“Whoa there, partner. What’s your name?” Sam caught the kid’s belt loops just in time.
“Davy.” He struggled against her grip.
Sam couldn’t help but smile at the freckle-faced kid. A toy water gun stuck in the waistband of his jeans and dirt smeared across his sunburned forehead. How many times as a child had she probably looked the same, playing in the yard between chores? Her anger cooled like a hot branding iron dunked in water and she ruffled the boy’s already mussed hair. “You can’t go in the paddock with the horses, Davy. They might step on you.”
Davy crossed his arms and glared a challenge at her. “My ball went in and they’re not stepping on it.”
Sam’s grin faded at the sarcastic logic. “Park it. I’ll get it for you.” She shot him a warning look before she easily scaled the fence and jogged toward the black-and-white ball. She rolled it to him and hopped back over into the yard. Davy scooped up the ball and took off without even a thank you.
Sam’s annoyance doubled as she led Diego into the cool shadows of the barn, the familiar scent of hay and leather doing little to ease her aggravation. She secured the gelding and forked over a fresh bale of hay, then yanked a halter from its peg and headed for Wildfire’s stall. If this was still an operating breeding ranch, there wouldn’t be little terrors running around scaring the horses while their dads flirted with her mother. Sam’s father died only two years ago, and this was the way they honored his memory? By catering to city greenhorns and risking the welfare of their livestock? Tears pricked her eyelids, and Sam roughly brushed away the moisture. Cowgirls don’t cry, her dad always said. They get back on the horse and keep riding.
But Sam’s dad never told her what to do when he wasn’t there to give her a leg up.
A horn honked from the parking lot near the barn, and Wildfire startled, kicking the stall door with his foreleg. “Easy, boy.” Sam soothed him with a gentle touch on his muzzle before peering through the barn window.
An expensive luxury sedan was parked near the first guest cabin, its shiny rims catching the July sun and nearly blinding Sam with the glare. The windows were tinted so she couldn’t see inside, but it had to be the Ames family. They were scheduled to arrive within the hour, and Angie had already cautioned Sam on being extra attentive to the wealthy guests. Apparently this family owned a multi-million dollar corporation of some kind in New York. How they ended up in the nowhere little town of Appleback, Texas, remained a mystery to Sam. But VIPs were VIPs.
“They’re staying three solid weeks, and if they tip like they should,” Angie had said earlier that morning, “we’ll be able to make all of our bills and have money left over for the first time in ages.” Her eyes had shone with such excitement at the prospect Sam almost didn’t notice the heavy bags underneath them or the frown lines marring the skin by Angie’s lips. But Sam had noticed, and it was the only thing that kept her from protesting. That, and the prospect of having to waitress again to make the house payments. Those exhausting months last year were definitely not ones she wanted to relive.
The doors of the car opened and a well-dressed couple in their early fifties exited the vehicle. The lady smoothed the front of her white pantsuit as she cast a gaze over the horses in the pasture. The car’s trunk popped open, and the man emerging from the driver’s seat shaded his eyes with one hand as he looked around—probably searching for a valet or bellhop.
Great. One more chore for Sam to pull off—like acting as full-time stable hand, groom and trail guide wasn’t enough to keep her busy. She considered hiding in the hayloft like she did that time she was ten and failed her math test. But avoiding reality didn’t work—she should know. She’d been trying that for two years now.
“Guess it’s now or never.” Sam slipped the halter back on its peg, and Wildfire snorted his disappointment. “I’ll be back for you in a minute.” She looked out the window again to see if the couple had managed to grab their own luggage, just in time to see a silver convertible squeal to a stop beside the sedan. A dust cloud formed around the tires, causing the woman to take several steps backward and cough.
The driver’s side door of the sports car opened and a guy in his mid-twenties slid out. He surveyed the ranch over lowered sunglasses, his expression shadowed.
Wildfire ducked his head and blew through his nose, pawing at the stall floor. Sam rubbed the white splash of hair on the gelding’s forehead, a frown pulling her brows together. “I know exactly how you feel.”
Ethan Ames never thought he’d see the day where his mother teetered in high heels on dirt-packed ground—on purpose. Then again, he never thought he’d see the day he joined his family on a rural working vacation, either. He shouldn’t have taken that back-roads exit off the interstate. Nothing was stopping him from speeding farther west and finding some real fun in Vegas—nothing more than his mother’s disappointment, anyway. Or his father’s incessant phone calls and threats. On second thought, Vegas wouldn’t be much fun without an expense account—and his father knew how to hit Ethan where it hurt.
One would definitely have to pay Ethan a bundle to get him to admit that deep down, he was a little curious about this country life thing, after all. He shut the door to the convertible and pulled his duffel bag from the backseat. At least the rental company had given him something decent to drive this time.
“You really shouldn’t speed like that, Ethan.” Vickie Ames touched her hair, as if the motion could protect it from the country air.
The passenger door slammed, saving Ethan from answering. His cousin Daniel slid over the hood and landed beside Vickie. He looped an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t worry, Aunt Vickie. Ethan never passed ninety-five miles an hour.” He winked and slung one booted foot over the other.
Ethan rolled his eyes. Leave it to Daniel to blend in with new surroundings like a chameleon. He’d picked up those stupid cowboy boots before they’d even left New York and propped them up on the dashboard for the entire drive from the airport. Ethan didn’t think real cowboys would splurge on designer tooled leather like that for a three-week vacation. And what was with that Dukes of Hazzard move he just pulled on the car hood? Ethan snorted.
His father, Jeffrey, cleared his throat. “If you two would quit clowning around and find the valet, we could get settled a lot sooner.”
Ethan shouldered his duffel. “I don’t think this place has staff like that.”
“The boys will get the bags.” Vickie shot Ethan a pointed glance that clearly said to get busy.
Jeffrey looked around, the permanent frown between his bushy brows tightening even further. “This place is more run-down than I thought. We should get it for a song.” His lips stretched into a line. “It better be worth this charade.”
“It will be.” Vickie gestured around them, her red manicured nails startling against her white suit. She looked as out of place as a bull in Saks Fifth Avenue, just smaller and better dressed. “You know we just need to find a reason to get the owner to sell to us for cheap—before she gets wind of the highway relocation. You said yourself this would be the perfect place for a mall after they move the interstate. So quit complaining—a dump is exactly what we’re looking for.”
Ethan shook his head. Only his mother could get away with telling Jeffrey what to do. If he or his cousin had tried that, well, it wouldn’t have been pretty.
Jeffrey’s face purpled. “I still don’t see why we all had to come down here to the middle of nowhere and cut a work week short. We could have just sent the boys to make the offer—”
“It’s about appearances,” Vickie hissed under her breath. “You know the owner is hesitant to sell in the first place. She doesn’t even want her daughter to know why we’re here. She wants to feel like the person who buys it will take good care of it. You think she’d be more willing