Goddess Rising (13 page)

She nodded. “You too.”

And with that, Miranda was off, her long-legged stride causing multiple head-swivels.

Well, there she had it. And a girl as savvy as Miranda would know all about a guy like Wes too. Sam sighed, wondering why she was so disappointed to have confirmed what she already suspected.

*

September—Saturday Morning

Wyatt Ranch, Texas

R O B E R T   W Y A T T

“How’s our girl?”

“Stubborn as hell and too goddamn independent,” Robert replied as he lowered the truck’s tailgate.

Grant Nelson, his ranch foreman and closest friend, chuckled as he helped Robert unload the sacks of feed.

“So, you’re saying she’s exactly how we raised her to be.”

Robert rolled his eyes. “Swear to God, she’s just trying to get my goat half the time. First with turning down Harvard and now with this Army bullshit.”

Grant grunted, looking across the pasture where Ryland and his son Carey were practicing roping calves. “You know she’d never leave Ry. And the Army thing, well…” He scratched his head. “Ain’t sure about all that, but you know Sammy girl—she’ll do what she’ll do ’til she doesn’t want to and not a second sooner.”

Robert had to concede that point. Maybe it had been her upbringing, but she reminded him of himself more every year. Head and heart strong, bound and determined to make her own way in life come hell or high water.

“I was thinking of taking her out to the oil rig when I go in a couple weeks,” Robert mentioned as they carried the bags to the barn. “Get everyone used to seeing her around.”

“Makes sense,” Grant agreed. “If she’s gonna take over for you, she’ll need to know that business backwards and forwards soon enough.”

One of the boys managed to rope a calf, hootin’ and hollerin’ as some of the ranch hands clapped. Both men glanced over just in time to see Ryland taking a dramatic bow, tipping his cowboy hat back at a cocky angle.

“Those two,” Grant said with a smile. “They’ll live on this ranch their whole lives if we let ’em.”

But not Sammy
, Robert thought. Once she’d seen Ry was good and grown, she’d be gone. Out in the world like a shot. Just like him when he’d been young.

His phone rang in the truck.

“Better get that,” Grant told him. “I’ll go get the boys back up to the house to help Hannah out with lunch.”

“Thanks,” Robert replied, sitting in the cab of the truck. He picked up the handset he had mounted in the dash next to the ranch’s CB radio. “What you got for me?” he asked, recognizing the number of his private investigator.

“Found out the name of the kid who’s got a beef with Sammy. No one’s confessing to seeing it, but the couple cadets I asked think he’s the one who marked her up during field training.”

Robert’s mouth compressed into a thin line. “Go on.”

“Kid’s name is Alejandro de Soto. First-generation Chicano. Grew up in Little Village, a pretty rough neighborhood on the south side of Chicago. He’s got one younger sister. Parents came here twenty years ago with a little money. Opened a restaurant in the neighborhood, but his dad was shot dead during a holdup when Alejandro was just a kid. He joined up with the Latin Kings at fourteen to earn protection for his family.”

Robert lifted a brow. “Wrap sheet?”

“Expunged,” came the answer. “Looks like he was into some petty theft, suspected of dealing, but nothing stuck. He was bailed out by a local do-gooder, this hotshot attorney named Sandro Roman. Looking to make a name for himself in Chicago politics turning rough kids and bad neighborhoods around.”

“I know him,” Robert responded. “Roman’s got a senatorial bid. He’s looking good for it, too.”

“Well, he’s definitely endeared himself to the minority community in Chicago. Got this kid into ROTC in high school. Part of what helped him get his act together.”

“That how De Soto ended up in Texas?” Robert asked.

“Full ride on ROTC. And he’s good,” his investigator confirmed. “One of the best, according to his records. He’s a senior now, but Sasser’s already recommending him for Ranger School in Fort Benning.”

“Weaknesses?” Robert asked. “Gambling, girls, debts?”

“Not that I can tell. I’ll keep digging, but he seems like a decent kid. He calls his mama and his sister a couple times a week. Got a couple hundred bucks in a school checking account. No credit. Picks up odd jobs here and there. Doesn’t seem to party too hard. Above-average grades.”

“Dig up what you can find on his mother and sister then,” Robert replied.

There was a brief pause.

“Sir, he’s just a kid—”

“Who’s threatening my daughter,” Robert said in a tone that brooked no argument. “That makes him old enough to make an enemy out of me.”

A sigh. “You got it.”

“And one more thing.” Robert looked out over his ranch lands, sprawling out as far as the eye could see. “Look into another kid named Wes Elliott.”

“He a problem for Sammy too?”

“Not yet,” Robert replied. “But I like to be prepared.”

*

September—Tuesday Night

Dixie’s, College Station, Texas

W E S L E Y

“Hey, barkeep! Need
another round down here!”

“You got it.” Wes tossed the dish towel over his shoulder as he held a pint glass up to the spigot, his eye on the clock next to the neon beer signs and a television playing ESPN reruns from Monday Night Football.

10:34 p.m.

Still no sign of his muse.

He poured four Budweisers for the guys playing pool in the corner.

It was a quiet night, just as he’d predicted when he’d left the message on Sam’s answering machine that she hadn’t responded to. Wes had spent a couple days feeling uncharacteristically off-kilter, wondering where she was, what she was up to.

Chris remained prickly the few times they’d crossed paths. Wes hadn’t mentioned anything about Samantha after their initial conversation, figuring it would only cause more friction. Looking at the situation now, he was glad he hadn’t. Chris would never let him live it down that Samantha wouldn’t come within a hundred feet of him, even after he’d offered her the only thing he’d figured she’d want—the honest-to-god, unvarnished truth. If she ever came around to
asking
any questions.

Wes carried the beers down to the pool table, handing off the drinks. The group was made up of A&M guys, ball caps low over their eyes, wearing jeans and t-shirts. A couple of them stood ramrod straight despite their relaxed expressions.
Cadets
, Wes thought as he headed back to the bar, wiping his hands on the dish towel slung over his shoulder. They all had that look about them—alert, disciplined, a little aloof.

“What’s a girl got to do to get a drink around here?”

Wes’s head snapped up at the sound of Samantha’s whisky-singed rasp. Wes felt a slow, happy smile stretch his mouth wide as he watched her slide onto a bar stool in front of him.

Unlike the last time he’d seen her, tonight she was dressed simply in a pair of jeans and a tank top. She had on some kind of soft sweater over it that made him want to step close and wrap himself up in there with her.

“Well, well,” he drawled, leaning on the heavy oak bar. “Look who decided to put me out of my misery.”

“You hardly look miserable,” she pointed out, crossing her hands in front of her as she glanced around the bar.

“You’re talking to a guy who spent the last half hour scheming ways to get the attention of a girl who wouldn’t touch him with a barge pole,” he replied, leaning in close enough to kiss her, just to rattle her cage a little.

“Looks like I’m fresh out of barge poles,” Sam murmured, staring at his mouth.

“Must be my lucky day,” he said in a low voice before moving back. “What can I get you?”

Sam seemed to snap out of it. Then she blushed. Hard. Wes suppressed the brazen smile that fought to surface after his little win.

“Club soda with lime.”

His brows lifted. “Not much of a drinker?”

“I’m nineteen.”

“That’s not a problem,” he replied, though somehow he doubted she’d like knowing what he did on the side when he wasn’t bartending.

“It’s a school night,” she added, glancing around Dixie’s casually until someone caught her eye.

Wes noticed her stiffen and followed the direction of her gaze. One of the guys at the pool table stared back. He was a built Latino guy—actually one of the guys Wes had immediately marked as a cadet. And he didn’t like the way the guy was looking at Sam. Not one bit.

“You know him?”

Sam shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “ROTC.”

So he’d been right after all. Wes looked at the guy again before he went about pouring her drink, squeezing a lime into the glass before placing it in front of her.

“Thanks,” she told him with a little toast.

“So what’s the story between you two?” Wes asked, nodding toward the guy at the pool table.

“No story,” she replied, glancing around the bar casually.

“I believe you’re reneging on our deal, Ms. Wyatt,” Wes tutted.

Sam looked at him askance.

Wes leaned toward her again, fighting the instinct to tuck her hair behind her ear. “Deal was, you and I were going to be honest with each other. Remember?”

Sam considered him a moment, like she was debating whether he’d really be serious or not. He could tell the moment she decided to reply, but they were interrupted by a couple of attractive girls sidling up to the bar, wearing skimpy tops and daisy dukes. Wes realized immediately that he knew one of them—in the biblical sense, though he couldn’t quite recall her name. He nearly cringed when she parked herself right next to Samantha.

“Hey, Wes,” the girl purred, leaning forward so he could get a closer look down her top as she flipped her dark hair over her shoulder. “It’s been a couple weeks—how’ve you been?”

“All right,” he nodded, careful to keep his eyes above her shoulders. “You?” he asked, unable to place her name.

“Been better.” She shrugged. “Thought you’d call.” She glanced briefly at Samantha.

Standing side by side, the two girls couldn’t have been more different, though they both had dark hair. One was all sexy skin and open invitation, and Sam probably had enough fabric on her to outfit them both. But there was a light in Sam’s eyes that was absent in the gaze of the other girl—plus a Mona Lisa smile that made him want to ask her every question he could think of.

Chris had been absolutely right. Sam was no
hit-it-and-quit-it
type of girl. She was the kind of girl you wanted to make love to and talk to all night long in equal measure. Looking at the two—one he’d had and could barely remember, and one he hadn’t had but couldn’t stop thinking about—Wes suddenly recognized the difference. He realized in that moment he’d ascended to an altogether different playing field of preference. It was like watching minor league ball after you’d been to a game at Yankee Stadium. No contest.

“What can I get you?” Wes offered, aware of Samantha’s eyes on him.

“Two Rolling Rocks, please,” the girl replied with a breathless little hitch.

“You got it.” Wes poured the drafts quickly, setting them in front of her.

The girl put the money in his hand instead of on the counter.

“You should make good use of the number I left you,” she murmured, squeezing his fingers. “We could have some fun again.”

Wes pulled his hand gently from her grasp. “Enjoy your drinks,” he told her, dressing up his dismissal with an affable smile.

“Oh, I will,” the girl replied before sauntering off, her hips swaying a little more than absolutely necessary.

Samantha watched her go with a bemused smile before turning back to him.

“You have no idea what that poor girl’s name is, do you?” Samantha asked, a challenge in her eyes.

Now was the time to prove whether or not he was going to put his money where his mouth was.

He knew it, and she knew it. If he denied it, she’d know he was a liar, and that would negate whatever sexy little game they were playing here. And if he admitted it, well… Wes wondered how much honesty she would tolerate before she got up and walked out of the bar on her own.