Читать книгу Wild Horses - Bethany Campbell - Страница 7

IN THEIR DAY, the Randolph brothers of Crystal Creek, Texas, had been famed for three things.

They were handsome as sin. They were rebellious to the point of recklessness. And they tended to drift off to faraway places and never return.

Enoch Randolph was no exception. He’d left Texas over thirty years ago for a life of ease in the Bahamas and never looked back. As time passed, the crankier he grew. He cut off his ties with all the people of Crystal Creek—except one.

That person was his niece, Carolyn. He stayed in touch, not out of love, but for money. Each spring Enoch mailed her a handwritten receipt. This receipt acknowledged that she’d sent him the yearly check for the range land that she leased from him.

Although Carolyn was Enoch’s closest living relative, he never added any greeting or message, except this: “Mrs. Carolyn Randolph Trent: My will stands as per the agreement I made with your mother in 1968. Enoch Randolph.”

So, in May when an envelope arrived with the Bahamian stamp, Carolyn’s secretary, twenty-six-year-old Mickey Nightingale, opened it as a matter of course. She expected Enoch’s usual statement in his usual, crabbed handwriting.

But instead of the receipt, Mickey found an entire letter. Unfolding it, she saw that it had been typed with an old-fashioned typewriter on a sheet of yellowing paper. As she read, anxiety tightened her chest and her heart raced ominously.

May 7

Box N-204 West Bay Street

Nassau, Bahamas

Mrs. Carolyn Trent

Circle T Ranch RR 1

Claro County, Texas 78624, USA

Dear Mrs. Trent:

I regret to inform you that your uncle, Enoch K. Randolph, died in his sleep one week ago on the night of April 30. It was peaceful.

As executor of his will, I am charged with settling the part of his estate involving his lands. Mr. Randolph left specific instructions that I am to do this in person.

I will arrive in Claro County on May 19, the Wednesday afternoon after next. Time is of the essence, and your full cooperation is necessary so matters can be settled by Friday. I can stay no longer.

Please reply immediately. You may leave a message at 424-555-1411.

Sincerely,

Adam Duran

P.S. Your uncle was cremated and his ashes scattered in the Caribbean without ceremony, as per his request.

“Uh-oh,” Mickey murmured. Whoever Adam Duran was, he seemed to have the tact and sympathy of a constipated rhinoceros.

Not only that, his letter must have been delayed. Good grief, May 19th was the day after tomorrow. The rhinoceros was practically on their doorstep.

Mickey hoped that news of Enoch’s death and the brusqueness of the message wouldn’t upset Carolyn. Concerned, she rose from her desk and hurried to find her.

Mickey was brisk, efficient and fiercely loyal to her employers, Vern and Carolyn Trent. She kept their lives organized and running smoothly; she liked this job and excelled at it. Officially she was Carolyn’s secretary; unofficially she was family, almost like a second daughter.

The Circle T was not only Mickey’s workplace, but her home and sanctuary. To her, it was like dwelling in a castle at the heart of a benevolent kingdom. Her growing-up had been harsh, but here she felt privileged, fulfilled—and grateful.

So it pained her to bring bad news to Carolyn, especially since Carolyn was so happy of late. And she was due. Caro had traveled a long stretch of hard times. But now she was giddy, almost girlish, and blooming like a Texas rose.

Carolyn’s only child, Beverly, who lived in Denver, was about to make her a grandmother. It was a miracle, pure and simple. Beverly and her husband, Sonny, had tried nine years for this baby. The baby was a girl and she would arrive in three weeks by C-section. She would be named for Carolyn and called Carrie.

As the due date neared, Carolyn’s excitement had quickened into intoxication. She and Vern were to fly to Denver to welcome the baby like the little princess she was. The trip was eclipsing almost everything else at the ranch.

Mickey was certain where Carolyn would be—in the spare bedroom she was transforming into a nursery for the baby’s visits. Mickey followed the scent of fresh paint down the hall.

She found Carolyn humming as she coated a window frame a rosier shade of pink. She was so intent on her work that she barely glanced up. “What do you think, Mick? Looks better than that pale pastel, doesn’t it? Cheerier?”

It’s the third time you’ve switched the color, Mickey wanted to tease. Carolyn had changed her mind about the wallpaper four times, the curtains three times, and the crib twice.

But the news of Enoch Randolph hung like a dark cloud over Mickey, so she could make no joke. “Carolyn,” she said uneasily. “You got a letter from Nassau this morning. I think you’d better read it.”

Carolyn kept painting, a small, puzzled smile crossing her face. “I don’t know anybody in Nassau.” Then suddenly her smile died, and her brush went still. “Wait. Uncle Enoch—he could be there. Is it about him?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Carolyn saw it then, the envelope in Mickey’s grip. She set the brush aside, her face wary. She knows, Mickey thought. She’s guessed.

Carolyn turned from the window frame, her face pale. “I don’t think I want to read it here.”

Mickey didn’t blame her. The nursery was meant to be a happy room, a place to celebrate life, not think about death.

She took Carolyn’s arm. “Maybe we should go into the den.”

Carolyn nodded, her lips pressed together. Mickey led the way, and when Carolyn sat on the leather couch Mickey settled beside her and handed her the envelope.

For a moment Carolyn only gazed down at it. She smoothed her blond hair, a nervous gesture. “He’s gone, isn’t he?” She kept her face severely controlled. “He’s dead.”

“I’m sorry.” Mickey felt the illogical guilt of the bearer of bad news.

Carolyn squared her shoulders, withdrew the letter and read it. Tears sprang to her eyes. She wiped them away. Mickey suspected they would be the only tears shed in the whole state of Texas for the old man, perhaps the only ones in the world.

“I’m glad he didn’t suffer,” Carolyn said in a shaky voice. “I’m glad it was peaceful.”

Mickey nodded.

“He had a long life,” Carolyn said in the same tone. “And he lived it the way he wanted. But I wish that this—this Duran man had phoned when it happened. This is so impersonal. Enoch and I didn’t have much of a relationship. Oh, hell, to tell the truth, he didn’t really even like me. But he was family.”

Mickey put her arm around Carolyn’s shoulder. “You always treated him well. You never forgot his birthday. You remembered him at Christmas. Whenever there was news about the land, you wrote him.”

“And he never answered.” Carolyn’s sigh was rueful. “My God, it’s the end of an era. He’s the last of my father’s generation of that family. And now I’m the last of my generation—the oldest living one. It gives me a shiver. Like a goose walking over my grave.”

She waved the letter unhappily. “But this really is cold. Hard-hearted, almost.” She frowned and reread it. “Who is this man?”

Mickey shrugged. “Nobody uses a typewriter like that anymore. He must be an old man, sticking to old ways.”

“Why is he the executor? And why does he have to come here?”

“I don’t know. Maybe your uncle wanted him to hand over the deed in person. That was the agreement, wasn’t it? The lease land’s yours now.”

Carolyn stared at the dates, frowning harder still. “Yes…but he’s coming tomorrow? Good God—tomorrow?”

“He wrote the letter more than a week ago,” Mickey said, pointing to its date. “It must have got misrouted.”

“Great. Just peachy. He doesn’t sound like Mr. Charm, does he? But I should invite him to stay with us. Especially since he’s coming all this way.”

Inwardly Mickey flinched. Things were frantic enough without an unbidden houseguest, and a stranger at that. Carolyn was trying to be gracious, but Mickey could tell it cost her effort.

“Do you want me to phone him for you? I’ll be glad to.”

Carolyn grimaced. “I’d love you to. But no, it’s something I should do myself. He’s probably wondering why I haven’t answered.”

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—”

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.

“No,” laughed Lynn, “much better! Tyler and Ruth sold the winery in Napa Valley. They’re coming home! This time to stay.”

Lynn threw her arms around her aunt. She and Carolyn hugged and laughed and cried at the same time. Mickey grinned. Carolyn’s nephew—her late sister’s firstborn—coming home! Tyler was Carolyn’s favorite of Pauline’s children, and the one about whom she’d worried most.

Tyler had brains, determination and an almost endless capacity for work. What he’d never had was luck. His younger brother, Cal, seemed to prosper without effort. Tyler struggled to run two wineries that were a thousand miles apart. He was deeply in debt, mostly to Cal.

Carolyn had feared Tyler and his family might stay in California forever. His wife had inherited the Napa Valley winery. But running it was not only expensive, but a backbreaking job. Tyler’s heart belonged truly to the more humble winery he’d started in Claro County. He had sweat blood to keep both operations working.

“When did this happen?” Caro drew back to study Lynn’s beaming face.

“He called this afternoon. Ruth said she couldn’t watch Tyler work himself to death any longer. She decided she wanted to come back, and just this last weekend they put the winery up for sale. They didn’t tell anybody here, because they thought it might take forever to sell—”

Vern nodded. “True, from what I’ve read lately about the California wine market. I’m glad for Tyler. He’s had enough hard breaks.”

Lynn was so excited, she practically bounced. “But this movie star decided he wanted a winery—and it was theirs he wanted. It was just the right size, he said. So, as soon as they close the deal, in two weeks, they’ll move back.”

“To the house they built,” Carolyn said with satisfaction. “And the vineyards they planted here.”

“I’ve missed them something terrible,” Lynn admitted. Tears still glistened in her eyes.

“I know, honey,” Carolyn said. “We all have. But they had to try.”

Vern shook his head. “Two outfits, that far apart, that high maintenance—I was scared he’d work himself into an early grave trying to handle it all.”

Or go broke trying, Mickey thought. She knew Carolyn had worried about that, too. Without Cal’s help, Tyler would have failed long ago.

Carolyn took Lynn’s face between her hands. “I’m glad good luck’s finally come his way. He’s long overdue, that big brother of yours.”

“And Cal’s coming next fall, too,” Lynn said. “Both my brothers are moving home. I can’t believe it. We’ll all be together again.”

“Well, this occasion calls for one thing,” Vern announced. When the three women looked at him questioningly, he gave them a superior smile. “A toast. In wine. Texas wine.”

Mickey laughed, and so did Carolyn. Lynn hugged her aunt again and said, “And Beverly’s having a baby in less than a month. Nothing’s more important than family. Everything’s perfect.”

“Indeed, it is,” agreed Vern.

And everything did seem perfect. So perfect that no further thought of Adam Duran crossed anyone’s mind.