you have two choices, ma’am.” He doubted she’d accept either one, but what the hell. “You pay me thirty thousand dollars or I leave my mares here and retrieve them at the end of the summer. Take your pick.”
Eyelashes fluttering like hummingbird wings, she protested. “I don’t have the means to care for your horses.”
“Fine. I’ll take a check.”
She swept her arm across her body. “Does it look like I have thirty grand lying around, Mr. Cartwright?”
Score one for the widow.
“Might I suggest you sell off a few assets to free up the money?”
Her fingers latched on to her throat and he wasn’t sure if she’d intended to halt the gasp that escaped her mouth or to choke herself to death. “I’ve got nothing left save the house and the land and that’s not for sale.”
Damn it all. Why didn’t Amy Olson just brand the words Help Me across her forehead?
“Mama?”
Matt peeked around the door and spotted a dark-haired child holding a toddler with a mop of tangled blond curls. The curly-headed kid grinned around the thumb in her mouth, and a gush of drool spilled down her chin.
“Rose, honey, go upstairs.”
The widow hadn’t taken her eyes off him. He guessed her wariness indicated no other men occupied the premises. Right then the baby whimpered, and held chubby arms out to her mother. Tending to a grumpy kid trumped dealing with him.
“I’m going to unload my horses and leave them in the corral. We’ll settle things in the morning.” He’d made it as far as the bottom porch step when her words lassoed him.
“Nothing left to settle, Mr. Cartwright. Might as well be on your way.”
“I’m not leaving the area until you pay off your husband’s debt or grant me stud service.” At her gasp, he clarified, “Stud service for my mares.”
His ears winced when the door slammed shut.
“HE’S STILL OUT THERE, MAMA,” Rose’s same words echoed two hours later as the little girl stood sentry again at the kitchen window while Amy fixed supper. Following a snack of Cheerios, Lily had succumbed to another nap in the playpen, allowing Amy a rare moment of peace and quiet.
The baby had caught a cold, and the little princess was fussier than usual. If Lily ended up with another ear infection, which she was prone to, Amy would have to take her daughter to the medical clinic in Rockton. She had no idea where she’d get the money to pay for the office visit. Ben’s death had been a nasty monetary wake-up call.
The first few weeks she’d been numb. Then she’d gone into survival mode with one objective—keep the farm afloat. Now even that goal was slipping away. Reality had set in and Amy had to find a job to support her and the girls. Boarding horses was no longer an option—at least not until she decided what to do with that nasty stud in the barn.
“He sure does got pretty horses.”
“Have, Rose. Not got,” Amy corrected.
“Butch says got all the time and his mama don’t, I mean, doesn’t yell at him.”
“I’m not yelling.” Amy rolled her eyes. “And Butch knows better.” The boy was their nearest neighbor’s son. He and Rose shared the same first-grade teacher.
Rose puffed against the pane until it fogged over, then drew B+R with a heart around the letters. Her daughter was in the throes of her first crush.
“Quit messing up the window and set the table, please.” Amy slathered butter on stale bread slices, then glanced over her shoulder and noticed too many dishes on the table. “Only three plates, Rose.”
Ben’s hazel eyes gazed at Amy from her daughter’s face. “What about Daddy’s friend?”
Daddy’s friend had been how she’d explained Matt Cartwright’s unexpected visit. “As soon as his horses rest up, he’ll leave.” She slapped cheese slices on the bread, set the sandwiches in the hot skillet, then wandered over to the window.
Her daughter was right. The mares were beautiful—American quarter horses. Two were buckskins, their yellowish-gold coats popping against glossy black manes, tails and lower legs. The other mare was chestnut with a burnished hide and a brownish-red mane and tail. Forcing her eyes away from the animals she studied the cowboy.
Matt.
Ben.
What was it about men with one-syllable names? Matt was easy on the eyes like Ben had been. And where had lusting after Ben gotten her? Screwed—literally. She’d best keep her eyeballs in her head and figure out a way to run Matt Cartwright off.
Damn you, Ben. Thirty thousand dollars? Her husband had insisted he’d gotten a handle on his gambling addiction. Or maybe she’d just yearned to believe him. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
While she flipped the sandwiches, she mentally calculated the bills piling up. Her May mortgage payment was overdue, which ignited her fanny on fire. The land had belonged to her mother’s side of the family for four generations. Her parents had managed to pay off the farm before they’d drowned in a boating accident a few years ago. Because Ben had accumulated a substantial amount of gambling debt, she’d consented to taking out a second mortgage on the property to pay off his losses—under the condition he attend Gamblers Anonymous. He’d agreed.
Instead of repaying off the huge cash advances he’d taken out against several credit cards, her husband had purchased Son of Sunshine and had gambled away the rest. When he’d shown up at the farm with the stallion he’d lied and claimed he’d fallen off the wagon and had used his poker winnings to buy the stud.
If that wasn’t insult enough, Ben had had the nerve to up and die, leaving her with credit card debts, a sixteen-hundred-dollar-a-month mortgage and a stud whose unpredictable behavior had caused her horse-boarding clients to flee, leaving her with no source of income.
She’d sold off her great-great-grandmother’s rare 1860’s Patent Williams & Orvis Treadle Sewing Machine for $2,495.00 to clear one of the credit cards, but that hadn’t made a dent in the thousands of dollars of debt remaining. If she had the opportunity to sell the stud she would. But who in their right mind would shell out big bucks for a dangerous horse?
“He’s hungry,” Rose said.
Amy lowered the flame under the burner, then peeked over her daughter’s shoulder. The cowboy unloaded a hay bale from the pickup bed and spread it around the corral. Then he wandered over to the stock tank, peered inside and shook his head. No sense keeping fresh water in the reservoir after her boarding business had dried up. He turned on the spigot and filled the trough. “How can you tell he’s hungry?” Amy asked.
“’Cause he’s a good worker.”
Wouldn’t it be nice if all life’s questions came with such simple answers? Sandwiches done, she sliced an apple, delivered the meal to the table and poured Rose a glass of milk. “Wash your hands. I’ll be right back.”
Amy left the house and crossed
