Romancing the Cowboy. Judy Duarte
yes. I’m doing just fine. How about you? Are you well?”
Jared had been doing okay until Matthew moved in. And until Doc had called this evening. “I’m all right. Keeping busy.”
“What about Matt?” Granny said. “Is he doing okay, too?”
“Yes,” Jared said, not wanting to worry his mother. But the truth was, although Matt seemed to be mending physically, he’d been depressed ever since the accident.
Of course, Jared really couldn’t blame him. Matt had been the driver in the accident that killed his fiancée and her son. And he’d been the only one in the vehicle to survive.
“Does he still have to use a wheelchair?”
“Yes, but hopefully that’s only temporary.” Jared had built ramps to help him get in and out of the house, even though he seemed to prefer being inside. Or near the liquor cabinet.
“I’m sure it’s tough on him,” Granny said. “A man like Matt doesn’t cotton to being laid up.”
Jared wouldn’t like it, either. And while he wasn’t sure what Matt would say about the decision to go back to the Rocking C for a few days, he thought it might do him some good.
“You don’t usually call so late,” Granny said. “Is there something wrong?”
He suspected so, which was why he decided to lie about his reason for going back to the ranch and staying for a few days. “Matt and I have a couple of business meetings in Houston over the next week or so. We thought we’d come down, stay with you and drive back and forth.”
“Why, of course. I’ll ask Tori to make up beds in the den and in the guestroom.”
“Who’s Tori?”
“My new maid.”
“Then who is Sabrina?” he asked.
“She’s my new bookkeeper.”
Aw. The suspected thief. “What’s she doing at your house this late?”
“She and her nephew live here.”
The hordes had begun to move in, ready to pounce and take advantage of one of the kindest little old ladies in Texas. And Jared wasn’t going to let that happen.
“I guess I’ll meet her when we get there.”
“When are you coming?” she asked.
“Late tonight. But don’t wait up. I’ve got a key.”
And once Jared got to Granny’s ranch, he was going to take control of a sorry situation, evict a few freeloaders and see to it the thief ended up in jail.
It was after midnight, but Sabrina Gonzalez had never been able to sleep very well in an unfamiliar house. So it was no wonder she was wide-awake on one of the twin-size beds in the small guestroom Mrs. Clayton had given her to share with Joey. Her new job, which had been a blessing in and of itself, came with room and board, too. That was a bit out of the ordinary for a bookkeeper, but Sabrina wasn’t about to complain.
Besides, the room inside the Clayton ranch house was only temporary, since Mrs. Clayton planned to remodel an old cabin on the grounds. Sabrina and Joey, her six-year-old nephew, would move in as soon as it was ready for them. But God only knew how long that would be. The rustic structure hadn’t been used in ages, so it would need a lot of work to be livable.
Sabrina stopped by Joey’s bedside and gently caressed the top of his head.
Carlos, her twin brother and Joey’s dad, had been convicted of a crime he hadn’t committed and was currently serving time in prison, so Sabrina had stepped in as a guardian.
At first, when Mrs. Clayton’s job offer came through, Sabrina had declined to take it, since the ranch was quite a drive from Houston and she hadn’t found a competent and trustworthy sitter for her nephew yet. But the elderly woman had invited both Sabrina and Joey to live at the ranch, insisting that it was best for the motherless boy to be near a loved one at a time like this and not in day care.
How could Sabrina argue with that?
Joey stirred, and she shushed him until he grew still. Before leaving the room, she stopped by the closet for a robe, then hesitated. The door squeaked terribly when it slid open, and she hated to make any unnecessary noise.
Besides, what would it hurt to walk out into the kitchen wearing just her nightgown? There were only women in the house.
A night-light lit her way downstairs, the steps creaking under her weight. She walked into the living room, where she flipped on a lamp, illuminating the room. Then she went to the kitchen.
Connie, the new cook, was a sweetheart, but she hadn’t been hired for her culinary skills. The oatmeal cookies she’d made, however, were the best Sabrina had ever tasted.
Rather than turn on every light in the house, Sabrina decided not to flip on the switch. She could make her way through the dimly lit kitchen easy enough.
She opened the fridge and poured herself a glass of milk, just as a car engine sounded outside. She glanced at the clock. 12:17 a.m. Surely, Edna wasn’t expecting company. Maybe someone on the highway had made a wrong turn and was lost. The driver would figure it out soon enough, she supposed, and head back to the road.
She plucked two of the chewy cookies from the plastic container in which Connie had stored them and wrapped them in a paper towel to take into the living room, where she would eat them as she thumbed through a magazine.
But the vehicle didn’t turn around or back out. Instead, the engine continued to idle, and the headlights remained on.
A door opened and shut.
When Sabrina heard a baritone whisper through a window that had been left partially open, she froze. Another voice responded, this one a bit louder.
One of the hired hands?
Maybe so.
She pinched off a bite of one cookie and popped it into her mouth, relishing the taste of raisins and spice, then took a sip of milk.
More voices—all male—sounded. Another door opened, then shut.
“Be quiet,” a man said, as he neared the window. “I don’t want to wake up anyone in the house.”
“I hate this,” another added.
“We don’t like it, either. Just sit back and enjoy the ride, kid.”
Footsteps sounded at the back porch. It might be the end of spring, but a winter frost crept up Sabrina’s spine. Her heart pounded out an ominous dirge in her brain and perspiration beaded on her forehead.
As quiet as a cornered mouse, she tiptoed toward the kitchen counter, where the butcher block rested. She set down her milk and cookies, then grabbed the biggest weapon she could find—a meat cleaver—and held it with both hands, ready to defend herself.
Maybe it was Lester, the ranch foreman, and some of the hired hands. Maybe they had reason to be awake and milling about at this time of night.
That had to be it, yet her pulse escalated until she could hear it throbbing in her ears. An avid mystery reader with a wild imagination, Sabrina often thought in terms of worst-possible scenarios. And she tried to keep that in mind, tried to remain calm.
She could scream, waking everyone in the house. And what if there was a perfectly good explanation for all of this?
Then the new ranch bookkeeper would look like a fool.
The lock clicked, as though someone had a key. Or perhaps someone was picking it.
Should she scream now?
The door to the mudroom swung open, revealing a group of men outside, their forms barely illuminated by the headlights of a vehicle. The one in front, a tall, thirtysomething hulk of a man with wheat-colored