Samantha’s Cowboy (2 page)

Legally he was required to hand over her money no matter how foolish her plans, yet he had a responsibility to Dawson Investments to dispense client funds in a manner that least impacted the company’s bottom line.

“What amount do you need to get this project off the ground?” he asked.

“I hadn’t considered…” She waved her hand in the air. “I’m positive the funds in my account will be more than enough to cover the costs.”

Heartburn stung Wade’s chest. He had a hunch Samantha had jumped into this venture without creating a budget. “My suggestion would be to withdraw money
in smaller increments, allowing the remainder of your funds to continue earning interest.” That was sound advice and Dawson Investments would then be able to absorb the loss at a slower pace. “Have you made a list of property improvements?”

She uncrumpled the note in her fist. He caught a glimpse of the chicken scratch on the paper but couldn’t make out the words. “I need to dig a well.”

She bought a ranch with no water source?

“The previous owner’s well is almost dried up,” she continued.

“Have you contacted a water-drilling company?”

“No—”

Samantha Cartwright hadn’t a lick of sense. She should have paid a drilling company to confirm that there was water in the ground before she’d purchased the homestead.

“—but Millicent assures me there’s water.”

“Who’s Millicent?”

“A water witch who lives on the property.”

You’ve got to be kidding.
Avoiding the topic of water witches all together, he asked, “What other repairs and renovations are a priority?”

Her front teeth worried her lower lip, giving Wade the impression she hadn’t prepared at all for this
hobby.
“I’ll need new fencing, corrals. A barn. A house.”

“Everything’s a priority?” At her nod, he said, “Give me a minute to check the balance of your trust.” He entered the security codes and accessed the transaction page of her account.

Holy hell.

If his eyeballs hadn’t been attached to his brain by
optic nerves they would have popped out of their sockets and bounced off his keyboard.

Sweat beaded across the bridge of Wade’s nose and his glasses slipped. He shoved them back into place and gaped at the monitor, willing the numbers—any numbers—to appear.

Nothing save Samantha’s name, account ID and a big fat 0 in the balance column. His fingers clicked the keyboard, searching for a transaction code that would allow him to trace the funds, but there were no notations or documentation of a bank account or wire transfer. Samantha’s money had vanished into thin air.

After confiscating the roll of antacid tablets inside his desk drawer, he tossed three into his mouth and chewed furiously. Where the hell had her money gone?

He’d busted his butt for Dawson Investments and had done all his uncle had asked of him—even marrying the daughter of one of the firm’s clients. His uncle had insisted the marriage would be a match made in heaven but in reality it had been a union from hell that had lasted five years too long. Since his divorce Wade had given up a social life—not that a single father had much time for one—and he’d worked twelve-hour days and most weekends. He’d get to the bottom of this mess or die trying because he wasn’t giving his uncle one damned reason to pass Wade over for a promotion.

The problem had to be a computer glitch. On Monday he’d contact the firm’s technology expert to resolve the issue. Until then he needed to buy time.

“What’s the matter?” Samantha’s question cut through Wade’s panic.

“Nothing.” He logged off the account. “Why?”

She pointed to the roll of antacids. “Aren’t you feeling well?”

Surprised by her concern, he said, “I’m fine.” Then he took a deep breath and willed his anxiety aside. “Do you have your birth certificate and a picture ID with you?” At her frown he lied. “Regulations.”

“I didn’t bring my birth certificate.” She handed him her license.

Most people looked like goons in license photos. Samantha resembled a sultry seductress with her long black hair and a half smile that made Wade think of dark corners and slow kisses. “I believe you said you’d rather your father not be informed that you’re accessing your funds.”
Please don’t change your mind.

“Will that be a problem?”

“Not at all.” The fewer people who knew about Samantha’s visit today, the better.

“Thank you.”

“Have you contacted a financial planner to assist you with managing the funds once you withdraw them?”

Her teeth nibbled her lip and her gaze shifted to the wall behind Wade. He couldn’t remember Samantha being this unsure. What had happened to the young girl who’d mocked his manhood and delivered a crushing blow to his budding ego? “I’d be happy to advise you on your transactions.”

“I guess that would be all right.”

He blew out a deep breath. “Okay, then. I recommend withdrawing only enough money to tackle one improvement project at a time.”

“I’d prefer to begin several renovations at once in order to get the ranch up and running as soon as possible.”

Wade reached for the antacid tablets. He should have figured she’d make this difficult. “The well needs to be dug before anything else.” Fence posts couldn’t be installed without cement and water was a necessary ingredient in mixing cement.

“All right. I’ll start with the well.”

“In the meantime, you’ll need to acquire estimates on fencing and corrals.”

“Forget the estimates. I’m more concerned with getting the renovations done quickly than with saving a few hundred dollars.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s not like I’ll run out of money.”

Score one for Calamity Jane.

“How long until I receive the first check from my account?” she asked.

“Seven to ten days.” Then he offered, “I’ve got time on my hands this weekend. I’d be happy to contact a drilling company and begin the process for you.” He’d have to raid his 401(k) to pay for the well if he didn’t recover her money by then.

“I appreciate your help. My brother Matt is getting married next Saturday and there’s a lot going on right now.”

Better her brother than Wade. He tore a piece of paper from his legal pad. “Where’s the property located?”

“Southeast of the Lazy River on Route 38. It’s the old Peterson farmstead. There’s a mailbox at the entrance with the name painted on it.” She stood, her
pretty chocolate eyes skipping over him. “You’ll inform me when you receive the well estimates?”

“What’s your cell number?” A lengthy pause followed and Wade wondered if Samantha was worried that he’d call her asking for a date—fat chance of that happening. Women like Samantha Cartwright were out of his league. He scribbled the number she recited beneath the directions to the ranch, then handed her one of his business cards. “In case you need to get in touch with me.”

Their fingers bumped, and an electrical pulse shot up Wade’s arm. Samantha grasped the note, spun on her boot heels and walked out the door. Wade shook his arm to dispel the tingling sensation, certain he suffered from a pinched nerve. Samantha Cartwright was a beautiful woman but she was a client and therefore off-limits.

How had twenty million dollars vanished into thin air?

He had a week to recover Samantha’s funds or he might as well kiss his promotion goodbye.

When Sam exited the building, Dave the security guard drove up in her truck, radio blaring. As soon as he spotted her, he cut the music, left the engine running and hopped out. “Nice ride.”

“Nice valet service.”

He grinned. “Anytime.”

With a wave, Sam pulled away from the curb and merged into downtown traffic. Not until she stopped at a light did she remember to turn on the GPS system. She hated driving in the city and had difficulty remembering street names and exit ramps. She tapped the screen until the favorites menu popped up. She hit Home, then concentrated on navigating traffic. After a few minutes she relaxed her grip on the wheel and merged onto I-75, passing the defunct Indian Nations Amusement Park. A few miles later she took Highway 67 to 64, breathing a sigh of relief as Tulsa faded in the rearview mirror. She flipped open her cell phone and pressed 4. Her brother’s voice mail answered.

“Hey, Matt. It’s me, Sam. I have a surprise. Meet me
at the Peterson homestead on Route 38. I’m forty minutes from there. But don’t tell anyone, okay? Bye.”

Sam wanted Matt to be the first to learn of her plans. They were as close as any brother and sister could be. He’d been there for her in the darkest hours when horrifying memories of her accident had tortured her sleep. To this day not even her father knew about the nightmares.

And if she had her way, her father would never learn about her visit to Dawson Investments. The meeting with Wade lingered in Sam’s mind, frustrating her more than Wade’s uncle neglecting to return her phone calls. Concentrating had been difficult in Wade’s presence and she worried she’d made a fool of herself. That she couldn’t remember meeting him years earlier bothered her. He must have visited the ranch around her sixteenth birthday—when she’d been kicked in the head by a horse. The weeks leading up to and following the accident had been permanently erased from her memory.

Her first impression of Wade with a
D
hadn’t been very complimentary. Her job at her father’s oil company often brought Sam in contact with arrogant, self-centered and opinionated businessmen. Bankers and investors considered themselves intellectually superior. Heaven forbid if they made a mistake or misjudged a situation—they’d never admit as much. But unlike most financial investors Wade had tempered his I-know-what’s-best attitude with generosity—offering to contact a drilling company and obtain estimates for a well. He’d gone out of his way to help her—maybe because he’d felt guilty his uncle had ignored one of the firm’s most wealthy clients. Although he’d given her no
reason to trust him, she sensed Wade was an honorable man who would keep his word and not contact her father.

Genuine niceness aside, Wade was handsome in a nerdy kind of way. She’d grown up around dusty cowboys and sweaty ranchers all her life and was surprised that she’d found Wade’s clean-shaven face, neatly styled hair, crisp clothes and clunky glasses attractive and…sexy. That was good and well but she had little in common with him. If she was smart she’d focus on the horse ranch and not her financial adviser.

If Sam’s father caught wind of her plans he’d meddle in her affairs and guilt her into giving up her dream. She understood and sympathized with his overprotectiveness following her near brush with death and her long and arduous recovery. But the accident happened sixteen years ago. The time had come for both father and daughter to put the past behind them and move on.

For years, she’d bowed to her father’s fear, allowing him to choose her path in life. No more. If her brothers, Matt and Duke, had the courage to defy their father and pursue their heart’s desire, then she could do no less.

She wanted to make a difference and do something with purpose. She’d dreamed of opening a sanctuary ranch for years but worried she’d never overcome her fear of horses. She’d decided if her dream was to come true she needed to conquer her fears. A few months ago, behind her father’s back, she’d begun volunteering at the Tulsa SPCA equine center. Although horses terrified Sam, her previous injury hadn’t erased the memory of her love for the animals. She hoped by the time she completed renovations on the Peterson
property she’d have no qualms about handling horses on her own.

Sam admitted horses alone wouldn’t fill the void in her life. She dreamed of falling in love. Of finding a man willing to overlook her faults and put up with her memory lapses. With Duke happily married to Renée and living in Detroit and Matt heading down the aisle with Amy in a matter of days, Sam realized how alone she would be. Sure, her father pampered her when he was around, but his business travels took him away for weeks at a time.

Juanita, their housekeeper, generously included Sam in her family activities but it wasn’t the same as having a husband of her own. One day Sam hoped to find a man who didn’t want children. As much as Sam loved children—motherhood was out of the question. Never again would she allow her handicaps to cause harm to a child.

Her one serious relationship had ended in disaster when her absentmindedness had put Bo’s daughter, Emily, in danger. Not even the promise of inheriting the Cartwright fortune had kept Bo from believing he and Emily were safer without Sam.

Matt had tried to heal her broken heart by setting her up on dates with his rodeo buddies. To this day, her brother wasn’t aware that one of the cowboys had used Sam’s forgetfulness to his advantage and had wiped out her checking account before riding off into the sunset.

Although Sam was grateful for her family’s love and concern, their smothering had hindered more than helped her. The time had come to stand on her own two
feet and make a play for the future she wanted—not the future others believed best for her.

The Peterson mailbox came into view and she flipped on the blinker. As the truck bumped along the rutted road she made a mental note to add a fresh layer of gravel to her ranch improvement list. Halfway to the house Matt’s truck appeared in the rearview mirror.

As soon as they parked their vehicles and got out, Matt motioned to the crumbling farmhouse. “What’s up with this place?”

Flinging her arms wide Sam spun in a circle. “This is my birthday present to myself.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Nope.” Her smile faded at her brother’s grimace. “It’s not so bad,” she insisted, studying the home’s caved-in roof and broken windows. The outer walls leaned inward in danger of collapsing from a strong wind and the porch bowed like an old swaybacked nag. Sam’s stomach churned. Had she gotten in over her head? She hated when she second-guessed herself. “Say something,” she demanded at her brother’s silence.

“I’m guessing Dad’s in the dark about this…
present?
”

“Yes, and he’d better stay in the dark.” Matt’s eyes narrowed and she blurted, “I know what you’re thinking.”

“No, sis, you don’t.”

“You’re wondering if this is another one of those spur-of-the-moment decisions I’m famous for making.” The lingering side effects from the injury to her brain years ago weren’t horrible, just a nuisance—similar to a mosquito bite. One minute you were scratching, the next you forgot about the itchy bump.

“Well, is it?” Matt demanded.

“Not at all.” Once in a while she jumped the gun and made conclusions based on…well, nothing really. When she was nervous, she became forgetful, which often led to anxiety attacks. And lastly she tended to recall things out of order. She’d learned to compensate for her limitations by keeping lists and recording her activities. “I didn’t make this decision lightly and I weighed the pros and cons.”

“The property is a dump. When’s the last time anyone lived here?” he asked.

“Twenty-five years ago.”

“How long has the place been on the market?”

“Ten years.”

“Give it to me straight, Sam.” Matt rubbed his brow. “Why hasn’t this land sold before now?”

“The well’s going dry.” She raised a hand to forestall any lecture. “I’m aware that I’ll need a source of water if I intend to board horses.”

“Horses?” Her brother’s face paled.

Samantha squeezed his arm. “Promise you won’t tell Daddy, but I’ve been working with horses at the SPCA and I’m feeling more confident around them.” She sucked in a deep breath, grateful her brother hadn’t interrupted. “I intend to board horses that the SPCA can’t find foster homes for.”

Matt studied her, then he brushed a strand of hair from her face and asked, “Will you have help?” He really wanted to know if there would be someone to watch over her.

“I plan to hire a couple of hands.”

Her answer appeared to satisfy him because he
changed the subject. “Tell me you had a drilling company confirm a second water source before you signed the closing papers.”

“Better than that,” she boasted. “I checked with Millicent, the resident water witch.” Sam had witnessed the old woman’s dousing stick wiggle and shake when they’d walked the property.

“What do you mean
resident?
”

Sam pointed beyond the barn to a shanty near a huge hackberry tree.

“That hovel’s hardly habitable.”

“Millicent’s lived on the property all her life. Her parents were sharecroppers.”

“Why hasn’t she packed her things and left?”

“She has nowhere to go.” Sam shrugged. “She’s not hurting anything by staying.” Having remained under her father’s roof all these years, Sam was leery of living alone and looked forward to having a neighbor when she set up house on the property.

Matt frowned and she sensed he struggled with wanting to support her and at the same time protect her. And she loved him dearly for caring. “What about your nightmares?” he asked.

Once in a while Sam’s nightmares were so vivid she woke screaming—a silent scream her father never heard. But Matt had sensed his sister’s night terrors and had held her until she’d fallen back to sleep. As the years passed, the nightmares occurred less frequently, holding off for months at a time until Matt arrived home from the rodeo circuit.

“I haven’t had a nightmare in over a year,” she lied. Last night she’d awoken soaked in sweat and gasping
for breath. “I want—” tears welled in her eyes and she brushed them away “—need this ranch.”

Matt hugged her. “Dad’s going to blow a gasket.”

“Daddy isn’t going to find out.” She hoped. “At least not right away.”

“Maybe I can talk Amy into staying at the Lazy River after we’re married. We could help—”

“No. I’m doing this on my own.”

“Where is the money coming from?”

“My trust fund.” She crinkled her nose. “Now that I’m thirty-two, I can withdraw money without Daddy’s permission. After the wedding he leaves for Europe. By the time he returns, I’ll have made significant progress and then I’ll break the news to him.”

“You’re really going to do this, aren’t you?” Matt held her gaze.

“You and Duke got your dreams—I want mine.”

“We’ll worry about you living here all alone.”

“I’m not alone.”

“That’s right, your closest neighbor is a witch.” Matt yanked her ponytail. “C’mon. We’d better head home. Duke and Renée are flying in for your birthday.”

One brother down. One to go.

W
HEN
S
AM PULLED INTO
the Lazy River ranch yard, she noticed her father’s 1959 two-door black-and-chrome Chevrolet Apache pickup parked near the house. Although Dominick Cartwright could afford any car in the world, he had a soft spot for old Chevy trucks. And right now Samantha’s nephew sat behind the wheel, pretending to drive.

Duke and Renée had adopted Timmy shortly after
they’d married this past February. The little boy had been in the Detroit foster care system his entire life. Sam was thrilled he’d gotten his wish for a family and she loved playing the role of favorite aunt. After Matt married Amy, Samantha would add two nieces to her brood—Rose and Lily. As much as she loved hanging around the children, they were a painful reminder that this was as close to motherhood as she’d come.

Sam parked her truck, then headed for the old Apache.

“Happy birthday, brat,” Duke called.

“Daddy said you weren’t arriving until the wedding next week.” She bear-hugged her stepbrother, then poked her head through the truck window and planted a big, loud smooch on Timmy’s cheek.

“Gross, Aunt Sammy!” Timmy made a big production of wiping germs off his cheek.

“I didn’t want to miss your birthday,” Duke said.

Before her stepbrother had met Renée he couldn’t get far enough away from the Cartwright ranch. Sam credited Renée with softening Duke’s attitude toward children and family.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Then she added, “Maybe Renée will convince Amy to allow Daddy to invite more guests to the wedding. Amy wants to keep the reception small enough to have at the house and Daddy wants to move things to the Crowne Plaza Hotel in Tulsa.”

Duke chuckled. “Sounds like the old man.”

“Got a minute to talk?”

“Sure.” Duke opened the truck door. “Timmy, go see if Aunt Amy needs help with Rose or Lily.”

“Girls are so lame.”

“Oh, c’mon. Lily’s a cutie,” Sam said.

“Uncle Matt told me Lily poops marbles in her pants. That’s gross.” Timmy marched off, grumbling under his breath.

“Let’s take a walk.” Sam slipped her arm through Duke’s and they strolled toward the barn. “How’s life in Detroit?”

“Renée’s working with a local teacher to create a homeschooling program for the kids who end up in Santa’s Shelter when the doors open this September.”

“What’s happened to the kids you discovered hiding in your warehouse this past Christmas?” Aside from Timmy, Sam couldn’t remember their names.

“Renée’s keeping a close eye on the group. Mrs. Jensen suffered a mild heart attack a few months ago and Renée worried that she’d have to find a new home for Crystal and Evie. Crystal surprised everyone by stepping up and caring for the other children while Mrs. Jensen recovered.” Duke chuckled. “Crystal even ditched the gothic clothes and dyed her hair back to blond.”

“Wasn’t there a teenage boy in the group?”

“José. He never surfaced after running away from the Covenant House, but a few weeks ago Renée found a note in our mailbox with the words
I’m okay
scribbled on it.”