Kitabı oku: «The Prodigal Groom»

One

It was time, Jake Mercer thought. He stopped his pickup truck at the end of a long, red-dirt driveway and contemplated the sign that marked the entrance to Birkett’s Folly. Yeah, Charlie Birkett had done all right for himself with this place. Jake had gotten to where he could identify Birkett horseflesh at every rodeo he went to in these parts.

But all was not as prosperous at the Folly as appearances would indicate. If he looked close, Jake could see that the fence needed painting. And there weren’t quite as many sleek quarter horses grazing in the pasture as there used to be.

But even before he’d seen those clues, Jake had known something wasn’t right here. He’d sensed deep trouble the moment he’d seen the classified ad placed by Laurie Branson Birkett:

WANTED: Manager for established quarter-horse ranch. Must have experience in financial management and know the specifics of equine breeding. Living quarters provided. Salary negotiable. Apply in person, Birkett’s Folly, Winnefred, Texas, or call…

Jake had heard through the grapevine that Laurie was having a hard time of it after her husband’s fatal stroke, but he’d assumed that meant she was grieving. He’d never dreamed that Charlie Birkett hadn’t adequately provided for his wife in the event of his death. Surely he’d made provisions for someone to take over management of the Folly.

Then again, knowing Laurie, she’d probably insisted she could manage things herself—never mind that when she’d married Charlie, a scant two months after Jake’s disappearance, she hadn’t known one end of a horse from the other. In fact, as he recalled, she’d been scared of horses.

Well, whatever, she obviously was in need of a manager now. Jake had grown up on a cattle ranch. Although his family hadn’t bred quarter horses, they’d bought and sold a fair number of them over the yearsmany from the Birketts—and Jake could recognize championship qualities when he saw them. In fact, he currently owned a Birkett horse, a stallion he’d picked up for a song because the horse had been lame.

He could help Laurie. And if she was in financial straits, as it appeared she was, he could help her for a lot less salary than any other applicants who might wander to her door.

Maybe it was a crazy thing to do, showing up in her life after four years. But for most of that time he’d been keeping track of her, reading about her in the Winnefred weekly newspaper and savoring bits of information reluctantly dragged from her brother, Danny. Those scraps weren’t enough anymore.

He had to see her. He wanted to help her, and, hell, he owed her that much at least.

Yeah, it was time. He put his truck into gear and turned into the driveway.

Laurie stretched on tiptoes to fasten the corner of the last damp sheet to the clothesline. There, that task was done. But it had taken thirty minutes out of her day, thirty minutes she hadn’t planned on.

Honestly, if it wasn’t one thing it was another. This morning the clothes dryer had quit abruptly. Replacing it was out of the question, given the state of her household budget. At least the spring weather was pleasant. She wondered how people without clothes dryers took care of their laundry in the middle of winter.

“All done?” asked three-year-old Wendy. She was sitting in the empty laundry basket with two striped kittens in her lap, making Laurie wish she could run and get her camera. But there just wasn’t time.

“All done,” she answered, plucking up one of the kittens and cuddling it under her chin. They were supposed to be barn cats, not house pets, kept solely to take care of the rodent population, but Wendy had relentlessly tamed them. “Want to help me weed the garden?”

“Mmm, okay, but my tummy’s growling.”

Laurie looked at her watch. Darn, it was almost noon. How had the morning gotten away from her? She still had to call the vet and find out if there was any news about Flash’s lab tests. And she had to check the answering machine to see if anyone had responded to the ad she’d placed in the Tyler paper.

She half hoped no one would apply for the job. Although she was perilously close to financial disaster, she hated the thought of some stranger moving in and running things.

After Charlie’s unexpected death, she had arrogantly assumed she could take over running the Folly. After all, she was a college graduate with retail management experience, and she’d lived and helped out at the Folly for four years. There was also Maurice, who’d been working the Folly for more than a decade, to help her.

But she’d quickly discovered that managing a ranch wasn’t quite like managing a gift shop, which was what she’d done until she’d married Charlie. She’d had no clue as to which mares should be bred to which stud, or how much to pay for the service of this stud or that one, or when and how much to sell the horses for. While Charlie had kept meticulous records, Laurie had found them less intelligible than a physics textbook. There just didn’t seem to be a pattern.

And Maurice, for all his expertise in handling the horses, knew very little about the money end of things.

Still, Laurie had persevered, plunging into one foolish choice after another. Charlie’s illness, brief though it was, had depleted their cash, and everything she’d done had made the situation worse. She’d waited far too long to admit she needed help. Now, she was afraid it was too late. If she lost the Folly, she didn’t know what she would do. Oh, they could survive, but the ranch was her daughter’s legacy.

“Maurice!” Wendy cried out as the Folly’s truck rumbled down the driveway. She scrambled out of the basket and ran to the edge of the yard, ready to greet Maurice Bryson, the Folly’s only remaining employee.

“Hello, Sunshine,” Maurice said as he unfolded his long frame and climbed out of the truck. “And good morning to you, Miz Laurie. I brought your mail.”

“Thanks, Maurice. I’m afraid to ask, but what was wrong with the truck, and how much did it cost to fix it?”

“Water pump. Not too much.” He handed a receipt to Laurie along with the stack of letters. She winced. Could have been worse, she supposed.

Wendy tugged at Maurice’s pants leg. “Are you my daddy?” she asked earnestly.

Maurice let loose with a roar of laughter, then picked Wendy up and swung her into the air. “No, Sunshine, I’m afraid my skin’s just a tad too dark for me to be your daddy. But I can be your honorary uncle, how ‘bout that?” He set her down and patted her on the head.

“Wendy!” Laurie was mortified. “I’m sorry, Maurice. Ever since she figured out that all the other kids at her preschool have daddies, she’s been obsessed with the concept. Wendy,” she said sternly, “I’ve told you before, your daddy’s in heaven. I’ve shown you his picture.”

“But that’s not fair,” she said, stamping her little foot. “When’s he coming back?”

“Sweetheart, he can’t come back. He’s with the angels.”

“Then I want a new daddy. Cindy has two. Why can’t I have one of hers?”

Ah, the logic of three-year-olds. Thankfully, Laurie was saved from answering by the timely arrival of a visitor. A shiny blue pickup truck was barreling down the long driveway, raising a cloud of red dust. Laurie’s immediate reaction was to covet the truck, which was so much newer and nicer than hers, but she chastised herself. She had to stop wishing for the impossible and play the hand she’d been dealt.

Hadn’t that always been the way of it?

“Mommy, I have to go tinkle,” Wendy said, forgetting her daddy obsession for the moment.

“Run inside if you have to use the bathroom,” Laurie said. She abhorred the term tinkle, another lovely concept her daughter had picked up at her weekly preschool. “I’ll be in in a minute to start lunch.”

“Okay.” Wendy picked up one of the kittens, draped the compliant beast over her shoulder and headed for the front porch of the sprawling white frame house, which had been in the Birkett family for four generations.

Maurice cast a curious glance over his shoulder as the truck drew closer. “I’ll set that mail on the front porch for you.”

Laurie handed him the packet of letters and catalogs, which she’d scarcely glanced at. “Thanks. Don’t stray too far. I have no idea who’s driving that truck.” Winnefred was a friendly little town, certainly no hotbed of crime, but as a woman living alone in the country, Laurie was aware of how vulnerable she was.

The blue truck pulled up behind the Folly’s truck and stopped. Someone applying for the job, perhaps? His vehicle certainly qualified, she thought guiltily, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She wished she’d put on a nicer blouse this morning, instead of one that was faded and frayed at the cuffs.

The truck’s door opened, and Laurie saw the man’s alligator boots first, then his legs—long and lean, encased in faded blue jeans. As his feet hit the ground, her gaze traveled upward to take in the slim hips, flat stomach and broad shoulders challenging the seams of a white western-cut shirt. He was looking down as he hit the ground, and his face and hair were obscured by a pearl gray Stetson. So it was only when he focused directly on her that she saw the lean, weather-whipped face, the sensual lips, the steel blue eyes, features once as familiar to her as her own reflection in the mirror.

“Oh…my…God,” she murmured. Then every cubic inch of oxygen deserted her lungs.

“Hi, Laurie.” He removed his hat, revealing his black hair, long and wavy on top but shorter on the sides than she remembered. It gleamed in the sun like a crow’s wing.

“Hi, Laurie?” she repeated, the words choked. “Is that all you have to say? You’re supposed to be dead!” With that the world imploded to a pinpoint of light and the ground tipped sideways. The last thing she remembered was a strong pair of arms breaking her fall.

Jake lowered her gently to the grass. “Laurie? Laurie, honey, wake up,” he said, patting her cheek.

Ah, hell, he supposed he shouldn’t have taken her by surprise like this. But she’d never been the fainting type.

“Here, now, what’s going on?” A tall, wiry black man came barreling around the side of the house with a shotgun pointed at Jake’s heart.

Jake jumped away from Laurie. “Whoa, there. Easy with that gun. She just fainted, that’s all.”

Maurice lowered the gun and stared with shootermarble eyes. “Jake? Jake Mercer? But you can’t be him, ‘cause he’s dead.”

“It’s me, all right, Maurice,” Jake said, recalling the ranch hand’s name.

Laurie stirred and moaned. Jake immediately hunkered down and touched her face, smoothing a strand of sun-bright hair off her cheek.

“Laurie? You okay?”

Her bleary eyes tried their best to focus on him. She blinked several times. “Oh, God, it is you, Jake. Are you a ghost? Or am I dead, too?”

He smiled gently. “No, you’re very much alive.” And her nearness affected him in ways he’d forgotten. His heart pounded and his gut tightened, and he wanted nothing more than to draw her into his arms and cling to her vitality. Her memory had kept him alive during those long, hard months of captivity. Now he was finding out that his memory hadn’t done her justice.

“You cut your hair,” he said.

Laurie pushed herself into a sitting position. “I hardly think that’s relevant! What are you doing here? How did you…? What on earth…? I don’t know whether to be happy to see you or furious!”

He offered his hand. “Let’s go inside where it’s cool and get you something to drink, and I promise I’ll answer every one of your questions.”

She allowed him to help her to her feet, though she released his hand the moment she was steady. “All right,” she said uncertainly, glancing nervously toward the front porch. “But I’ve got to get lunch on the table, so we’ll have to talk in the kitchen.”

Jake’s gaze followed hers, and he immediately saw what was troubling her. A blond-haired toddler in a gingham dress stood on the porch, clinging to a rocking chair, her angelic little face filled with suspicion as she stared at Jake.

“Oh, Lord, Laurie, she’s beautiful.” He barely breathed the words. “Looks just like you did at that age.”

Laurie’s gaze darted back and forth between Jake and the child. “She’s—that’s Wendy, my daughter.”

“Mommy? Are you sick?”

Laurie went to her. “No, sweetheart, I’m just fine. Are you ready for some lunch?”

The little girl nodded distractedly, still staring at Jake.

Laurie took Wendy’s hand and entered the house. Maurice followed, and neither of them made a point of inviting Jake in. He went in, anyway. This wasn’t exactly the joyful reunion he’d expected.

“Laurie,” Maurice said, “you want I should take Wendy into town for a hamburger? Then you and Jake can talk.”

“Oh, that’d be terrific,” she answered, silently thanking heaven that Maurice was so perceptive. She grabbed her purse, which was hanging on a hook by the door, and pulled out her wallet. “Drat, I haven’t got more than a couple of dollars in here.”

“I’ll get it,” Jake said, quickly pulling a twenty from his own wallet. Maurice took it with a nod.

“Thank you,” Laurie said grudgingly. “Wendy, Maurice will take you to Dairy Queen, okay?”

The child nodded, but she was still studying Jake. Abruptly she ran toward him and grabbed on to his leg. “Daddy!” she shrieked.

Obviously horrified, Laurie pulled her daughter away. “No, Wendy,” she said sharply. “Remember what we talked about? Your daddy’s in heaven.”

Wendy folded her arms and firmed her mouth up in a mutinous expression, clearly not buying her mother’s explanation. Jake would have laughed if the situation hadn’t been so poignant.

“C’mon, Sunshine,” Maurice interjected. “Let’s go get some hamburgers. And I bet Mommy’ll let us get some ice cream afterward. What do you say?”

Wendy grabbed on to the hand Maurice offered and allowed herself to be led away, but even the promise of ice cream hadn’t completely distracted her from her fixation on Jake. She looked over her shoulder, continuing to stare at him with solemn blue eyes until the front door closed, blocking him from view.

“I bet she’s a handful,” Jake said, feeling suddenly achy around his heart. He and Laurie had intended to have children, lots of them.

“She is,” Laurie said, her voice still a bit weak. “Sweet and cuddly one minute and stubborn as a mule the next. I’m sorry…I don’t know what to say. She never knew her…Charlie. Lately she’s become obsessed with finding her daddy.” Laurie waited, holding her breath, expecting some acknowledgment from Jake that he would soon rectify the situation.

“It’s okay,” he said with a shrug, dismissing the incident far more casually than she would have believed possible. “Hey, you look like you’re about to keel over again. Let’s get you some water.” With a hand at the small of her back, he guided her to the kitchen. He remembered where it was from visits to Birkett’s Folly as a child. His father and old Will Birkett had been good friends.

The absurdity of this situation made Laurie want to laugh. Jake Mercer was alive? How often had she dreamed that it was all a big misunderstanding, that the Marshals Service had made a mistake? Apparently those farfetched dreams were coming true.

Again she stifled an almost hysterical laugh. On the heels of her elation, however, came anger. How dare Jake come back from the dead? How dare he abandon her, abandon their child, then blithely waltz back into her life unannounced?

Oh, Lord, she was confused, still woozy and weak, and if she didn’t get herself something to eat or drink she was going to faint again. So she said nothing as Jake took a glass from the cabinet and filled it with cold water from the refrigerator.

He handed it to her. She took it, carefully avoiding touching him, and took several long swallows.

“Sit down,” Jake said.

She would have remained standing just to prove he couldn’t tell her what to do, but her legs wouldn’t cooperate. She sank into the chair he held out for her.

He sat down across from her, with the old enamel kitchen table between them. Her dizziness abated and her wits began to return. Now maybe she was in some kind of shape to listen to Jake’s explanations.

Surely he didn’t expect to take up with her where he’d left off.

“So, talk,” she said. “Where have you been for the past four years? Now, let’s see, maybe I can guess. Juan LaBarba swore a vendetta against you, so the blessed U.S. Marshals Service decided to hide you for a while, and they told us you died so we wouldn’t come looking for you. Am I close?”

“Nowhere near.” He rested his hands on the edge of the table and rocked back and forth a couple of times. “Laurie, do you actually believe I’d leave you standing at the altar because of some stupid vendetta?”

Properly chastised for jumping to conclusions, she shook her head. “I’m sorry. Tell me what really happened.”

“I was shot and left for dead,” he said quietly. “I got caught in the same flurry of gunfire that killed Ernesto LaBarba, Juan’s brother. The LaBarbas dragged me inside the building where they were holed up, thinking to trade me for Ernesto. But when they found out Ernesto had died, they decided to keep me as a bargaining chip. They fled to Costa Rica and took me with them.”

“Did you try to escape?” Laurie asked, trying to fathom the horror he must have experienced. It sounded so unreal, like a bad movie.

“I wasn’t in any shape to escape. Juan’s wife, Carmen, patched me up pretty good, but I still got some kind of infection that lasted for months. I don’t remember a whole lot about that time.”

Laurie winced. What he must have gone through! She wanted to touch him, to offer him comfort, but the look in his eyes told her he hadn’t come to her for pity. “So did they use you as a bargaining chip, like they intended?” she asked.

“Apparently they tried, but by then the government was denying all knowledge of me. As far as they were concerned, I was dead—and they didn’t want anyone to contradict them.”

“But…” she started to object, then paused when Jake pulled a bit of metal out of his jeans pocket and laid it on the table.

“That’s the bullet Carmen found in me. It was from one of our guns, not the Uzis LaBarba’s gang was using.”

“My God, you were shot by one of your own men,” she said, barely breathing the words. “It wasn’t intentional, was it?”

He shook his head. “I’m sure it was an accident. All hell was breaking loose. Nerves were pulled to the breaking point.”

“Still, I can see why they wouldn’t want you spreading it around that you were the victim of ‘friendly fire.’”

“Particularly since, in their official report, I was shot in the head, not the back.” Bitterness twisted his mouth. “Apparently they weren’t as sure that I was dead as they pretended, and they wanted to make damn certain no one else questioned it.”

“So what did LaBarba do when he found out you weren’t—” she paused, choosing just the right word “—valuable to them?”