Samantha’s Cowboy (3 page)

“From José?”

“We can’t be sure but the paper smelled like cigarette smoke and Renée was never able to convince José to quit the cigarettes.”

They stopped at the bench outside the barn and sat. “Willie’s story took an interesting turn,” Duke continued.

Sam wracked her brain but couldn’t recall a boy named Willie.

“Willie’s birth dad entered the picture and not by
choice. Evidently the young man wasn’t aware that he’d gotten Willie’s mom pregnant.”

“Is he going to raise Willie?”

“Not sure. It’s a tabloid mess. Willie’s father is white and the son of Richard McDaniel, a prominent plastic surgeon in Detroit.”

“How did the story become public?”

“You’ll have to ask Renée for the details but apparently a disgruntled patient of McDaniel’s leaked the information to the press.”

“Where’s Willie now?”

Duke chuckled. “Living at the McDaniel mansion. Willie’s father is in college and his grandfather’s divorced, so the boy’s under the supervision of the McDaniel housekeeper.”

“Wasn’t there one more child?” Sam asked.

“Ricci. He was arrested for street racing. His foster family gave up on him and Renée had to place him in a boy’s orphanage. His probation officer keeps a close eye on him, but Renée believes it’s only a matter of time before he runs away and joins a gang.”

Sam couldn’t imagine the day-to-day emotional upheaval her sister-in-law experienced as a social worker. “Renée’s a special woman.”

“I’m lucky to have Renée even though I share her with hundreds of kids,” he said.

“What about your condo? When do you two plan to move in?” Her brother had purchased an old warehouse along Detroit’s riverfront. Company offices and a condo were to occupy the top two floors while the rest housed a recreational center and shelter for homeless children.

“Renée and I decided against the condo.”

“Really?”

“We want our kids to grow up in a neighborhood with other families. And Renée worried about moving away from her mother. For now we’re keeping Renée’s house and making plans to expand.”

“You said kids as in plural.”

Duke grinned. “Don’t tell anyone but Renée’s pregnant.”

“Oh, Duke, that’s wonderful!” Sam fought a pang of envy as she hugged her brother. “When is she due?”

“Middle of January.”

“Is Timmy excited?”

“He doesn’t know yet and we don’t want to make the news public until after Timmy’s surgery at the end of August.”

The boy had been born with a clubfoot but because he’d been shuffled from one foster home to another through the years he’d never had the deformity corrected.

“Would you call me when Timmy checks into the hospital? I’d like to send him a gift to cheer him up.”

“Sure thing.” Duke cleared his throat. “Matt hasn’t known Amy or her daughters long. Has he said much about their relationship?”

Sam laughed. “You’re one to talk. You met Renée in December and married her in February.” Her teasing remark earned her a pinch on the arm. “Hey!”

“How does Matt feel about inheriting an instant family?”

“How did you feel about marrying a woman who’ll always be involved with other people’s children?” Sam countered.

“Touché.” Duke chuckled. “That Rose sure is opinionated and Lily, with her blond curls, is nothing but a handful of cute.”

Sam’s turn to share her personal news. “I bought the old Peterson homestead on Route 38 two weeks ago.”

“I’m listening,” Duke said, offering his undivided attention.

That’s what she loved about her stepbrother—he never rushed to judgment like Matt did. Duke heard a person out before offering an opinion. “I need to be part of a worthwhile cause. I hate working in Daddy’s office. There are days I can’t breathe let alone concentrate.”

“I’m sorry, Sam.”

“For what?”

“I should have taken your complaints more seriously when you came to Detroit before Christmas. I could have spoken with Dominick.”

“I wasn’t ready to do anything then. But I am now,” she insisted, hoping to reassure herself as well as her brother.

“What exactly are you doing?” he asked.

“The same thing you and Renée have done for homeless kids, except I’m opening a sanctuary for neglected and abandoned horses.”

“An admirable cause but are you ready to work with horses again?”

“Yes.” She didn’t have a choice—not if she intended to move on with her life. She needed to put her fears to rest if she wanted to experience again the special relationship with a horse that she’d always treasured. “I’ve been visiting the SPCA equine center for several months.”

“Does Dominick know you’re hanging around horses?”

“No,” she admitted, then rushed on. “Daddy would have made a big fuss if I’d told him. I’m taking things slow and working with horses that are mild-tempered.” For now. She eventually wanted to help all horses—even the unpredictable ones.

“Does Matt approve?”

“He’s having fits because the property’s in poor condition and with the wedding preparations he doesn’t have time to help out.”

“I could—”

“Thanks but I don’t need help from a man who can’t pound a nail without hitting his thumb.”

Duke mussed her hair, then smiled. “You’ve got a big heart.”

“So do you, Duke. Or else you wouldn’t be sharing your warehouse with homeless kids.”

“If you need help making financial decisions—”

“Thanks, but Wade Dawson volunteered to handle my money.”

“Dawson is your financial adviser?”

She nodded. “His uncle owns Dawson Investments.”

“Do you trust him?”

She had no choice—not if she wanted to prevent her father from discovering her plans. “He’s competent.”
Good-looking.
“And he’s insisting I withdraw money on an as-needed basis to keep the balance of my savings earning interest.”

“Smart man.”

Trusting men outside her family wasn’t easy for Sam. But Wade made her want to believe he wouldn’t
take advantage of her—even if he discovered her shortcomings.

Sam would never allow another man—even a nerdy one—to make her feel that vulnerable ever again.

“That’s insane!” Wade shouted into the phone. The drilling company he’d contacted after Samantha Cartwright had left his office yesterday phoned back with a quote for the Peterson homestead—a hundred dollars per square foot drilled and an estimated drill depth to hit water of 1,100 feet. A $110,000 may not be a big deal to a Cartwright but it was a damned big deal to Wade, whose retirement fund would take a hit until he recovered Samantha’s money.

“What do you mean you’ll have to use diamond bits?” The company manager droned on about the pricey bits needed to break through bedrock. Then he spewed data from well logs of properties in the area to justify his cost.

The one thing preventing Wade from suffering cardiac arrest was the news that the first available drill date for the property was early September. Wade suspected if he mentioned the Cartwright name the owner would rearrange the company’s schedule and break ground tomorrow. Wade remained silent. He needed more time to investigate Samantha’s trust fund debacle.
Numerous calls to his uncle had gone unreturned, which was out of character for the old man. Whatever his uncle was up to, Wade didn’t appreciate being left in the dark.

When the manager offered to reserve a date in September, Wade declined. “I’ll be in touch.” He snapped his cell phone shut and stared out his condo window at downtown Tulsa. His conscience nagged—to inform Samantha about the missing funds or not? Wade’s job, his future at Dawson Investments, his position in the family—too much was at stake.

In the end it was Wade’s personal financial situation that made the decision for him—he didn’t have $110,000 to pay the drilling company. Three years ago his ex-wife, Carmen, had walked away from their marriage with half his 401(k). She’d also gotten their home and a hefty child-support check each month. After purchasing his condo and furnishing the rooms, Wade had all but drained his retirement portfolio.

Then his son had begun having problems when he’d entered first grade. Wade remembered what it had been like to be the kid who didn’t fit in. Luke’s genius IQ made relating to his peers difficult. Carmen had insisted Luke would adjust, but Wade had refused to stand aside while the boy suffered teasing and ridicule. Wade enrolled his son in the Tulsa Boys Academy—a private school for overachievers and high-intellect children.

The cost of tuition was another reason he hadn’t been able to sock money away. Wade didn’t care because Luke thrived at the academy and enjoyed learning in a challenging and stimulating environment.
Wade was determined to keep his son in the school even if he became penniless in the process.

Luke strolled into the living room, carrying his favorite book—
The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian.
Although it was only 8:00 a.m. on a Saturday, Luke had been up reading for an hour. “What’s the matter, Dad?”

“Nothing.” Wade’s chest tightened with love at his son’s concern. The boy was a miniature replica of himself right down to his choice of reading material. Wade had spent his childhood with his head buried in books—fantasy had been better than real life. Even though Luke had enrolled in a summer school literature program at the academy, Wade hated to see his son spend the entire weekend reading.

Wade had custody of Luke every weekend and the two used the time together to do guy stuff—like bowling or attending a professional soccer game. They’d gone fishing once, but Wade hadn’t been able to untangle the lines, so they’d tossed their poles in the trash and spent the afternoon at the condominium’s swimming pool. “You up for a car ride in the country?”

Luke adjusted his glasses and shrugged. “I guess.”

Wade eyed the boy’s khaki shorts and short-sleeved Polo shirt. Carmen dressed Luke like a Dapper Dan doll. Maybe if his son tore the pockets on his pants or smudged his shirt Carmen would think twice about purchasing expensive outfits for an eight-year-old. Then Wade glanced at himself and cringed. He wasn’t much of a role model in his khaki pants, loafers and short-sleeved cotton Oxford shirt.

“Where are we going?” Luke asked.

Scooping the car keys from the ceramic bowl on the coffee table, Wade said, “To an old farm.” Assuming Samantha would be occupied with her brother’s wedding plans, he intended to check out the Peterson place. With any luck he’d devise a plan to convince Samantha to hold off on her pet project—at least until he spoke with his uncle.

“Can I bring my book?”

“Sure.” His son lugged books around like other kids carried iPods and cell phones in their pockets. Wade knew for a fact that Luke had read
The Chronicles of Narnia
series three times already.

Fifteen minutes later Wade left the Tulsa city limits behind. He lowered the car windows, the hot afternoon breeze ruffling Luke’s hair and flipping the pages of his book. “Look out there.” Wade pointed to the grazing cattle. “That’s a huge herd.”

Luke watched the animals for all of three seconds before burying his head in the book again.

So much for distracting his son. Wade closed the windows and adjusted the air conditioner. Left alone with his own musings, Samantha’s face popped into his mind—an annoying habit of late. Her dark eyes and high cheekbones were bold, exotic…
striking.

A warm throb pulsed between his thighs. When was the last time a woman had stirred him physically, and why did that woman have to be Samantha Cartwright? The cowgirl hadn’t even remembered him.

The women he’d gravitated toward in the past shared few traits with the oil baron’s daughter. Yesterday he’d been caught off guard by the vulnerability in
Samantha’s gaze—the look hadn’t been there when they’d met years ago. What had happened to the girl whose stare had intimidated Wade and whose words had challenged him to climb a tree he had no business scaling? Not even after he’d fallen and broken his arm had she uttered an apology. Whatever the cause for the change in Samantha’s demeanor he hoped her congeniality lasted until he located her money.

He spotted the Peterson mailbox along Route 38 and turned onto a dirt road laden with potholes. Samantha had her priorities out of order. If she wanted a new well dug, first the road needed to be regraded and topped with several inches of fresh gravel so the drilling trucks could drive onto the property. The BMW’s suspension survived the bumpy ride and Wade parked in front of the crumbling farmhouse.

Book forgotten, Luke pressed his nose to the windshield and gaped. “Is it haunted?”

“Maybe. No one’s lived here for years.” His mind quickly calculated the cost of building a new house if Samantha stuck to her goal to turn this place into a horse sanctuary. The barn wasn’t much better—half the roof was missing and immense holes peppered the sides. A crumbling brick silo stood off in the distance. The property was in worse shape than Samantha had let on. No wonder she wanted to keep her father in the dark about her plans.

“Dad, there’s an old lady sitting under that tree.”

The resident water witch.
“C’mon,” Wade said. “We’ll introduce ourselves.” The granny didn’t budge from her rocker as they approached. “Hello,” Wade called. “You must be Millicent.”

Cloudy gray eyes peered at Wade through a wrinkled face that resembled a Chinese shar-pei. “Who wants to know?”

“I’m Wade Dawson, Samantha Cartwright’s financial adviser.” He held out his hand and the old woman hesitated before offering hers. The digits crooked at odd angles and her knuckles were swollen and red with inflammation. Taking care, Wade squeezed gently.

“If ya folks is lookin’ fer Sam, she ain’t here.”

Before Wade explained his visit, Luke blurted, “How old are you?”

“Well now, I ain’t sure.” Millicent spat tobacco juice at the ground, barely missing Wade’s shoes. “I reckon somewhere’s ’round a hundred.”

“Wow, that’s cool.” Luke squinted through his glasses. “The cost of a first-class stamp when you were born was just two cents.”

Although Wade enjoyed listening to his son spew trivia off the top of his head, most people didn’t. More often than not intelligence earned enemies not friends.

Millicent narrowed her eyes until the wrinkles on her face swallowed them whole. “What else ya knows ’bout 1909?”

“Skee-Ball was invented by J. D. Estes in Philadelphia. And the U.S. issued the first Lincoln penny.”

When Luke paused, the old woman said, “Go on, youngin’. I’m listenin’.”

“The 1909 Model T Ford was one of the fifty worst cars of all time.”

“I wouldn’t know ’bout that. My daddy didn’t have no car.”

“Did you ever own a car?” Luke asked.

“Son, that’s none of—”

“Shush now.” Millicent waved a knobby hand in the air, excluding Wade from the conversation. “Years ago Mr. Peterson gave me his 1953 Bel-Air.”

“What happened to the car?”

“It’s over yonder in the barn.”

Wade shielded his eyes against the glaring sun and stared at the dilapidated structure. “You’re storing a Bel-Air in that barn?” It was a miracle a strong wind hadn’t blown the structure down.

“Said so, didn’t I?” The granny grunted.

Before Wade had a chance to ask about the antique car the sound of a diesel truck engine met his ears. A large four-by-four extended cab pickup stopped next to his BMW. Samantha sat behind the wheel.

Damn.
The last person he wanted to run into today was the rich cowgirl.

S
AM GRIPPED THE STEERING WHEEL
until her knuckles ached. All those stupid female fantasies she’d nurtured since meeting Wade yesterday had been run over and flattened when she spotted the little boy at his side. Of all the scenarios she’d envisioned of her and Wade there had never been a child in any of them.

Go figure. The one man who’d piqued her interest, since her disastrous relationship with Bo, had a child. Kids weren’t part of Samantha’s future, so that meant Wade wasn’t, either. Swallowing her disappointment, she hopped out of the truck and headed toward the group gathered beneath the hackberry tree.

“Hello, Wade.” Sam glanced at the boy and then looked away. The memory of Bo’s daughter wandering
off while in her care forced Sam to retreat a step, increasing the space between her and the child.

“Samantha, I’d like you to meet my son, Luke. Luke, this is Ms. Cartwright. She owns the property.”

There was no mistaking the resemblance between father and son. The miniature male possessed Wade’s dark hair, dark eyes, square chin and even the same black-rimmed geeky glasses—not to mention they wore similar outfits.

The boy flashed a crooked smile and waved his hand. “Hi.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Luke.” She switched her attention to Millicent. “You doing okay?”

“Jest shootin’ the bull.” The old woman pushed herself out of the rocker. “Best be headin’ inside.” Millicent shuffled toward the clapboard shanty.

“Wait!” Sam and Wade spoke at the same time.

Embarrassed by her outburst, Sam sputtered, “No need to leave on our account.” Wade unnerved her and she needed Millicent to act as a buffer between her and the financial guru. “What brings you out to the Last Chance Ranch?” she asked Wade.

“The what?”

“I’m calling my horse sanctuary Last Chance Ranch.” The ranch wasn’t only a last resort for unwanted horses but also an opportunity for Sam to finally strike out on her own.

“I stopped by to get an idea of the amount of work that needs to be done on the place.” His mouth twisted into a grimace. “There must be a hundred small spreads in the area in better condition than this.”

Sam admitted the property was in poor shape, but
that’s why she’d bought the place below market value. She flashed a smug smile. “Now you understand why I need my trust fund money sooner rather than later.”

“Speaking of money,” Wade said, “I contacted a drilling company after you left the office yesterday. They phoned with a bid this morning.”

“How much?” she asked.

“A hundred dollars per foot drilled and the well comps in this area put the water table between a thousand and twelve-hundred feet.”

“That’s $110,000,” the boy blurted.

Good grief.
The details had barely registered in Sam’s head before the little genius had spouted a dollar amount.

“The cost doesn’t include testing the water or capping the well.” Wade nodded toward the ranch road. “The potholes need to be filled and new gravel laid down before heavy trucks drive in here.”

“When can the drilling company break ground?” What was a hundred grand when she had millions?

“They’re booked solid until September.”

Panic pumped through Sam’s bloodstream and she forced herself to breathe in deeply through her nose. In…out. In…out. Becoming upset would lead to confusion and forgetfulness and she refused to make a fool of herself in front of Wade. Even though they had no future, she didn’t want him to believe she was a ditz. “The well can’t wait until September.” The faster she got the ranch up and running, the less chance her father would interfere with her plans. Sam had a nasty habit of backing down when confronted by her father. “I’ll phone the company Monday morning and offer more money.”

Wade’s face lost color. “Don’t waste your money on bribes,” he insisted. “Acquiring the necessary permits to drill will take time.”

“Bunch o’ nonsense if ya ask me,” Millicent said, inviting herself into the conversation. “Don’t need no machine to show ya where the water is.” She rolled her lips over her gum. “The water ain’t no thousand feet down, neither.”

Sam cleared her throat. “Millicent is a dowser.”

“You mentioned that yesterday,” Wade said.

Oh.
She’d forgotten.

“What’s a dowser?” Luke pushed his glasses up his nose and squinted through the lenses.

“I’ll show ya. First, I gots to find a divinin’ rod.” Millicent wandered off toward the barn.

“A what?” Luke asked his father.

“A magic stick—” Sam answered for Wade “—that shakes and wiggles when it senses water below the ground.”

“Folklore, son.” Wade shook his head.

“Maybe, but Millicent doesn’t charge a hundred thousand dollars for her services.”

“What’s the going rate for a water witch?” he asked.