Wild Horses

She folded the letter, stood and handed it to Mickey. “Put it on my desk, will you, sweetie? I’ll call him later. First I’m going into town. To the florist. Maybe Enoch didn’t want any ceremony, but I can’t stand not to do something. I’ll order some flowers for the Sunday church service.”

“But if he didn’t want any ceremony—”

“They’re not for him. They’re for me,” Carolyn said. “I won’t even mention his name. I just need to do—something. Closure. A way to say goodbye. The Randolph men. Dead. All three.”

Mickey knew Carolyn’s heart churned with complex emotions. The old man had been eccentric, unfriendly and a loner. He had never married, he was basically shiftless, but he’d stuck to the bargain he’d made so long ago.

Carolyn had always been prompt with her checks, and over the years had raised her payments without being asked. She always saw that he got a fair price for the use of the land. And the money let him live as he chose, a free man.

Enoch had made the original agreement with Carolyn’s mother. He didn’t give a damn about his Texas land, which he’d won in a poker game. He’d gone to the Caribbean and bought a houseboat in the Bahamas, at Little Exuma. He’d never worked another day in his life.

Now Carolyn gazed down at her fingernails, speckled with rosy paint. “I’d better clean up to go to town.” Her face was pensive.

But she was, after all, Carolyn Trent, and half an hour later, when she walked out the door, she held herself royally straight, and she looked like a million dollars. With pride, Mickey watched her go.

LEON VANEK, the new foreman, also watched as Carolyn left. He stood in the shadows just inside the stable door.

At fifty-six, Carolyn Trent was still glamorous. She came from a long line of strong and beautiful women who seemed born to rule. Her domain was the Circle T, twenty-one thousand acres of prime Hill Country.

It was Carolyn who had run the Circle T since the death of her first husband. Her second husband, Vern, was an affable fellow, kindly and intelligent, but no cattleman. He was the county J.P., not a rancher.

Vern presided over justice court, small claims court and administrative hearings, and Carolyn presided over the cattle business. She did it with a firm and expert hand. Generously, she claimed she couldn’t handle the job without Mickey Nightingale.

Leon Vanek was new to his job, but he had long studied the Trents because they fascinated him. He was also interested in Mickey, for more than one reason. First, he liked the Circle T. It was the best job he’d ever had.

He’d been raised five counties away, and had worked his way up to assistant foreman at the old MacWhorter Ranch. Earl MacWhorter was a tightfisted old fogy, and both he and his ranch were in decay.

When Earl died, Leon forged glowing references for himself and snagged a series of jobs in Wyoming and Oklahoma. He was an abnormally proud man who had felt he was meant for finer things. With each job he left, he added to his doctored résumé. He didn’t think of his false recommendations as counterfeit. In his mind, he deserved them.

When he’d heard of a foreman’s position back near Crystal Creek, he lusted for it. He’d grown up looking jealously at the well-run ranches in Claro County. Two were so superior that they filled him with an almost aching covetousness.

J. T. McKinney’s Double C was the biggest and best, but Carolyn Trent’s was a close second.

It wasn’t just these places he looked upon with envy, but the people, as well. Hell, they were aristocracy. He burned to be one of them, so he typed a few more letters of praise for himself.

At the Circle T, he had found his place, and he intended to keep it. He was gentlemanly to Vernon Trent, courtly to Carolyn and unctuously polite to everyone more important than he was.

Now that Carolyn had left the ranch, he figured it the perfect time to call on Mickey. She was part of his plan.

Leon had been at the Circle T for four weeks now, and he saw that Carolyn was so fond of Mickey that she treated her like blood kin. Leon had quickly realized how to cement his relationship with the Trents permanently: he’d marry Mickey.

Then he’d practically be family. Carolyn was about to become a grandmother, with a brat to visit in far-off Colorado, and the Trents would travel more and more. Leon could see himself and Mickey running the place, running it smooth as silk, because Mickey was almost as capable as he was.

Hell, in a few years, the Trents could retire, and he’d reign over the whole shebang. It would be as if the Circle T belonged to him.

Now he knocked on the kitchen door. He used the back entrance out of deference to his position, but he didn’t aim to always do so. When Mickey opened the door, he was struck by another reason she interested him.

She was easy on the eyes.

Her skin was perfect, with a natural golden cast, her high cheekbones burnished with health. Her hair was sun-streaked brown, and her eyes were hazel and coolly mysterious.

She greeted him politely, as always. She wore blue jeans, a plain white shirt and a navy blue blazer. A yellow pencil was thrust neatly behind one ear. Everything about her said “strictly business.”

Except her hair. She wore it long, parted in the middle and tucked behind her ears. But it was thick and always seemed slightly tousled. It hinted that she had a secret: I’m not as prim as I act.

Leon believed that her prissiness hid a nature that was hot and wild. She had a good body, and in his imagination he did things to it. And he imagined her doing many, many things to his.

“Can I help you?” Mickey asked. “I’m afraid Carolyn’s gone.”

She had to look up at him, because she was only of medium height, and he was a tall man, almost six and a half feet. He enjoyed the sense of power his height gave him.

“Could I come in?” he asked. “It’s you I want to talk to.”

She looked startled, but stepped aside to let him enter. Cowboys usually kept their hats on inside, but Leon never did. He liked to emphasize that he was a better sort. “Thanks,” he said. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“I was taking a break from the household accounts. I haven’t got any coffee made, but I could offer you a glass of sweet tea.”

“Sounds mighty fine.” He watched as she moved briskly about, getting a glass, opening the fridge, pouring the tea—waiting on him.

She handed him the tea, but had poured none for herself. She gestured at the kitchen table. “Please have a seat.”

He sat, settling his hat on one wide thigh. She remained standing. She crossed her arms as he sipped the tea. “You wanted to talk?”

She was deliberately keeping distance between them. He’d noticed that about her. She acted as if men didn’t much interest her.

He’d asked some of the more talkative hands about her. They said if a guy put the move on her, she’d get standoffish and sometimes sharp-tongued. Well, she just hadn’t found the man who could give it to her the way she needed.

He reached into the pocket of his green western-cut shirt. He drew out a short length of glittering gold, a bracelet. “I found this. It’s the one you lost, isn’t it?”

For the first time, real emotion lit her face. The polite smile became dazzling. “Oh! I was afraid it was gone for good. Thank you.”

He held it toward her, dangling from his thick fingers. He made sure his hand brushed hers as she took the bracelet, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“I saw you and Miz Trent looking for it down by Sabur’s stall,” Leon said. “She asked me to keep an eye out for it. I found it a few minutes ago.”

She radiated happiness. “Carolyn and Vern gave it to me for my birthday. I was sick when I lost it.”

She tried to fasten it in place, but had trouble doing so with only one hand. He stood and moved next to her. “Here. Let me.”

He took the bracelet and slid the clasp in place. This time she couldn’t help but be conscious of his big fingers against her bare wrist.

Her cheeks flushed. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“I know a way you could thank me. Go out with me. Get better acquainted. We work together. But we don’t see much of each other.” He said this with a smile he thought was charming and nonthreatening. He’d practiced it in the mirror until he thought he’d perfected it.

Yet she seemed disturbed by the suggestion. “That’s very kind of you—” she began.

He cut her off smoothly. “There’s a new Bavarian restaurant just opened over in Fredricksburg. I thought that maybe tomorrow night—”