by Cindy Kirk
Brad spent every free moment with Margot and each day fell more deeply in love with her. He positioned several large, orange barrels in the corral for Margot’s upcoming lesson with her new student, eight-year-old Jilly Grojean.
“That’s perfect,” Margot called out.
He turned and saw that while he’d been working, she’d climbed to the top of the fence surrounding the corral to watch him.
The last time he’d seen her, barely thirty minutes ago, she’d been at the table wading through more papers belonging to her father.
“Get down.” He pointed to the ground. “Before you fall down.”
Though he couldn’t hear her sigh, the look on her face told him just how she felt. Instead of heading back into the house, she entered the corral and strode over to him, a vision of loveliness in a stylish plaid jacket and jeans.
Though she’d been in an upbeat mood when they’d discussed the upcoming day over pancakes and sausage less than an hour before, the shadows in her eyes told him something was up. It seemed odd that he, who’d never been great at reading another person’s emotions, could now tell Margot’s moods at a glance.
“What’s up?” He leaned over to press his lips to hers.
She let him kiss her but Brad could tell this time her heart wasn’t in it. Something was definitely wrong.
He pulled her into his arms and just held her close.
“What’s all this?” she asked, her voice muffled against his jacket front.
He didn’t answer and after a second she relaxed in his embrace. They stood for a long moment like that until he reluctantly released her.
Margot took a step back and shoved her hands into her pockets. “I feel like going for a walk. Want to join me?”
For mid-October it was a pleasant enough day, Brad supposed. There were only scattered clouds and although there was a slight breeze, it came from the south, which made the fifty-degree temperature feel almost balmy.
The niceness of the day meant that there were a thousand and one things he should be doing before cold weather hit. Margot was a Montana girl. She was aware of what needed to be accomplished, which meant she didn’t need a walk, she needed him.
“A walk with a beautiful woman?” He shot her a wink. “I’m in.”
She gave a laugh that didn’t quite reach her eyes and began to stroll. Since the yard and surrounding areas were still soggy from the recent snow, they settled on a route down the graveled lane leading from the house to the road.
“How’s the sorting going?” he asked after a minute of silence. “Shall I get the burn barrel fired up?”
Boyd Sullivan had indeed been a pack rat. It appeared her mother had also shared those tendencies. Every day Margot spent a couple of hours going through ancient receipts and old papers to see what needed to be kept—very little—and what could be discarded, which was almost everything.
“I’ll have a barrelful for you by the end of the day.” Margot gave a little laugh. “It’s been an enlightening experience. I discovered you really can get to know a man by going through his things.”
“Is this a confession?” Brad teased. “Are you here to tell me you went through my room and discovered my secret stash of Pavarotti CDs?”
“I’d never snoop through your room,” Margot said indignantly. “Though it’d be easy to do since I spend more nights there than in my own.”
If Brad had his way, she’d be spending every night with him. It would be their room and not his. But cognizant of his father’s words, he let Margot guide the course of their relationship. For now.
“You like Pavarotti?” she exclaimed suddenly.
“I do,” he admitted, then put a finger to his lips in a shushing gesture. “Let that be our little secret.”
The delighted smile that had begun to form on Margot’s lips vanished. “I don’t like secrets.”
Brad reached over and took her hand, found it ice-cold. “You should be wearing gloves.”
“I left them in the house.”
He took his off and made her take them. Once her hands were protected, he decided it was time to find out what was troubling her. “Does it have anything to do with your dad?”
She shot him a sideways glance. “Does what?”
“What’s got you upset? What has you wanting to take a walk when normally you’d be preparing for your new student?”
“I—” she started then stopped, blew out a breath.
For a second he considered she might not tell him and the thought was a sharp slice to the heart. Janie had never confided in him. She’d trusted her friends with her secrets and her feelings more than she’d trusted him. But Brad had thought things were different between him and Margot.
“Remember how I told you that my father was a champion bareback rider?”
Brad let out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.
“Made it all the way to the top at nationals,” Brad said, repeating what he’d been told.
“He didn’t.” The words came out clipped, angry.
Brad blinked. “Pardon?”
“My dad never made it to the top at nationals.” Margot came to a halt and he stopped, too. “Today I discovered the best he ever took was third place.”
Brad pondered the information. “Perhaps he came in first in a different year than the one you were looking at today.”
She shook her head. “I came across an article, ‘The Rise and Crash of Boyd Sullivan.’ It talked about how my dad had showed such promise but his rise in the bareback world was cut short because of alcoholism. The article stated his highest finish in Vegas was third.”
“The reporter could have gotten it wrong...”
“I went back and checked online.” Margot’s eyes darkened and became unreadable. “Third was the best he ever got.”
Brad thought about the way Boyd had pushed Margot to be number one, how he’d refused to see any other placement than first as acceptable. “That’s interesting.”
“He lied to me.”
There was anger and hurt and confusion in her voice. Hell, Margot didn’t need a walk. She needed a shot of whiskey.
Brad rubbed his chin. “Do you think your mother knew?”
Margot began walking again and her brow furrowed in thought. “I don’t think so. I believe if she’d known, she’d have told me. Especially after one of the many times he got upset with me for not placing first.”
There were lots of names that came to Brad’s mind but he didn’t mutter a single one. The old guy had been a hypocrite, there was no getting around it. But trash-talking her dad wouldn’t make Margot feel better.
“I’m starting to believe I never knew him at all,” she murmured so softly that if he hadn’t been listening intently, he’d never have heard.
Not quite knowing how to respond, Brad settled for putting a comforting arm around her shoulder as they continued down the lane.
Margot didn’t speak again until they’d reached the road and turned back toward the house. “Did you hear Debbie mention that her husband and my dad shared a love of travel?”
“Yeah, which surprised me.” Brad frowned. That certainly didn’t match the man he’d known. “Boyd always stuck close to home.”
“When Debbie said that, I thought she had the wrong guy or her memory was faulty.” Margot gave a humorless laugh. “Now I’m thinking her husband probably knew my father better than I did.”
He hated seeing her so upset. “Margot—”
“No. Listen. Think about all the lies. My dad wasn’t a champion bareback rider. He loved to travel. Everyone thought he lost his ranch in a poker game because he was drunk. Wrong. He deliberately lost it. Then he leaves town and covers his tracks so no one can find him.”
“Do you really think he deliberately c
overed his tracks?”
“Of course I do,” she insisted. “Or the police and your detective would have located him by now.”
Knowing how much this line of thinking was hurting her, Brad hesitated to agree.
“There was no return address on the postcard. It was sent from New York City. Impossible to trace.” Her chin lifted. “Tell me that wasn’t calculated.”
“He’s old,” Brad said slowly. “It could be he’s not thinking clearly. That’s why I want the investigator to continue. I need answers. More importantly, you need answers.”
That was at the crux of the issue. She couldn’t move on with her life otherwise. And the life he wanted with her would remain out of reach.
“We’ll never find him,” she said in a resigned voice. “He’ll never let us. I’ll never have the answers I seek.”
“We will find your father,” Brad insisted.
One way or the other Margot needed closure, and by God he was going to make sure she got it.
* * *
Margot had always been the cowgirl who’d picked herself up from a bad fall, dusted herself off and moved on. While the situation with her father didn’t exactly fall into the same bucket as coming up short at the end of a ride, her response was the same. She focused ahead, not behind. Which meant for now her student had her full attention.
“Great job today, Jilly.” Margot clapped a hand on the girl’s shoulder as she walked with her and her father to their car.
“It was super fun.” The blond-haired girl smiled, showing the gap where a front tooth had once been.
The eight-year-old was a good rider, but as she’d been completely new to barrel racing, Margot had to start with the basics. The girl had caught on quickly and her father, who’d hung around the corral to watch, had been encouraging.
“Can I go back and see the puppies one more time before we leave?” Jilly begged.
Her father patted the girl’s shoulder. “I’m sure they haven’t changed much since you saw them before your lesson.”
Earlier, while she was speaking with Jilly’s father about how the lessons would be structured, Brad had taken the girl into the parlor to view the puppies.
Margot had been surprised to discover that Roger and Brad had been in the same high school class. Though they hadn’t run in the same circle back then, they seemed friendly now.
They’d almost reached the car when Brad strolled out from around the house. “How’d our girl like her lesson?”
“It was won-der-ful,” Jilly announced, singing the word. “I’m coming back Friday.”
“She’s wanted to do this ever since she started riding.” Roger smiled indulgently then shifted his gaze to Margot. “Her mom and I were excited to hear you’d started offering lessons.”
“Did you take lessons, too?” Jilly asked, apparently deciding a second viewing of the puppies wasn’t going to happen.
Margot paused, remembering the excitement of those early days. “My—my father had been a bareback rider. He helped me at first, said I had natural talent.”
She’d taken the words of praise for gospel, and even now allowed herself to bask in them for a brief moment.
“That’s got to be a real plus.” Roger’s expression turned rueful. “I wish I could help Jilly. I’m a fair enough rider, but my interest has always been in numbers.”
“Roger is an accountant,” Brad told Margot.
Roger smiled easily. “I told my wife I can put those CPA skills to good use figuring how we’re going to buy Jilly a good horse.”
“Next spring might be a good time to start looking,” Margot said. “You’ll also know by then if barrel racing is just a passing interest or something she really does want to pursue.”
“I wish you had an indoor arena.” Roger wrapped his cashmere scarf more firmly around his neck. “Soon the weather will preclude outdoor lessons.”
“Noooo,” Jilly protested. “I don’t want the lessons to stop.”
Margot rested a reassuring hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. We can get in lots of practices before it gets too cold.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.” Margot found herself grinning at the child.
Suddenly Jilly was all smiles again.
“Are you certain you don’t mind if she rides your horse? We can trailer ours over, although Sheba is more interested in eating than racing around barrels.”
His description made Margot smile. “Really, it’s no trouble at all. I’ll give you some characteristics to look for in a horse if you want to start just seeing what’s out there.”
Margot glanced at the little girl who’d grown bored with the conversation and had started to twirl, calling out for Brad to watch her.
“Storm is a beautiful horse. Is she an Arabian?” Roger asked.
Margot nodded.
“I imagine she didn’t come cheap.”
“I don’t know the exact price. My father bought her for me.”
“Fathers and their daughters.” Roger chuckled. “He must be very proud of your success.”
Margot felt Brad’s gaze on her. She gave Roger a noncommittal smile.
“What’s it like?” Roger asked, motioning for his daughter to get into the car. “Being on the circuit?”
“It’s a lot of work,” Margot admitted. “Last year I rode in over a hundred events.”
“That’s so cool.” Jilly breathed the words. “That’s what I want to do when I grow up.”
Margot thought of all the hassles, the fatigue, living out of a trailer. “It can be a lot of fun. But competing has to be something you really want to do.”
* * *
Margot found herself riding a high from the success of her lesson with Jilly. That is, until the mail arrived the following day and she received a letter from her father.
As she stared down at the brief note from one of her friends on the circuit who’d forwarded the waylaid letter, tears threatened. She swallowed them back. While part of her was happy Brad was out checking on the cattle, another part wished he were here, sitting beside her at the kitchen table while she carefully unsealed the envelope.
She unfolded the page of lined notebook paper and her heart began to beat an erratic rhythm.
Relax, Margot told herself. She took a couple of deep breaths before lowering her gaze to read the words penciled in her father’s distinctive scrawl.
Dear Margot,
By now you probably know that Brad Crawford owns the Leap of Faith. I believe he will make something of the ranch.
You love your life on the road. Now you’ll be able to choose your own course in life, rather than be stuck with a ranch you don’t want and responsibilities you always disliked.
I’m sober again and just got my sixty-day chip in AA.
Don’t worry about me. I’m happy. When I am ready, I’ll contact you again.
Love,
Dad
Margot stared at the paper and her fingers flexed. An almost overwhelming need to crumple the letter into a tiny ball and toss it in the trash overwhelmed her.
Because that’s just what it was. Trash.
Her father’s comments only showed he didn’t know her at all. She loved the Leap of Faith. She’d always planned to come back.
Okay, maybe that hadn’t been the plan when she’d first gone on the circuit, but it was what she wanted now.
She swiped at the tears that she couldn’t hold back another minute. She gave up all control and let the sobs well up from a deep place that she’d held in check ever since she learned he’d gone missing.
Margot cried so hard that she didn’t even notice Vivian enter the room until the dog nudged her hand with her cold, wet nose.
“Vivi.” Margot turned in the chair
and the dog dropped her head into her lap.
The unexpected show of affection made Margot cry all the harder.
She mourned for the mother who’d abandoned her in death and for the father who’d abandoned her in life. Most of all, she cried for the woman now forced to leave the home she loved.
Chapter Eighteen
Brad had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach when Viper greeted him at the door with a low whine. Although the heeler no longer growled every time she saw him, it wasn’t as if he and the dog were buddies. But there was one thing they both shared: a protective urge toward Margot.
“Margot,” he called out as he moved through the main level of the ranch house.
She wasn’t in the parlor. The only signs of life were the rapidly growing puppies, who made little yipping noises when they saw him.
With fear fueling his steps, Brad moved swiftly to the kitchen, pausing at the sight of the mail scattered across the table. One sheet of notebook paper lay on the floor.
The second he picked it up, Brad recognized the handwriting. Though he saw that it was addressed to Margot, he didn’t hesitate. He read it quickly, then tossed the letter down on the table, swearing.
Selfish old bastard.
“Margot,” he called out again, crossing to the stairs. “Are you up there?”
Despite hearing no response, Brad headed up the steps, taking two at a time. Her bedroom was his first stop. Empty.
With his heart lodged in his throat, he glanced into his bedroom even as he pulled out his phone.
His breath came out in a whoosh of relief the instant he spotted her.
She’d crawled on top of his bed and pulled a blanket over her. She now lay face up, staring at the ceiling, still wearing the jeans and long-sleeved gold tee she’d had on that morning.
When he stepped into the room and the floorboards creaked she turned her head.
“Hi.” Margot offered him a wan smile.
“Hey.” He crossed the room. The bed dipped when he took a seat next to her. With great gentleness, he stoked her cheek with the side of his finger. “Tired?”
