The Horseman

by Anna Jeffrey

  All through her shower and makeup she dwelled on her marriage. She and Pic quarreled so much lately. Before getting married, they never even argued. Why did his discussing everything with his brother annoy her so much now when it hadn’t in the past? He had always consulted Drake. She knew that a long time before their wedding. If he would ever tell her the truth, before he proposed, he had probably discussed marrying her with Drake.

  As many years as she had known Pic and his brother, maybe she hadn’t known the extent to which Pic relied on Drake until after their marriage. Drake—and not her—was the person whose opinion Pic valued first. Drake was the only male, including Bill Junior, in whom he had total trust.

  To be fair, besides Drake, who else did Pic know who bore as much responsibility as he did and who understood how his life had changed? He had many old friends from high school and a few from college, but they were not confidantes. In truth, they were nothing but hunting or fishing buddies. Adulthood and responsibility and had isolated her husband. He was no longer the have-a-good-time, happy-go-lucky Pic.

  Yet, his bond with Drake was no longer what it used to be either. His big brother had a wife and kid who took most of his attention. In addition, he was so busy these days with his own business Amanda doubted that Pic had been able to talk to him at all about anything personal.

  Oh, they all made time to talk about the damn horses, especially now that they were going into breeding and foaling season and Troy had a horse that had won the World Finals. Dandy Little Lady was still a baby, but still, a daily conversation occurred about which stallion should be allowed to breed with her and when.

  At the Double-Barrel, one could never forget which mare was impregnated by which stallion or which one was scheduled to be screwed by another or inseminated or whatever. Between the cows and the horses, sex was a never-ending event.

  Drake found plenty of time to yak with Bill Junior or Pic or even Troy about the ranch and investments and money, but that talk never veered off into anything personal. Mental sigh. Well, Mr. Big Shot real estate mogul could just give his little brother a few minutes of his time. She would see to it that he did. The future direction of her and Pic’s marriage might depend on it.

  After readying for work, she pulled a jacket out of her closet and walked to the kitchen. Johnnie Sue was sitting at the breakfast table, busy with pen and paper. Amanda laid her jacket across the back of a chair. “Good morning.”

  “Mornin’.” The housekeeper pushed to her feet, carried her papers and pen to a cabinet drawer and put them away. She lifted a placemat and silverware from another drawer.

  “Pic must’ve left really early,” Amanda said. “I slept right through it.”

  “It was early all right. He already had the coffee going when I got over here.”

  The housekeeper used to live in the ranch house in a two-room suite attached to the kitchen, but after Amanda moved in, Johnnie Sue had moved into a small house a short distance away. Nevertheless, she was in the kitchen by five or five-thirty every morning. In the summer, she drove over in a golf cart and in the winter months, she drove her car.

  “The wagon boss came by,” she said. “I cooked breakfast for both of ’em and made ’em a lunch. They headed for the mesa.”

  Amanda pictured the slow, rugged trip to the high plateau known as the mesa. “Oh, hell. I suppose that means he’ll be gone all-day.” She drew a mug of coffee from the urn on the end of the counter. “I hope they weren’t horseback. Pic was already sore from riding yesterday.”

  “They took one of the work pickups.”

  Amanda leaned her backside against the counter edge and sipped her coffee. The housekeeper placed the placemat on the breakfast table, then a cloth napkin and silverware. “I made your lunch out of the fried chicken we had yesterday. I put in some of the slaw we had, too.”

  “Great. Thanks.”

  Finished with setting the table for one, Johnnie Sue looked up. “Go ahead and sit down. You want some pancakes for breakfast? I still got bacon and there’s plenty of batter.”

  Amanda was capable of making her own breakfast, even preferred it, but Johnnie Sue was so insistent Amanda had ceased arguing months ago and submitted to being served. When she first moved into the ranch house, thinking the cooking and housekeeping for the sprawling house and bunkhouse were large tasks, she offered to help with housekeeping chores and even the cooking. Her offer was always declined.

  Finally, Pic had told her, “You don’t need to worry about housekeeping stuff. We’ve got people to do it.”

  Indeed. Two different women from town came in three days a week to do cleaning and laundry, supervised by Johnnie Sue. The housekeeper hired additional people if the ranch had guests.

  As long as Amanda had known Pic and as often as she had been to the Double-Barrel before they married, she had never known exactly how the ranch household worked. She had been so dumb. Who wouldn’t figure out that two men living alone would hire household help?

  “Sure, I’ll eat a couple of pancakes,” she said to Johnnie Sue.

  The breakfast table that sat at one end of the kitchen was usually brightened by the morning sunlight streaming through a wide bay window. Yesterday had been a bright, sunny day and the temperature had been in the seventies. Today, the temperature was still supposed to be warm, but the clouds hung low, hiding the sun, making a gloomy day. Fitting for her mood.

  The antique round oak table overlooked the steep walls of the Brazos River Canyon, its ancient layers of limestone strata and beyond. She took a seat giving her the best view and watched a hawk float soundlessly down into the canyon.

  “Cloudy this morning,” she said and keyed into an app on her phone that told her the day would be balmy but cloudy.

  Still thinking about how the housekeeper had staked a claim on the kitchen, she turned toward the stove and watched her finishing up the pancakes. She had the cooking and housekeeping well in hand and was more territorial than a cat. The only thing she required from Amanda was an answer to “What do you want to eat and when?”

  Amanda did do her own laundry. On that much, she insisted. She couldn’t imagine someone else doing something so personal as washing the clothing she wore.

  “Bill Junior didn’t go up to the mesa with Pic and Dusty, did he?” she asked.

  “Lord, no. Bill Junior hasn’t been home since yesterday.”

  Oh, hell. Amanda had lived here long enough to know what that could mean. “Where is he?”

  “Don’t know.”

  Damn. Probably drunk. Amanda’s jaw tightened. Her father-in-law was a binge drinker. He might go for weeks, even months and not drink at all or drink only moderately, then something would tip him over and he would drink steadily for days at a time.

  Since becoming Pic’s wife and living in the house with his father, Amanda had researched binge drinking. It was a type of alcoholism, but she had never heard anyone call the powerful William Drake Lockhart, Jr. a drunk. She had always known in a distant way that the Double-Barrel patriarch behaved this way, but before marrying Pic, she hadn’t known how trying living with it day-to-day could be.

  “Isn’t Marcus supposed to be keeping up with him?”

  “Bill Junior tells those bodyguards not to follow him, so they don’t. He’s the one writing their paycheck, so...” Johnnie Sue shrugged.

  Bill Junior was not the one who wrote the checks to Redstone Security. An accounting firm in Fort Worth paid all of the Double-Barrel’s bills, overseen by Drake. That was none of the housekeeper’s business, but she seemed to know everything else that went on at the ranch. Why she didn’t know who signed her paycheck was a question. “Hah. I’ll bet Drake doesn’t know that. No one knows where he went?”

  Johnnie Sue pulled a plate out of the warmer and arranged slices of bacon and three perfectly cooked golden pancakes on it. “I don’t think so. Or if anybody does, he ain’t saying.”

  Damn. The he to whom Johnnie Sue referred was obviously Pic. If Bill Junior f
ailed to come home today and Pic didn’t know his whereabouts, he would feel obligated to go out and look for him.

  Aggravation pecked at Amanda. A grown man of Bill Junior’s wealth and status disappearing with no one knowing where he went or when he would be back was ridiculous. She would never grow accustomed to it. Her own father, God rest his soul, would never have done something so irresponsible. “You know something? Sometimes he acts worse than some of my students.”

  Johnnie Sue brought her plate to the table. “Want me to freshen your coffee?”

  “I’ll do it.” Amanda rose to her feet and started for the coffee urn. “You’d think the man could control his tom-catting around until after the holidays. Makes you wonder if he ever gives any thought to anyone besides himself.”

  The housekeeper shook her head as she stood a bottle of real maple syrup on the table. “He’s a troubled man. He’s been in one of his moods ever since he heard Mrs. Lockhart was going to Santa Fe with her boyfriend.”

  “Humph. I wonder what excuses he used when he and Betty were younger and lived together. As far as I’m concerned, Bill Junior has earned whatever torment Betty inflicts on him. I don’t know why her going on a trip with what’s his name—Barron Wilkes?—should be a big upset since she did the same thing last year with the same guy.”

  Amanda might not like Betty Lockhart, but facts were facts. The high school’s gossip mill talked and even joked about Bill Junior’s affairs and multi-day benders and had for as long as Amanda had been teaching there. The man had partied hard and cheated on Betty off and on for years with numerous women, apparently without much criticism from anyone in the family.

  Pic and Drake and even Troy and Kate turned a blind eye to their parents’ marital strife and most likely, that would never change. Amanda found the hypocrisy stunning. She held a firm conviction that his going off the deep end every time Betty did something he didn’t like was the most current childish excuse for obnoxious conduct.

  Thank God for all of the hours of psychology she had taken in college. She recognized the toxic co-dependency between her in-laws for what it was. That recognition was the only thing that enabled her to have a cordial relationship with her father-in-law.

  She spread soft butter over her pancakes and drowned them in maple syrup. She would have to swim an extra twenty laps to get rid of all of these calories. She loved Johnnie Sue’s pancakes with real butter and real maple syrup. Because of the price, before becoming a member of this family, genuine maple syrup was something she passed up in the grocery store. Johnnie Sue was instructed to buy and serve nothing but the best of everything.

  The housekeeper’s hands propped on her skinny hips, she stood gazing out the window over the sink, as if watching for Bill Junior might make him show up any minute. “I don’t like to criticize. Bill Junior and his boys have been real good to me. I feel like I got a home here. I feel bad for him when he gets like this. I wonder if Mrs. Lockhart knows how much what she does affects him.”

  Oh, the evil witch knows and she’s probably happy about it. But it wouldn’t do to say that to Johnnie Sue who appeared to be as loyal as a dog. “I’ve wondered that myself,” Amanda said instead.

  She restrained her speech, but her mind churned. The whole world knew that Bill Junior and Betty were separated even if they weren’t divorced. If he wanted a nice woman in his life, he could most likely have one. He was an attractive middle-aged man who was richer than Croesus, forgodsake. Women threw themselves at him, some quite a bit younger than middle-age. The way society behaved these days, a little fact like a lack of a divorce decree would be no obstacle. He didn’t have to pine for Betty or take up with barflies.

  These and other annoyances jumbled within her. She rose from her chair and carried her plate to the sink. “I’ve got to go. I’ll be late. Thanks for breakfast. Have you seen Chris yet?”

  “He came in and got coffee earlier,” Johnnie Sue answered. “He’s out front waitin’ on you.”

  Amanda had been included in the Lockhart security bubble even before she and Pic married. At first, Chris Taylor had only followed her the short distance to school from her house in town, discreetly hung out around the school and swimming pool then followed her home.

  Since the Fort Worth parking lot incident, the cocoon of security had grown even more constricting. Now she hardly drove herself anywhere and Chris was a constant presence. Every day, he drove her to school in one of Redstone Security’s big black SUVs, armed and making himself obvious wherever she was, and bringing her home in the afternoon. Like some monarch, Drake had pronounced that arrangement “safer.”

  “He’s so efficient,” she said sarcastically. She plucked her jacket off the back of the chair and shrugged into it. “I sure hope this storm that’s coming in clears out by Christmas.” She picked up her book satchel and purse. “See you tonight. Anything you need from town?”

  “Not a thing. You have a good day, you hear? Don’t let those kids get the best of you.”

  Amanda gave the housekeeper a thumbs-up. “So far, so good. If you don’t mind, tell Pic I should be home early.”

  And when she got back home, she intended to dedicate the evening to making up with her husband. She had been a jerk and she owed him an apology.

  Chapter 8

  Amanda left the house through the front door and trekked down the sidewalk and the six concrete steps toward the black Suburban. Chris scooted from behind the steering wheel and stood waiting for her. As she neared, his face broke into a broad smile that showed perfect teeth. “Good morning, Mrs. Lockhart.” He opened the door to the backseat and held it for her.

  “Good morning, Chris.”

  Before she and Pic married, Chris had called her Amanda. She hadn’t mentioned that she preferred that. Instead, she had given up on it ever happening again. Back then, he had flirted with her a little and she had thought he might even have a crush on her.

  She had been so flattered by that. She had always had rotten luck with men. The ones she had liked always seemed to like someone else, including her present husband who had married another woman while he was supposed to be her boyfriend. That had been years ago, but it still smarted if she let herself think about it.

  She missed the bottom step and stumbled forward. “Oh!”

  “Amanda!” He caught her upper arm with a firm grip and steadied her, keeping her from falling. “I’ve got you.”

  Rattled by hearing him say her name, she looked up into his blue eyes, even bluer than her husband’s. “I’m—I’m sorry. I missed that bottom step.”

  He gave her a smile and squeezed her arm. “It’s okay. You good now?”

  “Yes,” she said shakily.

  He guided her into the backseat and closed her door. As he scooted behind the wheel, she tried to remember if he had ever touched her before. “I still think this is silly. You should let me ride in the front at least.”

  “This is safer.” Still smiling, he looked at her in the rearview mirror. “Buckle up.”

  She buckled her own seat belt. Safer. That word again. Her thoughts traveled back a month ago, to that night in Fort Worth when she had walked out of a meeting at nearly midnight and found her SUV too damaged to drive. The sure knowledge that some person had rendered her vehicle unusable and stranded her alone in a dark parking lot in a strange place had terrified her. At that moment, she finally got it. Really got what Texas Ranger Blake Rafferty and Drake had talked about for months.

  She had rushed back into the building, which, fortunately, wasn’t yet locked, called 911 and waited there until the cops showed up. Later, Pic and Chris had picked her up at the police department, both men relieved at finding her safe, but furious at her at the same time.

  As Chris backed in an arc, the hateful quarrel she’d had with Pic on that day came back to her:

  “I can’t go with you. I’ve got an afternoon meeting in town. What’s so all-fired important about a school meeting on a weeknight?”

  “Networking.
Some of the coaches from other schools are getting together and they invited me.”

  Big sigh of impatience from her husband. “Chris can drive you.”

  “And what would he do while I’m in a meeting? People stare, Pic. Someone wearing a gun and following me around like I’m ten years old embarrasses me. You know that. I can’t keep my mind on what I’m doing.”

  “Jesus Christ, Mandy. It’s for your own safety. Looking out for your safety is what he’s being paid to do. Drake says—”

  “I do not care what your brother says. I do not need his permission to do a damn thing. And I do not need to be shepherded. You tell Chris he is not to follow me.”

  She had stalked out of the house, slammed the door behind her and driven herself to Fort Worth. Without Chris.

  If she had let him drive her like Pic wanted her to, the vandalism itself and the uproar that followed wouldn’t have happened. Should she buy a pistol and learn to shoot it? Like Kate? Her younger sister-in-law could outshoot her brothers.

  Amanda gave another mental sigh. She hadn’t bargained for a curtailment of her freedom when she married Pic.

  But exactly what had she bargained for? She no longer knew. Words like robbery and kidnapping and ransom and a news story she had read about one of the celebrity families that in reality probably had less money than the Lockharts, being robbed of $10 million in jewelry dwelled in her mind.

  Amanda wore no jewelry that would invite a robbery, but she was now part of a family worth an inestimable fortune. She had to accept what Blake Rafferty had told them, that robbery, kidnapping and ransom were part of the zeitgeist of the wealthy these days. In addition, according to Blake, someone wanted revenge against the Lockhart family and she was one of the revengees.

  She corrected herself. Revengees is not a word. The English teacher in her could not be quieted.

  Revenge for what? What had one or all of them done that called for harassment and terrorizing for more than two years?

  “Chilly this morning.” Chris’s voice halted her musing.