Chapter 9
The second the door closed behind her, Dillon leaned back against it and turned the lock. She had never locked the door during the day, but after everything she had experienced that morning, she had reached the end of her rope.
Her hands shook, and her breath came in ragged gasps like she had been running. How she had held it all together until that point, she’d never know. She had refused to break down in front of anyone, especially Hank Stephens. But it had been close.
So very close.
Dillon didn’t have the strength to walk. She slid down the door until her butt hit the floor. Once it did, it was like something snapped inside her. She covered her face with her hands as she let out a silent scream. She sobbed, allowing the emotions that she had kept bottled up to pour out of her.
She didn’t know how long she cried. When she was finally able to lift her head, her face was soaked, and her eyes burned.
Dillon curled up on her side and closed her eyes in an effort to stop the pain.
To her surprise, Cal’s face popped into her mind’s eye.
She didn’t want to think about him. Not his sexiness, how he had come to be on the ranch, or if he was someone she could trust.
The cool tile felt good on her heated cheeks.
She sniffed, sleep pulling her. She needed water to replenish her body of all it had lost by sweating and crying, but she couldn’t make herself move just yet.
Her mind drifted to Cal again and again, and each time, she forced the thoughts away.
Because every time she thought of him, she wanted to trust him.
And she couldn’t take that chance.
Dillon’s thoughts then turned to Hank Stephens. Dolly had often spoken of him when she was alive. Though her aunt never told her specifics, Dolly hadn’t liked Hank.
“People need to look past his charm and money to see the snake he really is.”
The sound of her aunt’s voice in her head made Dillon smile.
How she wished Dolly was still alive. Not just to talk about what was happening now but because her aunt had been a trusted confidante.
Dillon wished she had gotten specifics about Hank before Dolly’s death so maybe she would know how to handle her neighbor.
It was no good to wish for what couldn’t be. This was Dillon’s mess, and she would sort it out. Somehow. She just wasn’t quite sure how yet.
She wanted to crawl into bed and sleep with every fiber of her being, but there wasn’t time for that.
She had to find her stallion. Dillon took a deep breath and pushed herself into a sitting position.
No matter how much Hank or anyone else wanted her land, she wouldn’t be put into a position where they forced her to sell.
Dillon climbed to her feet and went to the sink.
She splashed water on her face and washed her hands.
Her gaze lifted to the wide window and landed on none other than Cal.
He was at one of the paddocks with a mare and her newborn foal.
The mare took a carrot from his hand. The little filly tentatively walked to the fence, inching closer to him.
Cal slowly squatted down and held out his hand for the foal to smell.
When she finally brushed her nose against his fingers, she then turned around and ran off a few steps before spinning back to face him.
Cal let out a laugh. Dillon was surprised to find that she was smiling, too.
She told herself it was because of the filly’s antics, but she suspected that Cal’s booming laugh might have contributed.
She turned off the water and dried her hands.
As she hung up the damp towel, she spotted her hat on the floor.
She hadn’t realized it had fallen off. Dillon bent over to retrieve it, but instead of putting it on and heading outside, she hung it on the peg and walked into the office to work on the budget.
Years in the corporate world had taught her how to budget for any business. She was always conservative in her estimates because it was better to have more come in than expected rather than vice versa.
She sank into the office chair and looked around.
Dillon had changed very little in the office when she took over.
Partly as an homage to Dolly, and partly because she would rather spend money on the ranch instead of furnishings that she hadn’t brought with her.
However, the more time that passed since her aunt’s untimely passing, the more Dillon realized that she needed to leave her mark on more than just the ranch.
She needed to make the house—and the office—hers.
It was what Dolly would have wanted—and expected.
Dillon shifted in the uncomfortable chair.
It was the first thing she would replace, but that was for later.
She turned to the computer and logged in.
Dolly had always kept it password-protected, and Dillon had followed suit.
Though her aunt had never said she didn’t trust her employees, it was simply a matter of being proactive.
For the next hour, Dillon looked over spreadsheets, calculating totals and moving around expenses to another month if it wasn’t a necessity for the ranch.
When she finished, she sat back and looked at the total.
The loss of the stallion would cut deeply into the final revenue.
Dillon would have to dip into her savings even more to keep the ranch afloat, but she would do it in a heartbeat.
She sat back and rested her elbow on the arm of the chair as she propped her hand against her face.
Her gaze moved to a stack of mail on the right side.
That’s when she saw an envelope from the insurance company.
Dillon had forgotten that she had called an equine insurance company and had gotten a policy on the stallion as soon as the sale had been finalized—and before Dillon had put the animal in the trailer to bring to the ranch.
Dillon reached for the envelope and tore it open to pull out the papers.
In her hands was the stallion’s policy. She scanned the pages until she found the section on mortality/theft.
There, in black and white, it stated that if the horse were stolen, she would be reimbursed for the insured value of the animal.
She breathed a sigh of relieve. She recalled the agent telling her about that part of the policy, but she had never thought someone would steal her horse.
Yet she hesitated to call the insurance company.
It might be suspicious for her to file a claim after just purchasing the stallion a few days before.
“Dammit,” she said and tossed the papers down.
The money would help cover the cost of the horse, but the simple fact was, they needed another stallion for the ranch. One way or another, she would have to replace this one if they couldn’t find him.
Dillon then recalled the business card the deputy had given her.
She pulled it out of her back pocket and called the Texas and Southwestern Cattle Raisers Association.
After talking with a man who picked up the phone and answering a lot of questions, they transferred her to a ranger named Chet Thompson.
She answered more questions as well as going over everything that’d happened from the time she’d picked up the stallion until now. Then the ranger asked her another set of questions. She rested her head against her hand with her elbow on the desk and her eyes closed since they felt like sandpaper.
Just when she thought they might be wrapping things up, Chet put her on hold. Dillon had no choice but to wait. Fortunately, he didn’t leave her long.
“Ms. Young?”
“I’m here,” she answered.
“My apologies for leaving you on hold. I was reviewing the pictures the sheriff’s department sent over. Good call on getting them out there ASAP.”
Her eyes opened and she sat up straighter. “I just want my horse back.”
“I understand, and I’m going to do everything I can to facilitate that. I’ll be at your ranch at eight in the morning. Be prepared to take me through the same route you took the deputy. I want to see things for myself.”
For the first time, she had hope. Dillon knew there was no guarantee that she would get the stallion back, but it was a step. “I can do that.”
“Oh, and Ms. Young? One more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t go to Mr. Stephens and accuse him of the theft.”
Dillon squeezed her eyes closed and wrinkled her nose.
“I see,” Chet replied in a flat tone. Her silence must have given her away.
She was immediately defensive as her eyes opened. “That stallion is a three-time world champion. He’s coveted across the country, and I paid top dollar for him. Not just to breed my mares, but to put him out for stud, as well.”
“I’m aware how that works.”
“I can’t do any of that without him,” she said, close to tears again.
He sighed, the sound coming through the phone. “The fact that there’s an agency dealing with stolen livestock and ranching equipment should tell you how often this happens.”
“That doesn’t bolster my hope.”
“You’re in the right hands, Ms. Young. We’ll talk more in the morning.”
She hung up the phone and slumped in the chair.
Dillon shifted it slightly to look out the window.
The Bar 4 had a stallion. Cupid, as Dolly had named him, was an even-tempered sorrel who had proudly sired dozens of beautiful foals.
He had been a champion cutting horse, and ranchers from all over had paid handsomely to use him as a stud.
Dillon had no intention of getting rid of Cupid, despite his age.
He was a good horse, but she wanted to bring in new blood—and a new revenue stream.
She had looked long and hard before she finally found Legacy.
Cupid was a ranch stallion, which meant they didn’t keep him in a stall and pampered.
He worked—sometimes harder than anyone else.
When Cupid wasn’t out working cattle, he was in the pasture with a small herd of mares ready to go into heat.
Cupid was one of the most well-behaved stallions Dillon had been around, and she was determined to bring another just like that onto the ranch.
She had found that in Legacy, who wasn’t just a beautiful champion horse but had also made a name for himself by siring phenomenal offspring that matched his unusual champagne-colored coat.
It was a win-win for her, which was why Dillon hadn’t hesitated to drop that kind of money on him.
She rubbed her eyes and flipped to another spreadsheet that listed the mares and their calculated due dates, appointments for checkups, and estimated costs for feed and the vet.
There was also a column with names of individuals looking for specific young horses to bring into their breeding programs. Once the foals were born, Dillon would alert the potential seller, who would make multiple visits to check on the mare and her foal to see how it was.
Six months was the average time that it took for a foal to be weaned from its mother.
During that period, Dillon and her employees worked with the foal in stages to get it used to being touched as well as being around humans.
It was a long process, but one Dillon loved.
Two foals were coming up on their sixth-month mark in three weeks.
They had made great progress, but she wasn’t surprised.
Both mares were excellent mothers. Dillon had only marked one sale in the spreadsheet, on the off chance that both weren’t bought next month.
Even though she knew that both would sell, she couldn’t make herself change the spreadsheet to reflect that.
She pushed away from the desk and stood. Her eyes were crossing from looking at the same numbers again and again. There was nothing more she could do, and staring at the spreadsheets was only making things worse.
Dillon strode to the kitchen, where she got her hat and unlocked the door.
She left the house, heading to the paddock with the newest member of the ranch.
Being with the foals always put her in a good mood.
Their antics, their excitement and curiosity, as well as watching them learn how to use their long legs was always fun.
Observing the foals learn the horse language was truly awe-inspiring.
But so was gaining their trust and how much love they had to give.