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Her father regarded these attempts at independence as indications of Olivia’s immaturity. He called her impulsive and naive, and made her feel foolish and none too intelligent. At the same time, he said he loved her and wanted to protect her.
Maybe that’s why Olivia couldn’t hate him, even when he made her feel so inadequate. He truly believed he was saving her as he had been unable to save her mother. The people who had kidnapped Leila had been hired to work here at the ranch. Roger had trusted them, let them into his family’s lives, and they had betrayed him. Since then his vigilance had never wavered. It never would.
Once more Olivia found she couldn’t breathe.
“Are you okay?”
Glancing up to meet Mary’s concerned gaze, Olivia managed to draw in and release a breath. “I’m just…excited…”
“Of course you are.” Smiling, Mary turned toward the corner where a shimmering dress of satin and tulle hung in front of a three-paneled mirror. “Tomorrow, you’ll wear your mother’s dress, walk down the aisle at the church, dance at the reception at the country club, and you’ll be the most beautiful bride Austin has ever seen. Mr. Roger and Mr. Marshall will be so proud. Those people downstairs will never forget you.”
Yes, she would be memorable. As Roger Franklin’s daughter. Marshall Crane’s bride. They would never know Olivia Kay Franklin. No one was allowed to know her. She wasn’t even sure she knew herself.
Puddin’ gave a startled yip just as the door banged open. Roger Franklin strode into the room, and the dog leaped to the floor to greet him.
Olivia’s father wasn’t a tall man. No more than average height, he was stout of build and not handsome by any stretch of imagination. His red hair, which Olivia had inherited, had gone gray at the temples. His brown eyes, also like hers, flashed in a face unremarkable of feature. But what Roger Franklin lacked in looks, he made up for in presence. He exuded power, confidence and strength.
As was often the case, Olivia resisted an impudent temptation to salute him. “Hello, Father.”
“You should be downstairs.”
“I know.”
“Then why aren’t you?”
“I needed to get away for a few minutes.”
“Marshall wants you at his side.”
“Does he?” Hard as she tried, Olivia could not keep the sarcasm out of her voice. Once she might have been pleased to think she was needed at her fiancе’s side, but now that charade seemed foolish.
Her father lifted an eyebrow. “Is there something wrong, Olivia?”
Only everything, she wanted to say. But what would that prove? Instead, she shook her head.
At Roger’s feet, Puddin’ jumped and yapped, begging for his attention. Olivia had seen her father indulge her pampered pet, who was not the least bit intimidated by the man, but now he snapped, “Could you make her hush, Olivia?”
She picked up the dog, but Puddin’ continued to whimper, her soulful black eyes fastened on Roger.
He sighed wearily. “Olivia, you should return to our party, especially since I need to step away for a while.”
“Something wrong?”
He made an impatient gesture with one hand. “The breeder who is buying Royal Pleasure just arrived.”
Mention of one of her favorite mounts sent a pang through Olivia. “Must you sell her?”
“She served her purpose.”
The prize-winning Tennessee Walker had produced two colts sired by the cream of the Franklin stable. Now she was going to the highest bidder. Olivia felt a distinct kinship to the beautiful horse, who had no say in her own fate.
“Can’t the breeder just deal with Jake?” Olivia asked, referring to her father’s foreman. “Or wait until after the party?”
“You know I take care of these things myself. And there’s no reason to wait. The breeder can be on his way with Royal Pleasure first thing in the morning.”
“Of course,” she murmured, feeling silly. Her father made his own deals, operated strictly hands-on, in control, on his own schedule. It had been suggested that he would be even richer, his company even more successful, if he would loosen the reins a bit. He scoffed at such suggestions.
“Come down to the party,” Roger commanded.
“Just let me touch up my makeup.”
Her father nodded, scowled down at Puddin’ and reluctantly reached out and patted the dog’s head. Shivers of delight erupted in the tiny dog’s body.
Dryly Roger observed, “She’s coating you in dog hair.”
Glancing with dismay at her sheer white blouse, Olivia felt sixteen instead of twenty-three.
Roger started to turn away, then paused. His voice deepened. His harsh features softened somewhat. “You know you look like your mother tonight. Very lovely.”
Olivia swallowed hard. She knew she was nothing like her elegant, blond mother, and couldn’t imagine why her father mentioned any resemblance.
He continued, “She would be happy about this wedding. Just as I am. Marshall can take care of you.”
Words stuck in Olivia’s throat. The thought of being taken care of for the rest of her life was too terrible for comment.
Her father seemed to take her silence as agreement, for he nodded and strode out of the room.
Olivia sank down on the edge of the bed, anger pounding inside her.
I have to get out of here. I have to escape.
Puddin’s protests and Mary’s voice gradually penetrated the shouting in Olivia’s brain.
“You must go,” Mary murmured, regarding her with concern. “Go.”
Slowly Olivia released her dog and looked up at her longtime nanny. “Yes,” she agreed. “I must go.”
She wasn’t talking about returning to the party.
“Here, pretty lady. That’s right. Right here.” Noah Raybourne sighed his approval as he ran a hand down the mare’s sleek, ebony coat. Royal Pleasure stomped her front legs and turned her regal head toward him, her breath rising like a cloud in the cool morning air.
The grizzled Franklin ranch boss, Jake Keneally, scratched his beard. “It’s almost as if she knows you.”
“Maybe she recognizes family.”
Jake peered at him in puzzlement.
“Her mama’s sire belonged to my father,” Noah explained, stroking the mare’s velvety nose. “Carmen’s Best Boy was born and bred on Raybourne Farms. He was named for my mother.”
“I knew the horse,” Jake replied. “But he belonged to a breeder over toward Dallas.”
Familiar anger tightened Noah’s gut. “My stepfather sold him out from under us.”
The ranch boss apparently had enough firsthand knowledge of troubles to keep from prying. He grunted and gave Royal Pleasure a loving stroke of his own. “I won’t say I’m glad to see this beauty leave us, but it’s good to hear she’s going where she’ll be appreciated.”
“That she will.” Noah took Royal Pleasure’s lead and walked her toward his horse trailer, talking gently to her all the while.
With a minimum of fuss, she was loaded aboard the white trailer emblazoned with an ornate R in black script.
Noah tossed his duffel bag on the front seat of his truck and turned to shake Jake’s hand. “Thanks for your help. I especially appreciate the grub and the comfortable bed last night.” He gestured toward the camper on his truck bed. “More than a few nights in this thing can get pretty old.”
With a final wave, Noah swung into the driver’s seat and was on his way. The sun, though not yet visible, was lighting the eastern horizon as he stopped at the gate. A uniformed guard, different from the man he had seen last night, stepped up to the window with a clipboard in hand. “Hello, Mr. Raybourne. Jake called to say you were headed out.”
“You folks take security seriously round here, don’t you?” Noah commented with a smile.
The guard gave him a steady, measuring look. “Mr. Franklin is pretty clear about how he wants things handled.”
“I’m sure he is.” Noah imagined Roger Franklin was crystal clear about all matters affecting his family, his business and holdings.
The guard made a notation on his clipboard, then stepped back and studied the truck and trailer for a moment. Apparently reassured there was no reason to conduct a search, he opened the automatic gate and waved Noah through.
The whole operation amused Noah. He understood that a rich man might have some security concerns, but this place was set up like a fortress. Maybe the extra precautions were in place because of that big party they had last night. Jake had told him Franklin’s daughter was getting married today.
Peering at the golden glow on the horizon and at the sky, which was changing from gray to blue, Noah muttered, “Looks like beautiful weather for a wedding.” He met his own gaze in the rearview mirror. “Sure hope it goes better than mine.”
If things had gone as planned, he and Amy would have celebrated their third anniversary a couple of weeks ago. Noah’s mother had blamed the passage of that date on the foul mood that had gripped him of late. She was wrong, Noah told himself. He was well and truly over Amy. He had gotten beyond being left at the altar. Only rarely did he think about having to walk out into that church and announce to everyone that the girl he loved had changed her mind about hitching her star to a struggling horse breeder whose only debt-free asset was the fire burning in his belly.
Realizing he gripped the steering wheel with undue force, Noah made himself relax. Maybe his mother was right, after all. Perhaps his foul mood wasn’t just the result of too much work and worry. He had been thinking about Amy. Her engagement to a successful Nashville businessman was announced last month. The news had started Noah questioning himself. Had what Amy wanted really been so wrong?
Before they were to marry, she had asked Noah to sell a half interest in his operation to her father. The capital would have provided Noah with the means to rebuild much of the farm and breeding business his irresponsible stepfather had tried to destroy. The money would also have allowed them to redo the farmhouse and live in the sort of comfort to which Amy was accustomed.
But Noah had wanted them to rebuild the farm themselves, as a team, working as his parents once had and as his grandparents before them. Though he knew Amy’s father to be a good, honest man, he was fearful of letting an outsider have any say in the farm his grandfather had founded and his father had run so successfully. The only other outsider to interfere in Raybourne Farms had almost ruined it. Noah couldn’t do what Amy asked.
She had called him a pigheaded, prideful fool, and they had argued. But he had still believed she loved him and intended to go through with the wedding. He had underestimated her fears about living on the limited means he had to offer. After all the other embarrassment his family had endured in the community, Noah still couldn’t believe she had left him standing at the altar. But she had.
Her willingness to humiliate him in such a public way should have Noah thanking his lucky stars to have escaped marriage to her.
But on those days when he worked his body to weary numbness, when he faced a lonely night at home, when he awoke to an empty bed, Noah wasn’t so sure he was lucky.
Struggling to clear the clouds of regret from his brain, he turned onto the main highway, heading east, toward home. He was going to avoid the high speeds of the interstate, keep to the secondary highways and stop as often as possible to stretch Royal Pleasure’s legs. That beauty was an integral part of his plans for Raybourne Farms. She had cost him the better part of his bank balance, and he wasn’t taking any chances with her.
The sun was fast revealing the East Texas landscape. He shook his head. Some people might find this land appealing, but he’d take the rolling green meadows of Middle Tennessee any day.
He rested his elbow on the open window. A squeak sounded from behind. Followed by another. And still another. He eased up on the accelerator and leaned back, listening intently, then peered in the side mirror for signs of trouble with the trailer. He saw nothing.
Once more Noah relaxed and began to whistle.
Hours passed before the squeak returned. Then grew in volume. And Noah recognized the sound for what it was—the insistent yapping of a dog.
“What the hell?” He carefully eased the truck and trailer off the road, got out and hurried around to throw open the door at the back of the truck.
He heard a shout of warning.
Something small and furry bounced against his chest, sending him stumbling against the trailer. Then something else barreled past Noah. It was a boy…no, those breasts and that rounded rear end were most definitely feminine. They belonged to a young woman. She was dressed in jeans, T-shirt and baseball cap and was calling, “Puddin’, you stupid dog. Puddin’! Come here.”
Noah straightened in time to peer around the truck and see the dog relieve itself in a patch of grass beside the road.
“Oh, Puddin’,” the young woman crooned. Two long, red braids escaped from her cap as she stooped to stroke the little mutt’s head. “I’m sorry, girl. I know you couldn’t hold it another minute.”
The dog barked up at her mistress, then raced around her and made straight for Noah. Looking like an animated ball of long, silky fur, she circled his boots, fussing at him in her squeaky, high-pitched bark.
Noah looked from dog to woman and back again. At any minute he expected a video camera to emerge from around the trailer and some smarmy TV personality to announce he was the subject of an elaborate scheme.
Instead, the young woman tugged on the brim of her baseball cap and darted nervous glances toward the highway, where a car swished past.
Noah began, “Who the hell are—”
The young woman cut him short by grabbing her dog and ducking between the trailer and the camper to the other side of the truck. “Let’s get off the road!”
Noah had little choice but to follow. On the other side he caught hold of her arm. “What were you and this…” He glared at the dog, who peered up at him through its long hair, some of which was held back by silly, girlish hair bows. Useless creature, Noah thought, before returning to his demand, “What were you and this dog doing in my trailer?”
The stowaway offered a senseless explanation about mistaking his camper for her own, falling asleep and awakening when the dog started barking.
“You’ll have to do better than that. What are you up to?” His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Have you done something to my horse?”
He set her away from him and stalked around to throw open the doors to the spacious trailer. It made no sense that she could have gotten from the trailer to the camper without his knowledge, but he had to check.
Royal Pleasure whinnied and danced around a bit, but otherwise seemed just fine. Noah patted her reassuringly, then exited the trailer, eager for the explanation the redhead owed him. To his surprise she was hightailing it through the weeds beside the road, heading for a stand of trees nearby.
He was tempted to let her go. She had obviously been up to no good, stowing away in his camper like some little thief. She probably was a thief. The possibility made his blood run cold. Right now, she probably had something that belonged to Roger Franklin, a man who had his home barricaded like a castle keep. A man who might assume Noah was the real thief or in cahoots with her.
“Hey,” Noah shouted as he sprinted after her. “You come back here.”
She darted a glance over her shoulder but kept moving, her dog barking up a storm in her arms.
Overtaking her took only a few moments. She was such a little thing, Noah brought her to a halt simply by catching the hem of her T-shirt.
Brought round to face him, she pleaded, “Please just let me go. I didn’t hurt anything. I just needed a ride.”
“You needed to sneak off the Franklin ranch.” Noah anchored her in place with a firm grip on her shoulders. “What are you running from?”
Her brown-eyed gaze wouldn’t quite meet his. “I just had to get out of there.”
“Why? What’d you steal?”
“Steal?” she sputtered. “You think I’m a thief?”
“Why else would you be running away like this?”
