Wild Horses

She inched backward, her chin rising aloofly. “Sorry. Carolyn’s having company from out of town. I have to help out.”

He’d expected this refusal. So he gave her the same rehearsed smile. “Maybe some other time.”

“Maybe. Things are awfully busy lately.” She said it without enthusiasm, as if she meant to discourage him.

At that moment, Leon heard tires on the gravel drive. He stole a glance out the kitchen window. Damn. Vern Trent was home early. Leon should make an exit. But he had one more ploy.

“Jazmeen should be foaling in two weeks,” he said. Jazmeen was Carolyn’s Arabian mare, and she’d homebred her to her stallion, Sabur al Akmar.

“She’s not showing signs yet, but I’ve seen the charts when she’s due. You want to see the little critter when I got it cleaned up and on its feet?”

A look of pure pleasure brightened her face again. Mickey loved horses; he knew that. That’s when he’d first taken real note of her, when he’d seen her riding. A woman who rode the way she did had a lot of passion bottled up inside. “I’d love to,” she said.

“I’ll come get you,” he promised. “Then afterwards we’ll have a drink, celebrate.” He picked up his hat from the chair seat just as Vern came in the door.

Vern looked harried. “Oh, hello, Leon. Everything all right?”

“Everything’s fine, Mr. Trent. Found Miss Nightingale’s bracelet. Just dropped it off.”

Vern glanced at Mickey, who held up her wrist and smiled.

Leon said, “Got to get back to work. Need to take some cotton-seed cake out to that herd by the creek. Thanks for the tea, Miss Nightingale.”

He lifted the glass, finished the tea, then set it back on the table. “I’ll be seeing you. You know. About Jazmeen and all.” He tipped his hat toward both of them, then left.

He went out the back door, putting his hat back on, pulling the brim down hard. Well, he’d made his move, and his campaign was in gear. She really did play hard to get, this one. But she liked him, he was sure of it. She’d be lucky to get a man like him. Why, if Carolyn hadn’t taken her in, she’d be no better than a guttersnipe. But she’d cleaned up real good, as the saying went.

The bracelet had given him points—he’d made her face light up, all right.

He’d seen the bracelet fall from her wrist yesterday morning when she’d dismounted Sabur. It had slipped into the straw in the stallion’s stall. She hadn’t noticed, and he’d said nothing. When she left the stable, he’d picked it up.

Later, when she and Carolyn came back to look, Mickey’d been near tears. She’d felt terrible about losing it; it was special. Leon pretended to help search. He didn’t say a word about having found it.

Not then. He was too smart. He’d waited for a moment that was better—for him.

WHEN LEON was gone, Mickey said, “You’re home early, Vern. A light schedule at the courthouse?”

“A couple cancellations.” He squinted at Mickey with interest. “You’re blushing, Mick. Carolyn’s claimed that Leon Vanek’s got his eye on you. She’s never wrong about things like that. Asked you out, didn’t he? Are you going?”

Mickey gave a defensive smile. “I don’t think he’s my type.”

She wanted to escape back to her office, but Vern wasn’t through with her. “What do you mean not your type? He seems like a nice fellow. Hardworking. Polite.”

Mickey swallowed and glanced toward the sanctuary of her own rooms. “He’s nice enough,” she murmured. She hadn’t had any say in Vanek’s hiring. She’d been down with a killer case of flu, and Caro, who’d needed a foreman quickly, hadn’t wanted to bother her.

Often, though, Mickey felt that Leon Vanek was too nice, almost groveling. But this was only an intuition, and she didn’t want to say such a thing to Vern, who’d helped Caro pick him. Still, Vanek made her uncomfortable.

Her uneasiness must have shown because Vern took pity on her. He smiled kindly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t play Cupid. Carolyn’s all hearts and flowers and family-family-family now. It’s contagious. Pay me no mind. I’m a doddering old man about to become a grandpa.”

Mickey managed a smile. “You’re not doddering, and you’re not old. But I’ve got to get to back to the accounts.”

Vern’s face went serious. “Help me out first, will you? Caro called me on her car phone. Told me about Enoch. She took it harder than I thought she would. I suppose it brings back the other losses.”

Mickey nodded, for death had taken most of Carolyn’s family. Her father had deserted the family long ago and later died in Canada. Her mother and sister had both died of breast cancer. She had lost her first husband to a heart attack.

Now, both her uncles were gone, too. Beverly and the new baby were her only close blood relatives.

“I never knew Enoch,” Vern said solemnly. “Carolyn always shrugged him off as just a loner, but he sounded like a kook to me. I hope he hasn’t pulled any funny business with this will. Show me the letter, will you?”

Mickey led him into Carolyn’s office. Vern read it and shook his head. “I wonder who the hell this guy is. Hope he didn’t insinuate himself into the old coot’s life to fleece him. Enoch was getting up in years. He might have been losing his grip on reality.”

The thought was a grim one, and it had occurred to Mickey, too.

Vernon swung open the framed painting that hid the wall safe. “The original will’s in here somewhere. I’m going to take it into town and show it to Martin Avery. I want a lawyer’s opinion. I won’t have Caro cheated out of what’s rightfully hers.”

“That makes two of us,” Mickey said. There were eleven thousand acres of lease land, more than half the ranch. If Carolyn lost them, it would be ruinous to the Circle T. Next to her family, Carolyn loved the ranch more than anything in the world.

CAROLYN KNOCKED at Mickey’s door.

“Come on in,” Mickey called. She lay on the couch reading a library book. Carolyn entered, unceremoniously pushed aside Mickey’s stocking feet and sat next to her. “Well, I finally got through to the number Adam Duran gave.”

“And?” Mickey bit into an apple, her midevening snack.

“The number wasn’t a personal phone. It was a marina of some kind. I talked to a man who sounded like he was reciting the lyrics to a Calypso song.”

Mickey laughed. “So what did you learn?”

“Not much. I told him I was trying to find Duran to invite him to stay with us. He said he’d relay the message, that he’d see him later tonight.”

“Did you ask him who Duran is? What he does?”

“No. Too much noise. Like there was a party going on in the background. Anyway, I left word.”

“Hmm.” Mickey shrugged. “So what did the lawyer tell Vern?”

“Martin? He knows the old will was valid—his father’s the one who drew it up. If this Duran tries to pull something shady, Martin can handle him. He’s going to look it over and get back to us. But at this point he doesn’t think we have to worry.”

“That’s a relief,” Mickey said. “Super Barrister on the job. Hooray for Mighty Martin.”

Carolyn rumpled her hair playfully. From the front of the house, they heard the doorbell chime. A moment later, Vern knocked at Mickey’s door, which stood ajar. “Carolyn? Mickey? Come on out here. Lynn’s here. And she’s got a surprise for you.”

“Oops,” said Mickey. “Shoes? Shoes?” She groped around and slipped back into her moccasins, then followed Carolyn to the living room. Carolyn gave her niece’s cheek a smacking kiss, and Mickey greeted her with a grin.

Petite and auburn-haired, Lynn was the daughter of J. T. McKinney and Pauline, Carolyn’s late sister. In her thirties, Lynn looked young for her age, and her jeans and riding boots made her seem tomboyish. She was smiling like someone almost too joyful to contain herself.

“I just found out,” Lynn bubbled, “and I had to ride straight over to tell you in person. Guess what?”

“You’ve got a new horse?” Carolyn asked. Horses were Lynn’s passion.