Wild Horses

She wished her heart beat less violently. She wished her flesh didn’t burn where he’d touched her.

His laugh was sarcastic. “I didn’t know about any money or land. He told me that he had land, but I didn’t know how much. I didn’t ask, and he didn’t tell. Until he was dying.”

For some insane reason, she wanted to believe him. A dangerous impulse, she fought it as hard she could. “You went looking for him just because he was your uncle? Not because he was your wealthy uncle?”

“What’s the problem?” He leaned one hand on the window frame next to her and bent nearer still. “The idea of wanting to meet your kin? Is that something ritzy Texans don’t understand?”

Stung, she glared. And his arm, so near, made her feel more trapped than before. “What are you talking about? Say what you mean.”

“I wanted to meet my father’s people. I just wanted to know. That’s all.”

“Know what?” she demanded.

His frown was earnest. “Know about him. His people. My father was a part of me that was missing. I just wanted to understand. You know?”

“No, I don’t,” Mickey flung back. “You’re talking about a man who—who ran out on your mother. Who deserted you before you were born. Whose family never lifted a finger to help you. Why would you want to have anything to do with him or them? It makes no sense to me.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re calling me a liar?”

She wanted him to be a liar. She wanted it for Carolyn’s sake and her own. If he was an imposter, nothing more than a con artist, they could be rid of him; he would get out of their lives and stay out. He couldn’t hurt Carolyn, and he wouldn’t confuse her so wildly.

She challenged him again. “Why go chasing after Enoch, of all people? I didn’t know him, but—”

“—That’s right. You didn’t. Not at all.”

“—but he’s always sounded like a—a crank. A lazy, antisocial crank. My God, if you wanted to meet somebody in your family, why didn’t you get in touch with Carolyn?”

“I didn’t know she existed. Until Enoch told me.”

“You must not have had a very good detective,” she retorted.

“Steve Randolph covered his tracks well. Nobody in Ontario knew he had children in the States. Carolyn and Pauline didn’t know about me. And I didn’t know about them.”

Mickey was dizzied by hurt and anger. “When you found out about Carolyn, why didn’t you call her then? Why wait until now? It’s only about the land, isn’t it? Not about finding your people or a part of you that’s missing.”

He tensed with resentment. She didn’t care. She knew how Enoch had treated Carolyn, taking her money and rebuffing her courtesy with an indifference that bordered on contempt. For years he’d lived on her fairness and generosity, acting like a shiftless old pirate.

Mickey had to strike out in defense of her friend and benefactor; she couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t. “I don’t know why you’d be satisfied with finding only Enoch for family. Carolyn’s respectable, at least.”

“Respectable?” Adam mocked. “That’s what’s important? To you? To her? Is that how she felt about Enoch? He wasn’t as good as she is? Because he didn’t spend his life getting—stuff?”

He made a wide, disdainful sweep with his free hand to indicate the Circle T and everything on it. He radiated such disdain that Mickey’s temper flared higher.

“Carolyn’s worked hard for everything she’s got. Which is more than anybody can say for Enoch. If you knew about her, why didn’t you write her? Instead of cozying up to some eccentric old grouch who was probably losing his mind—”

He jerked his head in frustration, so that his hair fell over his forehead. “Why are you so judgmental? Before I met Enoch, I damn well didn’t know Carolyn existed. It was Enoch who told me the whole story about my dad’s first marriage. And that only Carolyn was left.”

Mickey put her fist on her hip. “So why didn’t you get in touch with her then? What happened to your burning urge to find your kinfolk? You waited until Enoch signed her inheritance over to you. And now you show up.”

Adam raked his hand through his hair. “He warned me about you people. He said she looked down on our kind.”

He dared to call Carolyn a snob? Carolyn, of all people? “Don’t you criticize Carolyn,” she warned. “You don’t even know her.”

“Then don’t criticize me. Or Enoch. You don’t know us, either.”

Mickey shook her finger in his face. “For years and years he promised that land would be hers.”

“Don’t do that,” Adam warned her, his voice flat.

But her dander was up, and she kept shaking her finger. If it annoyed him, she would shake it until doomsday. “But you come along like a thief in the night—”

“I said don’t do that.”

“I’ll do as I please, and you can’t stop me.”

“Yes, I can,” he said from between his teeth. He seized her wrist, and stepped even closer.

Her pulses drummed crazily. His body was too near hers, his face too close, his hand too strong, his anger growing as charged and heated as her own.

Mickey, who hardly ever lost control of herself, wanted to clench her fist and hit him in the stomach so hard that he’d double up in agony. Yet, paradoxically, she was swept by the dizzying and irrational wish that he’d kiss her. And just as irrationally, she knew he wanted it, too.

They stood glowering at each other, breathing hard. She saw a vein in his neck throbbing as fast and strong as her own heartbeat.

Just as she was about to either knee him in the groin or collapse into his arms, she heard Bridget’s cheery voice.

“Hello? Where’s everybody gone to? Are you out on the deck, Mickey? It’s a lovely night, isn’t it? Dessert is ready, and we have company come, just in time to share.”

Mickey nearly swooned in bewilderment. Company?

Bridget added, “It’s Reverend Blake and Reverend Casterleigh. Right this way, gentlemen!”

Mickey closed her eyes and thought, What have I done wrong, Lord? Guilt settled on her like a rough and heavy cloak.

Not one, but two ministers appearing at a moment like this?

SHE MET THE VISITORS in the dining room. Bridget had turned on the overhead lights, but the candles still flickered in their silver holders.

Reverend Howard Blake was an elderly man with an amazing head of white hair, full, lushly thick, and wavy. Although age had stooped his tall body, his cobalt-blue eyes still twinkled from behind his trifocals.

He had been the most respected minister in Crystal Creek for as long as Mickey could remember. But now he was getting ready to retire, and nobody envied the young man given the impossible task of replacing him.

Reverend Hugh Casterleigh was fresh out of divinity school. So lean he seemed gangling, he had an innocent, boyish face and a slight stammer. He was so sincere and good-hearted, he seemed like an awkward young angel being forced to serve time on Earth.

“Good evening, Mickey.” Reverend Blake took Mickey’s hand in his. “Forgive us for dropping in unannounced. We were driving by, and we just wanted to tell you that everyone is praying for Beverly and the baby. And dear Carolyn and Vern, as well.”

Mickey’s heart fairly shriveled with guilt. She hoped these two godly men could not see how bedeviled she’d just been, her heart torn by both anger and desire.

She bowed her head and murmured, “Thank you. I’ll be sure to tell Caro and Vern.”