Weston's Trouble (Saddles & Second Chances Book 3)

by Rhonda Lee Carver

  She didn’t answer.

  Rushing up the stairs, his heart pounding and sweat beading on his brow, he came to a sudden halt at the doorway into his daughter’s bedroom. She was standing in front of her fish tank, her hair wild about her face and her bottom lip protruding. There was no blood or signs of injury that he could see. He drew in a thankful breath. “Brie? What’s wrong? I almost jumped out of my boots.”

  Her tiny shoulders slumped and then she pressed a finger against the glass of the tank. “Fred is dead.”

  “What?” Weston stepped over to see. Sure enough, the fish was floating on top of the water and the smell was ungodly. “I’m sorry, sweetie. You gave him a good life.”

  She looked up at him with the saddest expression and it ripped through him. Not one day had gone by in the last seven years that he didn’t wish things would have been different between he and Ashley. Their relationship wouldn’t have worked, and the truth was, he couldn’t haven’t convinced her to stay any more than he could convince Mother Nature to bring rain when it was needed. On occasion, Brie would ask questions about her mom and sometimes he knew how to answer, and sometimes he didn’t, but he made sure he never said anything to put Ashley in a bad light.

  “We’re going to have to flush him down the toilet.” Brie’s bottom lip trembled. “That’s what I read that people do.”

  “Yeah, I guess that’s what people do when their fish die. Unless you want to bury Fred and then that would be okay too.” He had to admit he didn’t like the thought of flushing a fish either.

  He could practically see the thoughts swirling in her pretty blue eyes. “No, I think Fred would want to be flushed. Better than getting eaten by a cat.”

  “Did you read about that too?” He raised a brow.

  She gave her head a quick shake. “Sophie told me her cat grabbed up her fish right out of the water and chomp. The fish was dead. Cats like fish but I don’t think I want Boots to eat Fred.”

  “Alrighty. How about we stick with tradition and flush poor Fred? We wouldn’t want to give that old barn cat, Boots, indigestion.” Weston scooped the floating fish into a net. The hairs in his nose curled from the stench. “How long do you think Fred has been dead, darlin’?”

  She shrugged. “No clue.”

  “Hmm. Okay.”

  “Here, daddy. I should be the one who does the dirty work.” She took the net from him.

  “That’s very brave of you,” he said.

  *****

  Sammie parked her dad’s truck next to Weston’s in front of his house. Turning off the engine, she finger-combed her wind-blown hair and checked her teeth in the mirror. No spinach left over from lunch. She’d chosen an old cami, but a nice button down, and jeans with holes in the knees to come off as casual, but sweating wasn’t part of the plan. She wanted to make a better impression than from their lovely meeting the other day, especially if this woman by the name of Brie that he’d mentioned happened to be here too. Pulling off the flannel, she placed it on the passenger seat along with her sunglasses and sucked in a deep breath.

  Looking around, she could see nothing but green as far as the eye could see, along with a handful of out-buildings, a white fence that stretched forever which housed beautiful, sleek-coated horses. Everything was well-kept. Although it was late in the evening, she’d passed a few hands still working in the fields and barns.

  She inhaled the fresh air, but the moist breeze promised rain. Here in ranch country, she’d guess they did fertile rain dances. She studied the two-story, white farmhouse surrounded by a wraparound porch and flourishing flower beds. Nothing had changed.

  Coming here probably wouldn’t work out as she’d planned, but she’d promised herself to try this. What other choice did she have? Lucas respected Weston and his opinions. Her father would listen to reason and sell the ranch, but she realized after their less than friendly sit down that morning, he wasn’t about to listen to her. So, if she could convince Weston to join her in helping plead her case, she’d be forever grateful.

  Sliding out of the truck, she headed up to the porch and knocked on the door. Someone yelled from inside, “Coming!”

  She’d rehearsed everything she would say, but the second the door opened, she lost her train of thought. She stared at the cowboy standing in the doorway and her mouth went dry. He was tall, well over six-foot tall, and seemed to fill the doorway with his muscular frame. If she didn’t have her dad to think about, she would have turned around and gotten right back into the truck and driven away. What was she expecting of Weston? If she found this idea crazy, then how could she even entertain the idea that he would see things her way?

  His sleeves were rolled up high on his arms showing off buff biceps and a sliver of the tattoo on his left arm. A few buttons were left open—just enough that she could see his chest and what a chest it was indeed. Her fingers ached to touch.

  Get on track, girl.

  Pushing aside what she thought of his looks, she brought her attention to his face. She needed to remain cool, but something about his gaze unsettled her.

  Inhaling deeply, she started to open her mouth when she heard… “Dad! Come on! Let’s do this!” It was a child’s voice. A child?

  “Hold your horses, young lady!” he yelled over his shoulder. “I’m sorry. We have a funeral in process.”

  “Huh? What?” Her breath hitched.

  “Dad! I can’t wait. I have a dead goldfish here.”

  “You are ‘dad’? To a child?” Her heart squeezed. Why hadn’t she heard this tidbit of information? But then again, who would tell her? Getting any information from her dad was like wrestling a bear.

  “Well, she’s not a parrot. Here, come on in.” He took a step back. “You don’t get freaked out by dead things, do you?”

  She gave her head a quick shake. “No.”

  “Dad! He’s going to rot before we flush him.” A little girl popped around Wes’s side. She had a head full of wild and wavy dark hair and bright blue eyes surrounded by thick lashes. Sammie’s heart warmed. She looked a lot like him and seeing the resemblance made this all suddenly very real. She wore a pink shirt that hung down one shoulder with a large gold heart emblazoned on the front and jeans that were a tad too short for her. From the worn knees and dirty thighs, Sammie guessed these were her play clothes. Although it had been a good twenty years since she had been in the dirt playing, she loved to see that the little girl didn’t mind getting dirty either.

  “Hi,” the little girl muttered.

  “Hi.”

  “My name is Brie. What’s yours?”

  “Oh, Brie, huh?” She gave Wes a narrowed eye. Had he intentionally made Sammie believe Brie was a woman? “I’m Sammie. Or Sam. Whichever you prefer.”

  “That’s a boy’s name.”

  “Brie,” Wes patted the girl on the shoulder.

  “Sorry. I only meant that I know a boy named Sam. He’s in my class. I’m in kindergarten.” Brie’s cheeks flushed.

  “It’s okay. I blamed my parents for years that they wanted a boy and not a girl. However, I’ve found that the name is unique and I like it.”

  “I know how to spell it. S-A-M.” The little girl seemed to forget that she had a dead fish in her net.

  “Yes, you’re right. Do you spell your name B-R-I-E?”

  “Who was I named after, dad? The cheese that’s all melty?”

  “No, you weren’t named after cheese. You know you were named after your great grandma.” He chuckled and tousled her thick hair.

  Sammie laughed. She bet the girl was a handful and she seemed exceptionally smart. Of course, she would be. The Jerichos weren’t only sexy, but were also intelligent.

  “This is Fred. Dead Fred.” The little girl held up the net that dripped water, showing off the orange fish with bulging, blank eyes.

  “Yes, I see. What happened to Fred?”

  Brie shrugged and the neck of the shirt slid another inch off her shoulder. “I probably overfed him. Daddy warned
me just a pinch of food.” She held up two fingers and measured. “Like putting pepper on my food. A pinch is different for everyone I suppose because daddy pours that stuff on.”

  “I agree.” Sammie smiled.

  “Do you think fish would rather be flushed or buried?” Brie asked, a serious expression making her eyes beady.

  “I think being flushed is an admiral burial for fish.” Feeling Wes’s gaze on her, Sammie tried to ignore the internal circus in her. His friendliness wouldn’t last once she told him why she’d come, although he did say he would help her out, even though she was certain he didn’t really mean it.

  “Do you think we should take care of Fred now?” Wes asked.

  “I think he’s starting to stink bad.” Brie wrinkled her nose. “Dad, can S-A-M come with us?”

  “Sweetheart, I don’t think…” Before the words were out of his mouth, Brie had her hand in Sammie’s.

  “I don’t mind, if you don’t.” Sammie met Wes’s gaze. Would he turn her away?

  He gave a tight shrug. “Sure. More the merrier.” He stepped back, allowing her to step in, and he closed the door with his shoulder.

  She barely had a chance to glance at the framed pictures of Brie hanging on the wall, the worn wooden floors, the antique lamps, and table before she was whisked down a short hallway and into a small bathroom that consisted of sink and toilet.

  “We should say a prayer, don’t you think?” Brie said with a smile that showed off a missing front tooth.

  “If that’s what you’d like,” Wes patted her back. He shifted uncomfortably and Sammie wondered if the confines of the small space was the reason for the sweat on his brow. They had no choice but to rub elbows, and the fact that the fish did stink only made the circumstances more uncomfortable. Good thing she didn’t recently eat, otherwise she would be sending it back up.

  “Let’s bow our heads,” Brie said. With all heads bowed, she continued, “God. Please forgive me for overfeeding Fred. I didn’t mean to make him die. And don’t let sewer rats eat him up when I flush him. Amen.”

  Sammie bit back a smile and opened her eyes. Wes’s gaze was on her and it turned the heat in the bathroom up a few notches, but at least the fishy smell was exchanged for a whiff of leather and soap because he was shuffling his feet.

  “I don’t think I can do it.” Brie’s bottom lip popped out and her eyes turned glossy.

  “Want me to?” he asked.

  “Yes, please.”

  Wes did the honors as Brie looked on, her thin shoulders slumped. Sammie wanted to drag the tiny girl into her arms and squeeze her tight, assure her everything would be okay, but being a stranger, Sammie thought it best to stay put. Wes did what Sammie wanted to do. He drew his daughter in for a tight hug, but obviously she was putting on a brave face because she pushed him away and sniffed back tears.

  “Is it okay if I go to my room and read?” Brie asked, already heading into the hallway.

  “Sure.”

  Alone in the bathroom, things got awkward. “How about we go back to the living room?” Wes suggested.

  “Okay.”

  “Looks like it’s coming down hard out there.” He pulled back the curtain on the large living room window as thunder rumbled through the sky. “Can’t send you away while it’s raining. How about I make us some coffee?”

  Oh, so he had wanted to send her away, but he was doing the gentlemanly thing by offering for her to stay? No, this wouldn’t be easy. She followed him into the kitchen and she looked around the tidy space. Everything was simple from the white cabinets to the clean wood floor to the rustic table that could seat twelve to accommodate five strapping sons.

  “Have a seat and tell me what brought you here.” He looked over his shoulder at her.

  Pulling out the chair at the end of the table, she took a seat and watched him prepare the coffee, absorbed in how his wide fingers moved deftly. He looked at her again, raising a brow. She’d forgotten that he’d asked a question. “Okay, I came because I need your help.”

  He hit start, the machine gurgled, then he swiveled around to lean against the counter, bracing his hands on the edge. Thick veins snaked up his tanned arms, disappearing in the shirt. “I never thought I’d hear those words come out of your mouth. You seemed pretty confident that you had things in control.”

  Did he realize this wasn’t easy? “I reacted too soon.”

  “You’ve always been a bit impulsive.”

  “Not true.” She grunted. “Don’t make me regret coming here.”

  “What are you needing?”

  “I had a chance to sit and talk with Braise this morning. Things are bad at Tanner Ranch. A few tweaks here and there won’t change the shape it’s in so the only conclusion I’ve come to is to sell.”

  “Wow, it didn’t take you long to come to that decision. But didn’t you already have that mindset when you stepped foot in Colton?”

  Did she see disappointment in his eyes? “It doesn’t take a person long to identify a money pit when they see one.”

  “What does Lucas have to say?”

  Working her bottom lip, it bought her a few seconds before she answered. “Well, I haven’t mentioned it to him.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he isn’t exactly jumping for joy that I’m here.”

  After the coffee maker spurted the last drop, Wes poured each of them a cup and handed her one. “Cream? Sugar?”

  “Do you by chance have almond milk?”

  “I thought Brie was the only one who drank that stuff.” He dug inside the refrigerator and brought out a small container and placed it on the table along with the canister he grabbed from the counter. “I’ll get you a spoon.” He reached into a drawer.

  She concentrated on mixing in a good amount of milk and sugar, then looked across the table where he sat, sipping his coffee, his blue eyes narrowed. She was certain the two-day stubble covered a tight jaw. “If you’re here to ask me to help you sell the place, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Good.”

  “I’m here to ask if you’ll talk my dad into selling.”

  “Oh, is that all?” He laughed, but it dried up quickly. “You’re serious?”

  “Yup.”

  “You’re wasting your time.” The chair screeched on the floor as he got up, removed foil from two plates and placed one into the microwave.

  “Come on, Wes. He likes and respects you.”

  “Yes, he does, and if I meddle where I don’t belong, he’ll feel like we’re ganging up on him.”

  “You did meddle when you called me and told me he needed me. I’m here now and I’m looking out for his best interest, not ganging up on him.” Sadness crawled through her. She understood selling the ranch would be the last thing her daddy would want, but what other choice did she have?

  He frowned. “Low blow.”

  “Okay.” She pressed her palms against the cold table. “If you were in my position, what would you do?”

  Several expressions flickered across his face before he hit a button on the microwave and took out the steaming plate, setting it aside. “How many cattle do you have over there?”

  “Braise said eight hundred, at least from last count.”

  “How many hands? Six?”

  “Five now. One hand left last week.”

  “Okay.” He scrubbed his jaw. “Without looking at the books, my first suggestion is to sell a couple hundred head of cattle and invest in cotton and corn. Growing crops is a cushion for many ranches.”

  “But isn’t it risky? I don’t know a thing about growing crops.”

  “Hire three or four new hands because five isn’t nearly enough for the size of Tanner Ranch. Whether you remember or not, Lucas used a lot of that land for crops before he lost interest or just didn’t wish to fool with it any longer. Braise has the knowledge, trust me. Tell him what you want and he’ll get you there, as long as Lucas doesn’t throw up a wall.�
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  She tried to wrap her brain around all the information when a buzzing sound interrupted her thoughts. Wes grabbed his phone. “Sorry, I have to take this.”

  “Sure.” At least this would give her a chance to come up with an excuse why she couldn’t head up the sale of cattle and raising crops. She expected Weston to leave the room while he spoke on the phone, but he surprised her when he took the call and stayed. Soon she realized that whomever was on the other end wasn’t making Wes’s mood any better, therefore making her job of convincing him a whole lot harder. Great.

  He hung up. His thin lips and crinkled lines around his eyes made her curious. “All okay?” she asked.

  “No.” He blew a long breath through the corner of his tight lips. “Afraid not.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose then dropped his hand. “I hired a new sitter recently and that was her daughter calling. Mrs. Figglestein fell and broke her leg. She’ll be staying with her daughter until she’s healed.”

  “How long will that be?”

  “No clue, but she wanted to let me know as soon as possible because her mother was supposed to start tomorrow.” He dropped his phone into his pocket. “I feel bad for her, of course, but I’m back to square one.”

  “Where is Brie’s mother? She doesn’t help?” She was starting to get a clearer picture of things.

  “Probably on the set of some low budget film right now,” he mumbled.

  “She’s an actress?”

  He gave a tight shrug. “You could call her that.”

  “Wes, who is Brie’s mother?” Sammie calculated in her head when Brie was born. Who had taken Sammie’s spot in his life? And why did she feel a tightness in her chest?

  “Ashley Andrews.”

  The name sounded familiar. She searched her mind and then she remembered. “Ashley Andrews who drove the pink Mustang? The Ashley Andrews that lived with her aunt just outside of town and had breast implants her junior year?”

  “Yeah, that Ashley.” He sighed. “Now that we have that covered.”

  “You and she were an item?” She slapped her thigh. “Holy shit!” Realizing what she said aloud, she covered her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she said through her fingers.