by Gayle Wilson
When they turned to make their way back down the aisle, the three of them together this time, she saw that Sam was standing at the back of the church, his cream-colored Stetson held tightly in his big gnarled hand. She smiled at him, but he didn’t respond, his lips slightly pursed and his eyes unreadable. He had turned away before they reached the double doors, and when they finally made their way outside, past the well-wishers, he had disappeared.
It was only later, at the reception where she and Chase had greeted what seemed to be the entire population of this part of south Texas, that she looked up to speak to their next guest and found her father standing before them. There was a moment of awkwardness, and then she put her arms around Sam’s neck. His enclosed her, hugging her too tightly.
“I’m glad you came,” she whispered. “I was hoping you would.”
“You look like your mother,” Sam said gruffly, pulling away a little so he could look into her face. “Only you ain’t as pretty. Nobody was as pretty as your mama.”
“I know,” she said.
“I brought you a wedding present,” he said. His eyes had skated to Chase.
“Thank you,” Samantha said.
“Not you,” Sam corrected. “You’re probably too muleheaded to accept it. Him. I brought it for him. Maybe he’s got sense enough.”
“What is it?” Samantha asked, fighting a smile. Sam was probably right. She had never willingly taken anything from him, not after she’d reached adulthood. He certainly had ample reason to doubt that she would now—even a wedding present. Knowing Sam as she did, she guessed it would be something expensive and showy that he thought would impress everyone here.
Sam fished an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to Chase. Samantha held her breath, afraid that Chase’s pride or his feelings that Sam still didn’t find him good enough might get in the way of what appeared to be an attempt at a reconciliation.
Chase studied the old man’s face for a moment and then he took the envelope. It wasn’t sealed. Chase removed the single sheet it held. After only a cursory examination of what was printed there, his eyes lifted to his father-in-law’s.
“What the hell is this supposed to mean?” Chase asked.
“You can see what it means. You’re smart enough to figure it out.”
“What is it?” Samantha asked, more than a little apprehensive at the tone of that exchange.
Instead of explaining, Chase handed her the sheet the envelope had held. As quickly as he had, she recognized what it was—the deed to Chase McCullar’s land.
“How in the world did you get this?” she asked, trying to make sense of what it meant.
“The usual way,” Sam said. “I bought the place. Lock, stock and barrel.”
Her eyes lifted to his. “You were the buyer Blake found? But…why, Sam? Why would you do that? You must have known why I was selling the ranch.”
“To pay me back. I knew. I figured all along you’d do something muleheaded like that.”
“Then why…”
“Blake told me somebody else was real interested in the property.”
“Who?” she asked.
“Trent Richardson.”
“Senator Richardson? Why would he want—” She stopped because she had suddenly realized why. He was buying it for Jenny. To put the McCullar land back together for Jenny. She wondered if Chase knew about Richardson’s determined pursuit of his sister-in-law, and then decided this wasn’t the time to get into that. There never would be a good time for that revelation. Apparently Sam felt the same way, because he ignored her interrupted question.
“Besides, I like owning land,” Sam said. “You know that I hear this little bit can be a gold mine. Somebody’s been raising some mighty fine horses down there. Everywhere I go, people tell me how good the breeding is. Those stables were just beginning to make a name for themselves, beginning to occasionally compete with Kincaid stock.”
“I can’t take this, Sam,” she said softly. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I sold it all to get the money to pay you back.”
“So pay me. The money’s in your account—most of it, anyway. Enough of it. And my check’s good,” he said, mocking his own wealth.
“But…that defeats the whole purpose. If you buy the ranch and then give it back to me—”
“I ain’t giving it to you, baby, much as I’d like to. I know you won’t take it. Too much like me, I guess. But him,” Sam said, gesturing with a movement of his head toward Chase, “I’m hoping he’s got more sense than the two of us. Hoping he’s less muleheaded. I’m giving this land to my son-in-law as a wedding present. Maybe a…welcome-to-the-family present.”
Samantha looked down at the deed she held. Her father’s words made the print blur a little, but she managed to fold it up and hold it out to her husband. The slight vibration of the paper revealed that her hands were shaking.
“Maybe I ain’t such a good judge of character,” Sam continued, “but I usually don’t make the same mistake twice.”
It seemed an eternity as she waited, holding out the deed, watching both of them. She had no role in what was happening here, and she even understood that.
“We got us a daddy, Granddaddy Sam,” Mandy said, materializing suddenly out of the crowd to latch on to Chase’s leg. “Just like you told us to.”
“I know you did, Cupcake,” Sam said, but he didn’t look down at her. His eyes were still locked on the other ones, the same McCullar blue. “Somebody who’ll take care of you and your mama when I’m not around to do it anymore. I reckon you found the best man for that job.”
“I know,” Mandy said. “I helped Mama pick him out.”
“Congratulations, McCullar,” Sam said. “You got sense enough to realize what a lucky man you are?”
Another eternity passed before Chase’s fingers closed over the paper Samantha held out to him. The deed to his heritage, his home, once more McCullar land—free and clear and in his name.
“Damn straight I do,” Chase said softly, and then he smiled at Sam Kincaid,
Epilogue
The sound was something he had lived for for almost five years. He had fantasized about it through endless days in the worst prison in Texas, locked up for a crime he hadn’t committed, for a murder he’d had no part in. Finally the gate of that hellhole had slammed shut behind him, and he was standing outside in the strong sunshine of a late-August afternoon.
The lines and angles of his dark, beautiful face were set and hard, almost rigid with the control that was second nature to him now. His cold eyes traced over the road that stretched in front of the gate.
There was nobody there to meet him, of course, but he hadn’t been expecting anyone. Somehow the empty desolation of the landscape that surrounded him seemed appropriate. It matched the emptiness of his soul, a burned-out shell where once there had been the same feelings and dreams other men cherish.
But that was something he had learned quickly inside—not to have feelings. Not of any kind. Not about anything. And that dreams were what you clung to late at night when the lights were out and the familiar daytime noises had faded to the low, ever-present hum of hundreds of men existing together in a space that was too crowded and at the same time too empty.
He picked up the bag that contained his few belongings. One of them was a bus ticket, compliments of the state of Texas. They take five years from your life and in exchange they give you a bus ticket. A one-way ticket home.
There would be no one waiting for him there, either. His mother was dead and his father had never even acknowledged his existence. He supposed people in that small south Texas community would question why he was coming back. Let them question and be damned, he thought bitterly. He didn’t care what any of them thought anymore. That, too, had been burned out of him.
Rio Delgado was going home—not because he had any fond memories of the place and not because he had left anything there that he really wanted to go back to. He was going home for one reason a
nd for one reason only. Because he had a score to settle with the man who had stolen the last five years of his life.
eISBN 978-14592-6155-6
RANSOM MY HEART
Copyright © 1998 by Mona Gay Thomas
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
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Printed In U.S.A.
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Table of Contents
Excerpt
Dear Reader
Dedication
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
Copyright
