My Girl

by Jacquie Biggar

“Is that your answer to everything? Clam up when times get hard?” He slammed his hand down, shaking the dessert dishes and making her suck in a fearful breath. “This is bullshit.”

  More tears fell. She owed him an explanation—it hurt immeasurably that she couldn’t give him one.

  He sighed and handed her a napkin. “Sorry. You caught me off guard. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  She gratefully accepted the cloth and dabbed at her eyes, chest hurting. “Don’t… don’t apologize, please. I feel bad enough already.”

  He reached over the counter and tipped her chin so he could see her face. “Why did you hide it from me, then? We could have worked something out, Trish.”

  Funny, that was the argument she’d had with her parents. They didn’t care.

  She leaned away so he’d have to release his hold, his touch a distraction she couldn’t afford. “We’d… I’d ended our relationship months before. How would you have reacted if I suddenly arrived on your doorstep pregnant?”

  His nostrils flared. “I guess we’ll never know.” He crossed his arms as though bracing for a blow. “Is the child healthy?”

  The depth of emotion in his voice closed her throat. She swallowed hard and nodded. “Perfect. She’s beautiful.”

  He froze. “A girl?”

  She nodded, her heart full. “I named her after your grandmother, Madeline Rose.”

  Now it was his turn to reach for a napkin, his eyes suspiciously moist. “Ah, Trish, you slay me. Thank you for that.”

  Even in the midst of a betrayal, this man was a better person than all of her family put together. She would never allow her parents to destroy him.

  Never.

  8

  Aaron rode the west side of the property, searching for the fence break his brother had warned him about. He’d been away from the ranch for three days, needing the time to process Trish’s shocking announcement.

  He was a father.

  He barely remembered his own dad. A big, burly man with a hearty laugh, and… the aroma of cinnamon? Yeah, that was it. He’d quit smoking and had taken to chewing on cinnamon-flavored toothpicks to rid himself of the habit. Funny, he’d forgotten that until now.

  Madeline Rose.

  She’d be what, two now? Walking and talking, laughing and crying. God, he hated Trish for keeping her from him. He’d left her standing in the kitchen the other night before he did something he’d regret—like shaking some sense into her. Truthfully, his head was a mess.

  He’d never seen himself as a dad to some cute little munchkin. And she would be cute—look at Trish. But hell, he barely took care of himself, how was he going to handle responsibility for a child? Then again, he couldn’t be much worse than the jerk Trish planned to marry. The thought of her in that guy’s bed, doing all the things they’d done together, was slowly driving him crazy. Why did she have to come storming into his life just when he’d started to think he was over her?

  It wasn’t fair.

  His lips quirked. How many times had he said those same three words to Grandma Maddie? Too many to count, that’s for sure. He’d been convinced his role as middle child was to take all the blame for everything that went wrong in his brother and sister’s lives, and he’d resented the hell out of it. Hindsight brought clarity. He could better understand Matthew’s apathy now, and Sophia’s manic need for attention. They’d been as lost as him—three suddenly rudderless kids. Thank God for Madeline Shaughnessy.

  A trail of flattened grass led him to the hole in the fence. Aaron ground-tied Dickens and reached into the saddlebags for his repair kit. He crouched by the break and frowned; the wire had been cut. No horse could create damage like this. He stood and took a slow look at the hills and shadows surrounding the area. Remote. If he was a horse thief, he’d search for a site just like this one. There was even a dirt road between their land and the next ranch that could be used for hauling the animals away. He’d better get hold of the authorities and see what they had to say—right after he told his brother the good news.

  He strung fresh wire around the brace post a couple of times and stapled it, then used a wire tool to wrap the excess around the main wire and trimmed the extra with pliers. Next, he went down the line and used a rope fence puller to remove most of the slack. Using a come-along he cranked until the wire was tight before stapling it to the waiting pole, careful not to over-tighten and have the whole thing spring back in his face. He’d seen the damage that caused, it wasn’t pretty.

  Finished, he wiped his brow and unhooked the canteen from his saddle to take care of his thirst. Only three more to go. Might as well get it over with and place a call to the ranch. He dug out his cell and watched Dickens grazing while waiting for Matthew to pick up on the other end.

  “Find the break?” Matt’s surly tone carried over the air waves.

  Aaron looked at his phone and debated the wisdom of hanging up. Probably not a good idea. Tempting though. “Hello to you, too. Yeah, I’m fine, thanks for asking.” He gave up on the sarcasm to convey his worries. “I think the Ghost Stallion might be the least of our problems. Someone slashed the fence.”

  The silence was deafening. He squinted up at the sun, debating how many hours of daylight he had left to get the job done. He’d be cutting it close.

  “Matt, you there?” He tried to control his impatience, really, he did. “Look, if you got nothin’ to say, I’m hanging up. I have work to do, as you so generously pointed out the other night.”

  Matthew breathed a frustrated sigh. “Do you ever get tired of being annoying? I was trying to process what you said. I can’t remember a time when we ever had to worry about horse thieves—what the hell?”

  That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? The ranching community was a small one; neighbors who looked out for each other. If there were thieves in the area, the locals would band together until the culprits were caught.

  “Better get on the phone, bro. The sheriff’s department will want to know about this.”

  “We needed this right now like a hole in the head. How are we going to explain a police presence to our guests?” Papers rustled in Aaron’s ear. “Maybe we should return their payments and close down the dude ranch for now. Sophia’s going to be disappointed.”

  Sophia wasn’t the only one.

  Dickens snorted and shifted restlessly, pulling Aaron’s attention to the far-off roar of a diesel engine. The vehicle noise gained in volume, resonating through the hills. His pulse kicked up a notch and he grasped the trailing reins—just in case. “Umm, unless you’ve already sent the bat signal and the Cavalry is on the way, we have company.”

  There was a beat of silence and then Matt snapped, “If you’re saying what I think you’re saying, get the hell out of there.”

  Aaron shook his head. Miles away and his brother still tried to boss him around. “Don’t get your knickers in a knot. I’m not playing hero. I just want to get a look at whoever it is, see what they’re up to.” He grabbed the pommel and swung into the saddle, leading Dickens away from the fence and possible exposure. “Don’t worry about me. For all we know it’s the Smiths out for an afternoon drive.”

  Steam practically warmed his ear. “You are the most foolhardy, irresponsible…”

  “Yada, yada. Hanging up now. Call the sheriff.” He tapped the end button and tucked his phone into his back pocket. Matthew meant well, he just had to realize they weren’t kids anymore.

  A stand of Desert Willow gave him the cover he needed to watch the road without being seen. He waited no more than five minutes before a fancy new tractor-trailer unit rumbled into view, spewing black smoke and dust behind him. Not exactly a vehicle for going incognito. Maybe he was right, and it was locals out doing their thing.

  That theory was blown out of the water when the truck slowed as it reached the same section of fence he’d been working to repair. Dickens tossed his head, nose quivering. Aaron patted his neck and murmured to keep him quiet. “Don’t go giving us away,
pal. We need to find out what they’re up to.”

  Two men, one tall, the other short and stalky, hopped down from the rig and went around back to open the trailer doors. A ramp lowered and a minute later, three horses—Matt’s Andalusians if he wasn’t mistaken—were unloaded and led up to the single wire holding the fence together. The men looked at each other, shrugged, and used Aaron’s tools to cut the line before ushering the animals through. They smacked the last one on the rump and laughed as it bucked and kicked out at them, then nipped at the horse in front to get it moving. They raced up the hill and out of sight while the men watched, cigarettes hanging from their lips.

  Aaron swore under his breath. The men wore caps to counter the sun’s harsh glare, but it also prevented him from getting a good look. He was tempted to ride out there and ask them what the hell they thought they were doing, but it could get him killed and he wasn’t quite ready to die today. Trish and her revelation ran through his mind, convincing him to err on the side of caution. If he could get a photo of the truck and better yet, the license plate, he’d be happy.

  The men butted their smokes on the fence post, then headed for the truck. Aaron’s hands sweated as he dug his phone out and opened the camera feature. Damn, too far away. He kneed Dickens, guiding him through the undergrowth and closer to the revving black one-ton. The vehicle pulled out and he took his chance, trotting into the open to get a shot of the back bumper. Thankfully, they took no notice of him and drove off. Either they didn’t care if they were seen, or they were idiots. A simple search of the plates and the sheriff could arrest their asses.

  Unless, the truck was stolen. That was it, had to be. Which meant he was no better off than before. Except they had their stock back—which made no damn sense at all—and they’d left their DNA behind.

  He rode over to the fence pole, dismounted, and using his work gloves, collected the discarded cigarette butts and placed them in a side pocket of his saddlebag. Look at him, going all P.I., now if it only helped to catch the culprits.

  9

  Trish sat in the den, mindlessly skimming through a journal on horse husbandry while waiting for the moment Aaron came home, though she tried to tell herself otherwise. It had been days without word. She was beginning to believe he planned to stay away until their family left. Not that she could blame him. When she thought of the expression on his face when she’d told him about Madeline… sucker-punched. That’s the only way to describe it. She was probably lucky he hadn’t thrown them all out. Father would love that.

  Then she heard him. She didn’t even need to see him to know he’d arrived. The deep rumble of his voice as he spoke to someone in the entry foyer sent delicious shivers up her spine. “Stop it,” she muttered. This dangerous attraction had to end. She was engaged, for Pete’s sake.

  Besides, he hated her now.

  She set the tome aside, and rose, hands nervously fluttering over the magenta silk of her dress—as though she’d known he’d be back today. Would he search her out, or should she go to him? Would he even want to see her again? Now the truth was out, she felt an overwhelming sense of relief. She’d hated keeping his daughter from him, if only… It didn’t matter anymore. Her parents, and Kyle, were going to have to accept Aaron’s place in their lives. It was done.

  The doorbell rang and curiosity drove her to the hallway. She peeked out and was surprised to see a lawman, notepad in hand, talking to Aaron and his brother, Matthew. All three men wore identical grim expressions—Trish’s heart fluttered, as though facing an unseen threat. She must have made an involuntary sound because the stranger glanced her way, then straightened. He removed his hat as he stepped forward, brushing past Aaron and Matthew.

  “And who is this vision of loveliness you’ve been hiding away?” he teased, moving to take her hand in a surprisingly firm shake.

  Her father used to tell her you could tell the quality of a man from his handshake. Judging by the sheriff’s—she could read the label on his badge this close up—he was strong and capable. Hopefully, she was wrong in this case because something told her trouble had just come calling.

  Aaron had followed and performed the introductions, though she could tell he wasn’t happy. “Trish Sylvester and her family are our first visitors since we opened the guest ranch.”

  The officer released his grip, but his calm eyes remained watchful. “I bet you didn’t expect horse thieves as part of the package.”

  Trish startled, glancing between Matthew and Aaron. “Horse thieves? Did someone steal your horses? Why would anyone want to do that?”

  Aaron chuckled. “Oh, that’s not the craziest part. They returned them a few days later.”

  “I fail to see the humor.” Matt glared at his brother. “This is serious.”

  The smile disappeared from Aaron’s lips. His shoulders tensed. “You know, you can be a real asshat sometimes.”

  “Cut it out you two, you’re in mixed company,” the sheriff said mildly. His attention remained fixed on Trish, and she had to force herself not to squirm under his regard. “You look familiar, miss. Have you been in these parts before?”

  His good-ol’ boy Texan charm didn’t fool her for an instant. The sheriff was on a fishing expedition, she just had to figure out why and what he wanted from her. “It was a while ago, but yes. I live in Austin, though.”

  “Austin, the city that never sleeps. For some reason, I didn’t figure you for a city slicker.”

  Aaron coughed what sounded suspiciously like bull into his hand. “You blind, man? Look at that dress? It has dinner and a theatre written all over it. Leave the girl alone, Stan. She has nothing to do with it.”

  The sheriff’s brow lifted, but he backed up a step or two, giving Aaron room to place his intimidating body between them. Trish hadn’t been bothered by Stan. She couldn’t say the same about the aggravating man who’d decided she needed protection. If the sheriff didn’t have her on his list of suspects before, he would now. Damn it, Aaron.

  She needed to talk to her father. “If you’ll excuse me, it’s been a long day. I think I’ll take a nap before dinner.”

  It was Matthew who answered, his gaze distrustful. “We’ll expect you at six, then,” he said, a warning implicit in the words. Be there, or else…

  She gave the sheriff a nervous smile and touched Aaron’s stiff back. “See you later?”

  He met her gaze over his shoulder and a spark of awareness jumped between them. “Count on it.”

  Trish turned and walked sedately down the hall toward her parents’ room, all the while fighting the instinct to flee. She didn’t know what she’d do if her fears came to fruition. Her father could be a vindictive man and when Matthew and Aaron had backed out of a multi-million-dollar deal with their company, she’d been afraid it would only be a matter of time before he sought retribution.

  But this… it made no sense. Why steal a horse, only to return it at a later date?

  She knocked on the solid wood paneling of the door, absently noting the mahogany chair rail lining the wall, a match to the door and beautiful terracotta tile flooring. This home radiated love and attention to detail—a far cry from the austere blandness of her parents’ house.

  Her mother opened the door, narrow face pinched. “Your father is resting.”

  Read, go away.

  They put on a convincing act in public, but the truth was, Trish felt like a square bolt in the round hole of her family dynamics—she didn’t fit. Her older brother was the favored child, voted most likely to succeed. Ever since she could remember, Father had groomed Andy to step into his shoes, the heir apparent. It didn’t matter that Trish was a natural in the numbers game, she was a woman. Women did not run the Sylvester Corporation.

  “I need to see him,” she said now, determined to confront him and get to the bottom of this mess.

  “Patricia, not…”

  “Let her in,” her father grumbled. “I’m awake after all your nattering anyway.”

  Her mother rel
uctantly permitted her entry into the room and Trish shot her a triumphant glance. She’d beaten the gatekeeper—go her.

  Her father lay flat on his back, hands folded over his chest, covers barely wrinkled. Trish wasn’t sure if she was reassured by that, or not. Obviously, he wasn’t wrestling with a guilty conscience.

  “Daddy, we need to talk.” She cringed on the inside. What was with the revision to childhood all of a sudden?

  He huffed out a sigh and sat up, waving her to a nearby chair in olive green. His robe gaped, showing a bony chest and protruding Adam’s apple. He yanked the material closed and tightened his belt. “Well, get on with it then. What has you all flustered? That Shaughnessy boy back already?”

  Already? Aaron had been gone for three days, and she was pretty sure it was her fault.

  “Yes, he’s here. After all, it is his home.” She rose from the chair to pace the room, avoiding the corner where her mother sat pretending to read a newspaper. “The police are here, also. Seems someone decided to steal livestock and then return the animals like damaged merchandise.” Trish turned in time to catch her father’s speculative expression. Her stomach sank. “Please tell me you didn’t have anything to do with this.”

  The newspaper rattled as her mother threw it down. “How dare you accuse your father of theft. Apologize right now, young lady.” Even angry, not a stray hair fell out of place. It was amazing, really.

  “Never mind that,” Father said. “Was Shaughnessy upset?”

  Seriously? That’s what he had to say? Trish felt like smacking a palm to her forehead. Or maybe his.

  “Where are Kyle and Andy, Dad? I thought Kyle was picking him up from the airport.” She took her seat again and stared her father in the eye. “Did Kyle steal those horses for you?”

  Something that looked suspiciously like satisfaction passed over his expression before he wiped it clean. “Is that what you think of your fiancé? Of me? I thought I raised you better.”