Broken Spurs

by BJ James

  “Sandy?” She paused, waiting for this man who had stepped in, playing the role of father many times when her own lacked insight.

  In a pall of silence Sandy chose his words carefully. “We all know what you should do, don’t we? The honorable thing,” a hint of pride threaded through his voice, “and what you’ve intended all along.” Taking her hand in his, he loosened her fingers from their tight fist, then wove his own through them. “Since the day you won the first star, you’ve determined the course, not of ambition and wishes, but of responsibility and honor, and, by God, you stuck to it.

  “It was the same when you walked away from your studies in law. Your choice was made, in all the years you’ve never deviated, never bartered your honor. And I won’t ask you to in this.” A long speech for taciturn Sandy, and he hadn’t finished. His fingers moved restlessly over the back of her hand as he made the decision he’d waited years to make. “I ask you, now, to wait, to give me time. There is a way. If it works, no one will be hurt. At least not irrevocably.”

  Savannah didn’t ask his plan. If he’d intended her to know, he would have told her. Instead, she studied the strong, handsome face of her foreman and friend, nodding a tentative agreement. “How much time?”

  “Three days. A week at most.”

  Sandy’s succinct answer drew a surprised look from Jubal. “A plan that can rectify all of this, set into motion in so little time?”

  “All it requires is a yes from the necessary person.”

  “And if the answer is no?” Jubal asked, almost certain he knew the direction of Sandy’s plan.

  “Then it’s sis’s bronc to ride,” the foreman replied grimly.

  A waitress hovered just out of hearing, needing to serve, or prepare the table for the next diner. Jubal held her at bay with an openhanded signal. Determining, as he did, that her tip would be more than adequate. “When will you begin?”

  “Today.”

  “Make it three days, Sandy, and I’ll agree to give your plan a chance.” Hopes stirring, Savannah decided it was time she took a hand in planning her fate and Steve’s.

  “There could be problems,” Sandy protested. “Delays I can’t anticipate,”

  “Three days.” She was adamant. “By then Steve could very well be in jail. I won’t let him stay there any longer than that.”

  “He’ll be angry if you come forward,” Jubal ventured.

  “Then he’ll just have to be angry.” She dismissed the threat of it as unimportant in the scope of things. “I won’t live a lie.”

  Neither Jubal, nor Sandy, nor Savannah, noticed it was never suggested that Steve might be guilty. The possibility of guilt never occurred to either of them.

  Jubal looked from one friend to the other. “It’s decided?” His concern settled on Savannah. “You’ll wait?”

  “Three days.” Three fingers reiterated a timetable carved in stone.

  “All right!” Sandy brought the discussion to a resounding end. “Three days it is, then.”

  “Go away, Savannah.” Steve gripped the bars that separated them, then jerked away when she would have touched him. “I don’t want you here. I don’t need you anymore.” He looked away, avoiding the hurt he knew he would see in her eyes. “Why won’t you understand, I don’t want you?”

  Each word was evenly spaced, each a sharp stake he would thrust into her heart. Savannah flinched, but would have none of it. “Nice try, Mr. Hero, but you aren’t going to drive me away with that.” Her shoulders stiffened, her head lifted. “You aren’t going to make me believe you love me in quiet times, then send me away when there’s trouble.”

  “Go. Leave me in peace.” His lips were tight, a rim of white betrayed the battle he fought as a man of little cruelty struggled to hurt and repulse. “I don’t love you, I never did. The line always works. It worked with the buckle bunnies, it worked too damn good with you. At least they were smart enough to know the love ended the minute they climbed out of my bed. I didn’t have to shake them off, they knew to save both our pride by going away.”

  His eyes were dark and hard, without a hint of compassion. “Go, leave me alone.”

  “Oh, I’m going. You can count on it, but not in the spirit you want me to.” Undeterred, she promised, “And I’ll be back.”

  “I won’t see you.”

  “I’ll come anyway.”

  He tried to stare her down and discovered she was stronger than he. In the only defense he had, to make her believe, he turned his back on her in a gesture of dismissal and walked away.

  Savannah stood as she was for long while, wishing she could reach him. Wishing she could make him understand she had no choice.

  Her boots grated on the concrete floor of Silverton’s small jail. The door that led to the sheriff’s office squealed, protesting as she opened it. Pausing, she held her breath, hoping he would call her back. He didn’t.

  Sighing, she leaned her head against the splintered wood of the door. Her eyes closed against the burn of tears. It shouldn’t be like this. She’d hoped Sandy’s mysterious plan would be accomplished and she released from her promise before it came to this. Neither she, nor Sandy and Jubal reckoned with the speed of the sheriff’s investigation. Neither expected Billy Blackhawk would consider the evidence against Steve overwhelming.

  She hated seeing him here, a man locked away from the land he loved. A word from her and it wouldn’t have to be. Soon, with a word from her, it wouldn’t be.

  Rousing herself, she went through the motions that would be unnecessary in another day. “Have you considered legal counsel?”

  He made no show of hearing her.

  That he had or hadn’t was of little consequence, when she had only to honor her word and wait to prove his innocence. “I’ll be back.”

  Hinges squealed again. The latch engaged, and on the other side a bolt shot into place, before he turned, before he muttered, “No.”

  The veranda lay in darkness. As usual, Savannah paced its length alone. Jake, after admitting he was still exhausted from the aftermath of the festival, had retired early with a book. By now he was sleeping with the book lying on his chest. Bonita had given up on coaxing her to a late dinner and had gone home. Sandy was nowhere to be seen. After being underfoot and hovering over her for a day, he quite simply disappeared.

  He’d been gone since early morning, and none of the hands knew where, or why. Savannah wanted to hope it was in keeping with his great solution to her dilemma, but a day such as this sucked hope from her.

  She hadn’t reckoned with the tabloids or the press. Hadn’t expected to see Steve in jail and his picture plastered over every paper. Each reporter seemed bent on creating the perfect catch phrase to describe Steve’s involvement with Angie, and then the murder. One, in the epitome of bad taste, stooped to calling his ill-fated quest for the national championship a saddle bronc rider’s trail of tears.

  Tomorrow, when the three days had ended, she expected that same reporter would revise his copy to read triangle of tears.

  Most saddening was the injustice done to Steve, and that in the brouhaha of reporting, no one thought to mourn for Angie.

  “Unless Tad Jasper found it in his heart to mourn.” Gripping a post, she lifted her face to a night touched by autumn. Tad Jasper swam in her thoughts, and she found herself wondering where he was the night Angie died, and where he’d been since. “You’ve made yourself scarce, haven’t you, Jasper? I wonder why.”

  Drawing back from speculation when she knew too little for it, she let her mind drift where it would. Oddly, it drifted to Jeffie, a good young cowboy already, exhibiting the potential of becoming better than good. It was he she’d entrusted with the care of the Broken Spur and its prize stock.

  Just until Steve was home again.

  Tomorrow.

  Brushing her hair from her shoulders, she let the weight of her hand rest on taut, sore muscles. The first sign that she wasn’t sleeping nearly enough. Sighing at the futility of even trying, sh
e cocked her head and drew a deep breath.

  Dust. She inhaled dust. Enough that it tickled her nose and the scent of it permeated the still air. Someone was coming. Someone in a hurry, who drove at foolish speeds over the unpaved road that led to the ranch. It wouldn’t be Sandy. He had too much respect for machinery of any sort to punish it in such fashion. Not Jubal. If he felt an urgent need for a hurried visit, he would come by chopper.

  A frisson of excitement drew her to the front steps. A coil of fearful dread kept her from descending them. She was a reluctant welcoming committee of one, and wondered to whom she would be offering welcome. Or if she would.

  There was little time to wonder more before the massive Suburban skidded to a halt. The notes of a classical piano reverberated from the open windows, and from his place in the passenger’s seat, Sandy turned his head to toss her a weak smile.

  The engine stopped abruptly, and with it the music. The driver’s door swung open, and a sleekly coiffed woman climbed from under the steering wheel. In the moonlight she was slim and perfectly dressed for the occasion. If driving across the desert as if it were the Grand Prix was the occasion. Stripping driving gloves from her delicate hands, she tucked them casually into the belt at her waist. One quick gesture smoothed her silver-brown hair back to its low chignon before she moved into the glare of the Suburban’s headlights.

  Hands on slim, trouser clad hips, her booted feet apart, she flung out her challenge. “Well, Savannah Henrietta, are you just going to stand there?”

  Savannah blinked, then blinked again, certain she imagined the whole scene.

  “Is this how you greet me after four years?”

  “Mother?”

  “Who else scares Sandy out of a year of his life when she drives?”

  Who, indeed? “What are you doing here? Why are you here?” “hell” Camilla Neal Benedict opened her arms. “First things first. You may be only a year or so from thirty, but you’ll always be my little girl. And I need a hug.”

  Savannah needed no second invitation.

  “So.” Setting a cup of tea before her mother, Savannah sat on the sofa by her. “Why are you here?”

  Ignoring the steaming brew, Camilla covered her daughter’s hand with her own. “My daughter needs me, where else would I be?”

  “But how did you know?”

  “Darling, Sandy told me.” Camilla leaned back feasting her eyes on the woman her daughter had become. “He tells me everything.”

  “Then you know about Steve.”

  “And the canyon, and Jake’s continuing obsession with it,” Camilla finished for her. “But more than that, I know that you’re in love with this young man. A man Sandy says is much like your father was forty years ago.”

  “He’s as stubborn.” In the slanting light of a lamp, Savannah’s face was etched with worry.

  Camilla slipped from her chair. Like a graceful wraith she prowled the enclosure that served as both family room and library. “I know what it’s like to love a stubborn man.” Her slender fingers stroked a small bronze of a horse and rider. “I made the mistake of trying to be more stubborn, of out waiting him.”

  Savannah watched her mother move from place to place, touching old treasures, discovering the new. “You’re speaking of Jake.”

  “There’s never really been another man in my life. What began as a business arrangement didn’t stay that way for me. Jake, either, if he would admit it.”

  “But you fought. I remember how you fought.”

  Camilla laughed. “Fighting doesn’t mean one doesn’t love.”

  “But the baron, or the duke, or whatever he was!” With a flick of her fingers, Savannah dismissed the title, but not the man. “You were considering marriage.”

  “The count? A ploy. Trying to out Benedict a Benedict.” A tinge of resignation colored the older woman’s words. “It never works.”

  “You wanted Jake to ask you back?”

  “I spent a long time wanting it.” Camilla sighed at her own folly. “When he had his strokes, I hoped he would need me. He asked for you, so I didn’t come. Like a fool, I played by his rules instead.”

  “But now you’re here. For me.”

  “And for myself.” In measured steps the older woman returned to the sofa. “I’m playing by my rules now. I would have been here a day sooner, but there were people I needed to see. Doctors and therapists and the like.”

  Savannah was instant concern. “You aren’t well?”

  “On the contrary, healthy as a horse.” Pleased at her choice of words, she ran a hand over her hair in a gesture much like her daughter’s. “A fitting analogy, in the circumstances, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Then why the doctors?”

  “For Jake. We’re playing by my rules now, remember? I’m going to get him out of that chair, back on a horse and, eventually, back in my bed.” Taking up her cup, she chuckled wickedly, savoring the taste of tea and conquest. “The poor man isn’t going to have a choice, and he isn’t going to know what hit him. In fact, he’s going to have his hands so full with me, he’ll have neither the time nor the inclination to cause you and your young man too much trouble.”

  “Too much?”

  “One can’t expect him to stop being a stubborn Benedict altogether.” The wicked chuckle became a wicked grin. “I wouldn’t want him to.” Setting the cup aside, she patted Savannah’s knee. “It will take him a while to get over his mad spell when you go. Time is the key. Time, and a grandbaby or two.”

  “You’re jumping the gun a bit, aren’t you?”

  “Only if it isn’t what you want. Only if you really don’t want this young man after all.”

  “Oh, I want him. But he’s...”

  “Stubborn?”

  Savannah’s smile was slow in coming, but there was the dawning of understanding. “Yes.”

  “Then play by your rules. Ignore him.”

  “What if it doesn’t work?”

  Elegant shoulders moved dismissively, tendrils from an elegant chignon teased the collar of an elegant shirt. But no one could question the strength. “Then what will you have lost that you hadn’t already?”

  Savannah spoke her respect for the unleavened wisdom. “When should I begin?”

  “Why waste time? What about tomorrow morning?”

  “I should tell Jake first.”

  “I’ll tell Jake.” Camilla declared. “Just as soon as he gets over the shock of seeing me. And after he realizes that this time I’m here to stay.”

  “You’re going to bully him.”

  “Damn straight.”

  “Something only you could do.”

  “Ditto.”

  For a moment, Savannah regarded her mother silently. She’d never been more beautiful, and despite the fatigue of her trip, she seemed to grow younger by the minute. “You know, I think you’ll do it. If he survives, before you’re through Jake will be Jake again.”

  “Oh, he’ll survive. I know you were jesting, but I’ve spoken with his doctor here on that matter.” Taking Savannah’s hand, she drew her from the sofa with her. “But I might not, if I don’t get a little R and R before I fire the first salvo.”

  “Oh, dear.” Savannah was embarrassed by her careless hospitality. “I’m afraid none of the rooms are ready for guests, but where would you like to sleep?”

  “Darting.” Camilla raised a lecherous brow. “If you hadn’t slept with your husband in so many years, and his bed wasn’t yet an option, where would you sleep?”

  “As close as I could get, the adjoining bedroom.”

  “Exactly.”

  “It’s dusty.”

  “Are you going to let a little dust stand in your way when you go to your young man? To Steve?”

  “Not hardly.”

  “Then, like daughter, like mother.”

  “Shall I have Sandy bring up your bags?”

  “Nope.” Camilla caught up her handbag and fished a filmy wisp of a nightgown from it. “This is all I need.” />
  Savannah choked a bit on that. “You’re going to let Jake see you in that?”

  “Sure, why not? A preview of coming attractions, so to speak. I’m told I don’t look so bad for an old broad.”

  Startled amusement blooming into a laugh, Savannah flung her arms around her mother. Her tanned cheek was warm against the translucence of Camilla’s. “You’re no broad. Not an old one, at least. And no matter what happens tomorrow, I’m glad you’re here.”

  Camilla hugged her back and kissed her. “Not one dab gladder than I.”

  Steve cradled his forehead in his hands. Without benefit of a mirror, he knew he looked as rough as he felt after a sleepless night. But as he lifted his aching head, how he looked was the least of his concerns. His eyes were slitted in concentration, his teeth ground one over the other rippling his unshaven cheek. When he drew in a long, shuddering breath, he had to fight to keep from drawing in another, and then another. Even the small window that only recently announced the dawn did nothing to ease a smothering sense of claustrophobia.

  But it wasn’t sleeplessness or claustrophobia, or even a charge of suspicion of murder, that had him swearing under his breath, pondering what the hell he should do. It was Savannah.

  He groaned, or maybe it was a growl, when he thought of her and what he feared, no, what he knew she intended to do. He had no more desire to be accused and charged with homicide than the next cowboy, but he’d rather prove his innocence without dragging her into it.

  “How?” How the hell did he go about proving he wasn’t guilty of murder, when he was locked away? Raking his hands brutally through his shaggy hair, he tried to think logically. If he wasn’t locked away, where would he start? Who in Silverton, where Angie was a virtual stranger, would have motive, or provocation, for killing her?

  The answer to that was simple.

  Steve Cody.

  Only he was threatened by her. Only he stood to lose all he had. His were the dreams she would destroy. Only his. In his own mind evidence mounted against him, strangling all hope from his soul, while the little cell smothered the life from him.