A circular drive with a magnificent horse-sculpture fountain made of limestone graced the front of the house. The place looked like something out of a magazine. The only things that signaled this was a working ranch were the corrals and barns in the distance and the white Brahman cattle that dotted the horizon.
High Five had once been like this, but not anymore. Cait felt a moment of sadness. She couldn’t change the past. The future was her main concern.
The High Five, owned by the Belles, and the Southern Cross, owned by the Calhouns, were the two biggest ranches near High Cotton, Texas, a stop in the road of less than five hundred people. It had been both families’ dream that someday the ranches would be one, joined by the marriage of Caitlyn, the oldest Belle daughter, and Judd, the only male Calhoun offspring.
But Caitlyn couldn’t go through with it. No one understood her reasons, least of all her father, Dane Belle. He’d begged her to think about what she was doing and to reconsider. She couldn’t. The rumor mill in High Cotton said she was spoiled, stubborn, but there had been a whole lot more to her decision than that.
The two families had been at odds ever since. The Calhouns prospered, while the Belles suffered financial losses one after another. Her father had passed away two months ago and High Five was barely holding on. The enormous debt Dane had incurred still angered Caitlyn. Without the royalties from the oil and gas leases, the ranch would fold. She was going to make sure that never happened.
She parked on the circular drive and took a moment to gather her wits. But her wits were scattered hither and yon, and might take more time to collect than she had. The fountain bubbled invitingly and memories knocked on the door of yesterday. She refused to open it.
Getting out, she hurried toward the huge walnut front doors and tapped the brass knocker before she lost her nerve. She studied the beautiful stained glass and saw her distorted reflection.
Maybe she should have worn makeup and a dress instead of her bare face, jeans and boots. The thought almost caused her to laugh hysterically. Judd Calhoun was not going to notice how she looked. This was business. It certainly wasn’t personal. Personal feelings had taken a hike when she’d said, “I can’t marry you.”
Brenda Sue Beecham swung open the door. “Oh, Caitlyn, you’re right on time.”
Brenda Sue, a bleached blonde, had more curves than Harper’s Road and was known for her friendly disposition. In high school she’d been called B.S. for obvious reasons. No one could B.S. like Brenda Sue. Her mouth was going at all times.
After a failed marriage, she was back home, living with her parents and working as a secretary in the Southern Cross office. There were very few jobs for women in High Cotton, and Cait could only imagine how Brenda Sue had gotten this one. But she shouldn’t be catty. Brenda Sue’s dad, Harvey, had worked on the Southern Cross for years before he retired because of a bad back. Cait felt sure he’d asked for Judd’s help on her behalf.
“Come this way. Judd should be here any minute. You know how he loves his horses. Oh, what am I saying?” Brenda Sue gave a forced laugh. “You know everything about Judd. Sometimes I forget that, with you being such a stick-in-the-mud and all. Now, I don’t mean that in an offensive way. You’ve just always been rather…you know…”
Caitlyn followed her into Judd’s study, thinking that yellow hair would make a good dust mop. She pushed the thought aside. Brenda Sue and her endless digs and infinite “you know’s” were the least of her worries.
“Judd will be right with you. I have to get back to the office. I help out in the house every now and then, you know. Gosh, it’s good seeing you, Caitlyn.” With that, Brenda Sue closed the door and disappeared.
Caitlyn hadn’t said one word. She didn’t need to. Brenda Sue was a one-woman show, no participation required. How did Judd put up with that airhead? But he was a man and probably enjoyed looking at her cleavage. Caitlyn didn’t want to think about what else might be between them.
She took a seat in a burgundy leather wingback chair facing the enormous mahogany desk. Vibrant polished wood surrounded her. A man’s room, she thought. There were no family photos, just framed pictures of prize Brahman bulls and thoroughbred horses, along with several bull and horse sculptures. A magnificent one sat on his desk, a smaller version of the one in the fountain. The stallion stood on his hind legs, his mane flowing in the wind as his front feet pawed the air.
If her nerves weren’t hog-tied into knots, she’d take a closer look. Right now she had to focus on the next few minutes. She crossed her legs and tried to relax. It was only a meeting.
After fourteen years.
The knots grew tighter.
She touched her hair in a nervous gesture. After brushing it until her arms ached, she couldn’t decide whether to wear it up or down. Judd had liked it loose and flowing, so she’d weaved it into a French braid, as usual. It hung down her back and conveniently kept her hair out of her face.
She recrossed her legs and stared in horror at the horse crap on her boots. Damn. Damn. Damn! But when you ran a working ranch it was hard not to step in it every now and then.
Tissues in a brass holder on the desk caught her attention. Just what she needed. As she started to rise, the door opened and Judd strolled in with Frank Gaston, her father’s attorney. Her butt hit the leather with a swooshing sound, but Judd didn’t seem to notice. He didn’t even look at her, though the lawyer nodded in her direction.
Judd sank into his chair, placing a folder on the desk in front of him. He was a big man with an even bigger presence. His hair was dark brown, his eyes darker. She’d once called them “midnight magic.” Their color rivaled the darkest night, and magic was what she’d felt when he’d looked at her.
Oh, God! She’d been so naive.
The leather protested as she shifted uncomfortably. Judd had changed very little over the years. He’d been at her father’s funeral, but had never gotten within twenty feet of her. She’d seen him every now and then when she was at the general store or the gas station in High Cotton, but he’d always ignored her.
As he did now.
She’d never been this close before, though, breathing the same air, occupying the same space. There were gray strands at his temples, but they only added to his appeal. A white shirt stretched across his shoulders. Had they always been that wide?
Reality check. Something serious was going on and it required her undivided attention. What was Frank doing here?
As she watched, Judd opened the folder and laid a document on the desk in front of her.
“Two months before your father died, he sold me High Five’s oil and gas royalties.”
Everything in the room seemed to sway. Cait’s fingers pressed into the leather and she felt its texture, its softness, its support, yet it felt unreal. The expression on Judd’s face, though, was as real as it got.
Something was stuck in her throat. “Excuse me?” she managed to ask.
“Are you hard of hearing?” He looked at her then, his dark eyes nailing her like barbed wire to a post, hard, sure and without mercy.
“Of course not.” She wouldn’t let him get to her. She sprang to her feet, wanting answers. “I don’t believe it. My father wouldn’t do that to us.”
“It’s true, Caitlyn. I’m sorry,” Frank said, a touch of sadness in his voice.
Judd poked the document with one finger. “Read it. The fifteenth will be your last check.”
Grabbing the document, she sat down to see this debacle with her own eyes. She had to. Her knees were shaking. As she read, the shaking spread to her whole body. It was true. Her father’s bold signature leaped out at her, sealing her fate and the fate of High Five.
How