“Perfect,” Joe gave Jody another false smile. “Want me to follow you back in case the truck stalls on you again?”
Man, he’s good at lying, Jody thought. She didn’t say anything though, just nodded and headed for her truck. She climbed in and drove back toward the county road that would take them away from this nightmare, but the irony didn’t escape her. She’d come to save Cowboy, but a cowboy might just have saved her.
Chapter Three
Joe sat straighter than usual as he followed the beat-up old truck in front of him. He had no clue where she was going, and now that he’d gotten her away from what he suspected could have been an ugly time for her, he wasn’t sure she wouldn’t start thinking about the horses—her horse—and turn right back around.
Crazy girl.
He regretted the thought instantly. She hadn’t struck him as unbalanced. Just vulnerable. And maybe a little desperate. Then again, why was he cataloguing anyone, let alone a woman he’d just met? Twelve years with Lorraine hadn’t taught him a damn thing. He thought he’d known his ex-wife from her ivory skin and raven hair to that black, black soul hidden under the surface beauty.
He snorted. Maybe before he decided what kind of woman he was chasing he should figure out her hair color. He hadn’t been able to tell if it had been blondish or brownish.
She braked and turned into a driveway without signaling and he managed to avoid hitting her, but not by much. She didn’t look back, just dashed the short distance to the tiny house and disappeared.
“Some manners,” he muttered, but followed anyway. The entrance to the house was almost hidden behind bougainvillea that climbed halfway to the overhanging tin roof of the porch. Fenced in on all sides by towering vegetation, the fading white paint and dark green trim gave the small building the air of a lost cottage more than of someone’s home.
The door let him into a miniscule living room, furnished sparsely with mismatched items—a small daybed piled with pillows, a worn recliner, a book case. No couch, but there was a small table with a flat screen TV. And on the wall, across from the limited seating area, above the TV, were pictures. Two were of the same woman, and a young girl with light brown hair caught at different ages in each, and two different men, each standing next to the woman and looking unsmilingly at the camera. The middle picture was larger than either of the family photos—a picture of Jody, her face alight with joy, sitting on a black horse. He blinked, but knew he wasn’t wrong—Jody had ridden Midnight Cowboy.
“He was mine,” she said softly behind him. “But I couldn’t save him.”
He glanced back at her. The tears on her cheeks didn’t surprise him, but they hurt him for her. “How old were you?”
“Fourteen. Cowboy had just turned three.” She stopped, looked down at her bare feet, then brought her head up enough to almost look at him. She’d brushed the dirt out of her hair and washed her face. She didn’t look much older than the kid in the picture. Except for the despair in the green eyes that had sparkled with happiness then.
He couldn’t think of the right thing to say.
She didn’t say anything for a long time either, just stared at him with those lost-soul eyes. “Oh,” she said eventually and turned beet red. “If you need to use the bathroom.” She waved at the only door he saw. “It’s through the bedroom.”
“Thanks.” He accepted the invitation eagerly. He wasn’t desperate, but he needed space. She acted as if he made her uncomfortable. As if she’d never told anyone they could use her john.
The crystal and silver vanity items and an intricate wisp of lacy bra hanging on a doorknob probably meant that she lived alone. There couldn’t be another bedroom in this shoebox of a house. And he’d seen a stove and refrigerator beyond a bar that separated the living area from the kitchen.
Leaving the bathroom, he took a minute to look around the bedroom. The space seemed to be clearly divided into sleeping area—a tiny portion nearest the bathroom—and an efficient office area with a sleek desk, impressive-looking computer setup, and all kinds of gadgets. Sticky notes were all over the wall around the electronic equipment, and photos duplicated the ones in the living room, scaled down to fit in scant space. Here, though, there were a few other photos, as well. Jody with her arms around a black foal, Jody’s mother holding a mare while Cowboy nursed, and one that brought back the encounter at the slaughter pens. The camera had caught young Jody about to topple over the top fence rail—with a little nudge from Cowboy. The colt, maybe a two-year old then, clearly once had a sense of humor.
Smiling a little, he went back out to find Jody.
“The chairs in here are more comfortable,” she said, turning from the refrigerator with a pitcher in one hand and a water bottle in the other.
She set them on the table. “Sweet tea. But I don’t know how long ago I made it. If you’d prefer that—”
“Water’s fine.” He reached for the bottle and pulled it closer. “I’ll have to leave in a bit anyway.”
“Leave?” Jody set down the frying pan she’d pulled out of a cabinet. “But we haven’t decided what to do.” She pulled margarine and eggs out of the refrigerator and placed them on the counter. “I can feed you while we talk.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” he said gently. “I told you, all I went to do was say goodbye to Cowboy. Meeting you was an accident.”
That sounded harsh. “I didn’t expect to find anyone there,” he elaborated. “And you have to have seen that the sheriff and Benton are buddies. Jody—”
“Do you know how they kill horses?” Her words were wrenched out and tears streamed down her face. “Do you know that sometimes they start butchering them before they’re even dead?”
He drained the bottle and slammed it down, then stood. “I know all that, damn it. But what am I supposed to do? Get out a shotgun and block his drive? Ask him to pretty please not be a sick bastard? I told you, Jody, I’m no hero. I can’t help the horses. Or you.”
He watched her wipe the tears away with the back of her hand and give him a small, tight nod. “Thank you for earlier. For lying for me. For going to see Cowboy one last time.”
She stood there, waiting for him to leave. But he couldn’t.
Chapter Four
He got up to go, but stopped. Jody wished she could sink into the floor. He’d shown he was the protective type earlier, when he’d lied to two strangers about why they were there and who they were. In fact, he’d positioned himself right next to her. He’d been so close that his arm had brushed her and she’d felt his heat in spite of her own overheated skin. And now she’d hit him with tears, though she hadn’t meant to. He’d stopped because she was crying. She felt the well-known burning sensation that told her she was blushing.
Damn! Sometimes she hated her inability to be expressionless, to keep emotions from overwhelming her. “It’s been a long day and you have somewhere else to be. Don’t let me make you late.”
For a minute he didn’t move at all, then sighed and shook his head. “How do you see us making any difference?” he asked.
Hope shot through her. She really didn’t have an answer, but he’d asked the question.
“I don’t know. But there’s got to be a way.” She took a step toward him. “If—”
His stomach rumbled loudly and he grinned at her ruefully. “No breakfast,” he admitted. “Or lunch, actually.”
“I can fry eggs,” she offered.
“I could take you out to eat.”
“There’s really not a place here in Calumnias. A family sells tacos at random hours, but—and anyway, I’m…kind of grubby.”
“Fried eggs sound fine.” He walked past her and looked out the window over the sink. “Secluded place you have here,” he noted, seeing nothing but the tangle of climbing roses that somehow had withstood years of south Texas heat.
“I’ve only been here a couple of years, but I love the plants. I haven’t killed them yet. There aren’t many people in this little place anyhow, s
o everything’s kind of secluded.”
“But I don’t make you nervous?” he asked, and she realized she had a death grip on the top of the chair nearest the door.
“No. Of course not.”
“Good.” He sat down at the end of the table farthest from the stove, and she knew he didn’t believe her.
“To be honest,” She turned on the burner and put a pan on to heat, “I…I’m not good around people. Especially people I don’t know. I am nervous. But it’s like all the time. It’s nothing personal.”
She needed silence, so she made sandwiches without speaking. Hard fried eggs, on bread slathered with margarine, mayonnaise, and covered with sharp cheddar cheese. Horribly unhealthy and the most comforting taste in the world.
She gave him another bottle of water and wished she had something more to offer him, because egg sandwiches actually went better with milk. But the milk was curdled and she hadn’t even remembered to throw it away.
She finished her sandwich slowly, glad he’d stayed, but clueless about how to get back to the all-important subject of saving Cowboy.
He got up, rinsed off his plate, then came back and sat down nearer her. “So, since we told them we were together, I should probably know stuff about you.”
He paused and she peered at him apprehensively. “Stuff?”
“Yeah, you know. Like your last name. If you’re seeing anyone who might not like that little story we fed the sheriff and Benton. And why did a kid’s pony grow up to be a rodeo bronc?”
Her phone buzzed and she glanced automatically at the name, then flipped the phone aside. Her stepfather, Eric, expecting her to let him know where she was. It was none of his business. She tamped down sudden remorse. He hadn’t been a father, and she’d never forgive him for costing her Cowboy, but he’d loved her mother. She would try to reach out to him as her mother had wanted. Just not now.
“My last name’s Colton. My dad was Garret Colton.”
She saw he’d heard the name but couldn’t quite place it. “He was accused of trying to sell mineral rights fraudulently years ago. He was cleared of the charges, and there really wasn’t even much oil on the ranch. He died trying to help stop a brush fire on a neighboring ranch when I was six.”
“I kind of remember now,” he acknowledged. “That had to have been tough.”
She shrugged. “Losing someone you love always is. But I had Mom."
“Do you still?”
“No. Mom passed away eleven years ago. Spring semester of my first year at the University of Texas.”
“Sorry to hear it.” Joe reached out and squeezed her hand briefly. “I remember losing my Mom. It hurts.”
“Yeah.”
She closed her eyes, trying to shut the world out for a few seconds. The phone buzzed again, and this time she looked at Eric’s message and gasped.
“Some guy about to drop in on us?” Joe asked lightly. “Should I worry?”
“Yes.” She jumped to her feet and pushed her chair in. “If Eric gets here before I get back, just stall him. Don’t let him ask you a bunch of questions. I need to change.”
She stopped at her bedroom door and looked back. “Are you married?”
“No, but…”
“Thank God,” she said and closed the door between them.
***
Joe stared at the closed door and wondered how his marital state had anything to do with saving Cowboy—or any horse, for that matter. He didn’t hear a knock, but suddenly the front door exploded inward, bringing him to his feet, ready to defend Jody and himself if someone attacked them.
The man who came in looked like he should be coldcocked just for the hell of it. If he was a jealous boyfriend, or ex-boyfriend, he was way too old for the woman changing clothes in her bedroom. The man’s eyes were darting around and he was flushed with anger. His hands were knotted into fists, and a thin film of sweat coated his face and the skin exposed by the open neck of the plaid, long-sleeved shirt he wore.
“Where’s Jody?” he demanded, his voice hoarse.
“Changing. She’ll be right out,” Joe told him, walking over with his hand out.
“That your truck out there? Not local plates.”
Joe dropped his hand. “Yes. My truck’s registered in Dallas. Came down this way to look at some livestock. Is that a problem?”
The newcomer stared at him for a moment. “Nah. I guess not.” He suddenly lifted his own hand. “I’m Eric Holcomb.”
“Joe Roberts.” He shook the older man’s hand, still wondering a little about the unnerving hostility Holcomb’s entrance expressed.
“Maybe you won’t mention my overreaction to Jody? She’s doing all this stuff online I don’t really understand and I worry about all the stories I hear. And if she got in trouble, she might not—”
The door opened and Joe made a noncommittal noise and hoped Jody would take over for him. You’re good at lying, she had said. Her return kept him from having to come up with another one. He wondered if she’d believe he hardly ever lied, and that he’d only done so earlier to protect her.
Jody walked part of the way over and nodded curtly at the newcomer. “Eric runs the ranch.”
“I’m her stepfather,” he clarified, looking annoyed that she hadn’t acknowledged the relationship.
“I wasn’t expecting you to drop by today.”
“Just wanted to be sure you didn’t need anything, since I didn’t hear from you. Would you and Joe like to drive in to Carrizo Springs or Eagle Pass? Grab a bite to eat, maybe at that new steakhouse you told me about?” He looked at them hopefully, but Jody shook her head.
“I can’t. I have a paper I need to go over for a student.”
“And we just ate,” Joe added. “Maybe another time.”
“Reckon I’ll just eat back at the ranch, then. Jody, can you look over some letters for me during the week?”
She nodded without answering, and her stepfather sighed and held his hand out. “Nice meeting you, Joe. Guess you’ll be leaving soon yourself.” He cast a final, woeful glance at Jody and left as quickly as he had come.
“Well, that was awkward,” Joe observed with a grin. He rubbed his chin. “Guess he’s one of those nice guys when you get to know him?”
She brushed by him without answering. She couldn’t have showered in such a short time, but she’d put on some light floral scent and changed clothes. Surprising how sexy clean was. Annoyed with himself for thinking of her in those terms, he headed back to the kitchen. No point in sitting on that ridiculous doll furniture in her living room. Not when he’d suddenly had a flashback to the encounter at the pens. When she’d been all tank top and skinny jeans and boobs popping out.
“Most people like him just fine,” she said, following him. She pulled out the chair next to him instead of across from him and sat.
“But you don’t?”
She didn’t answer immediately. “He’s okay.”
“So?”
She shrugged. “He stole Cowboy,” she answered flatly.
“Stole Cowboy?” Joe looked confused. “But—”
“First he had Cowboy gelded, knowing Mom and I wanted to breed him.” She stared at something beyond his sight. “Then, I came home from college and found him gone—dead, I was told. He got my Mom to go along with that. Not long after that, she really was dead—and flipping through a magazine one day, there he was. Making his name as a bronc. No one had even ridden him yet.”
He made a sound of sympathy, and she looked back at him. “I don’t trust easily anymore,” she told him.
“I get that,” he said.
She stood, hardness in her tone. “And I don’t forgive. Ever.”
Chapter Five
Jody spun on the worn heels of her boots and retraced her steps to the kitchen area. She glanced at her phone again. What if he didn’t come back?
The image of the kill buyer standing there looking her over as if she, too, were just a piece of meat kept coming back, making her wan
t to gag. She cursed herself under her breath. Joe left after they’d talked only briefly about their meeting at the corral, then he’d said he needed to run an errand. And that he’d bring food back. She should have gone shopping when one of the neighbors had invited her to tag along a few days ago. Maybe he would have stayed if she’d had decent food. She swallowed hard. He was under no obligation to come back. He’d come to see Cowboy, but what reason would he have to help her figure out what to do next?
Time was running out. She’d heard that horses were shipped almost immediately from the holding pens in Eagle Pass to slaughterhouses in Mexico. She gripped the edge of the kitchen counter for balance. There were supposed to be vet checks and a rest period. But things happened. Lord knows, rules could be bent. She didn’t have faith that horses a truck ride away from being butchered were going to be treated with any kindness.
Those horses couldn’t leave for Eagle Pass. If she had to manage it herself—
Lights flashed outside, barely penetrating the wall of bougainvillea, and when Joe walked through the door, she wanted to cry with relief. Or hug him. Before she could do either, the scent of seared meat and fresh bread hammered her, making her take a step back. “Wow,” she said, and he laughed.
“I hoped I got it right,” he said. “I hoped your evil stepfather didn’t mention a steak place to lead me wrong.”
She pulled the bag away and headed toward the kitchen. “He’s not really evil.” She shuddered slightly, remembering Cowboy’s new owner. “Eric’s done horrible things. I don’t forgive him for some of them. But,” she sighed as she pulled out the takeout boxes, “he probably really believes he was doing them for me.”
Saving Cowboy Page 2
