by Chant, Zoe
He’s not her biological father? Judy wondered. He’s not her biological father, and her bio-dad is fighting a custody battle to get her back? He is her bio-father, and her mom wants custody?
But Raelynn had her father’s strong chin and forthright attitude, not to mention that her flaming hair was a more intense version of his red-gold. And from everything they’d both said, her mom wasn’t much in the picture by her own choice.
Judy couldn’t help turning it over and over in her mind, but she couldn’t come up with a single scenario that made sense. It made her uneasy. This great guy and his sweet, horse-crazy daughter had some deep (but not bad) complicated family secret, and it was such a big deal that Waylon wasn’t comfortable getting too close to anyone until he could reveal it.
They’re in witness protection—no, that was definitely bad. Raelynn’s mother is famous, and the whole family gets stalked by paparazzi whenever she visits? Waylon is an undercover FBI agent? They recently found out that they’re heirs to the British throne? He inherited a castle in Scotland and they need to live in it to keep it?
There was a knock at the door, followed by a deep male voice that instantly kindled a heat in her body. “Judy?”
“Coming!”
She opened the door. There was Waylon, even bigger and more handsome and more heart-skip-inducing than she’d remembered. His shoulder and arm muscles bulged against his white T-shirt. “Ready for breakfast?”
She bit back the impulse to rush back into the shower and scrub her hair, and instead replied, “Sure!”
“Have you had coffee yet?”
She shook her head.
“Great. I’ll take you to coffee.”
He opened the door for her to get in his truck. That courtesy felt especially good after the total lack of pleasantries at the Ha Ha Hotel. And when he got in and started the engine, Emmylou Harris’s pure soprano rang out, singing “The Pearl.”
“Coincidence?” Judy asked.
“Nah.” Waylon’s incredibly blue eyes had that hot light in them that made her draw in her breath. “I put it on for you.”
They listened to the music as he drove her out of the horrible little parking lot, back on to the freeway, and then into La Puerta. He pointed out the sights of the town as they passed them, and Judy dutifully admired the magnificent old stone arch that had given the town its name, along with the accompanying stone buildings in the old Spanish style. But her own taste was for simpler, cozier things, and her first spontaneous “Ooh” was at the sight of a cottage covered in climbing red roses.
“That looks straight out of a postcard of the English countryside,” she said.
“Good call. Josefina Martinez lives there, and her cats are all named after the British royal family. There’s Queen Elizabeth and Queen Victoria—they’re calicos—and Prince Albert—he’s a black Manx. She also feeds a mean old tomcat, King Henry, but he’s feral and doesn’t go inside. We had to treat him for an infected paw once, and even with all three of us helping, it was almost impossible to catch him. If it hadn’t been for Angel, we never would’ve nabbed him.”
“Is Angel especially good with cats?”
Waylon’s gaze flickered, and he hesitated before speaking. It was exactly what he did when he was referring to—or skirting around—his complicated family secret. Which made no sense. Angel wasn’t part of his family.
“He’s good with all sorts of feral and wild animals,” Waylon said at last. “Look! Coffee!”
Judy, frustrated by the whole weird secret thing, was about to call him on the blatant subject change when she followed his gaze and laughed.
He was pointing at a charming café whose name, as emblazoned on its sign, was Coffee.
“So when you said you’d take me to coffee…” she began.
He nodded, grinning. “I meant Coffee. Everly named it.”
Inside, Coffee was decorated in a cheerful, rustic-meets-contemporary style, with comfortable chairs upholstered in bright primary colors, sleek wooden tables, and framed photographs of coffee beans, coffee trees, fruit trees, and berry bushes. It felt cozy and playful—a place both adults and children would enjoy.
The customers who were already there, lined up at the register or sipping mugs of coffee and eating breakfast, all seemed to know Waylon. They called out greetings to him, teased him for not being at work, or gave him updates on the health of their pets.
“Sparkle Motion is completely sound now,” said an elderly man with a gray walrus moustache. “No pain or swelling at all. Eats his hay like a champ.”
“I’ve collected that stool sample you wanted,” called out a woman in a high, penetrating voice. “I looked at it myself and I think—”
“Please, not now,” Waylon said, raising his voice to drown out hers. “My friend doesn’t want to hear the details over breakfast!”
“My sixteen horses, two donkeys, and a mule produce a lot of poo,” said Judy. “It’s not my favorite mealtime topic.”
“You have sixteen horses?” asked the walrus moustache man. “Do you have a training stable?”
“A horse rescue.”
“Which she’s thinking of moving here,” said Waylon. Judy noticed that he had pitched his voice to be heard throughout the café. “It’s called Horse Hope Rescue and it rehabilitates and rescues horses that the world gave up on… but Judy didn’t. She’s hoping to buy that ranch off Creekside Drive if she can raise the funds. She’s also a highly skilled horse trainer, and she gives riding lessons.”
Murmurs broke out all over the café. All eyes were on her. Judy gulped, feeling like a hundred cameras were taking selfies of her. She appreciated what Waylon was trying to do, but the center of attention wasn’t her favorite place. No wonder she’d been such a failure at raising money!
A woman remarked, “I have a daughter who’d love to learn to ride, but we don’t have a horse. Do you give lessons on the rescue horses? Are they safe for a ten-year-old to ride?”
At that, Judy felt on firmer ground. “Yes, I do give lessons. Not all of them are suitable for children, and some can’t be ridden at all because of injuries. But I have a few who’d be perfect for a young beginner. Bay Rum is a sweet old gelding who loves children, probably because they give him sugar. And if your daughter gets seriously interested in riding, she could graduate to Carry On. Most retired race horses are much too nervy for children, but Carry On is very gentle and beautifully responsive.”
“How about visits?” asked an older woman. “Could a class of children come and visit and learn about horses?”
“Sparkle Motion could use a few lessons himself,” said the walrus moustache man. “Do you have a card?”
As Judy, feeling slightly dazed, began handing out business cards, Waylon again raised his voice. “Horse Hope Rescue needs donations if it’s going to set up here, folks! You all know how expensive it is to feed and house horses. So if any of you can spare a little to bring Judy and her herd to La Puerta, she has a fundraiser going. Just type “Horse Hope Rescue” into Instagram or GoFundMe, and you’ll find it!”
People started typing into their phones. Judy couldn’t believe it. Then, seeing how they were looking at Waylon, she understood. It wasn’t just that apparently a lot of people in La Puerta loved horses. It was that they knew and respected and trusted Waylon.
“Thank you,” she said to him. “I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”
“Thank me after I buy you breakfast,” he replied.
Before Judy could protest, Everly came running in from the back, clutching her purse. Judy wondered if Rock was in there. Everly, catching her gaze, gave her a wink and a nod. “Hi, Waylon. Judy, welcome to Coffee! I see a table waiting for you.”
She showed them to a table beneath a framed photograph of an orange tree drooping with ripe fruit. Judy sank into a wonderfully comfortable grass-green chair, while Waylon took a larger tomato-red one.
“Enjoy,” said Everly, beckoning a waitress toward them. As the waitress
came forward, Everly hurried off. She seemed busy but not run off her feet, content in her fast-paced job.
The waitress welcomed them to Coffee, gave them their menus, and took their orders. When she finished scribbling them on her note pad, she said to Waylon, “Mr. Whiskers is doing great, by the way.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Waylon replied. “Give him a scritch for me.”
“Will do!”
As the waitress left, Judy said, “Is there anyone in this town who doesn’t know you?”
“I guess anyone who doesn’t have pets or farm animals, and doesn’t work at a farm or a pet store or a wildlife rescue or any place with animals.”
“Those poor sad people.”
“Tragic,” he agreed. Nudging her, he said, “Breakfast is on me. Absolutely no arguing.” Quietly, he added, “You already did a free training session with Black Flame yesterday, so I owe you. At least, I assume the first one was free.”
She pulled a face at him. Also speaking quietly, she said, “They’re all free. When do I get a chance to tame a wild hellhorse? Think of it as a vacation project for me, and a gift from me to Raelynn.”
“Seriously? Your time is valuable. And it’s money for the horses.”
Judy instinctively recoiled at the idea of accepting money from him. It was true that she normally did charge for horse taming and training, and equally true that her horses needed cash. But it felt wrong. “I can’t. No arguing, that’s my last word.”
“Then you’re not paying for a single meal in La Puerta, so long as I’m around.”
She grinned. “Twist my arm.”
“And you’re not staying at Horrible Harry’s Helltel,” Waylon said firmly. “You’re packing your things and moving to Welcome Inn. Today. No arguments. You’re doing it.”
Judy felt like she ought to argue, but Waylon, that sexy hunk of a man, was sitting right across from her, and she wasn’t 100% sure that she’s gotten all the eau de mildew out of her hair. Much as she couldn’t bring herself to let him pay her for taming Black Flame, she couldn’t bring herself to continue with the Ha Ha Hotel’s anti-sexiness treatments.
“Drag me by the hair,” she said.
“Is that a yes?”
The waitress brought their coffee. It came in big mugs glazed to match the chairs they sat in. Both hers and Waylon’s had a pretty design of Valentine hearts—not a single one, but a whole flight of them. That couldn’t have been easy to make. Judy took a long, appreciative sip, sending the little hearts floating toward the edges of the mug. The coffee was smooth and strong and sweet, exactly how she liked it.
“Yes,” she said with feeling. “Take me away from that horrible place.”
“Were there bedbugs?” Waylon asked.
“No, but that’s the only positive thing I can say about it. I wouldn’t let one of my horses inside. In fact I don’t think any of them would go inside. They’re very sensitive to smells.”
“That’s true.” Now that she’d agreed to move to the bed-and-breakfast, he leaned back in his chair, relaxed and expansive. His T-shirt stretched over his broad chest and shoulders. “I once had a man call me because his horse had suddenly started acting skittish. It turned out that his horse hated his new cologne.”
The waitress returned with their breakfasts. The menu had listed American classics like buttermilk pancakes along with Mexican breakfast dishes like huevos rancheros. Simple and hearty, Judy had thought, and asked for blueberry pancakes with a side of bacon. Waylon had ordered something Mexican that she didn’t recognize.
The plate set down before Judy bore the same resemblance to the diner pancakes she’d expected that her mule bore to an Arabian racehorse. The pancake were thick but fluffy, light as a cloud, and studded with fresh, ripe blueberries. She had a choice of two syrups, one real maple and one—clearly made on the premises—real blueberry. The bacon was thick-cut, crispy where it should be crispy and chewy where it should be chewy. There was a little fruit on the side, blueberries and tart raspberries and meltingly ripe strawberries, along with a sprig of mint. And, in what Judy was beginning to sense was a theme, the pancakes were topped with a dollop of homemade whipped cream, which was topped by blueberries arranged in the shape of a Valentine heart.
Waylon’s plate was less elegant, torn-up strips of tortilla covered in chili topped in a fried egg with a deep orange yolk. He quickly broke the yolk, but not before Judy spotted the pepper heart on it.
“Is this a Coffee thing, or is someone sending us a message?” she asked.
Waylon started to shrug, but just then a waiter put down two plates before the couple sitting next to them. The woman had French toast drizzled with cinnamon sauce—arranged in an artful squiggle, not a heart—and the man had blueberry pancakes, with his berries scattered in no particular shape.
Following her gaze, he admitted, “I think someone’s giving us a hint, yeah. Everly and Angel got together six months ago, and they’ve been so blissfully happy, they want to spread it around.”
Everly hurried out of the kitchen and came up to their table. “Hey, I won’t interrupt your breakfast, but I wanted to say, Judy, please give me a call. I used to work for a much bigger restaurant that served a lot of rich people, and I have some contacts that might be helpful. Here you go! Please do call. We’d all love to have you here.”
She pushed a card into Judy’s hand, then rushed back to the kitchen.
“You should take her up on it,” Waylon said. “Everly’s great with this sort of thing.”
“Fundraising?”
“Solving complicated problems involving animals.” He smiled, more to himself than to her. “I’ll tell you later.”
They enjoyed their breakfast together, sometimes telling stories of the animals they’d known and the lives they’d led, sometimes talking of nothing in particular, and sometimes eating in a companionable silence. Judy couldn’t remember when she’d enjoyed a breakfast more—and she didn’t only mean the food. Sometimes the silences fell because they’d gotten lost gazing into each other’s eyes.
Waylon reached across the table and laid his hand over hers. She had large hands for a woman, but his easily enveloped hers. It felt big as a bear paw, but deft rather than clumsy. He used his hands to heal and comfort. And when Judy imagined what else he could do with them, it made her boil inside like a cup of coffee too hot to drink.
I’m falling for him, Judy thought. It’s too soon and my life is too unsettled and he’s got too many secrets and I have no idea how to be a parent or a wife or own a house or have a dog and, and, and. I didn’t choose it. But I don’t know how to stop it.
Falling for Waylon is like riding a wild stallion. I’ll probably end up face-down in the dirt. But before it all comes crashing down, what a ride it’ll be.
Chapter Nine
“Keep it casual,” Judy coached. “Act like it’s no big deal. You’ve been stroking his neck and playing with his mane for ages. Make him think this is just more of the same.”
Raelynn’s heart was thumping so hard it made her chest into a drum as she untied the scarf around her neck. She sang “Coat of Many Colors” softly as she stroked Black Flame, letting him sniff at the scarf.
“Wrap it around your hand and stroke him with it,” Dad suggested.
Raelynn made sure not to miss a beat of the song as she did that. Black Flame stamped, then settled down. It seemed as if he liked the feeling of silk against his skin.
She could barely contain her excitement. All the hard work she and Dad and Judy had done with Black Flame, taming him and getting him used to people other than her, might be about to pay off in a truly spectacular manner. If she could get the scarf around his neck and show him it wasn’t anything scary or bad, then (in theory) she could replace it with a halter without him even noticing. And then (in theory) she could lead him around. And then, boom! He’d be halter-trained.
Once he was halter-trained, she could lead him into a stable so he could stop running around wild, risk
ing people seeing him on fire. And after halter came bridle and saddle—eventually. She wasn’t sure when hellhorses’ bones matured, but if he was a regular horse, she couldn’t ride him yet without stressing his growing bones. But in a year or so, he’d be old enough. She could almost feel the saddle under her seat, his mane and her hair streaming out behind them as they rode like the wind…
A tug on her hair yanked her back to reality. Black Flame had the bad habit of munching on… pretty much everything, actually. At least she’d caught him before he actually bit any of it off. “No. No biting.”
She threw the arm that held the scarf around his neck and hugged him.
“Careful, Rae,” Dad warned.
“I’m being careful,” she muttered. Raelynn caught the loose end of the scarf with her other hand and, trying to act like it was no big deal, drew it upward around his neck.
Black Flame snorted and whickered, tossing his head. The movement drew the scarf taut around his throat. He bolted forward, yanking the scarf out of her hands, and galloped away, vanishing into the woods. Again.
“Crap!” Rae yelled.
“Language,” Dad warned.
Raelynn rolled her eyes. She was thirteen, not six. “Crab! Crag! Cramp!”
“Okay, that’s enough,” Dad said, but he couldn’t hide his smile.
“Black Flame really is coming along,” said Judy. “It takes patience, that’s all. You notice there weren’t any sparks this time.”
“Yeah, that was good,” Raelynn said, cheering up. “He’s getting great at not setting stuff on fire.”
“And he’s coming to the ranch here instead of to our backyard,” Dad added encouragingly.
“He is! He’ll do even better with your herd here, right Judy?”
The cheer went right out of the air. Dad and Judy glanced at each other, communed telepathically or something, and then Judy said, “If I can get the herd here.”
