by Anna Jeffrey
Shannon broke into a belly laugh and placed her hand on her stomach. “Lord, Christa, what am I going to do with you?”
“Find me one of the rich cousins. Or even a bodyguard would do. But make sure it’s one who’s sterile. I’ve already contributed to the population growth. Too bad Pic’s taken.”
Shannon laughed again, dabbing tears of mirth from her eyes with her napkin. “He’s clearly been taken for years. He and Mandy have been together off and on their whole lives. They’ve been married only a year, but they’re an old married couple.”
“This is weird to be having this conversation. I’ll tell you something, but you can never mention it around my family. It’s kind of one of those family secrets nobody talks about. My oldest brother’s first kid, Tristan? He was hatched artificially.”
As well as Shannon knew Christa—she, her brother and her brother’s wife had all gone through Camden schools together—she had never heard this about Aaron and his wife Carol. Shannon’s interest was instant. She gave a small huff. “I didn’t know that.”
Christa nodded. “Yep. Their big drama happened while you lived up in Fort Worth. Carol has something called”—she put down her fork and emphasized with air quotes—"‘unreceptive cervical mucus.’ It prevents sperm from entering the uterus.”
She picked up her fork again. “They didn’t even try drugs. They went straight to artificial insemination, which they tried several times. When that didn’t work, they moved on to IVF. That was harder. It didn’t take the first time, either. They tried two more times and they finally scored a touchdown, as my brother put it.”
“Good Lord, Christa.”
“I know. You might not remember, but they were banging each other in high school. More than one time, they were biting their fingernails over the possibility she might be pregnant. And all of that time, it was worry for nothing. It couldn’t happen. If you recall, Aaron was a football player trying to get a college scholarship. Him becoming a teenage father would’ve messed up his plans big time.”
A vision of Christa’s brother in his Camden High School football uniform passed through Shannon’s mind. He, too, looked like the epitome of masculinity. “They do that artificial insemination in horses at the Double-Barrel. I think it must be fairly routine. Drake and his brothers and sister talk like it’s nothing special. I never hear them say it’s unsafe or painful or anything like that.”
“My brother says artificial insemination is safer than IVF, but personally, I think all of that kind of stuff is risky. A lot could go haywire.”
“Is it painful, for people, I mean?”
“I don’t know.” Christa giggled and swallowed a drink of iced tea. “Maybe for Carol, but not for my brother, I’m sure.”
“I know it’s expensive in horses. I suppose it would be in people, too.”
“It costs more than an aspirin, that’s for sure. The AI procedure itself was around eight hundred bucks every time. Fortunately, Aaron’s got a good job. His health insurance paid for most of it.”
“How does it work? I’m not acquainted with anyone who’s done this and Mandy didn’t give me details. If I’m going to talk to Drake about it, I need to know what I’m talking about.”
Christa’s eyes squinted. “Let me think back. This was ten years ago, mind you. I used to hear about it from my mom every day, but she got over it and moved on. I haven’t even thought about it in ages.
“As I recall, the egg collection had to happen when Carol was ovulating. Obviously. She took fertility drugs to make sure she released multiple eggs. Carol was watched and everything was timed and scheduled. They had to get the semen and wash it or whatever they do to it. Then they had to insert it into her uterus while it was still fresh, no later than an hour after Aaron, you know, shot his wad. When the right moment came, she and Aaron had to drop whatever they were doing and go to that clinic so he could, you know, jack off or whatever, and his sperm could be made ready. Kind of took the romance out of baby-making, I’ll tell you.”
“Holy cow. Pic could never manage that even if he were willing to. He’s so busy and they live ninety miles from anywhere any of that could be done.”
“The big expense came when they got to IVF. That cost twelve thousand dollars a pop back then. I’m sure it costs more now. Again, Aaron’s insurance paid for part of that, too, but there was still a lot of out-of-pocket expense. The cost wouldn’t be an issue for somebody like Pic.”
“No. No, it wouldn’t. Although I think they do have group insurance through the ranch’s corporation.”
“See? There you go again, calling them “they” instead of “we.” If they’ve got health insurance, so do you. Or did they leave your name off the policy?”
Shannon laughed. “Now that I think of it, there was no insurance claim when Will was born. The hospital probably sent the bill to the accountant in Fort Worth. Why would the Lockarts have health insurance on themselves? They’ve got more money than the insurance companies. I think the health insurance they have is for the hands and their families. So back to Aaron. Was he okay with all that was going on?”
Christa’s head shook. “In the beginning, he was ambivalent. He didn’t complain to me, but I always had the feeling he went through with it because he wanted to please her. I never had the impression he was that gung-ho to be a father. Certainly, he loves Tristan, and the kid looks just like him, but as the whole thing dragged on, Carol turned into a real bitch. She almost drove him crazy.
“A lot of fighting and bitterness passed between them. It damaged their relationship. Aaron came close to calling it quits. They separated twice. The first time, he had a girlfriend he slept with and Carol knew it. My mom knew, too, and she nearly had a cow. He and Carol got back together, but I’m sure things are not back to the way they used to be. It’s a shame. In high school, no one could have been more in love than him and Carol.”
“I remember,” Shannon said, calling back high school days and seeing Aaron and Carol holding hands and spending all of their time together.
“Sometimes, life is too crazy,” Christa continued. “Once I said to him, ‘Why are you doing this? There’s lots of homeless kids in the world. Why don’t you just pick one out?’ He told me they had looked into that and how hard and expensive it is to adopt in the States. The only way he could afford adoption, he said, was to try to get a kid from overseas. The way things turned out, I don’t see how adopting in the USA would’ve been any more expensive than the route they took.”
Shannon listened to her best friend’s story with fascination, but she also remembered Aaron having more than one child. “I thought Aaron and Carol had three kids.”
“They do. Carol’s little sister—I don’t remember her from school. She’s quite a bit younger than us. Evidently, she’s a slut. She doesn’t have that toxic mucous or whatever. She has no trouble getting knocked up. The first time was when she was seventeen, then again not even two years later with a different guy. Both times, Aaron paid her bills and she gave her babies to him and Carol to adopt. That’s why Tristan and Alicia are the same age. They got Alicia just a few months after Tristan was born.”
“Wow,” Shannon said, stunned by what she didn’t know about Christa’s family. “What about the real fathers of those kids?”
Christa shrugged. “I never asked. For all I know, she doesn’t know who the real fathers are. Aaron went to a lawyer and made sure the Ts were crossed and the Is dotted. That cost money, too.”
“So, your brother’s got expensive kids. That almost makes me feel guilty. I got pregnant accidentally, had an uneventful pregnancy, went to the hospital, had Will and was home the next day. I don’t think it cost that much.”
“The way the cookie crumbles, so-to-speak. You know what? I think the same thing about Pic and Mandy that I thought about my brother. If Mother Nature doesn’t let them have kids, they should adopt one or some. It’s kind of like recycling kids, you know? Unlike Aaron, Pic could afford it. ... So, are you going to t
ell Drake what Mandy said?”
“I told her I would, so I have to.”
“Hah. Let me know how that turns out.”
AFTER A DINNER, MR. Rattigan took on Rudy. Sarah hung over the fence rail listening and watching the two of them, enthralled by Mr. Rattigan’s connection to Rudy, the way he talked sweet to him and how the dumb horse was willing to cooperate with him though he tried to rear up and bite everybody else.
Round and round and round. Holding a longe line with one hand and a long skinny stick with a flag on the end of it in the other, Mr. Rattigan relentlessly drove Rudy in a circle. Every time he thought Rudy might stop or balk or step out of the circular path, Mr. Rattigan snapped the flag at him. It couldn’t possibly hurt. It was a piece of cloth. Sarah soon figured out that the bright color and the snapping sound were what kept Rudy’s attention.
She recognized this was the newest technique in horse breaking and/or training. More humane than the old way of wearing a horse down, the claim was that it resulted in a gentler and more reliable mount.
She had seen the old way. Like Jericho, Justin’s parents worked their ranch the old-fashioned way—with horses. They captured some of their remuda from the herds of mustangs roaming the ranges in the mountain states. The Karol’s ranch hands prided themselves on being as tough and mean as the wild horses. Sarah had never liked watching them break horses and refused to let Wyatt watch them.
As for her own experience with horses, she had ridden the horses Justin’s family owned. She’d had her own horse ever since she came to live with the Hatches. She rode every mount Jericho and Bonnie owned, but they were well-broke and trained. She harbored little fear of horses, but she had a healthy respect for one that might be mean.
Rudy’s brown-red chest and hindquarters were almost black with sweat, but Mr. Rattigan didn’t let up. Finally, after what seemed like forever, he allowed Rudy to slow to a walk. Eventually, he halted him, then walked over close to him and rubbed his face and neck—something Tiffany or Sarah had never been able to do. Well, in truth, Tiffany never even tried to pet Rudy.
When he put his face near Rudy’s cheek and talked to him, Sarah waited for Rudy’s eyes to roll back or for him to bite his antagonist or jerk himself away. Instead, his ears perked up as if Mr. Rattigan shared some kind of secret. Sarah would love to be able to hear the words, but she could not. Mr. Rattigan took a piece of carrot from his shirt pocket and Rudy ate it from his flattened hand.
After a few more minutes, Mr. Rattigan turned on his wireless mic and spoke to the audience. “Folks, this is Rudy. Basically, he’s a handsome, strong animal, but he’s still an adolescent and sometimes an ornery little boy. What’s going on with him is he hasn’t had very good treatment from human beings and he’s afraid. The only thing he wants is to survive and we have to empathize with that. Right now, he’d run away if he could”—he gestured toward the barbed wire fence across the driveway—"right through that barbed wire fence.
“The work we’ve done today is a start toward helping him accept his place in the universe and learn to get along with his humans. When he was a baby, he never learned to trust. I’m trying to teach him it’s okay to trust me because he’ll still be safe even when he’s not the one in control. We’re together and we’re simpatico. Now, bear in mind he’s got a long way to go. This one exercise doesn’t solve all of his problems, but this is how we begin.”
Tears brimmed Sarah’s eyes. She loved how he referred to himself and Rudy as we, like Rudy was a worthy animal and they were working together with mutual cooperation and respect. She believed without reservation that given enough time, Mr. Rattigan could turn him from a horse that was feared to one that was reliable, thus useable. He might not have to be taken to the auction after all. For the first time, she had hope for Rudy.
After Mr. Rattigan finished his comments to the audience, he led Rudy over to the gate.
Sarah wiped away the pesky damn tears. “That was so awesome. Wonderful, even. It made me cry.”
He placed a hand on her shoulder and looked at her intently, those dark brown eyes sincere. “You all right?”
She nodded and sniffed. “You’re right. I don’t think anybody’s ever been very nice to Rudy.”
He offered her the reins. “He needs a drink of water. After he cools down, he could use some tender care. Maybe a good brushing if he’ll let you. Think you can handle that?”
Indeed, she had tried to brush him before, but he had never stood for it. Tiffany had never brushed him. But Sarah wasn’t about to tell Mr. Rattigan any of that. She took the reins. “Sure. ... Maybe,” she added with a nervous titter.
Mr. Rattigan reached back, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to her.
She shook her head and drew a deep sniff.
“If you’re afraid of him, if you think you can’t—”
“I can,” she said quickly.
He gave her a wink and that toothpaste commercial grin. Though his eyes were so dark the pupils were indiscernible, she saw that twinkle again and his dimple and she melted all the way to her boots.
“Good. Touch him as much as he’ll let you. ... Gently.” He reached into his shirt pocket and handed her a short piece of carrot.
She nodded and took the reins and the carrot.
He returned to the arena and started with another horse, another owner.
With a full heart, she led Rudy over to the watering tank at the corner of the barn, inspecting the ground around the tank as she let him drink. After he quenched his thirst, she led him to the hitching post in front of the barn, grateful for its location in an open area. A tack room was a perfect place for a snake to hide, but Sarah swallowed her fear and entered Louise’s barn. In a cautious search of the unfamiliar tack room, she found a curry comb, shuddering as she left the room behind.
Rudy resisted her attempts to touch him at first, but she talked to him softly and fed him the carrot. He didn’t snort and shudder and jerk his head or show the whites of his eyes like he usually did. Mr. Rattigan had made progress. Eventually, he let her brush him.
“Lord, Rudy, I hate to see you go home,” she told him in a soft voice. “You’ll be standing out in Tiffany’s daddy’s pasture with no attention day after day.” She ran the curry comb over his rump, then moved forward on his body. “You know something? You and me, we’ve got a lot in common. Nobody was very nice to me either and I didn’t trust a fuckin’ soul until Jericho and Bonnie took me in. They saved my life. Maybe, with a little help from Mr. Rattigan, I can be your Jericho and Bonnie Hatch.”
Chapter 11
Returning to her office, Shannon found everyone but Chelsea gone. No tasks awaited her. Drake had gone to his Fort Worth office early this morning and wouldn’t return until suppertime. A free afternoon. She left for home.
At home, delicious smells met her as she entered the spacious kitchen. The housekeeper Gloria stood at the stove. Originally, Valentina, Drake’s former housekeeper from his single days, had come down from Fort Worth three days a week. Other than the most basic dishes, she rarely cooked. As much as Drake liked her as a housekeeper, he had given her up for someone local and more well-rounded.
The process of finding a replacement for Valentina had taken a while and had been an education for Shannon. First, the applicants had to be interviewed by his assistant Debra, then both him and Shannon. After they found an acceptable candidate, she had to be vetted and cleared. When Shannon questioned the necessity of so much intrusion into someone’s life, Drake said, “Sweetheart, she’s going to have access to every corner of our house and we won’t always be here.” When they found someone, she was asked to sign an NDA.
He went through the same process when he hired Lauren, Will’s nanny. He tolerated no one in his employ discussing his personal life or his family off the job. His reasons were obvious. He conducted high-stakes transactions from his home office. Loose lips could truly sink ships if some of his deals were gossiped about.
Until kno
wing him, Shannon hadn’t considered what a huge job finding a housekeeper and a nanny who met all of the requirements was. The agency in Fort Worth and Drake’s personal assistant had finally produced Gloria Saldana who had worked for wealthy families before and knew the drill.
“Whatcha cooking?” she asked Gloria.
“Pot roast. It should be ready about six-thirty or seven. Oh, I should tell you, one of your grandmother’s friends from church picked her up a while ago for some kind of Christmas party. She said she should be home by eight.”
“She won’t be eating supper with us then.”
Shannon made her way to the nursery. There, the nanny Lauren, was playing a game with Will. After his birth, Shannon had been determined to go back to work in her real estate office. Thus, Drake had hired a full-time professional nanny.
Spotting Shannon, her baby boy broke into a huge grin and waddled to her on fat little wobbly legs, his red hair curling and flying everywhere. For sure, he had her hair and coloring. But he had his daddy’s brandy-colored eyes and he owned his daddy’s heart. She bent and picked him up, groaning from the strain on her back.
“Oh, Mrs. Lockhart, you shouldn’t pick him up,” Lauren said. “He’s such a chunk.”
Indeed, he was a solid little guy. “He’s just fine.” Shannon set him astraddle her hip and straightened his hair. “Has he had a good day?”
Making a “gah” sound, Will reached out and touched her lips with pudgy little fingers. “And how’s Mister Will today?”
“He’s the busiest little boy I’ve ever seen. Glad he’s the only little kid I have to keep up with.” The nanny laughed in a good-natured way.
William Drake Lockhart, IV had come into the world screeching and shaking his tiny fists. From that moment on, he had commanded the attention of all around him. Even in his infant being, Shannon already sensed a dynamism in him, like his father. She both loved and feared that he would be his father’s son to the core.