Goddess Rising

by Alexi Lawless

  “Where are Ry and Carey?” Sam asked when they made their way outside to the warm, sunlit garden.

  Grant rolled his eyes as he settled into the porch chair next to Sam’s father. “Doing extra chores. One of the hands on night patrol found them out cow tipping last night.”

  Sam’s eyes widened. “Are you serious?”

  “As a heart attack,” Grant shook his head. “Sometimes those boys don’t have a lick of sense.”

  “One of those heifers could have rolled onto them and crushed them to death,” Sam muttered, bristling.

  “Gus has ’em shoveling out all the horse stalls as we speak,” Robert added, sipping a sweating glass of iced tea. “They’ll be on manure duty for a week, until they admit what they did was dumb and dangerous. Those boys know better.”

  “Well, we’ve got three dozen kids and at least that many adults coming over in an hour for Ry’s birthday party,” Hannah told them. “So he and Carey better be scrubbed up and ready by then. Swear to god, I’ve had it up to here with their antics this week,” she commented wryly.

  “Oh, they’ll be sorry, and they’ll be ready to receive their guests on time,” Sam promised, sipping her tea. “I’ll see to it.” And with that, she stood and loped off, disappearing through the garden.

  “There she goes,” Grant chuckled. “Those boys will be saying ‘sorry’ all weekend.”

  “I don’t know—manure sounds bad enough,” Wes remarked, squinting against the sunlight. “That’s some kind of birthday present.”

  “They’ll be lucky if she doesn’t hogtie them,” Robert remarked. “Hannah, we all ready with the food?”

  “Just about,” Hannah told him. “Some of the hands will be manning the barbecue, and the caterers are setting up just over there,” she said, pointing toward the picnic area where they were setting up decorations, supplies, and food. Wes caught a glimpse of brightly colored Mylar balloons and crepe paper streamers hanging from a large picnic area near the main house.

  “Can I help?” Wes offered.

  “Sammy told us you take pictures?” Hannah said. “If you don’t mind being the unofficial photographer, I’d sure appreciate it. Grant and Robert always cut the heads off our guests, when they take photos,” she added teasingly.

  “Be happy to,” Wes told her with an easy smile. “I brought my camera bag, so it’s no problem.”

  Hannah excused herself to look after the caterers, and Grant went to check on the tractor-trailers for the hayrides, leaving Wes and Robert alone.

  Robert sat back in his chair, sipping his ice-cold tea. “So…you and my daughter,” he began, squinting out into the distance. “You two officially a thing now?” he asked gruffly.

  “I suppose you could say that,” Wes affirmed with a relaxed shrug.

  “We going to have a problem?” Robert asked casually, like they were discussing box scores.

  Wes leaned back in the afternoon sun. “Not unless you try to get between us.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Robert replied with a brief, grim smile. “Speaking of which, you’ll be in the guest house,” he informed Wes, nodding toward a pretty cottage across the garden, a good fifty yards from the main house.

  Wes bit back a smirk. If you think that’ll keep me from your daughter, you’ve got another thing coming, he thought.

  Sam rounded the garden, holding two squirming boys firmly by their ears as they winced and complained. Wes recognized her little brother, but the taller blonde boy looked like a miniature version of Grant.

  “It’s my birthday, Sammy! Why you gotta be so dang mean?!” Ry protested as she dragged them to a stop in front of Wes and her father.

  “I don’t care if it’s the Rapture, Ryland Wyatt,” she scolded before releasing them. “Don’t you have something to say?”

  “I only did it ’cause it was his birthday wish,” the tow-headed boy complained.

  Sam rounded on him. “Carrick Nelson, what kind of man are you going to be if you don’t make your own decisions? Did you think cow tippin’ a heifer that’s as heavy as a car was a good idea?”

  “No, but—”

  “Don’t you ‘no, but’ me, Carey,” Sam told him. “If you knew better and you didn’t talk Ry out of it, you’re just as bad as he is, and I’m twice as mad,” she scolded, looking back and forth between a mortified Carey and an indignant Ryland. “If I ever hear about you two getting up to something stupid and dangerous like this again, you two better pray a cow falling on top of you is the worst thing that happens to you.”

  Ry kicked the ground, not meeting her eyes, and Carey looked ashamed as he rubbed his reddened ear.

  Wes watched Sam cross her arms as she considered the boys, waiting. He’d never seen this formidable, mama-bear side of her, and much to his surprise, he kind of liked it.

  “You’re not going to leave are you?” Ry blurted suddenly, shoving his hands deep in his pockets as he kicked one of the smooth pebbles lining the walk. Wes saw the flash of fear behind the boy’s bravado.

  Sam looped a hand around Ry’s neck, squeezing gently as she leaned down to look him in the eye. “Why would I leave?”

  “Because I was bad.” Ry blew out an anxious breath. “You’re not going to leave before my birthday party, are you, Sammy?”

  Wes glanced at Robert instinctively, wondering if he was going to step in. Robert sat back, nursing his iced tea, watching.

  Sam squatted down, tucked a finger under Ry’s chin, tipping it up to meet her gaze. “You made me madder than hell risking your life on something stupid like that, but I will never leave you, Ryland Wyatt. You got that?”

  Ry stared at his big sister for a moment before nodding, blinking a little as he struggled with his emotions. Sam scooped him into one arm, pulling Carey in with the other, squeezing both boys tight.

  “But if you do anything like that again, forget manure duty. I’ll tan your butts so bad, you won’t be able to sit comfortably for a week,” she told them as she hugged them hard.

  “Sorry, Sammy,” Ryland mumbled against her neck.

  “Yeah, Sammy. I’m sorry too,” Carey told her, looking close to crying.

  Robert shot Wes an amused look across the patio table. “That’s my girl,” he said in a low voice. “And that’s why I won’t need to worry about keeping you in line, Wes.” He smirked. “If anything, you’ll have to try to keep up with her. And good luck with that.”

  *

  October—Late Friday Afternoon

  Wyatt Ranch, Texas

  S A M A N T H A

  The white-hot wash of the midday sun cooled off to a warm saffron glow by the late afternoon. Sam thanked her lucky stars the heat was bearable as she worked closely with her Uncle Grant and Gus to help load thirty-plus kids onto two massive hay-bale-covered tractor-trailers, driven by the ranch hands.

  Ry and Carey sat together in the first trailer in full cowboy regalia, beaming and laughing like kings of the castle, their earlier lapse in judgment forgiven. The boys were surrounded by just about every child in the county, each one already hopped up on cake, sweets, and Coca-Cola, generously served by Aunt Hannah and her team of caterers.

  Wes roamed around, taking pictures of kids in silly poses, showing off their cowboy hats and sticky fingers, many holding up colorful, homemade lollipops the size of their heads.

  “Is every birthday party like this?” Wes asked as Sam lifted a little girl onto one of the hay bales.

  “Nah, it’s usually just family,” Sam answered. “We’re generally pretty low-key, but Ry’s been begging for a hayride and a campout with his friends for ages. This year, Dad figured he was old enough.”

  Sam felt Wes’s hand squeeze her shoulder as he leaned in and whispered, “Do we have to camp out with the kids?”

  Sam laughed and shook her head. “No, Uncle Grant and Gus will do the honors. Gus is telling the ghost stories, and Uncle Grant will be manning the hot chocolate and the s’mores.”

  Wes grinned at her, his eyes alight
with mischievousness. “So am I sneaking into your room or are you sneaking into mine?”

  “You’re not off the hook yet, Wesley Elliott,” Sam replied with a brow lift. “You and I will be helping Aunt Hannah make the kids breakfast here at the house first thing in the morning. It’ll be guaranteed mayhem. Probably need your sleep for that.”

  “Hey, Sammy! Come sit by us!” Ryland called out, interrupting them. “I saved you a seat!”

  “Can Wes come too?”

  “Sure! But can he play guitar?” Ry asked with a sly smile.

  “I’m from Austin, ain’t I?” Wes responded with a crooked grin. “Home of Austin City Limits.”

  “See!” Ryland clapped excitedly, nudging Carey. “Told ya, Care Bear!”

  Carey rolled his eyes, aggrieved but resigned at the public use of his nickname.

  “You got a rig I can borrow?” Wes asked her. “I didn’t think to bring mine out.”

  “You really play?” Sam asked, surprised and a little thrilled.

  Wes shrugged. “I pick a little.”

  “You’re going to end up leading sing-alongs all night if you’re not careful,” Sam warned. “Dad, can Wes borrow your guitar?” she called out, catching her father’s attention from the porch. He was mingling with the parents, no doubt entertaining them with stories of the fall round-up or discussing the irrigation issues plaguing the county this season.

  Her father glanced out across the lawn to assess Wes before nodding. He’d been perfectly polite since Wes had arrived, much to her surprise. She didn’t think they’d ever be friends, but Wes and her father were both fairly amicable. She wondered now why she’d been so worried that the tension between them would be thick enough to cut with a butter knife.

  She’d be suspicious if she weren’t so relieved.

  Her eyes narrowed in contemplation. Her father would only be this calm and casual around Wes if he was certain he had the upper hand in some way. Something was up. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but she was certain she was missing something. She knew her father too well.

  “It’s in the library,” Robert called out, disappearing in the house.

  “Give me one sec, Ry,” Sam told her little brother. “Be right back.”

  “What songs do you know?” Ry asked Wes excitedly as Sam went to follow her father into the house.

  Sam greeted the people she knew with nods and smiles before slipping past, finding her father in the library, putting one of his well-worn acoustics into a guitar case. Robert looked up as he heard her shut the door behind her.

  “Alright, what’s going on?” Sam asked, coming right out with it.

  “What’s going on with what?” Robert replied casually, snapping the case closed.

  Sam crossed her arms, leaning back on the door. “I don’t know what you’ve got planned, but I am absolutely certain you’ve got something up your sleeve, Dad.”

  “Why on earth would you say that?” His calm, level glance told her everything she needed to know.

  “You’ve been awfully nice to Wes for one, and I know what you look like when you’re holding one good hand for another,” Sam pointed out. “We’ve played too much poker for me not to recognize that look in your eyes. You’ve got something cooking, and I’m not sure what it is, Dad, but you’d better not be thinking of ways to get between me and Wes,” she warned.

  Her father leaned against the credenza he had the guitar case on, a bemused expression on his face. “What makes you think I’d get in the way of young love, Sammy?”

  Sam cocked her head. “You haven’t given me any flack about Wes or the Challenge since I got here, and that’s just not like you.”

  Robert crossed his arms. A sure defensive tell, from what she’d been reading about body language in the Reid Technique. “You won’t like what I have to say, so why bother asking?”

  “If I didn’t talk to you just because I didn’t like what you had to say, we’d never talk at all, Dad.”

  “Touché.”

  “Just calling it like I see it.”

  Robert considered her. “How serious are you about this boy?”

  I love him like crazy. But Sam strongly suspected admitting that particular fact would be showing a vulnerability she wasn’t willing to expose. What she had with Wes was new and tender, and Sam wanted to protect it for as long as she could.

  “I’m not planning to marry him, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she told him.

  A brief look of relief flashed across her father’s face.

  “Jeez, Dad—I’m nineteen!” Sam exclaimed. “I’ve got my whole life ahead of me!”

  “Good,” her father nodded. “I’m glad you recognize that this is just your first relationship.”

  “I know that.” It just doesn’t feel like it—it feels like everything.

  “And I want you to enjoy it, but I don’t want this relationship to limit your possibilities,” her father continued, expression serious. “Nothing’s sweeter than your first love when it’s early on, Sammy, but I won’t lie and tell you I’m worried you won’t be as focused now that Wes is around.”

  Sam sighed, pushing back her cowboy hat. “Dad, has it occurred to you that Wes and I might be good for each other?”

  Robert handed her the guitar. “I sure hope that’s the case, Sammy, but wishing doesn’t make it so.”

  Sam accepted the guitar case and turned to go. She got her hand on the door before she turned back around, frustration getting the best of her.

  “Why don’t you ever trust me to make the right decisions?” she asked, frustration making her face hot.

  “It’s not that I don’t trust you,” Robert replied smoothly. “As your father, it’s my job to guide you.”

  “Oh, really?” Sam smarted. “Then where the hell were you when I was little and grieving over my mama and trying to take care of Ryland? And where were you when granddaddy died and Aunt Hannah and Uncle Grant had to stay in this house to make sure we were alright?”

  “I took care of you in my own way—”

  “With money?” Sam answered, her voice rising. “You think your money is what we wanted?”

  “You’ve never wanted for anything a day in your life, Samantha—”

  “I wanted for my dad,” she retorted angrily, years of suppressed emotion making her temper flare. “I wanted you to be there to take care of me and Ryland. I wanted you to tell me it was going to be alright, even if you didn’t think it was, and I sure as hell wanted you to spend more time with us than you did with a bottle or the business.”

  Robert stood up, tall and stiff. “I love you and your brother more than anything in this world. That’s why I spent so much time with the business. To provide for you—”

  “But that’s not what we needed, Dad,” Sam interrupted. “What we needed was a daddy, and what we got was a father who was either drunk or distant or busy or gone!”

  Robert stared at her stonily, his mouth a thin, hard line. “I’ve always taken care of you. In my own way.”

  “Yeah, I suppose you have,” Sam agreed, surprising him. “You taught me how to stand on my own two feet long before I was ready. I learned how to take care of myself and to take care of Ryland, before you cleaned up your act and came back into the picture,” she bristled. “So if you don’t like the decisions I make, and how I choose to run my life, then I’m sorry about that, Dad—but now you’ll just have to deal with the consequences of raising an independent woman.”

  And with that, Sam opened the study door and walked back outside to join the little brother she’d helped raise—and the guy she loved.

  To hell with her father.

  Chapter 30

  October—Saturday Morning

  Wyatt Ranch, Texas

  W E S L E Y

  Wes awoke at the crack of dawn, searching sleepily for Sam’s warm skin under the quilts. He opened his eyes when he didn’t find her, sitting up slowly as he rubbed his eyes. The sun rose over the horizon outside his w
indow, the soft lavender and yellow rays illuminating the gardens surrounding the guest house.

  Bereft, Wes ran a hand over his face. In the brief time they’d been together, he’d spent nearly every night with her, waking up to the warm curve of her body, her scent on the sheets, silky hair spread across the pillow. He’d become so accustomed to being with her all the time, it felt disconcerting now to wake up without her. Wes shook his head, pushing the covers back as he stood and stretched. Had anyone told him a couple months ago that he’d feel like this about one person, he’d have laughed aloud at the notion.

  As he showered and shaved, Wes wondered briefly if Sam was alright, recalling how she’d smoothed her troubled expression when she came out of the house with her father’s guitar the evening before. She’d put on a good show for Ry and Carey, teasing and entertaining them, helping her Uncle Grant pass out the s’mores while Wes sang and played. But Wes caught her moments of pensiveness, attuned to her troubled vibe. He also noticed how she and Robert tacitly avoided each other for the rest of the night, each playing their roles while they stayed in their own corners.

  Wes had held and kissed her before they parted for the night. She laughed and ducked as Ry and Carey teased them and made kissy-faces, but he knew something was wrong. And he also knew it wasn’t the time to be bringing anything up—not in front of a couple dozen kids all hopped up on sugar and excitement, camping in sleeping bags under tarpaulin tents.

  Wes stepped out onto the porch of the guesthouse, looping his camera strap over the collar of his flannel shirt before crossing the garden path to take some photos, making the most of the morning light. Heavy dew wet his boots as Wes approached the main house, and he pulled up in surprise when he caught sight of Samantha sitting on the porch swing by herself, nursing a cup of coffee. She had her hair in a loose braid, wearing a thick sweater over her pajamas, one leg tucked up under her as she sipped from her mug, watching the sun light up the expansive Texas sky—all cerulean hues and golden plains. Wes snapped off a couple pictures of her before she noticed him.