Wild Horses. Bethany Campbell
that bordered on contempt. For years he’d lived on her fairness and generosity, acting like a shiftless old pirate.
Mickey had to strike out in defense of her friend and benefactor; she couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t. “I don’t know why you’d be satisfied with finding only Enoch for family. Carolyn’s respectable, at least.”
“Respectable?” Adam mocked. “That’s what’s important? To you? To her? Is that how she felt about Enoch? He wasn’t as good as she is? Because he didn’t spend his life getting—stuff?”
He made a wide, disdainful sweep with his free hand to indicate the Circle T and everything on it. He radiated such disdain that Mickey’s temper flared higher.
“Carolyn’s worked hard for everything she’s got. Which is more than anybody can say for Enoch. If you knew about her, why didn’t you write her? Instead of cozying up to some eccentric old grouch who was probably losing his mind—”
He jerked his head in frustration, so that his hair fell over his forehead. “Why are you so judgmental? Before I met Enoch, I damn well didn’t know Carolyn existed. It was Enoch who told me the whole story about my dad’s first marriage. And that only Carolyn was left.”
Mickey put her fist on her hip. “So why didn’t you get in touch with her then? What happened to your burning urge to find your kinfolk? You waited until Enoch signed her inheritance over to you. And now you show up.”
Adam raked his hand through his hair. “He warned me about you people. He said she looked down on our kind.”
He dared to call Carolyn a snob? Carolyn, of all people? “Don’t you criticize Carolyn,” she warned. “You don’t even know her.”
“Then don’t criticize me. Or Enoch. You don’t know us, either.”
Mickey shook her finger in his face. “For years and years he promised that land would be hers.”
“Don’t do that,” Adam warned her, his voice flat.
But her dander was up, and she kept shaking her finger. If it annoyed him, she would shake it until doomsday. “But you come along like a thief in the night—”
“I said don’t do that.”
“I’ll do as I please, and you can’t stop me.”
“Yes, I can,” he said from between his teeth. He seized her wrist, and stepped even closer.
Her pulses drummed crazily. His body was too near hers, his face too close, his hand too strong, his anger growing as charged and heated as her own.
Mickey, who hardly ever lost control of herself, wanted to clench her fist and hit him in the stomach so hard that he’d double up in agony. Yet, paradoxically, she was swept by the dizzying and irrational wish that he’d kiss her. And just as irrationally, she knew he wanted it, too.
They stood glowering at each other, breathing hard. She saw a vein in his neck throbbing as fast and strong as her own heartbeat.
Just as she was about to either knee him in the groin or collapse into his arms, she heard Bridget’s cheery voice.
“Hello? Where’s everybody gone to? Are you out on the deck, Mickey? It’s a lovely night, isn’t it? Dessert is ready, and we have company come, just in time to share.”
Mickey nearly swooned in bewilderment. Company?
Bridget added, “It’s Reverend Blake and Reverend Casterleigh. Right this way, gentlemen!”
Mickey closed her eyes and thought, What have I done wrong, Lord? Guilt settled on her like a rough and heavy cloak.
Not one, but two ministers appearing at a moment like this?
SHE MET THE VISITORS in the dining room. Bridget had turned on the overhead lights, but the candles still flickered in their silver holders.
Reverend Howard Blake was an elderly man with an amazing head of white hair, full, lushly thick, and wavy. Although age had stooped his tall body, his cobalt-blue eyes still twinkled from behind his trifocals.
He had been the most respected minister in Crystal Creek for as long as Mickey could remember. But now he was getting ready to retire, and nobody envied the young man given the impossible task of replacing him.
Reverend Hugh Casterleigh was fresh out of divinity school. So lean he seemed gangling, he had an innocent, boyish face and a slight stammer. He was so sincere and good-hearted, he seemed like an awkward young angel being forced to serve time on Earth.
“Good evening, Mickey.” Reverend Blake took Mickey’s hand in his. “Forgive us for dropping in unannounced. We were driving by, and we just wanted to tell you that everyone is praying for Beverly and the baby. And dear Carolyn and Vern, as well.”
Mickey’s heart fairly shriveled with guilt. She hoped these two godly men could not see how bedeviled she’d just been, her heart torn by both anger and desire.
She bowed her head and murmured, “Thank you. I’ll be sure to tell Caro and Vern.”
He put his other hand on her shoulder. “I know this is hard on you, too, my dear. You’re like her second daughter. Our prayers are with you, as well.”
Her face burned with shame. “Thank you,” she said, her voice even smaller than before.
Howard Blake clasped her shoulder more tightly. “This is a trying time for Carolyn. First losing her uncle, now this. She’s lucky to have someone as steadfast as you to depend on.”
“P-please give her my condolences about her uncle, t-too,” Hugh Casterleigh said.
Howard stepped aside and let Casterleigh shake her hand. He pumped it as if he wished he could pump all sorrow out of the world.
“And you,” Howard said to Adam, “must be the executor. I’m Howard Blake. I was sorry to hear about Enoch. I knew him when he was young.”
Mickey fought not to wince. She became acutely conscious of Adam standing off to the side. “I’m sorry, I’m forgetting my manners,” she apologized.
Hugh Casterleigh blushed in sympathy and didn’t seem to know what to say. But Adam stepped up to Reverend Blake and offered his hand. “Thanks. I’m Adam Duran. From the Isabella Islands. I arrived at a bad time, I’m afraid.”
Howard clasped his hand. “You couldn’t know, my boy. But I’m sure that Mickey will take good care of you. Very capable girl, our Mickey.”
Her cheeks flamed more hotly. She managed to say, “Reverend Casterleigh, Adam Duran. Mr. Duran, Reverend Casterleigh.”
Casterleigh shambled over to Adam and engaged in another of his energetic handshakes. “S-sorry about Mr. Randolph,” he stammered.
Mickey went limp with relief when Bridget came in bearing a tray of dessert plates. “Y’all sit down,” she invited. “And I’ll be right back with the coffee.”
“Ah, Bridget,” Howard said. “Is that your famous German chocolate cake? You’re leading me into a temptation I can’t resist.”
“Oh, go on with you,” Bridget said, her cheeks flushed with pleasure. She set down the dessert plates, cleared away the remains of supper, and bustled off.
“Please sit,” Mickey said to the men. She sounded cordial and confident. What a faker I am. What a phony.
Howard Blake gallantly drew out her chair for her to be seated, and Hugh Casterleigh nearly tripped over a throw rug. Adam once again sat across from her, his face betraying nothing.
Howard asked what Mickey had heard from Denver, how everyone was getting on, and showed special concern for Carolyn. As Bridget poured the coffee, he turned to Adam. “This must complicate your travel plans, Mr. Duran. When did you plan on returning to the Isabellas?”
“Friday,”