“Joe, you didn’t know,” Margaret said.
“Well, that’s the thing. Deep down, I knew something was wrong, but she made it easier by telling me not to worry, that everything would be fine. I took the coward’s way out.” He stepped closer to her. “Give yourself a break. At least you tried,” he said. He touched her arm and then stepped around her to the door, opening it. “Do you want me to feed your horses? It looks like Storm is about to wear a hole in the dirt where he’s pacing.”
She watched him. He was such an enigma, and she was seeing a side of him she hadn’t known existed. He’d exposed a dark part of himself to help her feel better, and she could see how he was struggling with a pain he doubted could ever go away.
“Joe, thank you,” she said.
He didn’t turn to face her but inclined his head as he stepped out of the house. She didn’t miss the hardness in his jaw and the way he was struggling to hold himself together, and, for the first time, she felt something deep and close. It was as if he’d cut through her tough outer shell, cracking open her heart and touching her. Warmth flooded her in a rush as she watched him step out of the house and take care of her horses. There was something simple about it, and she couldn’t shake the deep longing she felt, wondering what it would be like to be cared for by him. She realized how badly she yearned for that very thing.
Chapter Ten
Joe spent his day putting out one fire after the other. First, the well pump broke, so there was no water to the house. After spending all day fixing it, he had no time to mill wood, and he needed to finish the order for a new contractor who was building a mile up the road. He was just wiping his hands and turning on the power to the working pump when Ryan came walking up the road with this backpack looped over his shoulder. “Hey, Ryan. How was school today?” Joe asked.
“Good,” Ryan said, shrugging his shoulders. It was the same response he gave every day.
“Any homework?” Joe asked, knowing exactly what was coming.
“No.”
He watched Ryan saunter to the house. “So if I call your teacher, she’ll tell me the same thing?”
Ryan stopped and seemed to hesitate before looking up at Joe. The way his eyes searched out the dead air, he was either trying to come up with a story or thinking of what really had gone down that day. The teacher usually described Ryan’s work with two words: “incomplete” and “sloppy.”
“Of course she will,” Ryan said with a frown. “Can I go see Margaret and Storm?”
Joe shook his head, wanting to take his son by the shoulders and give him a good shake. The fact was that Ryan hated school. He was a smart kid, but sitting at a desk, being made to listen for hours on end, did little to inspire him. Joe had hated that about school, as well. Maybe that was why he’d cut Ryan some slack, but now he thought maybe all his son needed was some female influence. He’d wondered a lot lately about Evie. If she were still alive, what kind of guidance would she have given his son? Joe was sure Ryan would be a lot more focused in school.
“You know, Ryan, you’re growing up, and slacking off isn’t going to get you anywhere in life. You need an education, and I can’t be hounding you every day about whether you did your homework or took an interest in school. You need to take initiative. You’re not two years old. I can’t make you do it,” he said. He was irritated about a whole lot of things, and now Ryan was shuffling from foot to foot.
“Can I go see Storm?” he asked again.
Joe let out a sigh. Ever since he’d gone to see Margaret that morning, intent on somehow making her feel better, he had felt miserable, as if he’d traded places with her. He couldn’t help resenting Margaret, as she was responsible for his mood, even though he knew it wasn’t logical. “Fine, go,” he said, “but be back for dinner.”
Ryan hesitated and then got a hopeful look on his face. “Do you want to come with me? I’m sure Margaret would be happy to see you.”
Joe saw something in his son’s eyes that he didn’t like. Ryan would have been a fool not to pick up on the interest Joe had for Margaret, and, in a way, Joe wondered if his son was looking at her as a replacement for Evie.
“You’re not trying to matchmake, there, are you, son? I hope not, because you’ll be really disappointed. I have a girlfriend, Sara. I like her, and she likes you.”
Ryan made a face. “She does not,” he said. He walked away and dumped his backpack in the house before racing to his bike.
“Ryan, helmet!” Joe yelled out as Ryan started down the driveway. He turned back and grabbed his yellow helmet from a hook in the shed before jumping on his bike again. “Don’t be late,” Joe called out just as Ryan disappeared behind the line of trees down the driveway.
****
Margaret hadn’t missed the differences between Angel and Storm. Storm didn’t like treats and was standoffish, letting her know he expected to be left alone. Angel was a different story: She raced across the paddock or corral to Margaret every time she stepped in. Margaret only had to call to Angel for the horse to give her all her attention. She loved treats and would eat out of Margaret’s hand, whereas with Storm, Margaret had to be careful not to get bitten. Where Angel was calm and had an energy that matched Margaret’s, Storm was definitely the polar opposite. He had an energy and personality that she could see wasn’t suited for Ryan.
Margaret had seen the boy’s fear of Storm, and the horse was now feeding off it, or so she suspected. She had to become strong around Storm to get a response from him and get him to think, to work. Today, she’d worked his hind quarters like a clock. Angel was spatially aware, so Margaret was never worried about getting kicked. With Storm, though, she was ever mindful of her location behind him.
She tossed a fleck of hay into the feeder for both horses and then turned as she heard Ryan pulling up on his bike. She realized she needed to speak with Joe about the horse.
“How’s Storm today?” he asked, sounding hopeful as he dropped his bike in the middle of the driveway and joined her at the corral.
She touched his arm and watched as he gazed at his horse with something hopeful and hesitant in his eyes. “You love Storm, don’t you?” she asked, mainly to see his reaction.
“Of course! He’s my horse. I just want to feel comfortable with him. Did you work out whatever his problem is?”
She studied Ryan and wondered how to address the real issue. Storm really needed someone with a skill level to match his own energy, and she doubted Ryan would ever be the right fit. She could be wrong. Maybe it was just a matter of working with Ryan and helping him gain skill and confidence. That could work, or it could get him killed.
“Ryan, with horses, no two are the same, just like with people. There are mismatched personalities, energy levels. You can’t change who a horse is. A horse that’s forward and excitable isn’t going to be good for someone who wants a slow, easy ride. You’ll be fighting with the horse the entire way. It’s the same with someone who wants excitement and drive. They’d get pretty frustrated with an easygoing horse who would rather pick its way at a nice, calm pace. These kind of differences frustrate the horse and the rider.”
“But you had me and Storm working together,” Ryan added, frowning.
“And I can keep working with you and Storm. I just need to make sure your personalities are matched. Just like with people, some are born to go fast and thrive on challenges, taking risks, while some can’t handle that and need to play it safe. Storm has a strong personality, and when you’re with him, you need to make yourself bigger, stronger. Your energy has to come from here.” She patted her stomach. “You need to be really clear with Storm, when you enter that arena, about exactly what your expectation is. All the emotion, the worry, and the problems you have in here,” she tapped her forehead, “need to be hidden away somewhere else. We’re emotional beings. Horses aren’t, but they will react to our emotions.”
She watched Ryan. He seemed to hesitate and think.
“I’m not ready to give up on
Storm,” he said.
“Okay then. Let’s get you in the round pen with him―” She stopped when she heard a familiar engine from her driveway. Joe’s truck appeared, and she felt her heart leap until she spotted the blonde who, just last night, had humiliated her in front of a bunch of people she barely knew.
Joe stopped in front of the bike Ryan had dumped in the middle of the road. He shut off the engine and climbed out, holding a hand out to Sara and helping her down. She had cascading curls and wore dark blue jeans with a deep green shirt. Her belt buckle flashed with something sparkly. The woman was holding Joe’s hand, beaming with the brightest smile.
Joe, though, stopped at the bike and picked it up. “Ryan, how many times have I told you not to leave your bike lying around?” He hefted the bike into the back of the truck.
“Dad, I was just going to do some work in the round pen with Storm,” Ryan said with a whine in his voice, one she heard only when his dad was around and he was on the defensive.
“Not tonight,” Joe said. “Sara’s making us dinner, and we have some news we want to share.”
Margaret gripped the wood rail of the corral when she saw the way Sara sucked in her lower lip and fluttered her lashes up at Joe. She walked toward him as he held his hand out to her, and she pressed every part of herself up against him. Joe set a kiss to her forehead. If there had ever been any doubt about how intimate and close the two were, there was no doubt now, not in Margaret’s mind. Whatever had happened this morning between them…well, she felt like an ass. How could she misread things so badly, and why did he have to be kind to her?
The happy couple was watching both Ryan and Margaret, and Ryan didn’t seem interested in having any part of their happy news. In fact, he refused to ask. Margaret was with Ryan one hundred and fifty percent. She wasn’t interested in learning one iota of what they thought was happy, because right now, her stomach was doing that Spidey-sense thing that made her want to run as far and fast as she could before Joe said one more word.
“We’re getting married,” he said before kissing Sara.
Margaret’s ears were ringing, and Ryan made a sound as if he’d been sucker punched. She didn’t know what to do. Could she manage to congratulate them? Being happy for them definitely wasn’t a possibility. What she did do was set her hand on Ryan’s shoulder and say, “You’d best go on home with your dad.”
The look Ryan gave her then, his eyes glistening with tears, nearly broke her heart.
Chapter Eleven
Margaret had never been so inspired to scrub her house from one end to the other. It wasn’t the fact that she wanted it to look nice so much that she felt nothing at all. She was hurt and feeling as if she was worthless, and she had to do something to keep from going out of her mind. She kept replaying Joe’s visit. Why had he told her about his wife? He had seemed so concerned about how she was feeling, about how she had messed up the surgery for Charlie, that little boy, whose future was now uncertain. Was Joe concerned that she was blaming herself? Instead of feeling better, which Joe had been solely responsible for, she now felt unlovable. She didn’t know which feeling was worse, her overwhelming guilt or this. She dropped the sponge in the now spotless sink when a knock on her door had her glancing at the clock. It was after midnight.
She started to worry instantly. She didn’t have a phone, and who would be out here, in the middle of nowhere, this late at night? She wondered why she hadn’t heard anything outside. Storm, at least, would have startled at an intruder. Margaret stepped closer to the door, her heart hammering as she stared at the unlocked deadbolt. The pounding rattled the door frame as if someone was using his fist on the door.
“Margaret!”
It was Joe, and she instantly felt relief—and fury. Why was he bothering her now?
She yanked open the door and stared into darkness before flicking on the outside light, but nothing happened. The damn bulb was dead, and she had never noticed because she never had much need to run out in the middle of the night. “Joe, you scared the life out of me,” she said.
He stepped around her inside the house, water dripping from his slicker and the brim of his hat. She realized that was why she hadn’t heard anything. It was pouring rain, and she saw the headlights from Joe’s truck, still running.
“Is Ryan here?” he asked, his tone holding nothing friendly.
“No. He left with you and…” she started to say “Sara,” but the woman’s name left a bitterness on her tongue, and she couldn’t get it past her lips. Joe shook his head as he took off his hat. He wore a look that was starting to spark fear in her. “Joe, what happened?” she said.
Joe shook his head. “I don’t know. Ryan took off.”
“When?” she asked. She knew how upset Ryan had been when his dad shared the news about him and Sara. She had understood the look he wore: dark, desperate, and so alone.
“Sometime after nine,” Joe said. “We had gone to bed, and I got up about an hour ago to check on him, but I found two pillows stuffed under his quilt. I looked everywhere for him. He’s gone. His bike is nowhere to be found, and I thought maybe he came here.” He was dripping on the rough hardwood floor, and Margaret shut the door. “Look, I’m sorry to bother you,” he said, starting toward the door.
She wanted to kick him, because he was putting distance between them and making her feel as if Ryan wasn’t her concern. She sighed and reached for her slicker, shrugging it on.
“What are you doing?” he asked as she shoved her feet into her gumboots and set the ratty hat she always wore on her head.
“Coming to help you find Ryan,” she replied. “Any idea where he’d go?” She didn’t ask why he had left, because she had a pretty good idea why. She wondered whether Joe had a clue how his son really felt about Sara. She pulled open the door and stepped out, Joe right behind her. “Joe, there’s a flashlight in the closet there. Can you grab it?”
He stepped back in and opened the small coat closet, lifting the large flashlight from the shelf. He flicked it on but didn’t hand it to Margaret when she reached for it, instead shining it toward his truck and pulling the door closed behind them. He jumped off the steps, starting toward his truck, and Margaret hurried after him. He wasn’t about to wait for anyone.
She jumped into the passenger side, and he set her flashlight between them and backed up. They were turning to leave when the headlights flashed on Ryan’s bike, leaning against the barn.
“Joe!” Margaret said, pointing just as he stomped on the brakes.
He was out the driver’s door, yelling, “Ryan!” He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted again. “Ryan, answer me now!”
Oh, he was mad and worried, and he would probably kick Ryan’s butt from one side of this county to the next when he found him—or maybe that was just what Margaret’s grandfather would have done to her.
Margaret grabbed the flashlight and jumped out of the truck, starting toward the bike. Angel was under the overhang, doing her best to keep dry, and Margaret saw the open gate. She flashed the light on it and then into the corral. “Joe!” she called out as she walked toward the gate, which was now swinging back and forth in the wind. “Storm’s gone,” she said. She could hear the panic in her voice. “What the hell did Ryan do?”
She quickly shut the gate and latched the chain, not that Angel would go anywhere, but Storm…
Joe jogged over. “What?” He sounded so annoyed. “I don’t care about that horse. I care about my son.”
She ground her teeth and fought the urge to shove his arm, to yell at him and give him the dressing-down he so deserved. She glared at him as she stepped around him to the barn, where Ryan’s bike was, and then inside. Storm’s halter was gone, and so were the saddle and blanket she had for Angel. Her grandfather’s old, heavy saddle was there, though. She let out a breath. “Oh my God, Ryan, what did you do?”
Joe was beside her. “What is it?” he asked.
Margaret shut her eyes, trying to figure out what
to say, before she glanced at Joe. “My saddle is gone. So’s the halter for Storm.” She shone the light at another empty peg. “The bridle I used to use for Angel is gone, too.”
Joe stepped in front of her, looking at her with something resembling blame. “Are you telling me my kid showed up here and saddled Storm, and you didn’t hear anything?”
“You’re not putting this on me,” she snapped. “If you haven’t noticed, it’s raining. I didn’t even hear you pull in. I was kind of busy inside.” She stopped just short of telling him she’d been sulking, scrubbing down one end of the house to the other. He didn’t need to know any of that. “If I recall, Ryan was none too thrilled by your news, so if you want to cast blame on someone, shine it right on yourself. You wanting to marry Sara is your business, but in case you didn’t notice, Ryan doesn’t like her, and he believes the feeling is mutual.”
Joe ground his jaw and let out a low, gruff laugh that was anything but happy. “You’re unbelievable. You’re just jealous, and who I marry is none of your damn business,” he snapped.
Margaret felt her jaw slacken, and she fisted her hand around the flashlight, wondering for a second what it would feel like to bash Joe over the head. Out of nowhere, she felt tears burning behind her eyes at his cruel words. “You can be a real prick sometimes, Joe. I care about Ryan very much.”
Joe looked away and then said, “I’m sorry. I’m just worried about my kid. It’s one of the reasons I asked Sara to marry me. He needs a mother.”
She shone her light into his face, and he blinked, holding his palm up to shield his eyes.
“What the hell is the matter with you, woman?”
“You’re an idiot,” she said. “You don’t marry someone to give your son a mother. In case you hadn’t noticed, Sara is about as interested in being a mother to Ryan as a snake is to a mouse.”
The One (Book 1, of The Wilde Brothers, A Contemporary Western Romance) Page 7