“A decision, Katie. I’m waiting,” Pa said.
Katie flicked her gaze to Pa. His hair, combed back in dark rows showed glimpses of
pink scalp underneath, and was only lightly touched with white. His nose was curved
slightly to one side, a souvenir from a fight, but whether from a man or a horse he
never told her.
Katie bowed her head low over her book, her eyes closed briefly in resignation. Pretending
to be caught up in algebra wouldn’t help, but she wasn’t above trying. She erased
the problem and focused on not transposing the numbers for the second time.
“I think you should go to Cornell in New York, they have the best veterinarian program.
But I understand if you choose Washington State, since many of your friends are going
there.”
Katie reached for her glass of water, and her stomach sank as Pa stirred the cream
into his coffee. She watched as the white clouds rolled against the black, changing
the color to a rich mocha. Too much time left to simply stall; she’d have to engage.
Katie set her pencil down, her palms suddenly wet. She looked Pa square in the eyes,
just as he’d taught her. The color was the same unexciting brown as hers, but Pa’s
vision had never been keener, and to this day he didn’t need glasses. “I’m kinda thinking
of staying here. Go to the community college in town. I could live here, take care
of Star. Cole will need my help with Sweet Thing, and . . .” She swallowed hard. “Take
care of you.”
Katie flashed him a sheepish smile. Taking care of James Harris would be like befriending
a wild cougar—it couldn’t be done.
A crimson flush slowly spread up Pa’s neck and cheeks, and Katie quickly began tucking
papers into her book in case an exit presented itself. Pa’s nightly ritual mocked
her as he stirred his coffee to cool, the small clicking of his spoon as rhythmic
as a heartbeat. She took a sip of water, her throat suddenly dry.
“Now why would you do that, Katie?” Pa’s voice was calm, his tone so flat it could
pass for boredom. But Katie knew better; Pa was never bored.
Katie pushed a wilted leaf of spinach around her plate. She’d stated her reason, or
the only reason she was willing to give. Less talking meant less ammo; she’d learned
from the best—Pa.
Pa took a small sip. To anyone else it would seem he was stalling, but Katie knew
better. Pa never minced words. “Cole’s not ready to marry, honey. And
I’m
sure not ready for you to be doing anything else with him.”
A rush of heat flushed her skin as Katie jumped up, scraping the chair across the
wood floor, hoping Pa would miss her reddening face. She carried her plate over to
the wastebasket and scraped the whole lot into the trash. The untouched sirloin landed
in the bottom with a satisfactory thud.
Pa pushed his own plate forward and placed his elbows on the table, a sign of just
how agitated he really was. “There’s a time in every man’s life when he’s ready to
step up and take responsibility, ready to take care of a family. Cole’s not there.
I love that man like he was my own son, but you’re my flesh and blood, and I made
a vow to your ma to keep you safe.”
Katie wasn’t up to having this conversation, and knowing that Pa saw too much, she
set her back to him and stared out the window above the sink. According to Pa, her
mother made him cut a window here so she could look out over the wraparound porch
and across where the properties met in a long stretch of untouched land. Of course,
over the years the scenery had changed. A stable and arena had been added, and in
the distance a huge field of alfalfa grass waited for harvest as feed for the horses.
“Cole’s a good man, but he’s a man nonetheless.” Pa had a voice that could fill a
room, but now it hovered above a whisper. “There’s a certain hunger a man gets, and
Cole’s eyes nearly burn with it. I don’t want my daughter to get hurt.”
“You underestimate him,” Katie said softly. Her stomach was so knotted she wished
she hadn’t eaten. “Cole loves me.”
“Has he said that? Sure hard to believe when he’s got those barflies creeping out
of his house at dawn.”
Katie sucked in her breath. She’d known, of course; had been there in the stables
and seen him walk different women out to their cars. She had clasped her arms around
her middle, and blinked away tears as Cole kissed the other women good-bye and waved
as they drove down the dirt drive. But Katie also took solace in what she hadn’t seen.
He’d never watched their cars turn out of sight, never looked back over his shoulder
with longing, but simply walked up his steps and into his house with nothing more
than a resounding bang of the screen door.
And then she knew. Cole didn’t love them. He loved her. He just didn’t know it yet.
Chapter 3
Present day
A barking dog woke Jett. Except, it wasn’t a barking dog, it was his phone alerting
him that he’d just received a text message. Jett cracked open one eyelid, then immediately
slammed it shut. Gray walls, gray carpet, and a huge framed black-and-white picture
of Albert Einstein above the vanity were definite clues that this wasn’t his house,
wasn’t his room. Okay, it wasn’t called gray anymore, it was . . . what’s the word?
. . . pewter. Yeah, he knew what pewter was, and it was something that would have
him handing in his man card if people knew. Growing up as the only boy with four older
sisters had its consequences.
But damn, he hadn’t meant to fall asleep. Staying awake was one of the ten commandments
of going back to a girl’s house.
Always use protection.
Never fall asleep.
Always keep car keys easily accessible for a clean getaway.
There was more, but his head was hurting so bad he couldn’t remember the rest. Maybe
one was,
don’t drink
, but that could hinder his success rate at picking up chicks an awful lot.
He groaned softly. Best to get it over with. He opened his eyes and took in the blonde
who was lying beside him. She was sprawled out on her stomach, hair a riot around
her head. He tried hard, could actually feel the gears of his brain turn as he fought
to come up with a name. Ugh—he rubbed his temple—better stop or he might permanently
damage something.
The woman next to him sighed, and then relaxed back into some pretty heavy breathing,
telling him she’d be passed out for a while. At least he had that going for him. She
moved a little, adjusted her leg, pulling the sheet lower down her body. His gaze
traveled down the curve of her spine and paused at the base of her back. That’s right.
She was the girl with the wild tattoo from the bar. She’d been wearing low-slung jeans
and a short shirt that allowed him glimpses of a wicked-looking tattoo. Quick flashes
of soft skin covered with blues and reds that drove him crazy until he just had to
know what was hiding beneath her clothes.
That was hours ago, and he’d spent more than his fair share of the night tracing that
tattoo—with his finger, with his lips, with his tongue. But damn it, he should really
know her name by now. The endearments of “baby,” “pretty girl,” and “sweetie” were
sure to wear thin by morning.
The dog barked again. Time to go. Luckily he had experience with this type of thing.
He slid out of bed, and grabbed his clothes, boots, and phone on the way out. The
secret to a clean exit was to forgo all modesty. He was not above walking to his truck
butt naked and finishing getting dressed inside the cab. Though he had to be careful
in the winter; cold mornings were not kind, and he had a reputation to protect.
He closed the front door with a soft
click
and cursed slightly at the sharp stones beneath his bare feet. The road to hell wasn’t
paved with good intentions . . . but the cinders that were on just about every damn
driveway in Texas.
Jett got into his truck and wrestled into his jeans. He was down the road, boots on,
in thirty seconds flat—a new record even for him. Maybe he wouldn’t have to expend
the energy to find out girl-with-crazy-tattoo’s name. A getaway maneuver like this
would probably solve that dilemma.
Jett drove to the nearest coffee shop, put his truck in park, and finished buttoning
up his shirt. The digital clock said it was five in the morning. Benny would’ve just
put on the first pot of coffee, so he might as well wait in the warmth of his cab
until it was done.
He grabbed his cell. He was used to his phone blowing up at all hours of the night;
such was the burden of an active social life. But usually things quieted down once
people began sleeping off what had gotten them into trouble the night before. There
was only one person he had regular contact with who actually chose to meet the day
at dawn instead of partying their way to seeing the sunrise. He touched the screen,
not at all surprised to find that the text was from Cole.
Jett had known Cole since grade school, and where Jett had learned that words could
persuade, pursue, and excite, Cole had grown an aversion to them. But the man of few
words sure knew how to use them efficiently. Because in only two, the bottom of Jett’s
stomach dropped out—
Katie’s home
.
Jett groaned and dropped his forehead to the steering wheel. Things between Katie
and Cole were always messy. Hell, anything to do with the Logans was messy. He had
to hand it to Katie. At least she’d had the smarts to leave. Run away maybe, but the
Logans were brutal on the ones they loved. He should know. He’d had every opportunity
to leave, make a life anywhere in the world, and here he had set up house in a small
cowpoke town just because of one stubborn Logan, and one foolish promise he’d made
to a girl when he’d still been young and stupid.
Maybe Katie would leave town again, maybe Cole wouldn’t spiral back into that dark
place . . . yeah, and maybe Jett would smarten up and realize that there were plenty
of girls-with-crazy-tattoos and life was too precious for him to waste his time on
the stubborn ones.
As tired as Katie was, she wouldn’t have thought the old habit of waking up at dawn
would have kicked in. No such luck. At the first sliver of light Katie’s eyes popped
open, heart beating with anticipation.
But for what? The stables? Cole? No, that was all in the past. The anxiety that had
had her tossing and turning most of the night must be worry over her father.
Rolling over, she grabbed her phone off the nightstand and touched the screen to dial
the nurses’ station number she’d programmed in earlier. A quick conversation with
a curt nurse revealed her father had slept peacefully through the night, no changes.
She disconnected, flopped onto her back, and stared at the yellowing popcorn ceiling.
When she was younger she’d imagined pictures in the differing shades of off-white—a
rearing stallion, a woman’s profile. But since coming home, some of the magic of girlhood
had faded and now the ceiling just looked dirty.
Katie sighed, and giving sleep up as lost, she stumbled out of bed. She dressed and
did her teeth and hair, her actions so routine it wasn’t until she was crossing her
yard toward the stables that she realized where she was heading. But for what? Star,
her horse, had been sold when she left for college, and Cole had been doing fine without
her help for years now.
Not ready for the memories the stable would bring, Katie redirected her steps. She
ended up at a large fenced-off area where the pastured horses were kept. Katie leaned
against the peeling fence post and watched the sky lighten to dark blue, navy, and
then finally fade into degrees of violet. How many times had she walked under this
wide sky, the stars as her night-light, the breeze through the cypress trees her lullaby?
New York had been different, colder . . . smaller.
The brush of boots on the tall winter grass broke the silence. Katie didn’t bother
turning around. No need really when the spider-tickles floating up her spine made
her more aware than she wanted to be. She sighed, too tired to be angry anymore, and
too tired to fight what her body had always known—Cole.
“I thought I’d find you here. You never could keep away.” The sense of homecoming
in his voice had her closing her eyes and breathing deep. She was glad her back was
to him. Cole walked up beside her. “You know, no one has ridden her since you.”
That got her attention. She turned and threw him a questioning look. In answer, Cole
nodded his head toward the pasture. She had approached the meadow in the dark, and
had only given the shadowed horse figures in the distance a cursory glance, but now
. . . “Sweet Thing?”
But she already knew. Her horse. The red of Sweet Thing’s coat was diminished by a
layer of mud, her flaxen mane tangled and wind-swept along her neck. Beside her was
a foal, darker but with the same blond mane in a short baby tuft.
“She foaled?” Katie strained against the fence, the top rail biting into her stomach.
Her hand rubbed at the sore spot in her chest as if some ragged rip inside had begun
to knit together.
“Yes.” Cole moved closer to put his foot on the fence. If Katie shifted her weight
their shoulders would touch. She willed herself motionless. “Two pregnancies seem
to have settled her. She’s much calmer now.”
Katie nodded and waited. She didn’t want to know, loathed breaking their tentative
peace, but she had to ask. “And her first?” she whispered.
From the corner of her eye she watched Cole scrape his hand across his darkened cheek,
a gesture he made when he was uncomfortable. “Stillborn.”
Disgust coated her mouth like vomit. She barely kept herself from spitting. “And you
still bred her again.”
“Christ, Katie, I know what your opinion is of me, but cut me some slack. You’ve lived
next door to me your whole life, and yet you judge me on only one moment.”
Katie couldn’t look at him. Conflicting images ran through her mind. How, as a child,
he’d picked her up when she’d fallen and had blown on her scraped knees. How, whenever
she was in trouble, she could count on him. And then there was another time, another
flash of memory that had destroyed a young girl’s trust.
“I didn’t have the heart,” he said. “We turned her out to pasture, and well, she went
wild. She seemed to do better the less we messed with her. It got to the point, unless
there was a real bad storm coming, we just left her out. There were other horses in
the pasture, so she wasn’t alone. About a year ago we noticed she was carrying. I
don’t know who the sire was, but this time it was her decision.”
Cole shifted so Katie would have to look at him, his gaze direct and unwavering. “Katie,
this time she got to choose.”
She nodded and ran a hand through her hair to hide the fact she was close to tears.
Cole pulled out an apple, shiny and red. It glowed in his palm like the witch’s offer
to Snow White.
“Do you think you still have it?” Cole asked, with his perfect lopsided smile, and
the promise of a dimple high on his cheek.
Katie pushed away from the fence, unable to pretend that his presence didn’t affect
her. It would be so easy, too easy to forgive and forget, to fall back into old patterns.
Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice . . . No.
She snatched the apple out of his hand and walked farther down the fence line. She
needed to be alone, couldn’t have Cole’s presence fogging up her mind. Katie slipped
between the two wood rails and slowed her steps to half measure. She got as close
to Sweet Thing as she dared. Then took a breath and waited.
Moments passed as mother and baby grazed alongside each other. Sweet Thing was in
constant communication with her baby—a flick of tail, a whinny of warning, reassuring
nuzzles. Then as if by some higher knowledge, Sweet Thing’s head popped up.
Large brown eyes caught hers. Katie’s legs weakened until she was on her knees. The
mare raised her head and called to her baby. Then with a flick of her tail, she turned,
and Katie watched, as they both ran off into the pasture.
Katie let her arm fall, the apple slipping from her numb fingers. And for a moment,
she got lost between the now and the hundreds of times in the past, when she’d sat
in the dirt—with a bribe in her hand and her heart in her throat.