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  "I'm not giving you any choice this time, John," Jake ordered. "I've got to leave town for a couple hours or so, and I want you to get your ass dressed and watch over things while I'm gone! You can wait in the jailhouse if you want, but I expect to find you awake when I get back."

  "Damn it, Jake," John whined. "I was down there helping put out that fire with everyone else. I'm tired...."

  "The next damned fire might be at your stable!" Jake spat. "Get your damned clothes on!"

  "That fire wasn't an accident?" John asked.

  "You keep that information to yourself for now. If you need me, I'll be out at Charlie's place. But I won't be gone long."

  Barely waiting for John's nod of agreement, he stomped away and headed back to the corral. A few seconds later he gave Dusty his head, and the powerful stallion flew down the road, hooves pounding a rhythm to his racing thoughts. The cool night air flowing past him failed utterly to chill his overheated body, and he leaned into the brisk wind. A strand of Dusty's long, coarse mane brushed his cheek and he slapped at it, recalling how much silkier the blond curls laying against his cheek had felt a few moments earlier.

  He had to rein Dusty to a slow lope to enter the road to Charlie's ranch, and the stallion protested, shaking its head and snorting annoyance. Though he made sure he considered the bit in Dusty's tender mouth in his hold on the reins, Jake took a sullen satisfaction in maintaining his control. His thighs and arms transmitted his power and command, and Dusty yielded to his domination, albeit reluctantly.

  At least he still had supremacy over one area of his life, Jake scoffed to himself. His horse knew who was boss and didn't give him any sass. His horse didn't stand there and look him in the eye, tell him it could ignore the bond between them and treat him just like any other man who forked its saddle.

  But that was exactly what he wanted, wasn't it? Dusty valued the freedom they had every bit as much as Jake did. The horse fought the confining corral, making its displeasure well known. Without Jake's contrary directive, the stallion would have raced through the night, stretching its long awaited release from the restraint of the corral to the maximum.

  Aw, shit. And his horse didn't have bluebonnet eyes and sunshine hair. Curves that felt like satin beneath the strokes he yearned to use to possess her loveliness. Strokes which on the stallion would be meant to calm and soothe, but on the woman would be meant to stir.

  And Dusty didn't tell him that he was too old and set in his ways for him!

  Outlined by beams of moonlight, the large family home Charlie now occupied alone loomed at the end of the road. His parents had accepted Charlie's offer of financing a dream they had long held — moving to Dallas to live their remaining days in comfort while their son fulfilled his own desire to raise his blooded palominos and dusky duns on the ranch. The last time Jake had asked Charlie about them, they were still active and healthy, enjoying their lives immensely.

  The glow of a cigarette tip from within the shadowed veranda alerted Jake that Charlie was still up and about despite the late hour. Jake was already swinging from the saddle by the time he halted Dusty at the hitching post, and Charlie strolled over to the edge of the veranda to meet him.

  "You just letting that horse run a few kinks out, or you got some other reason for riding hell bent for leather this time of night?" Charlie asked. "I heard you coming all the way from the main road."

  "I need some answers," Jake returned in a flat voice.

  "And you think I've got 'em for you?"

  "I don't know," Jake admitted. "I don't know if anyone has."

  "Well, we ain't gonna find out if we talk in riddles," Charlie stated. "Come on in and we'll have us a snort. Might calm you down enough to start making some sense."

  Jake followed Charlie into the house and down the hallway to the library, which Charlie used for an office. Flinging himself into a leather covered chair, he impatiently watched Charlie fill two tall glasses from a bottle of fine bourbon he took from a shelf. He accepted his own glass from Charlie, swallowing half of it by the time Charlie settled in the chair behind his desk.

  Charlie studied him for a second, then lifted his glass in a toast before he took a swallow and set it on the desk. "That's fine bourbon," he said. "Ought to be savored a little."

  "Brandy's for savoring," Jake responded. "Bourbon's for...."

  "For what?" Charlie prodded when Jake fell silent.

  "Hell, I don't know." Jake took another long swallow from the glass before laying his head against the chair back. "But it sure feels better in my belly than it does holding it in my hand."

  The clock on the fireplace mantel bonged once. When no other sound followed, Jake slit an eyelid to check if it was chiming a half hour or a different time. The hands indicated one o'clock, even later than he had thought. He sat up, swirling the bourbon once, then drinking half of the remainder.

  "You're up awful late," he pointed out to Charlie. "I can remember when you thought anything past nine at night was sleeping time."

  Charlie only shrugged and reached for his glass. He leaned back in his chair, cradling one hand in the other. Jake suddenly noticed the dark shadows beneath his friend's eyes and that the grooves on the edges of his nose appeared furrowed even deeper. Glancing down at Charlie's desk, he saw a bankbook scattered amid some other papers.

  "You worried about finances?" he asked his friend.

  "Hell, no," Charlie denied. "In fact, I got a letter yesterday from the mine manager. They hit another large vein of silver, even richer than the last one. It's on that part of the claim we used your name to stake out, so your share's gonna be a lot larger next year."

  "I don't need any more money, Charlie. Put it into the ranch."

  "I've got all I can handle right now, unless I wanted to buy more land. And I've got no use for that."

  Jake stared around the office. The curtains were tattered in places, and the windows needed a good washing. The desk Charlie sat behind looked like it had been through a battle in the war, and he felt a spring poking him from the leather chair. Mrs. Duckworth had taken a lot of the furnishings with her when she moved to Dallas, and the last time Jake had visited here, he'd noticed Charlie still hadn't seen fit to replace them.

  "Well, you could hire yourself a housekeeper and get someone to help you fix up the inside of this house," he said. "You keep everything outside in good shape, but I don't think your mother would appreciate how you've let things go in here."

  "Ain't no reason to worry about that. I don't do any entertaining, and I eat my meals out at the bunkhouse. Every once in a while I borrow Theresa from Mary Lassiter and let her give the house a swipe or two. Dust just settles back, though."

  "Yeah, I guess you're right," Jake agreed. "Not having a woman around means a man doesn't have to worry about all the trappings they seem to think makes a house into a home. Hell, all I need's a bedroll and my gun and tack. Even Dusty would rather be staked out on the range than penned up in a corral or a stall, even with a feed trough full of grain."

  "It's different with a horse, though," Charlie reminded him. "They ain't interested in a filly unless it's just that certain time when the filly's breeding. Once that's taken care of, that old stallion loses interest."

  "Works for me." Jake finished the bourbon and stood to walk over to the shelf and replenish his glass.

  "Does it?"

  Charlie's question drew Jake up short when he reached for the bottle. Pretending a nonchalance and perplexity over Charlie's query that he was far from feeling, he shrugged one shoulder and then forced himself to fill his glass. Returning to the chair, he faced Charlie rather than sit.

  "Look," Jake growled, "I came out here tonight to talk to you about something. I've been mulling over whether or not to say anything about it to you for a week now."

  "Something between you and that pretty little Sunny gal?"

  Fixing Charlie with a sharp look, Jake replied, "It's got to do with her, but not anything between her and me. It's...."
<
br />   "Could've fooled me," Charlie interrupted. "Hell, you pay so much attention to that house she lives in down the street of a morning that you don't hear half what I say when we're talking."

  "Damn it, Charlie! Shut up and let me finish!"

  Gesturing acceptance with his glass, Charlie took another sip and waited for Jake to continue.

  "Look, Charlie, part of my job is keeping my ears open. And I learned a long time ago that people like to talk. Well," he qualified, "most people. You don't say much except what it damn well pleases you to say. But soon as I got to town a few months ago, folks knew you and I were friends. One of the first things I heard about when they talked about you was that you used to be real close to the Foster family."

  He paused, expecting a comment, and Charlie complied. "Nothing secret about that. I suppose they even told you that Ian Lassiter beat my time with Cassie and she ended up planning on marrying that bastard."

  "Yeah, I heard that part. But the thing that's been bothering me is that they said the three of you were real close — you, Cassie, and her sister, Samantha. Yet I haven't seen you make one move at all toward Sunny since she arrived in town. Seems to me you'd want to get to know her, what with Sunny being the daughter of this close friend you used to have. Maybe even just to be polite — to tell Sunny you're sorry she lost her mother."

  "You're right about one thing."

  Charlie lifted his glass again and Jake could have sworn he noticed the liquid inside shaking, which meant Charlie's hand was trembling. But the older man threw the last dregs of bourbon down his throat and rose from his chair, turning to cross to the liquor bottle. When he poured his glass full again, his hand was steady.

  "What am I right about?" Jake prompted him as Charlie reseated himself.

  "That I don't talk about things unless I'm of a mind to," Charlie said. "And I've had my fill of what those people in Liberty Flats thought they knew about what happened nineteen years ago. Nothing that's said now would make things any different. And I don't intend to pay any attention to their speculating on it again after all this time, just because Samantha's daughter came to town."

  Jake sensed a much deeper well of emotions in Charlie than he let on about. You couldn't live with a man for years, practically on top of each other when you were trying to stay warm around a campfire or wintering in a small log cabin and

  not know a little about each other's inner workings. If that closeness fostered friendship rather than enmity, however, it also fostered respect for each other's privacy. Still, loyalty to his friend left him with at least one more thing to say.

  "Glad you reminded me that I ain't paid my respect to that there Sunny gal," Charlie said before Jake could speak again. "And I'll take care of it. She don't know me from Adam, though, and don't reckon it will mean much to her."

  "She darned sure wants to know you," Jake said, stepping into the opportunity Charlie himself offered.

  Charlie leveled his gaze at Jake, waiting for him to go on.

  "She's been asking me questions about you," Jake admitted. "Hell, Charlie, I don't really know how to say this."

  "Just spit it out," Charlie demanded.

  "All right, dammit. Are you Sunny's father?"

  The glass of bourbon spilled on the desk, but Charlie ignored it, never once taking his eyes from Jake's. He slowly lifted one hand, which was spattered with bourbon, and wiped it on his pantleg beneath the desktop. Somehow Jake became aware that Charlie's eyes were not focused on him — that the other man was concentrating inward, reliving his own exclusive thoughts. He also knew the exact second Charlie saw him sitting there in front of him again.

  "You worried about that little gal's bloodline in case you decide to hitch up with her?" Charlie asked with a smile that creased his lips but didn't chase any of the shadows from his eyes. "You know, we can pick and choose what mare we mate with what stud, but there's a little more to that when it comes down to human beings instead of horses."

  Annoyed at Charlie's evasiveness, Jake said impatiently, "Sunny and I have already come to the conclusion that neither one of us is right for the other. She...."

  Charlie interrupted, "Well, now, that's another thing you don't seem to understand. People don't pick their mates like we pick them for our horses. We...."

  "Dammit, Charlie! Are you going to answer my question or not?"

  "No."

  The flat word could have meant two different things — no, he wasn't Sunny's father or, no, he wasn't going to answer Jake's question. Jake gave up in exasperation. Pushing harder might make his friend's temper flare and cause a breach in their relationship. As it was Charlie was making some insinuations of his own that needed to be nipped in the bud before he got the wrong idea.

  "Well, it's your business, Charlie." Jake said. "But don't go getting any ideas that there's something between me and Sunny. We talked after we got the fire out tonight, and agreed we were about as mismatched as a polecat and a house cat. We're just friends."

  "Which one did you decide was the polecat?" Charlie said with a chuckle. "As if I didn't know. And what's this about another fire?"

  Disregarding Charlie's jibe, Jake said, "This fire was real this time — not just a pan of burned biscuits. I think someone set it deliberately, to cover up evidence."

  ***

  Chapter 14

  Charlie waited three days, chewing over his thoughts and losing sleep. Daytimes weren't so bad, even though he forwent his usual morning ride into town to exercise his primary stud. Instead he rode over the ranch checking fences, disregarding the fact that his hands made those rounds themselves at least weekly. The third morning he found himself at the old swimming hole, remembering the childish shrieks of laughter from the two girls who had been like sisters to him when they swung out over the water on the old vine and dropped with enormous splashes. Then he knew he had to face some things or continue subsisting on a couple hours sleep at night — way too little at his ripe old age of forty-one.

  He stared over the blue water of the pond, ruffled just a bit out in the middle by a slight morning breeze. Blue eyes that used to sparkle with excited laughter mocked him, and he dropped his chin to his chest, kicking at a stone and sending it plummeting into the water with a loud 'kerthunk.' The resulting eddies spread over the surface, disturbing the placid water nearer the shore. The concentric circles of an unexpected splash like that in real life shifted things around, too, he mused. Sometimes it seemed like fate took advantage of an unforeseen disturbance and turned things upside down. Things never were the same afterwards, though it could look like it on the surface.

  He didn't remember exactly when his brotherly feelings had changed toward one of the sisters. Hell, if you wanted to look at it that way, she wasn't even the prettiest of the two. Yet his father had always taught him to look deeper, beyond the first eye-catching glimpse that drew a person's interest. In horses it meant taking into consideration not just their physical conformities, but also how the spirits of the animals would blend in the offsprings. He hadn't realized it at first, but that reasoning had carried over into his maturing years.

  He'd seen plenty of his friends captivated by a pretty face and sashaying hips, along with their resulting hang-dog expressions when the pretty gal dumped them for someone with broader shoulders or a better smile. When he and his father discussed it, they'd come to the conclusion that some females — yeah, and men, too — fed a rather selfish ego trait by having the best looking person of the opposite sex they could get attached to their arms.

  He'd been willing to wait until his own choice for his attentions outgrew those rather immature ideas, but he'd waited too long. He'd waited until her own heart had been shattered and seemingly irreparable after her misguided choice. He should have killed the bastard, like he'd wanted to. But that would have brought the whole situation to light, and it would have been even worse on her. He couldn't do that to her.

  He'd even thought for a long time that his own heart had been broken beyond mendin
g. His visits home had been brief, just long enough for the memories to overtake him and send him on his way again. But he'd handled the recollections pretty well the last few years, after he decided not to let the memories override his yearning to fulfill the dream he'd always had of taking over from his father.

  Then that little Sunny gal had come to town — bringing it all back.

  The stallion snorted and Charlie stiffened his stance. With firm strides, instead of the lollygagging, indecisive steps he'd been taking lately, he went over to the horse and mounted.

  ~~

  Grubby and sweaty, Sunny stared around the interior of the Cultural Center with pride. They'd accomplished so very much in the last three days. After learning about the fire, even some of the surrounding ranches had sent in hands they could spare to help out. She glanced in amusement at the curved hooks inside the front door, where she had very nicely demanded the cowboys hang their jingling spurs.

  All the fire damage was repaired, the linens washed and the odor gone. Still, they needed to repaint, but no merchant had offered to donate that. Fred could only give so much, he'd explained, but he'd be willing to sell them what they needed at his own price. He'd already ordered it, and they could pay with funds raised at the Saturday social.

  Oh, land sakes! Being so busy the last few days, she'd completely forgotten Saul Cravens' offer of a donation. He probably thought she wasn't interested. She had to get over to the store and help Ruth for a while, and tomorrow she'd be baking and preparing food for the social most of the day. But she had a few minutes right now. Hurrying out to the boardwalk, she decided to clean up a little at Ginny's rather than making the trek back to her own house. Though none of the women would even consider entering Ginny's in the evening, many of them went in and out during the day to have a cool drink or wash the grit and grime from themselves. Therefore, no one even thought it unusual now when she came through the batwing doors.