The Princess of Coldwater Flats (5 page)

When she pulled to a stop, she saw Doc Carey’s familiar white horse trailer pulled up next to the gate at the side of her house.

“Well, it’s about time,” she huffed, venting her fury on the unsuspecting veterinarian. She’d called the man this morning when Tick-Tock, her pregnant mare, had taken a turn for the worse. Off her feed for the better part of two days, the animal had gone head-down and listless this morning, looking for all the world as if she were about to give up and die. In a panic, Sammy Jo had phoned the vet who’d been up to his elbows in surgery in Bend. His assistant had been called to some emergency, as well, so Sammy Jo had stood on one foot, then the other, and tried to make the mare comfortable while she waited. The appointment at the bank had been, in its way, a welcome diversion, but now her worries rushed back, and she barely threw the truck out of gear before racing pell-mell toward the barn.

Doc Carey, sixty, white-haired and the most notorious gossip in the county, had a hand against Tick-Tock’s sweaty neck. His expression was grim.

“Well?” Sammy Jo asked. The mare’s head was even lower and she shifted her weight constantly. Sammy Jo swallowed, thinking of the unborn foal.

“Looks like some kind of bowel obstruction.”

“Serious?”

He grimaced. “Gonna take surgery to get it out.”

“Oh, God.”

“She’ll have to go to the hospital in Bend, but Sammy Jo, her chances aren’t so good. And it’ll be risky and expensive.”

“Everything is,” Sammy Jo answered bitterly.

Silently, Sammy Jo weighed the alternatives. The procedure would undoubtedly cost thousands of dollars, and she could still lose the horse and the unborn foal. Tick-Tock wasn’t worth that much to the ranch.

But the mare was a personal friend of Sammy Jo’s.

Wrapping her arms around her waist, Sammy Jo strode to the other end of the barn and gazed unseeingly across the fenced paddock. Several horses stood together, flicking flies away with their tails. Tick-Tock was only one of several mares due to foal. The Triple R could absorb the loss.

Except…‌

Doc Carey came up behind her, dropping a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I could handle another surgery today if Tick-Tock can handle the ride to Bend.”

“Thanks.” Sammy Jo swallowed hard against the lump in her throat.

“No problem.”

Twenty minutes later, Tick-Tock was bumping her way down the lane and getting ready for the hour’s drive to Bend. It was lunacy to think she would pull through. Sheer madness to even try to save her, especially given Sammy Jo’s financial situation. But what was life for, if not to try for something better and hope for the best? Quitting seemed so wrong.

Tick-Tock’s situation threw Sammy Jo’s problems in her face. Hard. She had to come up with an alternative. She
had
to save the ranch.

As Sammy Jo stood at her bedroom window and glanced across her property to the fence that divided her land from the Riggs place, she chewed on her lower lip. No matter what she thought of Cooper Ryan as a man, he’d been friendly enough, and he sure as hell had enough money. He’d talked Matt Durning into giving her some extra time to get back on her feet. Maybe he’d help her some more, if she asked. Tess sure seemed to think so. Maybe he got off on that damsel-in-distress stuff.

“Don’t be crazy,” she reproved herself, but the wheels in her mind kept turning right along. She wasn’t exactly the damsel in distress type, but hey, it was worth a try, wasn’t it? She didn’t have to actually
like
the man, and she never planned on trusting him. But if he could get the bank off her back, she’d give an Oscar-winning performance.

With that in mind, she strode determinedly toward her antique cheval mirror. A little lipstick? Some blush, perhaps?

Moving closer, Sammy Jo critically examined her skin. She was deeply tanned from working outside all summer, and tiny freckles dotted the bridge of her nose. She’d showered right before heading to the bank, so there were no visible dirt smudges, but she considered showering again. A second later, she snorted at herself. What was she trying to find, an investor or a
suitor?

“Get over yourself,” she muttered, brushing her fine blonde hair with vicious abandon until it flew and crackled around her head. Dropping the brush, she swiped at the strands that practically stood on end around her face, uttering imprecations all the while. A second later, she’d snapped another rubber band around the mess and was stomping to the door. She stopped herself, infuriated, then reluctantly turned back. Checking her appearance in the mirror once again, she pulled out the rubber band. With difficulty, she tamed her blonde hair, then added that blush and a bit of mascara. The clothes would work. She looked feminine and that was a first order of business for this plan.

She actually chuckled as she climbed into the pickup. Immediately, she sobered. This Cooper Ryan fellow might toss her out on her ear. The plan wasn’t foolproof.

But…‌

There were still a few other people in town who might help her. She just hadn’t wanted to ask them because she didn’t want to owe anybody anything.

For instance, she might get a loan from Tommy Weatherwood. Okay, sure, she didn’t believe he’d actually inherited that money, but he had managed to buy himself a place down at Shady Glen, hadn’t he? And though he never seemed to work, he sure managed to keep himself in beer and women and still have change left over. She and Tommy weren’t all that close anymore, but maybe he’d be interested in a little investment.

She wrinkled her nose. Having Tommy as a business partner was hardly an appealing thought. Well, what about Brent Rollins? He’d been sweet on her for a long time. He wasn’t exactly rolling in the green stuff, but he was honest and kind and willing to work hard. And he did own Rollins Real Estate, which seemed to be limping along all right. Brent wasn’t too interesting, but maybe he’d see the investment potential of the ranch.

“Oh, hell,” Sammy Jo grumbled, yanking the wheel toward Serenity Ranch’s driveway.

Better to start with her new neighbor, she determined, shooting a last glance at the lowering sun.

He wasn’t home. Jack and Lettie were there, seated at the table over heaping helpings of strawberry shortcake, but Cooper Ryan was nowhere to be seen.

“Sit down, Sammy Jo,” Lettie invited, scraping back her chair.

“No, thanks, I’m kind of in a hurry,” Sammy Jo demurred, but before she could say any more, Lettie had plunked a mound of strawberry shortcake on a plate in front of her.

“You lookin’ for Mr. Ryan, then?” Jack asked as she sat down.

“I was hoping to talk to him,” she admitted.

“He went into town a couple hours ago,” he mumbled around a mouthful of whipped cream. “He told me and Lettie about the cattle getting’ out last week. Heap o’ trouble.”

“You said it,” Sammy Jo agreed.

“Mind now, he’s getting’ rid of them hoppity beasts,” he said while Lettie hovered over her. Clearly, she was waiting for Sammy Jo to dig in.

With a sigh, Sammy Jo complied. She wasn’t very hungry. “What’s he planning on doing?”

“New livestock. And makin’ Serenity a real humdinger of a ranch,” Jack revealed.

“Are you two staying on to help?” Sammy Jo asked.

“Sure enough.” Jack nodded. “It’s a big place. You got a big place, too.”

“I know.” Sammy Jo heard the implied criticism even though she knew Jack wasn’t meaning it that way. “Carl Murdock stopped by to help. Glenda told me he was laid off and looking for work.”

“Good, good.” Jack nodded again.

“So, do you know when Mr. Ryan will be back?”

“No…” Lettie spoke up, giving Sammy Jo an assessing look. “The man’s got a lot on his mind.”

“Oh?” Sammy Jo swallowed some strawberry shortcake. The strawberries were sweet and fresh and the biscuit melted on her tongue. She groaned with appreciation and Lettie’s face brightened. “Wow, this is good.”

“The best in three counties,” Jack said, shooting his wife a proud look.

“Mr. Ryan’s been asking a lot about you,” Lettie reported, watching with satisfaction as Sammy Jo scooped up more strawberries and whipped cream.

“Has he?” Sammy Jo’s heart jumped.

“Now, Lettie,” Jack admonished. “Don’t start somethin’.”

“I’m not startin’. I just know when a man’s got a woman on his mind.”

“Oh, and how do you know that?”

“He’s just got a certain look.”

“Well, I think you’ve got the ‘look’ wrong,” Sammy Jo interrupted this exchange, her voice bubbling with laughter. “I don’t even know him very well.”

Lettie lifted her shoulders dismissively. “He’s sweet on you, Sammy Jo, my girl. That’s all I’m sayin’.”

“Oh, please.”

“Lettie’s just yakkin’, you know.” Jack threw his wife a quelling look, which she ignored completely.

“He’s been asking lots of questions. Wants to know all about Sammy Jo Whalen of Ridge Range Ranch, don’t you know. But I was careful. I didn’t say too much. A woman’s got to have some mystery.”

Sammy Jo shook her head in embarrassment. She didn’t believe a word of Lettie’s fantasy, but the idea made her feel good in a way she shouldn’t. Men didn’t look at her that way. They looked at Bev Hawkins that way, but then who wouldn’t? Bev oozed sensuality, and even though she was supposedly happily married, men’s gazes lingered on her hips and legs whenever she sashayed by. Sammy Jo had a tendency to clomp through a room and she’d heard the remarks that followed her passing.

“…‌stubborn as sin…‌not quite pretty enough to make up for that fast mouth…‌shoulda been born a boy…”

“You’d better not let Mr. Ryan know what you think,” Sammy Jo advised, fighting back the little spurt of pain those memories caused. “He might figure you lost your mind.”

Jack laughed aloud and signaled Lettie to serve him up some more dessert. His wife merely glared at him.

“I know what I know,” Lettie insisted stubbornly.

“You’re an old woman with a big imagination,” her husband told her.

“You can just get your own shortcake, mister!”

Jack laughed.

Sammy Jo scraped back her chair, deciding she’d better get out of here before World War III erupted. “Thanks. It was delicious.”

“You want to find the man?” Lettie’s hands were on her hips. “Go on in to town. You can’t miss that shiny black truck of his. You’ll catch up to him.”

“I can talk to him later.”

She shooed Sammy Jo outside. “You go on and check out what I’m sayin’. He’s a man who’s lookin’ for a woman like you.”

“A woman like me,” Sammy Jo repeated, not sure she liked the sound of that.

“Someone who knows her own mind,” Lettie told her. “None of that namby-pamby stuff. Go on after him. It’d be good for both of you.”

Ten minutes later, Sammy Jo found herself parked in front of the Triple R, a frown darkening her pretty face. She didn’t believe Lettie for a minute, but that didn’t mean she’d changed her mind about finding Cooper. But was she being too anxious? She knew enough about human nature to know that nobody wants to help someone who’s so desperate. She had to play cool, be aloof.

But sitting at home wasn’t going to solve her problems.

With new resolve, Sammy Jo ground the gears and tore away from the Triple R toward the streets of Coldwater Flats. Correction. The
street
of Coldwater Flats. The town was really just one long main street with a few little arterials that meandered aimlessly out from the center like crooked spokes. Spying her cowboy hat resting on the seat beside her, she jammed it on her head.

“Be natural,” she told herself again, practicing a smile of pleasure and surprise when she “accidentally” ran into Cooper Ryan.

Cooper leaned across the scarred bar of the High Noon Saloon and said quietly to the bartender, “Know anything about a woman named Sammy Jo Whalen?”

“Sammy Jo?” The bartender grinned, showing spaces where there should have been teeth. “You mean the Princess.”

“The Princess?” Cooper repeated blankly.

“Who’s askin’?” a deep voice growled from the end of the bar.

Cooper peered through the dark bar to the hulk of a man seated on the last stool. A thick red beard covered a weathered face. At first glance, he appeared to be in his forties, but as Cooper walked down the expanse of the bar, he realized the man was probably around thirty.