Carla Cassidy - A Hero of Her Own

“Of course they do,” Burt said. “They just don’t use the same kind of language that we do. Come on, let’s get inside and get you all saddled up and I’ll tell you about horse language.” He winked at Jewel, then led the kids to the second stable.

They’d all just disappeared when Clay, Tamara and Quinn walked out of the building directly in front of her. “I thought I heard the chatter of little voices,” Clay said with a warm smile.

“We were just headed to the house for some lemonade,” Tamara said. Tamara Brown was Clay’s exwife. They’d divorced five years ago and she’d become a CSI agent in San Antonio. They’d reunited when a body had been found in a ravine on Clay’s ranch and Tamara had been part of the investigating team.

“How are you, Jewel?” Quinn’s deep voice evoked memories from the night before when his strong, warm fingers had touched her chin and she’d felt the ridiculous need to jump right into his arms.

“Fine. Just fine,” she replied. He looked as attractive this morning as he had the night before in the moonlight. The sun shimmered on his long, thick brown hair finding blond highlights that looked warm and soft. Jewel knew that he was forty-four years old, five years older than she was, but he had an underlying energy that made him seem younger than his years.

“Beautiful day,” he said.

“Yes, it’s lovely,” she replied.

“Before you know it, winter will be here.”

Tamara released a tiny sigh of impatience. “You two can stand out here in the heat and talk about the weather until the cows come home. I’m going up to the house for a glass of lemonade.” She turned on her heels and headed for the house.

Clay stared after her with the eyes of a man who loved what he saw. Andrew once looked at me that way, Jewel thought. She didn’t know if she’d ever be ready to pursue a relationship with another man, but she had to admit there were times she missed having somebody look at her that way, as if she were the most important person on the face of the earth.

Clay turned back to face them. “You two coming?”

“I can’t,” Quinn said as he glanced at his watch. “I’ve got an appointment in about fifteen minutes. I’ve got to get going.” Once again he turned his gaze to Jewel. “It was nice seeing you again.”

She nodded, those crazy butterflies taking wing in her stomach once again. “You, too.”

She and Clay watched as he got into his pickup truck. She was grateful Quinn hadn’t mentioned their midnight meeting. She didn’t really want Clay to know that she often walked the woods between their places because she suffered nightmares. Her job was healing. She didn’t want anyone to find out that she couldn’t heal herself.

“He’s such a nice guy,” Clay said as Quinn’s pickup headed down the gravel lane. “And such a talented vet.”

“Speaking of vets, I heard you had a horse down last night,” she said.

He frowned at her. “A horse down last night? I don’t know where you heard that, but it’s not true. My stock is all healthy.”

He’d lied. Quinn had lied to her the night before. The warmth of the sun on her shoulders couldn’t quite warm the chill that suddenly gripped her.

What had Quinn been doing in those woods the night before, and why had he lied?

From the moment Jewel had first stepped inside Clay’s white wood-frame, two-story home she’d felt the warm welcome it offered. She followed Clay into the wide entry hall and to the rear of the house where a farm-style kitchen opened into a family room.

The family room held two leather couches that faced each other in front of a massive stone fireplace. Western antiques dotted the room, a wagon-wheel coffee table, two lanterns from the 1800s and a framed torn Texas flag that was reported to have flown at the Alamo. The end result was a feeling of old and new, of warmth and permanence.

They didn’t go into the family room but instead stopped in the kitchen, where Tamara had already poured lemonade for them.

“Where’s Quinn?” she asked as Clay and Tamara sat at the round oak table.

“He left. He said he had an appointment,” Clay explained.

Tamara served their drinks, then joined them at the table. “Did I see a new little face out there this morning?”

Jewel nodded. “Kelsey Cameron. She arrived yesterday from Chicago. Mother a drug addict, father unknown, poor thing has been shuffled from relative to relative for the last four years.”

“You’ll work your magic, and when she leaves here, she’ll have a new sense of self-worth and be wonderfully well-adjusted,” Clay said.

Jewel smiled. “You make it sound so easy.”

“That’s because you make it look easy,” Tamara exclaimed. “Your rapport with those kids amazes me.”

Jewel waved a hand to dismiss the topic, embarrassed by their praise. “Have you heard that Joe and Meredith are planning a visit?”

Clay leaned back in his chair and nodded. “One of the last stops on the campaign trail.”

“I have a feeling the Coltons will be spending Christmases at the White House,” Tamara said.

“Uncle President,” Clay mused. “Has a nice ring to it.”

Jewel laughed. “He’s still a few months from winning the presidential election.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem, especially now that Allan Daniels is out of the running,” Clay replied.

Allan Daniels was the current governor of Texas and had been Joe Colton’s hottest competition for their party’s nomination until his true character had been exposed. Dirty dealing and bribery had effectively neutralized Daniels’s threat to Joe’s candidacy.

For the next fifteen minutes they talked about the election and how well Joe Colton was doing in the polls. That led to a discussion of politics in general and then the talk turned to more family news.

The Colton family tree was a complicated one. Joe and Meredith had five children of their own and had fostered seven. Jewel’s mother, Patsy, who was Meredith’s twin sister, had kidnapped Meredith and pretended to be Joe’s wife for ten years, giving him three more children. Graham, Joe’s brother had two children with his wife, Cynthia, then had indulged in an affair with Mary Lynn Grady and they’d had three children.

Sometimes when Jewel thought about the history of the Colton clan her head hurt, especially when she thought of her own mother, Patsy, who had done horrible things and eventually died in a mental hospital.

Jewel tried not to think of her mother too often. She preferred to think about Charlie and Ruth Baylor, the couple who had adopted her and given her a wonderfully normal Midwestern upbringing. Unfortunately, the couple had since passed away.

“Hello! Anybody home?” The familiar female voice was followed by the sound of boots against the tile entry floor.

“In the kitchen,” Tamara yelled.

Clay’s younger sister, Georgie, strode into the kitchen, bringing with her the high energy that was as much a part of her as the waist-length red braid that bobbed down her back. Following at her heels was her husband, Nick Sheffield.

“Georgie, Nick.” Clay motioned them toward the table. “Have a seat, we’re just enjoying some lemonade and local gossip.”

“Hi, Jewel. Saw your kids outside in the corral. Got any future champion riders in the bunch?” Georgie asked. Georgie had spent most of her life on the rodeo circuit as a champion barrel racer. Even the birth of Emmie, her daughter, five years ago hadn’t stopped her from competing.

“I don’t think so.” She laughed. “From what I’ve seen of them, most are just hanging on to the saddle horn for dear life.”

Georgie’s green eyes seemed to sparkle with more liveliness than usual as she looked back at her brother. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”