The Bull Rider's Cowgirl. April Arrington
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.”
Jack jerked his hands from his pockets. “Really? This is where we’re going to start?” He straightened his tie, tucking it beneath the edge of his jacket. “Picking right back up where you left off, aren’t you?”
“What? By being honest? That’s the only way I operate.” A hard smile stretched Colt’s cheeks. “I’m sure the concept’s alien to you.”
“Cut the shit, Colt.” Jack shook his head. “You haven’t come by anything honestly. Don’t have a clue what it’s like to work to the bone for something. You were born into all of this.”
“Not everything’s about money,” Colt bit out.
Jack’s laugh grated across the room. “It sure as hell isn’t to those who haven’t earned it.” He leaned forward, his palms on the desk. “Those of us that sweat blood for it have a greater respect for its value. You think this place materialized overnight? It took generations to build this estate and it’ll take several more to ensure its survival.”
“And you’re the man to see to it, right?”
“I’m the only one that can.” His brows rose. “What? You want to do it? Think you can waltz in here after seven years, step into Daddy’s shoes and make it happen?” He shoved himself off the desk. “It doesn’t work like that, Colt. You might own the place now but you’re no one out there—where it counts.”
Colt balled his fists. “And Margaret? She counts as no one, too? That’s why you didn’t even bother to deliver the news of her parents’ death in person?”
Jack brushed a hand over his upper lip. “She was at school. The headmistress was with her. What else could I have done? There were important business matters that had to be tended to. Things your father worked hard for. You know as well as I do how much he would’ve wanted me to finish them. Remember his mantra?” His jaw hardened. “No matter what.”
Colt’s gut roiled, the taste of bile rising