Sun Kissed (8 page)

She took a slow turn, keeping her gaze fixed on the sky.
I wish I may, I wish I might…
The verse carried her back through the years to her childhood and brought a sad smile to her lips. No matter how many times Clint had warned her, she’d never been able to resist telling him what she had wished for. How different things were now, with her most secret wishes held close to her heart.

When a sound came from behind her, Samantha assumed it was one of the wild creatures that frequented the property after dark and didn’t pause in her circling to look over her shoulder. The front window of her ranch foreman’s second-story apartment was just above her, and even though the lights were out, she knew he was
home. Jerome, only a few years younger than her dad, went to bed with the chickens, but he was a light sleeper and would surely hear her if she called for help.

Not that it would ever be necessary. Unlike her father and brothers, she didn’t live in fear of Steve Fisher anymore. She’d put that demon to rest. Only five of the original kitchen chairs that went with her custom-made table still existed. The sixth had met its waterloo when she brought it down on top of Steve’s head and then proceeded to whale the tar out of him with the broken pieces.

It wasn’t one of her fondest memories, and she would never feel proud of the person she’d become that night. But the altercation had served two good purposes: teaching her that size, weight, and muscle didn’t always determine the outcome of a physical confrontation, and teaching Steve that the dictatorship he’d called a marriage was finally over.

He’d left that night and never returned, sending a friend in his stead to collect his belongings. He was a coward and a bully who pushed people around only when he felt confident they wouldn’t push back. He would never step foot on this property again. She felt confident of that.

T
he following morning after her customary three-mile run and a quick shower, Samantha left the house at precisely six o’clock. On Sundays, especially, it was important that she began her work early so she could break free shortly after eleven to attend noon Mass.

En route to the stables, she carried five one-gallon freezer bags filled with treats for her horses—quartered apples, fresh baby carrots, and their favorite, oatmeal and diced fruit. A granola bar rode in her shirt pocket—her version of a human breakfast, which she liked to eat over coffee with her foreman before she began morning rounds.

After entering the arena via the personnel door, she hung a sharp left and ascended the wooden stairs to Jerome’s on-site living quarters. Rapping sharply on the door, she turned the knob and leaned in to yell, “You de cent?”

“When am I ever not decent at this time of day?” the fifty-four-year-old foreman answered. “Come on in, honey. Coffee’s made.”

Samantha stepped inside, closed the door, and hooked her straw hat over the knob, making a mental note to search through her closets for another ball cap as soon as she found the time. “Thank goodness. I need a cup of your black mud to get my blood pumping this morning.”

His graying brown hair still damp from the shower, Jerome flashed a welcoming smile, his brown eyes sharpening on her bruised cheek. “I figured you might need a jump start. How you feeling?”

“Better than I look.”

The compact apartment, originally intended to be used as foaling quarters, featured a tiny living room area divided from the kitchen by a breakfast bar. A closet-sized bathroom and bedroom lay at the back. Jerome had moved in eight years ago, right after the stables and arena were built. Prior to that, he’d worked twenty-two years as a ranch hand for Frank Harrigan.

Though technically their relationship was that of employer and employee, Samantha never thought of Jerome as her subordinate or treated him as such. She’d known him all her life, trusted him immensely, and couldn’t have loved him more if he’d actually been a blood relative. His knowledge of horses was second only to her father’s, and she picked his brain at least a dozen times a day.

She swung a leg over an oak bar stool, plopped the equine treats on the counter, and accepted the mug of steaming coffee that he slid toward her.

“Ah,” she said appreciatively after taking a careful sip. “Nobody but you makes coffee quite as good as Dad’s. What’s the secret?”

“Right before we set the pot on to boil, we spit in the grounds basket.”

“Liar.” Samantha wrinkled her nose but confidently took another sip. “No wonder you never got married. No woman in her right mind would put up with you.”

Jerome laughed. He was still a good-looking man, his medium frame trim and superbly fit. “The ladies like me just fine. And it’s not my old-fashioned boiled coffee that attracts them, either.”

Samantha had no difficulty believing that. Jerome had a lazy, relaxed manner that put everyone at ease.

“It’s a little after six on a Sunday morning,” she popped back. “You can’t tell me you had a hot date last night.”

“That Friday- and Saturday-night nonsense is for you young people. I do my socializing on weeknights. Over the weekends I hang around here to do early feedings so all of you can party at the honky-tonks until the wee hours.”

“Not me.”

“More’s the pity,” Jerome replied. “You could do with a little fun for a change. How long has it been since you went dancing?”

“Not long enough.” Samantha lifted her cup to her lips and smiled at him over the rim. “My dance-floor career was an abysmal failure. I was born with two left feet.”

“You dance pretty enough when you’re working with a horse,” he pointed out.

Samantha let that pass. “Who came in yesterday to work a half shift?”

“Carrie and Kyle. I let both of them leave an hour early
so they could go to the fairgrounds and watch Blue win the cutting horse competition.”

“And he didn’t disappoint them!” Samantha said proudly. “I’ll bet afterward Kyle told everybody who would listen that he trained Blue himself.”

Jerome chuckled. “You’re probably right. That boy has an incredible talent with horses, but it’s mostly on the tip of his tongue.”

They passed a few minutes recalling comical moments in Kyle’s horse training career, the most notable the time he accidentally stepped inside the loop of a lasso when the other end of the rope was tied to the saddle of a green cow pony. Fortunately for Kyle, Jerome had been close at hand to prevent disaster, and Kyle hadn’t been badly hurt.

When their mirth subsided, Samantha asked, “How’s Carrie seem to be doing?”

“Well enough, I reckon. Doing her work, anyway, and she seems to enjoy the horses. Why do you ask?”

In the process of peeling the wrapper off her granola bar, Samantha shrugged. Carrie was a relatively new employee who’d been cheerful and friendly when she’d first hired on. “She hasn’t been very talkative lately. I’m concerned that the job may not be all that she hoped. I know her wages could be better.”

“You explained before you hired her that things would be tight for another year. She knows you’ll give her a raise as soon as you’re able.”

“Yeah.” Samantha took a small bite of the bar, then chewed and swallowed. “Promises don’t pay the bills, though. I know she’s pulled a couple of extra shifts recently for that nursing agency she used to work for. That
tells me her check must not be stretching from one pay day to the next. Maybe she’s upset because I haven’t put her on full-time yet.”

“I don’t think that’s the problem.”

“So you’ve noticed it, too?”

Jerome nodded as he lifted the lid of the cookie jar to grab a handful of Oreo cookies. After popping one in his mouth and chewing industriously, he said, “I think she may be having boyfriend trouble.”

“A boyfriend?” Samantha considered the possibility. “I didn’t think she was seeing anyone. I know she wasn’t at the beginning. We used to joke around about our not so-exciting plans for Saturday night.”

“Could be she met someone,” Jerome said. “Relationships can be rough on girls like Carrie. She’s not very pretty, and she’s always struck me as being a little too eager to please.”

Envisioning the thirty-one year-old, Samantha decided Jerome was right. Carrie had lovely hazel eyes and golden brown hair, but her facial features were masculine, and her tall frame was a little too muscular to be attractive.

“You’d think some good fellow would look beneath the surface and realize what a nice person she is.”

“It’s a woman’s looks that usually attract a man first,” Jerome replied. “He doesn’t worry about things like personality and character until later.”

That was one of the many reasons Samantha never in tended to have another relationship. She
did
place a high value on personality and character, and very few men in
her acquaintance, the members of her family and Jerome excluded, measured up to her expectations.

“Why the long face?” Jerome asked.

Samantha brightened her expression. “Nothing. Woolgathering, I guess.” She took another bite of granola. “Sorry for spacing out on you.”

He treated her to a penetrating study. “If you’re honest with yourself, Samantha Jane, it’s a man’s looks that first attract you, too.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Honey, you’re either lying or kidding yourself.” He popped another cookie into his mouth. Cheek bulging, he added, “If you like what you see, you trouble yourself to learn more about him. If you don’t, he never gets to first base. What makes you think it’s so different with men?”

“Because most men don’t bother to learn more about a woman until after their trousers have hung on her bedpost.”

“Ouch!”

“Well, it’s true. As much as I love and admire you, Jerome, you aren’t looking for a long-term relationship every time you sleep with a woman.”

He didn’t bother to deny it. “And every woman I sleep with understands that
before
I hang my britches on her bedpost. Don’t blame every man you meet for the actions of one, or you’ll end up a lonely old woman.”

“A fine one you are to talk. The single life seems to suit you well enough.”

“Women aren’t the only ones who can get taken in by sneaky sidewinders. I just wasn’t lucky enough to get an earful of good advice after it happened to me.”

Samantha’s heart caught. Jerome had never before hinted that he had remained a bachelor because he’d been badly hurt. “You were in love once?”

“Of course I was in love once. Isn’t everybody?” He finished off the last Oreo and dusted his hands clean of crumbs. “Unfortunately, the experience was so awful that once was enough to last me. Looking back on it now, I wish I’d given love another chance. But I didn’t, and now I’ll grow old alone. Be a smart girl and don’t let the same thing happen to you.”

“I’m sorry you got hurt.”

He arched a silver-tipped eyebrow. “And I’m sorry you did. But that’s how real life goes, honey. Greenhorns step in horseshit. They have to scrape their boots clean a few times before they learn to avoid the piles.”

Samantha sighed and looked out the window. “What a serious conversation for such a beautiful morning.” She glanced back at him. “How did we get off on the pitfalls of relationships?”

“Carrie, being so quiet,” he reminded her.

“Oh, right.” Samantha considered the problem again. “What makes you think she’s got boyfriend trouble?”

“All the signs are there. When you first hired her she never even put on lipstick, and her hair was always slicked back in a braid. About two months ago she started wearing makeup and doing her hair different.” He flapped his fingers near his temple. “All curly and soft around her face.”

“You’re right. I never registered the changes, but she has been fixing herself up.”

“At first I thought maybe she had her eye on Kyle.”

“Oh,
dear
.” Kyle Jorge was a good stableman, but he was otherwise everything Samantha abhorred in the opposite sex: flirtatious, preoccupied with the female anatomy, shallow, and so full of testosterone, it seemed to ooze from his pores. “I hope not. He’d break her heart, for sure.”

“It’s not him,” Jerome assured her. “I’ve watched, and he doesn’t know she’s alive.”

“That doesn’t mean she isn’t attracted to him.”

“No, but I’ve seen her talking on her cell phone a lot. The first couple of months after you hired her, she seemed totally devoted to the horses, and I never caught her hiding out in the tack room to talk on the phone. That suddenly changed—right about the time her hairdo did. She met someone. I’d go to the bank on it. And chances are, she’s been quiet the last couple of weeks because the relationship is going south.”

Samantha hoped not. Carrie was a kind person with a big heart. She didn’t deserve to be hurt.

Making morning rounds was Samantha’s favorite task of the day. She always began with stall number one. “Hello, Cherry,” she said to the three-year-old sorrel filly, whose registered name was Cherry Cream. “How’s my pretty little girl this morning?”

The young horse eagerly nudged the bags in Samantha’s hands. Samantha dropped four of the cumbersome treat containers to the ground and opened the fifth. Cherry eagerly went after the proffered baby car rots, taking three and four at a time from Samantha’s
palm and greedily munching them. While the filly enjoyed her snack, Samantha stroked her with a free hand.

The next stall held Oregano, a four-year-old dun with a grayish brown coat and a black mane and tail. Samantha entered the enclosure to feed him, taking measure of his conformation as she ran her hand over his shoulder and back. He was filling out beautifully and showing great promise in training. He wasn’t quite so quick as Blue Blazes, but Samantha believed he had it in him to become a champion, nevertheless.

Next in line for treats was Cilantro, an eleven-year-old blue roan mare who held the honor of being Blue Blazes’s dam. That spring she’d thrown another blue roan colt who was now five months old, brimming with boundless energy, and needing a name. He also needed to learn some manners, Samantha decided as he pushed ahead of his mother for treats. Samantha allowed him to take one carrot before firmly pushing him aside to give the queen of the stable proper deference.

Cilantro batted her black lashes as she nibbled her velvety lips over Samantha’s palm to select a treat. With gentle elegance, the mare took the plumpest carrot and nodded as she made fast work of eating it.

“Ah, yes,” Samantha murmured as she petted the horse and colt. “My beautiful babies. Yes, you are.”

It was her habit to talk softly to all her animals. Over the years she’d determined that it didn’t matter what she said, only how she said it. The horses responded to the sound of her voice. As she doled out carrots to the mare and colt, Samantha considered possible names for the baby.

Stroking the foal’s nose, she said, “You need a memorable handle, don’t you? You’re going to be a champion someday, and all great champions need catchy titles.”

The double doors to the paddock swung open just then. Jerome entered from outside, wielding a shovel to muck out the stall. As he set to work, he said, “You back on that again? Why don’t you choose a normal name for a change? Greased Lightning, maybe.”