Читать книгу Promise from a Cowboy - C.J. Carmichael - Страница 13

Chapter Four

It was dark by the time Savannah coasted the bike down her driveway. She was glad to see Regan’s car parked next to her SUV. While she didn’t begrudge her hardworking sister a little fun, lately she’d been going out a lot after work, and Savannah worried she wasn’t getting enough rest.

Regan’s summer job at Monahan’s Equestrian Center started shortly after dawn and didn’t end until six o’clock. The work was physically demanding—primarily cleaning barns, grooming horses and oiling tack. Rolling in at midnight, then getting five hours sleep, just didn’t cut it in Savannah’s opinion.

She parked her bike in the garage—which was too crammed with junk to fit a car or truck—then went in the back door.

“Regan? I’m home. Did you check the mail?” She shook her hair free from the confines of her helmet, then hung up her jacket.

“I did. Nothing came,” her sister called back. “You’re just in time for dinner. And we’ve got a guest. His name is Murray.”

Savannah paused before stepping into the kitchen. Her sister rarely invited girlfriends over, let alone a guy. Could this Murray be the reason she’d been spending so many evenings away from home?

Savannah hoped not. The wrong guy at the wrong time could derail Regan’s plans for med school. And her sister had worked too hard to let that happen.

“Smells good in here.” She smiled at her sister, before checking out their visitor. He was a nice-looking kid, in his early twenties like Regan, with sandy-colored hair that curled around his ears and at the back of his neck. He looked tanned, as if he spent his days outside.

“It’s only chili.” Regan lifted a wooden spoon out of the pot on the stove. She had dark hair, too—all three of the Moody siblings did, thanks to their mother’s French-Canadian blood. But Regan was shorter than Savannah, with delicate features and a small, pouty mouth.

“You know I love chili.” She felt a pang of guilt for going to check out the Silver Creek barn instead of staying home and making dinner for her sister for a change.

“Hi, I’m Savannah.” She offered a hand to Murray, who shook it firmly.

“Murray St. Clair. Nice to meet you. I hope you don’t mind me showing up for dinner.”

“Murray’s been here a lot while you were away.” Regan said this matter-of-factly, as if it were no big deal. “He brought over a bottle of wine. Help yourself.” She nodded to the open bottle of Malbec on the counter. It was already half-empty.

Wine for a midweek dinner was a rarity in the Moody household, but Savannah decided a glass might be a good idea. She had to be calm and not overreact. Regan was twenty-four now, hardly a kid to be ordered around.

“How was the trip to Oregon, Vanna? Did you see Hunter?”

“He didn’t show up.”

Her sister gave her a look of commiseration. “So you weren’t able to surprise him. How disappointing.”

“It was.” She took a sip of the robust red. “So—how did you two meet?”

“At Monahan’s,” Murray said.

“He’s an instructor,” Regan said in a voice meant to convey the superiority of this position over hers.

“Are you working for the summer, like Regan?”

“No. I’m full-time. I’ve been with Monahan’s since I graduated high school.”

“He was a year ahead of me.” Regan sampled the chili, then nodded. “It’s ready. Want to grab some bowls, Mur?”

Savannah was disconcerted to see that he knew the right cupboard to open. After pulling out three bowls, he went to the cutlery drawer and selected spoons, as well.

Regan ladled chili, added a handful of grated cheese, then passed a bowl to Savannah, before serving Murray, then herself.

Savannah sat at her usual spot and waited until the others had joined her. “You must know Cassidy Lambert. She just started working at Monahan’s a few weeks ago.”

“I do. She’s amazing. But then, Straws only hires the best.” Murray’s face and ears reddened. “Jeez. That didn’t come out right. I didn’t mean to be bragging or anything.”

“But it’s true,” Regan was quick to point out. “Straws does hire the best, and that includes you.”

When she saw the smile her sister gave Murray, Savannah suddenly realized that a lot had happened during the week she’d been away.

Regan had fallen in love.

And judging by the look in Murray’s eyes right now, the feeling was mutual.

“So, Murray, any plans for college in your future?”

He shrugged. “I’m pretty happy where I am.”

Savannah shifted uncomfortably. Couldn’t Regan see that this romance of hers wasn’t a good idea? “I guess you know Regan’s planning to go to med school.”

“If I get accepted.” Regan stirred her chili, then shot a glance at Murray. “I’ve been thinking, Vanna. It’s been a long time since I took any sort of break. You know I started work just a few days after my final exams.”

“You were lucky to get a job,” Savannah pointed out. “Med school is expensive.”

“Yes. But I’m tired. And what if I don’t get into med school?”

“You wouldn’t be tired if you didn’t stay out until after midnight every day. And you will get into med school. I’m sure of it.”

Another look passed between the two friends. Lovers? Savannah’s stomach felt leaden as she realized it was possible. Why, oh, why had she gone searching for her brother when she should have stayed home looking after the one person who truly mattered in this family?

“Even if I do get in—and say I even qualify for a partial scholarship—we can’t afford for me to go. There’s no way.”

“We’ll figure something out.”

“Will we? Don’t you get tired of everything being such a struggle all the time? We never have any fun. It’s all studying and working for the sake of a future that never seems to come.”

“We have fun. What about Friday movie nights?”

“A TV movie and popcorn. When I was little, yeah, it was kind of neat. But I want to go places and see things.”

Savannah realized suddenly that this wasn’t aimless complaining on Regan’s part. She had an idea. Maybe even a plan. “What are you really saying here?”

Regan glanced at Murray, then took a deep breath. “We’re going on a road trip. We’ll camp, so it won’t cost much money. We’ve already spoken to Mr. Monahan, and he’s agreed to give us four weeks off.”

“Four weeks with no salary?”

“It’s a drop in the bucket for what I’d need for med school. But four weeks of traveling could change my life.”

“Carpe diem,” Murray added—not very helpfully in Savannah’s opinion.

Living for the moment was a fine philosophy. But where did it get you in the end? With a medical degree, Regan’s future would be set. “There’ll be lots of time for traveling once you’re a doctor.”

“You’re so stubborn! When will you accept that this dream is simply out of reach?”

“I told you I’d find the money. And I will.”

“You’ve sacrificed enough for this family. You should be dating, going on exotic vacations and having fun, too. Instead, you spend all your time working, visiting our mother in the care home and worrying about me.”

Savannah rested her head in the cradle of her hands. The blood was pounding in her forehead. She could feel it. She could also see her sister’s point of view. But what Regan didn’t understand was how easily life could come unraveled. Without a solid education, she’d never get a good job, the kind that promised a nice home, security and a respected position in society.

There was no more respectable job than being a doctor. And this wasn’t something Savannah had pushed on her sister. This had been her dream since she was little.

Still, she couldn’t just shoot down Regan’s travel plans. Maybe a compromise? “How about you go camping for a week, then go back to work?”

“I’m sorry you’re against the idea, Vanna. But Murray and I are doing this. We’ve cleared it with Mr. Monahan, and we’re leaving in the morning.”

“And there’s nothing I can say?” Savannah couldn’t believe it. Regan had never defied her before.

“Nothing.”

* * *

B.J. AND BIG BLACK rode up to the home barn at Coffee Creek ranch just as the first star appeared in the evening sky. A rhyme from his childhood popped into B.J.’s head as he looked at it. Star light, star bright...some load of crap like that. B.J. didn’t waste his time wishing on stars. He wouldn’t even know what to ask for if he did.

Savannah’s face flashed in his mind and he felt an old yearning that should be dead and buried. He could wish on every star in the summer sky and she’d never be his. It was as simple as that.

B.J. dismounted and led his horse into the barn, where he cleaned and put away the tack, then gave the gelding a good brush-down.

Earlier he’d said hello to Corb and they’d had a little chat. His younger brother was a typical middle child—easygoing and affable. He’d adjusted to being a father and a husband as if he’d been born to the roles. B.J. admired him for that. Even more, he admired him for being able to work with their mother.

Both Corb and Brock had handled Olive a lot more easily than he ever could. It had always been that way. B.J. remembered railing to his father once about the way the family ostracized Maddie Turner.

“It isn’t right, Dad. You walked right by her today and didn’t say a word. That isn’t the way you taught us to treat people.”

His father had looked tired and he’d shaken his head when he’d answered. “You’re right, B.J. You weren’t raised to treat people that way. But sometimes you have to measure one thing against another. Being loyal to my wife is more important to me in this case than doing the polite thing.”

“But Mom gets so stubborn sometimes. Are you sure she’s being fair?”

“She isn’t the only one who can be stubborn, son. Your mom does a lot for you and she deserves your loyalty. As well as your love and respect.”

The conversation had ended there and B.J. had not dared raise the topic again. He knew he’d disappointed his father by even asking those questions.

As tough as he found his mother to understand at times, he did recognize that she’d devoted her life to her family and this ranch. She’d been a fiercely protective and caring mother when they were younger. And she’d worked long hours with the cattle and horses, as well.

And it was thanks to her keen business sense that the ranch had done so well after their father’s death and the most recent economic downturn. She’d had the good sense to diversify so that besides running over a thousand head of cattle, they had a booming quarter-horse breeding program, as well.

While their mother oversaw the entire operation, Corb was in charge of the cattle side of the business and, since Brock’s death, Jackson had taken over the breeding program. His foster brother had been an invaluable part of the core family for a long time now, yet B.J. sensed he wasn’t altogether comfortable with his new role.

Finished with Big Black, B.J. let him out with the rest of the family’s horses. The ones that were used for working with cattle and pleasure riding by the family were kept separated from the more expensive quarter horses. It was a precaution that had paid off big-time last month when an unexpected outbreak of strangles had resulted in the entire ranch being quarantined for a month.

If all the horses had comingled, the infection would have caused far more serious consequences than it had.

As it was, Cassidy had lost her favorite mustang, Finnegan. A loss, B.J. knew, that his soft-hearted sister had felt keenly.

Earlier B.J. had decided that he would sleep in his brother Brock’s cabin tonight. A long time ago his father had built three cabins along Cold Coffee Lake, which lay about a quarter mile beyond the main house. The idea had been one house for each son, but B.J. had given up his claim to Jackson.

Corb, his new bride, Laurel, and their baby, Stephanie, lived in the third cabin.

The middle one had been vacant since Brock’s death last July. It would be a nice quiet place for him to stay until he sorted out what to do with his life.

B.J. was heading there when he noticed a light on in the office of the home barn. He could think of only one person who would be working on the books at this hour, and it was a person he wanted to see.

Sure enough, he found Jackson on the oak chair behind the desk, frowning at the computer monitor.

“Hey, man. Anyone ever tell you that you work too hard?”

Jackson blinked, then rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Maybe a time or two. How are you doing? I thought you were in Central Point this weekend with your family?” Jackson stood, and shook his hand warmly.

When B.J.’s father had first brought Jackson to the ranch, Jackson had been thirteen and B.J. seventeen. They’d butted heads at first. B.J. had resented the fact that his father was paying attention to this kid—this delinquent—who wasn’t even part of the family.

But Jackson had worked hard, kept quiet and stayed out of trouble at school, and B.J. grudgingly came to respect and even like the guy.

Eventually he learned enough about Jackson’s past to realize the guy deserved a break. His mom had been in jail herself when Jackson got into trouble with the law. And his father had never been a part of his life.

At seventeen B.J. hadn’t been able to imagine life without his dad. Now, five years after losing him to a heart attack, he still felt the loss.

“I was there,” he said in answer to Jackson’s question. “But I decided to come back early.” He shared the family’s results with Jackson, but brushed off Jackson’s congratulations.

“Just another rodeo trophy, that’s all. I was glad Cassidy and Farley did so well, though.”

Jackson went to the small fridge in the corner of the room and pulled out a couple of beers. “But I thought you had another rodeo in Washington you were headed to next?”

“Had a change of plan. Plus I figured it was time to check up on the place. Frankly, I was hoping to find you enjoying life a little more than the last time I came home.”

“And when was the last time?”

“You know damn well when. Last March, when we were celebrating Corb and Laurel’s new baby.”

“That was three months ago.”

“Yup.” He eyed Jackson’s face, noting the tired lines around his mouth and eyes. “You had any fun at all since then? Dated any pretty girls?”

Jackson snorted. “No time for that nonsense around here.”

“You used to find the time to have fun,” B.J. recalled. “Blaming yourself for Brock’s death is just about the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.”

“I don’t blame myself.”

“If you’d look me in the eyes when you said that I might be able to believe you.” B.J. took a swallow of his beer and regarded his foster brother thoughtfully. He’d never forget the night before the wedding when they’d been discussing the driving plans. Initially he’d been the one who was going to chauffeur Brock and Corb to the wedding, while Jackson drove Olive in a separate car.

It was Olive who had nixed that plan, insisting that her eldest son should be the one to accompany her into the church.

“If I’d been behind the wheel, it wouldn’t have changed a thing. Brock would still be dead. Corb would have hit his head and gone into that coma. It wasn’t the driver’s fault. It was just bad timing.”

Both Savannah and a local rancher who had witnessed the accident had agreed on that point. Why couldn’t Jackson take any comfort from that?

“Have you ever thought of seeing a counselor or something? Maybe a professional could help.”

As he’d expected, Jackson shook his head at the idea. “Naw. It’s not just the guilt that bugs me. It’s having been there. And seen it all. I’m the only one, you know. To this day Corb doesn’t remember the accident, or even the entire week before it happened.”

“He’s lucky he doesn’t—even if it did almost cost him his relationship with Laurel.”

Jackson nodded, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead. “The worst was those ten minutes before help arrived. It was so quiet, I could hear the birds chirping in the brush. But all around me was blood....”

You couldn’t be a rodeo cowboy for eighteen years and not have seen a lot of blood and gore. But the picture Jackson was painting broke B.J.’s heart. He wondered why it had taken him so long to talk to Jackson about this. Or maybe it had taken this long for Jackson to be ready to talk. “It must have been hell.”

Again Jackson nodded, his gaze fixed despondently on his boots.

“What can I do to help?”

“What can anyone do? I just go on, getting through each day best as I can.” He picked up his beer can, looking at it as if it were something strange that he’d never seen before. “Sometimes I wonder, though....”

“What?”

It wasn’t easy to get Jackson to open up and talk about himself. Now that he’d cracked a chip in his foster brother’s armor, B.J. had to do his best to keep him talking.

“I just wonder if I shouldn’t be moving on.”

“Work somewhere else, you mean?” B.J. didn’t consider himself a sentimental person, but he had to admit the idea was disconcerting.

“I brought it up to Corb once. He took it like some sort of personal insult. It isn’t as if I’m not grateful for what your family did for me. I just can’t stand feeling like I’m some sort of fill-in for Brock. Living the life that he was meant to have, instead of doing whatever it was that I was intended to do.”

“Hell. I’m sure Mom and Corb never meant to make you feel that way when they offered you Brock’s job.”

“Not Corb, for sure,” Jackson agreed.

But maybe Olive? B.J. wouldn’t put it past her. He suspected that his mother did somehow blame Jackson for Brock’s death. Olive had never warmed up to Jackson. Even when everyone else treated him like part of the family, she’d maintained an air of cool distance.

He could see how hard this must be for Jackson to handle in the wake of the accident.

“It hurts me to say this, but if you want to leave, then that’s what you should do.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that. The perfect opportunity just opened up for me, but there is a catch. I’d need to start right away. And you know it would take a while to find a replacement for me here. And even longer to train him...”

That was all true.

But there was one solution.

It would require a commitment that B.J. wasn’t sure he was ready to make. But didn’t he owe Jackson this much? Jackson, who had shouldered such a burden for this family all on his own this past year?

“I know someone. And he doesn’t need any training.”

“Really?” A spark of hope lightened Jackson’s dark brown eyes.

“Yup.” B.J. nodded. “Me.”