Texas Redeemed

by Isla Bennet

  “He’s dangerous.”

  “He wasn’t dangerous this morning, out on the trail, Coop.”

  Outraged, he swept off his hat and slapped it brutally against his thigh. In the fading sunlight, his already ruddy, weather-beaten skin looked a harsh shade of red. “Valerie, that horse nearly kicked me—right in the gut! I could’ve been killed.”

  “Wait, wait. What were you doing at his stall anyway?” Because of Brute’s temperament, Valerie had sent a memo to everyone on the ranch—and personally warned Lucy—that only she and her horse trainer, Pete, were allowed to handle the gelding.

  “Checkin’ him out, seeing whether he’s got potential or is just taking up a stall that another worthwhile horse could be using,” he said defensively.

  Again, Coop had deliberately ignored her instruction and pissed on her leadership. It was happening more often. Even when she’d first inherited the ranch and brought her young daughters to live in the battered and beaten main house, and she’d been overwhelmed with raising them and trying to save Battle Creek, Coop had been patient and even somewhat understanding.

  Now that business was stable and she was confident making her own decisions and implementing changes, the patient and understanding Coop was in hiding. And though it was apparent he genuinely cared about the ranch—and “Rhys’s kinfolk”—it was becoming harder to keep that in mind every time he disregarded her management.

  “Coop, you don’t have to follow up behind me,” she said, mustering her own reserve of patience as she knelt to drop the remaining fasteners into a container. “In fact, I’d prefer if you didn’t, because I … I don’t want this conflict on my ranch. It interferes with business when my workers don’t respect me.”

  “I respect you, Val.”

  Even then she didn’t sense his conviction. “You’re badmouthing me to the guys. Don’t deny it,” she quickly added when he opened his mouth immediately to protest. “I heard you just the other day, when Jack and I came to the bunkhouse for poker. I heard you, Coop. So did Jack. If I wanted to fire you for that, I would’ve done it then. But Coop, come on. You’re fighting me about the calving season, about how many head of cattle to keep on, about a horse that you’ve got absolutely no responsibility for.”

  “I’m not wrong about that horse.” His flinty stare let her know that it didn’t matter that his decades-old job was on the line—he believed he was right and he wasn’t going to back down.

  “What’s wrong is that you’re undermining me every chance you get and you’re using a high-strung horse that needs nurturing to do it.” She stood, and with the old cowboy’s slightly stooped posture, they were face-to-face. “Take a step back. If you can’t do that, then you need to leave this ranch.”

  “Battle Creek needs my know-how.”

  Valerie emphatically nodded in agreement. “No question about it, Coop. But I don’t need you coming at me like this. It has to stop. Now.”

  A grunt answered her. Then he settled his hat harshly on his head. “All right. You’ll have it your way no matter what.”

  “So you’re staying on?”

  “Yeah.” The word was so gravelly Valerie practically felt it scratch her skin. But she didn’t say anything more and waited until he returned to his truck parked at the curb and peeled off before she let out a breath and finished putting away her tools and decorations.

  Tomorrow she’d tackle the rest of the outdoor holiday decorating. And it would be good to have Jack’s and Will’s help, she realized with a frown of distaste at the half-finished job.

  Inside, she set the large container in the mudroom and was bombarded by Dinah, Lucy and Bowie, who was curled against the safety of Lucy’s shoulder.

  “Want me to give that old coot a piece of my mind?” Dinah said after one glimpse at Valerie’s unnerved expression.

  “What’d he say to you, Mom?”

  “He wants Brute gone.” Valerie skirted around them.

  “You’re not getting rid of him, are you?” Lucy asked in a soft voice, as if she was waiting for an answer before she could breathe again. “He’ll take Tilly with him.”

  “Coop? No.”

  “Too bad,” Dinah mumbled, then smiled sweetly.

  “Nor Brute.”

  Lucy let out a little breathless laugh. “Good.” Moving on to more pressing business, she stroked Bowie’s tiny furry body and said, “Mom, you’re going to need to shower, like now. Delia said she’s coming over with a sex-ay dress for you.” At Valerie’s disapproving frown, she defended, “Well, that is what she said.”

  Dinah ushered Lucy to her room to help her construct a stylish up-do out of the mass of freshly rolled curls tumbling down her back; and Valerie made a mad dash for the shower.

  By the time she emerged from the bathroom in her robe and wet hair, Cordelia had arrived and was carrying several pairs of shoes out of Valerie’s closet.

  “I’ll only need one pair of shoes,” she said, going straight to her lingerie chest. Opening the top drawer, she couldn’t help but cringe and wonder which thong Peyton had encountered during his laundry adventure at the ranch. “Thanks for coming. And you look—”

  “Jack called me the hottest pregnant woman on the planet. If you can’t top that, don’t try,” her cousin cut in, adding a grin. Tonight she’d pinned up her raven hair and wore a violet form-fitting long-sleeved gown with a deeply plunging neckline. Her baby bump was now somewhat visible—if you stared very hard and knew what you were looking for.

  “You look twenty-five.”

  “Oh, that’s a winner.”

  “So …” Valerie eyed the garment bag draped across the bed “… where’s this sex-ay dress you promised?”

  Cordelia actually looked sheepish. “Sorry ’bout that. You’ll forgive me when you—” she made a presentation of unzipping the garment bag and revealing the dress inside “—put this on.”

  Valerie examined the strapless empire-waisted blue-black dress with its cascading layers that ended short in the front but long in the back. A jeweled clasp rested at the front’s center. “It’s stunning. Did you sneak into the Oscars or something with this on?”

  “Unfortunately, no. But I did wear it to an event far away from Night Sky, so no one should rib you about wearing a used dress.”

  “Oh, the shame,” Valerie said with sarcasm as she removed the dress out of the garment bag, taken with it already. “Will I spend the evening pulling the top up to avoid a wardrobe malfunction?”

  “Doubt it. You’ve got more boob than you give yourself credit for. Fix your hair and face, and throw on that dress then call me up to help you decide on a pair of heels.”

  Cordelia swept out of the room, leaving behind the faint whiff of a dark, sultry perfume.

  An hour later, Valerie’s hair was dry and carefully swept to one side with a waterfall of loose waves over one shoulder, and she’d taken extra care with her makeup, opting for smoky eyes and lightly bronzed cheeks. She slipped into the dress, thankful that it was only slightly loose across the hips but otherwise an incredible fit—and it matched the only wristlet she owned.

  She was stepping into one of her few pairs of designer heels—black, strappy stilettos—when her cousin barged in munching on a mini-muffin.

  “There’ll be food at Nathaniel’s,” Valerie said.

  “And I’ll be sure to eat my fill. Right now the baby wants carbs.” Cordelia chewed and swept a glance from Valerie’s hair to her shoes. “My lord. You look like sex in high heels.”

  Was that the look she wanted for a glitzy holiday party … one where Peyton was guaranteed to be in attendance?

  The uncertainty must’ve shown on her face like a glaring danger warning, because her cousin abandoned her muffin and took her by the elbows. “Put on some earrings and you’ll be perfect, Val. You may end up with a sex buddy after all.”

  “Cordelia! That’s not what I’m after.”

  “Oh, c’mon. Look at your bedroom with these tame neutral colors and everything in
order. You’ve been nice all year. Try on naughty.” Cordelia winked, grabbed her muffin and headed out of the room. “Santa’ll understand.”

  Valerie grabbed her wristlet and a modest pair of onyx teardrop earrings—pausing to straighten the stack of books sitting on top of her leather keepsake trunk—and followed her cousin downstairs.

  THEY’RE NOT COMING. Peyton steeled himself for that scenario as he retrieved his father’s pocket watch from his tuxedo jacket and noted the time. Exactly one minute since the last time he’d checked.

  They were late—the whole lot of them. He’d at least expected Dinah to show up, having gotten it in his head that they had some sort of alliance. Since the day he’d met her, she had been upfront and kind-hearted, stern yet forgiving. And she’d tried to all but throw Valerie and him together on Thanksgiving at the ranch.

  Now, on the night he’d spent too much of his time looking forward to as it was, the Jordans and Merrimans were nowhere to be seen. No one had even considered at least dropping off Lucy, who he knew had been bubbling over with anticipation for weeks.

  He paced the length of his grandfather’s portico again, struggling to keep his hands at his sides instead of crossed standoffishly over his chest. Though his grandfather hadn’t said anything, Peyton owed it to the man to be cordial tonight.

  Would leaving be considered cordial? There were likely plenty of places to waste the night, considering damn near half of Texas alone seemed to be either parked along the street or had been dropped off at the gate by private drivers.

  No, he decided after some thought. Even he couldn’t be that much of an ass, to walk out on his grandfather’s party. Just because Valerie had backed out on him didn’t mean he should turn around and do the same to Nathaniel.

  Hired ushers strolled the grounds, escorting guests from the privacy gate to the house. Peyton would have preferred to lurk unnoticed in the shadows of the portico, but the entire mansion was aglow with elaborate holiday lights.

  Inside, the house was already crammed with people dressed in tuxedos and gowns, suits and cocktail dresses. Festive music from the live band poured through the double doors into the street. Children’s laughter rang in the air.

  But not his child’s.

  Didn’t he deserve an explanation—a warning? How difficult could it have been for anyone from Battle Creek to pick up a phone and tell him there had been a change of plans?

  God, he felt like a fool.

  “Turner, my man.”

  Peyton squinted out into the twilight to see his friend Malcolm Pettis emerge from the throng of guests entering through the gate. He should’ve been relieved to see a familiar face in the crowd, but the offense of being stood up was still raw. “Malcolm, hey.” He met him on the portico with a handshake and a clap on the back. “Good that you made it.”

  When invited, Malcolm had been doubtful that he could clear his commitments at Johns Hopkins in order to leave town a day earlier to visit Texas on his way to Utah to spend Christmas with his family. Their colleague Faye had already arrived, on the arm of yet another new boyfriend, this one a lobsterman.

  “All this—” Malcolm swept a glance over the expanse of the property, awe written all over his ebony face “—is yours? Unbelievable.”

  “It’s not mine,” Peyton clarified. “This belongs to my grandfather. It’s his world. I’m just living in it.” And for how long, he didn’t know. Somehow he injected a sliver of humor into his voice, willed his shoulders to relax as he led his friend into the house to meet his grandfather and Jasper, his cousin Nora and her family, who’d flown in from Los Angeles last night, and his high school science teacher who’d first realized his potential and had encouraged him to study medicine.

  Almost a half hour later, after letting Nathaniel rope him into a photo-op with relatives he hadn’t seen in over a decade, he stood at the bar set up in the ballroom with a glass of whiskey in his hand. He took in the almost untouchable splendor and was pensive for the place this had used to be for him when he’d been a young boy: a big room with a shiny hardwood floor that was perfect for playing with his toy trucks and race cars with his grandmother.

  He smiled a little at the memory of Estella in cashmere and pearls, crawling around the ballroom floor making “Zoom! Zoom!” sounds with him.

  Music and conversation slid back into his awareness, and the memory was gone again. So was his taste for the whiskey. He handed it off to a passing waiter and noticed Malcolm chatting intimately with a woman. If there was any man who could strut into a new town, into a room full of strangers, and instantly make contact with a gorgeous woman, it was Malcolm Pettis.

  “Cheers,” he muttered, turning around to be confronted with the bar and its offerings. He considered switching from whiskey to vodka, then passed completely. What good would it do to temporarily numb his senses?

  Malcolm appeared at his elbow and asked the bartender for a cosmopolitan.

  “Don’t tell me you drink those,” Peyton said.

  “It’s for her.” Malcolm hitched his chin in the direction of the woman he’d been speaking with. “Before I forget. I’m heading out tomorrow, and wanted to make sure you got word on my next mission.”

  The fine hairs on the back of Peyton’s neck stood on end. “A mission? Where? When do you head out?”

  “Bangladesh. In February. I signed up for two months, but you never know.”

  Peyton nodded, and in this crowded, beautiful house, dressed in an impeccable tuxedo that made him look more like his father than himself, he felt stung with a sense of longing … envy. “I want to know more.”

  “All right, of course.” Malcolm slapped his shoulder good-naturedly. “Call you when I get back to Maryland after the holidays. Sound good?”

  Better than he knew.

  His friend left the bar to deliver the cosmopolitan and probably an original twist to an old pickup line, and Peyton remained where he was. Excitement and guilt were at war in his gut. Since finding out about his children, he’d put up a hell of a fight to be in Lucy’s life—and Valerie’s. Accepting a new mission would take him away from them.

  February. Nothing would happen until then. That gave him time to sort things out with his family, or at least find out if they could be sorted out.

  “Doctor Turner, you look handsome.”

  Peyton hadn’t intended to be rude, but he spent an entirely too-long moment staring with narrowed eyes at the blonde temptress in front of him.

  The woman shifted her weight from one foot to the other, making the sequins on her jolly red mini-dress shimmer under the ballroom light. “Are you all right?”

  “Do I know you?”

  “It’s me—Hope Fortune.” A season-appropriate jingle-bell laugh followed, and he knew it was her. He almost blurted “Wow!” but thankfully had the common sense to shut up. Still, he couldn’t get over how well his grandfather’s landscaper, the “Tasmanian devil,” cleaned up. “Lovely party, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Will there be dancing at a fancy shindig like this?”

  He dared to glance again at the short length of her dress. “Yeah,” he said again, cautiously, so close to advising her against it. The woman looked barely contained in that sequined thing.

  “Can’t wait. Have fun!” Then she turned and was swallowed up in the crush.

  Peyton ambled toward the foyer and almost bumped into someone when he heard a familiar voice say, “Sorry we’re crazy late.”

  Lucy stood in front of him, flanked by a small group. But he couldn’t see them. All he could see was his daughter, or a refined young woman who sounded a lot like his daughter. Her hair was done up in a complicated style, and she wore a strapless dress with a silver crushed velvet bodice and a skirt made of layers and layers of gauzy, frilly black fabric. Tulle, they called it. And she was wearing makeup, something soft around the eyes that brought out the blue-gray of her irises.

  This girl was the same one he’d first met dressed in hospital scrubs a
nd crying on her mother’s shoulder.

  His daughter. His Lucy.

  “You’re beautiful.” And all of a sudden he was wondering how many non-relation teenage boys were at this party.

  “Really?” She ducked her head, but there was a smile on her lips. “Oh, this is my BFF, Sarah, and her parents. Gramps said I could invite them.”

  He remembered all too well the girl with the broken arm and how her mother had shielded his daughter from him at the hospital months ago. But because tonight wasn’t about grudges, he greeted the family politely and added, “The ladybug couldn’t make it?”

  Sarah, whose arm was now free of its cast, said, “Megan’s with a sitter.”

  Though he’d planned to have a private minute with Lucy, he doubted he would now that she’d arrived with her school friend. So he reluctantly plucked the slim velvet box from the inside of his jacket and handed it over. “Merry, uh, early Christmas.”

  “Are you serious …?” Eyes wide, she opened the box and gasped at the diamond tennis bracelet inside. Then a look of nervousness or regret or shame dimmed the glow of excitement on her face. “I shouldn’t have this.”

  “You should,” he said firmly, removing the bracelet from the box and fastening it to her wrist. “It’s just a Christmas present from a father to his daughter.”

  “Thank you.” This time Lucy initiated a fist bump. “Totally honest—I love it.”

  I love you. “Glad to hear it.”

  After showing off the bracelet to her friend, she said, “Can Sarah and I hang out now? I got to ride with the Carews, but Mom and the others should be here in a few minutes.” At his blatantly skeptical look, she said, “I’m telling the truth.”

  Peyton nodded and Lucy grabbed her friend’s wrist, tugging her into the house and leaving the other girl’s parents to mingle on their own.

  In literally a few short minutes, Jack and Cordelia arrived, followed by Dinah and Valerie. He was outside when Valerie pulled her Chrysler into the spot along the circular drive that had been left reserved for her.