To Con A Cowboy (Hunks and Horses Book 3)

by Maggie Carpenter

  The trees thinned as they reached the firebreak, and pausing again, Steve pointed to the ground.

  "You see the tread? He drives a heavy SUV. Maybe a Hummer. You could bring a regular car up this road, but he thought he needed more. He stopped a little further up. We can gallop."

  Brett pointed Soldier towards the incline, and the moment he asked the big horse to run, Soldier broke into a gallop. Keeping his eyes on the tire tracks, he followed them up the hill until he saw where the vehicle had parked. Slowing to a canter, then a trot, he brought Soldier to a stop. As much as Catori had wanted to keep up with his friend he was no match, but Brett enjoyed Steve riding towards him. Bareback with just the rope around Catori's neck, horse and rider were in unison.

  "How in blazes does Catori know where you wanna go?" Brett asked as they approached.

  "I will repeat the words of Chief Dan George. If you talk to the animals, they will talk to you and you will know each other. I've told you that before."

  "I know you have. I try talk to Soldier all the time."

  "You speak at him. When he looks at nothing, stand quietly and look at nothing with him. Release your mind and you will see what he sees. Then you will have spoken," then turning into the brush, Steve added. "We don't have far to go. The photographer was just up ahead."

  Brett followed Steve through the low brush only a minute when Steve slowed to a halt.

  "This is the spot," he declared. "You can see where he stood."

  Climbing off Soldier, Brett walked forward and studied the ground. The tripod's marks were clearly visible, along with impressions of what he guessed was a chair. Raising his eyes towards his house, he nodded, a grim expression crossing his face. Retrieving his binoculars he could view the barn, the outdoor arena, and the front of the house, but the angle prevented him from seeing the sacred garden and totem pole, or the windows of his bedroom.

  "At the very least I can nail the bastard for trespassing when he comes back," Brett declared, lowering the field glasses, "but how will we know when he's up here?"

  "The wind will keep him away, but when it passes I will watch for the dust."

  "Of course. The vehicle will kick it up. Good thinkin'. When you see him I'll call the sheriff. He's already been alerted," Brett said, climbing back in the saddle, but as he settled another gusty breeze whistled around them.

  "This wind brings…"

  Steve's voice trailed off as his eyes narrowed. Staring at the sky, then moving his gaze across the canyon, he slowly nodded. Not wanting to interrupt Brett had remained quiet, and he waited expectantly for his friend to speak.

  "It's time to go," Steve said abruptly, quickly moving off towards the firebreak.

  "What were you gonna say?"

  "The intruder," Steve said solemnly. "This is a time to be wary."

  "Well, sure, but you had something else on your mind."

  "I am uneasy. The sun is hot. The earth is dry. There is danger in the air."

  "So you're worried about the fire danger?"

  "I am always concerned about fire."

  "You and Amber. I swear."

  "Amber?" Steve repeated, turning his eyes to Brett as they made their way down the incline.

  "She's upset as well, but she won't tell me what's botherin' her, like you won't tell me what's botherin' you."

  A flicker crossed Steve's eyes.

  "Please," Brett insisted. "What's up?"

  "Your lost love arrived, and the intruder arrived."

  "Damn," Brett muttered thoughtfully. "You're right. You think there's a connection?"

  "I think it unlikely there isn't."

  "I need to talk to her. I have to convince her to tell me what's goin' on."

  "When she speaks, let it flow like a river," Steve said softly. "Listen or your tongue will make you deaf."

  They'd reached the trail that would take them back to the house, and as they trotted through the trees, Brett pondered how a trespassing photographer could be linked with Amber. He cringed at the possibilities. Entering the compound through the gate opening into the paddocks, Steve released Catori into his pasture, while Brett led Soldier into the barn, unbuckled the girth and pulled off the saddle.

  "Brett, let me do that," Steve offered as he walked in. "You must find Amber."

  "Yeah, you're right. Sorry, Soldier. We'll spend more time together soon." The horse snorted, and staring into the large brown eyes, Brett's heart filled with love. "You're the best, big boy," he said softly, and stroking his hand one last time down his horse's neck, he marched from the barn.

  Grateful his truck was still parked nearby, Brett quickly climbed in and sped up the driveway, relieved to see Amber's car in front of the house. Johnny and Cash were sunning themselves on the porch, and greeted him gleefully.

  "Can't play right now," he said as he hurried inside. Striding down the hall to her room, he knocked on the door, waited, then poked his head in. "Amber?" Being met only by Benny lifting his head, he moved quickly to the stairs, he took them two at a time, but entering his room he found it empty. "Dammit. Where are you?" Glancing across at the windows and seeing the hills in the distance, he felt a surge of anger. Someone had been spying on him. "Could Amber have been your target? Is that the connection?" he muttered as he walked across to the seating area and stared across the canyon. Running his fingers through his hair and letting out a frustrated sigh, he dropped his gaze to the totem pole—then caught his breath.

  Amber.

  On the ground, her head buried in her knees, her arms wrapped around them, her shoulders shook with heavy sobs.

  Bolting from the room and down the stairs, Brett ran from the house.

  * * * * * * * * * *

  To escape the despicable photographer and buy herself some time, Amber had agreed to write the book under an alias, but driving back to Brett's compound she'd seen only two options. Tell Brett everything, and cope with any number of nightmare scenarios that followed, or disappear. Either way she'd hurt him again, and there would be no forgiveness for such an ugly betrayal. Driving through the gates and up to the house, she'd realized Brett's truck was still at the barn.

  "At least I'll have some time to get myself together," she'd muttered, grabbing her bag and climbing from her car. "I'm going to have a shot of vodka, and then I guess I'll start packing."

  Fighting tears, she'd started up the steps towards the front door, but paused, and turning her head in the direction of the garden, she'd recalled Brett's comment.

  If I'm stressed, I sit here for a while and the stress goes away.

  Hoping she might find comfort there too, and wanting to see the totem pole one more time, she'd trotted back down the steps. Though she'd started down the path at a quick clip, once inside the garden she'd walked slowly and with reverence. Reaching the pole, she'd traveled her eyes from the owl, to the bear, what she thought was a wolf, and the soaring eagle at the top, then stepping forward, she pressed herself against the warm wood.

  "I've made such a mess of everything," she murmured, giving into tears, and sliding to the ground, she'd brought her knees to her chest. "It's hopeless. What the hell am I going to do?"

  With a heavy sob, she'd dropped her head into her arms.

  A breeze had swirled around her.

  Listen to the wind, it talks.

  Listen to the silence, it speaks.

  Listen to your heart, it knows.

  Though feeling dazed, and not understanding from where the voice had come, the softly whispered words soothed her soul.

  "Amber, let me help you."

  Startled, she jerked her head up.

  "B-Brett? Wh-where did you c-come from."

  "Darlin', you're a wreck," he murmured, crouching bedside her. "Time's up."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean," he said softly, putting his arm around her shoulders, "you need to tell me what's goin' on."

  "You'll hate me," she sniffled, unable to meet his gaze. "You don't think you will, but…"

>   "Look at me."

  "I can't."

  "Look at me," he repeated, cupping her chin. "Look at me with the love in your heart, not the fear in your head."

  Slowly raising her eyes, the owl from her dream flew through her mind.

  Fear blocks your path. Speak up. Be heard. Only then will you be free of your past.

  "I can't tell you. I'll never get through it, but, uh, you can hear it."

  "I don't understand."

  "I didn't go to the town center to look at clothes. I went to meet someone."

  "Okay," he said slowly. "Does this someone have a name?"

  "Andrew Stern. I recorded our conversation. The bottom line. Brett, I'm being blackmailed."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Before Brett could speak, Amber jumped to her feet, grabbed her bag and pulled out her phone.

  "This will explain everything," she declared, handing it to him as tears continued to spill down her face. "You have to listen to it by yourself. I can't be with you when you hear what I've done."

  "Amber, just tell me," he insisted, straightening up. "Please. I promise to be—"

  "No. I can't," she blubbered, then swiftly turned and ran back to the house.

  "What the hell have you done?"

  He'd muttered the question, and as he stood staring at the phone in his hand, a strong gust whistled through the garden. "Damn. Maybe I need to hear this with a glass of scotch."

  Pushing the phone into his back pocket, he broke into a jog, and reaching the path he looked ahead and saw Amber running up the porch steps. Sprinting forward he was soon approaching the house, and as usual, the dogs ran up to greet him.

  "Sorry, fellas. No time right now."

  Not to be ignored they followed him inside, and as he marched down the hall to the studio he found comfort in their buoyant company. When he found himself outside Amber's door, he paused, and unable to fight the temptation he gently knocked.

  "Hey, Amber. I need a second. I haven't listened to your recording yet." He could hear her moving about, but she didn't respond. "Please, Amber."

  The door opened. Her tear-streaked face stared up at him, and as she stepped aside he was shocked to see a suitcase sitting open on top of the dresser.

  "Whatta you doin'?" he asked, moving into the room. "Why are you packin'?"

  "I'm saving you the trouble of asking me to leave. Or rather, telling me to get the hell out," she replied solemnly. "To say I'm sorry is pathetically inadequate, but for what it's worth, I am, and I'll never forgive myself."

  "Good Lord. Amber, whatever you think you've done, I can't believe it's this bad."

  "You'll change your mind."

  "I'm goin' in the studio to listen right now, but promise me you won't leave until I've heard it."

  "The problem is, I don't want to face you after you do."

  "Then you don't have to. We can talk through this door."

  "There won't be anything to talk about."

  "Promise me," he said softly, stepping up to her. "Please, Amber, do me that one favor."

  "I promise. And I—never mind. There's nothing more I can say, except…"

  "Except?"

  "Except I do love you," she sniffled. "I do, I swear, with all my heart. Now please just go. This is so fucking hard."

  "I love you too, and there's nothing so bad that—"

  "You won't love me in about five minutes. Please, Brett. I can't stand this."

  "Okay, I'm goin', but don't you dare leave."

  Striding from the room, he hurried into the studio and splashed some scotch in a glass. Taking a swallow, he carried it across to the couch, pulled the phone from his pocket and sat down.

  "Okay, Amber, let's find out why you think your world has come to an end."

  * * * * * * * * * *

  Amber had stopped packing. Already drained from the horrific meeting with Andrew Stern, and the emotional scene in front of the totem pole, Brett's unexpected visit had sapped the last of her energy. Flopping on the bed, she grabbed a pillow and rolled on her side, sobbing out the last of her tears as Benny curled against her. She couldn't remember her heart ever hurting so much, or feeling such guilt and misery. Lost in her anguish, she didn't hear the bedroom door open, or Brett's soft footfalls on the thick carpet. When his hand touched her arm, she jumped.

  "You're not goin' anywhere," he said softly, stretching out next to her and wrapping her into his arms. "I've only got a couple of questions, but they can wait. Right now I just wanna hold you."

  "I don't understand. Don't you realize what I did? What I've done."

  "I'll tell you what I heard. A desperate girl who did a foolish thing, recognized what a huge mistake she'd made, and when she tried to make it right she was threatened in the worst possible way."

  "But I betrayed you."

  "You haven't betrayed anyone."

  "But I—"

  "Hush. You probably thought Brett Preston was just another narcissistic celebrity, but even if you hadn't found I was David behind this marvel of plastic surgery and endless hours at a gym, you would have bailed."

  "I would have, yes, for sure. I had doubts the minute I arrived, but how can you know that for sure? Let's face it. You'll never be able to trust me again."

  "Hey, Amber we all make mistakes. Lord knows I've made plenty. We're human. That's what humans do. We lose our way sometimes, and our tempers. We act impulsively, but we also help each other. We care, we inspire, we help, and just like you tried to do, we attempt to right our wrongs, but most of all, we love," he said softly, then pausing, he added, "I'm only sorry you thought you couldn't come to me."

  "I'd already hurt you, and I couldn't bear that I'd done it again. How can you be so forgiving?"

  "Honestly, I'm not sure the old David would have been, but after the accident, and bein' around Steve, I have a different way of lookin' at things."

  "Steve?"

  "He's taught me a great deal, Amber, but right now I need to focus on you. I need to help you heal your heart and get your head back on straight."

  "I don't deserve you," she murmured, fresh tears brimming. "I don't—"

  "Hey. Stop. Look how upset you are. You're not some heartless woman, so stop seein' yourself that way."

  "Is that what I'm doing?"

  "Yep. That's what you're doin'. Steve once said to me, the first to apologize is the bravest, the first to forgive is the strongest, and the first to forget is the happiest. You've said you're sorry, now you need to forgive yourself, and after you've answered the few questions I have, you need to put this behind you."

  "What about Andrew Stern? What about the photo's he took? What should I do about Robert Hoffman and Undercover Publishing?"

  "I'll deal with those scumbags, don't worry about that. The first thing I have to do is call the sheriff and bring him up to speed, and you need to unpack. On second thought, don't. When you've finished I'll take your suitcase upstairs."

  "I don't know what to say."

  "You don't have to say anything," he murmured, and lowering her on to her back, he leaned over her. "I know you think what happened is a big deal, but it's not, not in the scheme of things. This is what matters," he purred, softly kissing her. "You and me, together again, just the way it should be."

  "I still feel guilty though, and ashamed, and embarrassed."

  "I think you need an escape."

  "You mean, like a vacation?"

  "Of sorts," he said softly, wiping stray hairs from her wet face. "Tonight we're goin' to bed early, and I'm gonna stop time."

  "That would be—"

  A sudden clattering interrupted her, and abruptly sitting up Brett stared through the French Doors. Two of the patio chairs were on their side.

  "Dammit. The winds are startin'. I've gotta get movin'," he declared, jumping off the bed. "Steve is probably gettin' the horses in and the barn locked down."

  "What can I do?"

  "Will you check the windows in the kitchen? Make sure they're closed?
"

  "Of course. What else?"

  "The furniture on the front porch is solid, it's not goin' anywhere, but you can bring in the cushions, and I'll get those light patio chairs into the cabana," he said, hurrying across the room. "Damn, that wind came in quick."

  "I'll help you."

  "No. I need you to go to the kitchen. Those windows have to be closed right away, and don't worry, this won't take long. I'll call the sheriff as soon as I'm done."

  Impulsively running over to him, she threw her arms around his neck.

  "Thank you. Thank you for everything. I should have told you."

  "It's okay, but I do have one quick question. Why did you record that conversation?"

  "After talking to Robert I wanted to make sure I couldn't be accused of saying something I didn't."

  "See! You're no dummy. That quick thinkin' is gonna get that man in a whole lotta trouble, and that's just where he belongs. I'll meet you in the kitchen. Won't be long."

  Kissing her quickly, he marched into the living room.

  A frown creased her brow.

  "God, I hope he's right. I hope these people aren't as ruthless as I think they are."

  * * * * * * * * * *

  Sheriff Ed McCarthy was no stranger to annoying paparazzi. The hills were dotted with million-dollar homes owned by politicians, celebrities from the entertainment business, and those who could afford a second home to escape the hustle of the city. He considered the intruding photographers a menace that presented a two-pronged problem.

  Though most people wouldn't consider trespassing a serious crime, when it came to the rich and famous, stepping on their property demanded immediate action. Dispatching his deputies meant removing them from the local populace, something he didn't like to do. The second, more disturbing issue, was the reckless behavior of the cameramen. On one occasion a zealous reporter had used a jet pack to fly over an actor's house. The equipment malfunctioned and the journalist fell from the sky into a heavily wooded area. The man had been seriously injured, and the accident had resulted in a dangerous helicopter rescue.