Chapter Six
Riley reined her big buckskin King to a halt and pulled her phone out quickly when her dad’s tone sounded.
He kept saying he was fine, and she kept worrying.
But the reverse was true as well—when she’d been hurting, and kept saying she was fine, he’d kept worrying.
She’d given up stressing about it. The man had been the rock of her life, and she’d never stop worrying and neither would he.
She shook it off and opened the texting app. Her father was quite adept at the thing and had been playing with it more and more while temporarily laid up with his knee.
Jeremy Thorpe is en route to the overlook to thank you. He comes bearing a lovely gift.
She blinked. A gift? Her brow furrowed. She’d made clear the pony was a birthday present for Jeremy, so this was hardly necessary. Puzzled, she texted back an acknowledgment and was silently glad for the good reason to stay a bit longer here in her favorite place in the world.
She dismounted and ground-tied the obedient King.
It was still a little chilly, so she left her flannel-lined denim jacket on as she went over to the bench.
It wasn’t really a bench, but a large, oblong boulder about that size that was worn smooth enough to sit on comfortably.
She took her preferred spot and sat looking out at the rolling hills she so loved.
The view expanded to the horizon with little to interfere.
They’d always called it the overlook, and this glorious sight was why.
The only time she loved those hills a little more was spring, when the bluebonnets arrived, and those hills were that glorious shade as far as you could see.
It always made her think of that amazing video Cody Rafferty had made for the Bluebonnet Festival website, that drone footage that captured the horizon just at the moment the blue of the sky blended so perfectly with the blue of the flowers, just before the sun rose and blasted over the hills, lighting up everything.
She sat down, soaking in everything around her.
This rock had been called the bench for as long as she could remember, as long as her father could remember, and her grandfather, and according to him his father and grandfather.
The heart and soul—and occasionally the blood—of generations of Garretts were poured into this soil.
And she felt the pull of it, the attachment, as if it were a physical thing, a pull that reached her on a level so deep she had no name for it.
That her mother had felt no such thing was a fact she didn’t even try to deny.
Sometimes she thought the only thing she’d inherited from the woman was that slight uptilt of her nose.
Whereas Alexandra Garrett couldn’t get out of here soon enough, Riley could no more imagine leaving this place than she could lift off and fly like that red-tailed hawk that was circling above.
She heard the sound of the vehicle engine well before it got here.
When she looked, she saw the bright blue of a Baylor ranch truck approaching.
She knew Nic was booked up this next week, hence the Sunday afternoon meeting with a potential new client, so maybe it was Jackson.
She smiled at the thought. Not so long ago she would have assumed the man would be above such things, but she knew better now.
He made her think of the frequently seen bumper sticker that said “I wasn’t born in Texas, but I got here as soon as I could. ”
But now that she thought about it, she remembered Nic had mentioned something about Jackson having a group of heavy-hitter potential donors to Thorpe’s Therapy Horses coming in this afternoon.
“The kind I try to avoid,” Nic had admitted. “Jackson’s who they want to see anyway.”
King’s head was up, looking at the approaching vehicle.
She hoped whoever it was didn’t try to drive all the way up here.
Even as she thought it, the truck stopped at the bottom of the rise.
She saw Jeremy, carrying a big piece of paper, slide out.
And then the driver got out, and she groaned inwardly.
Miles Flint.
You’d think he’d be there with Jackson, him being the big wheeler-dealer and money guy.
Jeremy headed up the rise, looking as if he’d like to run, but it was a bit too steep for his short legs.
His driver, on the other hand, came up in long-legged strides that would befit a native of the Hill Country.
A bit surprising for a guy who mostly walked the concrete grid of L.A.
Maybe he got out of there more than she thought.
Of course why she was wondering about him at all was beyond her.
Jeremy was grinning so widely when he reached her, it was impossible not to grin back at him.
“Welcome, Master Thorpe. How’s my favorite neighbor?”
“Happy,” Jeremy pronounced.
The man who had brought him had come to a halt a couple of steps back, as if not wanting to intrude.
That surprised her, too, until she glanced at his face and saw his eyes—Nic had been right about them, they were a fascinating combination of gold-flecked green—gleaming a little too brightly, as if they were… wet.
She saw that he was watching Jeremy, and was suddenly certain his eyes had welled up a little.
Happy. He’s getting teary-eyed because Jeremy’s happy.
Riley was aware she had made some judgments about this man without knowing anything about him beyond his job title.
She wasn’t even all that sure what a producer did, besides bring in the money.
But what she did know was that this man cared a great deal for his friend’s little boy.
Which spoke volumes about the genuineness of his relationship with Jackson.
“Here,” Jeremy said, holding out the large page in his hand. “I made this to say thanks for Pie’s new friend.”
She took the sheet of heavy paper and looked at the drawing on it. There were parts that were childish, but the ponies were not. They were surprisingly detailed and accurate, down to the size and shape of the crooked blaze down the piebald’s head.
“It’s wonderful,” she exclaimed, meaning it. “You drew this?”
Jeremy nodded his head rapidly, as if he were afraid she didn’t believe him. “Uncle Miles can tell you—he saw me do it.”
The boy looked at the man who had apparently attained the honorary uncle title just as Tucker Culhane had. By his startled but very pleased look, she gathered it was recent, and that it delighted him.
That also said a lot about him.
“He did,” he confirmed. “He’s gotten amazing at it since…they came here.”
She didn’t miss the subtext there and guessed that before they’d arrived in Last Stand and the cloud of grief had lifted at last, there hadn’t been much drawing going on. Or if it had, it was probably grimmer, darker. Certainly not a pair of happy new equine friends.
She crouched down to look the boy who was about twelve hands tall in the eye. “Thank you so very much, Jeremy. It’s beautiful. I’m going to frame it, and there’s a perfect spot for it in my office, where I can see it all the time.”
Jeremy beamed at her.
“And someday,” his surrogate uncle said, “when you’re a famous artist, she can brag that she has one of your early drawings.”
Jeremy laughed, but Riley thought she saw a beam of joy in the child’s eyes, as if the words had made a dream sound real. Further proof this wasn’t just some token relationship between the boy and his father’s boss. And for that alone, she felt some of her natural reserve and wariness melt away.
Then she saw the boy eyeing her horse and smiled. “Come on, you should meet King. He was pretty famous in his day, too.”
“He was?”
“He’s retired now, but he was a world champion not too long ago.”
Jeremy gave her a rather shy look. “Nic told me what you used to do. She even showed me video of when you won. It was amazing.”
“Thank you.” They’d reached her patient horse now.
“World Champion Hill Country King, meet Master Jeremy Thorpe,” she said formally.
The horse stretched out his head and sniffed.
Jeremy gave her a questioning look, and she nodded.
The boy patted the horse’s soft nose. She reached into her jacket pocket and grabbed the little bag of sugar cubes she always had with her when riding the sweet old boy.
“You know how to do this?” she asked, showing them to Jeremy.
“Yes,” he said, his tone so earnest it stirred that warmth in her again. She gave the boy one of the cubes, and he put it on his flattened hand and held it out to the horse as if he’d been doing it all his young life.
“Perfect,” she said when the boy giggled as King swiped it softly and neatly off his palm. “And now you’re officially friends.”
“Excuse me,” Miles said. “As the only non-Texan here, I have to ask. Champion at…?”
She found the fact that he now considered Jeremy a Texan rather endearing.
So she gave him a big smile when she answered.
She thought she saw a flicker of tension go through him and wondered why.
Surely he had to be used to women smiling at him?
All the time, given his job and where he did it. But she answered evenly enough.
“Barrel racing. It’s what I used to do. Now I train barrel horses.”
“Barrel racing,” he said, his brow furrowed. “That’s a rodeo thing, right? Where you go out and careen around three barrels in a cloverleaf like a bat out of—” he glanced at Jeremy “—a hot place?”
She couldn’t help laughing. “Pretty much,” she agreed, appreciating his care.
“She goes really fast,” Jeremy said. “And they lean way far. It looked like they were going to tip over.” Then the boy looked over toward the bench rock. “What were you lookin’ at?”
“My favorite view on the whole ranch. Come on, I’ll show you.”
Jeremy followed without hesitation. She wondered if his companion would accompany them, or if this was merely a favor he was doing for Jeremy and his dad, and he couldn’t wait to get out of here.
She reminded herself of how wrong Nic had been about her Hollywood man and told herself to stop judging a man she’d met exactly yesterday.
And in fact, he did follow them over to the bench.
But their reaction had her rethinking that.
Because they were both frowning. She looked out over the vast view of the rolling hills, the changing terrain with rock outcroppings here, clusters of trees there, birds soaring overhead, and the glint of the Pedernales River in the distance and wondered what anybody could find to frown at.
“Uncle Miles?” Jeremy was looking at the man, clearly puzzled.
Brow still furrowed, Miles Flint scanned the vista from one side to the other. Then he looked down at Jeremy. “I think so, bud. I think it is.”
Jeremy turned his gaze to her, his mouth agape. “It’s here!” he yelped.
She looked from one to the other, with no idea what on earth they were talking about. But Miles was smiling widely now, as if he were amazed. She suddenly thought she had a clue about how he got so much done in such a competitive, hard-driving business. Because that smile would motivate anyone.
Hoping she didn’t sound as flustered as she felt, she asked, “You think it’s what?”
“Ever had an artist out here, a painter?”
That startled her and she drew back slightly. “A very long time ago, yes. Why?”
“Because this exact view, only carpeted in bluebonnets, is hanging on my wall at home.”