The Bull Rider's Cowgirl. April Arrington
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she took in the thick foliage surrounding them. “There’s a house? Where?”
When they cleared the top of the hill, the sun broke over the surrounding trees, flooding the sprawling grounds with light.
Colt tipped his head toward the massive structure in front of them. “There.”
Jen stilled, lips parting. He followed her gaze and gritted his teeth as he surveyed the familiar estate. A French provincial–style mansion consisting of thirty-five thousand square feet of space, stables, theater, pool, tennis court and caretaker’s suite sat center stage on a manicured twenty-acre lot.
“That’s not a house,” she whispered.
Colt sighed. “I know.”
He guided the truck around the circular drive, rounded a large churning fountain and brought them to a halt. After cutting the engine, he glanced up to find Jen studying him.
Her eyes narrowed, scrutinizing his features as though she didn’t recognize him. She turned her back to him and stared up at the massive flight of stairs that led to the double door entrance. “I wish Tammy were here.”
Her words were so soft he barely caught them. But he did.
He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing circumstances were different and that Tammy could be here, too. She kept him grounded. Reminded him of who he really was and, most importantly, who he didn’t want to become.
His gut roiled. The kind of person his father had been. The kind of person Jen had just searched for when she’d inspected his face. A pompous, entitled man who put his own desires above the needs of others.
“Why wouldn’t you let her come?” Jen asked, turning to him. “I mean, besides the race. I know that can’t be your only reason.”
Colt looked away and placed his hands on the steering wheel. “Tammy’s mom was my dad’s sister. My dad had basically disowned her. She’d blown all her money, lived hard and apparently wasn’t worth knowing anymore. Tammy’s dad and mine were both cruel. But where my dad just used his words, Tammy’s liked to use his fists. And her mom did nothing to stop it.”
The air grew thick and heavy in the cab. His throat closed and he swallowed, waiting for Jen to speak. When she didn’t, he forced himself to continue.
“Things got so bad, Tammy finally called me and asked for help. I was seventeen. A dumb kid, thinking if I brought Tammy here, my dad might actually man up and do something.” Colt tightened his grip on the wheel, his nails cutting into his palms. “Suffice it to say, he made it clear Tammy didn’t belong here. And I already knew I didn’t, either. So when I turned eighteen, I left and took Tammy with me.”
“How did you end up on the circuit?”
Hearing Jen’s shaky voice, Colt glanced over. The tear slipping from her dark lashes sent a stabbing pain through his chest.
“Riding bulls was a quick way to make money and I found out I was pretty good at it. Tammy knew horses and I made enough to set her up to race.” A bitter laugh burst from his lips. “We were both angry at the world in general. Riding bulls let me fight back and racing horses let Tammy run. Tammy wasn’t born tough. She was made that way. And there’s no way in hell I’d ever let her revisit what got her there.”
A soft sound escaped Jen. She leaned over and wrapped him in a hug.
A wave of soothing heat swept over him, causing his hands to dig into the silky fall of her hair and his body to hum. He longed to tug her closer, drive away and leave it all behind. But Meg needed him and his focus should be on her. Not Jen.
Colt held on for a few moments, then forced himself to let go, pull away and jerk his chin toward the main house.
“I might as well get this over with.”
Jen ducked her head, her cheeks flooding with color. She grabbed her purse and whispered, “I need to take care of Diamond before we go in.”
He nodded and opened his door, forcing himself to ignore the sudden desire to ease back into her comforting hold and explore her inviting mouth.
It took a few minutes to unload Diamond. By the time they’d managed it, a groundskeeper approached, offering assistance, and Jen reluctantly handed Diamond’s care over to a stable hand. Colt retrieved their overnight bags and they made their way up the steep flight of stairs to the front entrance, pausing two-thirds of the way to catch their breath.
“This is ridiculous,” Jen muttered, glancing below them at the truck.
Colt relieved her of her bag. “Too ridiculous.”
Her eyes locked with his and they both laughed, his rigid muscles relaxing and his pain easing. Thank God she was here.
A click sounded as a door swung open. Jen’s laughter died on her lips. Colt’s chuckle trailed away, too, and he turned to find a tall, slim woman standing in the open doorway. She stood motionless in a stiff-collared shirt and dark slacks, her only greeting a stern expression.
“Hey,” Colt called, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun. “I’m here to see Meg Mead.”
“It’s a bit early for visitors,” the woman replied, tucking a stray gray hair back into her updo. “I’m Ms. Parks, Margaret’s nanny. May I have your name, please?”
Colt bit back a retort. His father’s strict protocols were always followed and it was routine for guests to be announced once they passed the outer gates. She’d known who he was long before his boots ever hit the driveway.
Forcing a polite smile, he climbed the last few stairs to the front door. “I’m Colt Mea—”
He jerked to a halt when they reached the landing.
The sharp glare of the sun’s rays shifted and he could just make out a young girl’s face peeking around the woman’s hip. Blond hair, brown eyes.
Colt’s chest burned. “Meg?” His voice emerged in a rasp and he set the bags down, clearing his throat.
“Margaret, I asked you to wait inside.” The woman reached behind her and tapped the child’s shoulder. “Since you’re here, you may as well come out and introduce yourself properly.”
The girl blinked, her guarded eyes moving from Colt to Jen and back, but made no move to step forward.
Colt dragged his clammy palms over his thighs. “Do you know who I am, Meg?”
She stepped around the woman and straightened, the top of her head barely reaching his waist. “No one calls me that.”
He let out a slow breath, his smile tentative. “I used to.”
Her small mouth tightened. “I don’t remember.”
Colt’s gut churned. Her frown was overly fierce and the tilt of her chin too pronounced. She kept cutting looks at Jen, brows drawing farther down.
“That’s okay,” he said gently. “I remember. I’m Colt. Your brother.”
His tongue clung to the roof of his mouth, the last word foreign and strange.
The woman at Meg’s side twisted her hands together and her nose wrinkled slightly.
“My name is Margaret.” Her fingers picked at the hem of her khaki skirt, which brushed the tops of her knees. “That’s what everyone calls me.”
Colt examined her as she shifted from foot to foot. Her shoes were a shocking hot pink, but she had on navy blue knee-highs and a matching collared shirt with an emblem.
His throat ached. “Are you on the way to school, Margaret?”
“No. I just got back. The driver doesn’t pick me up for weekends until six on Saturday mornings. I stay Friday night to take music lessons. We pay extra for private ones. Mr. Evans told me yesterday on the phone that Dad always said...” Her chin wobbled. “Mr. Evans said