The Bull Rider's Cowgirl. April Arrington
flinched. Heat singed his face and chest.
“She’s your sister.” Jack scoffed. “Not mine. But I was the one left to deal with it. Hell, I couldn’t get a single soul with her blood running through their veins to respond to my calls. Your grandmother’s the only one I managed to reach and she’s on a European tour. It took me an hour and a hefty support check to convince her to collect Margaret when she returns next month.”
“Next month? Who’s looking after her till then?”
A snide expression crossed Jack’s face. “Should be you. Your father designated you as her legal guardian in his will.”
Colt’s stomach dropped. “What?”
Legal guardian? The old man must’ve overlooked that detail when he signed off on the document. There was no way Colt was fit to be any kid’s guardian. Especially Meg’s.
“That’s got to be a mistake.” He held up a hand. “There’s no way... I can’t—”
“I figured as much.” Jack straightened. “I’ve already made arrangements with the school. She stays there during the week. Your father and Rachel had her picked up on weekends, though they didn’t always hang around to greet her when she arrived. People are paid to do that, and God knows, it costs enough. The headmistress has agreed to board her full-time at the end of next week. Right after spring break. There’s a nanny and enough staff here to meet her needs until then.” He gestured to the stack of papers on the desk. “Once you sign these documents, your grandmother will take over responsibility for her. Thank God money matters to most people. Otherwise, Margaret would end up being a worthless aggravation. As it is, money’s the only thing that’s going to ensure a solid future for her.”
Colt’s legs grew weak and his shoulders sagged.
Jack smiled, flashing bright white teeth. “Aw, buck up, boy. You’ll be back to groping bulls and beauties in no time.”
“That’s enough.”
Jen’s voice, quiet but firm, sounded at Colt’s back. She stood in the entrance, pulling the doors closed and fixing her eyes on Jack.
“Margaret’s right down the hall,” she said. “This place echoes like a museum and your voice carries.”
Jack’s smile morphed into a slow grin as his gaze drifted over Jen. “You must’ve changed course, Colt. Don’t think you picked this one up in Podunk. Though I doubt you found her in Tuxedo Park, either.”
Colt stiffened, his skin prickling.
Jack held out a hand. “Charmed.”
Jen made no move to take it. “I’m not.”
Jack’s eyes flared and he cut a look at Colt. “Fiery piece of ass, is she?”
The crack as his fist met Jack’s face was enough to sharpen Colt’s focus. Jen yanked at his biceps, attempting to dislodge his grip from around Jack’s neck.
“Let him go, Colt.” Jen’s low words barely overcame the roaring in his ears.
His gut heaved on a renewed surge of pain and disgust. For his dead father. For the ambitious fool stretched across the desk beneath him. And for himself.
“Colt.” Jen sobbed, her mouth moving against the skin of his neck. “Please. Margaret could come in. You want her to see this?”
A wave of remorse flooded him. Colt let Jack go, hanging his head.
“I might be no one out there.” Colt struggled to suck in air, lungs stinging just as they did every time he conquered a bull in the arena. “But in here, I own you.” His eyes burned as he glared at Jack’s crumpled form. “Now get the hell out.”
Jack turned over, braced his palms on the desk and struggled to a standing position. He cupped a hand over his nose. Blood seeped between his fingers, trickling over his smile and onto his tie.
“You might not have a taste for money, Colt, but you sure as hell have one for power.” Jack laughed, wincing as the sound left his lips. “You’re more like your father than you think.”
Colt froze.
The doors closed behind Jack with a sharp click.
Jen touched his back. “Colt—”
He jerked away, moving on weak legs to the window and almost choking on the words tearing from his throat. “Margaret heard? Everything?”
“No,” she said. “But more than you would’ve wanted her to.”
And more than he’d have wanted Jen to hear, too.
Colt cringed, looking away from her faint reflection in the glass and down at the extensive grounds below him. The pristine gardens, sparkling pool and spacious tennis court were all beautiful. But barren and lifeless. Just like John W. Mead.
You’re more like your father than you think.
Colt sucked his teeth. To hell with Jack Evans and his arrogant declarations. Colt was nothing like his father. And never would be.
“We’re leaving,” he growled. “Right after the funerals tomorrow.”
The words were easy. They rolled off his tongue with finality. But they left a hollow in his gut. One that made him wonder if he could actually follow through.
What kind of man would leave a little girl behind? Allow her to fade into empty surroundings, forgotten and unseen?
Colt frowned, stilling his thoughts and avoiding the answer. But it whispered through his mind just the same.
Men like Jack Evans. Men like John W. Mead.
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