by Janet Dailey
“Bourbon if you’ve got it.” Prescott settled into an armchair that was angled toward Will.
“Nothing for me, thank you.” Lauren perched on the arm of the sofa like a bird about to take flight. Beau sensed that she was here under some duress and wanted nothing more than to get this visit over with. Sitting there with her long legs crossed in front of her as if to show off her hand-tooled designer boots, she made a fetching sight. When word got out that she was an heiress, her father would be fighting off suitors.
Prescott glanced toward his daughter as Beau handed him his drink. “Honey, I’ve got a bit of business to discuss with Will,” he said. “You’ll probably be bored. Maybe we could prevail on Beau to take you outside and show you around. I know you like horses. The Tylers have some of the finest animals in the state.”
He turned back to Will, as if assuming his wish would be carried out. Lauren shrugged, rose, and glanced expectantly at Beau.
Beau was curious about what the congressman had to discuss. He would have chosen to stay and listen. But escorting a pretty girl around the moonlit yard was hardly the most onerous job in the world. Putting on a smile, he offered her his arm and led her toward the front door.
“Enjoy.” As Prescott shot them a sly grin, Beau was struck by a thought.
Good Lord, could the old weasel be matchmaking?
Will studied Garn Prescott over the rim of his glass. The memory of his father’s hatred for old Ferg Prescott went as deep as Texas soil. Will had no love, let alone trust, for Ferg’s son—especially after seeing Garn drooling over Tori at the funeral. But these were new times, and in a changing world, cooperation was the only hope of gaining that canyon land back.
“So what can I do for you, Garn?” he asked.
“It’s like you to get right to the point, Will.” Prescott was beginning to show his age. His silvery hair was thinning on top and his skin was speckled with sunspots. How old was he? Fifty-four? Fifty-five? Too old for Tori, that was for damned sure, Will thought.
Prescott took a sip of his bourbon and licked his lips. “As you know, I’m running for reelection.”
“I’m aware of that,” Will said. “And I’m aware that you’ve won the past eight elections by a landslide. Is there any reason to worry this time around?”
Prescott stretched his legs in front of himself. His cowboy boots were immaculate—definitely not the boots of a working rancher. “It’s not so much about the election as the nomination,” he said. “The conservative wing of the party’s growing. There’s talk of squeezing me out in favor of a candidate who’ll voice their views. You know I’ve always stood up for the ranchers, Will.”
“I know. That’s why I’ve voted for you.” Will could guess where this was leading.
“This time around I’m going to need more than your vote.”
“Want to be more specific?”
“The Tylers have a lot of prestige in this district. A public endorsement could make a big difference. So could a cash contribution if you can spare it.”
Will’s fingers stroked the surface of the cut glass. “And what’s in it for me, besides having a friend in Congress?”
“Isn’t that enough?” Prescott looked surprised. As usual, he’d expected something for nothing.
Will shook his head. “You can have my support, Garn, but in return, I want you to right an old wrong. Thirty years ago, my father was forced to sell your father a piece of ranch property—that little canyon with the spring. Do you know the place I mean?”
“Yes. The one with the Spanish gold.”
“Which your father never found. I want to buy it back—for a fair price that you can keep as my contribution to your campaign. Sell it to me, and you’ll get my public endorsement as well.”
Prescott downed the rest of his bourbon. “Sorry, Will, but I can’t do that. The syndicate—”
“No excuses. I checked the records. The land is yours, not the syndicate’s. It’s too steep for cattle. You don’t need the water, and we both know the gold was nothing but a tall tale. So why not let me buy it back? That way we both get what we want.”
The congressman sighed in regret. “It’s not that simple. On his deathbed my father made me promise that I would keep that land in the family. That’s why the syndicate doesn’t own it.”
Will suppressed the urge to swear out loud. He should have expected something like this. Either Ferg Prescott had locked down that land to spite the Tylers or he’d still believed the Spanish gold was there, maybe both.
The two men sat in silence for a moment, both of them pondering. “There has to be some way around this,” Will said.
“What does it matter?” Prescott demanded. “If the land’s as worthless as you say it is, why in blazes do you want to buy it?”
“To get it back in the family. It’s the only piece of the ranch that’s ever been sold.”
“So it’s the principle of the thing?”
“More or less. But if you can’t—or won’t—budge on it, you and I have nothing more to say to each other. You’ll get my vote as usual, and that’s it.”
Prescott appeared to be studying his manicured nails. “I’d sell it to you in a minute, Will, but my hands are tied. You do have access to a legal expert. Maybe I could ask Tori—”
“Leave Tori out of this!” Will snapped.
“All right.” Prescott exhaled slowly. “There might be another way, if you’d be willing to make a long-range bet.”
“On what?” Will was instantly suspicious.
Prescott glanced toward the front door, where Beau and Lauren had exited earlier. “Your brother’s a bachelor with half interest in your ranch. And I have a beautiful, spirited daughter with a great deal to offer a man. What would you say to giving me your support in exchange for my promise that, when Lauren marries, I give her that little canyon as a wedding gift?”
CHAPTER 8
Freed from her father’s stifling influence, Lauren Prescott had turned out to be a pleasant surprise. She was smart, spunky, and opinionated, with a razor-edged wit. Beau, who’d had mixed feelings about entertaining the congressman’s daughter, found himself actually enjoying her.
“Will you be staying long?” he asked as they strolled across the yard toward the barn.
“That depends.” She sidestepped around some horse droppings. “I have a brand-new business and accounting degree from the University of Maryland, and I’m anxious to put it to use. The trouble is, the places where I’ve applied all want experience.”
“Can’t the congressman help you out, maybe pull a few strings?”
“Oh, please!” She shot him a disgusted glance. “It’s not that he hasn’t offered. But I want to make it on my own, not because I’m Garn Prescott’s baby girl. It was my idea to come here and work in the ranch’s main office for a few months, just to have something to put on my résumé.”
“I’m guessing that was fine with your father.”
“Oh, Daddy was glad to have me come. But now that I’m here, he wants to put me on display and auction me off to the highest bidder.”
“Since slavery was outlawed after the Civil War, I take it you’re talking about an advantageous marriage. Yes?”
She tossed her coppery hair. “Yes—advantageous for him, at least. Why do you think he brought me here tonight—and pushed you into taking me for a stroll? He’s got two rich, handsome, unmarried ranchers right here—one of whom might even help him get reelected! Bang the gavel! Who wants to start the bidding?”
Beau studied the stubborn set of her jaw. What she was suggesting was outrageous. But Garn Prescott was a man who used people at every turn. Why should he stop at using his own daughter?
He masked his dismay with a laugh. “Lauren Prescott, you’re terrible!”
“No, just honest.”
He steered her toward the barn where the mares and foals were kept. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re safe here. Will’s almost old enough to be your father, and I’m not t
hat far behind. As for being rich, our wealth is in the land, not in the bank. Like most of the family ranchers in these parts, we’re struggling to hang on to what we’ve got.” He paused as a sudden thought struck him. “But I do have a proposition for you, if you’ll hear me out.”
“A proposition?” She threw him a hoydenish look. “Now that sounds interesting!”
“Not that interesting, I’m afraid. But if you’d like to add another line to your résumé, I could use your part-time help setting up an online spreadsheet for our ranch.”
She made a little musing sound. “Tell me more.”
Beau dramatized a groan. “Where do I begin? The records were a mess when I took them over from Will. I’ve done my best to get them caught up on the computer, but I need some kind of system to make the job easier going forward. Trouble is, with Will recovering and Sky off scouting new colts—”
“Sky?” She stopped, as if the name had caught her off guard.
“Our resident horse whisperer. You’ll meet him if you spend anytime here.”
“He sounds interesting. Maybe he can teach me a thing or two about horses.”
“Maybe. Are you a rider?”
“Not Western. Growing up in Maryland, I competed in dressage and jumping.”
They were walking once more, their shadows long across the moonlit yard. A nightjar zigzagged low in its search for insects, its wings slicing the darkness.
“So what about my offer?” Beau asked.
“How soon would you need me?”
“Yesterday, if possible. But I’ve managed to blunder along so far. It can wait if you need time to settle in to your real job.”
“I’ll give it some thought,” she said. “For the first couple of weeks, I’ll need to focus on the work at our ranch. But after that, if I have time and need a break—”
“You will need a break, I’m betting. And when you do, the welcome mat will be out.” Beau opened the stable door. “Come meet the ranch’s new little superstar.”
Switching on the low light, he ushered her down the row of roomy stalls toward the one that housed Lupita and Tesoro. The barn had been cleaned, but not well. Wisps of dirty straw littered the floor, and the air smelled of stale manure. Beau swore silently. Lute again. He was going to have to come down hard on him or even kick his lazy butt off the ranch.
Lauren gasped with delight as the stall door opened. Tesoro stood in a shaft of light, gleaming like a newly minted gold coin. The foal was growing fast. Thanks to Erin’s loving attention, he was as friendly as a puppy and more than a little spoiled. When Lauren knelt in the straw, he scampered over and butted her with his head, demanding to be petted.
“Oh, he’s precious!” She stroked the plush baby coat. “Would you consider selling him? I’ll bet I could talk Daddy into buying him for me.”
“Tesoro’s not for sale at any price,” Beau said. “He belongs to Will’s daughter, and she wouldn’t take a million dollars for him.”
“Lucky girl! I don’t blame her!” Lauren continued to fondle the foal, cooing and murmuring little endearments. Only then did Beau happen to glance back and notice the mare.
Lupita was huddled against the rear of the stall, her head down, her sides and belly distended as if they’d been pumped full of air. Beau could hear the rumbling in her gut and smell the explosive passing of gas. He was no expert, but having grown up on the ranch, he recognized colic when he saw it. The sick mare was in life-threatening danger.
Lauren was staring at him, her eyes wide with worry. Evidently she understood enough to know what was wrong. “Run back to the house,” Beau told her. “Tell Will to call the vet. He’ll have her number.”
As Lauren raced out of the barn, Beau found a halter, slipped it over the mare’s head, and attached a lead. Taking care to keep clear of Tesoro, he led her out of the stall and closed the gate. The foal would be distressed without his mother, but for now that couldn’t be helped.
Natalie’s business card, with her phone number, was thumbtacked to the gate of the stall. Beau had his cell and could have called her himself, but the last thing she needed was to have Slade hear his voice on the phone. Better that Will make the call.
Gripping the halter, he urged Lupita forward, walking her along the row of stalls toward the far end of the barn. Keep her moving. Until Natalie could get here, that was the only way to ease the miserable bloat and help her pass gas. The ranch couldn’t lose this young mare.
Growing up, Beau had seen two horses die from colic, and several others recover after getting their stomachs pumped. The ailment was most often caused by food fermenting in the digestive tract, creating blockage and copious amounts of gas that could rupture the intestine. The best chance of saving a horse was to catch the problem early.
Sky, who had a sixth sense about such things, would have noticed the mare’s distress at once. Beau was lucky to have caught it at all. Lupita would have died before morning. She could still die if Natalie didn’t get here soon.
As he was turning the mare at the end of the barn, Lauren rushed in to tell him that Will had reached the vet and she was on her way. “Daddy wants to leave now,” she said. “He’s in a black mood. I’m guessing he and your brother had words. Sorry I can’t stay and help.”
“You’ve helped already.” Beau might have said more, but the congressman was honking the horn outside. For an elected official, the man had the manners of a jackass.
With an apologetic roll of her eyes, Lauren fled, leaving Beau alone. Time crawled as he walked the mare up and down along the row of stalls.
Natalie bailed out of her SUV and raced around the vehicle to get her equipment from the back. Two buckets, a length of surgical tubing, a small siphon pump, and a bottle of mineral oil—she could only hope that nothing else would be needed. Some cases of colic required surgery—a horrific prospect. She’d brought what she needed just in case. But she wouldn’t think about that possibility unless she had to.
A thread of light told her the barn door was ajar. Arms full, she shouldered it open and almost stumbled into Beau. He was gripping the mare’s halter, his face a study in relief.
A swift glance around the barn confirmed that they were alone. Being here with him was as risky as walking on quicksand. But she had a job to do, and her feelings toward the man who’d broken her heart couldn’t be allowed to interfere.
“How’s the mare doing?” Natalie forced herself to ignore the rapid flutter of her pulse.
His eyes revealed nothing. Neither did his voice. “I’ve been walking her, but she’s still in trouble.”
“And her foal?”
“In the stall. Aside from wanting his mother, he’s fine. Thank you for coming, Natalie.”
Even the sound of her name on his lips triggered a rush of emotion. She turned away, avoiding his eyes. “It’s my job. Let’s get it done.”
The stall nearest the door was kept empty for emergencies like this one. To keep the mare in place, Beau used a light rope to cross-tie her halter to steel rings on either side. The smaller of the two buckets was filled with heated water Natalie had brought in an insulated jug from her house.
“Can you hold her by yourself?” she asked Beau.
“She should be fine. She’s a calm one.”
“Then let’s do it.” Natalie pulled on a pair of surgical gloves. Intubating a fully conscious horse through the nose was a delicate process, but if done carefully enough, it wasn’t painful. Beau stood to one side of the mare’s head, holding her steady while Natalie did her work.
“Amazing,” he murmured. “I remember when you used to get wobbly at the sight of blood. How many times have you done this?”
“More than I care to count. Now let’s see what this lady’s been eating . . . Oh, good grief!” She gasped in dismay as the mare’s last meal poured out of the tube into the bucket. “Grain! Enough to fill her whole stomach! No wonder she’s bloated! Who fed her last?”
A muscle twitched in Beau’s cheek. “Somebody w
ho’s going to be hauled out and fired first thing tomorrow!”
“Did you check the other mares?”
A muscle along his jaw jumped in anger. “If they’ve had that much grain, too, we’ve got a disaster on our hands! I’ll check them as soon as you’re done with Lupita.”
“We could be here all night.” Natalie finished flushing Lupita’s stomach and gave her a dose of mineral oil to soothe her digestive tract. The mare was already responding. The bloating had lessened, easing her distress. “Good girl,” Natalie murmured, her free hand stroking the mare as she pulled out the tube. “Such a good girl.”
Beau moved off to check the other mares. Minutes later he was back. “They’re fine. Nothing but hay in their feeders.”
“So why would this mare have been given grain instead of hay?”
Beau’s jaw tightened. “I don’t know. But when I find out, there’ll be hell to pay.”
The foal was pushing against the stall gate, making frantic little whimpering sounds. The mare lifted her head and nickered an urgent reply. “We can take her back now,” Natalie said. “But we need to stay and watch her at least until that mineral oil works its magic.”
While Beau led the mare back to her stall, Natalie began cleaning up, bagging the used tubing, rinsing the buckets, and stripping off her gloves.
“Does Slade know where you are?” Beau came out of the mare’s stall, leaving the gate ajar.
“He’s on the road.” And he won’t be back till tomorrow night. She bit back the last words, fearing that Beau might read more into them than she meant.
“He hasn’t given you any trouble, has he?”
She made a show of fitting the siphon pump neatly inside one of the rinsed buckets so she wouldn’t have to meet the probe of his gaze.
“No, he hasn’t. Not that it’s any of your business.”
His hand gripped her arm, pulling her around to face him. “He made it my business when he warned me to stay away from you and threatened to beat you to a pulp if I didn’t.” He issued the words in a low growl, all the while his gaze searching for any sign of bruising, old or new.
