“I’ve never heard of such a crazy thing.”
“Crazy, but it works.”
Nothing demonstrated that better than the plush vehicle they rode in. Both the interior and exterior were beige, and she wasn’t certain, but she was pretty sure the seat had a heater in it—either that or she was about thirty years too early for menopause. She was lucky to make ends meet from month to month. Being self-employed didn’t make things easy. She would never be able to afford a vehicle like Vivian’s. Never.
“How do they know that you’re not helping him?”
“An independent auditor reviews Wes’s financial information on a yearly basis. We have to be very careful about how I pay him.”
“Wes told me you wanted him to buy some of your yearlings.”
“Yes, but at fair market value. Where he would have had the advantage was first pick. I would have made sure he’d get a winner, but he’s not much for horse racing. Horse raising, as in breeding and breaking the colts, yes, but he’s never been much for the sport of kings.”
She knew why, too. It was a tough sport. The Landons raised quarter horses—sprinters—but it was no easier on legs and young bodies than Thoroughbred racing. Tough to watch if you had a soft heart, as Wes did. Clearly, his mother felt differently, which just went to show that despite their similarities in looks, they were different in other ways. It didn’t make Vivian a bad person. Jillian had been around the sport long enough to know that some wonderful people bred horses for the track. Vivian was an example of that with her offer to help CEASE and then her suggestion that they use her house.
“It’s why we only ever had one child. Don’t get me wrong. We had a hell of a time conceiving Wes, but by the time he was born, there were all types of new procedures. We could have done it had we really wanted to. It just seemed...simpler this way.”
She meant it would keep the infighting from happening. One child meant one heir. Easy.
“Wes tells me if he fails, most of the money will go to charity foundations.”
“It will, and then some of it to his uncles. It’s a convoluted mess, but I’ve told Wes he’ll always be taken care of. I have plenty of money of my own. Money I earned for myself and that isn’t part of the estate. I was an activist before I met Wes’s dad. The Landon family has oil interests off the coast of California. I met him when our group tried to vandalize his office.”
She couldn’t be serious. But a glance at Vivian’s face revealed she was. She couldn’t keep her mouth from dropping open.
“What can I say? I was young and wild and free. I was also headstrong and opinionated. When I met Edward he could have had me arrested, but he didn’t. Instead, he asked me out on a date and—pfft—I was done.” She shot her a dreamy smile. “Edward encouraged me to get my degree, so I did. Spent my twenties and thirties consulting and making more money than I ever needed. Eventually, we had Wes, but it was late in life. I worried he’d grow up spoiled being an only child, but he’s the joy of my life. When Edward died...”
Even in profile her face took on a look of such profound sadness it sickened Jillian’s heart. It was always that way with her. She seemed to feel others’ emotions far more acutely than most people.
“I’m sorry.” Jillian didn’t know what else to say even though the words seemed so inadequate.
“It’s okay.” She could tell Vivian had to force a smile. “Fortunately, Wes lives with me on the farm. He’s been my rock for the past two years, which is why I hate to see him so troubled.”
Yet he still kept a smile on his face. He still worked toward his goals, still kept his head down and did what he needed to do—like this weekend’s competition. He didn’t let this latest nonsense with Maxine interfere with his goals. If anything, it made him more determined than ever—for Maggie’s sake. She could see it in his eyes.
A woman would be lucky to have a man like that.
Chapter Sixteen
The competition was held at a private ranch, and Jillian could tell immediately that the place was every bit as much a showpiece as Landon Farms.
Surrounded by green pastures and brown wooden fences, it had a Western feel thanks to the Spanish oaks in the distance and an adobe ranch house with a terracotta roof. Those oaks dotted the landscape, although this time of year the leaves had just begun to sprout, the limbs casting shadows on the ground. Shelters had been painted white and brown. They matched the color scheme of a state-of-the-art metal barn the size of a small office complex. On either side of it were covered arenas. Trailers and trucks and portable stalls filled an area as big as two football fields. As they drove through the entrance marked by giant boulders, she noted the name: Rambling Rose Ranch. She saw the reason for the name as they drove toward the parking/stabling area in the back. Climbing roses covered the fences on either side of the road. She would bet it smelled fantastic in the summer, although a few obstinate blooms still clung to the vines.
“Nice place.”
Coming from the woman who owned a farm that could rival anything she’d ever seen in Kentucky, that was quite a compliment. “It is beautiful.”
“Wes said he’s in barn H.”
Most horse competitions operated in the same manner. They always had a show office. Always row after row of single-story portable stalls, about twenty of them in a line, and all of them made out of metal frames covered by wood siding. Horses were being led, ridden, washed, groomed, clipped or readied in a host of other assorted ways, all in preparation for the competition, which looked to have already started.
“When does Wes go?”
Vivian found a spot along the fence line to park. “He told me around noon.”
They had almost two hours. She glanced around, trying to spot the letters on the sides of the stalls. They’d parked by A barn. Looked as if they’d have a bit of a hike.
“He’s in stall 45.”
It smelled like wet earth and horses, two of her favorite things in life. The ground had been trod by hundreds of hooves, half-moon shapes stamped into the dirt. It was funny, though. As she walked toward the stalls, her stress level escalated. As Vivian had mentioned, anything could happen. What if Dudley took one look at the inside of the arena and flipped out? There was no telling what a horse would do in competition. Even the best of them freaked out, and he hadn’t exactly been great the last time he’d performed in front of a crowd.
They rounded the corner, and Jillian almost ran into Vivian’s back. She saw why a moment later.
“What is she doing here?”
There could be no doubt as to who “she” was. “Maxine,” Jillian muttered.
She stood between the row of stalls, a baby stroller in front of her, and though Wes stood between them, Jillian could see enough of her face to know she wasn’t pleased about something Wes had said.
“Damn,” Vivian said as they set off down the long aisle.
“I’m just saying it’s a bad idea,” Wes was saying. “Anything could happen.”
Maxine’s blue eyes skated past Wes’s shoulder and landed on Vivian. Jillian saw her eyes widen. Wes turned, followed Maxine’s gaze. The eyes beneath the black cowboy hat rested on his mother and then her. Something changed in his expression when he spotted her, something tinged with relief and maybe even happiness. She couldn’t be sure, just knew it was good to see him standing there in his blue jeans and black shirt.
“Mom, tell her that a baby stroller doesn’t belong in a barn aisle.”
“It doesn’t.”
She’d been the one who’d spoken. All eyes focused on her. She hadn’t meant it to come out sounding so stern, but in for a penny, in for a pound. “A horse could kick at it. Or a horse might spook at it. Or it might tip over when a horse accidentally runs into it. Anything could happen and the only victim would be Maggie.”
She saw approval in Wes’s mother’s eyes. Wes just seemed relieved. “That’s what I told her.”
Maxine looked down at the ground, and Jillian had to admit, she wasn’t
what she’d expected. Not at all. She reminded Jillian of those pageant girls, the kind with peroxide hair wrestled into ringlets and blue eyes outlined by too much makeup. Blonde and fake. What the hell had Wes seen in her? Then again, in the low light of a bar she might seem attractive.
And that’s a catty thing to think.
She didn’t care. This woman had caused Wes more trouble than he deserved. The thing was, she didn’t look like a malicious bitch. The way she wouldn’t look any of them in the eyes made Jillian think she was deeply uncomfortable.
“I was hoping Maggie could watch her daddy.”
Jillian would have vomited if she hadn’t heard the insecurity in the other woman’s voice and seen what looked like wistful longing on her face. What was this?
“And she can,” said Wes. “Just wheel the stroller over to the grandstands. There’s plenty of room over there.”
“What about after?”
“I’ll meet you back here after the competition.”
Was it horribly wrong of her to despise the woman on sight? This was Maggie’s mother. At one point she and Wes— Well, she didn’t want to think about that. She should give her a chance, especially since it was obvious she felt like a fish out of water.
“I’ll walk you over there,” Jillian offered even though she couldn’t recall coming up with the idea. “I need to scope out where we’re all going to sit, anyway.”
It was as if Maxine suddenly became aware of her, as if she’d retreated so deeply inside herself she hadn’t even bothered to pay attention to who had spoken earlier. She paid attention now, and she clearly thought Jillian and Wes were a couple, at least judging by the curiosity in her expression. No cattiness floated through her eyes, although Jillian couldn’t imagine Maxine deemed her a threat in her black T-shirt with the logo of Natalie’s farm above the left breast. Hardly dressed to party.
“Is this your girlfriend?”
Now it was Jillian’s turn to stare at the ground.
“No,” Wes answered.
And it stung. She turned away before Wes could see how his denial affected her, moving toward the stroller and peering down at the wide-eyed countenance of baby Maggie. When her gaze connected with her sweet green eyes, her heart just sort of went oomph.
“Hey there, baby girl.” She leaned in close. “How’s little Maggie May?” To her utter delight, the infant gurgled contentedly and then magically, she smiled. “Oh. Did you see that?” She looked up at the adults. “She just grinned at me.”
“She did that for me the other day, too,” Wes admitted.
“She must like you,” Maxine said before peering around her. “Which way to the grandstands?”
“I’ll show you.” Vivian’s smile was gracious for all that it was cold. It softened, though, when it shifted to Jillian. “You stay here and talk to Wes.”
Wes. So tall and handsome in his black hat and black shirt. A belt buckle glittered at his waistline, the man the quintessential cowboy as he stood there staring down at her, an enigmatic look in his eyes.
“How are you?”
“Okay.”
“I bet you’re a nervous wreck.” She forced a smile. “Where’s Dudley?”
Wes pointed behind him, but then he turned quickly, calling out to Maxine and his mother. “Wait up.” He strode over to where they’d stopped. “I need a good-luck kiss.” She watched as he reached in and gently stroked his daughter’s cheek, then bent and kissed her. The gesture made a knot of tenderness clog her throat.
He looked up, caught her staring at him. She gulped. His eyes reflected the love he felt for his little girl and something shifted inside of her, something that made her breath catch and the ground beneath her seem to roll.
She’d started to fall for him.
* * *
WES KNEW HE should be focusing on the competition, but he kept thinking about Maxine. He’d expected her to cause him grief. Instead, she’d assured him that she didn’t want to get in his way. Was it crazy to hope that they could work it out?
“All right, Wes Landon, you’re in next.”
All that registered was his name. He looked up and noticed the gate was open and the person who’d competed before him was coming out.
Focus, Wes.
He rode a green horse, he reminded himself. The last thing he needed was to be dumped on his ass because he wasn’t paying attention.
Dudley seemed far more relaxed than he was. Wes noticed the horse’s lowered head and lazy ears. They were in a covered arena, one with open sides, and he’d seen horses be bothered by the lights and shadows cast by the activity along the rail. Dudley didn’t even look. Once he stepped into the arena, Dudley only had eyes for the herd of cattle straight ahead. People watched from alongside the rail, some sitting in canvas chairs, some standing. Wes ignored everything as he waited for Dudley to take a misstep.
He didn’t.
The point of cutting was to pull a cow out of a herd—or “cut” it—and then move the animal away from all the others. Most of the time, animals balked at being taken away from their buddies. They tried to run and duck and dart around a horse. That was the part that was scored. Dudley would be graded on how well he responded to the cow’s antics and how well he kept the cow away from the herd. Some young horses lost focus the first time they were out in public, but not Dudley. He acted as if he’d been performing in front of a crowd his entire life, walking into the herd without a backward glance, ears pricked forward, body tense as he waited for Wes’s commands. Compared to how he’d been at the gelding sale, it was like night and day.
“Good boy.”
He’d picked an easy cow, one that wouldn’t fight too hard. He wasn’t here to win it. He was here to give Dudley experience. He didn’t want to shatter his horse’s self-confidence by picking a cow that challenged him to the point of discouragement.
“Come on, boy. Let’s do this.”
The cow proved to be as lazy as Wes had hoped, hardly putting up a fuss. He kept waiting for Dudley to make a mistake, maybe spook at the audience or get distracted by the other cows. He didn’t, and Wes couldn’t keep the grin off his face.
Perfect.
That was what it felt like when he let the cow go back to its buddies and then selected another more challenging cow. That one, too, Dudley handled like a pro. Wes’s confidence grew, and so did his horse’s, so much so that he let Dudley go when it came time to work their last cow. The animal didn’t want to leave the comfort of the herd. It darted left. So did Dudley. It stopped dead. So did Dudley. When it suddenly took off to the right, Dudley swung around so fast he almost unseated Wes.
And he laughed.
Everything faded. His financial troubles. His fears of fatherhood. Even his concerns about Maxine. All he felt was the horse between his legs as they darted left and right, stopping and starting and moving again. When he heard the horn, he was almost sorry.
“Good job.” He gave Dudley a vigorous pat.
His cheeks hurt from smiling, he realized. And his teeth felt dry. He spotted his support team right outside the arena. His mom. Maxine standing off to the side with Maggie...and Jillian. She stared at him, her grin as big as his own, excitement dancing in her eyes.
“That was incredible,” she said, walking up to him, then giving Dudley a pat.
“You think?”
“I know.”
She hadn’t returned his calls, but he suddenly didn’t care.
Chapter Seventeen
“He’s going to be something else,” Wes’s mom said a half hour later. “Did you see him sweeping in front of that third cow? I hope they took pictures, because that was something else.”
They stood outside the arena, and Jillian could tell Maxine still felt like a third wheel.
“So where do you live?”
When their gazes connected, Jillian could tell the woman was grateful to be included in a conversation. “In Santa Barbara.”
“Oh, yeah?” She tried to project an air of frien
dliness. After all, this was the mother of Wes’s child. For Maggie’s sake there needed to be some peace between them. “I have clients down that way.”
She saw the way Maxine tried to appear as if she were completely comfortable in her surroundings when she was anything but. At least she stood off to the side, the stroller in front of her but out of the way. More than a few horses eyed the thing with caution, but so far none of the animals had spooked. That was a good thing.
“I love it down there.” And for once she smiled, and it was remarkable how much her looks improved. Jillian could see why Wes would find her attractive. “I love the coast.”
Wes came toward them. Jillian was staring right at Maxine and so she saw the way she straightened up, saw the way she shyly straightened the emerald-green T-shirt she wore. Did she still have feelings for him?
“Good job,” Maxine said to Wes, stepping away from the stroller, but he turned away from her, reaching in and scooping up his daughter before Maxine got too close.
“Hey there, precious.” He held his daughter as tenderly as a piece of glass, nodding at his mom, who had gathered the reins of his horse.
Jillian almost felt sorry for Maxine, except she remembered what she’d done to Wes, the chaos she’d caused. Still, something made her move forward, lightly touch the woman’s arm and say, “Here. I’ll push the stroller back to the barn area, if you want to walk next to Wes.”
And there it was again, the look of gratitude. Jillian wasn’t certain what Maxine had hoped to accomplish by dumping Maggie on Wes’s doorstep, but she’d begun to think the woman was just lost.
“So I guess I’ll see you back at the ranch,” Vivian was saying.
“I’ll be leaving shortly.”
“Don’t forget to pick up your check.”
She saw Wes smile, but it wasn’t a big one. “Every little bit helps.”
His mom reached up and kissed him. “You’ll get there.” Her eyes fell to Maggie. “You have to get there.” She nudged the baby’s face with her finger. “You have little Maggie to think about now.” Vivian caught Maxine’s eye. “Will you be bringing the baby back to the ranch?”
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