tightened his jaw as he turned to stare down the hallway Colby had disappeared into. The image of her lying on the ground, blood spurting from the wound on her head, formed in his mind and he had to swallow back the fear that rose with it. “She’s my baby,” he murmured, “and all I’ve got left. I can’t take a chance on losing her, too.”
Grateful that Nash had stayed behind at the house to make phone calls, Sam took the saddle Colby had offered her and tossed it onto the horse’s back. She settled it over the pad before dipping her knees to reach underneath for the girt. “Did you pick out this saddle yourself, Colby?”
Perched on top of the stall gate, watching, Colby shook her head. “No. Daddy bought it for me for my birthday.”
And money was obviously no object, judging by the quality of the leather and the tooled name of the saddle maker. “How old are you?”
“Six. My birthday was May first.”
“Really?” Sam tightened the cinch, then threaded the strap back through, making a loop, and tugged it into place. “Mine’s the tenth.”
“Did you have a party? I didn’t get to have one this year. Daddy said he didn’t have time to fool with it. But he said next year we’ll have a bi-i-ig blowout. Course I don’t know who I’ll invite. We’ll be gone by then.”
Sam angled her head, hearing the disappointment in the girl’s voice. “You’re moving?”
Dejected, Colby dropped her elbow to her knee and her chin onto her palm. “Into a condo, just as soon as Daddy gets the deal on the ranch. He’s turning it into a subdivision. You know, houses and shops and stuff. The works. I think he calls it a planned community.” She flapped a hand, scrunching her nose. “Or something like that.”
“So your daddy doesn’t ranch?”
Colby sighed, obviously disappointed. “No. He’s a developer. He buys land, divides it all up, builds streets and stuff then sells it to builders.”
Which explained to Sam the neglect she’d seen upon first entering the ranch. Nash Rivers wouldn’t spend time or money on fences and cultivation if he was planning to subdivide the property for development.
She frowned, remembering the rusted sign that she’d driven under proclaiming the place Rivers Ranch. At one time, someone named Rivers had ranched the land. If not Nash, then who? “Have y’all lived here long?” she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.
“About a year. We lived in San Antonio when I was little, but when my grandpa died, we moved here.”
His father’s ranch, then, not Nash’s. Probably an inheritance, Sam decided.
“Before we lived in San Antonio, we lived in Dallas,” Colby added. “Daddy didn’t like Dallas after my mother died. He said it held too many memories, so we moved to San Antonio.”
That the child could speak so matter-of-factly about her mother’s death surprised Sam. She’d lost her own mother when she was barely two, and though she didn’t remember her, she never thought of her without feeling a swell of tears.
“How old were you when your mother died?” she asked softly.
“About eight hours. She was a diabetic. She wasn’t supposed to have any babies, but Daddy said she wanted me so bad that she was willing to give up her own life just so that I could be born. That’s pretty cool, isn’t it?”
The tale was heartbreaking, and made even more so by the emotionless way in which Colby told it. Sam had to ease her breath out before she could answer. “Yeah, that’s pretty cool.”
“Daddy says I look like her, but I’ve got her picture in my room on my nightstand and I don’t think we look anything alike. Except for the color of our hair, maybe. She was blond like me, but her hair was straight and pretty and mine’s all kinky and curly.” Wrinkling her nose, Colby wadded a fistful of hair in her hand then let it drop in disgust. “Daddy says it would probably look better if I’d put a comb through it sometimes, but, heck, it just gets tangled up all over again.”
Sam bit back a grin as she bent over to lift Whiskey’s front hoof to clean it out. Did the kid ever run out of breath?
“Anyways,” Colby went on, with a dismissing wave of her hand, “Daddy loved my mother a lot and sometimes I can tell he still misses her. Are you married?”
The question came out of nowhere and caught Sam off guard. “W-well, no,” she stammered as she dropped Whiskey’s hoof and moved to pick up his rear one.
“How come?”
Sam felt heat creep up her neck. She bent her head over her work, digging the hoof pick under a clump of dirt and stone. “I don’t know. Too busy doctoring horses, I guess.”
Colby grinned, showing off the gap where her front tooth should have been. “Maybe you could marry my daddy. He’s always telling me I need a mother.”
Whiskey’s hoof slipped from Sam’s grasp. Mother? She hauled in a steadying breath and moved to the opposite side of the horse, out of sight of Colby. “I don’t think so, sweetheart. Your daddy would probably like to do his own choosing.”
“Oh, he wouldn’t care. He usually lets me have pretty much what I want, anyway.”
And Sam didn’t doubt that for a minute. Biting back a smile, she replied, “That may be true, but your daddy needs to do the choosing, just the same.” Before Colby got any more ideas in that pretty little head of hers, Sam quickly exchanged Whiskey’s halter for a bridle. “Where do you warm him up?” she asked, hoping to put an end to the discussion.
Colby hopped down from the gate. “There’s an arena out back. Well, not an arena, really. My grandpa used it to work cattle, but it’s big and I’ve got barrels set up for practicing, so I call it an arena.”
Sam chuckled, pausing to ruffle the girl’s hair. The child talked a mile a minute, giving her life history when a simple answer would suffice. “Okay, then. Let’s head for the arena and we’ll see what Whiskey can do.”
Once outside, Sam used an old feed bucket as a step to mount the horse, while Colby climbed onto the fence. There was no way Sam’s long legs would bend enough to fit into Colby’s stirrups, so she simply let her feet dangle at the horse’s sides.
Whiskey danced a bit at the unaccustomed weight, then settled down to a walk. Making smooching noises at the horse, Sam eased him into a trot, circled the arena a few times, then ordered him to lope. The horse responded easily to each change of command. Pleased, Sam reined him to a fast stop, then made him back up a few steps.
She grinned over at Colby. “Nice horse.”
Colby beamed. “Thanks. Are you going to run the barrels?”
Though she hadn’t run a barrel pattern in years, the temptation was too much for Sam. “Do you mind?”
“Heck, no! Whiskey’s fast, though, so you better be ready to turn and burn!”
Sam laughed at the barrel-racing term as she guided
