Texas Baby

by Kathleen O’Brien

  Josie had wondered if that might mean mucking out a stall, but apparently not. She’d brought her here, to this beautiful wood-paneled library, to create a bouquet of larkspur, baby’s breath and fern fronds.

  It took about three tries, but finally Josie thought she’d succeeded. She liked flowers, too, and frequently spruced up the arrangements at the café. This one looked good. Mentally, she ticked off the requirements…balance, breathing room, interesting angles, no dead space, a touch of asymmetry to prevent boredom.

  Done.

  Stretching backward to unkink her spine, she let her gaze wander across the library, which was a large room with a lot of light. She’d been surprised at how elegant the Double C was, both inside and out. She’d expected a lot of antler-rack chandeliers and saddle-shaped bar stools, but, though it was clearly the home of a proud Texan, this ranch had nothing as kitschy as that.

  The honey wood paneling kept the room light, and the river rock fireplace rose two stories high, with stones of soothing blue, gray and silver hues. The leather armchairs pulled up to it were dyed a matching blue.

  Chase’s desk, which dominated the back half of the room, was strong and masculine, but with a hint of grace in its curving lines. A lot like the man himself, she thought.

  It was fairly orderly, though he’d left some papers scattered on its surface, which she took as a sign that he expected to come back soon. She wandered over, drawn by a set of framed photographs on the credenza behind the desk.

  Was it possible Chase knew Flim Flam well enough to have a picture of him somewhere? She picked up a group shot and scanned the faces. No…these were teenagers. She could identify Chase, and there was Susannah. But the rest were strangers to her.

  Another was clearly of his parents—a sad-eyed beauty, filled with quiet elegance, leaned her head onto the shoulder of a larger-than-life, broadly smiling man in a Stetson hat. Josie looked closer. She could see a little of each of them in Chase.

  She had just picked up another photograph when she heard the sound of light footsteps in the hall.

  “Imogene, come see! I think you’ll be proud of your pupil.”

  “It’s not Imogene,” a pleasant voice said. And then its owner rounded the corner. “It’s Susannah.”

  Josie froze, pressing the photograph against her chest as if she’d been caught stealing it. She felt her face burn, even though she knew it was ridiculous. This picture had been put out for anyone to see. She wasn’t prying into anyone’s personal affairs.

  She wasn’t doing anything to be ashamed of.

  But the other woman looked at her with such a cool, quiet disapproval that it was hard to remember that. Awkwardly, Josie pried the picture away from her chest and held it out for Susannah to see.

  “Hello,” she said. “I was just waiting for Chase to come home. I was just looking at these family pictures he has out here.”

  No kidding. She sounded like a complete simpleton. And she sounded guilty as hell.

  “Hi, Josie. You’re looking better. How are you feeling?”

  Susannah didn’t take the picture, so Josie set it back down on the credenza, bumping into two others.

  “Much better,” she said, though she was getting tired of giving that same response to everyone. Too bad good manners prevented you from answering with the truth. My head hurts, I feel like puking and frankly I’m scared to death.

  “I’m glad,” Susannah said, though you couldn’t tell it by looking at her.

  Josie hadn’t been clearheaded enough to really look at Susannah last night. She’d just been this shadowy, gentle figure in the background, listening while Josie told her story.

  But now Josie could see that this was one of the coolest, most collected women she’d ever met. Susannah Everly was a true beauty, with glossy hair, sparkling green eyes and the athletic, long-limbed body of a dancer.

  Her posture and wardrobe said she’d been raised with confidence and class. She wore three-hundred-dollar jeans, a sharp white shirt with a dashing cut and a turned-up collar. Her long legs ended in fawn-colored boots that looked as soft as butter.

  She moved gracefully into the room and, though she tried to make it look casual, she scanned the set of photographs, as if checking for missing spots.

  “I didn’t steal one,” Josie heard herself saying. “If that’s what you’re thinking.”

  Josie inhaled sharply, shocked that she’d actually spoken the words out loud. That was unbelievably rude.

  It didn’t seem to faze Susannah, though. She merely smiled, as cool as ever. “Of course you didn’t. I just realized I haven’t looked at them in a long time myself. Some of these go way back, to when we were kids.”

  Josie glanced at the photograph of the laughing teens, giddy with youth. “You’ve known him a long time.”

  “Since I was born. Our families have lived on these adjoining spreads for generations. He was my best friend long before he was my fiancé.”

  “How nice.” Josie didn’t trust herself to say more. She dreaded the thought that she might sound bitter. But it brought home, didn’t it, how stupid she’d been to believe Chase Clayton IV would come looking for love in the Not Guilty Café. When people like this wanted a partner, they didn’t need to look farther than the ranch next door.

  She wondered if Susannah was deliberately trying to make her feel like an outsider. If so, it was overkill. She already felt so other she might as well have been from a different planet.

  “Susannah, do you mind if we cut through all the polite, surface things we’re supposed to say here, and just be completely candid?”

  “Of course not.” Susannah looked curious, but not offended. Josie wondered what it would take to disturb a woman this cool. “Of course you should say anything you want.”

  “Thanks.” Josie’s head had begun to throb. She tried to ignore it.

  “It’s just that—I can tell there’s a lot going on beneath the surface here. I’ve tried to be honest. I admitted my mistake. But with you, the lawyer, the doctor, even Chase, it’s as if we’re polite adversaries. There’s always that hint of suspicion. Why is that? It seems to me we’re all pretty much in the same boat. Victims of the man who impersonated Chase.”

  The other woman took a deep breath. “You’re right, of course. It’s not fair. I guess it’s because…because we all love him.”

  Josie frowned. “But what—”

  “We’re protective of him, I think. That sounds strange, because he’s so strong, and really he’s the one who always protects all of us.” She touched one of the pictures. Josie thought it was the one of the teenagers.

  “He’s a good person, Josie. One of the best people you’ll ever meet.”

  “I don’t doubt that. He’s been very nice, nicer than he had to be. But why does he need protecting from me? I’m no threat to him.”

  Susannah smiled. “That’s probably true. Still. You have to admit it’s all very strange. The way you arrived, the story you tell…”

  “I know. I am as bewildered as any of you. Probably more so.”

  “Yes, of course. But Chase is a very prominent man, and that draws a lot of…unwanted attention. It wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to fleece him. No one has done it successfully, though—not in a long, long time.”

  Josie felt her back stiffen. “Fleece?”

  “I didn’t mean that you…” Susannah sighed. “Damn it. I’m not expressing myself very well.”

  “No, I think I understand you perfectly. Let me recap. Chase Clayton is a rich, important hotshot, and I’m a suspicious nobody from nowhere. And if I plan to sue, rob, slander or otherwise annoy him I’d better be careful, because his equally prominent friends are standing guard.”

  Susannah seemed about to protest, but Josie’s look stopped her.

  “All right, fair enough, though I believe you’ll discover we’re not quite the snobs you think we are.” Susannah seemed to square her shoulders. “But there’s one more thing I came here to tell
you.”

  “What?”

  She put her cool, slim hand on Josie’s arm. Her beautiful face was grave.

  “If what you say is true, there’s a man out there who has done an incredibly cruel thing. A terrible, unforgivable thing. Not just to Chase. To you. And if there’s any way I can help you find him, Josie, I will.”

  CHASE DIDN’T SEE his houseguest for a full twenty-four hours. He meant to check on her, but things kept cropping up. One of his most promising stallions stressed a tendon when something spooked him in the turnout paddock. The south stable’s new roof sprang a leak during the regular afternoon downpour. Late in the afternoon, Eli Breslin, the new stable boy, broke the mechanical cow, and Chase had to keep Boss Johnson, his best cutting horse trainer, from drop-kicking the kid into the next county.

  Thank God for Imogene, who was half drill sergeant, half Mother Teresa. He knew he could trust her to give Josie plenty of TLC, while at the same time keeping an eagle eye on her, just in case there was, after all, a con artist lurking beneath that wounded-baby-bird exterior.

  By the time Chase got back to the house, both Josie and Imogene had gone to bed. Frankly, he was too tired to be anything but relieved.

  But the next morning, after a quick meeting with Trent, he knocked on the guest room door.

  Josie answered quickly, as if she’d been waiting. She wore the same clothes she’d had on yesterday, just a pair of jeans and a brown T-shirt. He wondered if he should buy her something else…or maybe ask Sue to do it.

  “Morning,” he said. “Did you sleep well? You look like you feel better.”

  That was only partly true. Her bad eye actually looked even worse, as the raccoon-black bruising began to lighten to a sickly mishmash of purple, yellow and red. But her good eye looked much better. The blue had a real sparkle, the whites weren’t bloodshot, and the circle underneath had begun to disappear.

  “Thanks,” she said. “Although I do have a mirror in here, you know, so gallantry can only go so far.”

  He smiled. “The right side of you looks tons better, and that’s not gallantry. It’s the truth.” He reached out to free a strand of silky, honey-brown hair from the tape that held down the gauze of her forehead bandage. “The left side will follow. Just give it time.”

  She nodded, but she tilted her head back slightly. He wondered if he’d made her uncomfortable by touching her, even this casually. It would make his lawyer uncomfortable, no doubt. Stilling always saw everything in terms of how it would sound in court.

  Did you ever touch the plaintiff, Mr. Clayton?

  “Imogene tells me you were going stir-crazy yesterday, looking for something to do.”

  “A little. She gave me a few chores, but I still feel pretty useless.”

  “You shouldn’t. Your job is to recuperate.”

  That apparently was the wrong answer. Her softly arched brows drove together.

  “I’m not an invalid, for heaven’s sake. I just have a black eye and a couple of stitches.” One side of her mouth cocked up reluctantly. “And diabetes. And morning sickness.”

  “And anemia.”

  “And a couple of guys running jackhammers in my head.” She gave up and grinned. “But other than that I’m fine.”

  “Good. You’ll be glad to hear, then, that I’ve got a mission for you.”

  Now her eyes really did sparkle, even the multicolored one. “Yes. Anything!”

  “Trent rounded up some pictures for me. I thought we could look at them and see if you recognize anybody.” The phone on his belt began to beep. “Sorry,” he said, and answered it.

  It was Boss Johnson. Another crisis. The red roan they recently bought, a horse Johnson had high hopes for, was acting up. Johnson thought the stallion might have a phobia about bright colors.

  Great. Just what he needed. Pay all outdoors for a horse who balked every time a cardinal flew by.

  “I’ll be there in five.” Chase clicked off the phone with a sigh. The truth was, he didn’t have time to play Sherlock Holmes with this woman. He really should hire a private detective to track down the elusive Mr. Flim and send little Josie Whitford home to Riverfork.

  “Is everything all right?” She bit her lower lip, which had the effect of making Chase stare at her mouth. It was, he noticed, pretty fantastic. Wide and full, with a built-in pucker that had all kinds of X-rated undertones.

  For the first time, he understood why Flim had chosen this particular woman to seduce. That was a mighty fine mouth.

  A shiver passed through him, settling in his loins.

  Somehow he pulled the thoughts up short and turned off the heat. What the hell was he doing, letting himself ride into murky territory like that?

  Oh, yeah, he sure as hell needed to get her back to Riverfork.

  But then he made the mistake of raising his gaze and looking straight into her blue eyes.

  Damn it, those eyes belonged on someone else. On one of those Hallmark card kids, maybe, the waifs who crouched in corners, their faces too small to hold their round, sad, innocent eyes.

  It was the eyes, in the end, that made the decision for him.

  “Yeah, everything’s okay. I need to go check out one of the new horses, though.” He holstered his phone. “We could do this a little later…or…”

  She cocked her head. “Or?”

  Dumb, Clayton. Really dumb.

  But he said it anyway.

  “Or you could come along with me.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  JOHNSON BROUGHT the roan into the outdoor round pen to demonstrate the problem. The side boards would cut down on distractions.

  It took only about two minutes for Chase to see that the trainer was right.

  Damn it. The horse still looked gorgeous. Healthy. Athletic. Good conformation. He had a light mouth—Johnson hardly had to touch the reins. Chase already knew that the stallion had been trained for cutting by somebody who knew his stuff. He used his hindquarters well, stopped on a dime with his hocks buried in the sand, and kept his head low, even on his backups and spins.

  Even better, he liked it. That was the magic. Any good trainer could teach a horse to cut cattle, but only God could make him like it.

  Then came the heartbreaker. At a prearranged signal, Eli Breslin, the nineteen-year-old ranch hand who had broken the mechanical cow yesterday, entered the pen, wearing a bright red shirt. Instantly the confident, cooperative roan began to balk. He backed up, shook his head from side to side and threatened to rear.

  It was all Johnson could do to hold him. The same stallion who had responded to the lightest touch of the reins against his neck now ignored the thrust of a cold bit, hard in his mouth, and the pressure of Johnson’s powerful legs.

  “Enough.” Chase made a sawing motion in the air, telling Johnson to give it up. Johnson jerked a thumb to dismiss Eli, and the boy exited quickly, looking relieved.

  Johnson dismounted. Immediately the horse subsided, though his ears lay flat against his head, and his nostrils were flared. This was not a happy animal.

  Chase wasn’t a happy rancher, either. He conferred with Johnson another minute, and then he exited the pen, trying to shake off his frustration before he got to the viewing stands, where he’d left Josie with the photos.

  Instead, she was standing two feet away, in a shaft of sunlight on the other side of the door.

  “I hope you don’t mind—I climbed up so I could watch,” she said. “I’m sorry, Chase. That didn’t go well, did it?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “Damn shame, too. That could have been a champion. He has it all.”

  “Can it be fixed? Can you train him not to be so afraid?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Depends on the horse, and how he got the phobia in the first place. It’s a lot of work, no matter how you look at it.”

  “But you’ll try?”

  He shrugged, casting one last glance into the pen, where Johnson was soothing the still-agitated roan. “I don’t know. I’m not sure it’s c
ost-effective.”

  Josie frowned. “You mean you’d just give up on him? A horse that could have been a champion? Just because he’s had some kind of trauma in his past?”

  “Probably. It’s disappointing, but that’s how it goes sometimes. Not every horse lives up to its potential. We’ll find another one.”

  She tilted her head. “Is that how it is on a ranch? No room for mistakes? You’re either perfect, or you’re off to the glue factory?”

  He squinted at her, trying to block enough of the sun to get a look at her face. He couldn’t read her expression, but all five foot three of her was rigid with disapproval. He wondered whether they were still talking about the roan.

  “I’m a rancher, Josie. Not the horse whisperer. But if it makes you feel any better we don’t send our animals to the glue factory. We’ll find someone who wants a good horse at a good price, someone who has the time to correct it.”

  She remained stiff for another moment, and then all the starch just blew out of her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t know what got into me. It’s just that he was such a sweet horse, and it seems so unfair. It’s not his fault if something terrible happened to him—”

  She put her hands over her face. “God, listen to me! I’ve been here two days and I’m already telling you how to run your business. Forget I said anything, please. It’s none of my business.” She tried to smile. “Shall we talk about the pictures?”

  “Sure.” He put his hand behind her shoulder and nudged her slightly toward the viewing stands, where she’d left the packet of photographs. They walked slowly together across the grass, the sunlight in their eyes. It was going to be a hot one. It was almost as if spring had come and gone in the span of about a week.

  “Did you get a chance to look at them all? Did anyone seem familiar?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said. “Most of them, no. They may have a superficial resemblance, but they’re not him.”

  When they reached the stand, they sat on the first bleacher, straddling it like a pommel, with the manila envelope between them.