CHAPTER 3

It was almost 10:00 p.m. when Lute walked through the front door of the Blue Coyote. He’d hitched a ride to town with a cowboy named Ralph who had a ’93 Chevy pickup and a girlfriend who worked the late shift at Burger Shack. One of these days he’d have his own car, Lute vowed as the pickup pulled away. And it wouldn’t be a twenty-year-old piece of crap like Ralph drove, either.

Inside, the antiquated sound system was playing Hank Williams, which fit the retro theme of the place. There were autographed photos of old-time rodeo stars on the walls. A set of massive, mounted longhorns, wider than the span of a big man’s arms, hung over the big-screen TV above the bar.

Stella, the busty, middle-aged redhead who owned the place, knew all her customers by name. Tonight she was dressed in a black silk shirt embroidered with roses and a tight denim skirt. “Howdy, Lute,” she greeted him. “Have a seat and tell Nigel here what you’re drinkin’ tonight.”

Nigel, who served as bartender and bouncer, seemed out of place in the Western-style bar. With tattooed arms, a wrestler’s build, and a shaved head, he looked more like a biker than a cowboy. But he knew his job, and if anybody messed with him, they didn’t do it a second time.

Lute ordered the cheapest beer on the menu, paid for it with the last of his pocket change, and nursed it while he scanned the crowded bar. Just his damned luck, Slade Haskell wasn’t here. But since Ralph wouldn’t be by to pick him up for a couple of hours, he had time to kill.

Jess, the only waitress in sight, bustled past him with a tray full of drinks. Lute watched her walk away, liking the tight fit of her jeans, her black T-shirt, and the perky little pink boots on her feet. She was young and thin, with limp brown hair and a tired expression on her pretty face. Lute wouldn’t have minded getting to know her. As a half-blood Comanche with scarcely a dime to his name, he had more sense than to hit on the girl. But once he had money and a car, things would be different.

He’d finished the beer and was fidgeting with the empty bottle when Slade walked in. He was wearing his work clothes and looked pissed, like maybe he’d had a fight with that hot wife of his. Lute bit at the edge of his lower lip, wondering whether this might be a bad time to approach Haskell about a job. Trouble was, he didn’t know when there might be a better one, and he was tired of shoveling shit all day.

Deciding that tonight might be his only chance, Lute pushed off the bar stool and wandered over to the booth where Slade Haskell sat alone. “I heard a rumor you might have an opening for a driver,” he remarked, trying to sound cool and offhand.

Glancing up, Slade looked him over. “You asked me about a job a couple weeks ago. You’re the kid working out at the Tyler spread, aren’t you?”

“I work there,” he admitted, “until I can find something that pays better. Cleaning out stables isn’t exactly something I want to do the rest of my life.”

“So you were the one in there when she checked on that mare.” His gaze narrowed on Lute in thoughtful study.

“That was me.” He nodded, and wondered how much more he should say—and where it might get him. “Quite the reunion it was between two old . . . friends.” He hesitated deliberately to stress the latter word.

“Really.” The single-word response from Slade seemed to encourage Lute to say more.

“I got the feeling they were old flames,” he volunteered. “But something told me the fire wasn’t out as far as Beau was concerned.”

“I knew it,” Slade muttered, more to himself than a response to Lute’s statement. Before he could add more, the waitress, Jess, stopped by the table with her order pad in hand. In the blink of an eye, Slade lost that half-angry brooding look and flashed her a grin. “Two Coronas for me and my friend here,” he boomed, and gave a wink. “What time are you off tonight, girl?”

A shadow flickered across her face. “Not till closing. Then I’ve got plans.”

“Too bad.” The grin remained. “Well, maybe next time.”

“Sure.” She walked off to get their drinks.

Lute stared after her. “Slade, is that girl a—”

“Naw. Just a nice, friendly waitress. Best kind.”

“Does she let you . . . you know?”

“Hell, boy, I’m a happily married man. Haven’t you figured that out by now?” He sank into a sullen silence while Jess brought their beers and set them on the table. For the space of a quick breath, her gaze locked with Lute’s. But what he read in her sad doe eyes wasn’t an invitation. It was more like a warning.

Slade took a long swig of his beer. “About that work I mentioned. Still interested?”

Lute’s pulse jerked. “What do you think I’m here for? Tell me more.”

“Not much to it. You keep your job with the Tylers and phone me every few days about what’s going on out there—stock coming and going, new equipment, new people, any trouble on the ranch, whatever. If I don’t pick up, you can leave a voice message. It’ll be like you’re my eyes and ears. Long as you do your job, I’ll pay you fifty dollars a week. You can come by and pick up the cash from Stella when you’re in town.”

Fifty dollars a week for doing almost nothing. It wasn’t a fortune, but for now it would make the payments on a cheap car. And if he proved himself, maybe the job would lead to better things.

“Got a cell phone?” Slade asked.

“An old prepaid. Won’t do much more than the basics.”

“Use it. A new one would just draw attention. And when I give you my phone number, memorize it. It can’t be found written down or entered on your phone. There can’t be any connection between us. Understand?”

“Understand.” Lute’s pulse raced as Slade wrote his phone number on a piece of paper napkin. He sipped his beer, savoring the chilled taste. This was really going to happen. He would be more than just a shit shoveler. He was on his way to becoming somebody.

 

After the news ended, Natalie switched off the TV and stood gazing out the darkened front window. It was after 10:30 and she was dressed for bed in her nightgown and robe. But Slade wasn’t back and she was too wired to go to sleep.

They’d settled their earlier quarrel outside the barn over a supper of Burger Shack pizza, spinach salad, and a bottle of Cabernet that one of Slade’s clients had given them for Christmas. Just as the tension seemed to be easing, Sky had called from the Tyler ranch with word that the mare was having problems.

When she’d grabbed her keys to leave, Slade had blown his top again. She’d invited him to go with her, but when he’d refused, there was nothing she could do but race out the door, gun the engine, and go.

“Don’t count on me being here when you get back!” he’d yelled after her. Well, he was true to his word. The candy-apple-red Ford pickup he kept shined to a high gloss had been missing when she’d pulled into the garage.

No need to wonder where he’d gone. He’d be at the Blue Coyote, drinking and flirting with the waitresses. Slade rarely got drunk, and she doubted that he got past first base with any of the women. He’d soon be home as usual, muttering apologies and wanting sex, which she’d give him to seal their truce.

Natalie was a woman who took her marriage vows seriously. Six years ago, when she’d promised to love and honor Slade Haskell, she’d meant every word. She’d faced the reality that Beau wouldn’t be coming back for her. And Slade had been there—handsome and likeable, with roots in the community and enough ambition to take over the family business from his father. They could have a comfortable life together, she’d told herself.

Was it really Slade she’d fallen in love with, she asked herself now, or the person in those mental pictures?

But she was committed to making her marriage work. Slade wasn’t a bad person. Neither was she. They deserved to be happy, or at least satisfied with each other. Surely they could find a way.

Meeting Beau again had been like pouring acid into an old wound. The memories of how she’d loved him, and how he’d hurt her, felt as fresh and hot as ever. She’d almost convinced herself that she was over him. But she was wrong. He’d made her feel like a silly little nineteen-year-old fool all over again.

The sudden glare of headlights and the growl of a big engine in the driveway pulled her thoughts back to the present. Natalie forced a mental shift as the garage door opened and closed. Her husband—a decent man who loved her in his way—was home, and they’d had enough contention for one night.

She would do her best to make peace.

 

The Eastern sky had just begun to pale from the slow rising of the sun when Beau wandered into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. He’d hoped for some quiet time alone, but Will was already at the table, digging into a trencherman’s breakfast of fried eggs, bacon, and pancakes dripping with maple syrup.

“That looks like a recipe for instant heart attack, brother,” Beau observed as he filled a mug from the electric coffeemaker. A place had been set for him, but he didn’t plan to use it. He hadn’t eaten a big breakfast since he’d gotten out of the military.

“It hasn’t bothered my heart yet.” Will dunked a forkful of pancake in the yolk of his egg. “Tori tried to turn me into a health nut. But the granola and green tea didn’t take.”

“Dad used to eat like that.” Beau took a seat. “Is that what killed him?”

“You didn’t hear?” Will’s thick, black eyebrows shot up. “The old man was living on booze and pain pills by the time he died. The coroner’s report listed his death as an accidental overdose. But his heart and arteries were fine. You missed a lot, being gone.”

“I’m aware of that.” Beau sipped his strong, black coffee. “I was in Iraq when he had his accident. Otherwise I might’ve come home.”

“Just as well you didn’t. There wasn’t much you could’ve done. We hired folks to help him. But he was in constant pain. God knows he wasn’t easy to live with before the accident. Afterward, well, I think you can figure that out.”

Bernice bustled in with a wire basket of fresh eggs from the coop. She paused at the sight of them together in the kitchen. She’d come to work at the ranch after her husband died more than thirty years ago and was as much a part of Rimrock as her older brother Jasper. “My, but it’s good to have both you boys in here again. What can I fix for you, Beau? Bacon? Eggs? You like them over easy as I recollect.”

“Coffee’s enough for me, Bernice. And yours is the best. I can’t get it this good for five bucks a shot in D.C.”

“So you’ve decided?” Will lowered his fork to his plate. “On the basis of Bernice’s coffee?” Impatient at the lightness of Beau’s response, Will snapped. “Dammit, you said you’d let me know this morning, Beau. I’m waiting.”

Beau could almost picture his father sitting in Will’s place. He sucked in his breath, knowing that once the words were out of his mouth, they’d be binding.

“Let’s say I’ve decided to stay for a while. My job entitles me to two weeks off for bereavement. I hadn’t planned on taking it, but I’ll call the office today.”

“And?” Will was bristling with impatience.

“I’ll stick around long enough to give this place a try. At the end of that time, I’ll make a final decision. Fair enough?” It would have to be. Beau was already having doubts, wondering whether he and Will could get along over the long term.

Will sat silently, frowning as he mulled over what he’d heard. At last he shrugged. “Not quite what I’d hoped for, but I guess, for you, it makes sense. At least your timing’s good. We start spring roundup today. You’ll have plenty of chances to get those callus-free hands dirty.”

Beau sighed, already knowing what he’d let himself in for. “Suits me. I’m wearing my old boots, but I’ll need some gear—chaps, gloves, a hat, a saddle . . .”

“No problem. We’ve got extras in the bunkhouse. Think you can remember how to work cattle?”

“It’ll come back to me.” Beau remembered his teenage years on the ranch, riding herd until his butt blistered and his stomach caved in from hunger. Bull Tyler had been a hard taskmaster, even tougher on his sons than he was on his cowhands. Something told Beau that Will would be the same.

Picking up his empty plate, he held it out to the smiling cook. “Fill it up, Bernice. Looks like it’ll be a long, hard day.”

They were just finishing their plates when Erin came bounding in the back door. Bits of straw clung to her sweatshirt and her uncombed hair. Her cheeks were flushed, her blue eyes sparkling.

“How’s your new foal?” Beau asked her.

“Fine. He’s eating now.” She splashed her hands at the sink and wiped them on her jeans before flinging herself into a chair at the end of the table. “Sky let me brush him. He said I need to touch him a lot and spend a lot of time with him before I go back to school on Monday. That way he’ll remember me. It’s called imprinting.”

If imprinting was to be done right, it had to begin within forty-five minutes of a foal’s birth. Beau realized that was why Sky had brought Erin into the stall so soon last night.

Will frowned. “That mare could get protective of her baby. You’re not alone out there with that horse, are you?”

“Really, Daddy, I’m almost thirteen!” Erin poured herself a glass of milk and laced it with chocolate syrup.

“You won’t be thirteen till next January, and I asked you a question, young lady.”

“All right. Sky was there at first, but he had to go help with the remuda, so he called Jasper. Jasper was with me the whole rest of the time.”

“Good. I want to know that somebody’s always with you in the barn.” Will rose and carried his plate to the sink. Erin was already digging into the pancakes Bernice had set in front of her.

“Have you named your foal yet?” Beau asked.

Erin grinned. “I have. His parents have Spanish names, so I’m going to call him Tesoro. In Spanish that means treasure.”

“Why, honey, that sounds just perfect,” Bernice exclaimed. “Wait till your mother sees him!”

Will shot her a half-irritated look, a shadow passing across his face, before he pinned his glance on Beau. “Are you coming, Beau? We still need to rustle you some gear from the bunkhouse.”

“I’m on your six.” Beau pushed his plate aside and rose from the table. As much as he would have liked another cup of coffee, it was clear Will wanted to get the day’s work started.

As they strode across the yard side by side, Beau couldn’t help noticing the rather grim-lipped expression his brother had.

“Is there a problem, Will?”

“Just thinking about that damned foal,” he admitted in a near mutter. “I’d planned on gelding any colt that was born so he’d be gentle enough for Erin to ride.”

Beau nodded in understanding. “And now you can’t afford to geld him. A palomino stud can be worth his weight in gold, especially if he can pass that color on to some of his babies.”

Beau knew there was no guarantee of that. Palomino was a color, not a breed of horse. And breeding golden horses was as chancy as rolling dice in Las Vegas.

“I’ll just have to convince Erin that she can have the next foal born,” Will concluded in that same pigheaded tone Beau had heard their father use.

“That would be a waste of your time. She’s already named him,” Beau reminded him. “You aren’t going to change her mind now.”

“I can’t have her taking on a stallion as her first horse,” Will replied with an emphatic nod. “You know what a handful a young stud colt can be. Unpredictable as hell, even rank sometimes. Too many blasted things can go wrong. Erin could end up getting hurt bad.”

Beau shrugged off his brother’s concern. “You’ll just have to cross that bridge when it comes. If it comes. Right now the foal isn’t even a day old. Put some trust in Sky’s training. He isn’t going to let Erin have the colt until he’s sure she can manage him. Things will work out. You’ll see.”

Will gave Beau a pained look. “I can tell you’ve never been a father, especially to a girl. So many blasted things can go wrong. And in a few years, when she’s old enough for boys, it’ll be ten times worse.”

“And she has her mother’s looks.” Beau shook his head, savoring the rare chance to needle his brother. “Given a choice, would you rather she’d been born plain as mud like you?”

“Don’t ask. And I don’t even want to guess what Tori’s going to say about all this. She’s even more protective of Erin than I am.”

They walked in silence a moment before Beau spoke. “What happened between you and Tori anyway? You never said.”

Will cast him a stormy look. “It’s over. Dead and buried. So mind your own cattle.”

 

In the last two centuries, little about the annual spring roundup on a cattle ranch had changed. Its purpose remained the same: to gather all the cattle that had wintered in sheltered canyon pastures in preparation for moving them to their summer graze on the plain above the Caprock. Once the gather was made, the herd would be sorted, culled, and counted. Pregnant cows and heifers would be separated from the rest, and any calves or yearlings that had been missed the previous fall would be branded, vaccinated, tagged, and, if destined to be steers, castrated. For the cowhands and bosses, that meant long days of backbreaking work, days that could stretch into two weeks, or even longer.

After only three days in the saddle, Beau was sore and bone-weary. Yet, despite the discomfort, he was secretly pleased that he remembered how to cowboy. Admittedly he was a little rusty, but the old skills were coming back—along with a level of contentment that was rare to him.

Between the clear spring days, the hard physical work, and the easy camaraderie with the cowhands, who weren’t above teasing the “dude” in their midst, Beau could feel his tightly clenched nerves unwinding. It was as if his whole body had begun to breathe again; he was even sleeping the whole night through without waking up. Truthfully he couldn’t remember feeling this at ease with himself in years.

He wasn’t about to admit it to his brother, but Beau was enjoying this break from Washington and those long days of sitting behind a desk dealing with stacks of dreary paperwork and harried people who wanted everything yesterday. And the open country around him was a welcome change from that hellish D.C. traffic.

Open was something of a relative term, Beau acknowledged. This particular section of the ranch they were working stretched below the escarpment. It was a veritable maze of gullies, draws, and box canyons. And every inch of it needed to be searched.

In his side vision, he caught a glimpse of rusty red hide. He snapped his head around just as a pair of steers trotted out of view, heading up a brushy side canyon. Touching a spur to the horse’s flank, he reined the gelding after them. Jutting rocks marked the canyon’s entrance. Beau had already ridden past them in pursuit of the cattle before he recognized the distinctive formation that identified his exact location on the ranch. Abruptly he reined his horse to a plunging stop to look around, letting the half-forgotten knowledge come flooding back.

This small arroyo lay along the ranch’s boundary line that butted against Prescott’s land. The canyon itself was Y-shaped, dividing into two branches. He glanced up the left branch, recalling that it ended in a sheltered rock wall where he and Will had gone as boys to view the Indian petroglyphs scattered over its surface, making up their own wild stories as to the meaning of them.

But it was the second branch that claimed the whole of his attention now. Where once a clear stream of water had tumbled down from the rock and spilled to the pool on the canyon floor, now there was nothing but a dry wash, overgrown with scraggly brush and mesquite. Rusty strands of barbed wire blocked the path that had led to the stream. A crudely painted sign hung crookedly from the fence’s top wire:

NO TRESPASSING

PROPERTY OF PRESCOTT RANCH

Beau glared at the board, surprised that he could still feel the anger of years ago so strongly.

“It still smarts, doesn’t it?” Will’s voice traveled across the stillness.

Turning, Beau discovered that his brother had ridden up to join him. “How many times did Bull pound in our heads when we were kids that no Tyler ever sold an inch of Rimrock land—that a Tyler would cut off his roping hand first. That little canyon and its water was Rimrock property.” Beau jabbed a finger in its direction, his voice tight and low with barely suppressed anger. “And Bull sold it. And not just to anybody. No, he sold to Ferguson Prescott, the man Bull hated. And the purchase price was one dollar and ‘other valuable considerations.’ What the hell was he thinking?”

“It never made sense to me either,” Will admitted.

“Didn’t you ever ask him about it?” Beau challenged as his horse moved restlessly beneath him.

“Once. A few months ago, I was going through the files and ran across the original bill of sale. I figured it was time I learned the truth behind it, so I took the bill of sale in to him. The minute I showed it to him, he started swearing, telling me it was none of my damned business and I wasn’t to ask him about it again.”

“Swearing and shouting at people were the two things Bull did best,” Beau said, easily visualizing the scene Will described. “I’ll bet he threatened to kick you out if you brought it up again.”

“More or less,” Will admitted.

But it was the lack of any resentment in his voice that Beau couldn’t understand. “That’s where you and I are different. When he told me it was his way or hit the road, I told him what he could do with this ranch and his money and took the road.”

“So that’s how it happened,” Will murmured.

“With a lot more yelling back and forth.” He hadn’t expected to feel all the old bitterness so strongly. “The essence was that he didn’t give a damn if I was his son, that there was no way I was going to live off him.”

“That’s in the past. Nothing good comes out of dwelling in it,” Will stated, pragmatic as always.

“Unless you can learn something.” Beau let his glance wander over the dry streambed and the crudely painted sign on the barbed wire fence strung across it. “To get this land from Bull, old man Prescott must have had something on him.”

“Like what?” Will sounded skeptical.

“Some secret Bull didn’t want people to know. It’s the only thing that makes sense,” Beau declared, then voiced the question that automatically came to mind. “Wonder what it was?”

“I doubt if it was anything like that.” Will dismissed the possibility with a shake of his head. “More than likely Bull lost a bet to him. You know what a sore loser he was. And losing a bet to old man Prescott would stick in his craw big-time.”

“It might have been that simple,” Beau conceded, then frowned, trying to remember another tidbit from the past. “Am I wrong, or is this the canyon where legend has it that lost Spanish gold is buried?”

The legend had been part of Texas for as long as anyone could remember. The story went that a band of lost Spanish explorers, pursued by Indians, had become trapped in the canyon and managed to hide the chest of gold coins they were transporting before the Indians attacked and wiped them out.

“That’s the way the story goes—if you believe that stuff.” The line of Will’s mouth crooked in cynical derision. “There isn’t an ounce of truth in it. But who knows, it could be why old man Prescott wanted it. I know for a fact he had a couple men with shovels out, digging all over the place and sifting the dirt through a box screen. I later heard they never found a damned thing.”

“All that digging is probably what disrupted the spring,” Beau guessed. “Remember when we used to fill our canteens from it? That water was always cold and good.”

But Will had a more practical view. “And the cattle didn’t have to walk so far for water when the spring was flowing.”

Flashing him an amused look, Beau remarked, “You are definitely Bull’s son.”

There was a moment of hesitation, as if Will was debating some issue with himself. “Keep this under your hat, brother, but I’m working on a plan to get this canyon back.”

“What?” The question came out, mingled with a near laugh. “Just what makes you think the syndicate would sell it? They sure as hell don’t need the money.”

“It just so happens that the syndicate doesn’t own this particular parcel,” Will informed him. “I did some checking and discovered that, for whatever reason, this land is part of the Prescott family trust. And our fine, upstanding congressman Garn Prescott is the trustee.”

“So Garn would have the power to sell it back, assuming you can talk him into it.” Beau swatted away a pesky horsefly buzzing around his face. “It explains why you asked him to do the eulogy at the funeral. You’re trying to get all palsy with him.”

“I told you before, we need allies, not enemies. And it so happens Prescott’s up for reelection this fall. I’m prepared to make a hefty donation to his campaign in exchange for this worthless little canyon that’s too steep for grazing.”

“And you think he’ll agree to that?”

Will’s horse swung its nose around in an attempt to dislodge the fly that had landed on its neck. Will absently brushed off the fly. “Maybe he will. Maybe not. But there’s more than one way to skin a coyote.”

In his mind’s eye, Beau saw again that scene at the house after the funeral when he’d observed Garn Prescott clearly making a move on Tori. It couldn’t have been more obvious that Prescott wanted to get to know her a lot better.

“I’ll bet Tori could talk him into it.”

“Leave Tori out of this!” Will snapped.

Beau had seen his brother angry before, but not this hot. “Sorry.” He wisely refrained from mentioning the way Garn had been hanging all over her, recognizing jealousy when he saw it. “Maybe I could help,” he suggested instead. “I’ve never known a politician yet who didn’t have his finger in some dirty pie. Ferreting out nasty secrets is part of what I do for a living.”

Will briefly considered the offer, then shook it away with a half-irritated sigh. “As much as I would enjoy bringing that pompous jackass down, I’d rather this be an up-front deal.” He gathered up his horse’s reins. “We’ve got cattle to find. We’d better get to it.”

“I spotted a couple headed up the canyon’s other fork.” Beau swung his horse around and brought it up level with Will’s bay gelding. With curiosity nagging at him, he asked, “Did Prescott have anything to do with you and Tori splitting up?”

“Does it matter?” Will fired back, going all tight-jawed on him. “It happened. And it’s over.”

Beau doubted it was over as far as his brother was concerned. “You two seemed to fit together so well, like you were made for each other. There were times when I’d see you with Tori and would feel a little envious because you clearly had something special going.”

“Funny you should say that,” he countered. “You see, I always thought Natalie was the special one for you.”

Beau recoiled slightly. The mere sound of her name was like being stabbed. It was impossible to think of her without remembering the feel of her in his arms, the warmth of her body quivering beneath him, or the welling of emotion that choked him.

When Beau failed to say anything, Will spoke. “You know Bull was always certain the ranch would pull you back here. I always thought you’d come back for Natalie.”

“After I got back from Afghanistan . . .” Beau paused, searching for the right words. “Let’s just say . . . things changed.”

“But not the way you feel about her. I saw the way you looked at her that night in the barn when the foal was born. You didn’t seem to be aware of anything—or anyone—else.”

Beau didn’t bother to deny it. “You’re forgetting that she’s married.”

“And you’re wishing you could forget it.”

“It so happens that I’ve had the dubious pleasure of meeting her husband.” Unwilling to discuss the subject of Natalie any further, Beau switched the focus back on his brother. “You were never exactly a saint. So, tell me, Will, who’s filling your bed since the divorce? Do you have a mistress tucked away somewhere? Or are there some desperate housewives in town, willing to put out for any man who’ll leave some money on the dresser to help with all their past-due bills?”

But he didn’t get the expected rise from his brother. “I’m glad to hear you’re giving some serious thought to staying here at the ranch.”

Dumbfounded, Beau turned in his saddle to stare at his brother. “What the hell are you talking about? I never suggested any such thing.”

“Of course you did. Why else would you ask about the ready availability of sex in town?” Will countered.

“I wasn’t talking about myself! I was talking about you,” Beau retorted, then added in a mutter, “Blanco Springs is the last place where I’d go looking for it.”

The small town was a place of few secrets. There was too much chance that Natalie would find out if he happened to sleep with a woman she knew.

Before Will could offer a reply, Beau sank spurs into his mount, sending it jumping forward. A young steer burst from a mesquite thicket. And Beau took off in pursuit.

 

Erin knelt in the straw, stroking the foal. His golden coat was velvety to the touch. His young muscles, growing stronger every day, quivered beneath her palm. In a few weeks he’d be big enough to run and play in the paddock.

“Tesoro.” His ear twitched as she whispered his name. “We’re going to have so much fun together.”

Sky had told her that Tesoro needed to learn his name and get used to the sound of her voice. So Erin talked to the foal the whole time she was with him. When she ran out of things to say, she sang old cowboy songs that Jasper had taught her when she was little. Songs like “Red River Valley” and “Streets of Laredo.” Sometimes she sang the country and pop songs her school friends preferred. But Tesoro seemed to like the old songs best.

His silky muzzle nudged her arm. Sensing what he wanted, she scratched behind his ears. Lupita raised her head, glanced at her baby, then went back to munching hay.

Erin dreaded tomorrow night when her mother would come to drive her back to town for school the next day. Foals grew up so fast. Tesoro would be bigger and more active when she came back next weekend. Would he still remember her?

The barn was quiet except for the soft horse sounds and the muted shovel-scrape of someone cleaning the stalls at the far end of the barn. Jasper sat on a wooden chair with the dog curled in the straw at his feet. The old man’s eyes were closed, but Erin knew it wouldn’t take much to snap him out of his doze. He was alert to everything around him.

As if her thoughts woke him, he opened his eyes and stirred, looking a mite uncomfortable. “Are you okay, Jasper?” she asked him.

He looked mildly embarrassed. “Fine, honey. But my rusty old plumbing’s not what it used to be. I need to find a restroom.”

“Go on. I’ll be fine,” she said.

“No, I promised your dad I wouldn’t leave you alone. Come on out of the stall till I get back.”

“Just let me stay here,” Erin said. “My dad’s an old fussbudget. I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t ask me to break a promise, girl.” Jasper pushed to his feet. “If you want to stay, I’ll find somebody else. Lute,” he called, opening the stall gate and stepping out. “Get on down here for a minute?”

A dark, skinny young fellow in a ragged blue T-shirt sauntered into Erin’s view. “What’s up, old man?”

“Not much. I need a break and Will doesn’t want this young lady left alone in the stall. Could you spell me for a few minutes?”

“Sure. I could use a rest.” He sank onto the chair as Jasper hobbled toward the barn door. He had sharp, black eyes like a bird’s, and his worn leather gloves looked too big for his thin wrists. “Hi, I’m Lute,” he said.

“I’m Erin.” Her gaze sized him up. He looked old enough to be out of school, but not by much. “Do you work for my dad?”

“That’s what I’m doing here, working.” He spat out the last word as if he’d just bitten into a bad strawberry. “Sky gave me this so-called job. He’s my cousin.”

“Oh.” Erin shifted to face him, interested in learning more. “Sky never talks about his family. I didn’t know he had any.”

“Sky’s mother was my dad’s sister. She died when he was little, and our family raised him. So he’s almost like my big brother.”

“What happened to his father?”

Lute shrugged his bony shoulders. “Who knows? He was just some white jerk who knocked her up. That’s why Sky’s got blue eyes. But he’s mostly Comanche, like me.”

“Oh.” The young man did look something like Sky, Erin thought. But he was darker, his build smaller and more wiry, his features narrower.

His gaze had wandered to Tesoro. “That’s a fine-looking foal,” he said.

“He’s going to be my horse.” Erin laid a possessive hand on her foal’s back. “Sky’s already helping me train him. It’s called imprinting. That’s what I’m doing here.”

“Sky’s an important man on this ranch, isn’t he?”

“My dad says he’s the best horse trainer in Texas. That’s why cow ponies raised on our ranch are worth so much money. And that’s why we’re getting more colts for him to train, so we can sell them.”

Lute raised one jet-black eyebrow. “I hadn’t heard that. Maybe Sky will give me a better job when those colts get here. I’m good with horses, too. When’s it supposed to happen?”

“This spring, after the roundup, we’ll be building extra pens. As soon as that’s done, Sky can bring in the horses he wants and work with them over the summer.”

“He’s going to need some help. Maybe you can put in a good word for me.” He rose, glancing back toward the barn door. “I see our old friend Jasper’s coming back, so I’ll get back to work. Nice talking to you, Miss Erin Tyler. Maybe we can talk again.”

“Maybe so. Thanks for keeping me company, Lute.”

“See you around.” He opened the gate for Jasper and left. As he ambled away, Erin saw him take a cell phone out of his pocket, flip it open, and punch in a number.