“Let me guess—he wants his treat, right?” Luke took the butterscotch from Shelby and fed it to the horse, who snorted with pleasure.
“Think you can get to your chair without help?” she asked.
Luke swallowed. He’d made it into the saddle pretty easily, but now the distance between the horse and the wheelchair looked like the Grand Canyon. He squared his shoulders and grabbed his right jeans cuff to swing his leg over Dude’s withers.
The spasm struck without warning; he doubled up and fell forward. Only Mike’s quick leap kept him from pitching facedown in the dirt. He found himself seated in his chair with Mike steadying his shoulders while Shelby massaged his legs until the cramp eased.
He straightened and took a deep breath. “Thanks, guys,” he said, embarrassed that his voice shook.
Mike squatted on his heels beside the chair. “Man, you scared me—you all right now?”
Luke managed a crooked grin. “Better than a few minutes ago. You looking for Lucy? She’s in Durango.”
“Yeah, I’ve been washing dishes for her at the Queen.” He held up his hands. “Much more of that and I’ll have to build up new calluses. No, I came to see you. I need a favor.”
“Like what?” Luke couldn’t imagine what he could do for Mike. He’d be no use at the Farley ranch five miles up the road, and he knew nothing useful about Mike’s second career as an accountant and sports agent for a handful of bull riders.
“You guys go to the house,” Shelby said. “I’ll take care of Cinnamon and Dude.”
Luke made no objection when Mike pushed his wheelchair. The muscle spasm, which added to his exhaustion, had left him limp as an old rope. Mike wheeled him into the kitchen and set about making coffee, the universal remedy. Once Luke sucked down a full mug and eaten one of Shelby’s homemade beignets, he revived enough to ask what Mike had in mind.
Mike leaned forward with his hands wrapped around his mug. “It’s my busy time with tax prep, and I’m trying to carry my share with calving at our ranch, too.”
“And help Lucy at the Queen,” Luke said. “You treat her way better than she deserves. You want me to smack some sense into her?”
“No way! It’ll all even out someday—I gotta keep believing that. Here’s my problem. The gal who helps me with the preliminary prep is having a rough pregnancy. Her doc says she has to stay flat on her back till she delivers or she’ll lose the baby. One big job she does for me is sorting through expense receipts for allowable deductions. You think you could handle that?”
“I could screw things up royally,” Luke said. “I don’t know squat about tax deductions.”
“Sure you do. You’ve been sending me your receipts for five years—you know what’s legit and what’s not. Just a few clients, all bull riders—kids who’ve never earned more than gas money mowing lawns or bagging groceries. Now they’re getting big checks and have to keep track of all their deductible expenses.”
Luke shook his head. “I don’t know—I could try, I guess. If you really think I could help.”
“Just take a look, okay?” Mike stood. “I’ve got the files in my rig.” He left the kitchen without waiting for an answer and returned carrying a cardboard fruit box containing a dozen or so fat manila envelopes.
Luke pulled one from the box and spilled its contents on the table, a whole year’s worth of hotel statements, airline tickets, car rentals and receipts from gas stations, restaurants and convenience stores.
“Just do your best—help me save these guys some money. Tag anything that doesn’t look kosher and make notes if you think important stuff is missing. Riders’ expenses only, not wives and kids.”
Mike’s plea stirred Luke’s interest. He could probably figure this out—he could be of use to someone.
“I’ll give it my best shot,” he said.
KATHRYN MOVED THROUGH the last day of her old life like a perfectly programmed robot. She had gone to sleep with a list of must-dos firm in her mind and wrote down the sequence over her morning coffee. First she visited the bank and raided a money market account, withdrawing no more than she figured she deserved for fifteen years of faithful service. Next she stopped at her mother’s bank where she deposited it in a new checking account with a debit card.
At the mall she bought a new cell phone with a prepaid plan and new number before going to the AAA office to pick up maps. She would have GPS, of course, but she had no address to enter other than Hesperus, Colorado. Paper maps would help her choose what route she might decide to follow.
At times the memory of Brad’s laughter and Britt’s answering giggle pushed into her consciousness, but she silenced it with ruthless determination. Time enough for tears when she had accomplished all she needed to do.
In the office of Robert Foster, her mother’s lawyer, she signed numerous documents.
“You’re sure you want to do this, Kathryn?” His kind old face furrowed with distress. “After one incident?”
“Once that I caught him,” she said. “This was too slick to be the first time. All those evenings working late, and the last-minute overnight business trips... I was too dumb to catch on before, but I’m a quick study.” She shoved the papers across his desk. “Hold on to these—I’ll be in touch.”
Brad handed her an unexpected gift midway through the day, a text saying he needed to stay overnight in Springfield. She texted back with appropriate concern, grateful he hadn’t called—she couldn’t have borne the sound of his voice.
On impulse, she called his office. Disguising her voice—she hoped—with a handkerchief over the phone, she asked for Britt.
“Sorry,” the receptionist said with no hint of recognition, “she’s out of the office today.”
Kathryn’s mouth twisted—imagine that.
She steeled herself for her last stop and drove to her own home, reasonably sure she wouldn’t be disturbed. Just in case, she backed up the driveway and opened the trunk before entering the house.
First she went to the small wall safe in Brad’s study, removing the title to her car and a jewelry box. She didn’t care for the showy dinner rings, the diamond earrings and tennis bracelet Brad had given her, but she’d be damned if she would leave them for another woman to enjoy. They were hers, she’d earned them and they were good pieces she’d have no trouble turning into cash.
She started up the stairs and then turned back to the kitchen, looking in the fridge without finding what she sought. The recycling bin held an empty Chablis bottle with a few drops left in the bottom. She grasped it like a trophy and collected a pair of shears from a drawer before continuing upstairs.
Not looking at the bed, she stripped her closet and drawers of all the clothes she cared to take, filling her own luggage and plus a storage bin. The tennis clothes and cocktail dresses she wore for country club functions she left behind—she’d never have to wear them again.
She carried the first load down to her car, peering down the street for any sign of Brad’s Mercedes, and then ran back to the bedroom. Finally, she turned to the bed she had shared with Brad, where she had known such delight in his arms.
She took the silky green robe from the closet, the robe she had worn in innocence to welcome him home when he’d gone to his mistress after her mother’s funeral. With great deliberation, she slashed it to shreds and dropped her cell phone on the mutilated garment along with the wine bottle. Last she poured a nearly full flask of her special cologne on the heap like a sacrificial libation.
Gathering