Читать книгу Sins Of A Tanner - Peggy Moreland - Страница 8

It was said that there wasn’t a woman in the state of Texas who couldn’t be seduced by a Tanner once he set his mind to the task. Tall in stature and richer than sin, with their coal-black hair and bedroom-blue eyes, the Tanner brothers were hard to resist.

Whit Tanner was the exception.

Though he stood over six feet tall and was easy enough on the eye, Whit looked nothing like the men whose name he shared. His hair was brown, not the expected black, and streaked with blond from years of working beneath a hot Texas sun. His eyes were brown, too, rather than the trademark blue, and almost the same color of his hair, thanks to the gold shot through the irises.

And the differences didn’t stop there.

While it was a well-known fact the Tanner men could charm the panties off a nun, the only females Whit felt comfortable around wore shoes shaped from iron and walked on four legs. When confronted with the human form of the gender, he tended to stammer and stutter and turn three shades of red—which might explain why he was still a bachelor at the ripe old age of twenty-nine.

Truth be known, Whit had never really thought much about his bachelor status one way or the other. He’d accepted his single state as just another curve life had thrown his way—or he had until all his stepbrothers had started marrying and settling down.

First Ace had hitched himself to Maggie, then Woodrow had taken the fall with the doctor from Dallas. Ry had followed shortly thereafter when he’d hooked up with Kayla, the waitress from Austin who had stolen his heart. Together the two had stirred up a media blitz that had kept the Tanner name in the news for weeks. But it was when Rory, the confirmed bachelor of the bunch, had married Macy Keller that Whit had come to the slow realization that he was the last single Tanner.

“Last single Tanner,” Whit muttered as he dragged the saddle down from the top rail of the round pen and swung it over the mare’s back. He wasn’t a Tanner. Not by birth, at any rate. He was the adopted son, the charity case Buck Tanner had taken on when he’d married Whit’s mother.

Everybody in Tanner’s Crossing, Whit included, had known that the marriage between Buck and Lee Grainger was no love match. A divorcée supporting herself and her young son on the tips she made waiting tables, Lee had been looking for security, while Buck had wanted someone to raise his four motherless sons. In the deal they’d cut, Lee had gotten the home and security she’d desired and Buck had gotten himself a built-in maid and baby-sitter.

And Whit had gotten the Tanner name.

A rivulet of sweat coursed down between his eyes and dripped from the end of his nose. Shoving back his hat, he dragged a sleeve across his face. But looks and blood weren’t all that distinguished him from the Tanners, he thought wearily as he settled his hat back over his head. Tanners didn’t have to sweat out a living beneath a broiling sun.

Not unless they chose to, at any rate.

Puffing his cheeks, he blew out a breath, then reached beneath the horse for the cinch. But things could be worse, he told himself as he threaded the leather strap through the rigging ring. He could be stuck behind a desk in some office, shuffling papers, or trapped in some windowless factory putting together widgits. Few men were able to work at a job they enjoyed…and Whit purely loved working with horses.

He supposed that was one thing he had Buck Tanner to thank for, as it was while working for Buck on the Bar-T, the Tanners’s ranch, that Whit had discovered his affinity with horses. But that was all he’d thank Buck for, he thought bitterly. The man had made a lousy stepfather and, according to Whit’s stepbrothers, a lousy father, as well.

He paused to frown. But was there such a thing as a good father?

He snorted a breath and fed another loop through the ring. How the hell would he know. His own had lit out just shy of his third birthday, leaving him and his mother to fend for themselves. He had thought the two of them were getting along just fine without a man around the house when one day, out of the blue, his mother had announced that she was marrying Buck and that he was going to adopt Whit. That Buck had agreed to adopt Whit had surprised some, as Buck had seldom had time for his own four sons. Whit soon learned he’d had even less for a stepson.

Scowling at the reminder of his stepfather’s less than benevolent attitude toward him, he gave the cinch one last tug, making sure it was tight. The horse he was saddling—a green-broke sorrel mare—flattened her ears against her head and danced sideways at the increased pressure. He stroked a hand along the sorrel’s neck.

“It’s just a saddle, darlin’,” he soothed. “I know it feels strange, but you’ll get used to it in time.”

Murmuring softly to the mare, he unfastened the lead rope he’d clipped to the halter and replaced it with a longe line, careful to keep his movements slow and easy so as not to spook the horse. Letting out some length in the rope, he smooched to the mare, encouraging her into a trot along the perimeter of the round pen. With the end of the rope gripped in one gloved hand, he turned a slow circle, keeping a steady eye on the mare’s movements from his position in the center of the ring. After five nervous laps, the mare began to relax, gradually bringing her ears up and losing some of the prance in her gait.

He liked the looks of this little mare and hoped he could talk the owner into letting him train her for cutting. She’d make a good cutting horse. She was quick on the hoof, intelligent and responded well to commands. The true test would come when he put her nose-to-nose with a calf and saw how she handled herself under pressure.

The sound of a vehicle broke into his thoughts and he cocked his head slightly, listening to its approach. When the horse reached a spot along the fence that put him in line with the road, he glanced over the animal’s back to see who was coming. A smile chipped at one corner of his mouth when he recognized his stepbrother Rory’s truck. Riding shotgun was Macy, Rory’s new wife.

While it was true that Whit despised Buck Tanner, his resentment didn’t carry over to Buck’s sons. He respected his stepbrothers, even liked them. Especially Rory. But he supposed that was because Rory was so damn easy to like.

“Hey, Whit!” Rory called as he and Macy climbed down from the truck. “Where’d you get that old nag?”

Whit chuckled as he maneuvered the horse to the center of the ring. “Better not let Dan Miller hear you call this mare a nag,” he warned. “He paid a pretty penny for this little gal.”

Rory opened the gate, held it while Macy stepped through, then followed her in. Macy made a beeline straight for Whit, her arms flung wide. He braced himself for the hug he knew was coming. Though he was growing rather used to all the female attention his sisters-in-law smothered him with, he still felt the familiar heat crawl up his neck as Macy wrapped her arms around him and squeezed.

He gave her an awkward one-armed hug in return. “Hey, Macy.”

“Keep your hands to yourself,” Rory complained, joining them. “That’s my wife you’re fondling.”

“If this is your idea of fondling,” Whit said wryly, “it’s no wonder she latches on to me every time she sees me. The woman’s desperate for affection.”

“If she was, she wouldn’t come to you lookin’ for it,” Rory replied, then hooted a laugh. “Hell, Whit. You wouldn’t know what to do with a woman if one was hand-delivered to you with an instruction book attached.”

Accustomed to Rory’s teasing, Whit hid a smile as he led the horse to the fence and tethered it there. “Did y’all drive all the way out here to give me a hard time or is there a purpose for this visit?”

“We’re here to deliver a personal invitation,” Macy said. “The grand opening for my nursery is a week from this Saturday and I want you to come.”

Whit turned, tugging off his gloves. “Grand opening, huh? Gonna have any good grub on hand?”

“Enough to feed a small army. I’m even serving champagne.”

He winced at the mention of champagne. “This isn’t going to be one of those fancy shindigs where I have to wear a suit, is it?”

Smiling, Macy gave his cheek an affectionate pat. “You can wear your birthday suit, for all I care.”

“You expecting company?” Rory asked.

Whit glanced Rory’s way, then followed his stepbrother’s gaze to the road and the approaching SUV.

Frowning, Whit shook his head. “Not that I’m aware of.”

The three watched as the SUV came to a stop beside Rory’s truck. Whit’s gut clenched in denial when he recognized the woman behind the wheel.

“Isn’t that Melissa Jacobs?” Rory asked curiously.

Whit quickly averted his gaze. “Yeah,” he muttered as he jerked his gloves back on. “That’s her, all right.”

“Hey, Melissa,” Rory called as the woman stepped from the vehicle. “Long time no see.”

Lifting a hand in greeting, she crossed to join them in the pen. “It has been a while,” she agreed as she accepted the hand Rory offered her. “It’s good to see you, Rory.”

“Good to see you, too.” He tugged Macy forward. “I don’t believe you’ve met my wife. Macy, Melissa Jacobs.”

“Congratulations on your marriage,” Melissa said as she shook Macy’s hand, turning to include Rory in the well-wishes. “To you both.”

“Thanks,” Rory replied, then slowly sobered. “I sure was sorry to hear about Matt’s death. Man, what a shock.”

Her smile fading, she nodded. “Yes, it was.”

“If there’s anything I can do…”

“No,” she said quickly, “but I appreciate the thought.”

“So,” Rory said in an obvious effort to change the subject, “what brings you all the way out here?”

“I came to see Whit.”

Rory caught Macy’s elbow. “Then we’ll get out of your way.”

Whit had remained silent and watchful throughout the exchange, but panicked at the thought of being left alone with Melissa. “There’s no need for y’all to run off,” he said in a rush. “As soon as I’m done here, we can go up to the house and get us something cool to drink.”

Rory glanced at his watch, then shook his head. “Sorry, bro, but we’ll have to take a rain check. We left Macy’s dad at the nursery alone, and he’s liable to disown us if a shipment of plants arrives and he has to unload the truck by himself. See you Sunday at lunch,” he called as he herded Macy toward the truck.

“I hope they didn’t leave on my account.”

Whit glanced Melissa’s way, then away, with a frown. “You heard what he said. They had to get back to the nursery.” Keeping his back to her, he lifted a stirrup and hooked it over the saddle horn. “Matt’s been dead, what? Four months now? Shouldn’t you be home grieving?”

He heard her shocked intake of breath and knew that what he’d said was uncalled for. Even cruel. But he didn’t care. An eye for an eye. Isn’t that what the Good Book taught? You hurt me, I hurt you back.

“I didn’t come here to be insulted,” she said tersely.

“Then why are you here?”

“I have a horse I want you to break.”

He continued to unsaddle the mare, keeping his gaze fixed on the task and his back to her. “There are other trainers available. If you don’t know one, I can give you a name.”

“I don’t want just any trainer. The horse…is Matt’s.”

Her hesitancy in identifying the horse’s owner was obvious…and telling. Matt Jacobs. Melissa’s husband and Whit’s best friend.

Ex-best friend, he thought bitterly.

His scowl deepening, he dragged off the saddle and swung it up to balance on the top rail. He knew the horse she wanted him to break. Matt had purchased the stud as a colt several years back, with the intent to train him for the racetrack. The horse’s bloodlines were impressive. Unfortunately his temperament wasn’t.

Grabbing a brush, he swept it across the mare’s back in short, impatient strokes. “Why not just sell the damn horse?” he said irritably. “He’d bring a fair price.”

“He’ll bring a better one if he’s trained.”

He heard the determination in her voice and a hint of something more. Desperation?

Refusing to be moved by it, he shook his head and continued to brush down the horse. “I’ve got a list a mile long of people waiting for me to train their horses. I haven’t got time to take on any more.”

“I’ll pay you your standard fee, plus a percentage of the horse’s sale price.”

Startled by the unusual offer, he glanced her way…and immediately wished he hadn’t. Seeing her again brought every memory, every heartbreak, winging back. Eyes the color of aged whiskey; long, honey-blond hair that tumbled over her shoulders in soft waves; delicate features that had haunted his nights for seven long years.

Tearing his gaze away, he tossed the brush into the tack box and plucked out a currycomb. “Like I said. I don’t need any more business.”

“Whit, please—”

“No,” he snapped, then spun to glare at her. “Now, if you want me to recommend someone, I will. Otherwise I’d appreciate it if you’d get off my land.”

Melissa sat parked in front of the school, her SUV at the head of the car pool line. A soft breeze blew through the open window on her left, ruffling her hair, but it didn’t come close to cooling the heat in her cheeks. She was embarrassed. Humiliated. Furious. Panic-stricken. It had taken her weeks to work up the nerve to approach Whit about breaking Matt’s horse. Weeks spent searching for another option, anything, so long as it didn’t include Whit. In the end, she was forced to admit he was her only option.

And he’d turned her down flat.

Not that she had expected him to leap at her offer. She’d known going in that there was a strong chance he would refuse. What she hadn’t known was how much it would hurt when he did.

The doors to the school flew open and children spilled out, shrieking and laughing as they raced for the cars that lined the narrow lane. Melissa quickly unfastened her seat belt and pushed open her door. Before she could step down, a pair of arms vised around her legs.

“Hi, Mom!”

Chuckling, she scrubbed her knuckles over her son’s blond hair. “Hi, yourself, kiddo.” She reached down and lifted him up and over her, then plopped him into the passenger seat beside her.

“And how was your day?” she asked as she fastened the seat belt around him.

“Joey Matthews threw up all over his art paper and Shane Ragsdale’s dog had thirteen puppies. Can I have one? Please? Can I?”

She turned the key, starting the engine. “We already have a dog,” she reminded him.

“Yeah, but Champ’s not mine. He’s yours. I want a puppy that’s all mine.”

She checked for traffic, then pulled out onto the street. “One dog is all we can handle right now.”

“Please, Mom?” he begged, straining against the seat belt. “I’ll feed him and take care of him. You won’t have to do nothin’, I promise.”

“Anything,” she corrected automatically, then sighed, feeling as if she was always saying no to her son. “We can’t afford to feed another animal right now,” she explained gently. “You know that.”

He slumped against the seat in a sulk. “Being poor sucks,” he mumbled.

“Grady Jacobs!” she cried. “We are not poor.”

“Then how come you have to sell Dad’s horse?”

“Because we need money more than we need a horse,” she replied, then gave him a stern look. “But that does not mean we are poor.” Jutting her chin, she faced the windshield again. “We’re just experiencing a temporary cash flow problem.”

“Angela Hanes’s mom said we don’t have a pot to pee in or a window to throw it out.”

It was all she could do to keep the vehicle on the road. “Angela’s mother said that to you?” she asked in amazement.

“No, Angela did. She heard her mom talking to Mrs. Henley on the phone. I asked Angela what it meant and she said it meant we’re poor. That when Dad died he left us broke.”

She narrowed her eyes, furious to know that her friends and neighbors were talking about her behind her back. “Well, Mrs. Hanes is wrong,” she informed him. “We are not broke.”

“Then why can’t I have a puppy?”

She closed her eyes a moment, praying for patience, for just the right words to make her son understand their financial situation without letting him know how desperate it really was.

“Before Matt died,” she said carefully, “we had two incomes to pay our bills. With him gone now, we only have the money I make.”

“I could help you so you could earn more money.”

Her heart melting at the offer, she reached to smooth the hair back from his brow. “Thanks, sweet heart. But I don’t want you worrying about our financial situation, okay? Once we sell Matt’s horse, everything will be fine.”

And everything would be fine, she told herself as she turned her gaze to the road again.

Just as soon as she found someone to break Matt’s horse.

After the unexpected visit from Melissa on Monday, Whit’s week went downhill in a hurry. Tuesday, one of the studs in his care cut his foreleg while fighting with another stud through the fence that separated them. It required a call to the vet and another to inform the stud’s owner, which cost him almost a full day’s work. To make matters worse, Wednesday night a raccoon got into the feed room and tore into the sacks of oats stored there, ruining three perfectly good sacks of feed and creating a hell of a mess for Whit to clean up on Thursday. Then on Sunday, a gelding Whit was working with bucked him off, conveniently dumping him in a fresh pile of manure. By the time he returned the horse to its stall and limped back to the house for a shower and a change of clothes, it was pushing noon.

He considered blowing off going to the Bar-T, where his stepbrothers and their families gathered for Sunday lunch, and kicking back with a beer and an afternoon of ESPN instead. But he knew, if he did, the entire Tanner clan would probably show up at his house, looking for him.

Shuddering at the thought of having all those people crammed into his small house, he climbed into his truck and made the drive to the Bar-T. Thanks to the gelding and the landing spot he’d chosen for Whit, he was the last to arrive.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said as he slid into the empty chair beside Rory.

Rory glanced his way, then pulled back, with a frown. “What happened to you?”

Grimacing, Whit rubbed a self-conscious hand over the bruise the fall had left on his cheek. “Horse pitched me off.”

Ry passed Whit a platter stacked high with chicken-fried steak. “If you want, I can take a look at that for you later,” he offered. “Make sure there aren’t any broken bones.”

Whit forked up a steak and dropped it onto his plate before passing the platter on. “It’s nothing. Just a bruise.”

Maggie gave her husband, Ace, a pointed look. “I’ve heard that one before,” she said dryly.

Familiar with the story of Ace’s fall from a horse and his refusal to allow Maggie to take him to the doctor, everyone shared a laugh at Ace’s expense.

“Laugh all you want,” Ace said grumpily. “But a man who can’t take a tumble from a horse, without running to some sawbones to get patched up, isn’t much of a man. Right, Whit?”

Whit glanced around the table. With two doctors and two nurses waiting expectantly for his answer, he decided discretion was the better part of valor. “Whatever you say, Ace.”

“Coward,” Rory said out of the corner of his mouth.

“I’ve already got one bruise,” Whit told him. “I’m not looking for another.”

With a rueful shake of his head, Rory returned to his meal.

“Looks like the lawyers are going to have the old man’s estate ready to settle in a couple of weeks,” Ace said. “We’ll need to pick a time we can all meet to sign the necessary papers.”

A discussion followed, but Whit tuned it out and focused on his meal. Although Ace had told him he would inherit a fifth of the old man’s estate, the same as the rest of his stepbrothers, Whit had informed Ace that he wanted no part of anything that was Buck’s.

“What about you, Whit?” Ace asked. “Is May 29 at two all right with you?”

Caught with his fork halfway to his mouth, Whit glanced around the table and found everyone looking at him expectantly. He slowly lowered the fork to his plate. “I already told y’all I don’t want any part of Buck’s estate.”

“And we understand your reasons for feeling that way,” Ace assured him. “But you’re getting an equal share the same as the rest of us, whether you want it or not.”

“You know damned good and well that if Buck had left a will, he wouldn’t have named me in it,” Whit said.

“That may be true,” Ace conceded. “But there’s a strong chance he wouldn’t have named us, either, since he wasn’t on speaking terms with any of his offspring at the time of his death. Since he didn’t leave a will, the law requires that his estate be divided equally among his children.”

“I’m not one of his children,” Whit reminded him.

“By law you are. I have the adoption papers to prove it.”

Whit slumped back in his chair. “Come on, Ace,” he said in frustration. “Can’t you just tell the lawyers to cut me out?”

Ace opened his hands in a helpless gesture. “Sorry, the law is the law. And without your signature,” he added, “the estate can’t be settled, nor can the assets be awarded.” Knowing he’d put Whit on the spot, he reared back smugly in his chair. “So, how does May 29 at two work for you to meet and sign the papers?”

Scowling, Whit stabbed his fork into his steak. “I’ll sign whatever papers are necessary, but I’ll never touch a cent of Buck’s money.”

“That’s your prerogative,” Rory said, then quickly changed the subject. “So what was Melissa doing over at your house the other day?”

His frown deepening, Whit cut into his steak. “She wanted me to break a horse for her.”

“Melissa Jacobs?” Elizabeth, Woodrow’s wife, asked curiously.

“One and the same,” Rory replied, then gave Whit a speculative look. “Didn’t the two of you use to date?”

Whit stiffened, unaware that Rory—or anyone else, for that matter—had known that he’d dated Melissa. Breaking open a roll, he lifted his shoulder in what he hoped came across as an indifferent shrug. “We went out for a while.”

“Really?” Ace said. “I didn’t know Melissa ever dated anyone other than Matt.”

And you could’ve gone on thinking that, Whit thought resentfully, if Rory had kept his dang mouth shut.

Avoiding Ace’s gaze, he slathered his roll with butter. “Like I said, it was only for a while.”

Elizabeth shook her head sadly. “I don’t know Melissa all that well, but I feel so sorry for her. Losing a husband in such a tragic accident is bad enough, but to discover that he has left you penniless must be awful.”

Whit slowly lowered his knife to his plate and stared at Elizabeth. “Matt left Melissa broke?”

Elizabeth glanced uneasily at the others at the table. “Well, yes. At least, that’s what I heard. I assumed it was true.”

“It’s true enough,” Woodrow confirmed. “Dillon Phillips bought a plow from her last week. Said he got it for a good price as she needed the money to make her mortgage.”

Whit snorted a breath and picked up his fork. “If that’s the story she gave him, she was feeding him a line of bull. There’s no mortgage on that property. I know for a fact that Matt inherited the farm free and clear from his granddaddy.” He scooped up a forkful of potatoes, then added, “But even if it was true she was broke, Melissa wouldn’t have to sell off assets to make her note. Mike would give her whatever she needed.”

Macy held up a hand. “Wait a minute. You’ve lost me. Who is Mike and what does he have to do with Melissa?”

“Mike’s Melissa’s father,” Rory explained. “Lives over in Lampasas. He and Buck were old running buddies. With Buck gone now, Mike’s probably the single most wealthy man around these parts.”

“If that’s the case,” Macy said, “then it would seem that she’d ask her father for money, if she truly needed it.”

“Not necessarily.”

When everyone turned to look at Kayla, she lifted her hands. “Heck, I wouldn’t. It’s a matter of pride.”

Ry gave his wife’s arm an indulgent pat. “Yes, dear. We’re all familiar with your pride.”

“Kayla may have a point,” Rory said in his sister-in-law’s defense. “If you think about it, it’s the only explanation that makes any sense. As I recall, Melissa and Mike butted heads a lot while she was growing up.”

“I can vouch for that,” Ace agreed. “I remember more than once hearing Mike complain to Buck about Melissa being stubborn as a mule.”

“Then it’s unlikely that she would go to her father for help,” Elizabeth said, then shook her head sadly. “And that makes me feel even more sorry for her. At a time like this, a woman needs the support of her family.”

Whit swallowed hard. He knew from personal experience that Rory’s and Ace’s comments about Mike and Melissa butting heads were true. Mike was a hard man to get along with under any circumstances, but the level of control he’d tried to wield over his only daughter would have made even the most docile of individuals fight at the chains he kept her bound with.

And Elizabeth was right, as well. Considering Melissa’s past relationship with her father, it seemed unlikely that she would turn to him in her time of need.

But if she couldn’t go to her father for help, he wondered, who could she go to?

He wiped a shaky hand down his mouth, remembering her visit to his place and the desperation in her voice, when she’d asked him to train the horse.

And how had he responded to her plea for help?

He’d not only refused, he’d ordered her off his land.

He quickly shook off the guilt that tried to settle on his shoulders. He wouldn’t feel badly about the way he’d treated Melissa. Hell, why should he? he thought defensively. She’d certainly never concerned herself with his feelings. He’d given her his heart and what had she done in return?

She’d eloped with his best friend.