The Bull Rider's Cowgirl Page 4

  “Where are we?”

  Jen pushed up from her slumped position in the passenger’s seat, blinking slowly. The soft glow of the dashboard instruments was the only light in the dark stillness of the truck’s cab.

  Colt managed a small smile before looking away. Jen had been quiet, too. She’d stopped her gentle attempts at conversation and gone to sleep six hours ago, after he’d refused her offer to drive. Desperate for a distraction, he’d held on to his position behind the wheel, focusing on the road instead of the burning ache in his throat.

  He’d fought against Jen coming. Had argued with Tammy for a good ten minutes and made it clear that he preferred to make the trip alone. The fear of breaking down in front of Jen was as unsettling as the challenge he already faced. But Tammy had refused to budge, and he had to admit that traveling the dark stretch of the interstate had been less grueling with someone at his side.

  Even if that someone had every right to be angry with him and every reason not to offer her support.

  “Colt?” Jen thumbed her hat higher on her forehead, her brown eyes searching his face. “Where are we?”

  His smile fell. “Tuxedo Park.”

  Colt looked out the window at the streetlights underscoring the lush greenery lining the road. The urge to hit the brakes, swing the truck in the opposite direction and drive for days was strong. He wanted nothing more than to forget. To pretend last night hadn’t happened and return to the status quo. Imagine that he’d never gotten the call and learned—

  He clutched the steering wheel tighter. That was one thing he couldn’t do. No amount of distractions could change the fact that his father and stepmother were gone. Or that Meg was now the only remaining member of his immediate family.

  The entrance appeared. Tall trees and shrubs lined each side of it.

  Colt slowed the truck, maneuvered the sharp turn and stopped at the gate. A guard leaned out of the security office’s entrance and waited for Colt to let down the window.

  “Good morning, sir.” He swept a flashlight briefly through the interior of the cab, then over the trailer. “May I ask who you’re visiting?”

  Colt didn’t recognize him. Not that he would recognize any of the staff after a seven-year absence. His father had consumed them like water, always finding fault with even the best employees and promptly trading them out for new ones.

  Colt leaned to the side and dug in his back pocket for his wallet. “Meg Mead.”

  “Is she expecting you?”

  He winced. “Probably not.”

  “May I see your identifi—” The guard stopped as Colt pressed his ID into his hand, then flicked his flashlight over it. “Thank you, Mr....” He glanced up, eyes widening. “Mr. Mead?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss, sir.”

  Colt nodded.

  “I apologize, Mr. Mead, but...” The guard motioned toward the inside of the cab. “I’ll need to see—”

  “Of course.” Colt glanced at Jen. “He needs your license, Red.”

  Her brows raised but she murmured an assent, bending over to the floorboard and fishing her ID out of her purse. Colt took it and handed it over, watching as the man examined it, then flashed his light into the cab.

  “Could you remove the hat, please, miss?”

  Colt’s jaw tightened. Procedures. His father had insisted on them being followed to the letter. So much so that his expectations were still met despite the fact that he was as good as in the ground.

  Jen removed the leather cowgirl hat, tucking it between her knees and brushing her red bangs back. The guard tipped the flashlight up, flooding Jen’s face. She squinted and shrank back against the door.

  Colt hissed in a breath and threw up a hand to block the glare. “It’s fine. Open the gate.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The guard handed him the license, stepped back and buzzed the gates open, which swung out in wide arcs. Colt shifted gears, accelerating through them and heading down the winding, paved path ahead. They drove in silence for a few minutes, the headlights illuminating clusters of trees and healthy plants with bright, bountiful blooms on either side of the wide driveway.

  Jen tossed her hat in the back of the extended cab and rubbed her palms over her jean-clad thighs. “Pretty intense security for a subdivision.”

  “This isn’t a subdivision.” Colt pressed his foot harder on the pedal, plowing up the steep incline in front of them. “It’s my father’s house.”

  She laughed, the sound short and nervous as she took in the thick foliage surrounding them. “There’s a house? Where?”

  When they cleared the top of the hill, the sun broke over the surrounding trees, flooding the sprawling grounds with light.

  Colt tipped his head toward the massive structure in front of them. “There.”

  Jen stilled, lips parting. He followed her gaze and gritted his teeth as he surveyed the familiar estate. A French provincial–style mansion consisting of thirty-five thousand square feet of space, stables, theater, pool, tennis court and caretaker’s suite sat center stage on a manicured twenty-acre lot.

  “That’s not a house,” she whispered.

  Colt sighed. “I know.”

  He guided the truck around the circular drive, rounded a large churning fountain and brought them to a halt. After cutting the engine, he glanced up to find Jen studying him.

  Her eyes narrowed, scrutinizing his features as though she didn’t recognize him. She turned her back to him and stared up at the massive flight of stairs that led to the double door entrance. “I wish Tammy were here.”

  Her words were so soft he barely caught them. But he did.

  He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing circumstances were different and that Tammy could be here, too. She kept him grounded. Reminded him of who he really was and, most importantly, who he didn’t want to become.

  His gut roiled. The kind of person his father had been. The kind of person Jen had just searched for when she’d inspected his face. A pompous, entitled man who put his own desires above the needs of others.

  “Why wouldn’t you let her come?” Jen asked, turning to him. “I mean, besides the race. I know that can’t be your only reason.”

  Colt looked away and placed his hands on the steering wheel. “Tammy’s mom was my dad’s sister. My dad had basically disowned her. She’d blown all her money, lived hard and apparently wasn’t worth knowing anymore. Tammy’s dad and mine were both cruel. But where my dad just used his words, Tammy’s liked to use his fists. And her mom did nothing to stop it.”

  The air grew thick and heavy in the cab. His throat closed and he swallowed, waiting for Jen to speak. When she didn’t, he forced himself to continue.

  “Things got so bad, Tammy finally called me and asked for help. I was seventeen. A dumb kid, thinking if I brought Tammy here, my dad might actually man up and do something.” Colt tightened his grip on the wheel, his nails cutting into his palms. “Suffice it to say, he made it clear Tammy didn’t belong here. And I already knew I didn’t, either. So when I turned eighteen, I left and took Tammy with me.”

  “How did you end up on the circuit?”

  Hearing Jen’s shaky voice, Colt glanced over. The tear slipping from her dark lashes sent a stabbing pain through his chest.

  “Riding bulls was a quick way to make money and I found out I was pretty good at it. Tammy knew horses and I made enough to set her up to race.” A bitter laugh burst from his lips. “We were both angry at the world in general. Riding bulls let me fight back and racing horses let Tammy run. Tammy wasn’t born tough. She was made that way. And there’s no way in hell I’d ever let her revisit what got her there.”

  A soft sound escaped Jen. She leaned over and wrapped him in a hug.

  A wave of soothing heat swept over him,
causing his hands to dig into the silky fall of her hair and his body to hum. He longed to tug her closer, drive away and leave it all behind. But Meg needed him and his focus should be on her. Not Jen.

  Colt held on for a few moments, then forced himself to let go, pull away and jerk his chin toward the main house.

  “I might as well get this over with.”

  Jen ducked her head, her cheeks flooding with color. She grabbed her purse and whispered, “I need to take care of Diamond before we go in.”

  He nodded and opened his door, forcing himself to ignore the sudden desire to ease back into her comforting hold and explore her inviting mouth.

  It took a few minutes to unload Diamond. By the time they’d managed it, a groundskeeper approached, offering assistance, and Jen reluctantly handed Diamond’s care over to a stable hand. Colt retrieved their overnight bags and they made their way up the steep flight of stairs to the front entrance, pausing two-thirds of the way to catch their breath.

  “This is ridiculous,” Jen muttered, glancing below them at the truck.

  Colt relieved her of her bag. “Too ridiculous.”

  Her eyes locked with his and they both laughed, his rigid muscles relaxing and his pain easing. Thank God she was here.

  A click sounded as a door swung open. Jen’s laughter died on her lips. Colt’s chuckle trailed away, too, and he turned to find a tall, slim woman standing in the open doorway. She stood motionless in a stiff-collared shirt and dark slacks, her only greeting a stern expression.

  “Hey,” Colt called, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun. “I’m here to see Meg Mead.”

  “It’s a bit early for visitors,” the woman replied, tucking a stray gray hair back into her updo. “I’m Ms. Parks, Margaret’s nanny. May I have your name, please?”

  Colt bit back a retort. His father’s strict protocols were always followed and it was routine for guests to be announced once they passed the outer gates. She’d known who he was long before his boots ever hit the driveway.

  Forcing a polite smile, he climbed the last few stairs to the front door. “I’m Colt Mea—”

  He jerked to a halt when they reached the landing.

  The sharp glare of the sun’s rays shifted and he could just make out a young girl’s face peeking around the woman’s hip. Blond hair, brown eyes.

  Colt’s chest burned. “Meg?” His voice emerged in a rasp and he set the bags down, clearing his throat.

  “Margaret, I asked you to wait inside.” The woman reached behind her and tapped the child’s shoulder. “Since you’re here, you may as well come out and introduce yourself properly.”

  The girl blinked, her guarded eyes moving from Colt to Jen and back, but made no move to step forward.

  Colt dragged his clammy palms over his thighs. “Do you know who I am, Meg?”

  She stepped around the woman and straightened, the top of her head barely reaching his waist. “No one calls me that.”

  He let out a slow breath, his smile tentative. “I used to.”

  Her small mouth tightened. “I don’t remember.”

  Colt’s gut churned. Her frown was overly fierce and the tilt of her chin too pronounced. She kept cutting looks at Jen, brows drawing farther down.

  “That’s okay,” he said gently. “I remember. I’m Colt. Your brother.”

  His tongue clung to the roof of his mouth, the last word foreign and strange.

  The woman at Meg’s side twisted her hands together and her nose wrinkled slightly.

  “My name is Margaret.” Her fingers picked at the hem of her khaki skirt, which brushed the tops of her knees. “That’s what everyone calls me.”

  Colt examined her as she shifted from foot to foot. Her shoes were a shocking hot pink, but she had on navy blue knee-highs and a matching collared shirt with an emblem.

  His throat ached. “Are you on the way to school, Margaret?”

  “No. I just got back. The driver doesn’t pick me up for weekends until six on Saturday mornings. I stay Friday night to take music lessons. We pay extra for private ones. Mr. Evans told me yesterday on the phone that Dad always said...” Her chin wobbled. “Mr. Evans said you can never get too far ahead. And that I shouldn’t miss a lesson, no matter what.”

  Mr. Evans. Colt scoffed. Jack Evans. His father’s business partner.

  Jen shifted at his side and touched her fingertips to her lips, features strained. Ms. Parks’s face flushed and she smoothed a hand over Meg’s blond curls.

  A spark of anger lit in Colt’s gut. Ten years older than Colt, Jack had been a hanger-on from the moment he’d entered their lives, clawing his way into the family business and endearing himself as a second son. Enough so that he’d taken it upon himself to deliver the devastating news to Margaret. By phone, no less. Then hadn’t even bothered to bring her home early.

  Colt shook his head. “Margar—”

  “Who’s she?” Margaret stared at Jen, eyes flashing over her from head to toe.

  “This is Jen Taylor. A friend of mine.”

  Jen smiled, bent and offered her hand. “Hi, Margaret.”

  “Hello.” Margaret kept her arms at her sides, looking down at her pink shoes for a moment before glancing back up. She surveyed Jen’s outstretched hand, then the other one, and squinted up at her. “What should I call you? Miss Taylor? Or Miss Jen?”

  Jen shrugged, hand and smile dropping. “Whatever you want. Jen is fine.”

  “Was that your horse they took to the stables?”

  “Yes. His name’s Diamond.” Jen slipped her hands in her back pockets, her tone nervous. “You saw us pull up?”

  Margaret nodded. “They always announce guests. I watched from the window.” She examined Jen again, her brown eyes narrowing on Jen’s jeans and clinging to the shiny rhinestones ringing the front pockets. “Those are some tight pants.”

  “Margaret,” Ms. Parks admonished. “Your manners.”

  Colt tensed. Nice effort. But the nanny’s disapproving glance at Jen proved she agreed with Margaret’s declaration.

  “I’m sorry,” Margaret muttered. “But they are some tight pants.”

  Jen’s mouth twitched and she gestured to Margaret’s feet, smile returning. “Those are some bright shoes.” She winked, adding softly, “I like them. A lot.”

  Margaret nibbled on her bottom lip, digging the toe of her right sneaker into the doormat and dodging Jen’s gaze.

  Colt lowered himself to his knees and nudged her chin up with a knuckle. “I’m sorry, Margaret.”

  “For what?” she mumbled, still looking down.

  He grimaced. “For Dad and Rach—”

  “Why?” Her eyes shot to his face, narrowing to slits. “She wasn’t your mother. She was mine.”

  His breath caught at the reminder. Rachel had been his third stepmother. And hadn’t cared for him any more than the other two. “I know.”

  “She was mine,” she repeated, rosebud mouth trembling.

  Her lashes spilled over and a large tear slipped down each cheek, dripping off her chin and plopping onto her shirt. Colt’s body felt heavy. But he lifted his arms, drawing Margaret close and enfolding her in a loose embrace.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, leaning down and brushing a kiss across her cheek.

  She jumped and shoved him back, scrubbing her hands across her face. “That hurts.”

  Colt held up shaky hands. “What?”

  “That.” She jabbed a finger at his chin.

  He blinked and touched his jaw, the stubble of his beard rough against his fingertips.

  “You came for the house, didn’t you? That’s why you’re here.” Margaret jerked her chin at Jen. “That’s why she’s here. Mr. Evans said Dad left it to us and that you’d come for it.”

 
Margaret had composed herself again. There were no more tears. No chin wobble. Just a defiant, judgmental expression. So like their father’s. The pain in Colt’s chest flooded his veins, coursing in hot streaks through his body.

  “Where is Jack, Ms. Parks?”

  “Mr. Mead,” the nanny said, stepping between them. “Perhaps it’s best if—”

  “Where—” Colt gritted his teeth “—is he?”

  “In Dad’s study.” Margaret nodded. “He said you’d come.”

  “Wait here, Red.” Colt stood and eased around Margaret, taking long strides across the foyer.

  “Colt?” Jen’s voice shook.

  He paused, glancing over his shoulder. A worried shadow lurked in Jen’s eyes as they swept over his frame.

  “I’ll just be a minute.” He softened his tone. “Promise.”

  She didn’t look convinced. Colt spun and made his way down the long corridor, finding the marble floor and walls as cold and hard as he remembered them. He gripped the thick handles of the wide double doors leading to his father’s study and shoved them open.

  Jack Evans sat behind a massive, ornate desk. His dark head was bent over a pile of scattered files and folders, and the shiny pen he held flashed under the lamplight with each movement of his hand.

  “Making yourself at home?”

  Jack stilled. He clicked the pen, placed it on the desk and rose. “Colt.”

  He looked the same. Lean. Polished. Professional. And as bland as the slate-gray suit and tie he wore.

  “It’s good to see you,” Jack said, sliding his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels. “Though I wish it were under different circumstances.”

  Slick bastard. Words were the cheapest thing in this high-priced mansion.

  Jack hesitated at the silence, dipping his head and saying, “It’s a difficult time for all of us.”

  “Yeah.” Colt sneered. “I can see you’re all torn up about it.”