Cowboy Christmas Guardian
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Something was under those words, something deep and painful and raw.
Since he did not know what to say, he dialed his cell phone and told his family about the newest development.
“Road’s still blocked to our ranch,” Owen told him. “Cops said they’ll circle around and meet you at Arroyo’s place.”
Arroyo’s place. He’d rather crawl through a cactus field, but he could not think of any way out of it. “Okay,” he said.
“Need backup?”
“Nah, thanks, though.”
He pocketed the phone and joined Shelby, who was examining the remains of her car.
“As soon as I get the horses back, we’ll go to your uncle’s place. Cops will meet us there.”
She stared gloomily at the wrecked vehicle. “My first new car.”
He decided it was not the time to tell her a nice half-ton pickup might have held up better than her flimsy foreign-made tin can.
His mother’s voice rang through his memory. In the multitude of words there wanteth not sin: but he that refraineth his lips is wise. He’d had to copy that proverb out as punishment a number of times when he was a kid. All the Thorn brothers had, except Jack, who was so quiet no one ever knew what he was thinking.
And then there was the youngest Thorn. Their mother would probably still be having Keegan write out Bible verses if she could get him to do it. Barrett didn’t figure Keegan would ever master the art of restraint.
He heard no sign at all that the person who had tossed the dynamite was still around, so he figured it was okay to leave Shelby there while he went after the horses. Titan wouldn’t have gone too far and Lady would stay with him. Horses weren’t as smart as humans, but they knew the survival basics.
Retrieving his hat from the ground and shaking off a sprinkling of glass and dirt, he put it on and headed for the trees. He was surprised to find that Shelby was following him.
“I...I figured I’d help,” she said.
Help? That surprised him. Maybe she was scared to be left alone, but she seemed like the kind who wasn’t scared of much.
A memory came back to him so strong it cut his heart in two. His wife, Bree, was the bravest woman he’d known, but she’d been petrified of snakes. The day a little gopher snake wriggled into the kitchen, she’d leaped onto Barrett’s back piggyback-style, hollering for him to get rid of it. He’d been laughing so hard tears had run down his face.
A drop of rain splatted his cheek and he realized he was standing still. Shelby was looking at him inquiringly.
“Are you okay?” she said softly.
“Just thinking.” He turned away and she laid her hand very gently on his shoulder.
“Wait a minute. You’re bleeding. I think you got cut by some flying glass.”
He shrugged. “It’s okay.”
But she did not let go. Instead she lifted the bottom edge of his jacket. He felt her fingers graze over his back, the sting of the cool air against the cut at odds with the softness of her touch.
“It doesn’t look deep, but it needs bandaging.”
He was caught there, wanting to pull away, yet part of him wished to stay, to accept the comfort of her gentle fingers, a connection he had not experienced in a very long time. Blinking, he cleared his throat, moving just enough that she let go of his jacket.
“There,” he said, relief pouring through him. “There’s Titan.” He whistled and the horse approached, with Lady following a pace behind. He took the reins and patted the horse. “It’s all right, buddy. The dynamite scared all of us.”
Lady was composed enough to allow Shelby to mount. When Barrett was astride Titan, they headed along the muddy trail toward Ken Arroyo’s property.
He had not spoken to Ken since the trial when Devon was imprisoned for killing Bree. Ken had bought his son the fancy car and given him all the money he needed to enable his party-boy lifestyle. As far as Barrett was concerned, Ken might as well have bought his good-for-nothing son the liquor that he guzzled before getting behind the wheel.
Anger lit inside Barrett’s gut like a burning coal, just as hot as it had been since his wife was taken from him.
Would he be able to keep his mouth shut to prevent the ire from spilling out like acid?
Just keep quiet, he told himself as they picked their way toward the house of his enemy.
* * *
Shelby was lost in thought as they followed the trail to her uncle’s property. Who would want to throw her in the trunk of her car and then toss a stick of dynamite at her? It had to be Joe Hatcher. He had threatened to kill her, hadn’t he? But what would he gain except to keep her out of the mine and buy himself a whole lot of unwanted attention?
As they neared the ranch, she could see Barrett straighten. His back must be hurting. Her fingers tingled at the memory of his strong muscles. The man despised her uncle, yet he’d twice bailed her out of a terrible situation. It must be that cowboy-honor thing.
She felt a deep-down ache in her temple behind her left eye. Migraine or a residual pain from her attack? No time to ponder that as the big ranch house loomed before them.
Uncle Ken had built the home thirty years before, as a summer place for him and his wife, Opal, but Opal had died in childbirth.
Uncle Ken lived most of the year on the east coast with Devon, tending to his commercial real estate business and summering at the California ranch until Devon was fifteen. Summers there had been idyllic. The three of them—Shelby, her sister, Erin, and Devon—rode horses, drank lemonade and caught frogs in the creek.
She’d envied Devon for his situation. It was so different from her own, as a child of a single mother who quaked with fear when the monthly bills came due. She wondered how Devon was faring now. State prison was a world removed from his comfortable home with Uncle Ken.
A police car was parked in front of the two-story house on the wide circular drive. Barrett looped the reins around a split rail fence. Uncle Ken was an equine fanatic and he kept three horses in the back pasture even though he rarely rode anymore, leaving their care to an employee, but she figured Barrett wasn’t about to make himself or his own horses at home on Uncle Ken’s ranch.
His son killed my wife.
She’d not seen Devon since his high school graduation, the happy kid with the wide smile. How differently Barrett must see him, the killer of his wife. She had no idea how the next few minutes would go as she reached the front door. Barrett followed her in, lingering a few paces behind.
The lamps in the front parlor illuminated a well-appointed front room with sleek leather furniture and richly hued area rugs, not a Christmas decoration to be seen anywhere. Uncle Ken was deep in conversation with a young police officer whose close-cropped hair and rain slicker were damp. Her uncle broke off and wrapped Shelby in a hug, his wide face flushed with emotion.
“I can’t believe what’s happened to you. Are you okay? Are you hurt at all?”
“No,” she said, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “I’m okay, thanks to Mr. Thorn.”
Barrett grimaced.
Uncle Ken’s mouth twitched as he looked at Barrett. “Thank you,” he said quietly, “for taking care of my niece.”
Barrett shrugged, hands jammed into his pockets, avoiding eye contact. His jaw was tight, shoulders tense.
The police officer introduced himself to Shelby. “I’m Chris Larraby. I’ll be handling your case. I spoke to Joe Hatcher. He was upset about the trespassing, but he says he had nothing to do with locking you in your trunk.”
“Well, now we’ve got a stick of dynamite thrown into the mix,” Shelby said. “You can ask him about that.”
“Did either of you see who threw it?”
Barrett shook his head.
“I didn’t see a thing either,” Shelby added.
“It had to be Hatcher,” Uncle Ken said. “He made threats.”
“Doesn’t prove anything,” Barrett said.
“It’s common sense. Why would you defend him?” Ken’s eyes narrowed. “Is it because Shelby is my kin? You’d be happy to see her hurt to get back at me, is that it?”
Barrett’s eyes blazed. “No, that’s not it.”
Larraby raised a palm. “Let’s leave the past out of it.”
Barrett’s expression read, “How are we gonna do that?” But he kept quiet.
Shelby went over the details again while Larraby jotted notes on a small pad of paper. He tucked it into his front pocket. “We’ll photograph and give it a once over when the storm’s through. In the meantime, Miss Arroyo, I’d advise that you don’t go poking around Gold Bar by yourself until we figure out what’s going on here.”
He paused at the door. “And tell your family to keep their cool also, huh, Barrett?”
Barrett’s chin went up. “I’m not telling them anything. We have nothing to do with any of this.”
“Yeah?” Larraby’s voice went so quiet Shelby almost didn’t hear it. “If there’s trouble around, Keegan’s usually not far away.”
Barrett’s nostrils flared and the vein in his jaw jumped. “Do your job and solve the case, Larraby,” he said. “I don’t want anything to do with the Arroyos, and neither does my family.”
Shelby watched Barrett stalk through the door. Her emotions clashed loudly inside her. So Barrett and his family wanted nothing to do with her? That was just fine, but if Barrett thought she was going to get run out of town on a rail, he had another think coming. She owed everything to her uncle, the man who had financed her college education, tried to help her mother when the creditors came calling. He was practically a parent to her since her mother had denied Shelby and Erin access to their real father, or so she’d believed until recently.
I’m not going to tuck my tail and run, Barrett, she thought. She would do the job her uncle had hired her to do and nothing, not Joe Hatcher or the Thorn family or anyone else, would stand in her way.
FIVE
At his customary hour of 4:00 a.m., Barrett made it into the kitchen and grabbed a cup of coffee. The cuts on his back stung, but work would make him forget about the discomfort. Owen was already sitting at the table with a steaming mug. He immediately stopped massaging his upper thigh when Barrett arrived, but not quickly enough.
Barrett sat across from him. “Pain bad today?”
Owen shook off the question. “No.”
It was not the truth, of course. Barrett could see by the slight sheen of perspiration on his brother’s forehead that his leg was killing him. It also meant he was still steering clear of the pain meds that had been more destructive than the bullets. Stay strong, brother.
“Checking fences today with Jack. Can you and Keegan handle the feeding?”
“I can handle it myself,” Owen said defiantly, challenging his brother to disagree. He did not. Barrett knew the power of work could heal a man; it had helped heal him after Bree’s death. Ken Arroyo’s words from the night before galled him afresh.
Is it because Shelby is my kin? You’d be happy to see her hurt to get back at me, is that it?
Barrett’s bitterness was mixed with shame because, following the accident, he’d been in such anguish, steeped in rage unlike he’d ever experienced, that he’d wished every bad thing he could imagine on the Arroyo family. Years of prayer and penitence and God’s grace had helped restore him, at least mostly. He had not found the strength to completely forgive Devon Arroyo yet, but at least the rage no longer completely consumed him from the inside out. Devon was a kid who’d made a tragic mistake. Barrett’s feelings for Ken were another matter entirely.
Again the conversation circled through his mind.
I don’t want anything to do with the Arroyos, and neither does my family.
Well, that part was true anyway. Shelby Arroyo could solve her own problems.
“That’s it?” Owen said.
“That’s what?”
“You’re not going to talk about what happened last night with you and Shelby?”
“I already told you. It’s all over.”
Owen raised an eyebrow and chugged some coffee. “You two almost got blown up, and you’re not worried about her?”
“She’s not my problem, and she can take care of herself.”
“Uh-huh. Locked in a trunk and almost blown up in the same day. Clearly she can take care of herself.”
Barrett grabbed his jacket, unwilling to talk anymore about Shelby. “Mama wants mistletoe.”
Owen laughed. “Of course she does. I’ll give that job to Keegan. He climbs trees like a monkey.”
Barrett and Jack met up in the stable. Jack had already saddled both Lady and Titan, who seemed to be suffering no ill effects from their frightening episode the evening before.
For a second, Barrett wondered if Shelby had any nightmares about what happened. Bree had periodic nightmares that would leave her trembling and crying. He would roll over and embrace her, kiss her hair and rub circles on her back until she fell asleep again. Funny, she could never recall the bad dreams upon waking.
“You make them go away,” she would say, “so I can’t remember.”
Oh, how he’d loved her. Sometimes he wished he could forget the pain just as easily as she forgot the nightmares. But the pain was a part of the blessing God had given him in Bree, and he would not reject a single moment of it, anguish and all. Bree was with God and she knew no pain, that was his comfort.
He pulled himself back to the present. Jack was already leading Lady out, so he scrambled to catch up, wondering why his thoughts of Shelby and Bree were getting tangled together.
The fences were in better shape than he anticipated and by lunchtime they were heading back after a few minor fixes. The clouds promised more rain, but for now the sky was holding. He admired the wet gold of the grass which would not regain its brilliant emerald until the spring. The glistening oaks dripped down on them as they picked their way back to the house at just after eleven. His stomach rumbled and the horses were hungry, too, judging by the way they picked up their pace as they neared the barn.
Barrett handed Titan over to Ella Cahill, who beamed a bright smile from under her tangle of red hair. Though she was in her late twenties, she barely came up to the horses’ withers. Ella was tiny but ferociously devoted to her disabled sister and to the Thorns, whom she treated as family. She and Owen had been inseparable as young children. She’d got into some trouble after Owen deployed, but Barrett didn’t know the particulars.
“Hey, Barrett. You’re late. Did you forget Titan is due for his pedicure?”
In spite of her young age, Ella was the best farrier that had ever worked at Gold Bar Ranch. She had a gift, a connection with the horses that defied description. “No way. Didn’t forget.”
“I’ll get Titan some breakfast. He likes to munch while I work on him,” she said.
Barrett caught sight of an older horse that gleamed almost white gold, narrow chested with a bright silky mane, delicate and powerful at the same time. He did a double take. “Isn’t that Arroyo’s Akhal Teke? Is Ken here?”
Ella shook her head, smile dimming. “No, his niece is, and I already got the third degree from Ms. Arroyo so it’s your turn. She’s in the house,” she said, turning away to lead Titan into the barn.
“The third degree about what?” Barrett called to her, but she didn’t answer.
He stared from the high-spirited horse, which was eyeing him suspiciously, to the house. What was Shelby Arroyo doing back at the Gold Bar? And what was she doing riding a hot-blooded horse like the Akhal Teke?
Jack fisted his hands on his hips. “You coming?”
Barrett suddenly felt unsure, reluctant to subject himself to Shelby’s soft green eyes. He felt like bolting as Titan had done to escape the dynamite. Why the sudden onslaught of ridiculous emotion? What was the matter with him?
“Yeah, I’m coming,” he said angrily, cramming his hat more firmly on his head as he strode past his brother.
* * *
Shelby held her chin up as she heard the noise from outside. Barrett’s mother stood and went to the big simmering pot on the stove.
“Boys will want some soup on a cold day like this,” Evie said. “They’ve been up since before sunrise checking fences.”
Shelby had been hoping she’d somehow miss seeing one particular Thorn brother. All she’d needed was her pile of clothes and some information, which she’d been semisuccessful in prying out of the farrier. “I’ll get out of your way. Thank you for laundering my clothes, Mrs. Thorn.”
“Please call me Evie. Why don’t you stay for lunch? I’m baking gingerbread men later and I’d love some help. The boys are terrible at decorating cookies. My gingerbread men all turn out looking like zombies after the boys are done.”
The front door opened and Shelby heard the sound of jackets being hung up on the hall stand. Her stomach tightened. “No, thank you. That’s very kind but I think, since my cousin caused Bree’s accident, I shouldn’t be here longer than necessary.”
Evie’s mouth tightened for a moment. “What happened to Bree was a tragedy, for everyone, but God can make good out of it.”
Shelby sighed. “That’s what my mother would have said.”
“You don’t believe her?”
“She wanted to believe in the happy, God-will-provide kind of thing, but that didn’t play out in our lives when my sister and I were younger. It took me a long time to understand.” Even when they were eating canned beans for dinner. Even when their father left after the divorce and her mother had refused to let the girls go live with him, the woman had clung to her stubborn, rose-colored view of life.
Now that Shelby wasn’t a child anymore, she had grown to respect her mother for believing God’s promises. After all, Shelby and her sister grew up just fine. She wished desperately that she could tell her mother she’d been right, to ask forgiveness for dismissing her mother’s staunch, faith-grounded optimism. Pain licked at her insides.
“She’s, um, disabled now,” Shelby said flatly. “She had a stroke that affected her brain. My sister was caring for her until we had to move her into a place with full-time nursing.”
“Is your father still around?”
“He lives in Canada. I haven’t seen him in a long time. I recently discovered that, uh, he isn’t interested in being a father, never was.”
“I’m sorry.” Evie took her hand, the skin of her palms warm and calloused and comforting.
“Me, too, but my mother did her best trying to be Mom and Dad to us.” Yet another thing she should have said before it was too late.
Evie hesitated and then took a breath. “You know, we have a lot of holiday fun around here. We host a Christmas Eve dinner for the town. I want to invite you to hang out with the Thorn clan. I mean, if you don’t have plans with your uncle.”
Shelby understood. Uncle Ken was not welcome here, for all Evie Thorn’s assurances about God making it all turn out okay. Even the matriarch of the Thorn family blamed Uncle Ken for his son’s actions.
So much for grace and forgiveness. Fine, the Arroyos didn’t need grace, especially not from this family. She detached herself from Evie’s grasp. “Thank you again. I’d better go and let you get lunch served.”
She hustled to the front door, thinking she would escape before the brothers arrived in the kitchen for lunch. Barrett met her just as she stepped outside.
“Hello,” he said politely.
She could not help but marvel at the electric blue of his eyes, the most brilliant hue, like the sky on the first day of summer vacation. His gaze seemed to pierce right through her. There was something in his look, something accusatory? Suspicious?
Distrustful, she decided. Fine. She did not trust him either, even though he had crawled into a ravine to haul her out. Her face went hot at the memory.
She held up her bundle. “Just picking up my clothes.”
“You riding the Teke?”
“Yes. My uncle doesn’t ride much anymore and Diamond needs it.”
“Spirited horse, even if she is older.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Are you implying I can’t handle her?”
He shrugged. “Just observing. I remember hearing that your uncle bought her from Hatcher’s wife a while back. Sold off a bunch of horses then.”
“I didn’t know who Uncle Ken bought her from, but I wonder why Hatcher or anybody would want to sell off a gorgeous horse like that.”
“Wouldn’t recommend asking him. You two haven’t exactly hit it off.”
She tossed her hair back. “He’s going to be seeing more of me than he likes. I’m on my way to the police station later today. I’m going to ask Officer Larraby to come with me to force Hatcher to let me into that mine this afternoon.”
“Oh.”
“What?” She stared into the implacable blue gaze. “My uncle owns the mineral rights. Legally, Hatcher can’t refuse me, and it’s Larraby’s job to uphold the law in this town, isn’t it?”
No change of expression on his face. “Uh-huh.”
“Would you care to elaborate on your ‘uh-huh’?”
“Uh-uh.”
She groaned. “You don’t talk a whole lot, do you?”
“More than my brother Jack.”
Now there was the tiny quirk to his mouth that indicated the hint of a smile.
Her annoyance ebbed. “Well, anyway, I’m going to do my job with or without Hatcher’s consent.” She reached for the door but he opened it first, ushering her outside.
“Even if it causes trouble?”
She shot him a look. “Would you stop caring for your horses if it meant trouble?”
“Never.”
“Well, then, I guess we’re on the same page.” His face did not indicate as much. “Are you, I mean, is your back okay?”
“Only scratches.”
She had the feeling Barrett would say that even if he’d nearly been cut in half. She untied Diamond and climbed into the saddle.
Barrett looked at her. His eyes were contemplative, tense. “Be careful. It’s dangerous,” he said.
“What’s dangerous? Diamond or tangling with Hatcher?”
“Take your pick,” he said.
“I can take care of myself,” she said, wishing at once that she hadn’t. Still, she did not see disdain or ridicule in his expression, only a glimmer of some emotion she could not name, buried deep.
Guiding Diamond home, pain throbbed in her temple and she tried not to think about the burning dynamite arcing toward her. Hatcher? Someone else? Who might be in the dense cover of trees watching her?
Waiting?
SIX
Barrett loaded two English saddles into the truck next to a case of homemade pickles and drove them to Hatcher’s Saddlery to be oiled and tended before the next round of riding lessons started up after the holidays. The Gold Bar offered training in both Western-and English-style riding. With Christmas Eve just a week away, the chores were piling up. He’d promised to start working on putting up the tables for the holiday dinner. He’d not felt much holiday cheer at all since Bree died, but at least he was now able to enjoy his mother’s pleasure at the festivities hosted on the ranch.
Joe Hatcher operated his saddlery out of a small building set on his sprawling acreage. A thick cluster of oak trees and shrubs screened the workshop from the residence where Hatcher lived with his daughter, Emmaline.
Barrett did not know Hatcher’s ex-wife, Cora, well. Their families hadn’t socialized much and Hatcher’s divorce happened when Barrett was too steeped in Bree’s death to pay much attention to such things. He had to believe it was hard to raise a kid alone, especially a girl who would grow into a woman just as hard to figure out as any other of her kind. Women, Barrett mused. Who could possibly understand them?
Barrett was surprised to see another truck already parked in front, a familiar fully loaded model with shiny green paint.
Ken Arroyo’s vehicle.
Barrett debated whether or not to put his truck in Reverse and return another time. Instead he sucked in a breath as he heard loud voices coming from inside the saddlery. One was Joe Hatcher’s low rumble and the other a higher-pitched, feminine timbre, which made his breath catch. Shelby? She had not waited for the police to accompany her before she confronted Hatcher with her plan. Barrett groaned inwardly. Typical.