Samantha’s Cowboy (5 page)

“She asked me what I liked most about school.”

That must have been when Wade was busy arguing with Millicent over her dowsing abilities.

“I told her science.” Luke flipped through the diagrams of well-digging equipment. “She said she used to like school, then it got too hard.”

Hardly a surprise. Samantha had probably focused her time and energy on boys, parties and clothes rather than her studies.

“Dad?”

“What?”

“If you and Mom get married again we could all live in the same house.”

Ah, damn. His son understood the meaning of divorce, but Luke continued to struggle with feelings of abandonment after Wade had moved out of the family home. Luke might have adjusted better if Carmen hadn’t quit being a mother. Carmen’s frequent overnight trips with various boyfriends before she’d become engaged again had reinforced the boy’s feelings of insecurity. Carmen hadn’t even tried to pretend Luke was her number one priority.

“Your mom and I are never getting back together but that doesn’t mean we aren’t still a family.” Sort of.

“Are you gonna marry someone else?”

“Maybe, but I’m in no hurry.” The notion of living alone the rest of his life didn’t appeal to Wade and he hoped one day when Luke was older he’d fall in love with a nice woman and give marriage another try.

“Do you want more kids?”

“Heck no.” Wade flashed a fake scowl. “You’re too much trouble as it is.”

“Yeah, right, Dad.”

He ruffled his son’s hair. “Why don’t you head into the kitchen and see what we’ve got in the freezer for
dinner. I need to make a quick call.” As soon as Luke left the room, Wade dialed Samantha’s cell phone number. He wanted to be sure she had no plans to back out of their well-digging deal.

“Hello?”

Wade cleared his throat. “Samantha, this is Wade Dawson.”

“Hello, Wade.”

The smoky sound of his name rolling off her tongue triggered a blip in his heartbeat.

“I apologize for disturbing you when you’re busy with family and the wedding, but I wanted to assure you that I intend to show up at the Peterson property next Sunday to begin digging the well.”

Silence—not even breath sounds on the other end of the line. “Samantha? Are you there?”

“Wade—”

His heart blipped faster.

“—I want to thank you for trying to save me money, but I’ve spoken with my brothers and they’re recommending I call in professionals to dig the well.”

Wade’s heart skidded to a rubber-burning stop. “Let’s see how much progress I make before we change plans?”

“I won’t be able to drive out to the property Sunday. My father’s planned a family breakfast before my brother and his wife leave on their honeymoon.”

“No problem. Luke and I should be fine.”

“Wade, you can’t dig the well by yourself.”

“Who says?” A bead of sweat rolled down his temple. “Luke and I have already done the research and it’s a straightforward process.” Feeling childish, he crossed his fingers behind his back.

“I’m not sure it’s wise for Luke to be out there. I’d hate for him to get hurt.” Samantha cared more about Luke’s safety than Wade’s ex-wife.

“The witch, I mean Millicent, will be around to keep an eye on Luke.”

“Thanks just the same but—”

“Wait. Samantha, please don’t back out. Luke and I have been looking forward to a father-son outing for a long time.” If Wade crossed his fingers any tighter the skin on his knuckles would split open.

Silence.

“Luke’s told a few friends about the project already and we purchased the tools and equipment earlier today.” His damned fingers throbbed.

A sigh filtered through the connection. “All right, but if you run into problems—”

“We won’t.” Wade hoped the witch knew her stuff. “Enjoy the wedding festivities next weekend and I’ll phone you Sunday evening with an update.”

“Sure.”

“Best wishes to the bride and groom.” Wade hung up before Samantha had a chance to respond, fearing if their goodbye dragged on he’d sound desperate. He pried his fingers apart. All he had to do now was dig a sixty-foot hole in the ground by hand.

The way he figured, if he didn’t hit water, he’d have already dug his own grave.

Late Sunday morning Samantha parked her truck next to Wade’s black BMW in front of the Peterson farmhouse. She’d intended to arrive earlier but Matt and Amy’s send-off breakfast had lasted longer than expected. Then she’d twiddled her thumbs while her father had packed his bags for a business trip. Thank goodness Duke had offered to drive him to the ranch airstrip, freeing the way for Samantha to leave.

She drummed her fingers against the steering wheel. The tap, tap, tapping habit had developed in the later days of her recovery from brain surgery when impatience had outpaced progress. Sam closed her eyes and drew in deep, slow breaths. Doubts—the big scary kind—had increased in size and frequency since her visit to Dawson Investments over a week ago.

The small notebook tucked away in the glove compartment reminded her that she’d taken precautions in preparing for this venture. The day she’d contacted a Realtor she’d begun recording the date, time and topic of each meeting, phone call or discussion involving the purchase of the property. She’d done everything
possible to guarantee the success of this project. Or had she?

Most days Sam ignored the insecurity that had become a part of her life since her accident sixteen years ago. The fact that this was the first time she’d embarked on a mission without the help of her brothers or father fueled her worry and confusion.

Had she made a mistake reaching for her own dream?

No. Have a little faith in yourself, Sam.

The past eight years she’d worked in her father’s office she’d saved most of her salary and had used the money to purchase this homestead. Come hell or high water she’d open a sanctuary ranch and by doing so she’d learn to trust herself and gain the respect and confidence of others.

The memory of Bo’s daughter was never far away.
Emily.
Sweet, innocent Emily had wandered off and gotten lost for hours because of Sam’s absentmindedness. Sam couldn’t change the past and as much as she’d love to be a mother she was better off sinking all her time and energy into saving horses.

Her thoughts shifted to Wade digging her well.
Good grief.
This was the twenty-first century. No one dug a well by hand—especially financial advisers. She doubted the man got his clothes dirty often. She could end all this nonsense by firing Wade as her financial adviser but she hated to disappoint Luke if the boy had his heart set on helping his father.

Her stomach churned with new worry—was there more behind digging the well than Wade let on? Instinct insisted he had her best interests at heart. But…
No
buts.
Wade had given her no reason to believe he’d lead her astray.

Shoving the reservations to the back of her mind, she marched across the yard. When she rounded the corner of the barn she stopped and stared. So much for a father-son project. Luke sat on the ground beneath the hackberry tree reading to Millicent, who fumbled with a new pouch of tobacco. A Folgers coffee can rested in the dirt by her feet. Wade had paid Millicent for her water-witching services. His thoughtfulness warmed Sam’s heart.

Wade stood with his back to her, wearing a long-sleeve sweat-soaked chambray shirt, jeans that hugged his academic butt and a pair of brand-new work boots. He glanced at the three-foot hole in the ground near his feet, shoved his glasses up his nose, then studied the piece of paper in his hand.

“Samantha,” Luke called, when he noticed her. The boy scrambled to his feet and raced toward her. “Look at this. It’s Millicent’s family Bible and she said it belonged to her great-grandmother.”

“That makes it really old.” Sam glanced at Wade and noted his mouth hung open in surprise. Had he really expected her to stay away today?

“Yeah, like a hundred and ninety years.” Luke pointed to the date written inside the Bible. “Eighteen-nineteen.”

“Wow. That is old.”

“Millicent’s relatives are written here—” he flipped to the page of names scrawled in various people’s handwriting “—and it says who married who. See?” Luke’s finger traced the faded print. “Millicent said her cousin Jack rode with Teddy Roosevelt and the Rough Riders.”

“Stop pestering Samantha,” Wade scolded when he joined her and Luke. “You’re supposed to keep an eye on Millicent.”

The boy rolled up on his tiptoes and whispered, “Dad says I have to stay with Millicent because she’s too old to help and she’ll get hurt.” He skipped back to the tree.

“I thought Luke was eager to help dig the well.” Sam studied Wade. For a geek, he was a handsome man—dusty face and all. Not even the mud marring his chin detracted from his strong jawline.

“Luke almost banged himself in the forehead when he stepped on the shovel head earlier this morning. Safer for both of us if he keeps out of the way.”

Wade’s words floated in one ear and out the other as Sam focused on the sweat beading across his forehead. A single droplet slid down his temple, curved inward across his cheek, skirted the corner of his mouth and dripped off his chin.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

His voice—or maybe his hand on her elbow—ended her trance. She shrugged off his touch, ignoring his raised eyebrow.

Wade cleared his throat. “I didn’t expect to see you today.”

“The wedding guests departed early.” She motioned to the hole in the ground. “How’s the digging coming along?”

His body tensed. “I was taking a short break.”

At this pace he’d hit water around Christmas. Sam rolled up her sleeves. “I’ll spell you.”

“What?”

Were his ears clogged with dirt? “I’ll dig for a while.”

“I understand you want to get the ball rolling on this rescue ranch, but I don’t think you should—”

“Shovel a little dirt?” A dusky hue seeped into his cheeks. Sam couldn’t recall witnessing a man blush before and found the act charming. “Sorry to burst your bubble but I’m not a pampered princess.”

The first month after she’d been discharged from the rehab hospital she’d had trouble concentrating for long periods of time, so she’d thrown herself into ranch chores because physical activity didn’t tax her brain and leave her with a headache.

“This was my idea. I’ll do the digging,” he insisted.

Let him,
a voice whispered inside her head. A man accustomed to sitting behind a desk all week wouldn’t last a day toiling beneath the blazing Oklahoma sun. When he realized he was in over his head he’d give up and phone a contractor to dig the well, which had been her intent all along. She had two weeks—give or take a few days—until her father returned from Europe. The sooner Wade accepted defeat, the better. “Okay then. I’ll leave you to the digging.” She hadn’t taken three steps when he called out.

“What are you going to do?”

“Decide where I want the paddocks.” By the time Sam stopped at her truck she’d forgotten what she’d intended to get. She closed her eyes and forced herself to relax. The more she fretted the longer the duration of her memory lapse. Once her mind went blank she remembered the reason for going to the truck—her notepad. She removed the black notebook from the glove compartment and a pen from the cup holder, then wrote the word
Paddocks
on the paper.

Ignoring the sound of Wade’s shovel scraping the ground, Sam studied the area adjacent to the house. Approximately thirty yards separated the soon-to-be paddocks from the well. A water pipe would need to be installed to carry well water to a spigot near the fenced-in area.

She spent the next half hour jotting down a list of fencing materials—hardware, posts, cement, water troughs, gate latches. Tomorrow she’d stop by Barney’s Ranch Supply and order the items. She’d also ask Barney to spread the word that she needed a few hardworking cowboys—preferably not the nerdy kind—to install the fencing for the paddocks.

D
AMN IT
, S
AMANTHA WASN’T
supposed to show up today and witness him bumble his way through Well-Digging 101. The fact that Wade cared about her opinion of him caused concern. He might find her attractive, sexy and intriguing, but she was his client. If that wasn’t enough of a reminder to keep things businesslike between them, then being held accountable for her lost trust fund should be.

He jumped on the edge of the shovel head with both feet and the tip sank deeper into the red clay. His arm muscles shook like Jell-O and his shoulders burned as if a hot branding iron had been pressed against his skin. A lot of good his three-a-week forty-minute workouts at the company health club did him.

You’d make more progress if you’d stop watching Samantha.

She sat on the rickety steps of the ranch house, doodling in a notebook. Once in a while she stared at the cloudless sky with a quizzical expression on her
pretty face. Beauty aside, the woman confused the heck out of him. One minute she was a snippy miss know-it-all, the next she wore a lost-little-girl expression, which made Wade want to wrap his arms around her and protect her from the big bad bogeyman.

“Dad, I’m hungry.” Luke’s shadow fell over the hole.

Wade checked his watch. Noon. He and Luke had loaded a cooler with Gatorade bottles this morning but he hadn’t thought to pack snacks or lunch food.

“That’s not a very big hole.” Luke glanced between the mound of dirt and the four-foot hole Wade stood at the bottom of.

Ignoring the criticism, Wade attempted to hoist himself out of the crater but his Jell-O arms wobbled and he slipped to the bottom, swallowing a groan as pain shot through his shoulders.

“Need a hand?” Samantha peered over the edge at him, fighting a smile.

What the hell. He’d already made an ass out of himself, he might as well accept her assistance. “Sure.”

“On the count of three.” She wrapped her fingers around his wrist. “One, two…three.”

Wade scaled the side of the hole. When his hips cleared the edge, he flung himself forward and Samantha released her grip. “Thanks,” he huffed, scrambling to his feet. For a pampered princess she had a heck of a grip.

“Next time put a ladder in the hole with ya,” Millicent said, joining the group.

No kidding. The problem was he didn’t have a ladder. “Luke and I are heading out for lunch.”
And a ladder.

“Where did you plan to eat?” Samantha asked.

“Nearest restaurant, I guess.” Wade slapped at the dirt on his jeans.

“Ain’t no nearest restaurant leastways ya mean Beulah’s. She’s closed on Sundays.”

Great. Now what?

“Got me a kilt chicken,” the old woman said. “An’ fixins fer biscuits.”

A
kilt
chicken?
Don’t ask.

“You two wash up. I’ll help make lunch.” Samantha and Millicent walked off.

“Where are we supposed to wash up?” Wade turned in a circle.

“Millicent said there’s a little water left in the backyard well.” Luke pointed to the rundown farmhouse.

Wade followed his son, his arms flopping against his sides like overcooked noodles. He pumped the well handle twice.

Luke shoved a bucket under the small stream of water. “You’re not supposed to waste any, Dad.”

While Wade washed his hands in an inch of water, he contemplated jumping headfirst into the dark hole. His blistered fingers hurt. His sunburned neck itched. And his shoulders throbbed. What he wouldn’t give for a long, cold shower.

“You’re bleeding, Dad.” Luke poked at an open blister on his father’s palm.

“I’m fine.” Next time he’d have to remember to bring along a pair of leather work gloves.

As soon as they entered Millicent’s two-room shanty, Luke blurted, “My dad’s hands are bleeding.”

The old witch grunted an unintelligible word as she
flipped pieces of chicken in a skillet of hot grease. Samantha, bless her sympathetic heart, didn’t ignore him. She turned his hands palm side up. “Ouch.”

What did she mean,
ouch?
He couldn’t feel a thing except for the tingling sensation that followed in the wake of her finger as she caressed the raw flesh around each blister.

“Sit,” she commanded.

Feeling light-headed, Wade collapsed onto one of the ladder-back chairs at the crudely made table, which sat in the center of the cabin. Samantha brought a shoebox filled with jars and strips of clean cloth to the table. “Let’s see what Millicent has in her first aid kit.”

Wade eyed the collection of small jars but didn’t recognize any products commonly found in a drugstore. Samantha must have read his mind, because she smiled reassuringly as she spread a salve that smelled like a dead animal carcass across his wounds.

“You should stop digging, Wade. These sores will take days to heal.”

His name slipped from her mouth in a gentle rush of air that soughed across his palm. He wanted to take her advice but calling it quits for the day wasn’t possible—not unless he intended to tell her the truth right here and now.
Samantha, you’re broke. That’s why I’m making a fool of myself.
“A couple of Band-Aids and my hands will be good as new.”

“Don’t be silly.”

Silly?
He yearned to confess the well-digging fiasco had been a stall tactic to prevent her from spending money she didn’t have. Money he had to front her from
his personal funds. Instead he had to act
silly
and insist he didn’t mind digging a frickin’ hole in the ground with blistered hands.

Samantha returned the shoebox to the shelf next to the ancient cast-iron sink. “Tomorrow I’ll contact a drilling company and offer a financial incentive to dig sooner rather than later. While we wait on the permits, I’ll hire a crew to fence in the paddocks.”

“Give me a week, Samantha, and I’ll have the hole dug.” Grasping at straws, he added, “Your father will be impressed by how frugal you were with your inheritance.”

A wrinkle formed across her brow and Wade curled his stinging hand into a fist to keep from caressing her forehead and discovering if her skin felt as velvety as it appeared.

“Maybe you’re right.” She sat across the table from him. “In any regard your hands have seen enough work for one day.”

“I can help,” Luke offered, carrying a stack of plates to the table.

Samantha smiled at his son and Wade swore Luke stood a few inches taller. “We’ll both take turns,” she said.