Protector of the Flight. Robin D. Owens

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СКАЧАТЬ in her body, so much less than the anguish in her heart. She spoke through the shock. “Spark is my horse. I gave you the money for him.”

      Her dad shrugged. “I bought the gelding from the racetrack. The horse was registered in my name. I’m the owner of Rocking Bar T and everything on it.”

      “Except for Spark. I paid for him,” Calli said through clenched teeth.

      His stance was still casual. “Huh. My name is on the papers. And who paid for that horse’s keep when it was young? I did.”

      Money wasn’t the issue. Love was. Giving and receiving love was everything. She’d needed something to love and return that love in her life. “How could you do this? I love him.”

      He faced her now, as impassive as always, as if nothing touched him, not even a hint of irritation in his eyes. He looked her up and down as if judging a heifer, not as if he saw his daughter. “You should know better than that. Stupid to love an animal. Stupid to love at all. Love ain’t nothin’ that gets a return. A profit could be made, and Spark wasn’t no use to me. I sold him to Bill Morsey.”

      Usefulness had always been Dad’s bottom line.

      Her insides clenched, the pressure of hard tears backed behind her eyes. She couldn’t stop the question. “What about me? What about my usefulness?”

      He grunted. “You can do your chores and stay. Do the cookin’ and cleanin.’ But I went to the bank. Since the ranch is paid for, I set up a reverse mortgage. The money’ll last long as I do, then you’ll have to find another place.”

      Shock and nausea rolled through her. “I’d planned on training horses.”

      “This is a cattle ranch.”

      “We could build up a fine reputation—”

      “No. We run cattle.”

      She went to the bottom line. “You aren’t leaving the ranch to me?” Ever since she’d gone on the circuit, she’d always thought of the ranch as her future. Working hard, she’d sent money back for expenses. She’d thought she and her dad were partners.

      His gaze fastened on her middle as if he could see her abdominal scars. “No reason to. Ain’t as if you can gimme a grandson, even.” Without another word he sauntered back to the house, leaving Calli’s world broken.

      A noise tore from her, some animalistic cry of pain. Blindly she gripped the top fence rail, splinters lanced her hand.

      All her life she’d shut out the knowledge of what her father was. Instead, she’d woven illusions that he cared about her. False, lying illusions that had been so comforting and that she’d held so long that she couldn’t see reality.

      Her mother had abandoned them, then died. If her father had loved Calli before, he’d shut off his emotions afterward. As long as she proved useful, she was tolerated.

      He might have enjoyed the reflected glory of her rodeo wins and liked the big bucks of the prizes. He’d taken care of her in the hospital and later when she was healing. But now that it was obvious she wouldn’t return to the rodeo she was nothing more than a woman to cook and clean.

      She glanced around but refused to see past the surface beauty of the day. This place wasn’t her home anymore. She couldn’t afford the wrenching sense of loss.

      Blood pounded in her ears and with it came the sounds of chimes and singing. Tinnitus, ringing in the ears, the doctors had said, and that it should go away soon. The illusory sounds might pass, but the very real loss of the ranch would always shadow her. More bad dreams.

      Her white-knuckled hand on the wooden rail hurt from splinters, rough wood impressed hard on her palm, the ache of her stretched tendons. She let go.

      She had to escape, allow emotions to surge through her—her grief for the loss of Spark, the destruction of her dreams. She’d plan later. This heartache she’d brought on herself for not letting herself see what the man who fathered her was—hard and bitter, guarding his heart from everyone, including her.

      She limped, stumbled, caught herself, limped a few more steps—and found that she did so in rhythm to the reverberating rise and fall of melodic voices. Her foot brushed a fallen branch and she picked it up and used it as a walking staff.

      By the time her eyes cleared from tears, she’d passed the edge of the ranch yard and was on her way to the sandstone rocks and the wide ledge on a hill that had always been her refuge. She needed air to breathe.

      When she reached the ledge, her pelvis ached all the way up to her teeth. She hobbled past the huge sheered-off crystal face of the hill to solid rock and gingerly lowered herself to sit. She leaned against the hillside, her legs straight, and set the stick beside her. Then she wiped the sweat from her face, wrinkling her nose at the brown and red dirt smears on her bandana.

      Her breath came fast with exertion. Her teeth hurt from gritting them when she’d negotiated her way up the rocky path. Up here, the wind blew and she heard a tinkle of chimes rushing around her.

      She closed her eyes and whirls of bright colors streaked inside of her eyelids. The spots would fade as she rested.

      Her heartbeat decreased to normal. Too much emotion and exertion in such a short amount of time had drained her.

      Time seemed to slow until one moment was everything. The scent of rock and pine, the faint tumble of a distant stream, the cool wind, all etched on her memory.

      She opened her lashes and looked out over the ranch, the kitchen gardens, the sprawling house, the land that stretched to the mountains, higher than this backyard hill. So beautiful. The stream was full—no drought this year.

      For a while, Calli just sat and enjoyed the calm of her emotions. Too many problems had pressed down on her lately, flattening her spirits. For this one moment she could be quiet and enjoy life, let thoughts drift through her mind without jabbing at her heart.

      Did she love the ranch?

      No. It had always reflected what her dad wanted, not the kind of ranch she wanted, a horse ranch.

      But she loved the land. And she loved the potential of a horse ranch. She wanted the land, wanted to shape that potential.

      The rock was cold and hard against her back as her head throbbed with equally hard thoughts. She’d been a fool.

      Well, that was the past. Maybe only the recent past, but time to wake up and fix her mistakes.

      Spark was gone. Her heart twinged, jerking her body. She could barely stand that thought. Bill Morsey was a good horseman, and his daughter would be thrilled to have Spark. Calli’s lips turned down. Her father had probably done the best thing for Spark. The horse loved to run, delighted in an audience. Calli gulped and blew her nose on the corner of her bandana.

      Now that she knew she’d have to fight Dad for her vision of the ranch, or walk away, she must make some decisions.

      Should she fight for the land or get a check for her share and leave? She had a chance of winning—never Dad’s respect or love, she finally realized that, but she might be able to prove her contribution to the ranch, her vision was more profitable than his. In any event, she’d go to the bank and straighten them СКАЧАТЬ