Of Hoof Prints and Heartbeats

Chapter 4

4

With eyes half-closed, Sam noticed the rainbow of colors that were held within each of the bubbles that covered her from shoulders to toes. Sighing, she slipped a little lower in the tub, the warm, scented water easing over her skin. It wasn’t the hours in the saddle, or even the acts of vandalism that had been afflicted on Crystal Springs that had her muscles in knots, but rather the worry over the disappearance of a friend and the subsequent scene they had found that morning.

She didn’t bother to wipe away the tears that slid over her cheeks, dripped off her jaw, and disappeared into the bath water. Like her sister Carli, Sam believed crying was something reserved for extreme situations. Finding Uncle Joe warranted this reaction, she consoled herself. Besides, it wasn’t like there was anyone here to witness her breakdown.

That thought brought another sigh. It would be simple to call or text the request that she needed him, and Cole would be here. Tempting, she thought and briefly eyed her phone that sat on the closed toilet lid. Comfort from Cole wouldn’t end at a hug and a willing ear. Not that he would pressure or seduce her, but in her weakened and emotionally wrecked state she knew she would ask for what he would readily give her. s*x with Cole was one thing, albeit an incredible, explosive experience, but something she would regret when he left afterwards. And he would leave. It would be an uncomfortable situation for both of them. She would blame herself for giving in, her love-starved heart triggering possibilities that could never occur. And Cole, trying to do the right thing and not wanting to hurt her, again, would withdraw emotionally before he made it out her front door. No, she decided, it was better this way, just her and the bubbles and the cooling bathwater. She relaxed her head back on the rolled towel sitting on the edge of the tub. As her eyes closed, the memory arose in her mind.

She nodded, a wide smile on her face, unable to verbalize an answer to Cole’s question. Yes, she wanted to be his girlfriend, and had dreamt about him asking her since her stay at Crystal Springs over Spring Break of her freshman year in high school. It was now the third week of July, and there was time remaining before she had to return to Wyoming for her sophomore year. A day didn’t go by that she had forgotten how lucky she was to spend the hot summer months riding horses and being with Cole.

The first press of his lips was everything she had expected. Soft, warm, spicy, and attached to the one boy who already owned her heart. He pulled her gently into his embrace, and she went willingly, feeling the fit of their bodies and realizing that this brought a whole new level to the thrill she usually felt when they met. His taste and texture were new to her, as she had never kissed anyone before, or at least French kissed anyone. She wasn’t afraid, only curious. The trust she felt was not something that scared her, and it wouldn’t be for a couple of years that she would experience the pain of him leaving her.

Sam shook her head and rose out of the now cooled bath. She must be really tired to remember such innocence, the pure, true love that had blossomed between them that summer, only to leave them both broken-hearted and bereft after the event.

Scowling at her thoughts, she released the plug then wrapped a thick towel around herself as she stepped from the tub. Tucking one corner under the edge of the towel between her breasts, she bent over the sink to brush her teeth, then spread silky lotion over her face. She pulled the clip from her hair and let the dark blonde locks fall. The ends danced across her low back, and her bangs fluffed over her forehead. When the image of Cole kissing her for the first time lingered in her mind, she stuck out her tongue at her reflection, flicked off the light, and padded her way to the bed. Dropping the towel on the floor, she slid between cool sheets. Once she had curled onto her side, she was grateful she had left her phone in the bathroom. Less temptation to press the number in her contacts and give in to the demands of her overheated body and fatigued mind. She resolutely closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep.

Ten o’clock. Final bed check. With hands interlaced behind his head and ankles crossed, Carl Rutgers stared up at the ceiling above the narrow bed where he had slept for the past ten years. He knew every crack and shadow, had memorized the outline of the stain that had begun to seep through the thin coat of paint. It was a stain that appeared a few hours after Hurricane Juan was downgraded to a tropical storm, but still managed to dump an impressive amount of water on the high-security prison and Colorado after its northeasterly turn from the Sea of Cortez. The rusty discoloration had begun to take on the likeness of his most prized possession.

Samantha Tanner, with her pretty hazel eyes and blonde hair the color of wheat stalk, had been his favorite. Remembering the softness of her skin, her scent that was concentrated just below her ear, the way she pleaded with him for her release, all created havoc in his body then, just as it was doing now. He had no cellmate from which to hide the evidence of his ever-present desire for the one who had been taken from him. It would be too easy, too predictable, to slip his hand inside the zipper of his light-blue jumpsuit and try to pretend that his rough fingers would in any way resemble the soft, wet heat he knew Samantha would be.

He didn’t acknowledge the guard that passed by the front of his cell, but instead chose to imagine the left edge of the stain as the fall of Samantha’s hair. Welcoming the tightness in his groin, Carl played the conversation in his head that they would have when they met again. Oh, she would be surprised to see him and would question how he had managed an early release, and he would reassure her that this time the FBI wouldn’t interrupt them. He was still angry that the wealthy Mr. Tanner was willing to pay, but the authorities convinced him that if he did, he wouldn’t see his daughter again. It would have been enough to keep Samantha in the style in which she had grown accustomed, and one that would assure him he could secure her against any outside threat.

Allowing just a little anxiety to mix with his denied libido, Carl smiled as he counted the days. The time was close. The lights were shut down, and with his cell plunged into near darkness, his smile widened, and a chuckle escaped. Unwilling to continue with the restraint, he slid a hand over his stomach to his erection as it pressed against the confines of his prison attire. Rubbing himself through the thin fabric, he laughed at the expression that would show on Samantha’s face as he officially made her his. He imagined her begging words, which made him laugh louder, as he intended to f**k her raw, and possess her soul.

Donald and Dorothy, his wife, had excused themselves from the long table set up in the yard where everyone had shared the meal in celebration of a day’s work, to return to their small home a half-mile from the main ranch house, but still on the JAR-C. All the cattle had successfully been transferred to the late summer pasture with no injuries to livestock or cowboy. One horse lost a shoe, which was almost not worth mentioning compared to what could have occurred if the weather had been stormy. The two ranch hands who had pulled KP had buckets of soapy water and began to clean up from what Alice and Dorothy had cooked. Steak, of course, cowboy beans, cornbread, and peach cobbler made with the season’s last harvest had been devoured among good-natured jokes and tales of the day and previous drives.

Besides the dishwashers, no one else was left at the table, except Cole and Alice. He watched her carefully as she sipped her iced tea. The wrist, newly mended, rested on the table in front of her. At sixty-five, Alice was still trim, her five-foot seven-inch stature unbowed by the weight of becoming a Branson or living the ranching life. The skin of her face was still soft, though laugh lines on her cheeks and furrows on her forehead from worry didn’t detract from the wisdom in her blue eyes. Her once black hair she had lightened over time, partially to hide the gray strands that had snuck in to give away her age. She dressed well and continued to be active in the community, giving to charities and heading up committees involved in everything from festivals to clothing drives. Her practicality when it came to running the ranch, her tenacity to keep living despite losing her husband and caring for a disabled son, and her outgoing, helpful manner had won her many friends in Southwestern Colorado.

Cole brought his bottle of beer to his lips and stalled a moment longer as the cold beverage slid down his throat. How did one go about telling their mother that she was a liar?

“Remember when I was at the awkward age of ten,” he began, “and I was growing fast and couldn’t seem to keep up with my arms and legs?”

Alice chuckled. “Sure. You seemed to grow every day. But I would never use the word ‘awkward’ to describe anything about you.”

With a half-smile, Cole shook his head. “I remember, for a few years around that time, something was always hurting because I banged it or scraped it, not used to moving around body parts that seemed to lengthen and widen overnight. I think I finally found a little grace about sixteen.”

“And that’s when you fell in love with Samantha Tanner.” As Cole’s smile faded and his laughing eyes grew serious, Alice’s voice gentled. “When are you going to allow yourself to heal? Cole, honey,” she implored, leaning forward and placing her hand on his, “you were young. What happened to Sam was not your fault.” She watched as Cole gritted his teeth, then turned his gaze away from her to stare at the trees that lined the driveway. “You know she doesn’t blame you,” Alice continued. “She loved you then, and I’ll bet every bale of hay and ear tag on the JAR-C that she loves you still. No one has anything to forgive, except you and your misplaced pride.”

Cole slid his hand out from under hers. His eyes, usually an icy blue, now a stormy gray, swung back to her face. “If I had been there to give her a ride home instead of hanging at the diner with the rest of the rodeo team, Rutgers never would have snatched her. And if I hadn’t been such a damn coward, the aftermath wouldn’t have been as traumatic.” He shifted the bench back and stood up. Stepping over the bench with one booted foot, he paused at his mother’s words.

“If not then, Rutgers would have grabbed her another time. For God’s sake, Cole, you were eighteen. There was nothing we could have taught you to prepare you to handle Samantha when the FBI rescued her from that crazed man. But I did teach you forgiveness. Living with Jack forced me to be a damn good practitioner, or lose my mind,” she said the last part more for her benefit than Cole’s.

His eyes narrowed as he looked at her over his shoulder. “You and Dad were in love—”

“But he was a hard man. You know that. And after Robert’s accident…” her voice trailed off as a thoughtful expression settling across her features. “I never realized it before now. Jack blamed himself for Robert’s condition and never forgave himself for allowing his son to be hurt.” She shook her head and refocused on Cole. “You are doing the same thing with Sam.”

He stepped his other foot over the bench and turned fully toward her. “I may harbor blame, but at least I haven’t ostracized my family and friends.” And I don’t despise my youngest son for his perfect health, he finished silently.

It was Alice’s turn to clamp her jaw shut. Life with Jack had been difficult at times, but after Robert’s prognosis, he turned downright impossible to live with. She had done all she could to buffer Jack from dealing with everyone and everything, as he seemed incapable of conversing in a normal way or taking care of the ranch without alienating business acquaintances and employees. Words were laced with sarcasm, and a simple directive to a ranch hand was delivered with cutting remarks and threats. Her husband was hurting, but his pride refused to allow him to let go of his hopes for Robert’s recovery. He continued to hold misplaced responsibility for the accident. The pain was turned inward and had rotted the man’s soul.

Those last years were etched clearly in her memory. She had lost two of her men to the same incident, distanced the third, and she would be damned if she would allow Cole to waste his life and become the bitter, hateful man his father had chosen to be. Cole had a good heart. Always had. She knew he was still in love with Sam, and if she had to do a little finagling to save him from himself, then she would. Dropping her eyes to the table to hide her plan, knowing Cole could read her well, she remained quiet as he turned and stalked away.

Five steps from the table, he paused. He didn’t think it was beyond her to realize he was going to confront her about her injuries, and so she had manipulated the conversation into territory they never discussed. Sighing heavily, he moved to turn back toward his mother when his cell vibrated at his waist. Seeing the incoming number as belonging to the office in Chicago, he raised his eyes to her and spoke sternly.

“I have to take this call, which is the only reprieve you’ll get to devise another lie to explain your injuries. I’m not buying the one about the tumble off the steps. I did that plenty and never got anything beyond a bruise or a scraped knee.” He held her gaze a moment longer, bringing the phone to his ear. Turning away to hide his smile at her narrowed eyes that he had realized her untruth, he greeted his assistant and listened to the latest list of items he needed to tend to.

Councilman Ted Worthington rolled his head from side to side in an effort to relieve the stiff muscles in his neck. Studying demographics and reports was not his favorite part of the job, but if he wanted to win this election, it was necessary that he enter each debate armed with knowledge and presented every speech with the most accurate data. Spinning around in his office chair, he looked up at the portable bulletin board and his most current project.

Hoofbeats of America would be an exclusive resort property. The wild horses would attract visitors from around the world. Asia especially had an affinity for the Wild West. Tourists from all over would pay handsomely for the experience to see the horses and ride among them. The resort would also offer a package for the ownership of one of the mustangs. Humans were forever entranced by novelty.

His disappointment over losing the property in Wyoming still stung. It was possible that this project would bring in the funds he needed to hit the campaign trail hard beginning this month in order to keep him in the lead in the polls. Once the property was acquired, his investors would receive the finalized marketing materials that were already compiled, and his bank account would once again be flush.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the ringing of his desk phone. A scowl marred his handsome features as he recognized the number. He leaned forward, contemplating not answering. It had been a while since he had heard from the caller, so perhaps this was the news he had been waiting for.

“I told you not to use this line,” he said as a greeting.

“Sure, boss. Just thought you would like to hear the news first. You know, before the media hounds got wind of it and beat me out of my paycheck.”

“What do you know?”

“The trial date has been set for Monday. The defense and the DA have settled on the jury. The docket landed with Judge Miriam Crawford. If you want, I can see about getting the jury information,” the caller offered.

Worthington leaned back and sighed. A woman judge might prove more sympathetic to Darla’s case. If the jury decided to return a guilty verdict, and Darla had to do some time, then his current project in Colorado might be in jeopardy. He cursed his involvement with the woman.

“Not yet. If there’s jury tampering, it would lead to a delay and more of a chance of Ms. Tanner forgetting our arrangement and explaining to the DA our relationship.”

“You got it, boss. Anything else you need me to take care of?” The toothpick that was held between coffee-stained teeth was switched from one side of the mouth to the other in benign impatience.

“No. The funds are transferred,” Worthington said, tapping the keys on his computer. “I’ll contact you if I need more assistance in evicting the residents.”

“Sure thing,” the caller spoke with confidence built from a lifetime of offering what few others could.

Ted hung up the phone and glanced at his watch. It was late. Rose, his wife, would already be in bed. Knowing she would be more amiable to a romp between the sheets if he woke her now than if he carefully planned a seduction, he grabbed his jacket, turned off the lights, and locked the door behind him.