HILL COUNTRY HOMECOMING
Julie B Cosgrove
Copyright 2016 Julie B. Cosgrove
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Cover Art by Joan Alley
Edited by Susan M. Baganz
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are the product of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Published by Prism Book Group
ISBN-10:1-943104-69-7
ISBN-13:978-1-943104-69-7
First Edition, 2016
Published in the United States of America
Contact info: [email protected]
http://www.prismbookgroup.com
DEDICATION
To Leah –
May you one day find the man God intends for you,
be it in Dallas, the Hill Country, or the ends of the earth.
And may he treat you with cherished respect—always.
CHAPTER ONE
Live rich, marry richer. That had been Sarah Mansfield’s goal since grade school. Now, after years of plotting and planning, it lay within reach.
She angled the two-carat round-cut solitaire, surrounded by a myriad of smaller stones, to catch the light streaming through the car window. The facets glimmered in the warm, winter sun as it bounced off the bare cypress branches swishing overhead. Her fiancé, Tucker Simpson, sat next to her in his shiny, new Italian convertible. As he shifted gears and pressed the clutch, his hand-stitched, never-stepped-into-manure boots gave off a soft whiff of saddle-soap. Outside the window, the glistening emerald Guadalupe River wound along the state road like a lazy rattler seeking shade.
“It is the one you wanted. From Harrison’s, right?”
“Yes. I should have known you’d dare not shop anyplace else.” She gave him a teasing wink.
“Only the best for my girl. As soon as I signed the Henderson account with the firm, it proved my worth.” His diamond-eyed, eighteen-carat gold longhorn tie tack blinked in her direction. Symbol of graduating in the top of his Texas law school class.
She grinned.
He slipped his hand from the gearshift and laced his fingers through hers. “After only six months with Abernathy, Smith and Firth, I am the newest junior partner. At $300K a year, I can almost afford you.”
“The ring is perfect. Just like you, honey.” She fluttered her mascara-laden eyelashes and pecked his golf-course-bronzed cheek in response. His French aftershave, at $129.95 an ounce, swept her into euphoria. Yep, all the effort and waiting had paid off.
Born into one of the wealthiest horse breeding families in Central Texas, Sarah spent her summers galloping across the plains in the morning, lounging on rafts in the river through the afternoons, and kicking up dust at the rodeo dances until midnight, all the while tantalizing the local boys she kept at arm’s length. While they offered a certain amount of fun, they didn’t fit the bill. Too uncouth and prone to spit chewing tobacco.
The school year, spent in San Antonio, sequestered her in an upscale parochial girl’s school away from the inner city sharks, though a few boldly circled the posh pond trying to lure a socialite with their good looks and slumming charms. Nice playthings on which to practice her femininity, but long ago, she’d set her sights on far larger fish—Dallas or Houstonian guys with daddy’s money bulging from wallets in the back pockets of their too-tight jeans.
After she graduated, she attended one of the top private colleges in the state and pledged a sorority—the one of her mother and grandmother. Next, she spent the obligatory year touring Europe with the other debutantes, per time-honored protocol, in order to round out her cultural repertoire and to catch the eyes of rich and eligible cosmopolitan bachelors. The fact she had enough brains to make straight A’s all the way through school hardly mattered. Graceful flirtations, the right haircut and perfume, and a flawlessly tanned body did.
Her best friend, Emma Rose, landed a minor British duke, but Sarah’s attention fell on Tucker as he volleyed the beach ball while summering on the Italian Riviera. His rippled abs captured the Mediterranean sunbeams and ricocheted into her heart. She used every feminine wile in her well-bred arsenal to convince him to snare her instead of one of the other girls, and then played a mild hard-to-get to reel him in. She convinced her father to pay for her to get her Master’s in Renaissance English Literature at the university in Dallas so she could keep Tucker wiggling on the hook once he landed employment at the prestigious law firm. It was also where she made her debut into society, accumulating well-established names and addresses for her future wedding invitations. Yep, her plans had fallen in place.
Sarah laced her arm through Tucker’s and leaned into his shoulder blade. She raised her left hand higher. “Everyone at the Christmas Dance tonight at the Bar-M Ranch will wish they were us. You are going to drool over my dress.”
“I’d prefer to see you out of it, but I know you are the wait-until-the-honeymoon type.”
She lifted off his chest and protruded her lower lip as she twisted to face him. “Which you’ve agreed to abide by.”
“Anything for you, angel. You just keep reminding me you’re worth the wait, okay?” He winked.
She snickered. “My daddy will, for sure. He’s won awards for his rifle shooting.”
Tucker cleared his throat. “How many folks are you expecting tonight?”
“Oh, around two-hundred I guess.” She scrunched her nose and swished back her palomino-blonde hair. “Dad insists on letting the ranch hands and their families join in the holiday festivities. Which, unfortunately, means Mr. Righteous will be in attendance.” She mimed a gag, dipping her finger to the back of her tongue.
Tucker’s eyes twinkled in response as he draped an arm over her shoulders and pulled her close. “You mean your dad’s right hand man, Travis?”
She snuggled into his ribcage and yawned. “That’s the one. Hope he leaves his Bible in the bunkhouse. I don’t want religion spoiling my Christmas.”
He reared his head back, revealing a protruding Adam’s apple peeking from his starched and professionally pressed Oxford shirt collar. A laugh exploded from his lips.
“Turn down that road up ahead on the right, honey, where you see the large oak and the Texas flag.”
“Yes’m.” Tucker twisted to face her as she rose off his torso and smoothed her hair back into place. “Sarah. Am I seriously supposed to get on this Travis’ good side? I mean, could he prevent our wedding if he disapproved?”
She brushed a piece of lint from her French designer jeans. “Daddy always values his opinions about raising horses, so sometimes, he gets his nose a bit too high, if you get my meaning. But”—she lifted her gaze and narrowed her blue eyes—“if that cowpoke hisses, you ignore him. He’ll slither back into his hole where he belongs as soon as he realizes Daddy’s happy as long as I’m happy.”
“Good to know.” His eyes returned to the road winding through the prairie grass ahead of them.
“There’s the entrance. Turn left here.”
Sarah clicked the remote fob on her key ring to open the massive metal gates. They parted like the Red Sea for Moses. Bar-M Ranch, welded in a bronzed-relief arc, crowned the entrance, f
lanked by seven-foot high sculptures of rearing horses perched on Texas limestone columns.
Tucker pressed the gas pedal to the floor as the high-powered engine revved. The speedometer needle jerked to eighty-five. Sarah squealed as the vehicle levitated over the iron rods of the cattle guard. With a high pitched va-room, the chassis soared until the tires once again found road. Tucker steered his red sports car back onto terra firma, spewing a cloud of rusty-yellow caliche dust.
“Mr. Simpson, I swear you are showin’ off now.”
“I believe in a grand entrance.” He dashed his famous, ultra-charming smirk in her direction. “You never told me. What does the “M” in Bar-M stand for?”
Sarah gave him a wry smile. Her answer drawled out in a sophisticated Texas twang. “Why, money, of course.”
* * *
Travis Wallace raised his head at the sound of a foreign automobile engine. Not a normal noise zipping down the oak-lined lane toward the main house. Star Blazer, the quarter horse colt—acquired because he stood a good chance of becoming a ribbon-winning cutter—whinnied and stomped his front hoof.
“Easy, there. It’s just Miss Priss and her latest boy toy comin’ home for the holidays.” He patted the animal on the neck and clicked his teeth to lead him to the stables. But as the sports coupe careened into the circular drive, spewing gravel in every direction, Travis’ jaw clenched. He clamped his leather-gloved grip on the horse’s reins and jerked the animal’s head away from the scene. “Stupid idiot,” he mumbled under his breath. “Doesn’t he know horses can spook?”
He’d barely glimpsed this guy and already, Travis didn’t like him. Rich, and cocky. The stiff jeans and his stride in obviously new, hand-made cowboy boots told the truth. The jerk had never been outside the city limits before. Might not even be a native Texan. He grumbled under his breath. “She sure knows how to pick ̓em.”
The boyfriend opened the passenger door. Travis gulped. The lanky teenager who went off to college six years ago didn’t get out of the car. Instead, long shapely legs hugged by skinny jeans emerged. As Sarah took her beau’s hand and rose off the seat, her lean figure came into view. Not scrawny, but filled out in all the right places. When did that happen?
She flashed the boy toy a sparkling-white smile and laced her arm into his. As they strolled past, she glanced in Travis’ direction, elevated her nose and flicked back her shimmering flaxen hair. Perhaps his imagination, but her hip swing seemed to exaggerate as they walked by him, showing off the taut curves.
After they entered the main entrance, Travis realized he hadn’t taken a breath. He released a long exhale and blinked. “Well, Blaze. Now you’ve met the princess. Let’s go brush you out. You’ll want to look your best for her.” He rang his fingers through his own chestnut locks, wondering when he’d last visited the barber. Then he shook his head. Why did that matter?
He brushed Blaze’s flanks and mane. “If we’re lucky, boy, we can avoid her. Trust me, she is one filly you don’t want in your corral. High-strung, hard-headed, and spoiled rotten. Rich little daddy’s girl, through and through.” He closed the stall door. M-Man, the main money-making sire, bounced his head in the next one and snorted. That began the cacophony of animals neighing for their dinner. Travis whistled for Manny, the stable boy. “Time to get their feed on or they’ll bring the whole household running with their racket.”
The teenager cocked his cowboy hat back and grinned, reminding Travis of himself at that age. He’d been sixteen when Mr. Mansfield hired him to work before and after school, as well as Saturdays, summers, and holidays.
Manny heaved a bag of oats over his shoulder. “You see that beauty in the drive?” He whistled.
A sour taste emerged inside Travis’ mouth for a moment when he thought Manny referred to Sarah. Then he realized the boy’s eyes were dazzled by the sports car. He slit the sack open with his knife and dragged a tin cup through it, measuring the right portion for the oldest mare. “That kind can afford expensive toys like that, kid. They are a breed all to themselves.”
“Thought you liked old man Mansfield.”
Travis leaned against one of the barn supports. “Yep, I do. He worked his way into wealth the hard way. Took his papa’s floundering cattle ranch and turned it into this equine empire in three decades. Too bad he never taught his daughter what honest tenacity can get you in life.”
Manny shrugged. “She’s outright gorgeous. Ya gotta admit that.”
Ah, so he had noticed. Travis sauntered over to his underling and rested his hands on the teen’s shoulders. He bored his gaze into the dark brown eyes of naivety. “Stay in your own gene pool, friend. There are sharks in her waters.” He chuckled. “Besides, she’s seven years older than you. And from all appearances, looks like someone’s finally lassoed her.” He dosed out an amount for another mare. “Or vice versa. Remind me to pray for the poor dude tonight.”
The two ranch hands whooped. Then Manny fell silent as his eyes widened.
Travis turned. There she stood in the stable doorway, hand in hand with boy toy, the setting sun highlighting her like a halo on an angelic host.
She shot him a deep, daggered glare. “Some things around here never change.”
Sarah’s boyfriend gestured with his head at Travis as he encircled her in his biceps. “You must be Travis. You will be the one needing prayer when I tell Mr. Mansfield what you said.”
Sarah turned her attention to her beau. She laid her hand on his cheek to coax his face in her direction and reached up on tiptoe to give him a long, soft kiss. The last few sunbeams reflected off her engagement ring. The sparkles danced on the wooden wall like fairy-tale pixies.
Manny’s mouth dropped.
Tucker pulled out of the lip-lock and flicked his gaze to Manny. “Cat got your tongue, horse boy?”
Travis harrumphed and strode past Manny into the city slicker’s line of vision.
Tucker straightened his shoulders as he flexed his chest muscles. “You got something else to say?”
Travis gave him the once over. The guy obviously worked out. But of course he would. Probably had his own personal gym. Travis stood taller in his boots. “My momma told me if I didn’t have anything nice to say, to keep my trap shut.”
“Then maybe you better start mindin’ your manners, cowpoke.” Tucker’s jaw tensed. He took two steps forward.
Sarah scrunched her slightly freckled nose as if the stench of manure had all of a sudden increased tenfold. She stroked her fingers over her boyfriend’s arm. “Never mind him, sweetie. He’s just the local horse whisperer and altar boy. Hardly worth the effort.” With sugar lacing her tongue, she cooed, “Come on, Tucker. We’ll see the horses tomorrow. Let’s go for a walk in the garden until cocktails are served.”
The tension in his face melted. He laid his hand on the small of her back and purred. “After you, angel.”
Swiveling on her boot heel, she sashayed away, nestled under Tucker’s protective arm.
Any desire Travis had to eat supper waltzed out with them.
CHAPTER TWO
Travis meandered towards the music bouncing off the luminarios—traditional Texas holiday paper lanterns—along the path to the main house. Shadowed couples shuffled the Cotton-Eyed Joe across the sprawling back deck, which covered half a football field. Mr. Mansfield stood in a huddle of men around one of the many beer kegs. Tuxedoed bartenders worked behind a complete bar, serving everything from champagne to colas. A spit churned a rack of beef as waiters mingled between the crowd, making sure everyone filled up on appetizers.
“Ah, there you are. Wondered what kept ya.” His boss flashed him a sincere smile. “Boys, you know my ranch manager, Travis Wallace.”
Travis dutifully tipped his Stetson and clasped hands with the movers and shakers of the county, all in jeans and neatly pressed western-styled shirts with mother-of-pearl buttons.
“Belly up and wet your whistle, boy.” John Jacobs of the Rocking J Ranch yanked on the spigot, spewing amber
foam into a plastic cup.
Travis politely declined. “Think I’ll grab something at the bar. Thanks, Mr. Jacobs.” He backed away and pivoted on a boot heel. Out of earshot, he leaned in to the bartender. “Cola with a twist of lime, please.”
He felt a hand slap his shoulder blade. “I know you don’t normally drink, my boy. But this is Christmas. At least down some eggnog. Sarah supervised its making.”
Travis peered over the rim of his glass as the carbonated beverage seared his tonsils. “Saw her drive in. How is she?”
Mr. Mansfield scoffed. “Engaged.” He kicked a dirt clod. “Boy seems okay. Climbing up the ladder of a prestigious firm in Big D. Graduated top of his class in law school before spending a summer in Italy. Not sure why, but that’s where she met him.”
“I see.”
His boss shrugged. “Guess she chose well. Tucker’s not a native Texan, but I know his daddy. Big in the natural gas industry in Oklahoma. I hope he makes her as happy as my Essie made me.”
Travis nodded. “Yes, sir.” But does she love him like you did your wife, Mr. M? He doubted it. The social elite bred like horses. Pedigree mattered.
When Mr. Mansfield spoke of his late wife, even fourteen years after her death, his adoration for her still shimmered in his eyes. He’d married her later in life after he’d built his empire, she being a good two decades younger than he. Yes, there had been talk of cradle robbing, but Travis recognized love when he saw it.
The late Esther Mansfield had flittered through the horse dynasty like a wispy specter, leaving the ranching to her husband’s expertise. Yet from the few encounters he’d had with her before the cancer took its toll, Travis detected an inner strength and intelligence beneath her soft demeanor. Never had he admired a woman more. She lived to shine the limelight on her husband and died with grace and dignity, her faith stronger for the struggle. Yep, the lady had possessed depth. Unlike her shallow, money-grubbing offspring, even though Travis had to admit Sarah favored her mother more than ever now in the looks department.
Hill Country Homecoming Page 1