Samantha's Cowboy. Marin Thomas

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      When the manager offered to reserve a date in September, Wade declined. “I’ll be in touch.” He snapped his cell phone shut and stared out his condo window at downtown Tulsa. His conscience nagged—to inform Samantha about the missing funds or not? Wade’s job, his future at Dawson Investments, his position in the family—too much was at stake.

      In the end it was Wade’s personal financial situation that made the decision for him—he didn’t have $110,000 to pay the drilling company. Three years ago his ex-wife, Carmen, had walked away from their marriage with half his 401(k). She’d also gotten their home and a hefty child-support check each month. After purchasing his condo and furnishing the rooms, Wade had all but drained his retirement portfolio.

      Then his son had begun having problems when he’d entered first grade. Wade remembered what it had been like to be the kid who didn’t fit in. Luke’s genius IQ made relating to his peers difficult. Carmen had insisted Luke would adjust, but Wade had refused to stand aside while the boy suffered teasing and ridicule. Wade enrolled his son in the Tulsa Boys Academy—a private school for overachievers and high-intellect children.

      The cost of tuition was another reason he hadn’t been able to sock money away. Wade didn’t care because Luke thrived at the academy and enjoyed learning in a challenging and stimulating environment. Wade was determined to keep his son in the school even if he became penniless in the process.

      Luke strolled into the living room, carrying his favorite book—The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian. Although it was only 8:00 a.m. on a Saturday, Luke had been up reading for an hour. “What’s the matter, Dad?”

      “Nothing.” Wade’s chest tightened with love at his son’s concern. The boy was a miniature replica of himself right down to his choice of reading material. Wade had spent his childhood with his head buried in books—fantasy had been better than real life. Even though Luke had enrolled in a summer school literature program at the academy, Wade hated to see his son spend the entire weekend reading.

      Wade had custody of Luke every weekend and the two used the time together to do guy stuff—like bowling or attending a professional soccer game. They’d gone fishing once, but Wade hadn’t been able to untangle the lines, so they’d tossed their poles in the trash and spent the afternoon at the condominium’s swimming pool. “You up for a car ride in the country?”

      Luke adjusted his glasses and shrugged. “I guess.”

      Wade eyed the boy’s khaki shorts and short-sleeved Polo shirt. Carmen dressed Luke like a Dapper Dan doll. Maybe if his son tore the pockets on his pants or smudged his shirt Carmen would think twice about purchasing expensive outfits for an eight-year-old. Then Wade glanced at himself and cringed. He wasn’t much of a role model in his khaki pants, loafers and short-sleeved cotton Oxford shirt.

      “Where are we going?” Luke asked.

      Scooping the car keys from the ceramic bowl on the coffee table, Wade said, “To an old farm.” Assuming Samantha would be occupied with her brother’s wedding plans, he intended to check out the Peterson place. With any luck he’d devise a plan to convince Samantha to hold off on her pet project—at least until he spoke with his uncle.

      “Can I bring my book?”

      “Sure.” His son lugged books around like other kids carried iPods and cell phones in their pockets. Wade knew for a fact that Luke had read The Chronicles of Narnia series three times already.

      Fifteen minutes later Wade left the Tulsa city limits behind. He lowered the car windows, the hot afternoon breeze ruffling Luke’s hair and flipping the pages of his book. “Look out there.” Wade pointed to the grazing cattle. “That’s a huge herd.”

      Luke watched the animals for all of three seconds before burying his head in the book again.

      So much for distracting his son. Wade closed the windows and adjusted the air conditioner. Left alone with his own musings, Samantha’s face popped into his mind—an annoying habit of late. Her dark eyes and high cheekbones were bold, exotic…striking.

      A warm throb pulsed between his thighs. When was the last time a woman had stirred him physically, and why did that woman have to be Samantha Cartwright? The cowgirl hadn’t even remembered him.

      The women he’d gravitated toward in the past shared few traits with the oil baron’s daughter. Yesterday he’d been caught off guard by the vulnerability in Samantha’s gaze—the look hadn’t been there when they’d met years ago. What had happened to the girl whose stare had intimidated Wade and whose words had challenged him to climb a tree he had no business scaling? Not even after he’d fallen and broken his arm had she uttered an apology. Whatever the cause for the change in Samantha’s demeanor he hoped her congeniality lasted until he located her money.

      He spotted the Peterson mailbox along Route 38 and turned onto a dirt road laden with potholes. Samantha had her priorities out of order. If she wanted a new well dug, first the road needed to be regraded and topped with several inches of fresh gravel so the drilling trucks could drive onto the property. The BMW’s suspension survived the bumpy ride and Wade parked in front of the crumbling farmhouse.

      Book forgotten, Luke pressed his nose to the windshield and gaped. “Is it haunted?”

      “Maybe. No one’s lived here for years.” His mind quickly calculated the cost of building a new house if Samantha stuck to her goal to turn this place into a horse sanctuary. The barn wasn’t much better—half the roof was missing and immense holes peppered the sides. A crumbling brick silo stood off in the distance. The property was in worse shape than Samantha had let on. No wonder she wanted to keep her father in the dark about her plans.

      “Dad, there’s an old lady sitting under that tree.”

      The resident water witch. “C’mon,” Wade said. “We’ll introduce ourselves.” The granny didn’t budge from her rocker as they approached. “Hello,” Wade called. “You must be Millicent.”

      Cloudy gray eyes peered at Wade through a wrinkled face that resembled a Chinese shar-pei. “Who wants to know?”

      “I’m Wade Dawson, Samantha Cartwright’s financial adviser.” He held out his hand and the old woman hesitated before offering hers. The digits crooked at odd angles and her knuckles were swollen and red with inflammation. Taking care, Wade squeezed gently.

      “If ya folks is lookin’ fer Sam, she ain’t here.”

      Before Wade explained his visit, Luke blurted, “How old are you?”

      “Well now, I ain’t sure.” Millicent spat tobacco juice at the ground, barely missing Wade’s shoes. “I reckon somewhere’s ’round a hundred.”

      “Wow, that’s cool.” Luke squinted through his glasses. “The cost of a first-class stamp when you were born was just two cents.”

      Although Wade enjoyed listening to his son spew trivia off the top of his head, most people didn’t. More often than not intelligence earned enemies not friends.

      Millicent narrowed her eyes until the wrinkles on her face swallowed them whole. “What else ya knows ’bout 1909?”

      “Skee-Ball was invented by J. D. Estes in Philadelphia. And the U.S. issued the first Lincoln penny.”

      When Luke paused, the old woman said, “Go СКАЧАТЬ