Chapter Twenty-One
T.R. threw a bale, palms sweaty in his work gloves as he straddled the tailgate with one boot and braced the rim of the circular trough with the other.
His lungs were still tight as fists since he’d driven home the night before to rummage through old documents. Because that name, Mitchell, had niggled all through dinner like a ringing in the ears … until he’d finally found the dog-eared document with the highlighter marks to help his eyes focus.
His failed civil suit in an Austin court to recoup his money from Jason Thompson.
The failed suit that Jason had so gleefully tossed in his face yesterday.
One look at that Austin judge’s name who’d dismissed his complaint. Calvin Mitchell. The same Mitchell?
He tossed another bale.
What Jason had said, all smug, before he’d driven away, I’ll fare fine in court. It was as if he thought he really would, when there was no way he could know that. Could he? Charlie had lamented the judge barely slapped his wrists while throwing the book at her.
He’d grabbed his phone to call and tell her until he’d realized it was after midnight.
He grunted, thrusting the next bale even harder, still braced on the truck and trough. Heaved another, as thoughts of little Daisy sitting in a police station, listening as her mother recounted the harrowing details of the day before irritating him.
He hefted up another bundle, as Beau nickered and swished his tail, his gelding, shifting from one hind hoof to the other as the sun beat down and sweat soaked the back of T.R.’s ribbed tank.
He tossed the last bale into the feeder, whipped loose his pocketknife to slice through the twine and shred the hay apart, then jammed both the twine and the knife back in his jeans pocket and jumped down from the trailer and over to his chestnut mount as a distant crunching on gravel rumbled.
He popped upright. A green Rover, in the distance, rolled down the drive to his grandparents’ old farmhouse.
Flower Girl. With her delivery for Tyler from Heart.
And despite his unease, like a moth to zapper, he untethered Beau’s reins from the trough, the feeder prepared for the herd Tyler and his brothers were droving toward the pasture gate.
He hoisted himself into the stirrup, swung his thigh over, and turned Beau, tapping him into a trot, a lope, a gallop across the pasture, a skilled rider since practically birth considering the McClintock brand at McClintock Equestrian on Legacy Creek.
Daisy spotted him. Rolled down her window!
“T. Rex!” She squealed, waving.
“It’s my wing girl!” he called, waving his Stetson in the air like a rodeo star as Daisy stared awestruck.
Sweet girlie.
And her momma. Charlie’s smile was … warm on him.
He galloped alongside their Rover opposite the fence, pulling back the reins as he neared the house. Swung his leg over, and jumped down, opening the gate, and walking the horse through.
Daisy was already out of the SUV, barely in park, running toward him, as he pulled his work shirt out of the saddle bag and slipped his arms into it, and yet, she slowed apprehensively, stopping several feet from the horse. Awe and uncertainty warred in her eyes.
“He don’t bite, Daze. Wanna pet a real-life unicorn?”
She leveled a glare at him, like a little carbon copy of Charlie, giggling. “It’s just a horse, T. Rex.”
He chuckled. “Naw, the ones like Beau here, with these stars on their forehead?” He stroked his horse’s forehead to muzzle, caressing the starburst beneath his forelock as Charlie got out of her Rover, joining them. “This here’s where their horns are hidden. It’s how you know it’s a unicorn.”
For the first time, her eyes widened as if she might actually believe his teasing.
“Shame on you, Thaddeus.” Charlie laughed.
“C’mere, darlin’,” he said, holding out his hand to Daisy.
But also, to Charlie, winking.
“I think you’ve decided to make her crazy for you.” Charlie shook her head. “She’ll never want to go home if she gets to pet a horse here.”
His hand tightened on hers. Can’t say I’d complain.
Daisy inched closer to him, craning her neck to look up at his docile beast, neck damp with sweat as he shivered away a fly and swished his tail.
Daisy’s fingers met his, and he brought her hand to Beau’s muzzle as Charlie, too, reached out to stroke his face.
Beau dipped his majestic head, snorting at Daisy’s fingers, his whiskers tickling her.
She giggled. T.R. opened her palm and cupped it to the horse’s cheek as Beau sniffed her bun and lipped at it.
“Can’t eat her, old man,” T.R. teased the horse, and Daisy giggled harder, cringing, but this time, not shying away.
“There you go, Daze. Keep on pettin’ him.
” He guided her in front of him, bracing her shoulder from behind in one hand and the bit with the other to hold Beau’s head down to her.
“That’s it … aw, he likes when you pet his neck like that.
Loves scratches right…” He guided her hand to his shoulder joint. “There.”
Beau grunted his approval.
“You found the way to his heart, Daisy. You’re a natural unicorn tamer,” he teased. “You heard the old country song about unicorns? ‘And the loveliest of them all, was the un-icorn’.” He crooned the old Anderson song. “Green alligators, and long-neck geese … your momma ever sing that song to you?”
Daisy shook her head, smiling up at him and taking in the lyrics. “She doesn’t really sing.”
“What?” He snorted, eyes flashing to Charlie. “Why the helllleck heck not?” he corrected, squeezing her hand.
Daisy kept petting Beau. “I hear her humming sometimes when she plays the radio, but that’s it.”
He held Charlie’s gaze but at this, she peeled away, shaking her head at him, and hopped up onto the porch, knocking.
Didn’t play banjo. Didn’t sing. How could she let that bastard silence her?
She oughta throw her God-given talents in his face and make him eat the ashes.
Maybe he could help her find her way back to her dream.
“Well, my grams sang it all the time to me and my cousins,” T.R.
continued. “I ever tell you, she’s the one who got me playin’ music?
Started me on a fiddle, and up in this here farmhouse there’s an honest-to-God photo of me about your age with a western shirt, gold fringes, mind you”—he poked her nose and she giggled—“and a belt buckle as big as your face singin’ on my school stage, fiddlin’ until the horsehairs frayed.
” His hands indicated the belt buckle size as Seth opened the door.
Seth, arm in a sling, leaned against the door in an old tank, slouched jeans, and boots.
On the cusp of manhood but not yet there.
Daisy saw him. Smiled and drifted away from the horse, around the Rover, and up the steps.
Oh boy, that puppy love. The girl was definitely sweet on him if just the sight of him could lure her away from the horse.
“Hey, Seth, is your dad here?” Charlie asked.
T.R. tossed Beau’s reins over the railing and hopped up on the porch behind her.
Seth thumbed to his dad way out in the field with his uncles, in town in the wake of Seth’s accident, droving the herd.
“I’ll text him,” Seth mumbled, barely noticing Daisy beside him.
T.R. slipped a hand around Charlie’s waist and leaned into her ear surreptitiously, pulling her aside. “I thought about you all night.”
She blushed, the heat of it against his lips ghosting a smile across his mouth.
“You file that restraining order yet?” he added softly by her ear, as Tyler galloped back from the field.
“Not yet.”
“Charlie,” he crooned, and nuzzled his nose into her neck. “You gotta go.”
She exhaled and pinched the bridge of her nose, but leaned into him, resting a hand to his shirt pocket over his heart, and it was sweet despite the concern boring a hole in his stomach.
“I will. After my student makes up her exam. Grades are due today.”
“Jason don’t care about your deadlines, Flower Girl.”
“No, he doesn’t. But if I let him take over my job?
Ruin my career by making me drop the ball on students?
He always did that for my classes, my field trips.
He always sabotaged any success I had. He couldn’t stand to be outshone, even though I wasn’t even trying to compete with him.
Mysteriously vanished when it was his turn to take over with Daisy so I’d have to scramble for childcare we couldn’t afford or I’d have to miss class.
He loves the control he wields over me. I’m going.
Promise. Just need to feed Daisy some lunch while my student finishes their test. I just hate that she’ll have to sit there. In the police station—”
“Then let me come get her.” He placed his hand over hers.
Right now she needed a man’s patience—always patience required with this one—and he was going to have to earn this flower girl’s trust.
“What?”
“Yeah. I’ll meet you there. Pick her up. Ruin her dinner. Take her to Hilltop Creamery to get ice cream,” he emphasized loudly. “The works.”
“Ice cream?” Daisy perked up.
T.R. grinned. “Sure shootin’. How’s about after your lunch I bring you back here. We can work on the coop. Visit the stables while your momma goes to her, uh, meetin’ in town.” He spoke in code.
Daisy’s face widened.
Then she jumped up and down. “Oh please, Momma? Please? Pleeeaaasse?”
“That’s a big ask on my part, for you to do all of that.”
“Good thing I ain’t askin’.” He shrugged, and she shook her head at his grin.
God, he loved earning her exasperation.
She bit her lip. “You keep doing nice things for me.”
“Is it workin’?” T.R. notched up his chin, when that telltale Charlie worry creased her brow. He cupped her cheeks, brushing them with his thumb. “That’s what a guy does when he likes a girl. It’s what a decent guy oughta do no matter what.”
“How can I repay you, when you won’t even let me compensate you for fixing my Rover?”
He shrugged again, his hand slipping onto her hip. “I got an idea. Bring your banjo when you come to get her.” Her brow furrowed. “Y’all can stay to cook out later.”