True Heart. Peggy Nicholson

to say long distance.” He sucked in a deep breath and let it out on four simple words.

      “I’ve already joined up.”

      WHAT NOW, WHAT NOW, what now? Kaley wondered, scrubbing a hot washrag over her face. She’d had to excuse herself and go upstairs, as much to gain time to think as to freshen herself. What am I going to do now? If she’d had a day to think things out—even half a day—but in reality she had less than an hour. Jim was due at the induction center by noon.

      He’d signed the papers and for the next four years, he belonged to the air force; she might as well ask them for one of their jets as for her brother back. He was as good as gone.

      And he’d said they had more things to talk about. I’ll say! Kaley glanced down at her stomach, then grimaced. No, that wasn’t fair, to mention her baby now, when there was nothing he could do to help her. It would only make him feel guiltier when he felt bad enough already. Braced on the cool porcelain, she leaned over the sink, staring down into the darkness of the open drain, like the hole Alice fell down to Wonderland. She’d dropped into a whole new country. Not the safe and comforting one she’d been fleeing to, had counted on for the past miserable month.

      It isn’t fair!

      No. She sucked in a breath and held it. She was the one who hadn’t been fair, telling herself that Jim was satisfied with his life. Time to grow up, Kaley. Mothers really ought to be grown-ups. She touched her stomach for luck, squared her shoulders and went back downstairs.

      Jim was sitting out on the back stoop, staring off toward the high country. She sat down beside him, their shoulders brushing, glanced at him and had to smile, he looked so miserable. “It’s not that bad, flyboy. I’ll manage.” Somehow. “Me and Whitey. You’ve done it for years. Now it’s my turn.”

      His Adam’s apple bobbed painfully and he shook his head. “I haven’t told you the half of it yet. Wish I’d kept a copy of that damn letter to show you now.”

      What could be worse than his leaving? “What else?” she said lightly.

      “You remember after Dad died, when I told you we’d have to have more cash to keep going? That the books were in much worse shape than he’d let on. When I asked you for more money and you couldn’t let me have it?”

      She nodded. “I’d just paid for my first semester on my master’s degree.” And she and Richard had just moved into a bigger, fancier house out in Scottsdale. Richard had set his heart on it, had said it projected the right kind of image for his new position in the firm, and they’d already put the money down when her father died.

      She winced, remembering. “I felt awful about that. But you got a loan anyway, in the end, a third mortgage from the bank.”

      Jim put his head down on his forearms, which were resting on his knees. “Not from the bank, Kaley. That’s not where I ended up getting the money.”

      “But you said—”

      “I lied, all right? The bank wouldn’t risk a third mortgage, what with the loans they hold on us already.”

      She felt her heart stutter. “Where did you get it, then?” Jim had wanted a chunk—forty thousand.

      “Borrowed it from Tripp McGraw.”

      “Tripp.” Her hands felt cold—icy—and the day darkened. Someone was feeling very sick to her stomach. Kaley dropped her head between her knees and gulped air.

      “Kaley?” Jim thumped her back. “Hey!”

      “How could you?” Anyone in the whole wide world but Tripp McGraw! “How could you?”

      “I could, ’cause he would, and we had to have that money to keep going. And that—this—is why I didn’t tell you. You didn’t want to know.”

      “No, I didn’t. Don’t.” She’d closed the door on Tripp McGraw nine years ago, when he’d broken their engagement, and she’d never looked back. Hadn’t dared. The only way to happiness had been to pretend Tripp didn’t exist. Never had. “We have to pay him back immediately!”

      “That’s what I suggested in my letter. We’ll have to sell. To him, if we don’t find a higher bidder. He’ll deduct his loan from the purchase price and—”

      “Are you out of your mind?” Kaley pushed herself upright to stare at him. “Sell the ranch?” Four generations had struggled to hold this land, and now Jim was going to trade it for an airborne toy? A shiny toy that was only his on loan from the government?

      “Yes, sell it, why the hell not?” Jim stalked off the steps and wheeled back again, eyes blazing. “You don’t want it—you’re an English teacher, not a cowgirl now! I’m supposed to hang on to your dreams for you if you won’t do it yourself? You call that fair?”

      Slowly, Kaley shook her head. “No…” She put one hand to her stomach, the other to her cheek and found it wet—knuckled the tears away and tried to smile.

      “So what exactly do we owe Tripp, and when is it due?”

      CHAPTER THREE

      WATCHING LONER WALK INTO the buyer’s trailer had been harder than Tripp would have thought possible.

      “Loads well,” Huckins noted with satisfaction as the stallion followed his man up the ramp, ears pricked, dark intelligent eyes taking in the new conveyance with his usual bold curiosity.

      “Yep.” All my horses load well. That the Californian should be surprised wasn’t the best of signs. A horse that feared the ramp—well, that said more about the animal’s handler than it did about the horse. Should have insisted he ride him before I agreed to sell. Watching Huckins in the saddle, Tripp would have known for sure if he deserved the stallion. If he had the patience, and the know-how, and the appreciation that he ought.

      For Pete’s sake, McGraw, that’s just a damn horse! Not your virgin daughter.

      Smartest, fastest, finest cutting horse he’d ever owned. With more cow sense than a twenty-year-old bull. Tripp had bred him himself, begun gentling him within an hour of his foaling. Loner and he had had the best kind of understanding.

      The back gate of the trailer was swung shut with a careless bang. Tripp winced inwardly and set his back teeth. I owed him that much, to watch Huckins ride.

      Too late now. He brushed his thumb across his shirt pocket, and the folded check rustled softly. Cold comfort at this moment. He’d never dreamed this would hurt so much. Never dreamed he’d need to do it.

      Huckins had first phoned him months ago after Loner had ranked a close second for the National Cutting Horse Association World Champion of the year. The Californian had offered a truly astonishing sum should Tripp ever care to sell.

      Back then, selling Loner had been unimaginable. Downright laughable. The chunky buckskin was going to be Tripp’s foundation sire for a line of cutting horses the likes of which had never been seen before. McGraw horses that would spin on a dime and give you eleven cents change. A line of cutters that would bring the ranch a second source of income, to offset the sickening swoops in the cattle market.

      Instead, here he was, cashing Loner in like a forgotten check he’d found in the back of his wallet. Because there was one thing in the world Tripp needed more than the country’s finest cutting horse, and that was land.

      Tripp swallowed and found his throat aching. “Well…” He held out his hand. “You’ve got a long drive ahead of you.”

      “Don’t worry about him, McGraw. I’ll treat him well. Like the prince he is.”

      You do or you’ll find me on your doorstep! “Sure.” Tripp turned on his boot heel and walked. Land, he reminded himself, trying to drown out the sound of Huckins’s pickup starting up behind him. Land—that magical, crucial word. No, make it two words. Enough land.

      Maybe