Platinum Cowboy. Rita Herron
rays of sunlight streaked the bedroom with various shades of red and orange and gold, waking Lora Leigh from a troubled sleep. She brewed a pot of coffee, then sat in the porch swing to watch the sun slowly rising behind the willow trees, soaking in the quiet as she observed a mare and her foal roaming in the pasture nearby. Others ran across the open space, their manes whipping in the slight breeze. The brilliant colors streaking the horizon made the rolling, lush pastures of the Diamondback look elegant and peaceful, although peace evaded her.
She removed the letter her father had written before he died and unfolded the single piece of plain stationery, studying the scrawled writing. She’d always teased her father about his chicken scratch, but now the narrow print and jagged lines of his penmanship made her long for him even more.
She’d read the suicide note a dozen times, but once again, she reread his last words, needing them to fortify her for the day ahead.
My dearest Lora Leigh,
I write this to you today with a heavy heart, but I do not want yours to be heavy or for you to mourn me when I’m gone. I have had a wonderful sixty years. I loved your mother with all my heart, and you and Johnny completed my life in a way the ranch couldn’t even do.
The Double W was my dream. The smell of the earth, the feel of soil beneath my hands as I planted crops, the sound of cattle grazing and horses galloping across the land—these were precious to me and reminded me of how fleeting and beautiful life is. I only wish that I could have held on to it for you. But I don’t regret a moment of my life or the sacrifices we made as a family together.
That is what families do.
As I said, the Double W was my dream. I hope when I’m gone that you both find your own dreams and make them come true. Now it is time for me to join your mother. Don’t cry for me. Know that I am with the love of my life, and that we’ll both be watching over you.
I love you always,
Dad
Lora Leigh wiped at the tears trickling down her cheeks, finished her coffee, then headed to the cafeteria for breakfast, bracing herself to face Flint, take care of his prized animals, and pretend that she didn’t despise him for breaking her father’s heart.
FLINT READ THE NEWSPAPER over his morning coffee and his breakfast of steak and eggs in his home office. The front page spread about Prince Viktor Romanov’s death reminded him of his personal loss. Memories of Aggie tailgating, frat parties, and bonding over beer and chili flashed back.
Dammit, the news reports stated that the bodies of the royal family had been burned beyond recognition. The authorities were still sifting through the debris and bodies from the explosion that had destroyed the palace, trying to make sense of the mess and identify all those lost. But they were convinced that Viktor and his entire family were gone.
Flint scrubbed his hand over his face, his chest aching. But his personal loss was nothing compared to the loss of Viktor’s fellow countrymen.
The people of Rasnovia would suffer. In the wake of the political unrest, Viktor had been instrumental in guiding them from Soviet rule to a free and democratic society. The Aggie Four Foundation had invested in the country’s infrastructure and burgeoning local businesses, which had improved Rasnovia’s economy.
Now the country was in turmoil again, and all the assets would be tied up. And who would bolster Rasnovia’s fledgling democracy and protect the people from the rebels?
He finished his coffee, knotting his hand into a fist. He hoped to hell they found the party responsible for the royal family’s demise and punished the perpetrators for what they’d done.
Lucinda tottered in, with a smile and more coffee, but Flint shook his head as his cell phone rang. He checked the number—Norton International. Deke Norton, another Aggie grad, who was a few years older than Flint, Viktor, Jackson and Akeem, had built his empire with a focus on his import/export business and had also offered each member of the Aggie Four financial advice over the years, which had aided them immensely. He was also a good friend and was mourning Viktor’s death.
Flint connected the call. “Good morning, Deke.”
“Is it?” Deke asked, with an edge to his voice.
Flint pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, not really. I was trying to be optimistic.”
“What’s going on?” Deke asked. “First Viktor is killed. Then your business is attacked.”
Flint frowned. The two couldn’t be related. “I know. I still can’t believe Viktor is actually gone. I keep expecting him to call and say it was a horrible mistake.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Deke said bleakly. “But what about you? Were you hurt at the airport?”
“No, but two of my ranch hands and my pilot were killed.”
“The Arabians weren’t injured?”
“They’re fine and in quarantine now. I hired a new vet to oversee their medical care. Are you still interested in a purchase?”
“Absolutely. I’ll try to get out there soon to take a look. Remember, I get first pick.”
“Of course.”
“I’m going to the auction house today to look at a few yearlings from promising lines.” Deke hesitated. “Do you know if there’s going to be a memorial service for Viktor here in the States? I thought someone at A&M might be planning one.”
“I haven’t heard, but if I do, I’ll let you know.” They agreed to talk later, and Flint disconnected the call.
He thanked Lucinda for the meal, stood, grabbed his Stetson and headed toward the door, but his cell phone rang again. He checked the number and saw it was his half brother, Tate Nettleton. Tate was a pain in the ass, and he didn’t have time to deal with him now, so he let it ring.
That afternoon he had to attend funerals for Grover and his pilot, but this morning he planned to pick up Lora Leigh and show her around his ranch. Pride bloomed in his chest as he stepped into the warm spring sunshine and inhaled the scent of grass and hay. For a moment, he paused to drink it all in, his land, his horses and cattle, his home. He smiled as he watched two mares gallop across the pasture, their foals trotting awkwardly behind.
He was damn proud of what he’d built here, and for some odd reason, he wanted Lora Leigh to be impressed.
But he sensed she might be immune to his accomplishments.
Although she had liked the handmade quilt he’d had Lucinda dig out from his mother’s collection for her bed. Lucinda had questioned him about using items from his treasured personal collection for an employee, but he’d shrugged off her curiosity by saying that it was time he put the quilts to use.
But that wasn’t entirely true. He had seen the homemade quilts at the Whittaker house when he’d stopped by to meet with Lora Leigh’s father, and he’d decided that using one on the bed in the guesthouse would make her feel at home.
He climbed in his truck, started the engine and drove to the guest cottage, his stomach tightening when he spotted Lora Leigh waiting on the front porch. She was dressed in a baby blue T-shirt that hugged her breasts, jeans that molded her lean, muscular legs and work boots, and she had a jacket tied around her waist. Her beautiful blond hair was tied back in a ponytail, which she’d fitted through the back of an Aggie baseball cap, making her look impossibly young and…sweet.
He’d never seen anyone wear denim the way she did. He’d never thought anything was more beautiful than his horses, but Lora Leigh took his breath away.
But judging from the professional expression tacked on her face as she strode toward him, she didn’t think the same about him.
LORA LEIGH SETTLED INTO the passenger seat, trying to ignore the tension simmering