Spring at Saddle Run

by Delores Fossen

  “Wait,” Millie said when a thought occurred to her. A bad thought. “You’re not like sick or anything, are you?”

  “Nope. Healthy as a horse. Whatever that means. I mean, all horses can’t be healthy.” She waved that off before Millie could say she’d wondered the same thing about that particular idiom. “There are just some things I want to do while I’m still thirteen.”

  Millie’s imagination started to run wild. “Does your bucket list involve anything, uh, illegal?” she pressed.

  Dara’s forehead bunched up. “Probably not. No,” the girl amended when Millie just stared at her.

  So, that meant it probably had some questionable things on it. Definitely not something Millie would jump into headfirst.

  “Tell you what,” Millie offered. “You write up the list, and once I’ve looked it over, I’ll let you know.” After Millie had talked to Joe, that is. For now, she took out her phone. “I can give you my number.”

  “I’ll drop it by your shop after I’ve figured out everything I want to put on it.” Dara turned back to her mother’s headstone. “Now, I gotta go over some things with Mom. And yes, I know she’s not here but I’d rather talk to her when I can see her name spelled out.”

  It was a polite way of asking for Millie to leave, and she did turn to do that. But not before she gave a longing look at the headstone. Apparently, she wouldn’t be snapping that picture today.

  “I’ll just have a quick word with your father before I go,” Millie muttered, heading in Joe’s direction.

  He lifted his head, easing off his Stetson and following her shaky walk down the hill toward him. The closer she got, the more she saw of him.

  Oh, mercy. He looked tall and tasty standing there with his long, lean body and rumpled dark brown hair. Her body didn’t let her forget the tasty part, either, and she went warm in places that the sun hadn’t touched.

  The wrong places.

  This was the textbook definition of inappropriate. She was getting a lust kick from a man who was at the cemetery where his wife was buried. And Millie didn’t even want to get started on the inappropriateness of that particular man’s wife being her husband’s lover.

  Beyond this place, there be dragons.

  That applied here, too. Joe wasn’t a red-scaled creature lurking beneath the teal waters and perched on the edge of golden-colored land, but he could give her grief of a whole different kind.

  And pleasure, the wrong place of her body quickly added.

  But she couldn’t afford the kind of grief she’d get in exchange for that pleasure. Which she was certain would be, well, very pleasurable.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

  He grunted.

  And heaven help her, even that sounded like a testosterone-doused invitation. She was sure her own grunt of response was more like a whimper.

  Joe kept his eyes—which were an OMG, drown in me dreamy gray—on her before his gaze dropped to her mouth. It lingered there a moment, and then he looked away. Cursed. “It’d be safer to play with fire, skate on thin ice and wake up a sleeping dog or two.”

  Millie wasn’t sure if that advice was meant for her. Or himself. Nor did she especially want him to spell that out. She just made a slow sound of agreement and turned to head back to her car.

  Yep, beyond this place, there were dragons all right. A whole flaming bunch with Joe McCann’s name written all over them.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  JOE YAWNED AND hoped that he had the energy to wash up before he fell face-first on his bed. The washing up was a necessity because he’d just pulled not one but two calves.

  Both white.

  Both obviously fathered by a very virile Charolais bull with escape skills that would rival Houdini’s. Joe had yet to find the break in the fence where the virile shit was getting through. But that was something he’d have to deal with the sonofabitching frustration of later.

  Hours later.

  The shut-eye wasn’t optional because he’d been up with first one cow and then the other for going on thirteen hours, since midnight, and he wasn’t entirely sure he could stay awake on the walk from the barn to the house much less call his rancher neighbor, Elmer Tasker, and bitch about the trouble his Charolais was causing with Joe’s breed stock.

  He cursed though when he spotted an obstacle to his nap. Frankie pulled her powder-blue Jeep to a stop.

  “I’m tired and going to bed,” he snapped when his sister got out. “Why aren’t you at work?” At this hour, Frankie should have been piercing, tattooing or selling the oddball costumes, jewelry, stationery, books and party supplies she stocked at her shop, Ink, Etc.

  Joe was certain he gave her one of his better scowls. Which Frankie ignored. “I’m the boss so I gave myself the afternoon off. I come bearing gifts.” She lifted a large bag of something that was already causing grease spots on the white paper. “Loaded bacon cheeseburgers for you. Veggie burger for me. There’s also chili fries and root beer floats, all from O’Riley’s.” She waggled a tray with the two drinks.

  Knowing he’d have to put yet more money in the swear jar, he cursed her again, anyway. Frankie knew that food combination was his favorite, and that O’Riley’s Café was his go-to place. That meant she’d come here to either butter him up and ask him to do something for her or because she was worried about him.

  It was the latter, he decided, when he caught the way she was eyeing him.

  “Bacon cheeseburger, chili fries,” she repeated. “Root beer floats.”

  Surrendering to what would no doubt hike up his cholesterol and give him the sugar crash from hell, he sighed and motioned for her to come in the house.

  Joe didn’t wait for her. He went in ahead of her, going straight to the kitchen so he could wash up. He also shucked off his shirt, tossing it into the basket in the adjacent laundry room, and he snagged a clean T from the pile of clothes on the dryer that he never seemed to get around to folding and putting away. By the time he made it back into the kitchen, Frankie was already taking out the food.

  “I started to get Dara her favorite nachos,” Frankie said, “but I figured they wouldn’t heat up that well in the microwave. Maybe you can swing by later and get some for her.”

  Dara wouldn’t be home from school for another two hours or so, but since she was an O’Riley’s fan, too, she’d appreciate a quick trip there. It would also save them from having to come up with something for dinner.

  Joe sat down and dug in. “Since I’m well past needing some sleep,” he started, “go ahead and spill the real reason you’re here.”

  She shrugged and crammed some fries in her mouth. “Just checking on you. You’ve been kind of scarce around town.”

  There was no “kind of” to it. He hadn’t gone into town in the five days since the drawing of the Last Ride Society. And it wasn’t only the looks and the gossip he was trying to avoid.

  Millie was also in the avoidance column.

  Not because he didn’t want to see her. But because he did.

  Hellfire and damnation, what was it with her? Better yet, what was it with him? His dick had been pretty much dormant since Ella had died, but now the idiot part of him had taken an interest in a woman he should have no interest in whatsoever.

  “You’re irritated,” Frankie pointed out. “Is it because I dropped by, or does this have something to do with the white calf you pulled a couple of nights ago?”

  Joe didn’t know who’d blabbed about the calf, maybe Tanner, but he hadn’t expected for it to stay a secret. The calf was damn noticeable in a pasture of Red Angus. Then again, the calf would soon have some company.

  “The white calf,” he verified which was more or less the truth. However, his dick’s interest in Millie was causing him an extra helping of irritation. “White calves,” he corrected. “I sure as heck can’t se
ll them for breed stock.” Which was what he was known for raising. Prime breed stock with solid bloodlines.

  Frankie shrugged. “Maybe you can donate them to the petting zoo over by the preschool. They’re always looking for cute animals.”

  Well, the calves wouldn’t stay cute and pettable for long. Soon, they’d be fully grown bulls, and besides, Joe wasn’t sure he wanted to advertise the ranching problem he was having. Not when his personal problems, i.e. Ella and her death, were still garnering way too much talk and attention.

  Joe guzzled down enough of the root beer float to give himself brain freeze, and he looked across the table at his sister. Specifically, he looked at his sister’s neck.

  “You’ve got a hickey,” he snarled.

  She shrugged, and even though she got very interested in picking out her next French fry, he didn’t miss the little smile. “Maybe it’s a new tat.”

  His scowl returned. “It’s a hickey.”

  Frankie selected the fry, bit it and met his gaze. “Do you really want to discuss my sex life?”

  Actually, he did want to know who had sucked on her neck enough to leave that mark. It was a knee-jerk reaction. A big brother/kid sister kind of deal.

  “I’ll tell you how I got this,” she said, tapping her neck, “if you’ll agree to let me set you up with one of my friends.”

  Joe was glaring and shaking his brain-frozen head before she even finished. “No. I’m not going out with one of your friends.”

  If he was going to break his run of celibacy, he could think of a far more interesting way to do it. A more complicated one, too. Because the face that flashed in his mind was Millie’s.

  “Millie,” Frankie said, and for one gut-tightening moment, he thought he’d said her name aloud. “Did you decide to help her with the research?”

  This was another fast and easy “No.” He paused. “But Dara told Millie she would help.” Joe wasn’t sure what had become of that, and he hadn’t wanted to press Dara on it.

  “Really?” Frankie drew out the word. “Well, good for her. It’d be good for you, too, to help. Maybe you could think of the research as a purging. A sort of last goodbye before you get on with your life.”

  “I have gotten on with my life,” he assured her and took a bite of his burger.

  Frankie raised an eyebrow. “Really?” she repeated. “I’ve seen no proof whatsoever of that.”

  “Maybe I get hickeys in places where they won’t be seen by siblings and others,” he grumbled.

  Frankie laughed and laughed and laughed. It was pure sarcasm. Then, she sobered, patted his arm. “Life gave you a kick in the balls. Millie, too. Well, maybe not in the balls in her case, but she got the same kind of kick. I think it’s a good step forward that she’s going through with the research on Ella.”

  No one would ever convince him that the last part was true. However, it was true about the kick. Millie had gotten it, too.

  “I think it some ways all of this was even harder on Millie than on you,” Frankie threw out there.

  Joe turned to her so fast that his neck popped. “Yeah, must be hard being born with a trust fund and having everybody in town treat you like a princess.”

  “Yeah, must be hard having a mother like Laurie Jean,” Frankie countered.

  His sister had him there. Laurie Jean was a “hell on society wheels” kind of woman.

  “Tanner told me that Laurie Jean handpicked Royce for Millie,” Frankie went on. “She arranged dates for them when they were in high school and practically browbeat Royce into proposing.”

  Joe didn’t want to hear any of this. But he couldn’t shut it out. And now he had to wonder if this was why Royce had gone after Ella. Or maybe Ella had done the going after. Royce had those society wheels that Joe didn’t.

  “Laurie Jean didn’t force Millie to marry Royce or vice versa,” Joe said, hoping it would put an end to the conversation.

  It didn’t.

  “No, but think of it like brainwashing,” Frankie argued. “We were raised to believe we were nothing. We got neglected on good days, and on bad days we got smacked around.”

  They had indeed. Their father, Hardy, had been a mean drunk and hadn’t held back on using his family as punching bags. It’d continued until Joe had gotten big enough to kick the old man’s ass. Joe had mistakenly thought once he’d done that, their mother, Charlotte, would thank him for protecting Frankie and her and give her abusive husband his walking papers.

  She hadn’t.

  Instead, the following day she’d left Last Ride with Hardy, and Frankie and Joe had ended up in foster care for two years. That’d lasted until Joe had turned eighteen and had gotten custody of Frankie.

  “Millie was raised to believe she had to walk a very straight, fine line and do exactly what her parents told her,” Frankie added. “That’s brainwashing.”

  Maybe. Probably, he silently decided, but he’d had enough of this talk about a woman he was trying his damnedest to forget. He got down the last bites of the burger and stood.

  “Thanks for the lunch,” he told Frankie. “Now, quit meddling in my life, or I’ll start asking around about that hickey. Then, I’ll set you up on a date with one of my friends.”

  “Right,” she said in a “never gonna happen” way. And she was right. The best way to clue someone in on your private life was to not keep it private.

  He walked her to the door, and because of those old painful memories she’d stirred up, Joe kissed the top of her head. He’d already turned to get started on that nap when he saw a big silver truck approaching the house.

  “You expecting company?” Frankie asked.

  “No.” And this wasn’t company. Joe hadn’t recognized the truck, but he sure as heck recognized the man who stepped out.

  Asher Parkman, Millie’s father.

  The man was also Frankie’s former father-in-law and Little T’s grandfather though neither Laurie Jean nor Asher had a lot to do with the boy. The last Joe had heard, the couple had monthly visits, lasting only an hour or two, with their one and only grandson. Asher and Laurie Jean saw Tanner even less than that.

  Apparently, Tanner had missed the brainwashing that his folks had heaped on Millie. And that meant it might not be the grandparents’ choice about how much time they spent with their one and only grandson. Tanner might be doing buffer duty to make sure his kid didn’t end up beaten down like his sister.

  “You want me to stay?” Frankie asked Joe in a whisper.

  “No.” There was no reason to put his sister through a visit from Asher. Especially since the man had likely come about Millie.

  “Frankie,” Asher greeted, tipping the brim of his pearl-white cowboy hat. He did the same to Joe as he made his way up the porch steps.

  He was a beefy man with wide shoulders and gray hair that was identical in color to his suit jacket. However, the gray hair and wrinkles that fanned out from his eyes didn’t make him look old, but rather formidable. The kind of face and body that spoke of money, battles won and charm.

  Yep, charm.

  His term as a former state congressman and his longtime role as head of the top law firm in Last Ride had probably honed that charm. A law firm where Millie’s husband had worked.

  Asher had none of the nervy expressions and movements of his wife. Nope. He was very much a polished good ol’ boy with enough confidence for a hundred people.

  “Call me if you change your mind about my offer,” Frankie said, winking at Joe. She no doubt meant the date deal.

  “Call me if you change your mind about my offer,” he countered, and she no doubt knew he meant the hickey inquiry.

  Joe gave Frankie the “brother” look. The one that let her know he loved her without his having to say it, but every trace of that look was gone by the time he turned back to Asher.

  “I was hoping we co
uld have a talk,” Asher said as Frankie went back to her Jeep. The man shifted as if he expected Joe to get out of the doorway and invite him in, but Joe figured this was going to be a very short conversation.

  “A talk about Millie doing the research for the Last Ride Society,” Joe spelled out.

  Looking a little nonplussed at Joe’s bluntness, Asher nodded. “I can’t imagine you’d want the gossips to rehash all the talk about your wife.”

  “Or the talk about your son-in-law,” Joe quickly countered.

  The charm stayed in place when Asher gave an aw-shucks nod and shrug. “That, too. This is a no-win situation for both our families. Your little girl doesn’t need to hear what’s being said. Neither does my wife.”

  Joe would bet the entire contents of his swear jar that Laurie Jean was the one who’d prompted this visit.

  “Bottom-line this,” Joe insisted. “What is it that you think I can do about Millie drawing my wife’s name?”

  Asher looked him straight in the eyes. “It’s okay if Millie does her duty and scratches the surface of this so-called research, but it won’t do for her to be seen with you at your wife’s grave.”

  So, that’s what this was about. Joe hadn’t seen anyone else at the cemetery, but someone had probably spotted Millie’s car and his truck coming and going.

  Asher leaned in, and there wasn’t a trace of that charm now. “You need to keep away from my daughter.”

  The man might as well have tossed a tub of gasoline on an equally big tub of fire. Joe usually did a decent job of reining in his temper, but he didn’t even reach for those reins right now.

  “Your daughter is an adult,” Joe pointed out once he got his jaw unclenched. “She can make her own decisions about where she goes and who she sees.”

  Clearly, Asher didn’t do any reining in, either. With his own jaw going to iron, he jabbed his finger at Joe. “Now, listen here. Your sister’s already slung enough shit on my family by going after my son and turning him against me. I won’t let you do the same with Millie.”