by Sheryl Lynn
He jammed his weight back in the saddle and reined to the left, using Itchy’s weight to pull Doc off stride. The thoroughbred stumbled, still fighting the bit, but he turned, swerving into Itchy, and Megan’s knee banged against Itchy’s saddle. The big horse raised his ears and rolled his eyes—he was back in the real world again. As they reached the hillcrest both horses slowed to a canter, then a trot and finally a stop.
Tristan kept hold of Doc’s reins. Turned black by sweat and with his sides heaving, Doc quivered and shuffled his hooves, ready to run again.
“Get off.” Tristan didn’t raise his voice, but his fury came through loud and clear.
From her position atop the hill Megan could see the highway. A semi-tractor trailer rumbled past at fifty miles an hour. For a moment she couldn’t unlock her knees, and her chest hurt so much she feared a heart attack. Finally she managed to work her boots out of the stirrups and she slid shakily to the ground. Doc jerked his head and pawed the dirt before dancing away from her.
“Can you calm him?” Tristan demanded. His eyes glittered, and his face had a grayish cast.
Her legs trembled, and the hot taste of fear filled her throat, but she ignored both sensations as she readjusted her grip on Doc’s bridle and began leading him in a circle. Her hands burned like fire; she knew without looking that the reins had rasped them raw. She avoided looking down the hill. Sheer luck had kept her on the saddle.
“Retired racehorse?” Tristan jumped off the saddle. “Did you know he doesn’t know he’s retired?”
Hooves pounded as William galloped up the hill. His dusty face had paled, and his mouth tightened in a thin line. He stopped Daisy, and Tristan tossed Itchy’s reins to his son.
“When did you think to stop him, girl? Before or after you got creamed on the highway? Give him to me.”
Stricken, too winded and scared to explain she hadn’t been racing Doc on purpose, she gripped the bridle above the bit with one hand and the reins in the other. Doc pranced and jerked his head, trying to rear and nearly pulling Megan off her feet. Her trembling arms barely contained the strength to hold on.
Tristan took the bridle in both hands. Megan relinquished her hold and stumbled a safe distance away. Panting, she bent over and grasped her knees. Tristan gave Doc no slack as he stood his ground, using both powerful arms and his considerable weight to hold the horse’s head still. He talked soft and low until the thoroughbred settled.
Tristan led the restless horse down the hill. “This old boy’s got a mouth like a cast-iron pot and you know it, too, don’t you?”
She hurried after him. “You don’t understand!”
“I understand a knucklehead when I see one. Of all the stupid, idiotic, show-off things to do—dammit!”
“I didn’t do it on purpose, Tristan! Something spooked him.” She glowered at his stiff back. “I wasn’t racing him. I know better.” She tried to take his arm, but he shrugged her off.
“Dad?”
“Of all the doggone, foolish, city-girl things to do. Think ‘cause you can tell head from tail, that makes you some kind of expert.”
“I didn’t do it on purpose! Will you look at me?”
“He’s ten times too much horse for you. Retired racehorse—”
“Dad!”
Tristan turned his glare on his son. “What?”
William indicated Doc with a slow movement of his face. Tristan and Megan followed his fixed stare. Doc’s haunch was bleeding.
“Oh, no,” Megan breathed, and ran her hand along the length of his body to his hindquarters. High on his haunch, a wound bled freely, the blood glistening like tar against his sweaty hair. “He’s hurt.”
Doc whickered anxiously and lifted his right hind hoof as if his leg pained him. A gash had opened a flap of skin about two inches long, but it wasn’t deep, and the flesh had puffed angrily around the wound. Megan guessed he might need a stitch or two to close the cut, but it wasn’t serious.
What it was, was mysterious. The injury, positioned high on his right flank, couldn’t have been caused by the horse throwing a rock at himself. Thinking back to when he’d bolted, she remembered his frightened buck.
“Somebody hit him deliberately, Tristan.”
“She’s right, Dad,” William said. “I saw him take off. He was plumb spooked.”
Chapter Eight
“He sure got hit by something,” Cody said. It had taken only ten minutes to clean and stitch Doc’s wound. Though quivering a bit when the needle pricked him, the big horse had stood quietly throughout the wrangler’s ministrations. “Tell me again what happened, Meg.”
“It was my fault,” William said. He perched on a stall wall, his long legs dangling. With his eyes glazed by unfallen tears and his mouth soft, he looked his young age. “I was showing off and ran up on her. So when Doc spooked, he bolted.”
Aghast, Megan shook her head hard. “Don’t say that! It wasn’t your fault.” She touched Tristan’s arm. “It wasn’t his fault. Somebody threw a rock and hit Doc. William had nothing to do with it”
William hopped off the wall and crammed his hands in his pockets. Tristan draped an arm around his son’s shoulders.
Closing her eyes, Megan dredged up a memory of what exactly had happened. “We were at the trailhead where it reaches the main road. I was watching William when all of a sudden Doc spooked. I almost fell, and by the time I got my balance, he was running away with me.”
“Did you see anybody in the trees?” Cody asked.
“I didn’t see anyone. Tristan?”
“I wasn’t looking at the trees. Maybe it wasn’t a rock. Maybe it was a pinecone or a branch fallen off a tree.”
Cody huffed and his mustache twitched. “Not to cut him that bad.” He unclipped the tether from Doc’s halter and led him to a stall. Appearing none the worse for wear, the horse entered the stall and immediately shoved his nose into the feed bucket to see if by chance it was suppertime yet.
Megan turned her gaze out the barn door and toward the lodge. Anyone in front of the lodge could have seen three riders up in the hills. A map was posted near the flower beds, showing the trails on the resort property, which meant a good guess would have been that riders up in the hills would follow the trail leading to the main road. A low-down, sneaky, mean-spirited ambush—one of them could have been badly hurt!
“You took some of the Princess Amore ladies riding, right?” she asked. So angry, it was all she could do to keep her voice below a screech. She clenched her fists and locked her knees to keep from bouncing around like a maniac. “Was Daniella Falconetti one of them?”
Tristan dropped a hand on her shoulder. “Now, hold on there, Megan.”
She slapped his hand away and stepped out of reach. Part of her anger was reserved for him. He’d been quick to assume she’d been racing Doc on purpose—quick to assume she’d be so immature as to endanger herself for fun. If he thought for one second she intended to spend her life pretending to be a staid old lady, he was out of his mind. They’d discuss it later. At the moment, she settled for giving him a dirty look.
“You think that lady chucked a rock at you?” William asked. “I thought she was mad at Dad.”
“That’s exactly what I think. Just like I think that rock slide was no accident. So did you take Daniella riding, Cody?”
“Haven’t had the pleasure of meeting her.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Heard some tales, though.” Cody fussed with the hasp on the stall door. “You know I don’t pay heed to gossip, Meg. Not my place.”
“Drop it, honey,” Tristan said. His voice held a growl of warning.
“I am not dropping it! That woman is insane. Go ahead and shrug off her trying to kill you, but I’m getting to the bottom of it.” She stalked out of the barn.
Tristan caught up to her, grabbed her elbow and halted her in midstep. “You’re upsetting my boy.”
Incredulous, she jerked out of his grasp and rubbed her arm. “It’s bad enough you jumping to the conclusio
n that I’d act like an idiot on a horse. But pretending like it’s nothing while that woman is trying to kill you is unbelievable. You don’t have bad luck. You’re plain old stupid!”
“I’m not talking about me! Doggone it, Megan, use your head. He’s only fourteen. Don’t be dragging him into crazy talk about murder plots.”
As his meaning sank in, she bit her lower lip. As a child, when her father left on potentially dangerous missions, her mother had always kept up a strong front for her children. Megan had stayed scared, anyway, lying awake at night and praying for her father’s safety. She stared into Tristan’s eyes, knowing the fierce protectiveness he felt for his son.
His face darkened and his eyes narrowed. He grabbed her arm again; this time his fingers encircled her upper arm in a steely grip. He hustled her toward a toolshed. She didn’t bother fighting but trotted to keep up. With every step, her fury climbed a notch. The shed door was ajar and Tristan stuck his head inside, seeing if it was occupied before he entered, hauling her after him.
“If,” he said slowly, “that woman aims to harm me, then we’ll get to the bottom of it. But not by scaring my boy. And don’t be calling me stupid.”
“Take your hand off me.” She stood rigid until he released her. “Don’t you ever manhandle me again. I won’t put up with it.”
He crammed his hands in his back pockets. In the shadowy gloom of the shed, all she could see of his eyes beneath his hat brim was a hot glitter. The shed smelled of oil and gasoline from the riding lawn mower and snowblower stored beneath tarps. The stink fueled her fury—nobody dragged Megan Duke into the toolshed for a dressing-down!
She poked his chest with a stiff finger. “You are stupid! And quit treating me like a kid.”
He laughed.
Startled, her eyes widened. As he kept chuckling, the tension eased in her chest. “Don’t laugh at me. This isn’t funny!”
“Girl, I’m a head taller than you and I’ve got a hundred-pound advantage, and you’re trying to pick a fistfight. What’s more, you’re thinking you can win. I can see it in your eyes.”
She clamped her arms tightly over her chest.
“Can you even spell caution?”
She’d argue, except he was right. When she was heated up, consequences didn’t matter. Anger drained away, leaving embarrassment in its wake. “You’re right. I act dumb sometimes. I don’t know what comes over me.” The more she thought about it, the more embarrassed she grew.
“You remind me of my brother, Charles. Always wading into trouble and devil take the hindmost.”
She doubted very much Tristan meant the comparison as a compliment. Terrific. Maybe fate wasn’t putting her and Tristan together. Maybe fate was trying to tell her romance wasn’t in her life plan and she was destined to grow old alone and rootless.
“I’m sorry for talking in front of William. I keep forgetting he’s so young.” She sighed and closed her eyes as the events caught up to her. “You saved my hide again, Tristan. Doc had the bit in his teeth and I couldn’t make him stop.” A feather-soft caress along her cheek brought another sigh. She looked up at him, and the tenderness of his expression weakened her knees.
“I’m sorry, too, honey. I knew you couldn’t stop him. Reckon it scared me, but I shouldn’t have jumped on you like that.” He cupped her cheek in his hand. “We shouldn’t be jumping on each other.”
She moved away, hugging her elbows. “It looks like your instincts are better than mine.”
“What do you mean?”
“About us. About me being too young. I fell in love with your letters, Tristan. And with your voice on the telephone. But now I don’t know if I fell in love with you or the idea of you.”
“In love…” he said quietly.
“You’re everything I thought I wanted. Stability, a history, a hometown. The ranch and working with animals and being self-sufficient and having room to breathe. You made me laugh, and sometimes what you wrote was so beautiful I wanted to cry. But I can’t be what I’m not. I’m not old and I’m not wise and I can’t love you if it means worrying all the time about screwing up.”
“Oh.” He cocked back his hat.
“I thought I could show you the age difference doesn’t mean anything. But you don’t want to change your mind and you don’t want me.”
The words felt like quitting, conceding defeat, paining her. Other options eluded her, though. She couldn’t force him to love her, and she could not be what she was not.
He reached for her, but she moved, putting the lawn mower in between them.
“I acted poorly, Megan. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.” He opened his hand, peering at the palm. “I had no cause to put my hands on you, either. I apologize.”
Don’t do this, she thought miserably, don’t act like a man I can love. She kicked lightly at the edge of the tarp, knowing if she looked at him, if she drowned in the velvet depths of his eyes, she’d succeed only in making a fool of herself.
He crossed his arms and leaned a shoulder against the wall. He stared out the door, into the light, his expression pensive. “My wife and I knew each other all our lives. There was never anyone else. After she died, I was busy raising William and running the ranch. I went around with a few ladies, but nothing serious. Nothing that meant anything.”
“Let’s drop it, Tristan, I’m not sure—”
“Let me speak my piece. I want you to understand.”
She poked around the tarp until she found the lawn mower seat. She perched on it, prepared to listen. “Go ahead.”
“Only glitch in our marriage was not enough kids. We both wanted four or five, but after William, Tina couldn’t get pregnant again. Maybe it was that fate of yours, knowing she’d die so young.”
“Is that it, then? You miss her?”
He frowned. “I do miss her. She was a good woman, my best friend. But that’s—”
“Dad?” William’s shout held a worried note.
Tristan pushed the shed door open all the way and stepped outside. “I’m right here, boy.”
Megan slid off the lawn mower. So Tristan was still in love with his wife. A one-woman man. Thanks bunches, fate, she thought sourly.
“I’m going to have a chat with Janine. If she doesn’t talk some sense into Daniella Falconetti, then I will.” She pushed past Tristan, toward the door.
“Don’t go causing a ruckus on my account.”
She glanced at William ambling toward the shed and lowered her voice. “I don’t think telling that woman to stop trying to kill you is causing a ruckus.” She stepped into the teenager’s path and forced a bright smile. “I want to apologize for what I said in the barn. When I get scared I say stupid things. Nobody is trying to kill your dad. Especially not that twit in the purple suit.”
William hunched his shoulders and jammed his hands all the way into his jeans pockets. “I heard her say she was gonna kill him.”
“She’s blowing smoke. The man who ripped her off is locked up in prison and she knows it. My elephant mouth got ahead of my caterpillar brain, that’s all.”
“So who threw the rock?”
Fast thinking had never been her strong suit, but fate smiled at her as she remembered Benny McTeague. “That brat with the slingshot I took it away from him the other day, but I bet the little snot’s parents gave it back to him.” She ground a fist against her palm. “Just wait till I catch him. Guest or no guest, hitting horses is criminal!”
William looked over her head, and Megan knew the question in his eyes was directed at Tristan. Either he’d play along or not. She kept smiling.
“So I’m going to have a talk with him and his parents. I bet you’re good and hungry. Get cleaned up, and I’ll meet you boys in the dining room. The lunch special is barbecue beef sandwiches. I highly recommend it” She walked away.
Tristan caught up to her before she reached the back door of the lodge. She noticed William headed for the Honeymoon Hideaway. Even though it hurt her heart, she made herself
look at Tristan.
A one-woman man…Tina Cayle had been the only woman he ever loved, and the only woman he ever would love. Age, appearance, experience, none of that mattered. As much as she loved competition, Megan knew she didn’t stand a chance against a ghost.
“I didn’t ask you to lie,” he said. “But thank you.”
She shrugged. “It’s not exactly a lie. I did confiscate a slingshot.” She rubbed her backside where Benny had bruised her the other day. “I wouldn’t put it past him to shoot a horse. I guess I ought to see if he has the slingshot before I accuse Daniella.”
“I didn’t finish what I was saying back there.”
She put her hand on his chest. “I know the score, Tristan. We’re friends, we’ll stay friends. I get a week off, you get a nice vacation, then you go home. End of discussion. I’ll meet you in the dining room.” She pushed lightly against his rock-solid chest, mournfully knowing she’d never have the chance again to embrace him. She whirled away and hurried into the building.
AMY ENTERED THE LOBBY, not quite believing she was actually here. It had been a harrowing trip from Powder, Wyoming. After the horrible incident with that awful postmistress and the gun firing accidentally, she’d gotten all mixed up. Fearing the officials, who would fail to understand Bradley had stolen her son, she’d taken back roads and several times had become lost. Once, she’d pulled off the road to rest a few minutes and ended up sleeping by the side of the road for a full day. Her medication had run out, and her nerves were shot. Constant nausea gnawed her stomach. It felt as if bugs crawled inside her clothes.
She stared at the reception desk, and her insides shriveled in fear. “Check in,” she whispered. “We’ve done it before. Ask for a room. Sleep.” She thought for a moment, knowing she had forgotten something. A passing waiter reminded her. She needed to eat, too.
Then she would shower and dress in her best clothing, and then she would find Bradley and her son.
Her son…only the thought of finding her child had kept her going. Several times she had panicked and wanted to return to Ohio. Her child called to her, though, granting her courage, giving her strength. Mother love, maternal instinct. For fifteen years it had sustained her. As it sustained her now.