Goddess Rising (31 page)

He broke into a wide smile. “Pot roast—my favorite!”

“Mine too,” Ry added, wheeling the pony back around so he could keep working on his roping.

Sam smiled as she watched. Ry and Carey were two peas in a pod. Physical opposites, certainly, what with Carey being as tall, blonde, and blue-eyed as a Viking boy, while Ry was the spitting image of her daddy—dark hair and eyes the color of blackstrap molasses. But they’d been inseparable since they were babies, just a year apart, chasing after each other when they weren’t joined at the hip. Ry was all sass and naughtiness, and Carey was all heart, loyal as the day was long. He’d follow Ry to the edge of the earth, and she loved that about him. Sam was secretly relieved that her baby brother had a best friend who loved him that much, especially with her away at school.

“You think she’ll let me stay for dinner?” she asked with a conspiratorial wink.

“Oh, I reckon we’ll find some space,” Uncle Grant said from behind them. He picked Sam up in a big bear hug, his blue eyes warm under his cowboy hat. “Good to see you, Sammy girl. Your daddy didn’t tell me you were comin’ home today,” he said, letting her back down.

“Got a break from studying,” she lied. “And you know how I miss Aunt Hannah’s cooking.”

“You staying the night?” Uncle Grant asked.

She shrugged. Truthfully, Sam hadn’t planned on visiting, but when she’d gotten in her car on campus after her talk with Rita, she’d found herself steering toward the highway on autopilot. A couple hours later she’d found herself looking up at the massive wrought-iron Wyatt Ranch gate. And so she’d driven over the cattle guard and down the long gravel road to the main house, thousands of acres of prairie grass waving gently as the endless afternoon sky beckoned her home.

“Let’s get you up to the house,” Uncle Grant told her. “I know Hannah will be tickled pink to see ya.”

“Uncle Gus, can we saddle up early so we can hang out with Sammy?” Ry asked, plaintive.

“Oh, all right,” Gus answered with a chuckle. “I’ll see you at dinner, Sammy!”

“You two better help Gus get the horses cleaned and back in the stables before you wash up, you hear?” she called over her shoulder. “Get done in fifteen minutes, and I’ll see if Aunt Hannah has any cookies for you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the boys answered, already competing to steer their ponies back to the stables.

“Believe it or not, those boys actually miss you bossin’ ’em around all the time,” her Uncle Grant told her with a smile, as they walked toward the sprawling ranch house Sam had grown up in.

Aunt Hannah stepped out onto the wide porch before they got there, pretty as a picture as she wiped her hands on her apron.

“If you’d told me you were comin’, I’d have fixed you a pie,” Aunt Hannah scolded before pulling her into a hug.

Sam closed her eyes, inhaling the scent of powder and flowers as she tucked her face into the crook of her aunt’s shoulder. “Hi, Aunt Hannah,” she murmured, snuggled up in her arms.

“You all right, Sammy girl?” her aunt asked gently.

“I am now,” she admitted. “Where’s Dad?” she asked, stepping back. If she were lucky, he’d be on a business trip or in Houston.

“Oh, he’s puttering about in the library with his geological reports on oil traps. You know how he gets,” Aunt Hannah replied, leading her into the kitchen.

Damn
, so much for luck. Might as well get this over with.

“I’ll just go up right quick and say hello,” she told her aunt and uncle, squaring her shoulders.

“I’ll bring up some iced tea for y’all in a minute.”

“Thanks, Aunt Hannah.”

Her father had built the spacious ranch house a couple years after she’d been born, when the money from the wells had really started to roll in. It was a beautifully constructed hacienda with polished wooden floors, exposed rafters, and expansive windows that let in plenty of natural light. Sam made her way through the hallway, past the large living room and the den to her father’s favorite spot—a large library that doubled as his office when he was home.

Latin and Greek classics, history books on wars, dog-eared thrillers, and geology books lined the dense floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. A large glass hutch contained antique firearms, Cherokee artifacts, and military medals from her grandfather’s and father’s time in the service. Her father had the large glass doors of the library open to the garden, warm afternoon sunlight filtering into the room. Sam found him seated behind his desk, reading glasses on as he studied a sheaf of papers.

“You workin’ on a Sunday?” she tutted, leaning against the doorjamb.

Robert Wyatt looked up over his glasses, his surprise replaced with a brief look of pleasure. “Sammy—didn’t expect you home today.” Robert stood and rounded his desk, giving her a hug. “Everything all right?” he asked, peering at her.

“Got done with homework early and didn’t have any field training today, so…” She nodded toward the desk. “You looking at new wells?”

“Always,” her father answered, returning to the desk. “Got some seismic surveys back. Looks like there’s enough off the Sabine Pass to set up another rig deep ocean.”

“Granddaddy would have loved that,” Sam murmured, standing beside him as he showed her one of the surveys.

“He would have,” Robert agreed, watching her as she read over the data. “You want to go out there with me tomorrow? Chopper’ll be here by seven.”

“I’ve got school.”

“You can miss a day,” Robert replied. “Besides, you’ve always loved going out to visit the rigs.”

Because it was the only time I got to see you
, Sam thought, though she left that particular clarification unsaid. Petroleum was a double-edged sword for her. Some of her happiest childhood memories were when her granddaddy, a gutsy and talented wildcatter, had taken her out to rigs and taught her about the family business. Those were usually the few times she saw her father—sober, at least—when he was at work, at the helm of authority, amassing their fortune.

But the business was now one of the deepest sources of tension she had with her father. When she was little, growing the business had been his number one priority, to the exclusion of all else—he’d used it to avoid being a parent, prioritizing oil over his children and making work the buffer that kept him at arm’s length. Now that things had changed and Sam was getting older, Wyatt Petroleum was the albatross around her neck—the legacy she never wanted but was somehow required to carry. She resented the hell out of it, and she resented the hell out of her father for trying to force that mantle upon her.

“I appreciate the offer, but I’ve got the ROTC training in the morning,” Sam excused politely but firmly. “I’ve got to check in.”

“I’ll call Sasser,” her father answered. “Let him know you’ll be out for the day on family business.”

Sam shot him a look. “Don’t call Colonel Sasser, Dad. You know I don’t want him treating me any differently.”

Robert crossed his arms. “But you
are
different. Sooner you embrace that, the better.”

Sam rubbed her brow. “Dad, I don’t want you causing a fuss with the brass out at A&M. I want to get by on my own steam. You know that.”

“Sammy—”

“Dad, please don’t interfere with ROTC any more than you already have,” she replied, cutting him off. “I’m still upset that you kept the Ranger Challenge qualification paperwork from me this summer, and I feel like every time we argue about this, we just go round and round.”

“I’m not interfering—I’m watching out for you,” Robert argued, his voice stern.

“So you don’t think I can take care of myself?” Sam asked, her tone just this side of accusatory. Her father leaned back, not saying anything. “Well?” she prompted, her back up.

Robert Wyatt crossed his arms, leaning back on his desk. “There’s no way I can answer that without pissing you off more, Sammy.”

“Why do you want me to go out on the rig tomorrow anyway?”

He regarded her with shrewd eyes. “If these reports are correct, we’re looking at a new deep-water rig with enough payload to last twenty years. That’ll be your rig someday. Don’t you want to help decide if it should be there or not?”

“What if I don’t want to be in the oil business, Dad?” she countered. “What if I want to go into the Foreign Service or work for the CIA or knit tea cozies
for chrissakes
?”

“Samantha—what in the hell are you talking about?” Robert asked, his heavy brow lifted in surprise.

“
God
, Dad! I didn’t come in here to argue,” Sam sighed, frustrated. She rubbed the back of her neck, trying to calm down. It was always like this between them. She’d get so riled up that she couldn’t keep her cool. “I’m just saying I’m entitled to make my own decisions—”

Her Aunt Hannah knocked gently before opening the door. “You two want some iced tea?” she asked genially, carrying in a tray.

“Actually, Dad and I were just finishing our conversation,” Sam said with a forced smile as she took the tray from her Aunt and set it on the desk. “Can I help you with dinner?” she offered, looking for a quick getaway.

“Samantha—” her father rumbled.

Her Aunt Hannah glanced between the two of them, aware of the tension.

Samantha shot him a look that said
we’re done here
. He should recognize it. He was the one she’d learned it from, after all.

Robert eyed her for a moment before stepping away, back to his desk. “We can talk more over supper.”

Sam followed Aunt Hannah out, stopping just before the door.

“I’m serious, Dad—don’t call my CO,” she said over her shoulder. “I’m sure none of the other parents would call Colonel Sasser and bother him with something like this, even if they could get him on a Sunday.”

Her father smiled grimly. “Good thing I’m not most parents then.”

*

September—Sunday Afternoon

Wyatt Ranch, Texas

R O B E R T   W Y A T T

Robert Wyatt had
never taken kindly to orders, even when he served in the Navy as a young man. Having his own mind and exercising free will had gotten him into hot water more than once in his lifetime, but he’d also learned there was no greater retribution than having his temperament and predilections mirrored tenfold in the face of his own child.

He’d be annoyed as hell if he wasn’t so damn proud of Samantha. His eldest was difficult, feisty, and tough as nails when she wanted to be, but if she thought for one second she wasn’t going to spend time with him and the empire that would be hers one day, she had another thing coming.

Robert pulled out his Day-Timer, found the number, and picked up the phone on his desk. Two crisp rings later, the call connected.

“How’s it going, David?” Robert said, leaning back in his deep leather seat.

“Fine as cream gravy, Rob,” Colonel David Sasser replied dryly. “Now why don’t you tell me why you’re calling me on a Sunday?”

“I’ve got Sam tomorrow. She’ll be out with me on the rigs.”

“Well, I guess that’s as good of an excuse as any,” David replied. “When will you have her back at A&M?”

“No later than Tuesday,” Robert told him. “How’s she been doing?”

“You raised one hell of a girl, Rob.”

“And here I thought you were going to say ‘soldier,’” Robert drawled.

“Samantha’s cultured, attractive, and intelligent. She’d be a pure waste as a soldier, and you and I both know it,” Sasser commented drily. “She’d be perfect for military intelligence or one of those highbrow agencies with an ‘I’ in its acronym.”

“That’ll be her choice if she comes to it,” Robert replied. “First she needs to learn to take orders. She has to learn to follow before she can be a leader of men.”

“Maybe,” David agreed. “That said, I don’t think she’ll be a grunt anywhere, ever, no matter which branch she chooses.”

“How is her training going?” Robert asked.

“You should have seen her out on the range last week. She’s good enough to be a special-forces sniper, and I ain’t exaggeratin’.”

“How far did she shoot?”

“Eight hundred yards, just about. Five out of six on a .50cal. You should know your little girl has scored in the top five percentile for every drill we’ve put those cadets through so far.” There was a brief pause. “Rob, unless Samantha breaks a leg, she’ll make it into the Challenge this year. First sophomore female in history, and I’d sign that in neon.”

Robert’s heart was bursting with pride, but he said nothing. There was something in Sasser’s tone. Something unsaid. So Robert kept quiet, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“There’s a student who’s tracking the story, though. He’s a candidate for an internship at
The Statesman
,” David explained. “His professor pulled strings with the president of the school so he could attend the ROTC drills and the training. The kid says he’s covering the history of the Ranger Challenge, but dollars-to-donuts, he’s doing a story on Sam.” And there it was—the other shoe.

“What’s his name?” he asked David.

“Wes Elliott. He’s a junior in the Journalism program.”

Robert’s eyes shot up to the portrait of Samantha that Wes had taken. The boy had sent a copy of the photograph immediately, just like he’d promised. It was a stunning work of art, and Robert had had it framed and hung in the library, right next to a photo of Sam’s mother in her wedding kimono.