by Marin Thomas
“Horses?” Matt guessed.
“Yes, sir. This here part of Idaho is horse country. What brings you to our neck of the woods?”
“I’ve got business with the Broken Wheel.”
“How much you givin’ Amy for the place?”
Hadn’t Amy claimed her house and land weren’t for sale? Matt didn’t want to hear that Ben Olson’s death was forcing his wife to sell out. “I’m not interested in her farm.”
“Hope your business ain’t with that stallion in the barn.”
“It’s true then? The horse attacked Olson?”
“Hard to say. Amy found Ben on the ground inside the stall with his chest caved in. Could be the stud went loco or could be it was a freak accident.”
Matt winced as the scene played out in his mind. Most folks would refuse to take a chance on a stallion with volatile behavior, no matter how famous the stud. “I’m surprised she hasn’t put the horse down.”
“I reckon she’s hopin’ to sell the animal so she can hang on to the place.” The old man slurped his coffee. “Amy ran a horse-boardin’ business, but her customers up and left. Can’t say I blame ’em. Wouldn’t want my animal in the same barn as SOS—Ben’s nickname for the stud.”
“That’s too bad.” Matt had a weakness for underdogs, and the temptation to rescue the widow nagged him, but he doubted she’d appreciate his interference.
“She’s a fighter, I’ll give her that,” Taylor continued. “But ain’t no way she’s gonna hang on to the farm without an income.”
“Meat loaf should be up in a minute, cowboy,” Pearl informed Matt as she topped off the men’s mugs.
Jake nodded his thanks, then said, “A damned shame Payton Scott over at the bank’s puttin’ the squeeze on Amy.”
Matt hated to hear that the local banker had ganged up on the widow. Whatever happened to small-town folk caring for their own?
“Heard tell,” Pearl whispered, inviting herself into the conversation, “that Payton offered Amy a teller position, but she snubbed her nose at the position.”
Why would the widow refuse the job? Don’t ask. Matt remained silent, content to count the salt and pepper shakers lined up on the shelf behind the lunch counter.
“The farm’s been in her mama’s family for generations,” Taylor grumbled.
After Pearl walked away, Matt felt compelled to keep the conversation going. “I met Ben in Pocatello at the NFR this past December.”
“Ben had no business bustin’ broncs. Amy swore he didn’t stick to nothin’, includin’ a saddle. When he wasn’t off chasin’ rodeo dreams he mostly sat on his one-spot. Never did figure out why Amy’s mama allowed her to hitch up with the lazy bum.”
“Dig in.” Pearl set the world-famous meat loaf in front of Matt, and a Rueben sandwich next to Taylor before heading to the cash register to ring up the hippies.
Matt studied the charred meat.
“Pearl’s meat loaf tastes like rawhide.” Taylor bit into the sandwich. “Try the Reuben next time.”
Blah. Matt’s displeasure must have shown on his face because the geezer chuckled and slid the ketchup bottle over.
For a few minutes the men gave talking a rest. Matt’s thoughts drifted to the argument he’d had with his father before he’d loaded up his mares and left Oklahoma. His sister, Sam, had accidentally blurted out Matt’s plan to take a sabbatical from rodeoing at the supper table one evening and Matt had been forced to reveal his intent to breed his mares with SOS.
The old man had acted as if Matt had betrayed him and the discussion had escalated into a shouting match followed by his father’s pledge to withhold Matt’s trust fund until he joined Cartwright Oil and forgot his dream of raising cutting horses. Matt had thumbed his nose at his father’s threat. After purchasing the three mares, he was slowly building his savings account up thanks to his winning streak on the rodeo circuit this past winter.
Damn it all to hell. He hated to return to Oklahoma and face an I-told-you-so from the old man. “Anybody ever get close to SOS after he attacked Ben?” Matt asked.
“Nope. Ain’t nobody crazy enough to try.”
Maybe he was nuts for believing he might be able to work with the stallion. There were a million and one reasons horses snapped. Had Ben mistreated Son of Sunshine? Matt didn’t believe so. Ben had behaved with respect around rodeo stock the times Matt had observed him.
“Gotta run.” Taylor retrieved his hat from the stool next to him and dropped it on his head. “Hope your business with the Broken Wheel gets resolved to your satisfaction.” He shook hands with Matt, then left a dollar tip by his plate and shuffled out the door.
What to do now—load up his mares and head home? Or convince the widow Olson to allow him to judge for himself if SOS was dangerous or not?
“Dessert, cowboy?” Pearl frowned at the half-eaten food on Matt’s plate.
Afraid he’d offended the café owner, he assured, “It was great, Pearl. Guess I wasn’t hungry.” She rolled her eyes and slapped his meal ticket on the counter. “How’s that Sleep-Ezee Motel out by the highway?” He added a five-dollar tip to his tab.
Pearl’s mood brightened. “Arlene keeps the sheets clean.”
“Any critters on the loose in the rooms?”
“Not that I ever heard of. Have a good one, cowboy,” she said.
Now all Matt needed was a decent night’s rest and a few more minutes with Amy to salvage this road trip and hopefully ease his conscience at the same time.
AMY STOOD ON THE PORCH Sunday morning watching the sunrise. Today she prayed the warm rays would lend her courage to face the handsome cowboy barreling up the drive.
She had to give him credit—unlike her husband Matt Cartwright was an early riser. Amy suspected beneath his cowboy-calendar good looks, the man was hardworking and determined. She both admired and resented those qualities.
Her single experience with rodeo cowboys had been her husband. Ben hadn’t liked to toil too hard at anything. He preferred to spend his time searching for a pot of gold at the end of someone else’s rainbow.
The rig stopped next to the horse trailer and the cowboy marched her way. Today he wore work jeans—stonewashed and no discernable iron crease along the thigh like yesterday’s pair. His western shirt was a tad faded and wrinkled. When he reached the porch steps, he paused. No smile, but he did tap his fingertips against the brim of his hat.
“Mornin’.” The husky greeting poured over her like warm, sticky honey.
“Coffee?” Might as well be neighborly before she sent him and his mares packing.
“Appreciate that.”
“Comin’ right up.” She set her mug on the rail and disappeared inside. No sense cozying up at the kitchen table. Matt Cartwright possessed the kind of presence that wouldn’t fade after his body left the premises. The last thing she wanted in her home were reminders of the rodeo cowboy. She filled an extra-large mug with leaded brew and returned outside.
“Thanks.” When he accepted the cup, his fingers nudged hers, setting off a series of explosive prickles along her nerve endings.
She collapsed on the top step—he remained at the bottom. Eye-to-eye. And boy, was he an eyeful of wrangler perfection.
Swaying sideways, he leaned against the handrail, then squinted into the steam rising from his mug. How often had she done that—stare into the brown liquid hoping the answers to life’s questions would float to the top?
“I heard you board horses,” he said.
“Not anymore. Thanks to that stud in the barn, folks are afraid to leave their animals on the property.”
Matt focused on the mares in the corral and Amy took advantage of his preoccupation to study him. She began at his boots and worked her way north, making it as far as the faded-to-white patch of denim at his crotch when he asked, “Is it just you and the girls now that your husband’s gone?”
She peeled her eyes from his jeans. This was her property—she had a right to peek at a man’s you-know-what if she wanted. �
�My folks are gone now. Ben’s mother lives in Kansas, but we never kept in touch with her.” Amy had called Wynona to inform her of Ben’s death, but all the old woman had to say was, “Don’t surprise me none.”
“It’s not my place to pry—”
“Then don’t.”
He ignored her warning. “But it’s apparent you’ve had a run of bad luck.”
Seven years to be exact. Her bad luck had begun the day she’d married Ben. “My problems are none of your concern, Mr. Cartwright.”
“Matt. Call me Matt, Amy.”
The intimate sound of her name rolling off his tongue twisted her stomach into a knot.
“I’d like to strike a deal with you.” He cleared his throat. “Give me one week to work with Son of Sunshine and if—”
“No.” Stupid man. “I buried one cowboy because of that horse. Don’t intend to bury another one.”
Eyes flashing, he argued, “I’ve been around horses all my life—good ones and rotten-to-the-core ones. I’ll know after a few days if SOS is loco or not.”
“The proof’s buried up the hill.” She nodded toward the cemetery.
“Did anyone witness the horse attack your husband?”
Amy shook her head. She had no idea how long Ben had lain dying or dead. When he hadn’t answered her calls for supper, she’d walked out to the barn and that’s when she’d found him.
“There’s a chance it might have been an accident.”
“His chest was caved in, Mr. Cartwright. Whether it was an accident or not, the horse can’t be trusted.”
“My sister suffered a horse kick to the head when she was sixteen because the animal spooked while she was hosing it down. Something might have set SOS off and caught Ben unawares.”
“Did your sister survive?”
“She did.”
Matt didn’t elaborate and Amy was afraid to ask if the woman suffered any lingering effects.
“One week,” he pressed. “If the stud remains untouchable, I’ll load up my mares and retreat to Oklahoma.” He made it sound as if he was declaring war against the stallion.
She was tempted to give in because she hated the idea of euthanizing any animal unless it had been injured beyond help. But if anything happened to the cowboy, his death would be on her conscience. “No.”
“SOS can save your farm.”
The Pebble Creek gossipmongers were at it again. “Who says my farm needs saving?”
“Jake Taylor mentioned you were in danger of losing the place.”
Jake Taylor meant well, but he talked too much.
“If I can prove that SOS didn’t attack Ben, then you’d be able to sell the stud.” He motioned to the house and the barn. “The money you’d make on the sale would go a long way in sprucing up the place.”
He expected her to use the extra cash to beautify her home? Yeah, right. She’d pay off the rest of Ben’s debts first and any money left over would be socked away for emergencies. “And if no one wants the horse after you’ve worked with him, what then?”
“Then I’ll pay you what I can and take the stud off your hands.”
Now she knew Matt Cartwright was crazy. His sober eyes studied her. Sweat tickled her scalp. And a red haze formed in her peripheral vision.
Pity. The damned cowboy felt sorry for her.
How dare he. How dare he act all chivalrous and cocky. She hadn’t asked for his sympathy and darned if she’d allow him to play the white knight and rescue her.
But what if he can prove Ben’s death was an accident? Dare she walk away from an opportunity to get out of debt sooner rather than ten years from now? “You’re serious?”
“Dead serious.” His mouth flattened and his eyes flicked toward the burial plot. “Sorry. I meant no disrespect.”
“What happens if I waltz into the barn one morning and discover you’ve suffered the same fate as my husband?” The doctors had explained that the horse’s kick had crushed Ben’s ribcage and a splinter of rib bone had pierced his heart.
“Send my body back to Oklahoma and you can keep my mares, truck and rig for your trouble.” He grinned.
Ha. Ha.
“I’m a tie-down roper. I’ve worked with horses all my life. I know the difference between an animal who’s snapped and one who’s been spooked or mis-handled.” When Amy remained silent, he added, “SOS is too valuable a horse not to be given a second chance before he’s put down.”
Oh, shoot. She’d believed all that compassion had been for show, but obviously the man intended to do the right thing for the stud. She wondered if he was also concerned with doing the right thing for her and the girls. “I can’t afford feed and upkeep for the horses.”
“I’ll cover the costs for the animals and myself in exchange for hot showers and place to rest my head at night.”
Was it her imagination or had his eyes strayed to her breasts when he’d mentioned resting his head somewhere? “I’m a woman alone with two children, Mr. Cartwright.”
“I’ll give you a list of references.” He snapped his fingers. “As a matter of fact, call Jake Taylor over at the—”
“Gateway Ranch,” she finished for him.
“Taylor and I ate supper at Pearl’s last night.”
Amy trusted the ranch foreman. Jake Taylor had been a close friend of her grandfather. If Jake had any doubts about Cartwright’s character he’d tell her. “Excuse me a minute.” She headed inside. A sheet of paper with Jake’s cell number along with a dozen other neighbors’ numbers was taped to the wall by the kitchen phone. Jake answered on the second ring.
“Hi, Jake, it’s Amy.”
“Hello, Amy. Everythin’ okay out your way?”
“We’re all fine. Listen, I’m calling about Matt Cartwright.”
“The rodeo cowboy?”
“Yes. He said you two met at Pearl’s yesterday. He’s asking for a chance to work with Son of Sunshine.” She left out the part about Matt wanting to stash his bedroll in her house. “Can I trust him?”
“I’d bet my best pair of ridin’ gloves that he’s a man of his word. Ain’t nobody else willin’ to get near that horse.”
“I’m leaning toward giving him a shot,” she admitted.
“Tell ya what, missy. I’ll drop by soon and check on him.”
Reassured, Amy said, “Thanks, Jake.” After a brief goodbye she hung up.
An I-told-you-so grin greeted her when she stepped onto the porch. “Did I pass muster?”
“You passed.” She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. She wished she possessed half the cowboy’s self-assuredness.
“Where should I stow my stuff?”
“The barn.”
His face paled.
“You want to work with Son of Sunshine you might as well bunk with him, too.” Amy swallowed a chuckle at his worried frown. “I’ll loan you a pillow and a blanket for the cot in the tack room.” She heard noises coming from the kitchen—the girls were up for the day. Halfway to the door, she stopped and issued a warning. “I wouldn’t bother unpacking, Mr.—”
“Matt.”
“I have a hunch you’ll be calling it quits before day’s end.”
“We’ll see about that, won’t we? Amy.”
Chapter Three
Amy was upstairs digging through the linen closet while the girls played in their bedroom when the sound of crunching gravel filtered through the open window at the end of the hall. He’s back. She cursed the ribbon of excitement that wound through her.
Earlier this morning after Matt had negotiated a week out of her, he’d fed and watered the horses, then had hopped into his truck and taken off. She shouldn’t fret about where he went or what he did, but she caught herself watching the clock and counting the darned minutes until his return.
Arms loaded with sheets, blankets and a pillow, she closed the closet door with her boot heel. Right then the doorbell rang. She hurried to the stairs before she caught herself and stopped. What was she doing? Did she want
Matt to believe she was so desperate for male attention that she’d come running each time he crooked a finger, rang a bell or called her name? Good grief, if she didn’t watch herself around the cowboy she’d make a first-class fool out of herself a second time in her life.
Like her mother, Amy had fallen for a handsome face merely to discover the man lacked substance. How many times over the years had she heard her mother grumble that Amy’s father hadn’t been good at anything save dreaming? Amy and her mother had worked their fingers to the bone caring for the boarded animals and tackling the chores around the farm while Amy’s father piddled the days away writing down million-dollar ideas in a notebook that never left his side. Amy decided Matt could hold his horses—literally—and wait for her.
The doorbell rang again. “Mama,” Rose poked her head into the hallway. “Want me to see who’s here?”
“Thanks, honey. I’ll get it.” Amy took the stairs slowly—first one foot. Then the other. Next step. One foot, then the other. Next step. One foot, then the other…until she reached the landing. Deciding to set the sheets and blankets on the living-room couch she detoured through the dining room. By the time she’d refolded the linens, the cowboy had cooled his heels long enough.
Too long, evidently—Matt was nowhere in sight when she opened the door. Then she glanced down and gasped at the grocery bags arranged around the welcome mat. Lord, the man loved to eat. She wasn’t sure she had room in the fridge for all the food. One by one she hauled the bags inside and dug through them. Silly Nilly fruit chews? Cap’n Crunch cereal? Macaroni and cheese? Powdered donuts? SpaghettiOs? This wasn’t cowboy food. This was munchkin food.
The bags blurred before her eyes and a lump the size of a boulder formed in the middle of her throat. Matt had agreed to feed and water the horses and himself—not her and the girls, too. She swallowed hard, telling herself that his generosity had ulterior motive written all over it—he hoped to make it impossible for Amy to kick him off the place.
“Wow.” Rose stood in the doorway, Lily at her side sucking her thumb.
