Or maybe he was the only Cooper left out of the loop when it came to Madeline. That kind of bugged him.
His search of Madeline Patton turned up article after article, all from Montana newspapers. He leaned back in his chair and his finger hovered above the mouse. Her story, if she had one, should be private. But the brief sentence under the heading wouldn’t let him back away. He clicked the link and started reading.
For a long time he sat there. He read newspaper articles about a child named Madeline Patton. He searched for more articles. As he read he went from pain to rage. He had never wanted to hurt someone as badly as he did at that moment, thinking about that little girl.
Man, it made him want to drive to the school and hug her tight. It made him want to keep her safe. No one should ever be used the way Madeline had been used. Exploited. Hurt.
He closed down his computer because he knew these were her stories, her secrets. She had a right to her privacy. She didn’t trust him. She definitely wouldn’t trust him with these secrets.
He stood, easing through the motion and then holding on to the desk as he took a deep breath. Jade remained curled in a ball on his sofa, sound asleep. He leaned over her, shaking her shoulders lightly. Eyes opened with a flutter and she pulled back.
“I have to get some work done in the barn. Are you going to be okay here by yourself?” He figured being by herself might be something she was used to. Just guessing.
“Yeah, I’m still tired.”
“Sleep on. If you get hungry there’s lunch meat in the fridge and a container of chili my mom brought over yesterday.”
“Thanks.” Her eyes closed.
Jackson slipped on his boots and pulled on a jacket. When he stepped outside he took a deep breath of cold, December air. It felt good to get out of the house. He never would have made it in the nine-to-five corporate world. Walls were not his cup of tea. He liked open spaces, horses in the field and bulls moving around their pens.
Blake, his older and less charming brother, could have the corporate gig. If someone had to count the money, it might as well be Blake.
Jackson whistled for the dog. He came running from the field, brown splotches on his back where he’d been rolling in the grass. When the dog got close enough, Jackson groaned.
“Bud, you stink. Get out of here.”
Bud wagged his tail as if being stinky sounded like a compliment.
He shrugged down into his jacket and trudged down the driveway toward the barn. Horses whinnied and trotted along the fence line. Cattle started moving from across the field.
He flipped on lights in the barn and a few whinnies greeted him. He stopped in front of the stall of the little mare he’d bought last week. She stuck her velvety black nose over the door of the stall and he rubbed her face. She’d make some pretty foals. Her daddy had sired quite a few champion cutting horses. Her brother was a champion barrel horse. If people were concerned about pedigrees, hers topped the charts.
A minute later he walked on down the aisle to the feed room. As he unhooked the door he heard a truck easing down the driveway, the diesel engine humming, tires crunching on gravel. He stepped back to the center of the aisle and shook his head. Travis, late as usual.
As much as he loved his kid brother, Jackson missed Reese. They were closer in age and understood each other a little better. But Reese was deployed to Afghanistan and wouldn’t be home for a year.
It was going to be a long year. He’d be doing a lot of praying during that time. He and God would be on pretty good terms by the time Reese came home.
Travis whistled a country song as he walked through the wide doors of the stable. He was tall and lanky, his light brown hair curled like it hadn’t seen a brush in days. Nothing slowed Travis down. And nothing ever seemed to get him down.
“I didn’t expect to see you up and around today.” Travis pulled on leather work gloves.
“Is that why you waited until noon to feed?” Jackson blew out a breath, letting go of his irritation.
“Had a cow down and had to pull a calf. I knew everyone here had plenty of hay until I could get here. And I also know you well enough to know you can’t stand staying down.”
“Yeah, I feel better.”
“Good, but let’s not go crazy, right?” Crazy, as in give himself a chance to heal.
“Right.” Jackson scooped grain into a bucket and headed for the first stall. They were only five horses in the stable; the rest were in the pasture. There were two stallions, a gelding he was training for a guy in Oklahoma City, a mare that had been brought over for an introduction to his stallion, Dandy, and the little black mare.
“You left your front door open.” Travis stopped to pet the black mare. “You really think this mare is going to throw some nice foals? She’s small.”
“She’s fast.”
He didn’t remember leaving the door open and wondered if Jade had woken up. Fortunately Travis let it go. He grabbed a bale of hay and tossed it in a wheelbarrow without asking more questions. He pushed the wheelbarrow down the aisle, whistling again, and Jackson knew he wasn’t getting off the hook that easily. Travis didn’t let go of anything. But for now he seemed to be content with a nonanswer. He shoved two flakes of hay into the feeders on the stalls. When he got to the stallion, Dandy, he pulled off three flakes.
“Don’t overfeed him.” Jackson warned.
Travis grinned. “He’s a big guy doing a lot of work. He requires extra fuel.”
“Not every feeding.”
“I’m not five.” Travis pushed the wheelbarrow back to the hay stacked in the open area between stalls. He piled on two bales for the horses outside.
“I know you’re not.” But it was hard to turn off “big brother” mode. He’d been getting Travis out of scrapes for over twenty years.
“The charity bull ride for Samaritan House is next week. Do you think you’ll be able to go?” Travis was a bull fighter, the guy responsible for distracting bulls as the bull rider made a clean getaway. Or distracting bulls when the getaway wasn’t clean. Sometimes the bull fighter took a direct hit to keep the rider safe. That made him a hero. Travis had taken more than his share of hits.
Jackson slapped his little brother on the back. “I’m going to take a rain check.”
Travis grinned. “Really? What’s going on with you?”
The Russian accent was still noticeable, even after all his years in America, and being raised as a Cooper.
“Nothing, just not sure if I’ll be able to make it. If you need me, though…”
“No, we should be fine.”
They walked outside. The sun was bright and the sky a clear blue, not a cloud in sight. It hadn’t warmed up much and didn’t seem to be heading in that direction.
The corral held a few of their best bulls. Jackson walked up to the metal pipe enclosure and raised a foot to rest it on the lowest pipe of the six-foot-tall pen. He hadn’t ridden bulls professionally for several years. He trained them, sometimes hauled them and then sold them. The Cooper bull breeding program was his baby. Gage, the brother between Reese and Travis, was the bull rider these days.
Raising bucking bulls had become a big business, bigger than they’d ever thought it would be.
Travis pointed to a rangy, Holstein mix bull. “Bottle Rocket is scheduled for the championship round in Oklahoma City?”
“He is.” Not one of them had guessed that little bull calf they had bottle-fed would be a champion bucking bull. But there he was, pawing at