Gambling On a Heart (12 page)

“Damn it, Jake, we’re divorced. We can’t stand each other.”

He moved close enough for her to kiss him if the thought didn’t make her gag. “Don’t worry.” His voice was low and husky. “I’m not talking about a walk down the aisle again. But the sex was always good.”

Huffing, Tracy smiled as smugly as she could muster. “Not always. Believe me, I’ve had better.” She enjoyed the irritated narrowing of his eyes way too much. “I had blinders on. I believed your bullshit and fell for your charm. Not again, Jake. Now, let’s talk about your constantly making me out to be the heavy where Bobby is concerned.”

“Ah, yes, I was never as good as dear old Zack Cartwright.” He spoke in a low hiss. “I heard that either the Marines or his beauty queen wife neutered him. Glad to hear that was all vicious lies.”

“Goodbye, Jake.” She turned away and headed back to her car.

“Does Zack know you screwed me over for his brother?”

She jerked to a stop and spun around. “I never slept with Logan and you know it. He helped me get away from you. Without him, I probably never would have. He helped me see your true colors and how you cheated me out of the life I really wanted. He’s my friend, nothing more.”

“If I remember correctly, that’s all you considered me when you fucked me for the first time.” He moved toward her and smiled. “I remember that first time, Tracy. I remember how you came on to me after the roundup at the McPherson place. You couldn’t even wait until we got off the ranch. You told me to pull into the pasture, and we went at it on the bed of my truck.”

Tracy flinched and took a step back. “You manipulated me into thinking the man I loved was cheating on me. You were supposed to be his best friend. In my stupid, naive way of thinking, I was getting back at him. Not to mention you had me believing you actually loved me. I just didn’t realize, until much too late,
I
was no more than a pawn in some sick game.”

She glared at him and snarled as she fisted her hands. God, she wished she could punch that cocky gleam out of his eyes. “If there is a chance for Zack and me to find what we’ve lost, it is none of your damned business. But you will not use my son in your games.”

“I’ll raise my son any damned way I see fit. But I will not allow Sheriff GI Joe to verbally bully him.”

Tracy pulled into her full height, putting herself a good two inches taller than him, which she knew infuriated him more than her words. “Zack didn’t yell at Bobby. He needs someone to show him some authority and that he can’t get everything he wants just because he wants it. Bobby didn’t like being reminded he’s a kid and the world doesn’t always turn at his will. God knows he would never learn that from you. In the end, Bobby had fun, and if you were to ask him, I’d bet he’d even say he enjoyed being part of his uncle’s special day instead of going to see his favorite baseball team lose.”

Jake snorted and leaned back on his heels. His shirt tightened across his shoulders when he folded his arms over his chest. Clenching his fists, he sneered. “Zack Cartwright is not the boss of my son, Tracy.”

As she reached for the handle of her car door, Jake’s next words halted her. “Do you know why I’m suing you for full custody?”

“Because you’re a royal jackass?”

“Not any more than you’re a two-bit whore.”

She spun on him.

“The company you keep has become increasingly bad news. The men you parade in and out of your bed have gone from bad to worse. Not to mention having your alcoholic, suicidal brother living with you in your small apartment. Exposing Bobby to his craziness.”

“Dylan was never suicidal and he isn’t crazy.”

Jake shrugged. “Post-traumatic stress disorder. Google it. One of the symptoms is suicidal thoughts. So is violence. I heard he put Brenda’s new husband in a chokehold in the Longhorn back in March,” he said, referring to Dylan’s ex-wife, her husband, and an incident that happened before he started working for Charli.

“You can’t be serious. What was I supposed to do, Jake? He’s my brother. Dylan was never suicidal or dangerous and you know it!”

Jake looked at his watch. “My lawyer sees things differently.”

He turned away and headed toward the open garage bay.

Dear God, what was she going to do?

* * * *

When the bell jingled above the door, Tracy glanced up from the reception desk and smiled at the woman standing inside the entry. “Melissa?”

The petite woman tentatively returned Tracy’s smile and pushed golden blond hair behind an ear. She held out a small hand and nodded. “Hi. Yes, I’m Melissa Blackwell. You must be Tracy.”

Tracy stood to shake the small hand. She towered over the shorter woman by almost a foot. Heading around the desk, Tracy gestured toward the couch by the double window. “Please sit. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? Soda?”

Melissa shifted the strap of her bag from her shoulder. She was dressed in black slacks and a white clingy sweater, which did everything to emphasize her curves. “Coffee would be fine.”

Tracy went to the commercial coffee maker on an old sideboard and poured them each a cup. After she settled on the wingchair next to the couch, she took a deep breath and clutched her cup between her hands. She’d never conducted an interview before and hadn’t had time to prepare as well as she’d have liked.

Melissa appeared to be nearly as nervous as she was. She sipped her coffee as she looked around. “This is a really nice place.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry to hear about your dad.”

“He’s not doing well. Although he doesn’t let on he’s as bad off as he is.” She looked down into the cup between her hands. “I wish I’d known how sick he was sooner. I would’ve been here before now.”

At a loss for what else to say, Tracy asked, “So, how long have you been in Colton?”

Melissa shrugged. “About a week.” A sheepish smile touched her full lips. “I’ll admit I’m not sure how long I’ll be in town.” She lost a smile and took a quick sip of her coffee. “It’s a lot different than LA.”

Tracy laughed. “I can’t disagree with that. I’ve lived all over the world. But I wouldn’t want to live anywhere but here.”

“Colton has its own kind of charm.” She glanced around again. “Sometimes I wonder if it’s because it’s...”

“It’s home.”

Melissa’s eyes sparkled. “Yes. I guess that’s it. I mean, I’m living in the same house my great-great-grandfather built.”

“I understand perfectly.”

They shared a smile. She and Melissa would get along perfectly.

The rest of the interview went smoothly. Tracy was impressed with Melissa’s education and her work history. After a quick tour around the salon, they returned to the reception area.

“How would you like to start tomorrow?” Tracy held out her hand.

Melissa’s smile dazzled as she took Tracy’s hand and squeezed. “Sure! I’d love to. Thank you.”

“Then we have a deal. I’ll see you tomorrow at ten.”

At the door, Melissa tilted her head to look up at Tracy, again reminding her of the difference in their height. “Is Logan Cartwright still in town?”

Logan?
“Ah... He actually lives in Dallas, but hangs out at one of the smaller houses on the CW when he’s in town, which is a lot.”

She smiled, but it never reached her eyes. “Thanks. I’ll have to look him up.”

“I’m sure he’d like to see you. How do you know Logan?” Tracy couldn’t keep the question from popping out. In all the years that she’d know him, he never mentioned knowing the Blackwell twins. Once their B-movie actress mother hightailed it out of Texas, she’d never set foot in the state again. As rumor had it, the only way Buck had gotten to see his daughters was by going to California to visit them.

Melissa looked at the floor, but not before Tracy noticed her frown. “I don’t know him–not really. But my sister does. They sang together when he was in college.”

Actress Olivia Blackwell and Logan?

Before she could ask any more questions, Melissa smiled and reached for the doorknob. “I better get home. Thank you again, Tracy.”

* * * *

Zack woke up before dawn Saturday. He dressed and ate a breakfast of eggs, bacon and toast, washing it all down with a pot of black coffee with way too much sugar. After kissing a still-sleeping Amanda, Zack left her in the care of Amy Jackson, the seventeen-year-old daughter of his head foreman. She babysat Mandy when his mother wasn’t available and the daycare in town was closed.

He wasn’t on duty today, and his cousin had promised to help him replace the patched fencing between him and his neighbor. It was too early to determine if old man Estrada’s stud had bred any of Zack’s mares, but after the stallion had broken through the fence his men had patched again yesterday morning, there was a chance the paint would be a proud papa in eleven months.

Zack should have made better precautions to keep Estrada’s stud on his side of the fence. Besides the wood and barbed wire fencing, a fencerow of thorny mesquite acted as a barrier, but that wouldn’t keep a determined stud away if he smelled a mare in heat.

Zack laughed at the comparison and headed out the back door and down the path to the barn. Estrada’s Thunderbolt wasn’t the only stud with a female on the brain. Tracy was never far from his thoughts these days. Last night he’d dreamt about what he’d like to do to her–again. He was playing with fire by getting involved with her. She’d hurt him eventually if he ever let himself care too much. As he fed and watered the two dozen horses he had stabled at the barn, he realized he’d never wanted a woman as much as he wanted her.

And there laid the crux of his dilemma. If he gave in to the desire, he’d rediscover the things he’d fallen in love with before, qualities time hadn’t erased or changed. Qualities like her gentleness, her compassion for others, her naive belief in the good in everyone, and her feistiness that always managed to surprise him.

Not to mention time had only made her sexier; a fact he wasn’t so sure she understood herself. There were too many times when he’d gotten the impression, by the shy way she’d pushed her hair away from her face and had bitten her lower lip, that Tracy still saw herself as a skinny, awkward adolescent.

As Olive Oyl.

In the gray dawn, Zack got busy loading the back of his Dodge with tools from the shed, and attempted to push thought of the only woman he’d ever fully loved to the back of his mind.

He was dog-tired from another hell week at work. The rustlers had hit again and Leon Ferguson’s attorneys were starting to cause trouble. According to the lawyers, Zack had forced an incriminating confession from Leon’s accomplice, Kyle McPherson.

Which, of course, was a load of bullshit. Kyle eagerly ID’d his boss when he realized he faced charges of not only arson, but also for the attempted murder of Dylan Quinn, livestock poisoning, and the murder of Ella Larson all by his lonesome.

Okay, Zack had neglected to share with him that some of the evidence pointing Kyle’s involvement in these crimes was circumstantial at best, but that was a horse of another color.

He finished loading the back of his pickup with the supplies he and Lance would need to fix fences all day and glanced back at the log house. He’d rather spend a relaxing day at home with his daughter. But that wasn’t the life of a rancher.

The CW was the second largest ranch in the county and employed several hands, but on the weekends, only enough workers were around to do what was needed to keep the cattle and horses fed.

Zack waved at Tate Jackson as the foreman passed the barn.

“You sure you don’t want any help?” the African American man said from the doorway of the tack room.

Zack shut the tailgate and shook his head. “Nope. I think Lance and I have it covered.” He paused at the driver’s side door. “Can you stick close to the house in case Amy needs anything? I know Mandy can be a handful for her, and I’m not sure how long I’ll be.”

“I thought you liked me, boss. I’m not sure which is worse riding herd on–your little girl or my big one.”

Chuckling, Zack opened his door. “Riding herd on Mandy, for sure. I have my cell phone if you need me.”

“Fair ’nough.” Before Zack stepped into the truck, the foreman added, “Those mares you have out there in the west pasture are worth a pretty penny. Better get the fence fixed before they wander off.”

“Or Estrada’s stud gives himself a heart attack.”

Tate snickered. “Oh, but what a way to go. Well, if you were a stud, that is.”