Samantha’s Cowboy

by Marin Thomas

  Dominick’s office reeked of wealth. Imported leather chairs, a mahogany desk and matching bookcases. Flat-screen TV on the wall and a minibar in the corner. A partially opened door revealed a private bathroom. The oil king motioned for Wade to sit.

  “Why wasn’t I informed about my daughter’s visit to Dawson Investments?” The man didn’t mince words.

  Wade wished Samantha would give up her rescue ranch so he’d be temporarily spared from exposing Dawson Investments’ negligence but at the same time he wanted her to succeed, even at the risk of losing his promotion at the firm. “Samantha came to our office on her thirty-second birthday—legally entitled to access any amount of money from her trust without your signature.”

  “I should have had that changed but I set up the account before the accident and never—” He stopped speaking abruptly and stared into space.

  “Sir?”

  “What’s done is done,” Dominick said. “Tell me how you propose to manage her withdrawals.”

  “There isn’t much to manage.” God’s honest truth.

  “You’re dolling out my hard-earned money blindly? What kind of a financial adviser are you?”

  Swallowing a curse, Wade explained. “When Samantha asked for large sums of cash to make several improvements to the Peterson property, I convinced her to focus on one project at a time, so that the remainder of her funds would continue to collect interest.”

  “I’m relieved to hear that. Ever since the accident, I’ve worried she’ll be taken advantage of.”

  What accident?

  “Sir, this project means a lot to your daughter. I’ll make sure she spends her money responsibly. In the end if the horse sanctuary doesn’t work out the property will be ready for a quick sale.”

  “You make a valid point. For now I’ll trust you to keep a close eye on her.”

  If Dominick only knew what a dangerous proposition that was.

  “When you have time I’d like you to send me a record of her withdrawals and where the money’s gone.” It was an order not a request.

  “Absolutely.” After viewing the security tape Wade would be able to come clean with Samantha and her father.

  “It’s good my daughter has you to look after her. Now that Matt and Duke have moved away she needs another big brother.”

  Ouch. Wade’s ego winced. No man appreciated being categorized as a harmless pup. “I’m managing her portfolio, sir, not her life.”

  The oil baron ignored Wade’s comment and shuffled through a stack of papers on his desk, in effect dismissing Wade.

  “Is there anything else, sir?”

  “No. I’m leaving my daughter’s affairs in your capable hands.”

  If Dominick had witnessed the way Wade had kissed Samantha yesterday he wouldn’t be leaving his daughter anywhere near Wade.

  Chapter Nine

  After three cups of Juanita’s kick-ass coffee, Sam drove away from the Lazy River filled with self-doubts and uncertainty about using her new ranch as a horse sanctuary—thanks to her recent nightmare.

  Last night she’d suffered a setback. Matt had always woken her before the nightmare escalated, but this time her protector hadn’t been there and Sam had screamed out loud. Her father had practically kicked in the bedroom door to get to her. Even after repeated attempts to reassure him she was fine, his face had remained pale and his hands had trembled as he’d rubbed her back.

  When he’d left her alone an hour later, Sam had sat on the edge of her bed and cried silent tears. Her accident years ago had not only changed her life forever but had affected the lives of everyone in her family, especially her father.

  For years she’d suffered nightmares, but she’d never considered that her father might be experiencing the same misery down the hall in his bedroom. Now she carried the burden of his fear along with her own as she embarked on this journey to put the past behind her.

  Was she doing the right thing or not? Would tackling her fears alleviate her father’s misgivings and concerns or increase them? Until the nightmare Sam hadn’t acknowledged that she’d gone into this undertaking halfheartedly. If she stuck with her plans to open a sanctuary ranch, then she had to throw herself behind the project one hundred percent. Even if no one else believed in her—she had to believe in herself if she intended to succeed.

  After her accident her father hadn’t left her hospital bedside, sleeping and showering in her private room until she’d awoken from her coma. During the long months of therapy that followed he’d been her loudest cheerleader. Each time she’d threatened to give up—and there had been many—he’d refused to allow her to quit.

  Doubts assailed Sam. She could give this ranch her all but that didn’t guarantee she had the skills or knowledge to deal with unexpected situations. Even though she intended to board the more docile horses from the SPCA how would she react if one of the horses went loco? Would she panic or remain calm enough to keep herself and the horse safe? Failing wasn’t an option. She refused to put herself and her father through all this stress only to give up in the end.

  She spotted the entrance to the Oklahoma SPCA equine center and shoved her worries to the back of her mind. After parking the truck next to the horse barn, she headed across the dirt lot, calling to the three mares grazing in a paddock.

  Nancy Parker stepped out of the office and waved. “Morning, Samantha.” Nancy was the head honcho for the equine center and had managed the facility for over fifteen years. Sam had shared her plans to open a sanctuary ranch with the manager months ago. Nancy had been the one to suggest that Sam work with horses under her supervision before she purchased the Peterson homestead.

  “How’s the ranch coming along?” Nancy led the way into the horse barn.

  “The paddocks are up. The well is dug. I’m waiting on a barn now.”

  “Great. I’d love for you to take Blue when you’re ready.” She stopped outside the gelding’s stall.

  Sam had worked with the horse several times and the animal had never made a threatening move toward Sam. “He’s such a gentle guy. Why hasn’t the SPCA found him a home yet?”

  “Too many scars. People want a pretty horse.”

  Blue had gotten tangled in a barbed wire fence and had fought so viciously to escape he’d almost killed himself. One ear had been severed and there were multiple scars crisscrossing his body as well as a huge chunk of muscle on his chest that had become infected and had to be cut away.

  “What you’re doing is really special, Samantha.” Nancy handed Sam a carrot to feed the horse. “I didn’t expect to find a foster home for Blue when he first arrived. I thought he’d be with us forever. Now he’ll be able to live out the rest of his years in comfort.”

  “Besides Blue, will the other horses I foster have a chance to be adopted?”

  “We’ll continue to evaluate each horse’s progress after they settle in at your ranch, then we’ll screen potential owners and bring them out to meet the animals. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  “What if I make a mistake handling the horses?” Sam hated that she sounded insecure.

  Nancy moved to the next stall where a pregnant mare munched on hay. “Having second thoughts?”

  “Maybe,” Sam admitted.

  After a solemn stare, Nancy said, “Did you know that your father used to be one of our biggest supporters?”

  “What do you mean, used to?”

  “After your accident, he stopped making donations to the SPCA.”

  That didn’t surprise Sam. The horse that kicked her in the head had been adopted from the SPCA. Sam’s father felt responsible for her accident since he’d given the horse to her for her sixteenth birthday. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

  “Is Dominick aware you’re working with SPCA horses?”

  “Yes.” Sam rushed on. “But he doesn’t like it.”

  “If my child had almost lost her life because of a horse, I’d want them to stay as far away from the animals as possible.” Nancy stopped at the last
stall in the barn and clicked her tongue. Red lifted his head from the feed bucket, snorted, then ignored them.

  “You have the financial means to foster horses and to renovate the Peterson property, but you have to be one hundred percent comfortable working with these animals. It would be irresponsible of me to hand over a horse if you’re not ready. I would never forgive myself if you were injured.”

  “I’m still nervous around horses, but I miss the special bond I had with these animals.” She sucked in a quiet breath. “Like Blue, I have to face my fears and learn to trust again.” Until I do, I’m no good to anyone.

  Nancy flashed a sympathetic smile. “You’ve made great strides since coming here. If you want, I’ll teach you a few tricks to help you relax around the horses. But I want your promise that if any of the horses give you trouble you’ll tell me.”

  The knot in Sam’s stomach loosened. “Promise.”

  “Great. I left a list of exercises I’d like Blue to do this morning. Why don’t you work with him on those.”

  “Sure.” Sam spent the next two hours saddling and unsaddling Blue. The horse never protested and she rewarded his patience with a carrot. After returning the saddle to the tack room Sam drove out to the Peterson property. She’d hired a local company to regrade the road leading to the farmhouse. Once a fresh layer of gravel was put down a construction crew would begin assembling the new horse barn. Thinking she’d better inform Wade about the roadwork scheduled for today, she dialed his cell number. He answered on the second ring.

  “Wade Dawson.”

  The sound of his deep voice teased a sigh from her heart. “Hi, Wade. It’s me, Sam.”

  “Samantha, how are you?”

  “Why don’t you call me Sam?”

  “I like Samantha. It’s sophisticated and elegant.”

  Talk about absurd—she was the farthest thing from sophistication and elegance.

  “How can I help you?” he asked.

  What was up with the Mr. Manners routine? “I figured you’d want to know that I hired a crew to regrade the road on the Peterson property.”

  Was that a groan she heard on the other end of the line?

  “Give me the name and phone number of the company. I’ll make sure they send the bill to my office.”

  Sam read off the number in her notebook. After an awkward silence she said, “That’s all I wanted to tell you. Have a good day.”

  “Sam, wait!”

  She smiled. “You called me Sam.”

  “Sorry. Slipup. Are you free for lunch?”

  “Today?” She held her breath.

  “I’d planned on paying off your account at Barney’s Ranch Supply in person.” He expelled a loud breath. “Since I’m driving all the way out there I wondered if you’d have lunch with me.”

  Like a teenager with her first crush, Sam’s pulse raced.

  “A business lunch,” he continued.

  Not a date? Her enthusiasm waned.

  “We need to discuss the next item on your ranch-improvement list after the road is fixed.”

  Great. “Let’s meet at Beulah’s. It’s a few miles south of Barney’s.”

  “How does one o’clock sound?” he asked.

  “Fine. See you then.” She hung up before he changed his mind.

  If Sam got lucky maybe their business lunch would end on a more personal note—a kiss.

  “EXCUSE ME, MR. DAWSON. The security tape arrived.” Veronica stood in the hall outside Wade’s office. How long had she eavesdropped on his conversation with Samantha? He motioned for her to come in and she slid a CD onto his desk.

  “Thank you.” The security company had promised the footage this past Monday. Two days late, Wade was eager to view the CD. He walked Veronica to the door. “If my uncle checks in with you this morning transfer him to my line.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Wade closed his office door, then inserted the CD into his computer drive. Not more than five minutes of viewing had passed before Wade’s mind wandered to Samantha. Sam. The nickname just didn’t seem to do her justice.

  He hadn’t intended to pay the bill at the ranch supply store in person—it was a waste of gas and time. If Sam hadn’t phoned him he’d have sent Barney a check in the mail. Hearing her voice moments ago reminded him how much he’d missed her this week. It didn’t matter how many times he told himself that becoming involved with Samantha on a personal level was a bad idea until he recovered her trust fund. Where Sam was concerned, Wade had no willpower.

  What the heck? Wade paused the CD, then rewound the footage and pressed Play. A man wearing khaki pants and a dark red golf shirt strolled through the lobby to the elevator bank. He stepped into the elevator and turned. As if Wade had been sucker punched, the air burst from his lungs.

  Uncle Charles. Had the old man used a phony ID to withdraw funds from Samantha’s account?

  His uncle exited the elevator at Dawson Investments, then waltzed through the doors before the screen went black. Three seconds later the security camera inside the office began recording. His uncle strolled down the hallway and entered Wade’s office.

  I’ll be damned.

  Five agonizing minutes of a blank screen—there were no security cameras in the individual offices—before his uncle returned to his own office. A few minutes later, Charles left the building.

  His uncle must have accessed the security codes for Samantha’s account from Wade’s files. Wade dialed his uncle’s cell phone and got his voice mail—par for the course. He left a message to call back ASAP. An hour passed and he hadn’t heard from his uncle. Fuming, Wade paced in front of his desk.

  All he’d ever wanted was to please his uncle. And how had the man chosen to repay Wade’s loyalty—by using him as a pawn in whatever financial scheme his uncle had become involved in. Wade prayed it wasn’t too late to recover Samantha’s money.

  Agitated, he grabbed his suit coat and left the office. At least he had lunch with Samantha to look forward to—the one bright spot in an otherwise miserable day.

  THE BELL ABOVE THE DOOR to Barney’s Ranch Supply clanged when Wade entered the building. He paused to allow his eyes to adjust to the dim interior. Dust particles danced in the stream of sunlight that entered the store with him. The place smelled of wood rot, old leather and manure.

  “Ya gonna shut the door or invite all the flies in?” a craggy voice asked.

  Wade closed the door, then maneuvered around tables of merchandise and clothing racks circa 1980s apparel. The warped floorboards popped beneath his shoes and mold spores tickled his nose.

  “You must be Barney,” Wade said, stopping next to the checkout counter where an old man slouched in a chair. An open bag of potato chips sat on the counter, its contents spilling across a pile of invoices, dotting the papers with grease stains. A fifth of Jim Beam and a can of Diet Coke sat next to the chips.

  Barney stood, then snapped his suspenders against his potbelly. “Watcha want with me?”

  “I’m Wade Dawson, Samantha Cartwright’s financial adviser.” He offered a hand and Barney offered greasy fingers.

  “Come to pay that gal’s bill?” The store’s proprietor brushed at the crumbs sticking to the front of his white cotton T-shirt.

  Wade turned his head and sneezed. “Excuse me.”

  “For what?” Barney grumbled, shuffling through the invoices on the counter.

  “For sneezing.” Wade’s nose twitched again, but he pinched his nostrils together to halt the sneeze.

  “What’s a matter? Do I stink?” Barney held out an invoice.

  “Allergies.” Wade squinted at the chicken scratch on the piece of paper. He didn’t see a dollar amount. “What are the total charges?”

  “Well, now, that depends.”

  Right then a black cat jumped off a shelf above Barney’s head and landed on top of the potato chip bag, scaring the crap out of Wade. The feline stretched out across the invoices, its tail swishing back and forth, knocking pieces of broken chi
ps to the floor.

  “Depends on what?” Wade asked.

  “On whether Sam meant to double her order of tools fer that new barn she’s puttin’ up at the Peterson place.”

  “What do you mean, double her order?”

  Barney rubbed his whiskered cheeks. “Sam called Monday ’n again yesterday orderin’ the same supplies. I reckon she’s confused.”

  Confused—what did that mean? “Hold off on the second order. I’ll check with Samantha when we meet for lunch today.”

  “Then ya owe me $6,012.15.”

  Wade handed him a certified check for seven thousand dollars.

  “Ain’t got but twenty dollars in the change drawer.”

  “Credit Samantha’s account with the rest.” From now on Wade intended to call in Samantha’s orders and deal directly with Barney.

  “I reckon ya’ll be wantin’ a receipt. Ya city folk’s gotta have everythin’ on paper.” Barney scribbled a note on the back of an old invoice, then shuffled through the mess on the counter until he uncovered a rubber stamp and ink pad. He pounded the stamp against the pad, then banged it on the paper. PAID stood out in bright red letters. “There’s yer receipt.”

  “Thank you.” Wade slipped the note into his pocket.

  “We done now?”

  “I need directions to Beulah’s.”

  “Got a hankerin’ fer pig’s feet, have ya?” At Wade’s frown, Barney added, “Beulah runs a special on Wednesdays—pickled pig’s feet.”

  Wade would not be sampling the special today. He set his business card beneath the cat’s swishing tail. “Call me if Samantha places another order and I’ll give you a credit card number over the phone.”

  “Don’t take credit cards.”

  Since when did a business not accept a credit card as payment?

  “You can leave a check with Sam or Millicent. They’ll get me the money.”

  “Millicent doesn’t drive.” The dowsing queen couldn’t see more than five feet in front of her.

  “Sure she does. Takes that old Bel-Air in the barn fer a spin every once ’n while.”