Authors: Cathy McDavid
“I’ll be here. I want to check on the mare after the vet’s
treated her, and take some pictures of her brand. I’m not sure when—I have an
appointment first. At the doctor’s. For a checkup. Richard’s taking me.”
The reminder of her circumstances had the desired effect.
Conner didn’t make any more personal remarks. Neither did he walk her to her
car, which had to be a first.
This was what she wanted, right? She’d set the boundaries, and
he was respecting them.
Why, then, did disappointment consume her and linger long after
she arrived home?
* * *
C
ONNER
WASN
’
T
AT
THE
RANCH
when Dallas arrived. Considering their
uncomfortable parting the previous night, it was just as well, she convinced
herself, as she unloaded her camera bag.
Had she made a mistake inviting him to the charity dance?
Perhaps. But they were both grown-ups and capable of behaving for one evening.
More important, they were friends.
Besides, uninviting him would be an admission of how strong her
feelings for him had become these past weeks. Had really always been. Best that
remain her little secret.
Richard hadn’t helped. While waiting in the doctor’s office
this morning, he’d asked about her car, which had indeed required a new starter.
Then he’d asked about Conner. Dallas had recounted the capture of the mare and
colt, along with his fall onto the cholla. She purposely excluded her part in
removing the stickers. And she didn’t mention the charity dinner, either.
Gavin was outside the mare and colt’s stall when she arrived,
conversing with an older gentleman in a khaki uniform. A younger man in jeans,
boots and a blue work shirt—the veterinarian, she assumed—was with the two
horses. A large medical case stood open in a corner.
The mare appeared to be taking all the commotion in stride. Her
baby was less enthused and hid behind her, occasionally poking his head out for
a quick peek.
The vet was still here after all this time? That was a
surprise. Perhaps the mare was worse off than they’d thought.
Dallas was contemplating leaving and coming back later, when
Gavin motioned for her to join him and the uniformed man.
“Dallas Sorrenson, this is Agent Ferreras from Game and
Fish.”
“Nice to meet you.” She returned the short, beefy man’s
handshake.
“If you have a few minutes, I’d like to ask you some questions
for our investigation.”
“Absolutely. Do you have any leads?” From the corner of her
eye, she watched the vet apply a gooey yellow salve to the mare’s open
wounds.
“Nothing yet. The arrows appear to be standard hunting issue,
without specific identifying marks. Ones that could be purchased from any
sporting goods store or online. We’re sending them to the lab for analysis, but
it’s going to be waste of time. According to Dr. Schaeffer here, the horse
sustained her injuries three to four weeks ago. Any prints or DNA evidence would
have long since degraded.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Our best bet—frankly, our only one—is that someone with
information is willing to come forward.”
“You don’t sound hopeful, Agent Ferreras.”
“I’m not, I’m sorry to say.”
Dallas was sorry, too. She wouldn’t give up just yet,
however.
“What’s most important is the mare and colt are safe and going
to recover.” She glanced at the vet, and then at Gavin. “She will recover,
right?”
“Don’t worry. It’s not nearly as bad as it looks.”
Thank goodness, because it looked terrible.
“Do you have any extra pictures I can have?” Agent Ferreras
asked Dallas.
“Not with me, but I can email you some.”
He removed a business card from his wallet. “I’d much
appreciate that.”
“What if I were to take a video of the mare with my phone and
upload it to YouTube?”
The man shrugged. “It’s worth a shot.”
They spent several minutes discussing Dallas’s initial
encounter with the mare.
“Connor Durham can probably tell you a lot more than me.”
“We’re waiting for him,” Gavin said. “He’s on his way.”
On his way? She should hurry. She didn’t want him thinking she
was hanging around in the hopes they’d run into each other. “If you don’t need
anything else from me, I’d like to take some pictures of the mare’s brand.”
“Email me a copy of those, too, and I’ll see if I can’t push
through a request with the Department of Agriculture.” Agent Ferreras sighed.
“They can be mighty slow down there.”
“Hard to believe someone could lose a horse.”
“Happens more than you think. We retrieve four or five
free-ranging horses a year. They get to be quite a nuisance to the
ranchers.”
With Dr. Schaeffer’s permission, Dallas entered the stall and
took some close-ups of the brand. It resembled a sideways V with a slash through
the center. Gavin and Agent Ferreras left for the office, presumably to wait for
Conner.
No one had mentioned where he was, and Dallas refused to
inquire.
“Was it difficult removing the arrows?” she asked the vet.
“Not too bad. We had to tranquilize her first before she’d let
us near.” Dr. Schaeffer had a pleasant smile and he flashed it often. “I’m
mostly concerned about infection. Deep wounds like these are slow to heal.
She’ll be on an antibiotics regimen for weeks, if not months.”
The wounds were gruesome. One ragged hole spread six inches
across. Dallas steeled herself and took more shots, deciding she would track the
mare’s healing progress with photographs for as long as she was at Powell
Ranch.
“She’ll feel a lot better by tomorrow,” Dr. Schaeffer said. “In
a few weeks, she’ll be a brand-new horse.”
“What about the colt?”
With less people around, the little fellow had ventured out. At
that moment, he had his nose in the vet’s medical case, investigating the
contents. Dallas took his picture before he scampered away.
“Nothing wrong with him that a few extra groceries and some
taming won’t fix.”
“Conner and Gavin will make sure he gets both.”
“The good news is mama and baby are young and strong,” the vet
continued.
“How old is she?”
“No more than five, I’d say. The colt’s about ten months old,
judging by his teeth. A little small for his age. I figured him younger at
first.” Dr. Schaeffer stepped back and assessed them. “I wish she could talk.
I’d give anything to know how they survived and where they found water.”
“If she could talk, I’d want her to tell us who shot her.”
“That, too.”
“Is it at all possible to determine how long she was running
wild?” Dallas returned her camera to the bag, switched on her cell phone’s video
function and began filming.
“Can’t say for sure.” He lifted the mare’s front foot. “Judging
by the condition of her hooves, I’d estimate over a year. Two, more likely.”
“Which means the colt was born in the wild.”
“Possibly conceived in the wild.” The vet smiled and wiped his
hands on a cloth. “Don’t suppose we’ll ever know.”
Conner and Gavin wouldn’t approve, but Dallas asked, anyway.
“I’ve got this crazy idea that the colt is Prince’s son.”
The vet shrugged. “It’s not impossible.”
“Really?” Someone actually agreed with her?
“They were both loose in the mountains at the same time.”
“Now I really wish she could talk.”
“We can always run a DNA test.”
“There’s such a thing for horses?”
“Tests to establish parentage are actually becoming common.
I’ll talk to Gavin.”
“He won’t agree. He’s convinced Prince isn’t the colt’s
father.”
“Don’t know why. Prince stole Gavin’s wife’s horse practically
right out from under his nose and bred her.”
“True!”
“In fact, I’ll use that argument when we talk.” Dr. Schaeffer
flashed another smile.
“How long until the results come in?” Dallas stopped filming
and exited the stall.
“Normally, three to six weeks. But I’ll pull some strings.” He
removed a small zippered plastic bag from his medical case. Cornering the colt,
he began removing hairs from the tail. “For the test,” he said.
It was a tricky procedure, one the colt clearly resented.
Dallas gave the vet credit; he was brave.
She was about to ask another question when an SUV pulled up and
parked just outside the barn door. It bore a logo on the side Dallas couldn’t
quite make out. Nor did she recognize the uniform the man wore until he got
closer.
“Morning, folks.” A polar opposite of the Game and Fish agent,
this man was tall and reed thin. “Officer Grady with the Arizona Humane Society.
I’m here to see Gavin Powell.”
“He’s in the office,” Dallas said. “I can take you there.”
His glance cut to the mare. “This her?”
“It is.” Dr. Schaeffer met Officer Grady outside the stall, and
they discussed the mare at length.
Dallas listened intently without trying to be obvious about it.
She was pleased to learn the AHS treated cruelty cases every bit as seriously as
the Game and Fish.
“You taking pictures of the mare?” Officer Grady nodded at her
camera bag.
“I have been from the day we found her on the mountain.”
“You’re that gal who sent the photos to the news stations.”
“Guilty as charged.”
“Good job. You saved two lives.” His tone, previously curt,
reflected admiration.
Dallas felt her smile blossom. “Thank you.”
She
had
done well. And her photos
had made a difference. It’s what she’d always dreamed of.
Like her mother and father had dreamed of doing when they were
young.
“Any chance I can get copies of the pictures you took today?”
Officer Grady passed her his business card.
She was acquiring quite a collection. “Absolutely.”
After saying goodbye to Dr. Schaeffer, she escorted the officer
to where Gavin and Agent Fererras waited. She wasn’t asked to stay, which was a
shame. She’d have liked to learn more about what steps the agencies were
considering.
Then again... She reached for her phone to check the time.
Where had the last hour gone? If she hurried, she could grab a quick lunch
before her next appointment, head shots for a local businessman.
She was busy composing a mental list of the equipment she’d
need and didn’t notice Conner until he spoke her name.
“Oh, hi.” She stopped just short of her car and stared. Then
blinked.
Conner was dressed in a dark gray suit, complete with dress
shoes and tie. He looked totally out of place on a horse ranch and absolutely
delicious.
She hadn’t seen him in a suit before. Dress slacks and a dress
shirt, sure, in the days when she’d stopped by Triad’s offices to meet with
Richard for whatever reason. But not in a suit.
He should wear them more often, she decided. Clothes definitely
made the man. Or was it the other way around? He would turn every female head at
the charity dinner on Saturday, hers included.
No chance was she uninviting him after this.
“You look great,” she blurted without thinking.
He didn’t acknowledge the compliment. “Just came from an
interview.”
“How’d it go?”
“I’m trying not to get my hopes up.”
“But you are.”
“This job would be a good fit. And I think they liked me.”
She could hear the enthusiasm in his voice. She also heard him
attempting to suppress it.
“Conner, you’re going to find a job. You’re too talented and
too smart to be without one for long.”
“Gavin phoned me. Said to come to the office the minute I got
back.”
“An agent from the Game and Fish and an officer from the
Arizona Humane Society are in there. They want to ask you some questions.”
“All right. I’ll catch up with you later.”
“Have to be much later. I’ve got a busy afternoon.”
He nodded and started around the corner to the barn entrance,
his steps lacking any spring.
She suddenly remembered and called out, “How’s your back?”
“Fine.”
She believed him. It was his insides that hurt, and there was
nothing she or anyone could do to help.
Chapter Eleven
For the third time this week, Conner tucked his dress
shirt into his trousers, straightened the knot in his tie and shoved his arms
into a suit jacket. But instead of going on an interview, he was escorting
Dallas to the AAWA charity dinner.
It wasn’t a date. He’d reminded himself of the fact enough
times over the last several days and it had finally sunk in. That he hadn’t seen
her since the morning after they’d captured the mare and colt made it
easier.
The same day he’d interviewed at the metal fabrication company.
Another job he didn’t get.
According to Gavin, Dallas had been to the ranch once since
then to take more pictures. Her determination was admirable. If anyone could
find the mare’s owner or the person responsible for shooting her, it would be
Dallas.
Conner missed her. Not a day or an hour passed that he didn’t
recall the touch of her gentle hands skimming his naked back. He’d say the
excruciating pain of the cholla cactus was well worth it, but...
Who was he kidding? Hell, yes, it was worth it.
And that was why any romantic thoughts of her needed to
stop.
Whatever decisions she and Richard reached, regarding the baby
and the future of their relationship, would be made without Conner in the
picture.
He tried remembering how much gas was in his truck and decided
he had enough. It wasn’t too often he wished he still owned his convertible.
Tonight, he did. Picking up Dallas in his weathered old Ford, imagining them
pulling up to valet parking at the fancy resort, was enough to ruin his
mood—which wasn’t that good to begin with.
At the door to his apartment he paused, his hand itching to
grab his cowboy hat from the peg where it hung.
No
crutches,
he silently vowed, and left without it.
“Hooo, doggie.” A familiar form reclined against the side of
Conner’s truck, a Stetson pulled low over his brow. “If you looked any prettier,
I’d take you out myself.”
That brought a smile to Conner’s face for the first time all
day. “Hey, Clay. A little late for you to be out, isn’t it?”
His friend had been keeping much earlier hours since getting
married and becoming a father.
“I had an errand to run. This.” He tossed something at
Conner.
Instinctively grabbing for the flying object, Conner caught it
in midair. The car keys jangled in his hands. “What’s this?”
“I figured you could use a different set of wheels
tonight.”
Puzzled, Conner walked a few steps, just far enough to see
Clay’s BMW parked on the other side of his truck.
He grabbed hold of his emotions before they colored his voice.
“You’re lending me your car?”
“Can’t expect a pregnant woman wearing an evening dress and
heels to ride in this hunk of junk.”
Conner didn’t know when he’d appreciated a friend more.
“Thanks, buddy.”
Clay hooked a friendly arm around his neck, as he’d often done
when they were teenagers. “No rush getting the car back. I don’t need it till
Monday.”
“Be sure and give Sierra my best.”
“I will.” He grinned stupidly. “We’re having another baby. Just
found out yesterday. She took one of those home pregnancy tests.”
“Congratulations.” Conner pulled him into a back-slapping bear
hug.
“We’re happy.” He looked it.
For a brief moment, Conner was jealous. He’d been that happy
once.
“I’d better hit the road. Bring that boy of yours around for a
ride. Isa’s old swayback needs more of a workout.”
“Sierra would skin me alive.”
“You don’t have to tell her.”
Clay chuckled. “I don’t know how, but she has some sort of
built-in GPS when it comes to that kid. I can’t even sneak him into the hardware
store without her figuring it out. Hate to think how she’s going to react the
first time I sign him up for a Little Buckaroo Rodeo.”
“I’ll run interference for you.”
“I’ll need it.”
Conner handed over his keys so Clay could drive his truck home.
“Thanks again.”
“Enjoy yourself.”
That was Conner’s problem. He was afraid he was going to enjoy
himself too much.
When Dallas greeted him at her front door, she took one look at
the car and gave him a startled glance. “Where’d you get that?”
Conner had difficulty answering her. His senses had overloaded
his brain, causing it to short circuit.
The dress emphasized every womanly curve, which Dallas had in
abundance. Her hair, half up and half down, framed her face in loose waves. She
smelled like—he didn’t know what, only that he wanted to drown in it.
Which he did when he pulled her into his arms and inhaled
deeply.
She laughed into his neck. “Hello to you, too.”
“Clay,” he said.
“What?” She drew back, her hands resting lightly on his
shoulders.
“It’s Clay’s car. He lent it to me.”
“That was sweet of him.”
Conner studied her. “You look...” He swallowed.
“Incredible.”
She studied him in turn. “You look incredible, too. Very
handsome.”
He was glad she approved. He’d wanted to do right by her,
knowing how important this dinner was to her career. “You ready?”
She fetched her wrap and a tiny purse that couldn’t possibly
contain more than her cell phone, driver’s license and a house key.
At the car, Conner held the door open for her. Whatever Clay’s
real motives were, he’d been right about Dallas. Slipping into the sedan was far
easier than crawling into a truck.
They talked easily on the drive to the resort. As the valet
drove off with the car, Conner took her arm and led her along the lit walkway to
the main entrance. Greeters stationed just inside pointed them in the direction
of the ballroom.
They were only a few minutes late, but the room was almost
completely full. Locating two empty seats at a table along the far wall, Dallas
deposited her wrap.
“I think I’m hungry,” she said, eyeing the lengthy buffet
loaded with every kind of food imaginable.
It wasn’t like Conner to keep a lady waiting. “I could eat a
bite.”
They navigated the room, with Dallas stopping frequently to say
hello to someone and chat briefly. Conner responded cordially when she
introduced him as her “friend.” By the time they reached the buffet line, he’d
forgotten more names than he remembered.
“Champagne?”
Waiters crisscrossed the room carrying heavily laden drink
trays.
Dallas patted her stomach. “I think I’m going to stick with
water. But you have some.”
“I’m good with water, too.” He had a one-drink-when-driving
rule. He amended that to a
no-
drink-when-driving-a-pregnant-woman-home rule.
They met more people Dallas knew while returning to their table
with their plates. Conner admired her poise and confidence. Those individuals
she hadn’t worked with quickly learned about her photography business when she
seamlessly slipped in a reference.
According to Conner’s estimation, she’d made five new contacts
in the thirty minutes since their arrival.
Maybe he should ask her for lessons. His networking skills were
clearly lacking or he’d have found a new job by now.
He’d become complacent at Triad, assuming he’d be there for
life. Researching potential jobs was easy, registering with headhunters a
necessary evil. His letters of introduction and résumé were evidently written
well enough that he was regularly called in for interviews. When it came to
closing the deal, however, he continually missed the mark.
The woman sitting on Conner’s right dabbed her mouth with a
white linen napkin. “The dressing on this endive salad is divine.”
To him, salad was salad. But he didn’t want to be impolite. “It
is good.” He took a bite to show his sincerity.
“I don’t believe we’ve met. Have you attended any AAWA events
before?”
Because Dallas was deep in conversation with the elderly couple
beside her, Conner turned his full attention to the woman. “My first time.”
“They put on a lovely affair. And the money they raise benefits
so many worthy causes. If you’re here, you must be an animal lover.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She extended a hand. The diamond ring on her finger, though
large, was tasteful. “I’m Sunday Givens. Nice to meet you.”
Something about her short-cropped silver hair and unusual name
rang a bell with Conner, but he couldn’t quite place her. “Conner Durham.”
“You strike me as a dog person. Am I right?”
Conner and his ex-girlfriend had owned an Australian shepherd
mix that she got custody of when they split. Much as he’d liked that dog, he
hadn’t objected. Her daughter was quite attached to “Zero,” and he hated to
separate them.
“You’re correct. Had a lot of good ones in my life. Mostly
herding dogs. Dad believed even the family pets should earn their keep.”
“You grew up on a ranch?” Sunday took tiny spoonfuls of her
lobster bisque.
Conner tried not to wolf his down. “In Mustang Valley.”
“And now?”
“Still there.”
“That’s horse country. How many do you own?”
“None, technically.” Another reminder of his circumstances he
chose not to dwell on. He’d sold his two quarter horses a few months back, even
though Gavin had offered to board them for free. The extra money had come in
handy and enabled him to make a few payments on his house. “I’m a trainer. I
work for the Powells.”
Sunday’s attractively crinkled face lit up. “I’m familiar with
their mustang sanctuary. Anyone involved with the AAWA is, naturally. They’ve
done some tremendously good things for wild mustangs.” She looked at Conner with
renewed interest and something he hadn’t seen much lately. Respect. “Tell me all
about it.”
“I’d hate to bore you.”
“You won’t. I adore cowboys and their way of life. In my
opinion, it’s becoming a lost art.”
Talking with her wasn’t hard at all. She asked a lot of
questions and encouraged Conner to go into detail when he would have
skimmed.
At some point, Dallas must have become aware of them, and
joined in on the discussion. “He’s been helping me with the book.”
“What book is that?”
Dallas explained.
“I’m impressed.” Again, Sunday’s eyes shone with respect.
“I haven’t done that much,” Conner insisted.
“Don’t listen to him.” Dallas laid her hand on his arm and
leaned in closer. “There’s no way I would have gotten all the photographs I did
without him.”
“Rest assured, I’m not listening.” Sunday’s smile alighted on
Conner. “Anyone can see he’s very unassuming.”
“Did he tell you about the wounded mare and colt we found in
the mountains?”
“I heard about it on the news. That was you?”
While the waitstaff swooped in to remove empty plates and
bowls, Dallas recounted the story, including Conner’s encounter with the cholla,
and ending with their ongoing efforts to locate the owner.
From the way she told it, she made Conner out to be some kind
of hero, which he wasn’t. He should warn her to stop laying it on so thick.
“How fortunate you came along when you did,” Sunday gushed.
“I really hope they find the person who shot her,” Dallas said,
“but there’s not much chance of it.”
“Tell me, Conner, where did you learn to train horses?”
It took him a moment to realize Sunday was speaking to him. “I
started out rodeoing.”
“A man of many talents.”
“He’s actually a systems analyst.”
He sent Dallas a look meant to silence her. She didn’t take the
hint.
“He used to work for Triad Energy Systems. Ran their production
department.”
“I heard they had a major layoff last spring.” Sunday’s
expression was sympathetic. “Were you by chance one of their casualties?”
Conner hesitated before answering. He preferred not advertising
his unemployment to strangers. But Sunday impressed him as being nonjudgmental.
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“A shame. I’m sure you found another job straight away.”
“Actually, I’m still looking.”
“And training mustangs while you’re at it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Interesting.” She pushed her half-eaten cheesecake aside. “As
it so happens, we’re looking for a good systems analyst at the plant.”
“Plant?”
“Sonoran Bottling.”
All at once the pieces flew together, and he remembered where
he’d seen her—on the cover of countless local business magazines and journals.
She was
the
Sunday Givens, president of the most
successful independently owned bottling plant in the entire Southwest.
“Call me Monday morning,” she said casually, as if she hadn’t
just changed Conner’s entire life, “and we’ll set up an interview. If you have a
pen and paper, I’ll give you my number.”
He slapped the front of his jacket, beneath which his heart
beat like a piston. “Somewhere here—”
Beside him, Dallas magically produced a pen from her tiny
purse.
“Thank you, ma’am.” He scribbled Sunday’s number on the back of
the program agenda. “I really appreciate the opportunity.”
She smiled warmly. “No need to be so formal. I consider every
employee at Sonoran to be a part of my family.”
* * *
“S
HE
’
S
GOING
TO
GIVE
YOU
the job!” Dallas beamed at Conner as they danced to a slow number.
“We’ll see.”
This was the first opportunity they’d have to talk privately,
and she was bursting with excitement.
“She said, and I quote, ‘I consider
every
employee at Sonoran to be a part of my family.’” Dallas
pinched his chin between her thumb and finger as if to shake some sense into
him. “Have faith.”
“She did say ‘every.’” He finally let his guard down and
smiled. “I liked her.”
“And she liked you. See? It’s kismet.”