by Paula Graves
As long as she stayed away from Trevor Lewis, she should be just fine.
STACY HAD ASSUMED she could ask Cory to take her and Zachary out riding on Wednesday afternoon, but the stable manager wasn’t there when she walked Zachary down that afternoon. Only Trevor and a couple of other grooms were around.
“The governor and her daughters wanted to check out the south pasture,” Trevor explained. “They came here about a half hour ago and wanted Cory to show them the improvements he was making to that area, since they’re thinking of adopting several shelter horses out of the Houston SPCA. They want to make sure we have enough places for them to roam safely.”
“Well, that’s okay. I can stay today, so I’ll take Zachary riding myself.”
Trevor returned the stall rake to the tool rack on the barn wall. “I’m about to clock out, so I’ll come with.”
Apprehension fluttered through Stacy’s stomach. “That’s not really necessary. I’m sure you have better things to do with your afternoon.”
“Nope, not a thing.” Trevor grinned at Zachary. “Ready to help me saddle up Alamo?”
“Alamo is an Appaloosa,” Zachary told Stacy, tugging her hand for her to follow him to a nearby stall. He looked up at the horse standing at the stall door, beaming. “Alamo’s spotting pattern is a blanket with spots pattern,” he told her, lifting his arms for her to pick him up. She had to hold on tight as he lurched toward the horse, petting the animal’s dark nose.
“You’ve been reading up on your Apps, haven’t you?” Trevor ruffled Zachary’s hair. “Let’s get Alamo saddled up.”
“He looks awfully big,” Stacy said as Trevor brought the gelding out of the stall. He wasn’t a particularly tall horse, but his shoulders were wide and powerful, and his rump was even larger, with thick, muscular hindquarters that marked him as a quarter horse. “Are you sure this is the horse Zachary should ride?”
“Ah, he can handle old Alamo. Can’t you, Zachary?”
“Let’s go!” Zachary wriggled from Stacy’s grasp and hopped to the ground, running over to pat the Appaloosa’s shoulder.
She knew that the horse’s wild-eyed look was typical of Appaloosa horses, but she couldn’t tamp down a bubble of panic rising in her throat. “Zachary, maybe we should wait until another day to ride-”
“Mommy, I promised!” Zachary’s voice rose dangerously.
“Okay,” she said quickly, wishing Harlan were here to talk to. She felt pushed, trapped by the constant threat of a Zachary meltdown and Trevor Lewis’s breezy confidence that Zachary could handle anything Alamo could hand him.
Trevor chose a friendly palomino mare named Delta for Stacy, while he saddled up Soldado, a feisty chestnut gelding, for himself. “We’ll take it at a walk until we reach the east pasture, then we can let them canter a bit.”
“I’m not sure Zachary’s ready for cantering.”
Trevor met her nervous gaze with a smile. “Relax, Mom. Zachary’s been cantering for a couple of weeks. Alamo is an easy ride, and Zachary’s doing great with him.”
She had to admit her son’s physical coordination was better than a lot of aspie children. Charlotte attributed it to the physical therapy Stacy had started Zachary on once the Asperger’s syndrome was diagnosed.
“I’d just prefer he keep it to a walk.”
“Horses like to run,” Zachary said with a tug of the reins, expertly guiding Alamo through the stable door and out into the yard. “I have to let him run. I promised.”
She was going to have to have a long talk with Zachary about making promises.
HE WAS JUST MAKING UP an excuse to see Stacy, Harlan knew, but he told himself it was concern for her and Zachary that drove him back to the ranch around three. A car accident on the highway that bordered Twin Harts Ranch slowed him down, delaying his arrival, so he bypassed the main house and drove directly down the access road to the stable, stopping to ask the guard at the checkpoint if he’d seen Stacy and Zachary.
“They left about five minutes ago with one of the grooms.”
“I thought they were going with Cory Miller.”
The guard shook his head. “Miller took the governor and her daughter to see one of the lower pastures that’s been reclaimed. Ms. Giordano went with one of the younger grooms.”
The first hint of alarm fluttered in Harlan’s gut. “Do you know which one?” But even before the guard answered, Harlan knew what he’d say.
The guard checked the sign-in sheet. “It was Lewis. Trevor Lewis.”
Chapter Fourteen
The sweet-natured palomino, Delta, was a comfortable ride, though Stacy was sure she’d be sore in the morning. It had been a while since she’d been riding, but the walk to the east pasture was a pleasant reminder of one part of her life she’d left behind when she became a time-consuming combination of Zachary’s mother and Lila Lockhart’s aide-de-camp.
She’d grown up riding horses in Arkansas-some of her father’s rescues had required him to be able to travel by horseback, so he’d bought a couple of strong, reliable packhorses and kept them in a barn behind their house.
Though Jupiter and Mars had been friendly, dependable trail mounts, they loved to be run. Stacy was one of their favorite people, because they knew that, more often than not, when she saddled them up she was going to let them run like the wind across the pastureland behind the family home.
“See? He’s a natural,” Trevor called, nodding toward Zachary, who was handling Alamo with more confidence than Stacy had expected. He rode ahead and settled next to Zachary. “Ready to show your mom what you can do, cowboy?”
Zachary beamed at Stacy, his joyous look making her heart skip a beat. But before she could even smile back, Trevor gave Alamo’s rump a light slap and the horse kicked into a canter.
“Trevor, have you lost your mind?” She gave the palomino a quick tap of her riding boot to urge her forward. If the Appaloosa gelding decided to break into a gallop, Zachary could be hurt or even killed.
“Let the boy be a boy!” Trevor turned his horse into her path, forcing the palomino to pull up.
“Get out of my way!” Stacy pulled the palomino to the left to ride around Trevor.
Trevor blocked her again, laughing. “Stop being such a mother, Stacy! Let him have fun! He knows what he’s doing-”
“Damn it, Trevor, get the hell out of my way!” She whipped Delta’s reins to the right and sent her into a gallop, flying past Trevor. He grabbed for the reins but she kicked out at him, catching him in the thigh, and he wasn’t able to stop her.
Zachary was over fifty yards ahead of her now, holding on to the back of the galloping Appaloosa like a baby monkey clinging to its mother. Stacy couldn’t tell if he was in control or not, and she hadn’t gone ten yards before Trevor caught up with her, reaching again for the reins.
“Will you stop fighting me?” he called out, flashing her a confident grin as he snagged the reins to slow her horse. “Zachary’s tougher than you think. You don’t have to baby him all the time. You put so much time in mothering him, you don’t even seem to remember you’re a beautiful, vibrant woman!”
She stared at him, stunned by his gall and appalled by the accompanying compliment. “Are you even listening to yourself?”
Trevor’s grin widened. “You’re so sexy when you’re angry. Did you know that?”
Her skin crawling, she jerked at the reins, trying to regain control. “You don’t know me well enough to say any of these things to me.”
His grin faded, but he held on to the reins. Stacy looked away frantically, trying to keep an eye on Zachary, who was racing farther and farther from where she was struggling with Trevor.
“Let go of those reins or I will tell the governor about your insubordination.”
His eyes narrowed to slit. “Insubordination? That’s how you see me, isn’t it? Just some lowlife shoveling horse crap for a living. Right?” He laughed, but the sound was anything but humorous. “You don’t know anything about me, Stacy.
And if you want to tattle, go ahead. I don’t need this job.”
He still held the reins. Stacy gave a tug. “Let go.”
He tugged the reins tighter, pulling their horses together until his leg and Stacy’s almost touched. “Does the governor know how often you bring Zachary riding?”
She gritted her teeth. “Let. Go.” She kicked her horse, hoping Delta’s strength would wrench the reins from Trevor’s hands before she had to resort to something more violent.
The ploy worked momentarily, and she and the mare thundered across the pasture, heading north to try to cut off Zachary and the Appaloosa, which had started to curve back around as they neared the outer edge of the pasture, where the land began to rise subtly.
But in seconds, she heard hoofbeats drumming toward her, catching up fast. “Does she know, Stacy?” Trevor called after her. “Does she know how hard the job is for you?”
She felt his hand touch her elbow, grabbing for her. He tugged sharply, and she clamped her knees around the horse, trying to keep her seat as he pulled her off balance.
Suddenly, he let go. She heard the sound of a scuffle behind her, and even her fear for Zachary couldn’t keep her from looking back to see what had happened.
She saw Harlan on the ground, holding Trevor down on his face, his arms pulled behind him to subdue him. Nearby, a black horse danced and snorted, eager for more action.
“Go!” Harlan said urgently, and she turned and goaded the mare into a flat-out run.
Alamo was still running a half circle around the edge of the pastureland, galloping with all the joy and power of a young, healthy horse given his head. She feared Zachary would fall from the saddle at any moment, but when she reached the gelding and caught his reins, Zachary was laughing with wild joy.
“Did you see me, Mommy? Did you?” Zachary threw himself into her waiting arms, almost overbalancing her. He wrapped his arms and legs around her as tightly as he’d wrapped them around the horse. “Alamo ran like the wind, Mommy. Like the wind!”
She buried her face in his neck, fighting tears of relief.
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, there’s no reason to hold him?” Harlan stared at Jeff Appleton, stunned. “How about child endangerment, for starters?”
“Zachary is fine.” Appleton looked regretful but resigned. “And since Stacy doesn’t want to press charges-”
“What?” Harlan shook his head. “No way.”
“It’s my word against his.” Stacy’s voice sent a dart of awareness shooting through him, as if his whole body was becoming acutely attuned to her-her voice, her expression, the way she always smelled good, like a light breeze on a warm spring day. At the moment, she was all stony determination, the muscle in her jaw tight and twitching. “And this kind of mess is the last thing the governor needs now.”
“I have to go process Lewis out of here.” Jeff gave Harlan another apologetic look and headed down the sheriff’s station hallway, leaving Harlan and Stacy alone in the corridor.
“Stacy, that guy could have gotten Zachary killed.”
Her eyes flashing, she spoke through gritted teeth. “Don’t you think I know that? Believe me, I’m not going to let Zachary go anywhere near Trevor Lewis again. But Jeff said Trevor’s talking about pressing assault charges against you-”
“That’s bull-the guy was trying to manhandle you.”
“The governor and Greg think-”
“Greg.” Harlan spat the name, glad that the governor and her smarmy campaign manager were nowhere nearby. “I know the guy’s supposed to be some sort of political genius, but he shouldn’t be facilitating that creep’s attempted blackmail.”
Stacy put her hand on Harlan’s arm. Even blazing with anger, he wasn’t immune to the feel of her fingers on his skin, his flesh quivering where she touched him. “The party is tomorrow night. That’s our priority. After that, the governor and I can talk about finding other reasons to fire Trevor Lewis. Ironclad reasons he can’t use to smear her in the press.”
“He threatened that, too?”
Stacy’s lips pressed to a thin line. “Let’s just go home. I have a ton of work to do.” Her expression softened, her lips curving. “And I believe you promised you’d watch Zachary for me.”
He let his own anger drain away, making the effort to do as she asked-table any thoughts about Trevor Lewis until after the fundraiser. He’d already put Trevor at the top of the background checklist-if the CSI team found anything that showed Trevor was a real threat to the governor or Stacy and Zachary, they’d call him immediately.
Besides, she’d just suggested they go home, and he liked the warm, tingling feeling the word gave him when she said it.
“Okay. Where’s the little cowpoke?”
Stacy smiled. “Sitting on Sheriff Hale’s desk, telling him how to tell the difference between an Appaloosa and a dapple.”
That’s my boy, Harlan thought, grinning as he followed her down the hall to the sheriff’s office.
“ZACHARY, WE HAVE TO be very quiet. Your mama’s working.”
Harlan’s voice trailed down the hall from Zachary’s room, making Stacy look up from her paperwork and smile. They’d eaten an early supper and Harlan, true to his word, had coaxed Zachary to play with him in Zachary’s room, leaving Stacy free to finish up the last-minute calls and arrangements she had to make for the fundraiser.
“She’s always working.” Zachary’s plaintive voice carried even farther than Harlan’s, sending a little arrow of guilt straight through Stacy’s heart.
“I know. She works very hard,” Harlan agreed. “And do you know why?”
“No.”
Harlan’s laugh echoed Stacy’s soft chuckle at her son’s answer. “She does it so you can go riding and go to school and learn what Miss Charlotte teaches you. And so you can depend on there always being hot dogs on hot dog night-”
“Tonight was peanut butter and jelly night.”
“I know. And your mother works hard so she can buy your peanut butter.”
“I don’t like crunchy peanut butter.”
“Well, good,” Harlan said with a chuckle. “That way, there’ll be more for me.”
Zachary laughed at Harlan’s joke, catching Stacy by surprise. Zachary almost never knew when to laugh at other people’s jokes. But somehow, Harlan had broken through to him for that one small moment. Stacy blinked back the sudden sting of tears.
“See, some people have to do stuff they don’t like to do in order to be able to do the stuff they do like to do,” Harlan explained.
“Why?”
Harlan laughed again. “I’ve been asking that question since I was a little kid like you.”
Zachary sounded incredulous. “Wow. That’s a long time!”
Stacy smiled, trying to picture Harlan’s expression in response to her son’s honest if unflattering comment.
“Yeah, I reckon it is,” Harlan conceded. “And, best I can tell, the only answer to that question is, that’s just how things work.”
“I don’t like that answer.” Stacy could picture the look of disapproval on her son’s face just by the tone of his voice.
“Yeah, me either,” Harlan agreed. “So, come on, Zachary, my man-where did we leave Beauty?”
A few minutes of reading later, Zachary’s murmuring narration slowed and finally stopped. Stacy smiled at the silence; Zachary had fallen asleep in the middle of reading, as he often did.
After a couple of minutes more, Harlan emerged from the bedroom, looking a little rumpled but smiling. “He reads better than half the guys in my platoon.”
“He fell asleep?”
“And right in the middle of an exciting part, too.” He wandered around the living room for a few seconds in fidgety silence before he finally edged over to where she sat and looked down at her.
“What?” she asked, laying down her pen.
“I wish you’d reconsider pressing charges against Trevor Lewis.” Harlan crouched beside her desk, his dark eyes intense and serious.
“He has more cause to press charges against you than I have to press them against him.” She turned her chair to face him. “I don’t like the idea that he wins this round, either, but I’ve learned in this business, you have to pick your battles.”
“I hate politics,” he growled, pushing to his feet and walking a few feet away. “Politics get in the way of getting things done.”
“Politics help you enact the policies that get things done,” she countered, though the words sounded hollow even to her own ears. So much of what she’d believed her entire life had been challenged over the past few years.
“Maybe in the big picture sense. Maybe.” He crossed back to her, his expression passionate. “I get why there are rules. Hell, I was a Marine. I also get why you have to try to do the best thing possible for the most people involved. I do. But when you’re the guy who falls between the cracks as a result-” He clamped his mouth shut, turning away once more.
“We’re not talking about what happened with Trevor anymore, are we?” She walked over to where he stood at her front window. Outside, night had fallen in earnest, only pale moon glow tempering the inky gloom.
He angled his gaze to meet hers. “Not entirely.”
“You fell through the cracks?”
“Probably not an apt term.” He flexed his right hand.
She caught his hand in hers, turning it over to look at the network of ragged scars marring the skin. “Does it still hurt?”
“Just aches sometimes.” His voice deepened. “Probably the scar tissue pulling or something. There’s a bit of nerve damage, so I don’t have full feeling in that hand.”
The temptation to kiss the center of his scarred palm nearly overwhelmed her. “What did you do in the Marines?”
“Worked hard. Tried not to get killed. Pretty much what every other guy in a uniform did in Iraq.” His lips curved in a self-protective grin. “Sort of like motherhood, huh?”
She returned the smile. “Yeah. But it’s worth it.”
