The Trouble With Cowboys (28 page)
“So, then, it was a good thing he didn’t take you and your brother in when you were kids?”
Kellan froze mid brushstroke. He’d never thought about it that way. All the resentment he’d built up over the wrongs committed by his family and their neglect had weighed on him like a dragging anchor for the past fourteen years. He couldn’t see through his resentment to the truth Amy had parsed in seconds, that he and his brother had been better off in foster care than living with Bruce and Eileen Morton. “You’re right. That would’ve been terrible. I . . . huh.”
The more he thought about it, the worse he realized it would’ve been.
“What did you do when you found out about Morton’s strings-attached policy?” Amy prompted.
Kellan resumed grooming. “I quit. We had a huge fight. Physical. We beat each other to a bloody mess.” His aunt, Eileen, broke them apart and put them in separate rooms. Kellan vividly recalled the drops of blood he left along the tile floor like a trail. Morton sought him out as Eileen was cleaning Kellan’s cuts, a stack of papers in his hand, including a property deed. “And that’s when Morton offered me the land I turned into Slipping Rock Ranch.”
“What? That doesn’t make sense. Why would he do that? And why did you accept, if you knew he never offered anything without strings attached?”
Kellan moved to Remington’s other side. From this new angle, he had a full view of Amy leaning against the far wall. But he had himself in check now. Something inside him blazed with the need to share himself with her like he’d never done with anyone before. He wanted her to know the parts of himself he was proudest of, like the thriving business he crafted, and even the ugly, twisted parts that made him look bad, too—the greedy punk he was at eighteen, the vindictive twenty-year-old.
“Even back then, I hated everything Morton stood for. At the time, I accepted his land and his money because I thought he owed me for abandoning Jake and me to the system. And not only because we didn’t have a loving home. That man, with his money, could’ve put us both through college, but he didn’t lift a finger to give us a better life.”
“You thought you deserved whatever he gave you.”
“Damn right I did. Then I saw the land and what a worthless piece of crap it was—dry of oil, dry of irrigation. Nothing there but dirt and scrub brush.” He pointed toward the stable door. “I stood where my driveway is now and cursed him to hell. I wanted to drive to his place and throw the deed at him, but I was out of gas money. After a night spent in my truck, I changed my mind. I decided to prove to him I could make something out of nothing, to show him I could amount to more than he ever thought possible. And, not to toot my own horn, but I made a damn fine business out of this worthless land.”
“Yes, you did.”
He knew he was smirking, but that was the part of the story he loved, the making something out of nothing, with only his sweat and blood and the need to prove himself. “Paid him back seven years later with interest for the property and the loan. I thought he couldn’t touch me after that.”
Amy pushed away from the wall. She took a comb and started in on Remington’s mane. “When did that change for you—your motivation to run the ranch? At some point, it must’ve stopped being about proving yourself and turned into a passion for raising cattle, because I can tell you love this life.”
“That happened pretty quickly. I realized I’d found my place in this world and a career to go with it. Plus I had this new family here with the Bindermans and Vaughn, which made it all the sweeter.”
“When did your uncle make you his heir?”
“Six years ago.” Morton had phoned him at work, insisting on an after-dark meeting in the shadow of an Amarex oil derrick outside Glenrio, Texas, under the guise of passing on information about his parents that he didn’t want to discuss over the phone. The flimsy excuse had Kellan’s bullshit radar on high alert from the get-go. But there they were, meeting in Glenrio at eleven o’clock at night.
The week before, Kellan had pulled a brash, if necessary, stunt—discreetly hiring Matt Roenick to negotiate a better contract for a home owner in Tucumcari who had no idea of the particularly high value of the crude oil sitting beneath his house. No one but Matt knew Kellan had arranged the deal, nor that he’d paid for the supposedly pro bono work out of his own ranch savings. Kellan had been confident that his secret was sound until Morton’s out-of-the-blue phone call requesting the Glenrio rendezvous.
Morton had beaten him to the meeting place. He kept his eyes on Kellan’s truck as it slowed to a stop, his face a sinister web of shifting light and shadow as the derrick’s rhythmic up-and-down crossed in front of his truck’s high beams. Kellan recalled with perfect clarity the tingle of foreboding that washed through him.
“I’ve got some news to discuss. A turn of affairs with my estate involving your inheritance,” Morton had said, moving a wad of chew around in his cheek, his usual volatility simmering in his eyes.
“My inheritance?” Kellan had prowled nearer. He could still hear in his memory the hiss and whir of the derrick’s pistons working at their eternal task. “Are you talking about Slipping Rock Ranch? Because I paid you up free and clear on that property a year ago.”
Morton had sniggered at that. “I don’t have any interest in a worthless piece of dry acreage like Slipping Rock turned out to be. What I’m saying is that I’ve rewritten my will.”
“Taking me out or putting me in?”
“Making you the legal heir of my oil empire.”
The shock of Morton’s announcement had left Kellan speechless. He waited for the catch.
Morton turned on his heel and snatched a legal-size envelope from the hood of his massive red truck. He held it out to Kellan.
Kellan had shaken his head, refusing to touch the envelope. “I might’ve welcomed that once upon a time, but things have changed and you know it.”
“And yet, you’re still living in the heart of Amarex country.” Morton shoved the envelope at him. “I should’ve known you’d act like an ungrateful SOB in the face of such a gift as I’m offering you.”
“I don’t want anything to do with your company.”
“You don’t have a choice, son. What I put in my will is my business alone.”
True enough, but why would Morton appoint an unwilling man as his successor? “On what terms am I receiving your so-called gift?”
That had earned Kellan another snigger. “All you have to do is wait for me to die and my world will be yours. Think you can handle that?”
“Kellan?” It was Amy, rousing him from his memories. “What did he do, write you into his will?”
“Exactly. He’s leaving me everything he owns—his stake in the company, his ranch, the properties he’s amassed over the years. Everything.” Well, at least he
was
until Kellan handed the recorded conversations over to the FBI. He knew he needed to tell Amy what happened, but he didn’t want to veer anywhere near the unsavory truth about her father’s role in the Amarex scam just yet.
was
until Kellan handed the recorded conversations over to the FBI. He knew he needed to tell Amy what happened, but he didn’t want to veer anywhere near the unsavory truth about her father’s role in the Amarex scam just yet.
She moved the comb through the ends of a snarl in Remy’s mane. “How does that make you feel?”
“You sound like one of those mandatory therapists Jake and I were forced to see when we were in the system. You want me to lie on the sofa so you can analyze me?”
She pursed her lips, fighting a smile. “Probably not the best idea if you’re trying to be honorable. If you lie on the sofa, I’ll want to join you there.”
Kellan smiled. “You’re right, that would be terrible,” he deadpanned.
Returning his smile, she moved with her comb to Remy’s tail. “I know what you did, stepping forward to the police as a whistle-blower against Amarex. Matt Roenick told us.”
Ah.
“That probably means you won’t receive his inheritance anymore. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. Really. I never wanted anything to do with Amarex in the first place. All I want to be is a rancher. Wearing a business suit and working in an Amarillo high-rise isn’t in my blood. I belong here.”
“What would you have done with the inheritance?”
“Sell. The company stock, the house, everything. I would’ve split the money with Jake and given my half to Matt Roenick to set up the low-cost legal clinic he’s been itching to start.”
Amy was silent. He snuck a glance at her. With furrowed brows, she finessed the comb through Remington’s hair. He changed out the brush for a wet sponge and kept working, an ache of vulnerability sitting on his chest, squeezing his insides. He’d expected to experience a rush of relief at coming clean to Amy, but hands down, this soul-baring stuff felt like shit. No wonder they called it
spilling your guts.
“You’re too quiet.”
spilling your guts.
“You’re too quiet.”
In his periphery, he saw that she’d stopped combing to stare at him. “Would you like to know what I’m thinking?”
Sounded like a trick question, but he took the bait anyway. “Okay.”
“I’m thinking about how alike we are. We both figured out our life’s passions when we were young. Not everyone is that lucky. My sister, Jenna, for example. She still doesn’t know what she wants to do, besides be a mom. But you and I know our true places in the world. That’s a gift.”
“You consider this town your true place in the world?”
She grinned. “No. See, in that regard, I’m even luckier than you, because I’m at home in any kitchen, anywhere in the world.”
“That is lucky. If that’s what you were thinking, why were you frowning?”
She puffed her cheeks full of air and let it out with a slow hiss. “I’d rather not say.”
“Aw, come on now. I told you all sorts of personal things about myself. You should even the playing field by doing the same.”
“You want me to tell you my secrets?”
The way she said the words had him picturing her naked again. Naked beneath him. He wanted to discover her secrets with his tongue and his fingers and his—
Whoa, boy.
He wiped his hand across his forehead. “I like that idea.”
He wiped his hand across his forehead. “I like that idea.”
“All right.” She dropped the comb into the grooming bucket and fluffed Remington’s now-shiny tail. “Here’s a secret. I’m afraid, all the time, that I’m going to end up like my mom. Depressed and alone. Like all those things are lurking inside me, dormant. Waiting.”
“Are you depressed, in general?”
“No.” She separated Remy’s tail into three sections and braided them together. “But I’m pretty high-strung most of the time. I’ve thought about going on antianxiety meds. My doctor doesn’t think I need them, but I wonder sometimes if it would help me stay even keeled.”
“What stops you from trying them?”
“It feels like a slippery slope, starting medication. Meds didn’t help my mom one bit. Sometimes it seemed like they made her problems worse. In fact, I’m sure of it.”
He already knew she landed on the high-strung side of the emotional spectrum, so that wasn’t actually a secret. “That’s not why you were frowning.”
She was quiet, braiding. Kellan nearly told her that a manly specimen of horseflesh like Remington shouldn’t have braided hair, but stopped himself. He could take it out after she left and no one would be the wiser.
“I feel like an idiot around you,” she blurted out. “Like an out-of-control, slutty idiot.”
Kellan finished grooming and added his brush to the bucket. “You’re not any of those things, not even close.”
“I beg to differ.” She wandered away and fiddled with a length of rope hanging on a nail. “Think about it—you and I have this vicious cycle going. I throw myself at you and you give me commonsense reasons why I shouldn’t. But it’s like my body won’t take the hint and I throw myself at you again, shamelessly.” She whirled to face him, the rope in her hand, spewing words faster than Kellan could process them. “After one date, I honestly thought I was in love with you. Isn’t that crazy? Who thinks like that after one date? A crazy idiot like me, that’s who. Just because a cowboy shows you his knife collection and it’s the same knife collection you have doesn’t mean it’s love. I know that now.”
She banged the rope against a beam, then jumped out of her skin when Remington snorted and reared back. Kellan guided the horse into his stall before the animal’s reaction to Amy’s agitation grew unmanageable. When he turned to look at her again, she’d collected herself. The rope was back on its nail.
“What I’m trying to say,” she said in a calm, slow voice, “is that I’m annoyed at my lack of self-control where you’re concerned.” She avoided looking at him and teased the fibers of the rope apart. Her spine was rigid, her chin defensively high. “Is that enough of a soul-splaying to even the field?”
Kellan blinked at her. She’d thought she was in love with him? Did that mean she wasn’t now? He hated that being around him made her feel bad about herself. That was the opposite of how he felt about himself when he was around her. All he knew was that she wasn’t a crazy idiot or a slut. He’d felt something surge between them that night too. Something electric and full of infinite possibility. Maybe it had been love and he was the idiot for not recognizing it at the time.
He sure recognized it now. He loved the way she threw herself into the things she was passionate about, including him. Truth was, since the morning he met her, he’d spent most of his time every day wishing he was with her. Not just naked, but talking like this, grooming horses or cooking. Sleeping. He wanted to kiss her good morning and come home to her at lunch. Damn it, he wanted to
provide
for her.
provide
for her.
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