At first, Colt drank to forget. Then he drank hoping to find the courage to go back to South America and confront Monica. It took him six months to discover that drunks were capable only of wallowing in self-pity. His recovery began the day he sobered up enough to get so angry with Monica, he actually recognized she wasn’t worth losing the only thing he had left—his self-respect.
“You there, Colt?” Marc Kenyon’s voice slid anxiously across the wire.
“Yeah. I was thinking back. In case I never said thanks to you and Mossberger and Gabe…”
“Look, none of us wants or needs gussied-up words. Semper fi, man. If we’d drifted off course—jeez, until we all wised up, it could as easily have been you dragging my butt out of a sleazy bar.” He cleared his throat. “We won’t mention this again. Call me when you get the info we need, okay?” The line went dead in Colt’s ear.
He closed his phone and finished zipping his pants. He felt an odd sense of melancholy as he shrugged into his shirt. There was no doubt his life had taken a detour from the goal he’d once set for himself—to become a top American horse breeder. He’d bought the ranch and married Monica while he was still in the military. When he got out, he’d let Monica convince him that doing a few paramilitary rescues with his ex-marine pals would provide easy money to pay off the ranch.
Now he counted himself lucky to have found his way out of the darkness into the privately funded consortium known as Save Open Spaces—a group committed to saving threatened rangeland by establishing parks or wildlife sanctuaries. Luckily, his same ex-marine buddies had given up the rescue business following his capture, and created SOS. Traveling around the U.S. looking for large ranches in danger of being gobbled up by money-motivated land grabbers would never be as satisfying to Colt as raising and training Morgan horses. But the job got him out in the fresh air, occasionally on horseback. Sometimes he went for days at a time without wishing Monica to hell and back.
Not tonight, however. Not until his conversation with Marc conjured up her memory.
No, it wasn’t fair to blame Marc. This particular ranch deal had regenerated his anger at his ex-wife. Since he’d been so badly betrayed himself, he’d automatically sided with Frank Marsh.
In fact, until Colt met Summer Marsh this morning and subsequently listened to Myron Holder defend her, he’d planned to work his organization’s deal solely with Frank. Now something held him back and urged him to wait—to listen to the other side. He’d be darned, though, if he knew why he should waste his time.
Because Frank Marsh comes across as a braggart and a blowhard. And because you discovered there’s a kid to consider.
The answer echoed inside Colt’s head as he toweled his hair.
“Well, hell!” Heaving a rough sigh, Colt made up his mind to eat dinner at the café where he’d been told fans of Summer Marsh usually gathered. After eating, he’d mosey over to White’s Bar and Grill and eavesdrop on Frank’s troops again.
One way or the other, by the time he contacted Marc, Colt wanted to have made a clear-cut decision. Or if the issue needed further investigation, he’d still know how much money the consortium needed in order to snap up the Forked Lightning. Colt intended to save this property from being ripped asunder like the Marsh marriage.
THE GREEN WILLOW CAFÉ offered good food and a mellow atmosphere. Colt removed his Stetson as he entered. He stood there a moment, appreciating the low babble from tabletop fountains placed strategically around the room amid green plants. It didn’t take him long to notice and appreciate the enticing scent of roast beef drifting from the kitchen. Roast beef sure beat downing another run-of-the-mill greasy cheeseburger down the street at White’s.
A waitress who’d taken his breakfast order earlier in the week greeted Colt warmly. “Booth or table tonight?” she asked, looking him up and down with an admiring glance that wasn’t lost on him. She was an attractive woman. Long legs. Blond hair. Blue eyes. If he was in the market for female companionship, which he wasn’t, he’d have little trouble returning her interest.
“Booth, if you have one.” Colt wagged a leather portfolio he’d been holding at his side. “It’ll be another working dinner,” he said, hoping to discourage her from getting too friendly.
“Oh? What kind of work brings you to Callanton?” she queried lightly. “I couldn’t help noticing you in town this past week. On Tuesday I met some friends for happy hour at White’s and we saw you sitting at the bar. Gina, one of my girlfriends, said I should invite you to join us. Another girl said not to, that you were part of Frank Marsh’s group.”
Colt frowned. He thought he’d been more discreet in his observation of Marsh. Usually he wasn’t so careless. But then, he should’ve figured that any stranger would stand out in a town as small and tight-knit as Callanton.
“I wasn’t with anyone at White’s,” he said, sliding into the booth the waitress, whose name tag identified her as Megan, had directed him to. “It probably only seemed as if everyone at the bar was one of Marsh’s pals.”
Megan’s blue eyes widened perceptibly.
Colt accepted the menu she held out, wondering whether or not Megan represented another view of the warring couple. “Is Frank related to a woman named Summer? I bumped into her this morning at the veterinary clinic. I needed my horse checked out. She brought in a wild bird. An injured eagle.”
“Doc Holder came in for coffee. He told us about the eagle. Summer used to be married to Frank Marsh. They’re divorced, so I guess technically they aren’t related anymore. Why don’t I give you a minute to look over the menu? Tonight’s specials are listed on the yellow sheet inside.”
“Uh, thanks. Say,” Colt called as Megan turned away, “did Holder happen to say how the bird’s getting along?”
The blonde flashed Colt another of her perfect smiles. “Oh, yeah. He said with the proper care she’ll heal and fly again. Which’ll happen, once Summer gets her out to the ranch. Summer’s pure genius when it comes to fixing wild animals.”
Because Megan seemed to expect further comment, he nodded as if he already knew this was true. “Good. That’s good.” He bent over the menu, conjuring up a vivid memory of Summer Marsh’s strange golden eyes. He’d thought about her eyes several times since they’d parted. In the short time they’d been together, after he’d taken note of their unusual color, Colt had observed how they changed to reflect feelings of anger, wariness and hope.
Unsettled though he’d been by the chance encounter, he had little problem believing that Summer Marsh possessed an uncanny ability to connect with both humans and animals.
Wishing he hadn’t broached the subject of Summer Marsh with the waitress, he turned his full attention to the menu. He’d been right about the roast beef. Old-fashioned pot roast was the evening’s special. Colt had no more than given Megan his order, than his eyes were drawn to a flurry of activity at the café’s entrance.
For a moment he thought his mind was playing tricks. Summer Marsh had suddenly appeared, standing next to the sign that said patrons should wait to be seated. Was he hallucinating, creating an image of the woman he’d been thinking about?
Colt deliberately shut his eyes, then opened them again. She hadn’t gone away. And she wasn’t alone. A child, a boy Colt guessed to be six or seven years of age, stood with her. The kid wore a too-big cowboy hat that rested on slightly jug ears. Colt grinned.