The Texas Way

by Jan Freed

  Her strength was almost gone, but she couldn’t give up. This was Twister. She clamped her legs and started the heart-catching slide downward.

  The pounding in her ears grew thunderous. Flashing forelegs inched into sight. Her fuzzy brain noted they were black, not gray. She felt herself slipping and briefly wished she could’ve been stronger.

  “Hold on,” Scott’s steely voice ordered seconds before his arm banded her waist.

  Airborne for a dizzying instant, Margaret landed stomach-down over the withers of his galloping horse.

  Hold on to what? she thought wildly, bouncing like Orca’s ears at a fast trot. Blood rushed to her hanging head and arms. She clutched a denim-covered leg ending in a boot far below. Her own legs bumped between the two horses. Scott strained forward, reached for Twister’s bridle and pulled.

  The jerky transition from full gallop to a trembling stop almost sent her tumbling. Exhausted and bruised, she hung limp and waited for the inevitable outburst.

  “Dammit, Maggie!” Scott dismounted and pulled her off the horse.

  The minute her riding boots touched the ground, her legs crumpled. He caught her under the armpits and spun her around, crushing her to his chest.

  She clung hard, then reared back. “Twister. I’ve got to—”

  “Settle down.” Scott’s arms tightened, caging her with insulting ease. “He’s worn-out, but he’ll be fine.”

  With a grateful sigh, she slid her arms around his waist and let him support most of her weight. Both horses breathed heavily. Scott’s heartbeat drummed beneath her ear. His arms felt strong and safe and overwhelmingly right.

  “Thank you, Scott.” Her lips curved up at the thought of this rangy cowboy playing white knight to her damsel in distress. “How’d you manage to find a horse?”

  “He was coming on to the track for a workout.”

  “You kidnapped one of Liz’s racehorses to follow me?”

  “I just…borrowed him. Damn near didn’t reach you in time, either.” His voice sounded strained. “Do you have a death wish, Maggie?”

  “N-no.”

  “Then why the hell didn’t you jump when I yelled?”

  She tilted her head back in astonishment. “Twister needed me.”

  His gaze raked her face a long moment, his expression a peculiar blend of emotions she found difficult to read.

  “Something happened to spook him, didn’t it?” he said finally.

  She worried her lower lip, struggling to reconstruct the event. “There was a noise, I think. And I felt him jerk. Then he went berserk.”

  “What kind of noise?”

  “A…pop.” She replayed the sound in her mind and couldn’t place it.

  Scott’s eyes hardened. The breeze stirred his hat-less hair, giving him the appearance of a dangerous stranger. Margaret realized he was looking over her shoulder. She pushed away from his comforting embrace and turned, wanting more than anything to stay buried against his hard chest.

  Liz, Dr. Morley, an exercise boy and a tall, silver-haired man were hurrying toward them. Margaret moved to Twister’s side and inspected him for bleeding. Something had spurred him into madness. She was almost disappointed to find no visible evidence. Weariness weighed his drooping head. Foamy sweat lathered his coat. She prayed soreness was all he would suffer from the experience.

  The contingent had reached them. Dr. Morley exchanged Scott’s cowboy hat for the gelding’s reins and began running his hands over the horse.

  “My God, are you okay, Margaret?” Liz asked.

  “Just a little shaky.”

  “I almost had heart failure when you jumped that rail. And then to see Gambler running hell-for-leather across uneven ground…” Liz walked toward Dr. Morley. “How does he look? Will he be okay?”

  “I’m fine, but thanks for askin’,” Scott drawled.

  Liz spun around, her eyes flashing. “Excuse me for being a little upset. Gambler is a valuable animal. Any deviation from his training schedule could make him peak early or late. He’s my responsibility—”

  “But I own him,” the distinguished older man interrupted firmly, stepping forward and extending his hand to Scott. “Daniel Brady. I operate Oasis Arabians, outside Houston. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”

  Scott pumped the man’s hand once. “Scott Hayes. And no, I’m afraid I’m pretty new to the Arabian-racing industry. Cattle ranching is more my thing.” He seemed to take Mr. Brady’s measure, and for the first time looked a bit sheepish. “I’m sorry for takin’ your horse like that, Mr. Brady, but it was an emergency.”

  Daniel chuckled. “So I gathered. And call me Daniel. You are one helluva rider, Scott.” He turned to Margaret. “You, too, young lady. I thought I was watching Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show there for a minute.” His lively blue eyes conveyed a mixture of concern and admiration.

  Margaret liked him immediately.

  Liz’s dark winged brows drew together. “I didn’t teach you to be a stunt rider, Margaret. Sloppy riding lost you that rein.” She gestured at the exercise boy. “It wouldn’t have happened with Billy in the saddle.”

  The men glanced uneasily at Liz. Margaret blushed miserably.

  She had been careless. And selfish. A stronger rider might have regained control with one rein. But she’d pleaded to ride Twister during his first track workout, wanting to show off the results of her training.

  “No harm done,” Daniel said, turning to Dr. Mor-ley. “Gambler looks just fine to me. But just to be on the safe side, would you mind looking him over more thoroughly at the stables? I’ll check on him before I leave.”

  “Of course not, Mr. Brady.” Dr. Morley sought Margaret’s eyes. “Bring Twister by when he’s cooled down, and I’ll take a look at him, too.”

  She nodded gratefully as he led the gelding away.

  “Would you like me to walk Twister for you, Miss Winston?” Billy asked, his voice startlingly deep. The wiry exercise “boy” was probably in his late twenties.

  “Margaret has legs,” Liz said. “Apparently she’s forgotten the first rule of horsemanship—always see to your horse’s needs before your own.”

  Scott took a step forward, his expression thunderous. “Maggie risked her neck to save Twister’s. I’d say that’s seeing to his needs before—”

  “No, Scott, Liz is right,” Margaret interrupted, ashamed she’d had to be reminded. She’d neglected Twister too long already. Gathering his reins, she sent Liz a silent apology.

  Liz’s stern gaze softened. “You do look a bit shaky, dear. I suppose Billy could cool him out for you—just this once.” Her smile took the sting out of her words. She glanced at Billy and nodded. “Go ahead. But keep that stallion away from the barns.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Thanks, Billy,” Margaret whispered, handing him the reins.

  He grinned, giving Twister an admiring once-over. “I ain’t never seen a horse run like this one. You gonna enter him in a race soon? I wanna be sure and place a bet—”

  “Billy?” Liz’s warning tone wiped the grin from his face.

  He shrugged at Margaret and led Twister in the opposite direction of the barns.

  “I caught the last of his workout, too,” Daniel said, a speculative gleam in his eyes. “Anybody get a time on him?”

  Liz moved closer and tucked her arm through his. “He’s raw, Daniel. Hasn’t even been gate-trained yet.” She gave him a dazzling smile. “Why don’t we go back to my office and review Gambler’s progress? He picked up a half second in the last week.”

  But Daniel’s attention was riveted on something else. Margaret turned and spotted the stopwatch Scott cradled in his palm. She hurried to his side and read the digital numbers.

  Impossible. Her dyslexia must be confusing her perception again.

  “What distance did you time?” she asked Scott sharply.

  “A mile and an eighth.”

  “Read the time out loud please.”

  He did, drawing a whist
le from Daniel.

  “Is that good?” Scott asked.

  Liz looked as if she’d been slapped. “Manual timing is never accurate.”

  Scott made a wry face. “It must be good.”

  “Even if it’s off a couple of seconds, that’s still a record!” Daniel’s excitement was infectious.

  Margaret met Scott’s eyes, relishing his dawning awareness. Yes, she told him silently. It’s true. We have a real shot at winning.

  His wondering expression evolved into a thousand-watt smile, boyish and full of hope. She smiled back so broadly her face hurt.

  Daniel bent his head to Liz. “Why don’t you go on about your business, and I’ll stop by your office in a little while?” He gently disengaged her hand from his arm, his manner turning brisk. “I have a few questions I’d like to ask these two.”

  THE NEXT DAY Scott walked quickly toward his truck, aware he’d kept Maggie waiting in the hot sun. “Sorry, but I couldn’t find my…” His steps faltered and stopped. “Do I have mustard on my tie or something?”

  Maggie closed her dropped jaw too late. “No.”

  “Then why were you staring at it?”

  “It…threw me for a minute, okay? I’ve never seen you wear one.”

  He felt like a total hayseed. “I’ll try not blow my nose on it in front of the bank officer.” Striding to her passenger door, he swung it open and held out his hand. Her sleeveless white dress looked expensive, elegant and restrictively narrow at the knees.

  Tossing her purse and portfolio on the seat, she accepted his supporting boost into the pickup. Her dress hitched high for mouth-drying seconds before she settled and tugged at the hem.

  Scowling, he slammed the door and jogged to his side of the truck. He would’ve gone to the bank by himself, but without her expert testimony and backing, he wouldn’t have a prayer of getting the capital he needed to see H & H Cattle Company through August. Sliding behind the wheel, he started the engine and adjusted the rearview mirror.

  “Scott?”

  “Hmm?” He fiddled with the air-conditioning controls, hoping the Freon would hold until they got to Gonzales.

  “You look very handsome. I like your tie.”

  His head snapped around. She studied it through a fringe of long lashes, her eyes sultry with approval. His relief changed to hot pleasure, and he willed her not to admire his belt.

  Shifting gears, he pulled away from the house. “Thanks. You look nice, too.”

  Nice? Scott’s mouth twisted. Grandmothers looked nice. Not gorgeous blondes with creamy “touch me” skin and legs fashioned to torment a man’s dreams. As Maggie smoothed her dress in a self-conscious movement, he fought a rush of tenderness.

  He’d once thought her spoiled, unworthy of meeting the challenge of living on a ranch. But now he knew he was the one lacking.

  Maggie was brave and kind and deserving of the best things in life—things he certainly couldn’t provide. Her father would relent and open his purse strings eventually. Scott refused to encourage a personal relationship that would force her to give up so much.

  One hour and a deliberately sparse conversation later, Scott parked in front of what everyone in the county referred to as The Bank. Generations of farmers and ranchers had done business at the Gonzales Bank and Trust, and the Hayes family was no exception.

  “Ready to face the wolves?” he asked.

  “Just a minute.”

  Margaret pawed through her purse, pulled out a compact and checked whatever it was women checked in the small mirror. She looked damn good to him.

  Dabbing her nose, she smoothed a fingertip beneath one eye and bared her teeth before snapping the compact shut. “Okay, let’s go.”

  The bank lobby hadn’t changed since Scott, nineteen and eager to take the world by storm, had asked J. D. Cameron for a loan to buy old man Perkin’s place. J.D. was president of the bank now, but the lobby still smelled like money. Rich walnut paneling and original Western oil paintings graced the walls. The chairs were solid, covered in subdued fabrics and built to hold a large man without threatening to collapse. Nothing flashed or glinted in the place, unlike the chrome-and-marble lobbies of newer banks.

  Ken Moller, the loan officer, had moved here two years ago from Dallas after a nasty divorce. They’d immediately developed a bond of bachelorhood that Scott hoped would benefit his cause today. He headed for the corner office guarded by a helmet-haired secretary in a vivid lime green dress.

  She looked up over the rim of half glasses, her gaze moving from Scott to Maggie and back without expression.

  “H’lo, Miss Harrison.” Scott offered her the shameless smile that had served him well over the years. “You look glowing today.”

  Her flushing cheeks clashed with her dress.

  “We’ve got an appointment to see Ken at two o’clock. Scott Hayes and Margaret Winston,” he added helpfully, knowing the secretary knew exactly who he was. He’d managed to make her smile during his last visit, and Ken swore no one had ever done that before.

  Miss Harrison’s nut brown eyes softened. “One moment, Mr. Hayes.” She bypassed the intercom and knocked once on the door behind her, then slipped through and closed it quietly.

  Maggie looked at Scott and raised one brow.

  He shoved his hands into the pockets of his navy dress slacks. “What?”

  “Glowing?”

  He grinned. “I’ve seen lightning bugs glow less than that dress.”

  She tsked and shook her head, but her eyes danced. When he continued to stare, her amusement dissolved into awareness. She lowered her chin and looked up through those long lashes the way she had in the truck earlier. His body responded no less strongly the second time around.

  The office door suddenly opened. Miss Harrison marched out and nodded stiffly. “Mr. Moller will see you now.”

  Scott walked inside, introduced Maggie and took the second guest chair opposite a massive desk. As she crossed her legs, he watched his bank officer watch her and felt his gut clench.

  The bank’s youngest vice president was handsome, pleasant and prosperous—an exceedingly suitable match for a woman like Maggie. Ken’s dazed expression said she’d knocked him on his ass, but Scott predicted a fast recovery. He was right.

  For the next ten minutes, Ken and Maggie discussed personal backgrounds, the city of Dallas and mutual friends and interests. They seemed to have met all the same people, to have eaten at all the same restaurants, to have thought all the same thoughts, for God’s sake.

  He charmed. She graced. And Scott stewed.

  Ken finally noticed something was amiss. “Sorry we got carried away, Scott. You didn’t make an appointment and drive sixty miles to talk about this stuff, did you?”

  “I haven’t talked since I sat down.” Scott ignored Maggie’s startled glance.

  “Right.” Ken chuckled uneasily. “Sorry again. It’s just that Margaret and I have so much in common. You understand.”

  “Yeah, I think I do.”

  They exchanged a man-to-man look, Ken testing the boundaries of Scott’s claim on Maggie. It was a decent thing to do before making a move. Scott should consider what was best for her. Hell, he should consider what was best for the loan he needed. Ken smiled. “Then you’ll forgive me for monopolizing Margaret’s time?”

  “Oh, sure. ‘Course, I wouldn’t want you to make a habit of it.” Scott held the other man’s gaze. “You understand.”

  The flare of challenge in Ken’s pale blue eyes slowly faded to resignation. “Yeah, I think I do.”

  Scott started to relax, then saw the toe of Maggie’s leather pump twitching up and down. There’d be hell to pay later.

  Ken tapped a manila folder on his desk, then opened it briskly. “Okay then, let’s get down to business. I reviewed H & H’s file after your phone call, Scott, and frankly I’m surprised you’re asking for another loan. If Mr. Cameron wasn’t sentimental about old ranching families in the county, we would’ve already foreclosed on your
property. You were lucky to get an extension on the note until September.”

  Scott strove to keep his expression blank while his stomach burned. “I realize that and I’m grateful. But you and I both know Mr. Cameron doesn’t want to be in the real-estate business. Help me get through the summer, and the bank can stick to banking.”

  “How much do you need?”

  “Fifteen thousand.” Peanuts, in the scheme of life. But to Scott, the continuation of life as he knew it.

  “We’d require collateral, and everything you own is secured with the first note.”

  “Not everything,” Maggie said coolly, drawing both men’s attention. She picked up her portfolio from the floor, pulled out a long sheet of paper and slid it toward Ken.

  He glanced at it briefly and looked up. “What’s this?”

  “Collateral.” She smiled at his skeptical expression. “That pedigree is worth ten times the amount Scott wants to borrow. Allow me to explain…”

  MARGARET BURST from the bank into the sunlight and marched to the parked truck. Scott followed warily. How long would he have before the dung hit the fan?

  At the passenger door, she whirled around. “Are you crazy?”

  Not very long, he thought ruefully. “Excuse me?”

  “Oh, please. Spare me the innocent act.” Deepening her voice, she mimicked, “I wouldn’t want you to make a habit of monopolizing Margaret’s time.”

  “Oh, that.”

  “Yes, that. Besides antagonizing the man you were about to hit up for money, that’s the kind of macho BS Jim used to pull. I hated it! From now on, I’ll decide who I spend my time with, thank you very much.” Her eyes flashed silver.

  Scott’s own temper flared. “Fine. Ken’s a great guy. You sure as hell seemed to like him. Y’all have a nice life.” He inserted the key in her door and jerked it open.

  She threw in her purse and portfolio with a sound of disgust. “Don’t be ridiculous. I have no personal interest in the man. But a little schmoozing never hurts when you’ve got a tough sell ahead.” Accepting his hand for a boost up, she paused and worried her lip. “I hope I left him enough information for the loan-committee meeting.”