Caitlyn's Prize. Linda Warren

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      CAITLYN SLAMMED ON HER brakes at the barn, causing dust to blanket the truck. Unheeding, she jumped out and ran for the corral, whistling sharply.

      Whiskey Red, a prize thoroughbred, her father’s last gift to her, trotted into the open corral. Cait hurried into the barn and Red followed. Within minutes, she had her saddled.

      Cooper Yates and Rufus Johns, her only cowhands, came out of the tack room. “Hey, Cait, what are you doing?” Coop asked. “We just checked the herd.”

      She swung into the saddle. “I’ll catch you later.” Kneeing Red, she bolted for fresh air.

      “Hey, what’s wrong?” Coop shouted after her.

      She didn’t pause. Red’s hooves kicked up dirt as they picked up speed, moving faster and faster. If she was lucky, maybe she could outrun the pain in her chest.

      Thirty minutes later, she lay in the green grass along Crooked Creek, her body soaked with sweat, her heart bounding off the walls of her lungs.

      She sucked in a much needed breath and stared up at the bright May sky. The temperature was in the upper eighties, a perfect day.

      A squeak of a laugh left her throat. Perfect? Far from it.

      Your father sold me your oil and gas royalties.

      Now what should she do?

      I’m taking it all. It’s just a matter of time.

      Not as long as she had breath in her body.

      She sat up and stared at the plum trees growing close to the creek, dried dewberry vines nestled beneath them. She and her sisters often got sick from eating too many sweet plums in the summer, and they’d gotten drunk a time or two sneaking Etta’s dewberry wine.

      Memories. High Five. A piece of her childhood.

      Her life.

      It seemed as if her father had reached out from the grave to try and still control her. He’d never understood her need to be a person in her own right and not a trophy on some man’s arm.

      The fight for independence probably began when she was small. Her great-grandfather, Elias Cotton, had had three daughters, and it was a woeful happenstance that God had given him daughters instead of sons to carry on the tradition of High Five.

      Dorothea, Caitlyn’s grandmother, had married Bartholomew Belle. Bart eventually bought out the sisters, and he and Dorie had run the ranch. After several miscarriages, they were blessed with a boy, Dane. All was aligned in the heavens. At last there was a son.

      But once again fate struck. Dane had the misfortune to produce daughters. It wasn’t for lack of trying. Dane and Meredith, Caitlyn’s mother, had been high school sweethearts. They broke up when Dane went off to college. Years later they met again and married, but it wasn’t meant to be. Meredith died giving birth to Caitlyn.

      He didn’t grieve for long. Six months later he’d married Audrey, but again the marriage didn’t last. Audrey was very religious and didn’t take to Dane’s gambling trips to Vegas and Atlantic City, or to his weekly poker games with his buddies. A year later she moved out with her newborn daughter, Madison.

      Dane met Julia, Skylar’s mother, in Vegas, and felt he’d finally met the woman for him. Julia was from a Kentucky horse family, so it had to be a match made in heaven. It wasn’t. Although Julia knew Dane’s bad habits, she didn’t enjoy living with them on a daily basis. After two years, she’d packed her things, including her baby daughter, and left.

      Three wives. Two divorces. And three daughters, all with different mothers. After the third wife, Dane gave up and accepted his fate. Without СКАЧАТЬ