The Bull Rider's Cowgirl

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Legal guardian? The old man must’ve overlooked that detail when he signed off on the document. There was no way Colt was fit to be any kid’s guardian. Especially Meg’s.

“That’s got to be a mistake.” He held up a hand. “There’s no way... I can’t—”

“I figured as much.” Jack straightened. “I’ve already made arrangements with the school. She stays there during the week. Your father and Rachel had her picked up on weekends, though they didn’t always hang around to greet her when she arrived. People are paid to do that, and God knows, it costs enough. The headmistress has agreed to board her full-time at the end of next week. Right after spring break. There’s a nanny and enough staff here to meet her needs until then.” He gestured to the stack of papers on the desk. “Once you sign these documents, your grandmother will take over responsibility for her. Thank God money matters to most people. Otherwise, Margaret would end up being a worthless aggravation. As it is, money’s the only thing that’s going to ensure a solid future for her.”

Colt’s legs grew weak and his shoulders sagged.

Jack smiled, flashing bright white teeth. “Aw, buck up, boy. You’ll be back to groping bulls and beauties in no time.”

“That’s enough.”

Jen’s voice, quiet but firm, sounded at Colt’s back. She stood in the entrance, pulling the doors closed and fixing her eyes on Jack.

“Margaret’s right down the hall,” she said. “This place echoes like a museum and your voice carries.”

Jack’s smile morphed into a slow grin as his gaze drifted over Jen. “You must’ve changed course, Colt. Don’t think you picked this one up in Podunk. Though I doubt you found her in Tuxedo Park, either.”

Colt stiffened, his skin prickling.

Jack held out a hand. “Charmed.”

Jen made no move to take it. “I’m not.”

Jack’s eyes flared and he cut a look at Colt. “Fiery piece of ass, is she?”

The crack as his fist met Jack’s face was enough to sharpen Colt’s focus. Jen yanked at his biceps, attempting to dislodge his grip from around Jack’s neck.

“Let him go, Colt.” Jen’s low words barely overcame the roaring in his ears.

His gut heaved on a renewed surge of pain and disgust. For his dead father. For the ambitious fool stretched across the desk beneath him. And for himself.

“Colt.” Jen sobbed, her mouth moving against the skin of his neck. “Please. Margaret could come in. You want her to see this?”

A wave of remorse flooded him. Colt let Jack go, hanging his head.

“I might be no one out there.” Colt struggled to suck in air, lungs stinging just as they did every time he conquered a bull in the arena. “But in here, I own you.” His eyes burned as he glared at Jack’s crumpled form. “Now get the hell out.”

Jack turned over, braced his palms on the desk and struggled to a standing position. He cupped a hand over his nose. Blood seeped between his fingers, trickling over his smile and onto his tie.

“You might not have a taste for money, Colt, but you sure as hell have one for power.” Jack laughed, wincing as the sound left his lips. “You’re more like your father than you think.”

Colt froze.

The doors closed behind Jack with a sharp click.

Jen touched his back. “Colt—”

He jerked away, moving on weak legs to the window and almost choking on the words tearing from his throat. “Margaret heard? Everything?”

“No,” she said. “But more than you would’ve wanted her to.”

And more than he’d have wanted Jen to hear, too.

Colt cringed, looking away from her faint reflection in the glass and down at the extensive grounds below him. The pristine gardens, sparkling pool and spacious tennis court were all beautiful. But barren and lifeless. Just like John W. Mead.

You’re more like your father than you think.

Colt sucked his teeth. To hell with Jack Evans and his arrogant declarations. Colt was nothing like his father. And never would be.

“We’re leaving,” he growled. “Right after the funerals tomorrow.”

The words were easy. They rolled off his tongue with finality. But they left a hollow in his gut. One that made him wonder if he could actually follow through.

What kind of man would leave a little girl behind? Allow her to fade into empty surroundings, forgotten and unseen?

Colt frowned, stilling his thoughts and avoiding the answer. But it whispered through his mind just the same.

Men like Jack Evans. Men like John W. Mead.

Chapter Four (#u68137953-2a46-5392-ae76-442d22395b41)

Jen had never seen so much green in her life. It covered everything.

“Perfect.” Mac, an older stable hand with a kind face and friendly voice, propped his hands on his hips. “Absolutely perfect.”

“Yeah,” Jen breathed.

She glanced around, taking in the sprawling acres of lush grass and the thick lines of trees forming a boundary on both sides of the wide pasture. If there was ever a paradise for horses, the riding grounds on the Mead estate were it.

“He fast?”

Jen glanced at Mac, squinting through the sharp rays of late afternoon sunlight. “What?”

“Your horse.” He jerked his chin toward the field where Diamond had been frolicking for the past hour, pearl hide flashing through a sea of green. “He’s a fine specimen. But is he fast?”

She cocked a brow and grinned. “What do you think?”

Mac chuckled, his leathery cheeks lifting and white teeth gleaming. “I think if we let those pampered ponies out of the stable, he’d trample ’em just on principle.”

Jen laughed with him, dropping her head back and soaking up the fading warmth of the day. It’d been nice to get out of that marbled mansion for a few hours. Colt’s father’s estate was void of any true warmth. Only cold corners and empty hallways could be found in that monster of a house.