My Girl

by Jacquie Biggar

  That explained the streak of black he thought he’d seen as he rode into the courtyard earlier. The cat must have spooked the horses, causing Trish to lose control.

  “Tía,” he scolded. “You know Matt doesn’t like cats.”

  She frowned. “And why not? Your sainted grandmother always had a cat in the house.” She dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her apron. “I miss her every day.”

  He hugged her petite body. “Me too, Aunty. Me Too.” It was little more than a year since Madeline, the family matriarch, passed and they were still finding their way without her.

  Trish cleared her throat and Aaron let his aunt go to glare in her direction.

  She lifted her chin. “Thank you for riding to my rescue—though I could have managed just fine on my own—I’m going to head in and get cleaned up now.” Her gaze warmed as it moved to Consuela. “My room is beautiful. Sophia sang your praises for so long, I’m glad we had the opportunity to visit. I’m just sorry we can’t stay longer.”

  Consuela’s brows furrowed. “But miss, you’re booked for a week. Sophia planned a hayride, branding exhibition, and even a Halloween barn dance. Are you sure you can’t stay?”

  Aaron cursed under his breath. His sister had gone to a lot of effort to make the Sylvesters’ visit a success and he knew damn well Trish was leaving because he’d demanded it.

  He was caught between a rock and a hard place.

  “Stay,” he muttered and stared a gap near the top of the fountain. He’d have to find that stray cat before Matt did. Maybe one of the ranch hands could take the poor critter. His brother barely accepted Sophia’s ginger cat, he’d never take in another.

  “I’m sorry, can you repeat that? Because I thought you just finished telling me—”

  “How beautiful the farm is this time of year,” he finished hastily.

  She gave him a disbelieving glare from slitted green eyes. “Well, how can I say no then?”

  Tía Consuela was the only one happy with the change of events. She clapped her hands together and grasped Trish’s elbow. “Now you stay, come in and sample my fresh-made empanadas. The children, they love them.”

  Aaron scowled as he watched the women enter the house. He had a feeling he was going to be sorry he’d given in to his aunt’s wishes. He was still bitter about the way Trish had broken things off between them last year after the deal he’d been working on with her brother failed. It had seemed like one negated the other. He hadn’t wanted to think that of her, but when she’d refused all his calls he’d been left with no other option.

  And now she was back.

  He gathered the reins and led the horses toward the stables. The cavernous whitewashed building had pens for forty animals, many of them poking their heads over the stall doors as he entered the dim interior. The Thoroughbred-Andalusian breeding program had created healthy foals and already they were receiving handsome offers for the yearlings. Matt planned to buy new breeding stock from the proceeds of the sales and continue to build their herd into some of the most sought-after jumpers in Texas.

  The low murmur of voices drew to a halt as he neared the tack room. He tipped the scruffy white cowboy hat to the back of his head, nodded absently to Rico who held a beat-up leather ledger and a carpenter’s pencil in his hands, and waited for Matt to join him in the corridor.

  “What’s up?”

  Matthew waved a hand, pointing up and down the aisle. “Work’s up. You know, that thing you like to avoid.”

  Aaron caught Rico’s raised brow and his ears grew hot. He didn’t know why, but his brother had the ability to make him feel like a chastised child with little more than a glance. He’d known better than to try idle chit-chat with the lord-of-the-manor.

  Dickens butted his head between them and gently blew on Aaron’s cheek. Aaron gave the satiny neck a rub, grateful for the sign of affection. At least one creature in his life loved him. Sometimes, he figured he was better off hanging out with the animals than trying to please his family.

  “Whatever, man. Look, I need to get these two taken care of, so if you’re finished—” He tightened his grip on the trailing reins and continued his journey down the barn to Dickens’ stall. His horse nickered and entered the twelve-by-twelve room on his own, heading straight for the water pail.

  Aaron tied off the horse Trish had ridden to an iron ring mounted outside the stall, then turned to follow Dickens, only to pull up short when his brother passed him with a rectangle bale of hay. He deposited it on the floor near the feed trough, cut the cords holding it together, and reached out to pat the big horse’s flank.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, moving out of the way as the gelding dove into the feed. “I’d forgotten you were going out to ride fence today. Had a few things come up and I guess I took it out on you. Want a hand with the grooming?”

  Okay, who is this guy and what did he do with my brother?

  It wasn’t like him to apologize or offer to do chores. They’d been brought up to care for the animals before themselves. Even as children, their father had brought step stools out to the barn so they could learn to curry and brush their ponies. And later he’d taught them to use hoof picks, check for swelling, and care for their own tack. When Dad, their mother and Grandpa Joseph died in a small plane crash, Grandma Madeline had taken over caring for the three kids. Not for the first time, he wondered what she’d gone through losing a husband, son and daughter-in-law in one shocking swoop while gaining sole custody of small children and a five thousand acre working ranch. No wonder she’d been a legend in these parts.

  “Sure.” He nodded toward the mare standing beyond the doorway. “One of Sophia’s guests ended up on a runaway today. She handled it, don’t worry,” he said when Matt jerked. “I went after her and she seemed just fine. Nothing a spa day can’t cure for the city girl.” He wasn’t about to share who the escapee had been. Plenty of time for that clusterfudge when his sister was around to explain herself.

  Matt heaved a heavy sigh and reached for the curry comb resting on the ledge. “I don’t know why I let her talk me into this harebrained idea. Our ancestors would turn over in their graves if they knew.” He waited until Aaron removed the saddle and blanket, then ran the comb in a circular motion over the horse’s back. The dappled gray coat rippled beneath his touch.

  Aaron eyed him over Dickens’ neck as he used a brush to straighten the mane. “Don’t you think you’re being melodramatic? Give it a chance. If it works out, it’ll be the solid source of income the ranch needs. Especially since you shot down my plans last year.” He hadn’t meant to say anything, but sometimes Matt’s holier-than-thou attitude rankled. It wasn’t like Mr. Professional Gambler didn’t have a few foibles of his own, after all.

  Dickens shuffled, picking up on the tension invading the room. Aaron rubbed between the velvety ears until the horse calmed. “Look, we all want what’s best for the ranch.”

  Matt snorted.

  Aaron glared at his brother. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Matt took his time answering. He finished combing his side of the horse, checked the hooves and fetlocks, then strode over to heft the saddle over his shoulder before turning to Aaron. “If you love this place as much as you profess, then why were you going to sell off your share of the ranch the minute the ink dried on the ownership papers?”

  Without waiting for a reply, he stalked out of the stall and left Aaron to stew in a quagmire of his own making.

  4

  Trish sat at the ginormous island and watched the Shaughnessys’ housekeeper buzz around the kitchen. Consuela filled a copper kettle with water from the deep farm sink before settling it to heat on a six-burner gas stove with double ovens. Then she turned to the stainless-steel refrigerator and began to haul out what seemed like a mountain of food—sliced tomatoes, cucumbers, homemade salsa, guacamole, aioli, limes and a heaping plate of empanadas.

  “Would you like me to make nachos to go with this, dear?” Consuela asked, her head i
n the fridge.

  Trish looked around, but no, she was the only other person in the room. There was already enough food to feed an army. No wonder those Shaughnessys loved their home.

  “Thank you,” she said. “This is great. Are you sure I can’t help?”

  “Oh, no, dear. You’re company, after all.” Consuela shut the door with a broad hip, her hands full with a large platter of chopped fruit. “Besides, I like to take care of my kids and their… friends.” She smiled cheerfully and dumped the platter in front of Trish. “Eat up now, you’re too thin. You need hips like mine to have healthy children, you know.” She gave a little wriggle just as the kettle whistled. “Oh, there’s our tea water—won’t be but a moment.”

  Bemused, Trish plucked a juicy red grape from the tray and popped it into her mouth, savoring the sweet-tart flavor. She waited until Consuela rejoined her at the counter before asking the question preying on her mind. “So… is Aaron seeing anyone?”

  Consuela’s knowing grin heated Trish’s cheeks.

  “He’s a fine-looking lad, that one.” She filled the earthenware teacups and handed Trish the sugar bowl. “Just a dab to sweeten the pot, you know. Darn doctor keeps harping on my blood sugars, but a gal needs her sweets now and then.” She crawled up onto one of the high stools with a grunt and sighed over her cup. “That boy hasn’t had it easy, being the middle child. He feels invisible, even though his brother and sister adore him. But then, maybe you know what that’s like?” Her chocolate-brown eyes met Trish’s. “Your father was a bit upset when he came in earlier.”

  Trish set the empanada she’d been nibbling onto a napkin, her stomach knotting at the mention of her dad. When her brother, Andy, had come home with a pamphlet for the newly opened Balmoral Dude Ranch, she’d assumed he’d had a change of heart and was happy for his friend, Aaron. The suggestion to book a family getaway for autumn should have been the proverbial red flag. Her biggest mistake was in thinking her family was normal.

  “He doesn’t want to accept his baby girl has grown up,” she said. If her tone was sardonic, she hoped the kindly maid took it for exhaustion.

  Consuela patted her hand. “No father does, dear. Their instinct is to protect their cubs.” She smiled and took another sip of tea, her eyes fluttering closed to fully enjoy the forbidden treat.

  Or destroy them. The dark thought wormed its way into Trish’s mind and grew like the plague. She’d lost count of the number of times her dad had let them down over the years.

  Trish had looked forward to this trip as a way to mend the distance that had grown between her and Andy in recent years—and, if she was being honest, the possibility of seeing Aaron again.

  Aaron.

  A wanton thrill coursed through her veins. He’d rescued her on the runaway horse like a hero from a romance novel. She could have eventually managed to control the animal herself—it wasn’t her first time on a horse—but, she wouldn’t trade those minutes with Aaron for anything. Even though he’d reacted like a jerk.

  “Where are my parents?” she asked, not really surprised they hadn’t waited to make sure she was safe.

  “In their room, I believe—your mother wasn’t feeling well.”

  Her mother was always ill. They’d spent half their childhoods getting dragged from one medical clinic to another holistic health center. She’d missed her friends’ sleepovers and even her own birthday party one year because her mother ‘just didn’t feel up to dealing with the stress, of it all’.

  “Oh, yes. Your young man said when you were done gallivanting—” Consuela’s brows hunched up like an old woman’s back, “—he would be waiting in the library.”

  Shoot, Kyle.

  Trish hopped off the stool and took a last sip of the delicious herbal tea. “I better go find him, he must be worried,” she said and avoided Consuela’s kindly brown eyes. “Thank you for the delicious food. You were absolutely right, your empanadas are the best I’ve ever tried, and I’m from Austin. I’ve had my share of fantastic Mexican dishes.” She was babbling now—great.

  A scrambling of nails over the terra cotta tiles broke the awkward silence. Trish gaped at a ginger cat with a bushy tail chasing a tiny black dog in one door and out the other with a chorus of yapping.

  “Was that dog bald?” she asked, not sure whether to believe her eyes.

  Consuela clucked her tongue. “Those two, they never quit. The noisy one was Master Matt’s hairless Chihuahua, Chewy. He’s the instigator, don’t let that adorable face fool you.”

  Adorable wasn’t quite the description Trish would have used, remembering the long pink tongue hanging out of the critter’s mouth. She could more easily picture the hard-nosed Matthew Shaughnessy with a Rottweiler than the little rat who’d just run through the kitchen. But somehow, it made him more approachable. She decided her father didn’t need to know about this, at least not from her. He enjoyed using whatever he perceived as a weakness against his opponents.

  And make no mistake, that’s what the Shaughnessys were. She needed to remember that.

  “Okay, I guess I’ll see you at dinner then?” she asked Consuela as she moved toward the doorway.

  “Sí. Five o’clock in the main salon. Semi-formal, if you brought dress clothes. Sophia likes to keep the traditions alive—just like her grandmother, that one.”

  As Trish made her way toward the library in the beautiful Spanish-style villa, she reflected on the sibling heirs. Each different, yet bound to the land, and she wished for the impossible.

  5

  Aaron tugged off his dusty leather gloves and slapped them against his thigh as he entered the coolness of the villa. It had taken longer than expected to groom the horses—he’d found a slight swelling on the fetlock of the animal Trish had been riding. Not serious enough to call in the vet, but worrisome, nonetheless. He’d treated it with a cold-water hose bath and asked Rico to keep an eye on him. Stocking up was fairly common in horses and easily treated if caught in time. He hadn’t found any bite marks or signs of abscess, though something had set the animal off and he didn’t think it was a damn Halloween cat. Their horses were carefully exposed to all manner of scents and sounds—they had to be if the general public would be riding them. The last thing the ranch needed was a lawsuit on their hands.

  The conversation with Matt had left a sour taste in his mouth and he veered for the library, deciding to soak his sorrows in a glass of whiskey before dinner. Annoyance rose at the sight of a stranger—one of Sophia’s guests, he assumed—sprawled out on the sofa, a drink on the table and cell phone in hand.

  Aaron wasn’t in the mood to play nice with the company, he’d go to his room and shower instead. He’d just started to reverse direction when the man glanced over. An immediate sense of animosity flashed between the two men, though he couldn’t say why.

  “Howdy,” he said, heading for the fully stocked wet bar. “Long day. Thought I’d grab a drink. Refill?” He nodded toward the nearly empty drink on the table.

  “Yeah, sure.” The stranger rose and brought his glass to the counter. He waited for Aaron to put a conservative splash into his own glass over a bed of ice, then reached for the bottle. “Name’s Kyle Lane. You work here?” He filled his glass with a two-finger shot and downed half in one swallow. “I can’t believe I let myself get talked into a week in the boonies.” He laughed as though it was a big joke.

  Aaron frowned. Just what they needed; a drunk. “Hardly the boonies,” he replied and forced a friendly grin though it felt more like a grimace. “We have all the amenities; satellite television, internet—though it tends to run slow in the evening—hot tub, a fully-equipped games room, daily activities, and if you really feel the need for more, Austin is only an hour away.”

  “Don’t remind me,” Kyle groused. He yanked the loosened tie from around his neck and undid the top two buttons on his expensive-looking dress shirt. “If Trish’s old man hadn’t insisted, you wouldn’t have caught me within a hundred yards of this place.” He to
ssed the tie on the counter and took another slug of the whiskey before staring into the bottom of his glass. “Any idea where they hide the top shelf liquor? Figures they leave the cheap shit out for their guests.”

  Aaron stiffened. The jerk didn’t know his alcohol from a hole in the ground. And what was that about Trish? He moved the bottle further from the other man’s reach. There was nothing worse than an ugly drunk in his opinion.

  “Are you a… friend of Trish Sylvester’s, then?” he asked, his gut tensing for the answer, though what did he expect? She was a beautiful woman, of course she would have moved on.

  Kyle snorted, his eyes glassy now that the booze had kicked in. “That’s one way of putting it, yeah. We’re engaged.” He flashed a lop-sided grin. “I hooked a rich babe who knows how to—”

  “Hey, watch your mouth.” Aaron’s fists clenched. He itched to knock those perfect teeth out of the asshole’s mouth. What did Trish see in this guy?

  Kyle backed up a couple of steps—maybe he was smarter than he looked after all—and raised his hands in the air. “Take it easy, I didn’t mean anything by it. Trish is a sweet girl, I’m lucky to have her.”

  “You’re preachin’ to the choir, man.” Aaron turned away, disgusted. “Trish and I go way back. You might want to find out who you’re sharing confidences with next time before opening a can of worms you can’t retract.” He reached for the door. “By the way, I don’t just work here. I’m part owner.”

  Kyle’s eyes widened even as he swayed against the bar. Aaron shook his head. Idiot.

  He took a steadying breath and stepped into the hall, straight into the oncoming path of his ex-girlfriend.

  “Oh,” she stammered, slim hands bracing against Aaron’s chest. “I didn’t see you there.”

  Aaron’s senses were overwhelmed with the scent and feel of Trish. His fingers gripped her hips, the urge to tug her closer so she could feel what she did to him riding him hard. Her green eyes pulled him into their depths, seeming to make promises he knew, knew, she wouldn’t keep. Damn it, what was it about this woman? Why couldn’t he get her out of his blood?