sides. With a savage cry, he lunged, his arms raised, his fingers curled as if already closing around the neck of the man who threatened his happiness, the man who stood between him and the woman he loved.
A shot rang out, deafening Mandy. She clapped her hands over her ears, her body throbbing with the rifle’s report. The scene in front of her slipped into slow motion and she watched Jesse’s eyes widen, his face twist in pain. The impact of the blast spun him to the left and she watched in silent horror as he staggered two steps, then crumpled to the ground.
Mandy’s scream ruptured the night. “Jesse! No-o-ooo!”
One
The three women stood, shoulders almost touching, staring up at the portrait of their father that had hung over the fireplace in the den of their family home for over twenty years. Pictured astride his horse, the aptly named Satan, Lucas McCloud seemed a man born to a saddle. The artist had captured him leaning forward slightly with his forearm braced casually atop the saddle horn and the bridle’s leather reins gathered loosely in his opposite hand.
Set against a panorama of blue Texas sky and the rocky hills and green meadows that made up the Double-Cross Heart Ranch, both rider and horse appeared indomitable. One could almost feel the stallion’s wildness captured by the artist’s brush. Standing on a slab of limestone that jutted from a high ridge, with his ears cocked forward, his head held high, the horse met the viewer’s gaze with an arrogance, a ripple of muscled strength, a compelling dominance that equaled that of the man on his back.
And no one was more aware of these traits than the three women who stood staring up at the portrait. They’d stood just so every year on this same date for eleven years, to mourn as well as honor the man pictured above them.
Yet anyone who saw them together would never dream the three were sisters, that they shared the same parents, the same pool of genes. The daughters of Lucas McCloud were as different in personality as they were in looks.
Mandy, the oldest, stood to the left of the portrait, her hands molded around a mug of steaming coffee. An almost fragile look disguised a deep inner strength and a will that matched that of the man who’d spawned her. Thick auburn hair brushed her slim shoulders, a testament to her femininity, while a denim work shirt and faded jeans, her standard wear, hid her soft curves. Her chin was tipped high, almost in defiance, with only the slight tremble in her lips giving her emotions away as she stared up at the painting of her father.
Samantha, or Sam as her family called her—a much more fitting name for the tomboy of the family—stood in the middle, the tips of her fingers tucked rigidly into the front pockets of her faded jeans. Raven-black hair, scraped back in a ponytail, hung almost to the middle of her back. Though tears burned behind her eyes, her lips remained pressed together, showing no emotion as she stared at the man who’d dominated her life until his death.
Merideth held the position at the right, her long graceful fingers wound negligently around a crystal wineglass. Taller than the others by two inches, Merideth was often mistaken as the oldest...but one look at the pouty lips, the bored expression, quickly gave away her position of honor as the baby of the family. Her sisters, the McCloud housekeeper and everyone else who came in contact with Merideth had succeeded in spoiling her rotten after her mother’s untimely death in a car accident by giving in to her fits of temper, her unending demands. Lucas was the only one who’d had the grit to stand firm against her, refusing to give her what she truly wanted most...a one-way ticket away from the confines of the Double-Cross Heart Ranch.
With a sigh, Merideth turned away from the portrait, tucking a stray lock of blond hair behind her ear. “Well, I for one am glad he’s gone.”
Horrified, Mandy wheeled to stare at her. “Merideth!”
Merideth shrugged as she sank fluidly onto the leather sofa, drawing one slender foot beneath her. She pushed out her lower lip and jutted her chin in the famous pout that had earned her the nickname “the woman America most loves to hate” from Soap Opera Digest. “Well, it’s the truth,” she said disagreeably. “He was mean and domineering and controlled our lives until the day he died.” She lifted her gaze, meeting Mandy’s shocked one with one of defiance. “You, of all people, can attest to that.”
Though her cheeks reddened with heat, Mandy tightened her grip on her mug and managed to keep her tone even. “He was our father,” she returned. “He loved us—in his way. Besides,” she added emphatically, “it was his wealth that enabled all of us to achieve our dreams. You should at least be grateful for that.”
Merideth dipped her chin, peering at Mandy from beneath one neatly arched brow. “Our dreams?” she repeated, drilling Mandy with a look that had sent stage directors and makeup artists alike running for cover.
“Back off, Merideth,” Sam warned as she, too, turned away from the portrait.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” she exclaimed in annoyance, shifting her gaze to Sam. “It’s true and you know it. You were able to go to veterinary school, which Daddy would never have allowed if he’d lived, and I bought a ticket to New York and the means to live as high as I want while I do what I’ve always wanted to do, act. But what did Mandy get? Hmmm?” she quizzed pointedly as she turned to Mandy for an answer.
“I got the ranch,” Mandy murmured, turning away.
“We all got the ranch,” Merideth reminded her. “But you were the only one who wanted to continue to live here and run the place. What I want to know is what Daddy’s wealth bought you. Was it able to buy you your dreams?”
Mandy felt the tension build in her back as Merideth’s words stabbed into old wounds still unhealed. “I have the money. I’ve just never chosen to spend it... until now.”
Merideth immediately sat up, dropping her foot to the floor and scooting to the edge of the sofa. “Now?” she repeated, then quickly shook her head, shoving out a hand to stop Mandy before she could reply. “Oh, puh-l-e-e-ease tell me you’re not going to buy some new exotic breed of cattle to run, or build some new monstrosity of a barn on the Double-Cross?”
Mandy turned back, glancing first at Sam, then Merideth. “No. I’m going to buy the Circle Bar.”
Merideth bolted to her feet while Sam’s eyes widened in shock. Both women were more than familiar with the Circle Bar, the ranch that bordered their own, and with the feud that had raged between the two for four generations.
It was Sam who found her tongue first. “You’re going to buy the Circle Bar? B-but why?” she stammered.
“Because I’ve heard that it might be for sale,” Mandy replied, lifting her chin, praying her two sisters would leave it at that. But she should have known better. Merideth, especially, would never accept such a vague response.
“Reason enough if you had a need for it...which you don’t.” Merideth narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “So what’s the real reason behind your interest in the Circle Bar? Do you think that it will bring Jes—”
“No!” Mandy all but shouted to keep Merideth from fully saying the name out loud. “I’m buying it for Jaime. He has a right to some portion of his heritage.”
The quietest and at times the most softhearted of the three, Sam moved to Mandy’s side, draping a sympathetic arm over her sister’s shoulder. “Jaime doesn’t need the Circle Bar,” she comforted. “He’s got you and the Double-Cross. He doesn’t need anything from the Barristers.”
Though
