Texas True (5 page)

Erin knew how to behave around mares with new foals. She walked softly into the stall, making no sudden moves. Only when she was close enough did Sky step aside, giving her a full view of the foal. “Oh!” she gasped. “Oh, he's so beautiful!”

“Come and touch him,” Sky said. “Since he's to be yours, you'll want him and his mother to know your smell.” Beckoning her close, he took her hand and rubbed it along the foal's back. “That's it. Now put your arms around him. Lean over his back and give him a hug. You'll want your scent all over him. And you'll want him to know that scent means something good.”

Almost sobbing with excitement, Erin did as she was told. As she embraced her foal, a quiver passed through the small body. Lupita raised her head and nickered.

Sky touched Erin's arm. “That's enough for now. I think this little fellow's ready for a meal.”

Released, the foal tottered under his mother, butted instinctively for a teat, and began to suck. His creamy little tail twitched with pleasure as he drank.

Beau glanced down at Natalie. Her cheeks were wet with tears. As if sensing his eyes on her, she looked up at him. “Sorry,” she muttered. “For a vet, I'm way too emotional. It's late. Time for me to go.”

“I'll walk you to your car,” Beau said.

“No.” Her eyes flashed him a warning look before she turned to gather up her gear. A moment later she said good night to the others and strode out of the barn.

Beau watched her leave, aware she was right not to trust being alone with him. Every time she was around, he had trouble keeping his eyes off her, let alone his hands. As much as he might wish otherwise, she wasn't his girl anymore. She was another man's wife. The sooner he accepted that, the better off both of them would be.

I
t was almost 10:00 p.m. when Lute walked through the front door of the Blue Coyote. He'd hitched a ride to town with a cowboy named Ralph who had a '93 Chevy pickup and a girlfriend who worked the late shift at Burger Shack. One of these days he'd have his own car, Lute vowed as the pickup pulled away. And it wouldn't be a twenty-year-old piece of crap like Ralph drove, either.

Inside, the antiquated sound system was playing Hank Williams, which fit the retro theme of the place. There were autographed photos of old-time rodeo stars on the walls. A set of massive, mounted longhorns, wider than the span of a big man's arms, hung over the big-screen TV above the bar.

Stella, the busty, middle-aged redhead who owned the place, knew all her customers by name. Tonight she was dressed in a black silk shirt embroidered with roses and a tight denim skirt. “Howdy, Lute,” she greeted him. “Have a seat and tell Nigel here what you're drinkin' tonight.”

Nigel, who served as bartender and bouncer, seemed out of place in the Western-style bar. With tattooed arms, a wrestler's build, and a shaved head, he looked more like a biker than a cowboy. But he knew his job, and if anybody messed with him, they didn't do it a second time.

Lute ordered the cheapest beer on the menu, paid for it with the last of his pocket change, and nursed it while he scanned the crowded bar. Just his damned luck, Slade Haskell wasn't here. But since Ralph wouldn't be by to pick him up for a couple of hours, he had time to kill.

Jess, the only waitress in sight, bustled past him with a tray full of drinks. Lute watched her walk away, liking the tight fit of her jeans, her black T-shirt, and the perky little pink boots on her feet. She was young and thin, with limp brown hair and a tired expression on her pretty face. Lute wouldn't have minded getting to know her. As a half-blood Comanche with scarcely a dime to his name, he had more sense than to hit on the girl. But once he had money and a car, things would be different.

He'd finished the beer and was fidgeting with the empty bottle when Slade walked in. He was wearing his work clothes and looked pissed, like maybe he'd had a fight with that hot wife of his. Lute bit at the edge of his lower lip, wondering whether this might be a bad time to approach Haskell about a job. Trouble was, he didn't know when there might be a better one, and he was tired of shoveling shit all day.

Deciding that tonight might be his only chance, Lute pushed off the bar stool and wandered over to the booth where Slade Haskell sat alone. “I heard a rumor you might have an opening for a driver,” he remarked, trying to sound cool and offhand.

Glancing up, Slade looked him over. “You asked me about a job a couple weeks ago. You're the kid working out at the Tyler spread, aren't you?”

“I work there,” he admitted, “until I can find something that pays better. Cleaning out stables isn't exactly something I want to do the rest of my life.”

“So you were the one in there when she checked on that mare.” His gaze narrowed on Lute in thoughtful study.

“That was me.” He nodded, and wondered how much more he should say—and where it might get him. “Quite the reunion it was between two old . . . friends.” He hesitated deliberately to stress the latter word.

“Really.” The single-word response from Slade seemed to encourage Lute to say more.

“I got the feeling they were old flames,” he volunteered. “But something told me the fire wasn't out as far as Beau was concerned.”

“I knew it,” Slade muttered, more to himself than a response to Lute's statement. Before he could add more, the waitress, Jess, stopped by the table with her order pad in hand. In the blink of an eye, Slade lost that half-angry brooding look and flashed her a grin. “Two Coronas for me and my friend here,” he boomed, and gave a wink. “What time are you off tonight, girl?”

A shadow flickered across her face. “Not till closing. Then I've got plans.”

“Too bad.” The grin remained. “Well, maybe next time.”

“Sure.” She walked off to get their drinks.

Lute stared after her. “Slade, is that girl a—”

“Naw. Just a nice, friendly waitress. Best kind.”

“Does she let you . . . you know?”

“Hell, boy, I'm a happily married man. Haven't you figured that out by now?” He sank into a sullen silence while Jess brought their beers and set them on the table. For the space of a quick breath, her gaze locked with Lute's. But what he read in her sad doe eyes wasn't an invitation. It was more like a warning.

Slade took a long swig of his beer. “About that work I mentioned. Still interested?”

Lute's pulse jerked. “What do you think I'm here for? Tell me more.”

“Not much to it. You keep your job with the Tylers and phone me every few days about what's going on out there—stock coming and going, new equipment, new people, any trouble on the ranch, whatever. If I don't pick up, you can leave a voice message. It'll be like you're my eyes and ears. Long as you do your job, I'll pay you fifty dollars a week. You can come by and pick up the cash from Stella when you're in town.”

Fifty dollars a week for doing almost nothing. It wasn't a fortune, but for now it would make the payments on a cheap car. And if he proved himself, maybe the job would lead to better things.

“Got a cell phone?” Slade asked.

“An old prepaid. Won't do much more than the basics.”

“Use it. A new one would just draw attention. And when I give you my phone number, memorize it. It can't be found written down or entered on your phone. There can't be any connection between us. Understand?”

“Understand.” Lute's pulse raced as Slade wrote his phone number on a piece of paper napkin. He sipped his beer, savoring the chilled taste. This was really going to happen. He would be more than just a shit shoveler. He was on his way to becoming somebody.

 

After the news ended, Natalie switched off the TV and stood gazing out the darkened front window. It was after 10:30 and she was dressed for bed in her nightgown and robe. But Slade wasn't back and she was too wired to go to sleep.

They'd settled their earlier quarrel outside the barn over a supper of Burger Shack pizza, spinach salad, and a bottle of Cabernet that one of Slade's clients had given them for Christmas. Just as the tension seemed to be easing, Sky had called from the Tyler ranch with word that the mare was having problems.

When she'd grabbed her keys to leave, Slade had blown his top again. She'd invited him to go with her, but when he'd refused, there was nothing she could do but race out the door, gun the engine, and go.

“Don't count on me being here when you get back!” he'd yelled after her. Well, he was true to his word. The candy-apple-red Ford pickup he kept shined to a high gloss had been missing when she'd pulled into the garage.

No need to wonder where he'd gone. He'd be at the Blue Coyote, drinking and flirting with the waitresses. Slade rarely got drunk, and she doubted that he got past first base with any of the women. He'd soon be home as usual, muttering apologies and wanting sex, which she'd give him to seal their truce.

Natalie was a woman who took her marriage vows seriously. Six years ago, when she'd promised to love and honor Slade Haskell, she'd meant every word. She'd faced the reality that Beau wouldn't be coming back for her. And Slade had been there—handsome and likeable, with roots in the community and enough ambition to take over the family business from his father. They could have a comfortable life together, she'd told herself.

Was it really Slade she'd fallen in love with, she asked herself now, or the person in those mental pictures?

But she was committed to making her marriage work. Slade wasn't a bad person. Neither was she. They deserved to be happy, or at least satisfied with each other. Surely they could find a way.

Meeting Beau again had been like pouring acid into an old wound. The memories of how she'd loved him, and how he'd hurt her, felt as fresh and hot as ever. She'd almost convinced herself that she was over him. But she was wrong. He'd made her feel like a silly little nineteen-year-old fool all over again.

The sudden glare of headlights and the growl of a big engine in the driveway pulled her thoughts back to the present. Natalie forced a mental shift as the garage door opened and closed. Her husband—a decent man who loved her in his way—was home, and they'd had enough contention for one night.

She would do her best to make peace.

 

The Eastern sky had just begun to pale from the slow rising of the sun when Beau wandered into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. He'd hoped for some quiet time alone, but Will was already at the table, digging into a trencherman's breakfast of fried eggs, bacon, and pancakes dripping with maple syrup.

“That looks like a recipe for instant heart attack, brother,” Beau observed as he filled a mug from the electric coffeemaker. A place had been set for him, but he didn't plan to use it. He hadn't eaten a big breakfast since he'd gotten out of the military.

“It hasn't bothered my heart yet.” Will dunked a forkful of pancake in the yolk of his egg. “Tori tried to turn me into a health nut. But the granola and green tea didn't take.”

“Dad used to eat like that.” Beau took a seat. “Is that what killed him?”

“You didn't hear?” Will's thick, black eyebrows shot up. “The old man was living on booze and pain pills by the time he died. The coroner's report listed his death as an accidental overdose. But his heart and arteries were fine. You missed a lot, being gone.”

“I'm aware of that.” Beau sipped his strong, black coffee. “I was in Iraq when he had his accident. Otherwise I might've come home.”

“Just as well you didn't. There wasn't much you could've done. We hired folks to help him. But he was in constant pain. God knows he wasn't easy to live with before the accident. Afterward, well, I think you can figure that out.”

Bernice bustled in with a wire basket of fresh eggs from the coop. She paused at the sight of them together in the kitchen. She'd come to work at the ranch after her husband died more than thirty years ago and was as much a part of Rimrock as her older brother Jasper. “My, but it's good to have both you boys in here again. What can I fix for you, Beau? Bacon? Eggs? You like them over easy as I recollect.”

“Coffee's enough for me, Bernice. And yours is the best. I can't get it this good for five bucks a shot in D.C.”

“So you've decided?” Will lowered his fork to his plate. “On the basis of Bernice's coffee?” Impatient at the lightness of Beau's response, Will snapped. “Dammit, you said you'd let me know this morning, Beau. I'm waiting.”

Beau could almost picture his father sitting in Will's place. He sucked in his breath, knowing that once the words were out of his mouth, they'd be binding.

“Let's say I've decided to stay for a while. My job entitles me to two weeks off for bereavement. I hadn't planned on taking it, but I'll call the office today.”

“And?” Will was bristling with impatience.

“I'll stick around long enough to give this place a try. At the end of that time, I'll make a final decision. Fair enough?” It would have to be. Beau was already having doubts, wondering whether he and Will could get along over the long term.

Will sat silently, frowning as he mulled over what he'd heard. At last he shrugged. “Not quite what I'd hoped for, but I guess, for you, it makes sense. At least your timing's good. We start spring roundup today. You'll have plenty of chances to get those callus-free hands dirty.”

Beau sighed, already knowing what he'd let himself in for. “Suits me. I'm wearing my old boots, but I'll need some gear—chaps, gloves, a hat, a saddle . . .”

“No problem. We've got extras in the bunkhouse. Think you can remember how to work cattle?”

“It'll come back to me.” Beau remembered his teenage years on the ranch, riding herd until his butt blistered and his stomach caved in from hunger. Bull Tyler had been a hard taskmaster, even tougher on his sons than he was on his cowhands. Something told Beau that Will would be the same.

Picking up his empty plate, he held it out to the smiling cook. “Fill it up, Bernice. Looks like it'll be a long, hard day.”

They were just finishing their plates when Erin came bounding in the back door. Bits of straw clung to her sweatshirt and her uncombed hair. Her cheeks were flushed, her blue eyes sparkling.

“How's your new foal?” Beau asked her.

“Fine. He's eating now.” She splashed her hands at the sink and wiped them on her jeans before flinging herself into a chair at the end of the table. “Sky let me brush him. He said I need to touch him a lot and spend a lot of time with him before I go back to school on Monday. That way he'll remember me. It's called imprinting.”

If imprinting was to be done right, it had to begin within forty-five minutes of a foal's birth. Beau realized that was why Sky had brought Erin into the stall so soon last night.

Will frowned. “That mare could get protective of her baby. You're not alone out there with that horse, are you?”

“Really, Daddy, I'm almost thirteen!” Erin poured herself a glass of milk and laced it with chocolate syrup.

“You won't be thirteen till next January, and I asked you a question, young lady.”

“All right. Sky was there at first, but he had to go help with the remuda, so he called Jasper. Jasper was with me the whole rest of the time.”

“Good. I want to know that somebody's always with you in the barn.” Will rose and carried his plate to the sink. Erin was already digging into the pancakes Bernice had set in front of her.

“Have you named your foal yet?” Beau asked.

Erin grinned. “I have. His parents have Spanish names, so I'm going to call him Tesoro. In Spanish that means
treasure
.”