Yes, she would be memorable. As Roger Franklin’s daughter. Marshall Crane’s bride. They would never know Olivia Kay Franklin. No one was allowed to know her. She wasn’t even sure she knew herself.
Puddin’ gave a startled yip just as the door banged open. Roger Franklin strode into the room, and the dog leaped to the floor to greet him.
Olivia’s father wasn’t a tall man. No more than average height, he was stout of build and not handsome by any stretch of imagination. His red hair, which Olivia had inherited, had gone gray at the temples. His brown eyes, also like hers, flashed in a face unremarkable of feature. But what Roger Franklin lacked in looks, he made up for in presence. He exuded power, confidence and strength.
As was often the case, Olivia resisted an impudent temptation to salute him. “Hello, Father.”
“You should be downstairs.”
“I know.”
“Then why aren’t you?”
“I needed to get away for a few minutes.”
“Marshall wants you at his side.”
“Does he?” Hard as she tried, Olivia could not keep the sarcasm out of her voice. Once she might have been pleased to think she was needed at her fiancé’s side, but now that charade seemed foolish.
Her father lifted an eyebrow. “Is there something wrong, Olivia?”
Only everything, she wanted to say. But what would that prove? Instead, she shook her head.
At Roger’s feet, Puddin’ jumped and yapped, begging for his attention. Olivia had seen her father indulge her pampered pet, who was not the least bit intimidated by the man, but now he snapped, “Could you make her hush, Olivia?”
She picked up the dog, but Puddin’ continued to whimper, her soulful black eyes fastened on Roger.
He sighed wearily. “Olivia, you should return to our party, especially since I need to step away for a while.”
“Something wrong?”
He made an impatient gesture with one hand. “The breeder who is buying Royal Pleasure just arrived.”
Mention of one of her favorite mounts sent a pang through Olivia. “Must you sell her?”
“She served her purpose.”
The prize-winning Tennessee Walker had produced two colts sired by the cream of the Franklin stable. Now she was going to the highest bidder. Olivia felt a distinct kinship to the beautiful horse, who had no say in her own fate.
“Can’t the breeder just deal with Jake?” Olivia asked, referring to her father’s foreman. “Or wait until after the party?”
“You know I take care of these things myself. And there’s no reason to wait. The breeder can be on his way with Royal Pleasure first thing in the morning.”
“Of course,” she murmured, feeling silly. Her father made his own deals, operated strictly hands-on, in control, on his own schedule. It had been suggested that he would be even richer, his company even more successful, if he would loosen the reins a bit. He scoffed at such suggestions.
“Come down to the party,” Roger commanded.
“Just let me touch up my makeup.”
Her father nodded, scowled down at Puddin’ and reluctantly reached out and patted the dog’s head. Shivers of delight erupted in the tiny dog’s body.
Dryly Roger observed, “She’s coating you in dog hair.”
Glancing with dismay at her sheer white blouse, Olivia felt sixteen instead of twenty-three.
Roger started to turn away, then paused. His voice deepened. His harsh features softened somewhat. “You know you look like your mother tonight. Very lovely.”
Olivia swallowed hard. She knew she was nothing like her elegant, blond mother, and couldn’t imagine why her father mentioned any resemblance.
He continued, “She would be happy about this wedding. Just as I am. Marshall can take care of you.”
Words stuck in Olivia’s throat. The thought of being taken care of for the rest of her life was too terrible for comment.
Her father seemed to take her silence as agreement, for he nodded and strode out of the room.
Olivia sank down on the edge of the bed, anger pounding inside her.
I have to get out of here. I have to escape.
Puddin’s protests and Mary’s voice gradually penetrated the shouting in Olivia’s brain.
“You must go,” Mary murmured, regarding her with concern. “Go.”
Slowly Olivia released her dog and looked up at her longtime nanny. “Yes,” she agreed. “I must go.”
She wasn’t talking about returning to the party.
“Here, pretty lady. That’s right. Right here.” Noah Raybourne sighed his approval as he ran a hand down the mare’s sleek, ebony coat. Royal Pleasure stomped her front legs and turned her regal head toward him, her breath rising like a cloud in the cool morning air.
The grizzled Franklin ranch boss, Jake Keneally, scratched his beard. “It’s almost as if she knows you.”
“Maybe she recognizes family.”
Jake peered at him in puzzlement.
“Her mama’s sire belonged to my father,” Noah explained, stroking the mare’s velvety nose. “Carmen’s Best Boy was born and bred on Raybourne Farms. He was named for my mother.”
“I knew the horse,” Jake replied. “But he belonged to a breeder over toward Dallas.”
Familiar anger tightened Noah’s gut. “My stepfather sold him out from under us.”
The ranch boss apparently had enough firsthand knowledge of troubles to keep from prying. He grunted and gave Royal Pleasure a loving stroke of his own. “I won’t say I’m glad to see this beauty leave us, but it’s good to hear she’s going where she’ll be appreciated.”
“That she will.” Noah took Royal Pleasure’s lead and walked her toward his horse trailer, talking gently to her all the while.
With a minimum of fuss, she was loaded aboard the white trailer emblazoned with an ornate R in black script.
Noah tossed his duffel bag on the front seat of his truck and turned to shake Jake’s hand. “Thanks for your help. I especially appreciate the grub and the comfortable bed last night.” He gestured toward the camper on his truck bed. “More than a few nights in this thing can get pretty old.”
With a final wave, Noah swung into the driver’s seat and was on his way. The sun, though not yet visible, was lighting the eastern horizon as he stopped at the gate. A uniformed guard, different from the man he had seen last night, stepped up to the window with a clipboard in hand. “Hello, Mr. Raybourne. Jake called to say you were headed out.”
“You folks take security seriously round here, don’t you?” Noah commented with a smile.
The guard gave him a steady, measuring look. “Mr. Franklin is pretty clear about how he wants things handled.”
“I’m sure he is.” Noah imagined Roger Franklin was crystal clear about all matters affecting his family, his business and holdings.
The guard made a notation on his clipboard, then stepped back and studied the truck and trailer for a moment. Apparently reassured there was no reason to conduct a search, he opened the automatic gate and waved Noah through.
The whole operation amused Noah. He understood that a rich man might have some security concerns, but this place was set up like