The Maverick Meets His Match

by Anne Carrole

  “What’s wrong?” Mandy asked as soon as she came out of the ladies’ room. He must have carried some of his shock on his face. “Kendall isn’t here again, is she?” she said, looking around.

  The color was back in her cheeks, unless that was some makeup magic. And her eyes were brighter. Given time, he’d bet she’d like flying. And maybe even him.

  “My brother called.” And that in itself should be enough of an explanation.

  “Trace?” she asked. It was obviously a rhetorical question since he only had one sibling and Mandy knew it. “Did he find out about our marriage?”

  Ty hadn’t thought to inform his brother. Not that Trace would care what happened or didn’t happen to Ty. They’d long ago realized they didn’t see things in the same light, but not before a whole lot of bad feelings had been conjured up.

  “No. But he’s asked me to come out to the ranch. Today.”

  Both of her eyebrows peaked.

  “I can drop you off at the hotel and then swing by the old place.”

  “I’d like to go.”

  Explaining Mandy and his six-month marriage to his brother would just stir up old grievances. Trace had resented Ty’s relationship with J. M. Prescott, not to mention the scholarship, since the day Ty had found out he’d won.

  “Are you sure you’re up for it? Don’t you want to relax, take a bath, get the ball rolling for our next rodeo in Utah?”

  She shook her head. “I’m fine. Besides, I’m interested in meeting Trace. And seeing where you were raised.”

  “Why?” he asked, digging for the keys in his pocket.

  She shrugged. “Curious, is all. You used to talk about him in the old days.”

  That was then.

  He didn’t want her to come, but he didn’t have the stomach to fight over it. Or explain his reluctance. He needed to save all his fortitude for the meeting with his brother. Besides, having her along might serve to keep tempers in check. Or give her a cautionary sample of what was left of his dysfunctional family. He picked up their bags and started walking toward the exit door. “If we don’t have to go into the whole will thing with him, you can come.”

  She skipped a step to catch up to him. “Why? You don’t want him to know we are married?”

  “I don’t mind if he knows we’re married. No doubt he’s heard it, or will soon enough, given he lives in the same county.” Ty pushed the building’s door, held it open by the metal rail so she could exit, and then continued walking. The scent of freshly laundered air did nothing to soothe the scrubbed-raw emotions washing over him.

  “Then what?”

  “It’s the six-month part I’d appreciate you not revealing.” He spotted his car, hit the starter button on the remote, and strode to the passenger’s side as the engine came to life. When he turned to look at her, her cheeks had flushed, and her mouth was open.

  “So you want him to think it’s permanent.”

  Ty yanked open the car’s back door and threw the bags onto the seat. The air conditioner blasted not-yet-cold air from the vents. “I don’t want to explain JM’s role in things, is all. Let him think what he wants about us getting married. And divorced.” Just like everyone else.

  He shut the back door and opened the passenger door for her. She slid into the seat. He walked around to the driver’s side and slipped behind the wheel, the leather hot, the car still stuffed with stale air. He hit the button to expose the sunroof and pushed up the air-conditioning. It would cool in a minute. “Deal?”

  “Sure,” she said with a shrug. “I can play the happy wife.”

  He put the car in gear. “Just don’t overdo. Trace may not have a college degree, but he’s sharp as they come.”

  * * *

  The low-slung ranch house, with its weed and dirt-spotted lawn, sat back from the gravel road leading off the main highway. Painted what probably once passed for white but was now a yellowed and stained ivory, the main part of the house might have started out as a bungalow, but the hodgepodge one-story additions gave it a cobbled-together look. The driveway was rutted and mostly dirt, though there were enough stones to attest that it originally held gravel. A black pickup, one fender slightly battered, was parked near a dappled-gray wooden barn, evidence someone was home.

  Mandy gave a silent sigh as the car turned in. Somewhere inside of her she’d rooted for Trace to have a prosperous ranch, if only to show Ty there were tangible benefits, instead of merely sentimental ones, to protecting one’s heritage. But if the ranch was prosperous, there was no visible sign of it. It wasn’t rundown, just weary looking, as if it were ready to retire.

  Ty brought the car to a stop, shut off the engine, and stared out the window, not moving.

  Mandy wasn’t sure what to do, so she sat and waited. How long had it been since Ty had been back? By the intensity of his gaze, she’d guess it had been a while.

  A figure appeared in the doorway of the barn. Tall, masculine, and lean. Cowboy hat on head. He walked a few paces before another figure, much smaller and female, followed with hesitant steps.

  “He has a daughter?” she asked. Ty had never mentioned a niece.

  “Not that I know of.”

  Ty opened the door and slowly unfolded to stand with the door blocking his body. Mandy exited the car, closing her door behind her.

  As Trace lumbered closer, his gate long and rolling, she noted the family resemblance in the color of the hair, the slender but muscular physique, the height, and the long straight nose and chiseled cheekbones. Though a portion of his face was shaded by the hat brim, Trace was a weathered version of his younger brother. Just as handsome but in a rougher, less polished way. Her gaze swept to the little being tailing him. The girl was probably around three or four and had the same dark shade of hair as the Martin boys, cut short and hanging straight in a child’s pageboy cut. A lopsided pink bow was stuck on the right side, and the tip of her ear showed through strands of hair. She had on a pair of pink denim pants and a pink T-shirt, with matching pink sneaks, and in her dirt-streaked arms, she held a stuffed brown puppy against her small chest.

  “Ty.” Trace nodded before shifting his gaze to take in Mandy. “Ma’am,” he said in a western drawl. He was close enough now that she could see his hazel eyes, and though tall, he was probably an inch shorter than his younger brother.

  “We were just returning from a business trip to Texas when I got your call. Mandy asked to come with me. Mandy Prescott and I were married this past week.” Ty said the words matter of factly, with no display of emotion—not joy, not anger, just a flat voicing of the essential information.

  Shock stole across the elder brother’s face. He stared at her finger, where no ring resided, and Mandy resisted the impulse to hide her hands behind her back. His gaze shifted to her stomach in a cold appraisal of the situation. An appraisal she resented. “Mandy Prescott Martin,” she said, extending her hand. “And no, I’m not pregnant.”

  His eyes rounded, but he took her hand and shook it, his own hand rough and cold. But still he said nothing in response to the news. Just stared at her.

  “Seems we both have some surprises to share,” Ty said, looking down at the little girl who hid behind Trace. She didn’t cling to Trace, or even touch him. She stood stoically behind him, watching with wide eyes.

  “Seems we do,” Trace said without offering an explanation. “Let’s go in the house.”

  He didn’t say anything to the little girl. She just followed him, like a real-life version of the toy puppy she was holding.

  The screen door creaked in protest as Trace opened it. He held it for the little girl, and she toddled in. Ty held the door for Mandy, and they both proceeded into the large kitchen. Neat. Clean. Surprisingly so. No dishes sat on the white Formica counter or in the sink. No papers lay on the table. But no curtains hung on the window, no placemats on the maple tabletop, nothing that said a woman had ever worked in the kitchen. Yet Ty’s mother must have.

  The little girl waddled right t
hrough the kitchen and into what appeared to be the living room, given the beige carpet and the large green chair Mandy could see from her spot just inside the screen door. She hardly knew where to go.

  “See you made some changes to the kitchen,” Ty noted.

  “Three years ago. It needed work. Lots of things need work,” Trace said, his words clipped. “I have to speak to you, Ty. Alone.” Trace’s pointed gaze left Mandy feeling squirmy. And awkward. Like the odd man out.

  “I’ll just go in the other room with…” Mandy wanted to at least know what to call the girl.

  “Delanie.” Trace said the name with reluctance.

  Well, if she thought Ty was closed mouthed, it was nothing compared to his brother.

  “I’ll just be with Delanie then,” she said and hoped there were some toys or something to amuse the child. With a brief quizzical look at Ty, she made her way into the living room.

  It was plainly furnished with one overstuffed sofa, the large green chair, a scarred coffee table, and a small flat-screen TV sitting on a wood stand. A plastic box of toys was in the corner, and Delanie was standing by it as if deciding what to pull out.

  “Toys, how lovely,” Mandy said, using her brightest voice. “Will you show me what you have there?” Though there weren’t a lot of toys, they all looked rather new. Trace had given the child toys, at least. But where was the mother?

  The little girl looked up at Mandy with eyes the same hazel color as Trace’s. With the hair color and the eyes, there was little doubt she was looking at Trace’s daughter.

  “My clock,” Delanie said, pointing to a red plastic clock with big numbers and large black hands. The stuffed dog remained tucked in the crook of her little arm. Obviously a favorite. “My baby,” she said, pointing to an unclothed baby doll with hair the color of Delanie’s. The child proceeded to name each toy as Mandy strained to hear the sound of voices from the other room. But all she heard was the screen door slam shut.

  * * *

  “You really married J. M. Prescott’s granddaughter?” Trace asked as they stepped out into the yard. Trace stayed close to the screen door, no doubt to keep within earshot of the youngster. “Didn’t I read he just passed away?”

  “Yes. To both questions.”

  Trace shook his head in that irritating way he had when he didn’t want to believe something. “Guess you know what side of the bread is buttered.”

  “You going to tell me about the child?” Ty said, ignoring the censure in his brother’s tone. He was well beyond caring about his brother’s opinion. “Do I have a niece?”

  Trace stared out over the empty corrals before answering. “Yes.”

  “You married?” After everything, Ty never thought Trace would marry. He’d been a loner from the moment Ty had become aware of his big brother. It had been rough growing up with a brother who hadn’t wanted much to do with you.

  “No. But she’s mine.”

  “I could see that just looking at her.”

  “I had the tests run.” Trace looked almost embarrassed by the act. “I knew she was mine, but I needed proof to be able to get custody of her.”

  “Where’s her mother?”

  Trace visibly bristled at the question and looked away. His brother had always been private, and Ty imagined answering these questions was painful for him. But Trace was the one who asked him to the ranch. If he didn’t want something from Ty, Trace could have kept Ty from ever knowing about Delanie. He suspected whatever was going on had something to do with the little tyke. Question was, what?

  “In prison.”

  Ty might have anticipated a lot of answers to that question, but not prison. Although maybe he should have. “Drugs?”

  Trace nodded.

  Shit. “I thought you were out of that life.”

  Trace’s eyebrows knitted together as he glowered at Ty. “I am. Delanie is four years old.”

  Four years. Right at the end, then, Delanie must have happened.

  “Did you know about her?” Not that they’d talked much since that time, but Trace might have mentioned something as important as being a father.

  “No. Not until her mother came by and dropped her off. She was going to be sentenced. She had no relatives to leave her with, least none who would have anything to do with her. She’d listed me on the birth certificate. I had to appear before the family court, but I’ve got temporary custody. Social worker has been assigned.”

  “And when did this happen?” Ty was still trying to get his head around the fact that he had a niece, that his brother was a father.

  “Four weeks ago.” Trace ran a splayed hand through his hair. “And I need help.” He turned and looked at Ty, and for the first time ever, he saw real fear in his brother’s eyes.

  Ty took a hard swallow. A child’s future was at stake here. Despite what he might feel about his brother, or not feel, he couldn’t walk away from a child. From his niece.

  “I wouldn’t ask for myself,” Trace began. “But she’s just a kid. She’s had it rough enough. I don’t know much about being a father, but I’m committed to doing the best by her that I can.” He stared hard at Ty, the struggle he was going through evident in every line of his weathered face. “I need money. For her.”

  Ty nodded. No doubt Trace did need money. Ty would guess his brother was barely eking out a living. Selling the small, by Wyoming standards, ranch in this economy probably wouldn’t even pay off the mortgage. “How much?”

  “She needs to be in preschool. She’s bright, but she’s had it tough. Her mother, well, she was an addict…”

  “What kind of addict?” And dear God let it not be heroin.

  “Cocaine, pills. She was sent to prison for dealing. She got fifteen years.”

  The state was hard on drug dealers, but fifteen years meant it was a whole lot of dope.

  “Preschool should be doable, Trace. But you didn’t ask me here to lend you money for preschool.”

  Trace shook his head as his hands dug into the worn pockets of his jeans. “This ain’t easy, Ty.”

  He felt a stab of sympathy. Trace had always had enough pride to fill a 120-foot water tower. “I expect it’s not. But we do what we have to do. You’ve got a child to take care of. I’ve got a niece to protect. She’s a Martin, and we need to do right by her. Both of us. Tell me what you need.”

  “I guess you think I should sell the ranch. Move into town.”

  There it was. “A different time, maybe. But truthfully, you wouldn’t get much for it now. Developers don’t have the money to pick up new projects on this small amount of acreage. Could change in a few years. But not now.” Besides, what would Trace do in town? The best he could hope for was to hire on with another ranch, if another was hiring, and wages wouldn’t be much better, probably, than what he could scratch out here.

  A spark of hope jumped into his brother’s eyes.

  “Just get it out, Trace. It will be painful, but you’ll live.”

  “I need a loan.” Trace named a five-figure amount. “I need to build back the herd after the drought last year. I need to hire a housekeeper to mind Delanie when she’s not in school and I’m out on the range. I need to get her into the preschool in town so she’s ready for kindergarten next year. And I need a lawyer who can assure that I can keep her. Now and, God forbid, if her mother ever gets paroled.” His eyes turned flinty. “I’m not giving her back. She’s been damaged enough.”

  “I can loan the money, Trace. That’s never been the issue. You cleaning up your act, which it appears you’ve done, has been the issue. As well as recognizing I’m not the enemy just because I’ve had opportunities to better myself and took them.”

  Trace scowled. “No matter that you think you're better than those of us who work with our hands to make a living.”

  “Spin it however it makes you feel better, brother.” Ty wouldn’t take the bait. Not this time. Not with a child at risk. “But tell me about Delanie and this damage stuff. How has she been damaged?�
��

  Trace closed his eyes and then opened them as if the hurt cut deep. “She doesn’t trust anyone, doesn’t trust me. She says her mommy told her not to let a man touch her because they’ll do bad things and that she’s not supposed to take anything from anyone and she’s never to go anywhere with a man. It’s been a hell of a few weeks.”

  Trace had a haunted look as he spoke.

  “The mother was probably trying to protect her from the creeps she hung around with.”

  “Thing is…I don’t know if it worked. And that’s killing me just as much as Delanie’s distrust of me.” Trace shook his head. “I need to get her some help…and learn how to deal with this. If I’d known, I’d have sued for custody from the start.”

  Except four years ago, Trace might not have been able to make his case. He’d never gotten in serious trouble with the law, but he had hung around with guys who had. He’d been an alcoholic, so bad he had to go through rehab. How much drugs had been part of it, Ty never knew. People may not think drugs made it into ranch country, but no community was immune. Trace had darn near bankrupted the farm during that phase of his life, hence the mortgage. Ty’s interference then hadn’t been welcomed, but it had been necessary. And Trace resented it to this day and probably forever. The fact he was actually asking for Ty’s help now was a testament to how much he was committed to making a good life for Delanie. And Ty had to admire him for swallowing some of that Martin pride for the girl’s sake.

  “It will take me a few weeks to liquidate some things, but I can set up an account for you to draw on. I can also arrange for a good family-court lawyer for you. I know one of the state judges for that court. And he should be able to direct me to a professional who deals with this sort of thing.”

  Trace nodded.

  It wasn’t much in the way of thanks, but then Ty didn’t really expect any.

  When Ty stepped into the living room, there was Mandy, sitting cross-legged on the floor, providing the voice for the doll she held in her hand. Little Delanie, standing, was telling the baby doll that it was bed time and she mustn’t sleep in anyone else’s bed.