Goddess Rising (49 page)
As Sam parked her Mustang in the circular driveway in front of her childhood home, Wes saw a group of ranch hands baling hay atop John Deere tractors. Lean and weathered cowboys rode past, heading out to pasture, tipping their cowboy hats to them in acknowledgement as they trotted past—like an old John Wayne western.
“You look surprised,” Sam remarked as she rounded her car to open the trunk.
“Where are the Maserati’s? The helicopter pad?” Wes joked, reaching in to pick up their duffel bags. “Shouldn’t there be a manservant somewhere to greet us?”
“Dad keeps all his favorite cars in storage, and the chopper just lands in the field next to the house,” Sam answered by way of explanation, pointing out at the large patch of closely cut grass near the house. “And if you call Aunt Hannah a manservant, she’ll slap you upside the head so hard, you’ll probably get a concussion,” she finished with a grin.
“So the Wyatt’s are pretty much salt-of-the-earth despite being richer than sin?” Wes teased.
“You’d better believe it, son.” Wes turned at the sound of Robert Wyatt’s voice. Sam’s father walked toward them with a tall, blonde man who looked like a Viking descendant, except bigger. They were both in old jeans, denim work shirts, and cowboy hats.
The Viking swooped Sammy up in a big bear hug as Robert pulled off his deerskin gloves, eyeing Wes with an expression that said
are-we-cool-here
? Wes didn’t think he’d ever come close to liking Samantha’s father, but he figured causing friction with the man would only result in grief for Sammy. And Wes didn’t want that for her, even if the guilty weight of his secret agreement with Robert felt dirty. In that split second between shame and decision, Wes nodded tightly.
All cool here
. A look of satisfaction filled Robert’s eyes, and Wes turned away, swallowing his sudden agitation.
“This your beau?” the blonde man asked as he set Sam back on the ground again.
Sam nodded with a broad smile, her eyes bright. “Uncle Grant, I’d like you to meet Wes Elliott. My boyfriend.”
The pride in her voice as she made introductions warmed Wes through and through—almost enough to soothe the hot sting of his deal with the devil.
A pretty woman about his mother’s age came out onto the porch, smiling broadly as she brushed flour from her apron. As Sam introduced her beloved Aunt Hannah, Wes turned on the charm, making the lady laugh and blush attractively as he complimented her on the scents he caught coming from her kitchen.
Sam gave Wes a brief tour of the house as Hannah set up iced tea and snacks in the sprawling garden he’d seen from her father’s study. The ranch house was deceptively large, laid out in a sprawling U-shape with heavy oak beams. It was built for comfort and made to last, with beautiful wool rugs and black wrought-iron light fixtures. There were expensive items here and there—a large antique Chinese vase, a brass telescope, European oil paintings lined up with Japanese watercolors—but it only added to the overall soothing effect. The place looked lived in and loved, like a real home, with the smell of fresh-baked goods wafting from the kitchen and the sounds of the ranch mingling with a wind chime tinkling gently through the open windows.
“Where are Ry and Carey?” Sam asked when they made their way outside to the warm, sunlit garden.
Grant rolled his eyes as he settled into the porch chair next to Sam’s father. “Doing extra chores. One of the hands on night patrol found them out cow tipping last night.”
Sam’s eyes widened. “Are you
serious
?”
“As a heart attack,” Grant shook his head. “Sometimes those boys don’t have a lick of sense.”
“One of those heifers could have rolled onto them and crushed them to death,” Sam muttered, bristling.
“Gus has ’em shoveling out all the horse stalls as we speak,” Robert added, sipping a sweating glass of iced tea. “They’ll be on manure duty for a week, until they admit what they did was dumb and dangerous. Those boys know better.”
“Well, we’ve got three dozen kids and at least that many adults coming over in an hour for Ry’s birthday party,” Hannah told them. “So he and Carey better be scrubbed up and ready by then. Swear to god, I’ve had it up to here with their antics this week,” she commented wryly.
“Oh, they’ll be sorry,
and
they’ll be ready to receive their guests on time,” Sam promised, sipping her tea. “I’ll see to it.” And with that, she stood and loped off, disappearing through the garden.
“There she goes,” Grant chuckled. “Those boys will be saying ‘sorry’ all weekend.”
“I don’t know—manure sounds bad enough,” Wes remarked, squinting against the sunlight. “That’s some kind of birthday present.”
“They’ll be lucky if she doesn’t hogtie them,” Robert remarked. “Hannah, we all ready with the food?”
“Just about,” Hannah told him. “Some of the hands will be manning the barbecue, and the caterers are setting up just over there,” she said, pointing toward the picnic area where they were setting up decorations, supplies, and food. Wes caught a glimpse of brightly colored Mylar balloons and crepe paper streamers hanging from a large picnic area near the main house.
“Can I help?” Wes offered.
“Sammy told us you take pictures?” Hannah said. “If you don’t mind being the unofficial photographer, I’d sure appreciate it. Grant and Robert always cut the heads off our guests, when they take photos,” she added teasingly.
“Be happy to,” Wes told her with an easy smile. “I brought my camera bag, so it’s no problem.”
Hannah excused herself to look after the caterers, and Grant went to check on the tractor-trailers for the hayrides, leaving Wes and Robert alone.
Robert sat back in his chair, sipping his ice-cold tea. “So…you and my daughter,” he began, squinting out into the distance. “You two officially a thing now?” he asked gruffly.
“I suppose you could say that,” Wes affirmed with a relaxed shrug.
“We going to have a problem?” Robert asked casually, like they were discussing box scores.
Wes leaned back in the afternoon sun. “Not unless you try to get between us.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Robert replied with a brief, grim smile. “Speaking of which, you’ll be in the guest house,” he informed Wes, nodding toward a pretty cottage across the garden, a good fifty yards from the main house.
Wes bit back a smirk.
If you think that’ll keep me from your daughter, you’ve got another thing coming,
he thought.
Sam rounded the garden, holding two squirming boys firmly by their ears as they winced and complained. Wes recognized her little brother, but the taller blonde boy looked like a miniature version of Grant.
“It’s my birthday, Sammy! Why you gotta be so dang mean?!” Ry protested as she dragged them to a stop in front of Wes and her father.
“I don’t care if it’s the Rapture, Ryland Wyatt,” she scolded before releasing them. “Don’t you have something to say?”
“I only did it ’cause it was his birthday wish,” the tow-headed boy complained.
Sam rounded on him. “Carrick Nelson, what kind of man are you going to be if you don’t make your own decisions? Did you think cow tippin’ a heifer that’s as heavy as a car was a good idea?”
“No
, but—”
“Don’t you ‘
no, but
’ me, Carey,” Sam told him. “If you knew better and you didn’t talk Ry out of it, you’re just as bad as he is, and
I’m
twice as mad,” she scolded, looking back and forth between a mortified Carey and an indignant Ryland. “If I ever hear about you two getting up to something stupid and dangerous like this again, you two better pray a cow falling on top of you is the worst thing that happens to you.”
Ry kicked the ground, not meeting her eyes, and Carey looked ashamed as he rubbed his reddened ear.
Wes watched Sam cross her arms as she considered the boys, waiting. He’d never seen this formidable, mama-bear side of her, and much to his surprise, he kind of liked it.
“You’re not going to leave are you?” Ry blurted suddenly, shoving his hands deep in his pockets as he kicked one of the smooth pebbles lining the walk. Wes saw the flash of fear behind the boy’s bravado.
Sam looped a hand around Ry’s neck, squeezing gently as she leaned down to look him in the eye. “Why would I leave?”
“Because I was bad.” Ry blew out an anxious breath. “You’re not going to leave before my birthday party, are you, Sammy?”
Wes glanced at Robert instinctively, wondering if he was going to step in. Robert sat back, nursing his iced tea, watching.
Sam squatted down, tucked a finger under Ry’s chin, tipping it up to meet her gaze. “You made me madder than hell risking your life on something stupid like that, but I will never leave you, Ryland Wyatt. You got that?”
Ry stared at his big sister for a moment before nodding, blinking a little as he struggled with his emotions. Sam scooped him into one arm, pulling Carey in with the other, squeezing both boys tight.
“But if you do anything like that again, forget manure duty. I’ll tan your butts so bad, you won’t be able to sit comfortably for a week,” she told them as she hugged them hard.
“Sorry, Sammy,” Ryland mumbled against her neck.
“Yeah, Sammy. I’m sorry too,” Carey told her, looking close to crying.
Robert shot Wes an amused look across the patio table. “That’s my girl,” he said in a low voice. “And that’s why I won’t need to worry about keeping you in line, Wes.” He smirked. “If anything, you’ll have to try to keep up with her. And good luck with
that
.”
*
October—Late Friday Afternoon
Wyatt Ranch, Texas
S A M A N T H A
The white-hot wash
of the midday sun cooled off to a warm saffron glow by the late afternoon. Sam thanked her lucky stars the heat was bearable as she worked closely with her Uncle Grant and Gus to help load thirty-plus kids onto two massive hay-bale-covered tractor-trailers, driven by the ranch hands.
Ry and Carey sat together in the first trailer in full cowboy regalia, beaming and laughing like kings of the castle, their earlier lapse in judgment forgiven. The boys were surrounded by just about every child in the county, each one already hopped up on cake, sweets, and Coca-Cola, generously served by Aunt Hannah and her team of caterers.
Wes roamed around, taking pictures of kids in silly poses, showing off their cowboy hats and sticky fingers, many holding up colorful, homemade lollipops the size of their heads.
“Is every birthday party like this?” Wes asked as Sam lifted a little girl onto one of the hay bales.
“Nah, it’s usually just family,” Sam answered. “We’re generally pretty low-key, but Ry’s been begging for a hayride and a campout with his friends for ages. This year, Dad figured he was old enough.”
Sam felt Wes’s hand squeeze her shoulder as he leaned in and whispered, “Do we have to camp out with the kids?”
Sam laughed and shook her head. “No, Uncle Grant and Gus will do the honors. Gus is telling the ghost stories, and Uncle Grant will be manning the hot chocolate and the s’mores.”
Wes grinned at her, his eyes alight with mischievousness. “So am I sneaking into your room or are you sneaking into mine?”
“You’re not off the hook yet, Wesley Elliott,” Sam replied with a brow lift. “You and I will be helping Aunt Hannah make the kids breakfast here at the house first thing in the morning. It’ll be guaranteed mayhem. Probably need your sleep for that.”
“Hey, Sammy! Come sit by us!” Ryland called out, interrupting them. “I saved you a seat!”
“Can Wes come too?”
“Sure! But can he play guitar?” Ry asked with a sly smile.
“I’m from Austin, ain’t I?” Wes responded with a crooked grin. “Home of Austin City Limits.”
“See!” Ryland clapped excitedly, nudging Carey. “Told ya, Care Bear!”
Carey rolled his eyes, aggrieved but resigned at the public use of his nickname.
“You got a rig I can borrow?” Wes asked her. “I didn’t think to bring mine out.”
“You really play?” Sam asked, surprised and a little thrilled.
Wes shrugged. “I pick a little.”
“You’re going to end up leading sing-alongs all night if you’re not careful,” Sam warned. “Dad, can Wes borrow your guitar?” she called out, catching her father’s attention from the porch. He was mingling with the parents, no doubt entertaining them with stories of the fall round-up or discussing the irrigation issues plaguing the county this season.
Her father glanced out across the lawn to assess Wes before nodding. He’d been perfectly polite since Wes had arrived, much to her surprise. She didn’t think they’d ever be friends, but Wes and her father were both fairly amicable. She wondered now why she’d been so worried that the tension between them would be thick enough to cut with a butter knife.
She’d be suspicious if she weren’t so relieved
.
Her eyes narrowed in contemplation. Her father would only be this calm and casual around Wes if he was certain he had the upper hand in some way. Something was up. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but she was certain she was missing something. She knew her father too well.
“It’s in the library,” Robert called out, disappearing in the house.