Samantha's Cowboy

“Well, is it?” Matt demanded.

“Not at all.” Once in a while she jumped the gun and made conclusions based on…well, nothing really. When she was nervous, she became forgetful, which often led to anxiety attacks. And lastly she tended to recall things out of order. She’d learned to compensate for her limitations by keeping lists and recording her activities. “I didn’t make this decision lightly and I weighed the pros and cons.”

“The property is a dump. When’s the last time anyone lived here?” he asked.

“Twenty-five years ago.”

“How long has the place been on the market?”

“Ten years.”

“Give it to me straight, Sam.” Matt rubbed his brow. “Why hasn’t this land sold before now?”

“The well’s going dry.” She raised a hand to forestall any lecture. “I’m aware that I’ll need a source of water if I intend to board horses.”

“Horses?” Her brother’s face paled.

Samantha squeezed his arm. “Promise you won’t tell Daddy, but I’ve been working with horses at the SPCA and I’m feeling more confident around them.” She sucked in a deep breath, grateful her brother hadn’t interrupted. “I intend to board horses that the SPCA can’t find foster homes for.”

Matt studied her, then he brushed a strand of hair from her face and asked, “Will you have help?” He really wanted to know if there would be someone to watch over her.

“I plan to hire a couple of hands.”

Her answer appeared to satisfy him because he changed the subject. “Tell me you had a drilling company confirm a second water source before you signed the closing papers.”

“Better than that,” she boasted. “I checked with Millicent, the resident water witch.” Sam had witnessed the old woman’s dousing stick wiggle and shake when they’d walked the property.

“What do you mean resident?”

Sam pointed beyond the barn to a shanty near a huge hackberry tree.

“That hovel’s hardly habitable.”

“Millicent’s lived on the property all her life. Her parents were sharecroppers.”

“Why hasn’t she packed her things and left?”

“She has nowhere to go.” Sam shrugged. “She’s not hurting anything by staying.” Having remained under her father’s roof all these years, Sam was leery of living alone and looked forward to having a neighbor when she set up house on the property.

Matt frowned and she sensed he struggled with wanting to support her and at the same time protect her. And she loved him dearly for caring. “What about your nightmares?” he asked.

Once in a while Sam’s nightmares were so vivid she woke screaming—a silent scream her father never heard. But Matt had sensed his sister’s night terrors and had held her until she’d fallen back to sleep. As the years passed, the nightmares occurred less frequently, holding off for months at a time until Matt arrived home from the rodeo circuit.

“I haven’t had a nightmare in over a year,” she lied. Last night she’d awoken soaked in sweat and gasping for breath. “I want—” tears welled in her eyes and she brushed them away “—need this ranch.”

Matt hugged her. “Dad’s going to blow a gasket.”

“Daddy isn’t going to find out.” She hoped. “At least not right away.”

“Maybe I can talk Amy into staying at the Lazy River after we’re married. We could help—”

“No. I’m doing this on my own.”

“Where is the money coming from?”

“My trust fund.” She crinkled her nose. “Now that I’m thirty-two, I can withdraw money without Daddy’s permission. After the wedding he leaves for Europe. By the time he returns, I’ll have made significant progress and then I’ll break the news to him.”

“You’re really going to do this, aren’t you?” Matt held her gaze.

“You and Duke got your dreams—I want mine.”

“We’ll worry about you living here all alone.”

“I’m not alone.”

“That’s right, your closest neighbor is a witch.” Matt yanked her ponytail. “C’mon. We’d better head home. Duke and Renée are flying in for your birthday.”

One brother down. One to go.

WHEN SAM PULLED INTO the Lazy River ranch yard, she noticed her father’s 1959 two-door black-and-chrome Chevrolet Apache pickup parked near the house. Although Dominick Cartwright could afford any car in the world, he had a soft spot for old Chevy trucks. And right now Samantha’s nephew sat behind the wheel, pretending to drive.

Duke and Renée had adopted Timmy shortly after they’d married this past February. The little boy had been in the Detroit foster care system his entire life. Sam was thrilled he’d gotten his wish for a family and she loved playing the role of favorite aunt. After Matt married Amy, Samantha would add two nieces to her brood—Rose and Lily. As much as she loved hanging around the children, they were a painful reminder that this was as close to motherhood as she’d come.

Sam parked her truck, then headed for the old Apache.

“Happy birthday, brat,” Duke called.

“Daddy said you weren’t arriving until the wedding next week.” She bear-hugged her stepbrother, then poked her head through the truck window and planted a big, loud smooch on Timmy’s cheek.

“Gross, Aunt Sammy!” Timmy made a big production of wiping germs off his cheek.

“I didn’t want to miss your birthday,” Duke said.

Before her stepbrother had met Renée he couldn’t get far enough away from the Cartwright ranch. Sam credited Renée with softening Duke’s attitude toward children and family.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Then she added, “Maybe Renée will convince Amy to allow Daddy to invite more guests to the wedding. Amy wants to keep the reception small enough to have at the house and Daddy wants to move things to the Crowne Plaza Hotel in Tulsa.”

Duke chuckled. “Sounds like the old man.”

“Got a minute to talk?”

“Sure.” Duke opened the truck door. “Timmy, go see if Aunt Amy needs help with Rose or Lily.”

“Girls are so lame.”

“Oh, c’mon. Lily’s a cutie,” Sam said.

“Uncle Matt told me Lily poops marbles in her pants. That’s gross.” Timmy marched off, grumbling under his breath.