The Girl with the Golden Spurs. Ann Major

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СКАЧАТЬ the first time, she’d helped Caesar run things. She’d been surprisingly adept at dealing with the books and figures and computer work. Just when Caesar had begun to get used to having her around, she’d left again.

      Yes, sir, the mere sight of that tree was enough to make his temple throb for hours. Ignoring the pain in his head, he jammed his own spurs against Domino’s flank and yelled, “Giddyup, boy!”

      Horse and rider flew until the Spur Tree was well behind them.

      Both daughters had fallen for the same ruthless, vengeful man. Now they were gone for good—one dead and one simply foolish, irresponsible and ungrateful. And he still had Cole to put up with.

      Lizzy had damn near gutted him alive by leaving Texas. As if his little girl, who could barely sit a horse, could make it in the cold cruel world without him pulling strings.

      I’m all grown up now, Daddy. I’m twenty-three. I’ve got a college degree. It’s time I left home.

      You’re a big grown-up crybaby, that’s what you are.

      He’d said that because she hated the fact that she had a soft heart and wept more than most girls her age. Then he’d gone for the guilt button.

      You can’t leave your daddy now that you’re old enough to be of some use to him around here for a change—after all the trouble you’ve put him to raising you—

      Lizzy, who’d been more trouble than most kids, had kissed him on the cheek as he’d turned away from her and said a tear-choked goodbye. I know I’m a crybaby. I know I was trouble, but I have to grow up sometime. And, Daddy, you were trouble for me, too.

      If only she’d been born a boy. Maybe everything would have been different. Why couldn’t she have been more like Sam, his nephew? Hell, for that matter, why couldn’t Hawk and Walker have been more like Sam? Sam had loved the ranch so much he’d moved in with Caesar when he was ten and still lived on the ranch, although no longer in the main house.

      His sons, Hawk and Walker, were a worthless pair for sure. He’d never been as close to them as he had to Lizzy. Neither of them gave a damn that he’d built an empire for them. Although they were as different as night and day, if he advised or corrected one of them, they stuck together. After Caesar’s recent quarrel with Walker over the artist he’d chosen to do the murals depicting ranch life for the new Golden Spurs museum, Walker had stormed out in a huff. Hawk had followed suit. Who knew where they were keeping themselves these days. And even the board had sided against Caesar, as well, and the painter had stayed.

      Now Caesar had his sons’ responsibilities to see about in addition to his own. They’d been in charge of organizing the grand opening of the museum and the celebration of the ranch’s 140th anniversary, which were scheduled during Thanksgiving week.

      The whole thing was ridiculous. Because of various crises the ranch had faced recently, the board had trumped up the museum and celebration to restore faith in the ranch’s name. There would be tours, lectures, a big party and a horse and cattle auction during the week-long festivities. Caesar had thought the celebration was ill-timed to say the least, especially since it would be during a holiday, but he’d been outvoted by the family and the board.

      If Hawk could just walk off, maybe Caesar could, too. Maybe it was time he did what the damn bunch wanted and turned the ranch over to the smart-ass suits in San Antonio. Let them come down and run the ranch and this ridiculous celebration they’d dreamed up.

      But if he did, the ranch would go to hell in a handbasket. Sam, for all his talent, didn’t look at the big picture. The board would diversify into more profitable business ventures than cattle. They wanted the Golden Spurs name on cattle equipment, hunting vehicles, leather goods and guns. They were interested in farming and government subsidies and environmental research, but not a single one of them was a real rancher.

      “Times are changing faster than you are, Dad,” Walker had yelled at him before he’d left.

      The board—and even Sam—had made him furious when they’d told him the same thing.

      But, hell, had any of them been named rancher of the decade?

      Caesar had a cell phone clipped to his wide belt and a phone number in his breast pocket. The girl that went with the phone number was an exotic dancer in Houston. Last Saturday night he’d watched her perform a wanton cowgirl routine on stage with a real live horse.

      She was nineteen—younger than his kids and nephews, but old enough, well worth the hour-long plane ride from the ranch. She had implants, big hair, fake eyelashes, but there was nothing fake about those legs of hers that went forever or the megawatt smile she’d flashed him or the promises she’d made with her big blue eyes and soft hands when she’d gotten off her horse and had done that lap dance wearing a silver, sequined cowboy hat and not much else.

      He thought about Joanne and the cold, loveless years of their marriage. Maybe it was time he hung his own spurs on the tree and kicked his heels up, too. It had been a while since he’d had any fun with a woman.

      He pulled Cherry’s number out of his pocket and memorized it. Then he put it back and grabbed his cell phone. His body heated as he leaned forward and nudged Domino with his spurs.

      The gelding’s walk was a wonderful kind of tap dance. Domino was the best horse Caesar had ever had, a real genius.

      It was only nine in the morning, and already the temperature had to be in the high eighties. But that wasn’t why Caesar felt as hot as a billy goat in a pepper patch.

      Should he call her? He stared up at the deep azure sky unmarked by clouds and felt beads of perspiration pop out on his forehead. It would get way hotter, and so would he.

      He punched in her number, and a recording answered. He waited a few seconds, before he got up the nerve to stammer hello.

      A woman’s soft voice interrupted and said, “Hi there—”

      His big hand shook so hard, he punched something and broke the connection. Then he cursed himself for being such an idiot.

      Thank God he’d hung up on her. Gulping in a breath, he attached his cell phone to his belt again.

      Heartbreak and grief and disillusionment were supposed to age a man, but Caesar knew he looked and felt much younger than he was. Maybe it was all the hard, physical work he’d done on top of the constant mental challenge of running his empire.

      Not his empire…the family’s…and it was a big family, not just his immediate family…a difficult family with more than a hundred members… Which meant there were a lot of calves sucking off a single tit, which meant the ranch had to produce.

      The ranch had been established during the first half of the nineteenth century, turbulent years in south Texas. Land in Texas had gone from Spanish rule to Mexican rule to the Republic of Texas rule to American rule and then to Confederate and then back to Union rule in the space of sixty years. During this period of chaos, land titles and old Spanish land grants had been the original Caesar Kemble’s for the asking… or as some said now…for the stealing.

      Not that the ranch had been easy to defend even back then. Mexican bandits had marauded constantly and stolen cattle. Northern cattle markets had been uncertain. Drought had plagued the ranch, until a constant source of water had been found.

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