by Lucy Farago
She scrolled through the rest of that month’s issues and stopped at a particularly odd heading. A bursary given to a young black woman who’d proved an excellent student and a strong commitment to the community was up for grabs because the former recipient had decided to switch schools and move states. Old candidates would be reconsidered.
Maybe it was nothing. Maybe she’d been given a great scholarship somewhere else. In the search engine she typed “Nia Denzel” and was pleased to see the paper had reported the winner of the bursary in a previous May issue. And as she read the story, she wondered what would make a student, at the commencement of a new semester no less, give up scholarship for free tuition that would’ve gone a long way into fulfilling her dreams of becoming a doctor.
*
Someone named Dozier volunteered to talk to Nia Denzel once Monty had done his magic. Grace had wanted to, but Cowboy had assured her that Dozier had a way of getting people to talk. Everyone had their talents and that was his. Until someone pissed him off, then it was best to leave and go very far, far away.
The following day they received word the horse was en route to the ranch. She would tag along as part of her research into her article. He must have warned her a hundred times not to deviate from their plan and it had started to get annoying. She wasn’t stupid. She’d understood him last night. She’d understood him this morning as he’d handed her a cup a coffee. She hadn’t understood him in the shower all that well, but in her defense her mind had been elsewhere. How could someone be so irritating while making every one of her nerve endings vibrate? It was indeed a skill. She peaked at the man seated next to her in the car and smiled. She knew exactly how.
“So, what’s the plan, Stan?”
“We get Lyle to believe his dirty little secret isn’t a secret.”
“You said that plan sucked.”
“It did. My plan is better.”
She crossed her legs, catching his attention. Not wanting to distract him, she pulled the hem of her skirt down over her knees. He’d told her to wear jeans because the stables were no place for heels, but she’d wanted Stanton to remember she was a reporter, and looking like one of the ranch hands might not get that message across. She’d compromised and worn open-toe black ankle boots with a pencil skirt. Plus, she wasn’t fond of horses and she wasn’t taking the chance on being invited to ride. “Your plan?”
“I’m the bait.”
“Oh, so it’s okay for you to make yourself a target but not me? That’s a little chauvinistic.” She’d known the moment the words came out of her mouth she was wrong. “Forget I said that. You’re trained. I’m not.” Still, it had sounded better when she’d suggested it. Or was it that she was seeing things from his point of view? “I’m not sure I like that idea.”
“It was your idea,” he pointed out.
“Yes, but you shot it down, remember? That family is crazy. A rapist, a drug dealer, a drunk driver, and a murderer.”
“We don’t know that last one for sure. Don’t let it impair your judgment. You might miss a vital clue staring you in the face.”
She’d heard this from him before, but he had a point. “You’re right. I need to stop thinking like a man.” She spotted the horse trailer ahead of them. Cowboy must have too because he sped up.
“Do I need to pull over, or is that explanation going to be short and sweet?”
She pointed to the front of the car and the road ahead. “Keep your eyes there. I can see your expressions just fine. And the explanation is physical not a commentary on how women are smarter. Which they are,” she muttered to herself. “Our brains are wired different.”
“No kidding.” He eyed his mirrors, then after checking over his shoulder, he moved into the oncoming lane.
She waited until he passed the trailer and was back in their lane before speaking. “No comments until I’m done. Give a man and a woman the same task and men do it better, faster.”
He smirked.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself. That will impair your judgment,” she said, throwing his words back in a southern accent.
“Touché.”
“Wow, fancy word for a good ole boy.”
He laughed. “Just get on with it.”
“Okay. One task, men. Give them two and the woman wins.”
“Lucky,” he teased, which she ignored.
“Here’s the real kicker. Give them three, and not only does the woman still beat the man, but she improves her score. Now before you jump all over it, let me explain. Women evolved to multitask. We had a multiple of daily tasks to perform, which included raising small children who needed to be watched. Our brains had to adapt. All men had to do was hunt. Without food the tribe didn’t survive so that one task needed to be done well. Caveman tunnel vision.”
“So you’re saying men are better when focusing on one thing.”
“I’m saying if you want your man’s attention while he’s watching football, stand in front of the screen.”
“You don’t have to worry about that with me. I don’t watch football.”
And nor was he her man.
“I like hockey,” he said.
“Me too,” she said, surprised. “How does a Texan come to like hockey?”
He turned right onto the road leading to the ranch. “One of the rodeo clowns was a big Flyer fan. I loved watching how crazy he’d get when his team scored. I wasn’t raised that way. How do you come to like hockey?”
“Chicago, remember? Can’t go to a bar and have a drink without some sports team on the television.”
“So why not football?”
“My dad took me to a couple of hockey games when I was a kid and I got hooked.”
“So you a Blackhawks fan?”
“Absolutely,” she said, then shook her head. “I would never like the LA Kings.”
“Your dad a Hawks fan?” He passed through the open front gates, Stanton obviously expecting their arrival.
“Since the beginning of time. Never get between a man and his team. Life is much easier that way.”
“Well,” he said, putting the car in park once they’d reached the house, “you can get between me and my team any day.”
She ignored the sexual innuendo because if she didn’t she’d be in his lap. “Who’s your team?”
“Montreal Canadiens.”
“A Canadian team?” she said, genuinely outraged.
“Louis, that’s the clown I mentioned, he was French Canadian.”
“Why did the image of a mime just pop into my head?” She didn’t get the whole scary-clown thing, but mimes, they were a breed unto themselves and she’d never turn her back on someone with black and white face paint and wearing stripes.
Cowboy laughed. “Louis would be livid right now.” He grinned, got out of the car, and opened her door.
“You still talk to him?” she asked, realizing she didn’t really know anything about Cowboy. Nothing important anyway. And scary thing was, she didn’t care. What was that saying? Adversity made strange bedfellows? Her behavior was strange, and the adversity and the bedfellows did fit, literally.
“He died,” he said in a way that made it clear he didn’t want to talk about it.
She let it be. She grabbed her equipment before they walked to the house, where Presley Stanton stood alongside another man, effectively putting a stop to anything else she might have asked Cowboy. Like what’s your real name? And what the hell was he running from?
“Hello,” Stanton said in a cheerful greeting. “Nice to see you both.” He shook their hands. “Rick here is my ranch foreman.” He nodded to the man standing beside him, who also extended his hand in greeting. “He’ll take care of anything we may have forgotten.”
“Nice to meet you both,” he said. “I’ll go ahead and show the driver where to take the trailer.”
Grace recognized the man from one of Jessie’s pictures. Pictures of the ranch, the new stables, some of the house, but nothing so ostentatious that Stanton
came across as having too much money, had been among the pile. The housekeeper joined them outside. She waved to Grace, then proceeded to empty the contents of the silver SUV also parked in the driveway. Groceries, nearest Grace could tell. Stanton followed her gaze and chuckled.
“Lily just got her license. I told her not to bother buying too many groceries until after the party, but she’ll find any excuse to drive.”
“The Tahoe, that’s a big truck for a new driver.” Her own father had insisted she learn on a Dodge Durango, wanting her to be safe. She’d been sixteen and saving the planet had been far more important. She’d put away every penny she’d earned working at a local grocery store and bought herself a used Ford Focus. It hadn’t been much to look at, but it wasn’t a gas guzzler.
“True, but it’s all I own. So until she buys herself a car, she’s stuck. Everything is bigger in Texas.” His good-old-boy grin looked just that, old. He motioned for them to follow.
Cowboy leaned down and whispered, “Don’t you agree?” Then he winked and took the lead when her steps faltered. The smartass.
“I bought Ella a golf cart,” Stanton was saying. “It’s not a long walk to the stables but you know how kids are.”
Lazy? It couldn’t have been more than a five-, seven-minute walk—tops. She was one spoiled kid. Hadn’t Stanton said the purpose of buying her the horse was for exercise? Shrugging, she took out her camera. “Doesn’t she want to be here to see her gift, or does she have to wait until next Friday?”
“No, I’m sure this will be the first place she comes when she returns. Her mother arrived today and they went shopping. Ella is never one to pass up new clothes.”
Given that she didn’t like horses, Grace could understand that, but the girl had asked for this horse so why wouldn’t she want to be here? “And your father. He didn’t want to be here?” That was throwing a wrench in their plan if he wasn’t going to be available.
“No, he has a meeting.” And his smile said he was very pleased by his father’s absence.
While the men unloaded Ella’s birthday present, she snapped pictures. Not knowing if the long ride had made him cranky, she put as much distance as she could between her and those hooves. He might be beautiful but that didn’t mean he wasn’t ornery. Then again Cowboy wouldn’t have chosen a mean animal for a sixteen-year-old girl, so she forced herself to step closer. She was giving the horse a gentle pat on his black nose when Stanton asked her what she thought of Ella’s present.
“What’s wrong with a car?” she said, trying to cover with humor her unease at being so close to something outweighing her by a thousand pounds.
“Oh she asked for one of those, but this way we can keep an eye on her.”
She got that. Her own father had taken a year of convincing before he’d given in and helped chip in for her first car. Of course, she wasn’t living on a ranch, as far removed from urban life as possible. Did they plan on driving the poor girl everywhere?
As everyone else went to help the mare settle into her new home, she stayed back, happy to take more pictures, which Stanton had told her she could do. She’d wandered back to the outdoor patio to snap shots of the pool and house when she caught someone looking through one of the upstairs rooms, the family’s rooms. From this distance she couldn’t tell who it was and she didn’t want to make it obvious she’d noticed. Instead, she kept snapping away, making sure to include that window. Who else was home?
*
Grace practically vibrated all the way back to the hotel. And although Cowboy appreciated her enthusiasm, he didn’t want her jumping to conclusions. Whoever had been standing in the window could have easily figured out what Grace was up to. While they waited for room service, she pulled out her laptop and slipped in the memory card from her camera.
“I hope it’s clear,” she said. “My stories don’t normally require pictures and I’m not as good at this as Jessie is…was.”
He stood behind her, his hands reassuringly on her shoulders, and waited for the pictures to load. She’d been a real trouper, but sooner or later all the feelings she was bottling up were bound to explode.
One by one they went through the photos until they came across the shot with the woman. Grace zoomed in. The picture was grainy but clear enough for him to make out who it was.
“That can’t be good,” he said. “Not for the senator.”
“Why, who is it?”
“His wife.”
“Are you sure?” she said, tipping her head back to look at him. “I was thinking it was his daughter. It didn’t make sense that Ella didn’t want to be there when the horse arrived.”
Would it be wrong if he kissed Grace right now? He satisfied himself with a kiss to her nose. “Let me get the picture Monty sent of her in rehab.” He dug his cell phone out and scrolled through his emails until he found it, then showed it to her. “Looks like the same woman to me.”
“She looks so different,” she agreed, glancing down at the photo. “So…”
“Haggard?”
“Yeah.” She squinted at the screen. “Is she supposed to be out? Wasn’t rehab a condition of the judge?”
“Someone pulled a few black robe strings and got permission for her to attend the party. But if she tests positive for alcohol on her return, she’d remain there for another month. That said, she wasn’t supposed to be released until next Thursday night. She has one day and one day only.”
“Maybe she wanted to see Mr. Pony arrive. She is the avid rider,” she said with some distaste.
“You don’t ride?”
“The likelihood of getting my sorry ass anywhere near a horse is nil. They are not my favorite animals.”
“You have a great ass.” He rubbed his fingers along her neck, feeling the tight knots. “But how can you not like horses? They’re gorgeous animals.”
“Absolutely. Gorgeous animals. Doesn’t mean I want them near me. Now back to what we were discussing.”
“Oh, I see. You’re afraid of them.” He began to massage her shoulders, digging his thumbs into rigid muscle.
“Not afraid exactly,” she groaned, “just not comfortable around them. Now—Madeline Stanton.” She pointed to the computer screen and moved her head to one side as he worked on a particular tight spot.
He leaned down and spoke softly in her ear, “You’re a black belt in how many martial art disciplines? And your daddy taught you to shoot a gun before you were out of diapers. How are you afraid of horses? That doesn’t seem very logical.” She smelled good, like wild flowers and fun summer rides.
She shivered. “Sure it is. They outweigh me,” she said on another delicious moan. “I could get trampled, bitten even. Thrown if I was ever stupid enough to sit on one. My f—” She took a deep breath. “My discomfort is completely understandable.”
He couldn’t let this go. He loved horses and this was just wrong. Plus, he loved a challenge. He spun her chair around and trapped her with an arm on either side of her. “Let me take you riding.”
“Not a chance.”
“I’ll ride with you.”
“No,” she said, trying to use her feet to maneuver the chair.
He looked back at the computer the screen, eager to stop talking about the damn photo. “I’ll get Monty to hack the rehab records. Let’s see if we can find out who let her out early. Satisfied?”
“Great idea.” She pushed at his chest.
“I’ll find you a pony,” he said, not willing to give up. “We can start there.”
“We start nowhere.” She fisted his shirt collar and brought him down so they were nose to nose. “I am not going riding with you.”
She was never more gorgeous than when she was adamant about something. “With me… or on me?” he asked, then took full advantage of her open mouth. She’d yet to let go of his shirt so that was as a good sign. She wanted him as much as he wanted her.
Their tongues dueled until he couldn’t take any more. He had to touch her, had to have her body tig
ht against his. He drew back as much as she would let him. “Am I carrying you to the bed?”
“For once…,” she said, giving him a none too gentle push, throwing him off balance. “I’ll race you.”
Faster than he could react, she bolted out of the chair and into the bedroom, slamming and locking the doors behind her with a click.
“Hey.” He pounded on the doors. “What are you doing?”
“You want in?”
“Yes.” And more than just his bedroom.
“I’ll make you a deal.”
Why did he think he wasn’t going to like this? “What kind of deal?”
“Tit for tat.”
“Literally?”
She laughed. It was throaty and sexy as hell.
“For every question you answer…”
Damn, he knew he wasn’t going to like it. He banged his forehead against the door.
“… I’ll toss out a piece of clothing. Answer all my questions and by the time you get in here, I’ll be naked. Answer them to my liking and I’ll,” followed by such a dirty come-on, he had to touch himself to alleviate the pressure. He pressed a hand to the cool wood to steady himself.
“Ready?” she cooed.
He was ready before they’d started this game. “Ready.”
“How old are you?”
That was easy. “Thirty. I’ll be thirty-one this November.”
He waited, then heard the door unlock. It opened a crack and out came her skirt. He grabbed it, feeling the warmth of her skin still on it. The door closed.
“Do you have brothers or sisters?”
He saw no harm in answering. “Two brothers and no I’m not close with them. I haven’t seen them in years.” Through no fault of their own, but he doubted it would be a happy reunion. They had made it clear they sided with their father and his views on what a failure Cowboy would turn out to be.
The door opened again and he was handed her shoes. Pretty as they were, he dropped them to the floor.
“Next question. Why does Monty call you Wolfman?”
He rolled his eyes, vowing to make Monty pay for letting that slip. “I’m a loner.”
“Not buying it,” she said in a sing-song voice.
