“Kids can be cruel sometimes. Maybe the boys can just talk it over.”
“It’s not that simple.” Ryan splayed his fingers on the back of the chair, then pulled it out and sat down to face her across the table. “Hayden told Garrett he’d overheard his mom and dad arguing about Cody’s grandfather. Hayden would’ve been just seven when Nate worked at the ranch, so I’m sure he hadn’t realized until now that Cody and Nate were related.”
“Dad worked for Clint off and on, through the years. They had some business deals together, too, but I think all of them went south.” She shook her head. “Even at his funeral, I heard whispers about my dad being ‘in Clint’s pocket,’ but I’ll never believe that he would do anything underhanded.” She blushed as she realized what she’d just said to Clint’s own son. “Er…sorry.”
“Isn’t anything I haven’t heard before.” Ryan shrugged. “Oscar, our foreman, took off, leaving the financial records in a mess. Leland tried to sort it out before your dad was hired. Nate stayed on just a few months until he quit…or was fired.” Ryan cradled his cup in both hands and studied the steaming liquid. “I’m not sure who said the words first, but Adelfa says they had quite an argument.”
“So Hayden talked about Nate being fired?” That could hurt, she knew. Though Cody and his grandfather had never been close, it could still feel like a personal attack to hear those words about your own flesh and blood. “That’s not so bad, really.”
Ryan’s eyes met hers. “After your father left this ranch, Leland brought in a forensic accountant to try to figure out the books. Records were missing or altered, but the guy figured your father embezzled at least sixty grand in four short months. Cody overheard that.”
Kristin’s heart faltered. “That’s…that’s impossible. My father was an honest man, and he had nothing. Almost nothing in his bank accounts when he died, and he drove a beat-up old truck. Even if he thought about it, he’d have known that Clint and Leland would keep a close eye on things.”
“Or…he might have figured that with the state the financial records were in, it would be much easier to filter more away. The losses might still appear to be Oscar’s errors coming to light.”
Her anger flared. “So you think my father was guilty. Where’s your proof? Where are the police reports—the investigations?” She stood abruptly and braced herself against the table. “Why didn’t I ever hear a thing about this? Or was it hushed up because your own father has a few things that ought not be revealed?”
Ryan lifted his hands in a placating motion. “Please—sit down, okay?”
She pushed away from the table and stalked across the room, then pivoted and came back to the table, her arms crossed. “Where is all that money, then? My father died just a few weeks after he left the Four Aces. He barely had enough money to cover his funeral.”
“Clint hired a private investigator, as well as the forensic accountant.” Ryan’s tone was regretful. “The P.I. discovered a bank account in another small town, set up for an agricultural spraying business that doesn’t exist. The deposits were always under ten grand…and cash withdrawals were made several thousand at a time. There may have been other accounts he hasn’t been able to trace yet.”
“You’re wrong about my dad, and I’m going to prove it.” Kristin glared at him, even though her heart was breaking. “Furthermore, I don’t believe his death was an accident. With everything I’ve just heard, I’m even more sure. Now you tell me—who would want my father dead?”
RUNNING A HAND over his face to check for stubble, Clint scowled at his dim image in the mirror. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. He’d worked hard all his life. He’d done right by his family. His constituents. He sat in his own pew at church every Sunday when he was in town.
He deserved better than bad eyes and a family that had fallen apart.
Right now Garrett was probably sleeping off another drunken night at the Saddle Up…unless he’d crashed at Trip Dooley’s sleazy Rise and Shine Motel on the edge of town.
The thought of his young son drinking himself into oblivion made his stomach roil. The thought of him riding bulls was even worse.
Ryan had defied Clint almost from birth, had a way of staring Clint down as if he was dissecting every last flaw. Trevor was solid—a hard worker—but without imagination or brains.
But Garrett…
His favorite son. Garrett had inherited Clint’s ambition and drive, his mother’s charm. He’d chosen to throw away every golden opportunity rather than give up his obsession with rodeo, but one of these days he’d wake up and realize just how much time he was wasting. And then there’d be no stopping him. If the right person was still there to guide him.
Which was why Clint had finally agreed to his doctor’s appointment today.
He dressed quickly, knotting his dark tie by feel rather than sight, assured of a good match by the fact that he wore only navy and black, and had long since ordered Adelfa to throw away any socks and ties that didn’t coordinate.
The Homestead clinic nurse had been calling daily, leaving messages for him to come back about his lab work and EKG. He’d finally capitulated yesterday, agreeing to come in on Wednesday when the real doctor was there.
It was all a lot of waste, anyway, throwing money on doctoring something that was perfectly fine. His heart felt strong. Healthy. He wasn’t a weakling like Enfield, who looked as if he had his hair styled and nails buffed—a man who was all hat and no cattle, far as Clint could see.
Pocketing his billfold, he slipped into his Italian loafers, ran his hands over his short cropped hair and went out to the kitchen where Adelfa would be waiting to hand him a cup of dark roast coffee on his way to Trevor’s truck.
A familiar voice in the kitchen stopped him dead in his tracks before he walked in.
Clint Gallagher bowed to no one, but now he felt his pulse grow unsteady and he had to force himself to move forward.
Adelfa stood by the stove, her round face wreathed in smiles. A tall, elegant figure stood facing her, one hand propped carelessly on the counter. Well-cut linen slacks molded to the woman’s long, slender legs. A sweater—something in one of those nubbly, natural weaves—skimmed her graceful back.
“Ah, here he is,” Adelfa beamed at him as if she’d just come across a great prize. “Look who is here—Señora Gallagher!”
As Lydia turned, he was struck—as always—by the loveliness of her sculpted cheekbones. The elegant flare of her eyebrows. The quiet beauty of her large, expressive eyes. She was—and always would be—the most beautiful thing in his life, despite the divorce.
She was also the one person in the world who could argue him to the ground with an amused and patient look in her eyes that made him angry enough to spit nails.
She gave him a leisurely head-to-toe assessment. “Nothing’s changed here, I see. You’re looking well.”
“I wasn’t expecting a visit.”
“Ever the gracious host.” Her musical laugh filled the room. “I believe you’re supposed to say, ‘And you’re looking good, as well,’ or some such pleasantry.”
Adelfa, apparently sensing trouble, nodded to both of them and sidled out of the kitchen.
He knew his social graces—he hadn’t risen to prominence in state politics by sounding like the backwoods kid he’d once been. But with Lydia, it was generally best to cut to the chase. “Why are you here?”
“Don’t worry, dear. I want nothing from you. If you recall, I didn’t even ask for much of anything in our divorce.” She wandered over to the windows facing the sweep of lawn and beyond that, the stables. “I drove in from Dallas this morning because Ryan is here. I doubt I’ll be much of a nuisance if I stay a few days.”
A few days.
A few days of turmoil. Subtle insults traded over supper. Glances filled with hostility. Tension that had him popping antacids and Tylenol.
“That would be fine. Adelfa can prepare the guest room.” He ground the words out. “I suppose now that R
yan is in Texas, it’s convenient for you to see him?”
He caught a flash of hurt in her eyes, but then she lifted her chin and leveled a haughty stare at him. “I wasn’t able to go to Walter Reed to see him, if that’s what you mean. But I called him every day. Did you go? No, wait—you were too busy.”
“Trevor and Garrett went.” There’d been no point in going. He and Ryan had never gotten along, and the State Senate had been in session.
Still, Lydia’s words cut deep. “But you can hardly judge, right? His own mother didn’t bother.”
“I…couldn’t.”
Something wasn’t quite right, he realized. She’d always been angular, in a sophisticated Kate Hepburn way, but… “Why, Lydia?”
She lifted her hand in an airy wave. “You know, the usual. We had a showing at the gallery, and Harris was gone for a few weeks, so everything was up to me…and then there was a buying trip….”
At her longtime boyfriend’s name, Clint bristled. He strode to the coffeemaker, poured himself a cup and lifted it in mocking salute. “I have an appointment. Make yourself at home.”
LYDIA WRAPPED her arms around herself against a sudden chill as Clint walked out the door. It had always been like this. Fire and fuel, the two of them. They’d made so many mistakes. Selfish mistakes born of passion and stubbornness and personalities too strong to ever truly mesh. It had been the children who’d suffered the most.
But nothing of that painful past could be changed.
This would be her last chance to try to heal old wounds and make things right. And with any luck, she’d have enough time left to do it.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
KRISTIN GRINNED at the tall, lanky cowboy standing at the front desk of the clinic. With those green eyes and that thick brown hair, Ethan Ritter had to be quite a heartbreaker in these parts, though she also sensed a quiet reserve that probably kept most women at bay.
“You’re telling me that you’re due for a tetanus shot…but you don’t really want it?”
He flashed a smile at her. “Yes, ma’am.”
“So…maybe I should ask our nurse to help me?” She glanced over her shoulder at Max, who was standing by the file cabinets behind the desk. He flexed his muscles and managed a scowl that was more caricature than fierce.
“No, ma’am. I’m just letting you know that sometimes I get a little woozy.” He handed over his completed health history. “I’ve seen a few too many needles in my time.”
She motioned him to follow her down to the first exam room, where she weighed him, then had him sit on the edge of the exam table so she could take his blood pressure and listen to his heart.
“Anything else you want to discuss, other than an overdue tetanus?”
“No, ma’am.”
She glanced down at his history, then looked up at him. “Looks like you’ve been healthy as a horse, other than a mild lead toxicity as a child. I see it was successfully treated, though. Your heart and lungs sound perfect, Mr. Ritter.”
Max walked into the room with a loaded syringe, tactfully circling behind the exam table as he would have if there’d been a child in the room, and handed it to her. He waited until she’d delivered the booster, then quietly left.
“So…are you okay?” she said, checking Ethan’s skin color and pulse.
“Man, you’re good.” He rubbed his arm and smiled. “Didn’t feel a thing.”
She laughed. “Now I know you’re kidding, because tetanus toxoid burns.”
“I hear you have Jim Baxter’s horses,” he said as he rolled down his sleeve and buttoned his shirt. “He was a good friend of mine.”
After growing up in the Dallas area, the grapevine in this small town still surprised and delighted her. “Now, how did you know that?”
“I bought a load of hay this past week from Miranda Wright. We all felt bad when Jim died, and she was real glad his horses have gone back to their old home. Those horses meant everything to him.”
“They’ll have the best of care, I promise. My son is just thrilled about having his own horse.”
“I’m a trainer, so give me a call if you have any problems with them. Jim would’ve wanted them to be secure in a good home, so I sure won’t charge you.” He stood and accepted the billing form she’d completed. “I’m one of the homesteaders, too. My place is just a few miles from yours.”
They shook hands. “Nice to meet you, neighbor. The Home Free program is an incredible opportunity, isn’t it?”
“It is, though not everyone…” He hesitated, as if debating how much to say, then his doubtful expression cleared and he simply gave her a friendly nod. “Nice meeting you.”
After cleaning up the exam room, she went out to the front desk. “Any word from Dr. Lou?”
Max shook his head. “Not since she called at nine. I guess that baby is taking its own sweet time in coming.” He chuckled as he followed her eyes to the clock. “And you-know-who is due here in five minutes.”
“I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.” Kristin rolled her eyes. “He not only dislikes me personally, but I’m sure he thinks a P.A. is second-best. Fortunately, I’ve got the cardiologist’s report and recommendations here. That’s what the doctor would have discussed with him, anyway.”
“Good luck. From what I hear, the guy is quite a piece of work. Down at the barbershop, the guys were saying something about favors and bribes—they even implied he has cronies in the local bank, and has been able to influence the outcome of loan applications.”
She didn’t doubt it for a minute. “Really.”
“One old guy warned me to watch out, because Clint is really bitter about the homestead program buying up ranch land he wanted for himself. But what’s he going to do? My loan went through, and—”
The front door of the clinic opened with a tinkling of bells, and the man himself walked in, his face a grim mask. Dressed in a perfectly tailored dark suit, crisp white shirt and dark burgundy tie, he looked more ready for a senate committee meeting than a small-town clinic, where the staff wore jeans and running shoes with their uniform tops.
“I hope the doctor’s ready, because I don’t have time to wait,” he announced, looking past Kristin to Max.
“The doctor isn’t actually here yet. She’s delivering a baby in San Antone,” Kristin said. “I have your reports from the cardiologist, though. I can go over them with you and get you set up with the correct prescriptions.”
He halted halfway across the waiting room, his jaw working. “I made an appointment with the doctor, and that’s who I expect to see.”
“She should be here within a few hours. Otherwise, if you want to reschedule she won’t be back here for two weeks.” Kristin flipped to that page in the appointment book. “That’s the twenty-fourth of September.”
“Forget it, then.” He turned on his heel to leave.
“No—wait,” she insisted. “You need to hear what’s in the report, and you definitely need to be on the recommended prescriptions. The cardiologist’s notes are adamant.” He wavered.
“Please. Just come on back. It will only take a few minutes.” Thankful the waiting room was empty, she added, “He believes you’re at high risk for a heart attack. This appointment isn’t something you should put off.”
Muttering something under his breath, Clint gestured sharply. “Fine,” he snapped. “Let’s get this over with.”
Kristin led him into the doctor’s private office, figuring he’d be more comfortable there. She waved him toward a chair and took a seat behind the desk, where she withdrew the new cardiology reports from Clint’s medical folder. “Your old records from Austin show that you’ve had long-standing heart failure. You were put on a couple of medications, and the doctor wanted you to come in every two months so he could check your blood pressure and heart. The letter he sent us says he hasn’t seen you in over a year.”
Clearly bored, Clint picked at an imaginary piece of lint on his sleeve.
“Your cholesterol is 345, your t
riglycerides are over 400. In addition, your latest EKG shows that your heart failure is getting worse. I imagine you find yourself out of breath climbing stairs, and that there’s increased swelling in your ankles.”
When he didn’t respond, she read the cardiologist’s report aloud. “He wants you to have a cath done, the sooner the better, and he wants you to make an appointment with him—or your former cardiologist.”
She slid a stack of four prescriptions and a referral slip across the desk. “I’ve written these out already, so you just need to take them to the pharmacy and have them filled. I’d suggest you do it today. Any questions?”
He reluctantly fingered the papers, then grabbed them and stuffed them in his suit pocket as he stood.
“Look,” she said, fighting to keep her voice level. “I know we have a history. I know you don’t like me, and that’s okay. But you need to follow through on this for the sake of your family—if you want to be around for them.”
That must have hit a chord, because he flashed her a look of pure venom. “I hear you were at the ranch last week.”
“Twice, actually.”
“Then you really don’t listen very well. I told you to stay away from my family. You weren’t good enough for my son before, and none of that has changed. You hear?”
She reined in a flash of temper. “Not good enough?”
“Think of the tabloids,” he scoffed. “The way they trashed some of the more free-spirited presidential brothers, over the years.”
“You placed more importance on some sleazy journalism than on your own son’s happiness?”
“My son, married to the daughter of a ne’er-do-well? A drunk who went bankrupt and couldn’t keep a job? The political damage would’ve been immeasurable, and it would’ve embarrassed this entire family.”
“Yet you hired my father anyway. Obviously he was a better man than you say.”
A Home in Hill Country (Harlequin Heartwarming) Page 10
