We’re oil and water sometimes, Shelby, but I’ll always be your Mama.
Oil and water. More like fire and ice.
Mama, I miss you.
Expelling a breath and straightening her shoulders, she nodded. Barrett got onto his horse in one fluid motion and offered her an arm.
After a moment of paralyzing doubt, she took it and he swung her up behind him.
“Where are we going?” she said into his ear.
“Home,” he said, urging the horse through the pounding rain.
Barrett was not too cold to feel uncomfortable at having a woman’s arms wrapped around his waist. It had been four long years since any woman had touched him except his mother and assorted relatives. The lady was strong and soft at the same time, holding on to him tentatively, it seemed to him. Fortunately, Titan was eager to get back to the barn so his pace was brisk as they returned to the house.
The string of Christmas lights twined around the porch railing twinkled in the gloom. His father met them, taking the reins from Barrett as he helped the woman off the horse. Barrett tied the horses under the wide porch as a temporary measure until he could unsaddle them, dry them down and see to their feed.
His father tipped his wet hat to her and introduced himself. “Tom Thorn. Very sorry for your trouble, miss. Come inside and my wife, Evie, will help you feel comfortable.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“Got Swanny,” he said to Barrett. “She’s in the barn, looking plenty sorry.”
“I’m sure.” Barrett chuckled. More likely, she was pleased as could be now that she was back in a warm stable with a bucket of oats. It eased his mind to know that his wife’s dotty horse was unhurt after her mad escape.
Barrett’s mother stood in the doorway, gesturing. “Enough chatting, Barrett. Bring that poor girl in the house.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He followed her in where Evie looked the woman up and down. His mother was all of four feet eleven inches, hair graying but green eyes sparkling as brightly as they ever had.
“What’s your name, honey?” she asked.
“Shelby,” the woman replied, teeth chattering.
“Well, Miss Shelby, I am eager to hear how in the world you got halfway down a ravine on Joe Hatcher’s property, but first things first. Everybody needs some dry clothes. I’ve got a pot of coffee on, so go change, boys, and we’ll have a talk.”
She put an arm around Shelby’s shoulders. “Come with me. We’ll get you a change of clothes and check out your bruises.” She chuckled. “Don’t worry. I was an RN before I traded it in for ranch life, so I’m not just a nosy mom to those four gorillas.”
Barrett marched to his room, stripped off his wet clothes and pulled on a dry pair of jeans and a T-shirt, along with his less favored pair of boots. He tried not to rush, but he was dying to hear Shelby’s story. It was an odd sensation. Since Bree died, he had been interested in nothing and no one, only his family and the workings of the Gold Bar Ranch where his life was 100 percent about the horses.
Forcing a slow pace, he ambled into the kitchen to find twins, Jack and Owen, sitting at the table sipping coffee while their youngest brother, Keegan, leaned against the refrigerator, munching a cheese sandwich.
Keegan had a bottomless appetite and a head for mischief. He shook his dark hair from his face and grinned. “So, Barrett. For once it’s not me that broke the rules. What’s it feel like to be a trespasser?”
Owen laughed as their father joined them. “Good thing you didn’t run across any of Joe Hatcher’s booby traps.”
“Those are rumors,” their father said with a frown. He scrubbed a hand over a scalp of stubbly gray hair that had not thinned in spite of his seventy-three years. “Joe is a good man, or used to be. Top-notch saddler until his life took a turn.”
“If you say so,” Owen said.
“I do say so, son,” he said quietly. “Everyone’s life takes a turn now and then, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.” Owen looked at the table, probably feeling again the enemy bullets that had carved a trail into his leg and left him scarred and limping. Keegan understood, too. He was adopted into the Thorn family at age sixteen when there was no one to care for him but Evie and Tom Thorn. In Barrett’s case, one careless turn of a drunk driver’s wheel had brought his life to a full stop.
Yes, he agreed. Life could take a sudden turn.
Owen and Jack stood as their mother ushered Shelby in and seated her in one of their vacated chairs.
At last he could get a good look at her. Trying not to stare, he drank in the details. She was slender and fine boned, probably somewhere close to five feet seven inches. Now he could see that her eyes were the green of forest moss, her hair brown. She’d pulled it into a wet ponytail that swept the flannel shirt his mom had loaned her. A navy blue pair of sweatpants, which his mother must have dug up from somewhere, engulfed her legs.
“I think she’s going to be okay,” Evie said. “But I would lobby for a hospital visit to be sure there isn’t a concussion from where she was struck on the head.”
Struck on the head? What kind of person would hit a woman? That notion made his stomach flip. And the fact that she thought he’d done it? He cleared his throat and introduced everyone properly.
Shelby nodded solemnly at each brother and his parents.
“Thank you,” she said, her gaze finally landing on him. “Especially you, Barrett. I...I thought...” She twisted a finger in the hem of her borrowed shirt. “Well, anyway, thank you.”
He nodded. “What were you doing on Hatcher’s property?”
His mother shot him a scolding look. “Can you offer her a cup of coffee before you start the interrogation? Even cowboys should have good manners.”
Ignoring the smiles from his brothers, he poured a cup of coffee and handed it to Shelby.
“Thank you,” she said, the slight quirk of her lips indicating she was enjoying seeing him chastised. “I thought I was still on my uncle’s property. I got caught up in my work and I didn’t realize I’d strayed. Lost track of the time, too.” She looked thoroughly embarrassed.
Her uncle? Which of their neighbors was her relation? He was about to ask when a loud pounding on the front door made her jump, spilling some of the coffee.
“Don’t think that’s the cops yet,” Owen said. “I called them, but they’re working an overturned lumber truck on the main road that has traffic stopped in and out of town.” He opened the door.
Joe Hatcher stepped in, white hair plastered over his skull. His angry gaze swept the kitchen until it fastened on Shelby. “I was out checking my property. Saw Barrett pulling you out of the ravine. You got no business on my land, like I told you last week. You trespass again and you’re gonna get hurt,” he snarled.
All the brothers stepped a pace forward.
“You’ll be civil,” their father said, “or you’ll leave.”
“Civil?” Hatcher’s eyes