed her eyes, but a faint glint of determination remained, Ria was glad to see. “I can’t lose my daughter, too.”
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