LINDSAY KEMP STEERED the rickety ranch truck through the arching gateway of the Long K Ranch. Lyric and Lacey leaned against each other in the backseat of the crew cab, buckled into their booster seats, sound asleep. They usually fell asleep on the way home from the Cradles to Crayons Daycare where they spent two days of the week in the mother’s day-out program. Lindsay couldn’t really afford it, but the girls needed time to play with children their own age. And Lindsay needed the break to handle things in town and on the ranch without four-year-old, identical twins underfoot.
She glanced in the rearview mirror at the black-haired girls and marveled at how they didn’t look a bit like her. Neither child had auburn hair, gray-green eyes or even a single freckle like their mother.
Their biological father had strong genes. He’d been the spitting image of his father, thick black hair, blue eyes and high cheekbones. Somewhere in their ancestry was Apache Indian blood, thus the hair and cheekbones.
Too bad the girls would never know their father and their father would never know them. Because he’d dedicated himself to a career in the Army, Lindsay hadn’t wanted to place a burden on him by telling him that she was pregnant. Almost five years later, the opportunity to enlighten him was well past.
Lindsay glanced at her watch. Crap!
She had exactly ten minutes to get the girls into the house, get herself changed and catch the horses before Zachary showed up for his riding lesson. Stacy, Zachary’s mother, always arrived five minutes early.
Lindsay pressed her foot to the accelerator, roaring down the gravel road toward the ranch house. She skidded to a stop in front of the only home she’d ever known, slammed the truck into Park and jumped out.
“Girls, let’s get you inside. Come on. Wake up.”
Lacey perked up and stared around, her eyes blinking. “Can I have a grilled cheese sandwich?” Lindsay lifted her out of the truck and set her on her feet
“Maybe after riding lessons, unless Grandpa can make it for you.”
Lacey trudged toward the house, her forehead wrinkled in a frown. “He burns them. I want you to make me one.”
“Then it’ll have to wait until after lessons.”
Lyric remained fast asleep on the backseat, having tipped over.
Her pale skin and bright pink lips looked angelic. Lindsay didn’t have the heart to wake her. Despite her aching back, she lifted the child and carried her into the house where she laid her on the couch in the living room.
“Gramps,” Lindsay shouted, hurrying down the hallway to her room.
“That you, Lindsay?” a coarse voice called from the study.
“Yes, sir. I’m late for my riding lessons. Can I bother you to keep an eye on the girls?”
“Bother?” Her grandfather appeared in the doorway to his office. “Since when are my great-granddaughters a bother?”
“You’re a dream, Gramps.” Lindsay ducked into her room and yanked a well-worn chambray shirt and equally worn jeans from her closet. “Lacey wants a grilled cheese sandwich. She can wait until I get done with lessons.”
“I’m old, not dead. I can manage a little girl’s sandwich,” her grandfather groused.
Lindsay had learned long ago that Grandpa Kemp’s bark was much worse than his bite. Even the twins had him figured out. Too bad not everyone in Freedom, Texas, understood Henry Kemp. He griped fiercely, and he loved fiercely.
“Gramps, she doesn’t like it burned. Give her a drink and an apple. I’ll make the sandwich when I’m done.”
“I’m perfectly capable of making a sandwich,” he grumbled. “But have it your way.”
“Thanks, Gramps.” Lindsay smiled inside her room, slipping out of her nicest jeans and into worn denim. After lessons, she’d be mucking stalls. No use damaging her only good pair of jeans. “They can come out when they’re fully awake and have had their snack.” Lindsay stripped her best white blouse off and shoved her arms into the chambray shirt.
“Yes, ma’am. Am I getting that old that I’m taking orders from my granddaughter now?”
Lindsay buttoned as she hurried down the hall. She stopped to briefly kiss her grandfather’s cheek. “You’re always the boss, Gramps. I love you.”
The old man rubbed a hand to the place she’d kissed, a frown clearing from his forehead. “Damn, right.”
“Watch your language.” Lindsay sprinted through the house, grabbing sugar cubes from the jar on the table beside the back door.
“I hired a new ranch hand today,” her grandfather called out behind her.
Lindsay stumbled. What? She didn’t have time to stop and go back to question him. A new ranch hand? They couldn’t afford to pay the hands they had. The weight of the world bore down on her shoulders. How could she get it through her grandfather’s head that they didn’t have any money?
She’d just have to apologize to the new hand and send him packing before he put in too many hours. Easy enough. Dealing with her grandfather was an entirely different challenge.
For now she needed to focus on the only lucrative business on the place. The riding lessons, which had started as a way to make a little extra income for her and the girls, had grown into a financial supplement for the ranch. Until they brought in the herd and sent them off to auction, they were pretty well broke. The riding school put food on the table for Lindsay’s family and the ranch hands until cash flow improved.
An SUV pulled to a halt in front of the barn. Stacy Giordano climbed down and waved at Lindsay. “Hey, girl, sorry I’m late. It’s been insane at the governor’s place.”
“Hi, Stacy.” Lindsay hurried toward Stacy. “I’m running late, too.”
“Did you hear about the governor’s accident last night?”
Lindsay ground to a halt in front of the vehicle, her stomach flip-flopping. “Accident?”
“Yeah, I spent my day at the hospital with the governor, her bodyguards and her driver.”
“Holy smokes. What happened?”
“Not sure yet, but they think someone threw nails all over the road. Two of the tires blew and sent them into a ditch.”
“Is everyone all right?”
Stacy nodded. “Mostly minor injuries, but the driver suffered a concussion.”
“Any idea who might have done it?”
“Not yet. The sheriff is checking into it. In the meantime, we’ve had to tighten security even more. Much tighter and we won’t be able to breathe.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Stacy opened the back door to her SUV and helped her son down.
“Hey, Zachary, good to see you.” Lindsay turned toward the barn. “You guys wait just a minute while I catch Whiskers.”
“I can wait, but Zachary will be chomping at the bit to ride.”
Lindsay smiled and waved at Zachary as she passed by. “Let him stand by the fence while I get a bridle.” She stopped again, dug in her pocket and turned to the boy. “Here, you can help me. Hold out your hand with this and Whiskers will come to you.” She pressed a sugar cube into the boy’s hand and curled his fingers around it.
Zachary stared at his closed hand.
“Come on, Zachary. Let’s go see if Whiskers will come to you.” Stacy took his other hand and led him toward the wood-rail fence.
Lindsay raced into the barn grabbing a bridle from the nail on the wall.