by Anna Jeffrey
She had indeed taken it to her contracts lawyer who whistled and swore when he saw the list of assets. “I always wondered exactly how much those people owned.”
The lawyer was a good friend as well as a good contracts lawyer. He explained the prenuptial agreement. On her wedding day, she was to receive a sizeable amount of cash deposited in a special account in her name only. On the day of her baby’s birth, another large cash gift would be deposited, the total of the two paydays amounting to a million dollars.
The moment her and Drake’s child drew its first breath, it would be gifted a three-tiered trust fund, the first tier of which would become his or hers to own at age 28, with the ensuing tiers payable at age 35 and 45 respectively. No matter what the future held for Shannon and Drake, their baby would grow up an heir to a fortune just as its father and aunt and uncles had done. The same arrangement would follow the birth of any other children born to her and Drake.
Drake had also gifted her a parcel of real estate. Added to adjoining acreage she already owned, the value was at least a million dollars. That single gesture might have been the one that won her hand.
“But this is so one-sided. I have nothing to give,” she told her lawyer.
He had shrugged. “I think he must know that. According to this, all he wants is your loyalty and your love and affection. And the child you’re carrying.”
That whole experience now seemed like a fairy tale. Before she got pregnant, if anyone had told her a baby would be so important to a man of Drake’s reputation as a playboy and a womanizer, she wouldn’t have believed it.
She had already received the first payout for Colum. It appeared in her bank account at the end of her first trimester. She was now a multi-millionaire in her own right, a fact that still made her dizzy and filled her with guilt. What had she done to deserve or earn such riches? Would she ever stop wondering if she had let herself be bought?
She assumed Drake knew she had done as he suggested and taken the agreement to her lawyer, yet they had never discussed it. He hadn’t asked her, so she didn’t mention it either. Maybe someday, after they were more settled in as an old married couple, she would tell him.
Other than her lawyer, Shannon had never discussed the agreement with anyone, though a few people—like Christa—had the nerve to ask about it. Even now, though she had started to notice that she was treated differently in some venues in Fort Worth and Dallas, she hadn’t wrapped her mind around just how well off the Lockharts were. Or that by marrying Drake and bearing his child she had become a part of their affluence and influence.
Her saying yes to his proposal had little to do with the wealth bestowed on her. He told her she was the one he had waited for and she believed him. She loved him madly, was ecstatic being his wife. She didn’t expect to be paid for having his kids. If he wanted a dozen, she would happily give birth to them.
MIDAFTERNOON, PIC LOCKHART entered the Double-Barrel ranch house. Having spent the morning overseeing the movement of a few hundred pregnant mothers to a pasture closer to the barn, he had missed dinner. He was starved.
He set his hat on the stainless-steel utility room counter and walked into the kitchen. Johnnie Sue, the housekeeper to whom cleanliness was next to Godliness, was wiping the stainless-steel counters. She was one of the best housekeepers and cooks Pic could remember.
She looked up from her task. “Where ya been? You missed dinner.”
“Moving cattle. What’s left to eat?” He walked over to the large coffee urn that stood on the end of the counter and drew a mug.
“Your daddy brought in a couple of men for dinner and Kate showed up, but I’ve still got a little chicken-fried steak and gravy left. Some mashed potatoes and asparagus. Want me to fix you a plate?”
“Would you, please?” He walked out and washed his hands in the utility room sink, then returned to the kitchen, sat down at the table in the breakfast room just off the kitchen and drew his hands down his face. He was tired as well as hungry. “Who was with Dad?”
“I didn’t catch the names.”
He looked out over the swimming pool that looked as if it poured over the edge of the Brazos River Canyon, but that was only an illusion. They called it an infinity pool. He’d had it built soon after he and Mandy got married as a wedding present.
“I didn’t see Mandy’s rig. She’s not home yet?”
Johnnie Sue glanced up at the wall clock. “Shouldn’t be long. With the holidays, I don’t think her team is practicing that much.”
The fact that Mandy was still teaching school and coaching swimming at Drinkwell High School was an irritating sore spot. When Pic proposed, she told him she wanted to coach one more year so she could help a couple of kids get scholarships to colleges and he agreed. That school year had come and gone and those kids had gotten the scholarships. Mandy was into another school year and still traveling thirty-eight miles twice a day, five, sometimes six, days a week, to the Drinkwell schoolhouse and driving all over Texas to swim meets. Being a good sport about that was getting harder.
Johnnie Sue placed a hot plate of food in front of him. Pic picked up his knife and fork. “Where’s Dad now?”
“Said he was going to town.”
Uh-oh. The consequences of Dad making a trip to town at this time of day were a toss-up since he now knew for sure that Mom was spending Christmas in Santa Fe with her boyfriend. He might not come home for days. “Did he say where in town?”
“Not to me.”
“Was he dressed up?
“Well ... Johnnie Sue propped a hand on a skinny hip and gave him a direct look. “He had on dress boots.”
Shit. Pic considered what that information might mean. Then he put down his fork, unclipped his phone from his belt and pressed in his dad’s number. A recorded voice answered and told him to leave a message.
“Goddammit,” he mumbled.
Johnnie Sue had gone back to her cleaning. “No answer, huh?”
“Nope.” Pic resumed his meal in a sour mood. After he finished, he picked up his mug and stood. “Good dinner, Johnnie Sue. Thanks for fixing it.” He carried his mug over to the coffee urn.
“Well, that is what y’all pay me for.”
Pic grinned in spite of his bad mood. “We pay you to manage the house and bunkhouse. We don’t pay you to cook. You do that because you like to. You can hire a cook anytime you want to.” He refilled his mug. “When Mandy comes in, I’ll be in the den.”
He ambled into the cozy den, sank into one of the huge reclining chairs, placed his coffee on the side table and was soon sound asleep.
WHILE SARAH LINED UP two-dozen red velvet cupcakes into a neat grid of four-by-six rows, Tiffany scooped fluffy cream cheese frosting into a Ziploc bag. She cut across one corner with scissors Sarah had found in one of the cabinet drawers.
...the horse is a green-broke stud that’s obviously been abused....
Ever since they had returned from the horse training clinic, Mr. Rattigan’s words had been scrolling through Sarah’s mind. She had noticed scars on Rudy but ignored them. She had been too wrapped up in own problems to ask about them. Now she felt guilty for not confronting Burke the Jerk. Her opinion of Rudy the Rude had changed for the better and her opinion of Burke Allen had grown worse.
“Tiffany, I gotta ask you, was Burke the one that abused Rudy?”
“I wondered the same thing when Mr. Rattigan said that. I never saw Burke do anything like that, but I suppose he could’ve lost his temper and maybe hit him with something.” Without looking up, she finished a neat swirl of white frosting on top of a cupcake.
Sarah gave her a look. Tiffany was lying, still defending a jackass who would beat a horse. ... lost his temper and hit him with something. Well, that much fit. “Like what?” Sarah said sharply.
Tiffany finally looked up from her task. “Like what, what?”
“What did he hit him with?”
Tiffany ducked Sarah’s glare and looked to the side. She didn’t intend to
answer. Sarah felt a sudden and overwhelming urge to protect Rudy. “I never heard Burke say where he got Rudy. Do you know?”
Making another swirl on top of another cupcake, Tiffany shook her head.
Rudy didn’t appear to be a horse an owner would keep for breeding. He was big and stout and pretty enough, but he showed a bad disposition. Some irresponsible owner, knowing Burke knew little to nothing about horses, probably dumped Rudy on him. “Mr. Rattigan was right, you know. Rudy needs to be gelded before he gets any older. Not getting that done was dumb on Burke’s part.”
Tiffany’s gaze raised to Sarah again, her eyes showing a guilty expression. “He never talked about it with me, okay?”
“Well, we both know that Burke doing something dumb is nothing new, right?” Sarah countered, sprinkling green sugar. “Now that you’ve got Rudy, you’re gonna have to do take responsibility for him. I mean, your daddy’s pasture isn’t very big. Rudy’s already grazed it down to the dirt. Feeding him out of the barn is expensive.”
Before his departure, Tiffany’s boyfriend had rented a house with a barn and pasture. Tiffany had lived with him, but after he left, she moved back in with her dad and took Rudy with her to live in her daddy’s small pasture that was even smaller than the one where Burke had lived.
“I know. Daddy never lets me hear the end of it. Burke didn’t have much pasture either. He bought Rudy’s feed.”
“But Burke’s situation was different. He worked for a well-servicing company and made good money. He could afford to buy feed for his horse. I know your dad can afford it, too, but you can’t. And Rudy doesn’t belong to your dad.”
“He doesn’t belong to me either. It’s not my fault.” Her brow tented. Tears welled in her eyes. “I don’t know what to do. Daddy wants me to—to sell him and keep the money, but I don’t know if—if Burke bought him or if somebody gave him to him or what.” Her voice hitched and she began to cry. “If I tried to sell him, wouldn’t I have—have to prove that I own him?”
Knowing Rudy wasn’t the real object of Tiffany’s distress, Sarah set down the bottle of green sugar and looped an arm around Tiffany’s shoulder. “Come on, Tiff. I’ll bet you’d feel better if you didn’t have Rudy there every day reminding you of Burke. Maybe you’d have to prove he’s your horse, maybe not. You and your dad know everybody in Roundup. Don’t you know anybody you can just give him to, like a pet?”
Tiffany shook her head again and drew a big sniff. “If he was sweet and gentle, I could give him to some kid maybe, but the way he is, no parent would want their kid to have him. Daddy says taking him to auction is the best idea, but I hate to do something that would cause him to end up at the glue factory.” She continued to sniffle and cry.
Tiffany’s glue factory quip hit home with Sarah. A memory of horse auctions she had attended in Wyoming passed through her mind—the pen of pitiful unwanted horses destined to be shipped to Mexico or Canada for slaughter. Nobody slaughtered horses in the US anymore.
Sarah tried to shove the image out of her mind. The idea of horses being killed for food for dogs and cats or fertilizer or whatever else sickened her. That could be what finally happened to Rudy. Sarah bit down on her lower lip. She needed to talk to Jericho, beg him to take Rudy and use him as a ranch horse. She didn’t make much money, but she could manage the vet’s fee for him to be gelded. Surely, that would calm him down a little. Hell, she would try to ride him herself if her leg ever got in good enough shape again. But she couldn’t think about it now. Christmas would be here in a few days.
“Listen, let’s get these cupcakes finished or we’ll be at this all-night,” she said to Tiffany.
Still sniffling, Tiffany returned to adorning the tops of the cupcakes with white swirls and Sarah continued to dust them with green sprinkles. They worked in silence keeping to their own thoughts until the last cupcake was decorated. Sarah stood back and opened her palms. “Ta-dah! Just look at that. Bakery cupcakes couldn’t look any better. Tomorrow, I’ll do the chocolate ones.”
Tearing again, Tiffany nodded without looking up.
Sarah’s heart melted. She had never had a friend she could crush with a few words the way she could crush Tiffany. In truth, she had few friends, period. She felt like a thoughtless turd. She gave Tiffany another one-armed hug. “I’m sorry, Tiffany. I didn’t mean to blame you for Rudy. I know he’s a problem for you and your dad both. I just get frustrated with assholes like Burke.”
“That’s okay. I know you didn’t mean it.” Tiffany looked up and gave Sarah a watery smile. “I need to get home. Daddy will be wondering where I am.”
“Oh, hell, you’re right. I’m sorry to keep you so long. I appreciate you helping me.”
Tiffany smiled another drippy smile and shrugged. “That’s what friends do, right?”
“It damn sure is. And I know you’re my friend. I’m an ass for popping off.” Sarah gave Tiffany’s shoulder a little shake.
Just then, Jericho walked into the kitchen. “I’m gonna pick up Wyatt at the bus stop. I’ll take him with me to feed. Lordy, Lordy, what are you girls making?”
“Cupcakes for Wyatt’s Christmas party.” Sarah straightened the grid of finished cupcakes. “Look what a great job Tiffany did.”
“Do I get one?”
“I’m saving back three. Two for you and one for Wyatt.”
“Good. I’ll eat ’em after supper.” He headed for the back door.
Tiffany’s gaze followed him. “Jericho’s a good guy. Did you get his boots out of layaway?”
“Finally. Wyatt’s, too. Wyatt’s cost almost as much as Jericho’s. I picked them up when he took me up to Abilene to the doctor last week. I had to sneak around to keep him from seeing them. After it took me six months to pay for them, I hope he likes them. I need to get them gift-wrapped and under the Christmas tree.”
She picked up another cupcake and placed it on the plate with the ones she had saved for Jericho and Wyatt. “I almost forgot. I need to save back an extra one to put on Bonnie’s grave.”
Bonnie Hatch, Jericho’s wife, had been gone two years. Every time Sarah made something that turned out well, especially sweets, she carried a small sample to Bonnie Hatch’s grave. Bonnie had loved sweets.
With her low-paying job in City Grocery and monumental medical bills, Sarah couldn’t afford to buy flowers—cut flowers didn’t last anyway—but if she cooked something Jericho and Wyatt liked, she shared some of it with Bonnie.
“It’s weird that you do that,” Tiffany said. “Wild animals eat it, you know.”
“I know that. But why is it any weirder than taking bouquets of flowers that just wilt and die? It’s just a little something. If Bonnie’s looking down, I want her to have something I made with my own two hands. I want her to know I loved her, in case I didn’t show it enough when she was alive.”
“Nobody else would have taken care of her like you did, Sarah. If she’s really up there, I’m sure she knows you loved her.”
“Don’t say that. I have to believe she’s up there. She and Jericho saved my life. Wyatt’s, too.”
Tiffany shook her head. “Do you ever think about fate? And what might have happened if CPS hadn’t put you with Jericho and Bonnie? It was as much a blessing for them as it was for you, you know. Daddy said they were lonely people.”
Ten years ago, McFadden, Sarah NMI was fifteen, homeless and six months pregnant when the great State of Texas had extracted her from where she lived—a beat-up ’89 Plymouth. Prior to that, she had been offered a free abortion. For some reason, though she’d had no personal experience with motherly love, she couldn’t.
The State installed her in a temporary shelter with Jericho and Bonnie Hatch, where she was to stay until she gave birth.
With no children of their own, Jericho and Bonnie had taken her into their hearts. Until that moment, Sarah had spent her whole life in “the system” or on the streets of Fort Worth. She had passed through several foster homes, been clothed and fed by eithe
r the State of Texas or some church or charity. She fully expected that the baby to which she would give birth would disappear into “the system,” too. As nearly as she could remember, at that time, she had no emotion about that.
The Hatches had stuck by her through Wyatt’s birth. Sarah instantly fell in love with the tiny, helpless, beautiful baby. The Hatches loved him, too, as if he were their own blood. They promised to help her, even negotiated with CPS for her and Wyatt to continue living in their home.
She had been mean and street-tough back then, a hardheaded challenge. The Hatches had made her go to school and to church, seen that she graduated from high school and even went to two years of college up in Abilene. By word and deed, they had made her into a decent person and given her something she’d had little of before—hope for a future. They had even traveled to Las Vegas for the wedding when Sarah married Justin Karol.
Bonnie was the mother Sarah had never had and the grandmother Wyatt wouldn’t have otherwise. Her death had brought a pain deeper than any Sarah had ever known. And Jericho. He was gruff and never said much, but the day Sarah nearly lost her own life, he had sat with her in a hospital emergency room with tears in his eyes, held her hand and told her everything would be all right.
“Oh, Jesus, Tiffany, it was a friggin’ miracle. I think about it every friggin’ day. I can never forget it.”
Tiffany reached for her and they hugged. “I’m glad they found you,” she said. “You’re the only friend I have.”
“What? Get out. You’ve got lots of friends, girl. Only everybody in Roundup. And they all care about you. Just because one asshole didn’t doesn’t mean other people don’t”
Tiffany smiled. “I know. It’s like you’re always telling me. I just need to cowboy up. I’m trying. Honest.”
