The Millionaire and the Cowgirl. Lisa JacksonЧитать онлайн книгу.
Caitie girl. As for the people on the other end of the phone line, they’re just a pack of cruel ninnies,” Sam said, aching inside for her daughter. “They don’t know a thing about you.” She bent down and wrapped her arms around Caitlyn’s shoulders. This wasn’t the first time her daughter’s lack of a father had been brought to her attention and it probably wasn’t going to be the last, but each time it hurt a little more.
“Is it true?”
“What?”
“I looked up the word in the dictionary and—and I am one. I don’t got no daddy.”
“It’s true I wasn’t married to your father, but you’ve got one, honey. Everyone has a daddy.”
“Where’s mine? Who is he?” Caitlyn’s lower lip trembled slightly and fat tears filled the corners of her eyes.
“He’s a man who lives far away. I told you that.” Why now? With Kyle so darned close, why did those little snots have to bring up Caitlyn’s lack of a father now?
“You said I could meet him someday.”
“And you will.”
“When?”
With a sad smile, Sam said, “Sooner than I want you to, I’m afraid.”
“Will I like him?”
Sam nodded. “I think so. Most people do.”
“But not you.”
“It’s more complicated than liking him or not. You’ll see. Now, would you like a snack before you go back to bed?”
Caitlyn’s eyes narrowed, as if she knew that she was being manipulated. At nine she wasn’t as easily distracted as she had once been. “But, Mom—”
“The next time Jenny or Tommy or whoever it is calls, you tell them they’re to leave you alone. No, better yet, don’t say anything, just give me the phone. I’ll handle them. Now, are you okay?”
“Yeah, I guess.” She sniffed back her tears and the trauma, at least for the moment, seemed to have passed. Sighing loudly, Caitlyn walked to the window and looked in the direction of the barn. She ran her finger along the sill. “I was thinking.” She slid her mother a sly look.
“About?”
“You promised me a horse for my birthday, remember?”
“That I did, but your birthday isn’t until next spring.”
“I know, but Christmas is before that.”
“Still half a year away.” Six months—the same amount of time that Kyle had to spend in Wyoming.
Together mother and daughter walked up the narrow flight of wooden stairs to Caitlyn’s tiny bedroom, the very room where Sam had spent her childhood years. She shoved open the window. A slight breeze lifted the faded curtains, carrying with it the scents of dry hay and roses from the garden. Crickets chirped, their soft chorus interrupted by an occasional moan of a lost calf or the mournful howl of a coyote high in the mountains.
Caitlyn tumbled into her bed—the canopied twin that Sam had slept in—and tried to stifle a yawn. “Love ya,” she murmured into her pillow, in that moment looking so much like Kyle that Sam’s throat ached.
“Me, too.” Sam kissed her daughter on one rosy cheek, but before she could snag a pair of dusty jeans and a T-shirt from the floor and depart, Caitlyn stirred.
“Leave the light on.”
Sam grabbed the dirty clothes, but didn’t move from the room. “Why?”
With a lift of her shoulder, Caitlyn sighed. “Don’t know.”
“Sure you do. You’ve slept in the dark since you were two.” The hairs at the nape of Sam’s neck lifted. “Is something wrong?” she asked, “Something more than Jenny Peterkin’s phone calls?”
Caitlyn bit her lip, a sure sign something else was troubling her.
Still holding on to the wrinkled laundry, Sam lowered herself to the foot of Caitlyn’s bed. “Okay, honey, stop pussyfootin’ around. What is it?”
“I—I don’t know,” Caitlyn admitted, her face drawing into a worried pout. “Just a feeling.”
Sam’s throat went dry. “A feeling? Of what?”
“Like—like someone’s watching me.”
“Someone? Who?”
“I don’t know!” Caitlyn said, pulling the hand-pieced quilt to her neck, though it was over ninety degrees in the little room.
“You saw someone?” Oh, dear God, was someone stalking her child? It happened to famous people in the city, but sometimes perverted creeps followed children…. Please, please, God, no!
“I didn’t see anyone but…it’s just like, you know, when you feel that someone’s staring at you. Sometimes Zach Bellows looks at me funny, and even though his desk is behind mine and I can’t see him, I know he’s watching me. It’s creepy.”
“Of course it is,” Sam said, her heart pumping wildly. “But if you didn’t see anyone… When did this happen?”
“A couple of times at school, and then once when I was at the store.”
“Was anyone with you when this happened? A friend or a teacher or someone who might have noticed who was watching you?” Sam asked, trying like hell not to panic, when her stomach was twisting into painful knots.
Caitlyn shook her head.
“So why are you…worried tonight?”
Caitlyn chewed on her lip. “I—I just feel weird.”
“Well, that does it!” Sam pasted a smile on her lips, though her insides were churning. “You’re sleeping with me. And don’t worry about anyone watching you. We’ve got the greatest watchdog in the world and—”
“Fang?” Caitlyn laughed, the concern disappearing from her eyes.
“Yeah, and I lock all the doors and windows at night. This is all probably just your imagination, anyway. Come on.”
Dragging the quilt with her, Caitlyn scurried into the bedroom across the hall and jumped onto Sam’s double bed. She burrowed deep in the covers. “Can we watch TV?” she asked, a glint in her eye.
“I thought you were tired.”
“Please?”
Wondering if she’d been conned by the youngest flimflam artist ever to walk the planet, Sam agreed. She double-checked the locks on the doors, made sure that Fang was in his favorite position near the base of the stairs, then stole a glance through the kitchen window to the Fortune ranch. The night, illuminated by a quarter moon, was serene, not sinister; the only immediate problem looming in their future was Kyle Fortune. Sam climbed the stairs, listening to the third step creak as it always did, but knowing that her life and Caitlyn’s would never be the same.
Kyle swatted at a pesky horsefly with his clipboard as he walked through the stables and eyed the barrels of grain, tack, veterinary supplies, tools and bales of hay. Though it was early morning, not yet nine, he’d already been to the barn, three sheds, the machine shop and pump house. He intended to compare the notes and figures he’d scribbled down to the ledgers in the den, then input the data into the computer he’d ordered over the phone. Laptop, modem, software and printer were supposedly on their separate ways. The Fortune Ranch was finally going to join the twentieth and twenty-first centuries.
The stables seemed musty and close, the thick air already gathering heat. Sharp odors of horse dung, sweat, urine and oiled leather mingled with the familiar scent he’d always associated with this place. Aluminum buckets, pitchforks, shovels and rakes hung from hooks on the walls. Along with the fire extinguisher