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“You smell like a brewery, Ramsey. Maybe this chili will burn off the excess alcohol. Enjoy.” With one swift move, she shoved the dish into his stomach so hard he had to grab it or end up wearing the contents.
She ran from the room and out to her car without another word. Bo heard the crunch of gravel as she drove away.
He turned to Shorty. “What the hell was that all about?”
Shorty gave him a look sour enough to curdle milk. “You ought to know, boy.”
Bo carried the dish to the table, wishing he’d never made that phone call asking Shorty for help. He hated being a damn charity case.
“You shouldn’t have brought her here,” he grumbled. He uncovered the yellow bowl and inhaled deeply. His mouth watered at the tantalizing aroma of fiery spices. He’d always been a sucker for IdaJoy’s chili.
“Brought her here?” Shorty’s voice rose and two shaggy eyebrows peaked over dead-serious eyes that bored straight through Bo. “The way I see it, she brought me here. You took my truck and left me stranded, remember? And that’s a whole ’nother matter. Who said you were fit to drive yet?”
“I got back here okay, didn’t I?”
“Maybe,” Shorty conceded, “but don’t try it again.”
“Hhmmph.” Bo hated being treated like a ten-year-old. He pulled out the chair to sit down. Before he could blink, Shorty was right there, spoon in one hand and a glass of water in the other. His explanation was typically Shorty—gruff and to the point.
“Get used to it, boy. From now on, water or milk’s the drink around here. The choice is yours.”
The older man’s no-nonsense tone drew a tight smile from Bo. It had been a helluva long time since he’d been handed an ultimatum like that. A long time since anyone even cared. Well, he’d deal with Shorty and his rules just as soon as he finished eating. Right now, all he wanted was the chili. He picked up the spoon and dug in.
A volcano erupted inside his mouth the instant the first bite hit his tongue, lava-hot and scalding a path clear through to his unsuspecting stomach.
Bo let loose with a bellow and a string of colorful cuss words, sending Ditch scurrying out of the room. His chair toppled backward and his water glass went flying in his haste to reach the kitchen sink. Angling his head under the faucet, mouth wide open and swallowing frantically, he almost cried with relief as the gush of cold water tumbled down his scorched throat.
When the fire in his gut finally subsided, Bo shook his wet head, spit, sputtered and glared at Shorty through watery eyes. He was helpless to form his question into words. His tongue—shoot, his whole damn mouth—was numb.
“Oh, yeah,” Shorty said, poker-faced, as he bent to retrieve Bo’s water glass from the floor. “I think Abby might’ve added a few extra chili peppers.”
Twilight pulled the sun below the horizon, leaving behind a rosy haze that promised another hot night. The air hung like a wet curtain, heavy and unmoving. Mosquitos, buzzing lazily alongside an occasional lightning bug, flitted past the two men sitting on the long, covered porch. The tension between them was as thick as the air.
Bo slumped back in his chair, a glass of milk, compliments of guess-who, in one hand. Some nightcap. At least, it wasn’t flavored with chili peppers. Granted, he’d never been much of a drinker until the accident.
For the past two weeks, the two men had done nothing but argue about his newly acquired habit. Shorty nagged and Bo ignored. He wasn’t even sure why. It wasn’t like he thought the beer tasted good. He stretched out his legs and got ready for the argument he knew was sure to come. He wasn’t disappointed.
“I just cain’t figure you out, boy,” the old rancher began. “Ain’t like you to look to a bottle for answers. That never solved a problem yet.”
Bo grunted. “Save your sermons for the Sunday congregation, okay?” The sarcastic words spilling out of his mouth of their own accord tasted sour on his tongue, but he couldn’t pull them back for the life of him. Didn’t try. What the hell difference did it make anymore?
He hated being so damned dependent, but who would hire the likes of him now? He was about as useless as a bucket of warm spit. Until he could manage to walk without tottering like an old man, there wasn’t much he could do but sit on his backside and complain. He was getting to be an expert at that.
But Shorty wasn’t about to cut him any slack, it seemed.
“You’ve been back here nigh on two weeks now and so far, the only thing getting better is your leg, ’cause your attitude sure ain’t improving. It’s time you stopped wallowing in self-pity. I don’t aim to be wet-nursin’ you no more. Time for you to play the hand you been dealt, and get on with the game. Plain and simple.”
Bo muttered under his breath. Shorty was right, as usual. He knew his attitude sucked. He knew why, too. He just wasn’t ready to tell his friend the whole story. Not yet. There’d been a lot of things he’d meant to say the day Shorty picked him up from the therapy clinic, but the words had stuck in his throat. Hell, what do you say to the man who has just bailed you out of the hospital, chased the bill collectors from your door, and offered you a home without asking a single thing in return? “Thanks” just didn’t seem to cut it. And Shorty hadn’t even asked about Marla yet.
Marla. Shorty’s niece and the reason Bo had left Sweet River. The reason he’d left Abby Houston with a broken heart. Not to mention the damage he’d done to his own.
Ditch snored softly, his big head resting on Shorty’s boots, seemingly oblivious to any danger as his long tail darted back and forth underneath the chair’s wooden rocker. Every time Shorty rocked forward, the dog’s tail swished under and back, under and back, like a metronome with a mysterious timing device, never missing a beat.
Bo had been watching the dog’s laid-back attitude for the last half hour. “You ever catch his tail with that rocker?” he finally asked, pointing to Ditch.
“Nope.” Shorty kept on rocking. “Dog’s got more sense than most of us humans. Knows how to stay out of trouble, don’t back talk, and is a heap more grateful for small favors than most folks.”
Bo pushed out of his chair and shoved his hat back without giving a thought to the way it bared his face.
“Dammit, Shorty, I am grateful,” he said, plunking his glass so hard on the nearby wobbly metal table that Ditch thought it best to slink off to the other end of the porch. “There’s not a minute goes by that I don’t remember I’m in debt up to my eyeballs to you. Don’t you think I’m ashamed of the mess I made of things? You can’t begin to know how it really was.”
Shorty raised a shaggy eyebrow. “Then maybe it’s time you told me, son.”
The word son sucker punched him right in the gut. He couldn’t avoid the truth any longer. Especially not with the only man who had ever called him son.
Chapter Three
Pale morning light filtered through the open barn door, haloing the clock on the wall with dust motes. Abby glanced up wearily. Almost six o’clock and already the barn was hotter than a mouthful of jalapeños. The air hung heavy with the pungent smell of the horses. Hay, feed and freshly hauled manure combined in a uniquely familiar odor that Abby barely noticed.
She’d been out in the barn since four-thirty. At this rate, she’d have all the chores finished before Pop even woke up. Monday’s chores always seemed to take longer. She mopped her damp forehead with a frayed bandana and readjusted her baseball cap before tackling the last of the stalls.
Well, that’s what she wanted, wasn’t it? Dirty work. Hot, hard work. Any diversion to take her mind off last Saturday’s confrontation with Bo. Well, hot and hard wasn’t going to do it. Oh, yes, it would.
Knock it off with the fantasies. What on earth had she been thinking when she shoved that kicked-up chili at him? She’d reacted like a child in the throes of a temper tantrum. Nice going, girl. Real maturity.
She stabbed a forkful of new bedding straw and shook it over the clean floor, then made sure the last water trough was full. If she concentrated really hard, maybe she could keep her thoughts where they belonged—on the students that would be showing up in a few hours and not on the rush of emotions that kept her insides churning.
Since it was too soon to put the horses in the arena, Abby made her way to the large room at the back of the barn where the tack was kept. She smiled as she passed the horses. The animals’ objections had been very clear when she’d entered their stalls earlier. Her intrusion at such an early hour had definitely not been appreciated, but fresh oats and clean bedding quickly appeased their grumpiness.
“You are such sweeties,” she crooned, giving them each a loving caress as, one by one, they stuck their heads over the stall doors to greet her. Their whinnies and nickers made her heart swell with love. These docile creatures were her pride and joy. As senior citizens in Abby’s small equine community, the horses were patient beyond belief when it came to the students. Loving the attention they received, the animals were always eager to please and quick to respond to the sometimes timid commands of the novice riders. Somehow, they sensed their importance to the children. The uncanny communication between horse and student never ceased to amaze Abby, so she made pampering and indulging them a priority because—aside from the children—the horses were the most important part of her riding program.
Some had been donated by area ranchers. She had managed to convince a few local ranch owners that, even though the horses were too old to be of much use on a working ranch, they were invaluable to the special children who attended the Sweet River Riders group. Abby loved every one of the horses dearly and so did the few volunteers who showed up each day to complete her staff. The children adored the animals without reservation, and most of them had bonded quickly with a favorite.
In the long room where the tack was stored, Abby counted blankets, straightened the bump pads and lined up the helmets. While she sorted halters, reins, saddles and lead ropes, she thought back to when she had first begun her training to become a director of this worthwhile program.
She’d been drifting through the days in a zombielike state for those first few months after Bo had left Sweet River, nursing her hurt like a wounded animal. Humiliation kept her from leaving the ranch for anything other than business until a friend in Austin called her and urged her to volunteer at an equine therapy school. After two weeks, Abby knew she wanted to be an active participant, and that she wanted to direct a program of her own. The intensity of the instruction and the enormity of such an undertaking were welcome challenges, enabling her to focus her energies on something besides her shattered heart. The children needed her. And Abby sorely needed them.
Now, ironically, Shorty was insisting that Bo needed her. Well, she didn’t want to hear that and wasn’t about to be roped into feeling sorry for him. He had a wife. Let her do the honors. Hadn’t he chosen Marla over Abby and left Abby to face the sympathetic looks and whispers of the community all alone? Old anger reared its head again, triggered by the painful memory of rejection.
A sob tore from her lips and she swore under her breath at her inability to conquer the past. Disgusted, she lugged a box containing plastic spray bottles of waterless cleaner from the storage closet, slammed it down on the table, and counted out a dozen of them. With her eyes squeezed tight against the intruding sting of tears, she made a silent demand. Get out of my head, Bo, and stay away from my heart.
She plopped a stack of paper towels alongside the box and stepped back to make a quick visual check. Everything was in order and ready for the arrival of the twelve boys and girls. With six in each class, she could manage just fine. She was in control and darn well didn’t need Bo Ramsey around to complicate her life. Not now—not ever. But, bitterness still left a nasty aftertaste.
She slid the barn door shut and headed for the house, blocking out her heart’s cry of panic. Salty tears tracked her cheeks and she licked them from her lips. The man from her past might be back in Sweet River, but she refused to acknowledge the possibility that she might feel something besides sympathy for him. Absolutely not. She dashed the back of her hand across her eyes before she reached the kitchen door. Crying was so stupid!
“Breakfast is all ready, kitten.” Buck shoved a hot mat under the coffeepot and set it on the table. “You were already in the barn when I got up, so I figured you’d have chores done before I could get out there. Why didn’t you wake me?”
The delicious aroma of Buck’s dark roast coffee brewing, along with the sizzle of bacon and hotcakes on the griddle, met Abby as she entered the kitchen. The screen door slammed behind her.
“I woke up way too early, Pop. Besides, the hard work was good for me.” She gave him a good-morning kiss on his unshaven cheek and hurried to the bathroom to wash away the grime.
“Mmmmm, the pancakes smell delicious,” she called with forced cheerfulness. “Blueberry’s my favorite.” Hurriedly, she splashed cold water on her face, then pressed a wet washcloth on her eyes to eliminate the telltale redness and hopefully, to relieve her escalating headache.
By the time she returned to the kitchen, all evidence of her sudden, out-of-the-blue crying jag had been washed away. It would never do for Pop to know just how upset she was over Bo’s return. Pop’s health was her number one priority now, right along with keeping the school running in the black. Upsetting him would only add stress, and the doctor had warned her about that. His last checkup had shown a rise in his blood pressure, which surprised Abby, given her father’s even-tempered disposition.
“By the way,” her father said after he sat down. “Marsha called. She can’t help out today. Caleb’s got a tooth that needs to be pulled. With Jan gone to that quarter horse show in San Antonio, we’ll be two helpers short.” He poured syrup over his pancakes.
Abby frowned. “Darn, I hoped with you filling in for Jan, we wouldn’t have a problem. I don’t know who else I can ask on such short notice.” Would there ever be a time when she didn’t have some sort of crisis in her life? Lately it seemed she had to carry her share and everyone else’s, too. Shoot, she was turning into a first-class whiner.
She finished her coffee and pushed away from the table. “I’ll have to start calling around, but I don’t think it will be any use. The first group of kids will be here at nine. It’s after seven now.”
Buck rose and carried his plate to the sink. “What about that Kelly boy? He’s been hanging around the feed store since school got out, looking for work.”
“Does he know anything about horses?” Abby rinsed and stacked the dishes to put in the dishwasher later.
“One way to find out,” Buck said. “Pick up the phone.”
Abby’s headache grew from bitty-sized to mega-magnitude when Karl Kelly said, yep, he could sure use the work, and nope, he didn’t know much about horses but he reckoned he could learn.
She’d felt awful when she told him it was a nonpaying job and even worse when he sighed and said “Oh well, it don’t matter, Miss Abby. Pa’ll get a job one of these days.”
“Well,” Abby said thoughtfully, “I guess we could manage to pay you something.”
The amount she mentioned had Karl bubbling over with gratitude. When she hung up the phone, Abby knew she’d done the right thing. Replacing the dishwasher could wait a while longer. So could her car’s air conditioner.
“Teddie, good morning,” Abby called later from where she waited near the gate to the arena for the morning’s first arrivals. The youngster being led across the yard made no response. “Hello, Caroline.” She acknowledged the child’s mother with a wave.
The young woman returned the wave but the boy hung back, pulling against his mother’s hand. He was shaking his head, clearly not wanting to come any closer. His reluctance tugged at Abby’s heart. Six-year-old Teddie North was one of the first students signed up for the therapeutic riding program, yet his progress was much slower than the other students in his class. Abby was still trying to break through the barrier of his shyness. Trying to win his trust. With both legs recently out of heavy casts, Teddie struggled with his limitations. So far, the only one he trusted besides his mother was the little mare, Star—the one he loved to pet, but refused to ride.
Out of the corner of her eye, Abby saw Buck leading Star out of her stall. She smiled. Pop could always be counted on. Her heart swelled with love and admiration. Without him, her school would still be only a dream. Buck had supported and encouraged her through all the tough times. She would be forever grateful. The children and their needs had pulled her through the loneliness—after Bo. Somehow, Pop had known they would. She’d never blamed her father for their financial problems.
Star whickered and bobbed her head. Buck let her trot to the fence where Teddie and his mother stood on the opposite side. Blowing softly, the little mare pushed at the fence until Teddie poked his hand between the rails. Immediately, Star nudged it, lipping his small finger in a gentle welcome. Teddie’s face lit up, and his childish giggle made Abby smile.
She approached him hesitantly, speaking softly. “Do you think you’d like to try riding her today, Teddie?”
The look of panic on the boy’s face was so pronounced, Abby quickly turned away to hide her disappointment. Every day she hoped for a breakthrough to reach the youngster. Today wasn’t going to be the day, but she refused to give up hope.
She dug in her pocket for a carrot and handed it to Teddie. “Here, why don’t you give her this, instead? She likes it when you give her a treat.”
Teddie took the carrot and timidly stuck it through the fence, a cherubic grin appearing when Star nibbled out of his hand.
“I don’t know why he won’t try to ride,” Teddie’s mother said, keeping her voice low. “All he talks about all week is Star. He loves her, really he does.” She reached out to caress her son’s tiny shoulder, then moved her hand to tousle his hair.
Abby spoke reassuringly. “Star loves him, too, and someday he’ll ride. You’ll see.” She gave the little mare a pat on the rump, then excused herself to check on the arrival of the other students.
Thankfully, the Kelly boy had turned out to be a fast learner and a tremendous hit with all the students. Even Teddie seemed to trust him although he was still afraid of the horses and never went beyond the gate. Abby decided that Karl’s help was well worth giving up a new dishwasher.
After everyone had gone, Abby massaged the back of her neck, and fell into step beside Buck. “Why are Mondays always so long, Pop? Karl did all right, don’t you think? Are tuna sandwiches okay for lunch?”
Buck shortened his stride and put his arm around his daughter’s shoulder. “Which question do you want me to answer first?” His warm chuckle was as comforting as his embrace.
Abby gave him a tired smile. Her habit of asking more than two questions in a row was an old joke between them. Pop’s answer never varied. She leaned her head against his arm and sighed. “I guess I know the answers to two of them. Mondays are long because they just are, and Karl definitely did all right. I think he likes working with the students as well as the horses.”
Buck nodded. “And a tuna sandwich is fine. Yeah, Karl’s a good kid. I wish there was some way we could give him a regular salary to help out with chores. His folks are having a tough time getting by since his dad got laid off.”
“I decided to take some out of the money I’d been saving to fix the dishwasher, Pop. It’s not much but maybe we can have him come a few more times.”
“Well now, that’s just fine. I knew you’d figure something out.”
“But, we still have the veterinarian’s regular visit coming up, plus the bill at the feed mill is due by the end of the month.” Abby couldn’t help feeling overwhelmed at the increasing debts.
“Something’ll turn up,” Buck said, his optimism sincere. “It always does.” He gave her a reassuring squeeze, then moved to open the gate. They walked in silence across the yard toward the house.
The growl of a pickup interrupted their thoughts. “Looks like it already has,” she said.
Shorty’s ancient truck clattered across the cattle guard at the ranch entrance and bounced up the drive, stopping right next to where Buck and Abby stood.
Abby’s heart hiccuped and stuck in her throat the minute she caught sight of Bo sitting on the passenger side. She heard his familiar voice as she hurried past, but didn’t stop until she reached the porch.
“Of all the damned tricks…” Bo sputtered at the man behind the wheel when they stopped in front of the house. He’d figured out where Shorty was headed as soon as the truck veered off the main road and headed west on the farm-to-market route.
By the time they’d skirted town, Bo’s protests had escalated right along with his blood pressure, but his stubborn friend ignored him with a possum-like smirk and kept on driving. That irritated the hell out of him, too.
“I’m not getting out,” he declared, crossing his arms over his chest and settling back in the seat. He glared at Shorty.
When he spied Abby coming from the corral, he yanked his hat down. He could almost feel the daggers shooting at him from Buck Houston’s angry eyes. He should’ve been suspicious when Shorty told him he’d found something for Bo to do. No way was he taking charity from the Houstons. Besides, the horses he glimpsed as they drove in looked like geriatric throwaways. They sure couldn’t require much more than a green pasture and a clean stall. Any kid could do that.
“Quit being a jackass,” was all Shorty had time to say before Buck walked around to the driver’s side and stuck his hand through the window.
“Hey, Shorty, good to see you.”
“You, too, Buck,” the older man said as they shook hands.
“Bo,” Buck muttered with a slight nod. He withdrew his hand.
“Houston,” Bo replied, curling his fingers in a tight fist. Well, damned if I need your handshake.
“Something special bring you out this way, Shorty?”
Buck still stood at the side of the truck, but Bo knew the man’s gaze was focused on him. Abby stood on the porch steps, obviously waiting to see what would happen next. He wasn’t quite sure what Shorty’s plans were, but he was positive no one around here was going to like them. Especially him.
“I got something I’d like to talk to you about, Buck.” Shorty moved to open the truck door.
“Sure,” Buck said. He jerked his thumb toward the porch. “Come on up. I’ll have Abby bring us something cold to drink.”
“Well…” Shorty hesitated. “I was thinking maybe somewhere more private.”
“Oh. Well, all right.” Buck started toward the barn. “We’ll be out of the sun in here.”
