style="font-size:15px;"> “Because I know this ranch as well as you do, Mr. Kemp.” Wade forced a grin he didn’t feel. “Do you remember me, Mr. Kemp? Wade Coltrane. Jackson Coltrane’s son.”
“Little Wade Coltrane?” Henry slung his leg over the horse and eased to the ground. For a seventy-five-year-old man, Mr. Kemp got around pretty good.
Wade looked closer. The old guy got around but was it good enough to be a real threat to Governor Lockhart? This was the man suspected of hiring Rory Stockett to take a shot at her. The man who might have seeded the highway with horseshoe nails to cause the governor’s limo to crash late last night?
Granted the old guy was a perpetual grump, a loudmouth and generally cantankerous, and he loved his granddaughter. A big plus in Wade’s estimation.
But if Bart Bellows had good reason to believe Henry Kemp was threatening Governor Lockhart, who was Wade Coltrane, ex-soldier, to argue? He needed the job Bart offered, not only for the money, but also for a second chance.
Henry’s eyes narrowed. “Why you hiding behind that beard?”
Wade rubbed the neatly trimmed facial hair. “Not hiding. The ladies tell me it’s sexy.”
The old man snorted. “That flyer must be three months old. I hired a ranch hand a long time ago. What do I need another one for?”
“I hear you’ve got some fences in need of repairing and roundup next week.”
“And some people have big mouths. Where’d you learn all that?”
Wade reached out to stroke the soft muzzle of the gelding. “A couple of mutual acquaintances.”
“I’d bet my Sunday shorts that was Stan and Fred. Those old coots ain’t got a lick of sense.”
“So…do you?”
Kemp’s bushy white brows rose. “Do I what? Have a lick of sense? Hell, yeah.”
Wade chuckled. “I know that, but do you have a need for a ranch hand who knows what he’s doing and knows the lay of the land?”
“I tell you what I don’t need, and that’s a smart-mouth cowboy. Have you learned any better how to take orders?”
“Take ’em, and give ’em.”
The old man glared down at him for a full minute before he spoke again. “You can have a rack in the bunkhouse. Dinner’s at the big house at six-thirty sharp. If you’re not there, you don’t eat.”
With a tip of his hat, Wade stood with his foot on the lower fence rail. “Thanks, Mr. Kemp.”
“Don’t thank me. And don’t make me regret hiring you.”
The old man had walked right into Wade’s trap, believing his story hook, line and sinker. The first step in his infiltration was successful, Wade walked away, his sights set on mission accomplishment. Nothing would get in his way.
LINDSAY KEMP STEERED the rickety ranch truck through the arching gateway of the Long K Ranch. Lyric and Lacey leaned against each other in the backseat of the crew cab, buckled into their booster seats, sound asleep. They usually fell asleep on the way home from the Cradles to Crayons Daycare where they spent two days of the week in the mother’s day-out program. Lindsay couldn’t really afford it, but the girls needed time to play with children their own age. And Lindsay needed the break to handle things in town and on the ranch without four-year-old, identical twins underfoot.
She glanced in the rearview mirror at the black-haired girls and marveled at how they didn’t look a bit like her. Neither child had auburn hair, gray-green eyes or even a single freckle like their mother.
Their biological father had strong genes. He’d been the spitting image of his father, thick black hair, blue eyes and high cheekbones. Somewhere in their ancestry was Apache Indian blood, thus the hair and cheekbones.
Too bad the girls would never know their father and their father would never know them. Because he’d dedicated himself to a career in the Army, Lindsay hadn’t wanted to place a burden on him by telling him that she was pregnant. Almost five years later, the opportunity to enlighten him was well past.
Lindsay glanced at her watch. Crap!
She had exactly ten minutes to get the girls into the house, get herself changed and catch the horses before Zachary showed up for his riding lesson. Stacy, Zachary’s mother, always arrived five minutes early.
Lindsay pressed her foot to the accelerator, roaring down the gravel road toward the ranch house. She skidded to a stop in front of the only home she’d ever known, slammed the truck into Park and jumped out.
“Girls, let’s get you inside. Come on. Wake up.”
Lacey perked up and stared around, her eyes blinking. “Can I have a grilled cheese sandwich?” Lindsay lifted her out of the truck and set her on her feet
“Maybe after riding lessons, unless Grandpa can make it for you.”
Lacey trudged toward the house, her forehead wrinkled in a frown. “He burns them. I want you to make me one.”
“Then it’ll have to wait until after lessons.”
Lyric remained fast asleep on the backseat, having tipped over.
Her pale skin and bright pink lips looked angelic. Lindsay didn’t have the heart to wake her. Despite her aching back, she lifted the child and carried her into the house where she laid her on the couch in the living room.
“Gramps,” Lindsay shouted, hurrying down the hallway to her room.
“That you, Lindsay?” a coarse voice called from the study.
“Yes, sir. I’m late for my riding lessons. Can I bother you to keep an eye on the girls?”
“Bother?” Her grandfather appeared in the doorway to his office. “Since when are my great-granddaughters a bother?”
“You’re a dream, Gramps.” Lindsay ducked into her room and yanked a well-worn chambray shirt and equally worn jeans from her closet. “Lacey wants a grilled cheese sandwich. She can wait until I get done with lessons.”
“I’m old, not dead. I can manage a little girl’s sandwich,” her grandfather groused.
Lindsay had learned long ago that Grandpa Kemp’s bark was much worse than his bite. Even the twins had him figured out. Too bad not everyone in Freedom, Texas, understood Henry Kemp. He griped fiercely, and he loved fiercely.
“Gramps, she doesn’t like it burned. Give her a drink and an apple. I’ll make the sandwich when I’m done.”
“I’m perfectly capable of making a sandwich,” he grumbled. “But have it your way.”
“Thanks, Gramps.” Lindsay smiled inside her room, slipping out of her nicest jeans and into worn denim. After lessons, she’d be mucking stalls. No use damaging her only good pair of jeans. “They can come out when they’re fully awake and have had their snack.” Lindsay stripped
