Milton McGrath wasn’t known for his patience, though. And often times Trenton was silenced by brash words of reprove. Or threats of losing privileges or adding to his chores if he couldn’t leave well enough alone.
Trenton plopped his gloves on the desk and cracked open the laptop.
A flash of bluish light beamed from the screen.
A small hum sounded.
Trenton’s pulse spiked up once more.
He shook out his hands, hovered his fingers over the keyboard, and reminded himself of what he needed to search. Yet just as the tip of his finger hit the letter B on the board, the screen went black. The hum waned into more of a whine, then silenced altogether. A tiny orange dot glowed along the base—the good old dead battery tell.
“Thanks for the warning,” he muttered, yanking open the drawer to find the charger. It wasn’t too often Trenton got online here at his ranch. Seemed the thing died between his activity whether it got use or not. Still, as Trenton ducked beneath the desk to reach the outlet, he was surprised to recognize the feeling rushing through him. The deep exhale, the lack of tightness in his chest, and the sudden state of acceptance that the laptop couldn’t yet give him what he was looking for.Relief.
Trenton straightened up after backing out of the space beneath the desk,
a new buzzing sound picking up. His phone, he realized, reaching into his pocket. The screen showed it was Betty calling from the inn.
Under different circumstances, Trenton might let it go to voicemail. As it was, he was man enough to admit that he wanted a distraction from the task at hand. Even if that distraction involved the pompous investors.
“What’s up, Betty?” he asked as he brought the small device to his ear.
“You might want to get out here.” Her words were etched with hints of urgency. “One of the new owners has a concern about the horses.”
An image of the female he’d locked eyes with came to mind. “What kind of concern?”
“The fact that you keep them hostage here, sir,” shouted a female in the background.
A spark of anger flared hot in his center. “You’ve got to be kidding me. And am I on speaker, Betty?”
Betty cleared her throat. “No, but I guess your voice…carries.”
The comment made him realize he’d raised his voice. But why shouldn’t he? “You tell little miss fancy pants to keep her opinions on stuff she knows nothing about to herself.”
“Fancypants?” came the female again. The sound of her screech put a rare smile on his lips.
A rustling sound came from the line, followed by the familiar creak of a screen door. He could just imagine Betty scurrying onto the back patio before Trenton said anything else to offend the new owners.
“Please just get back here,” she pled. “And make it quick. You’re supposed to teach the Little Broncos Trail Riders, remember?”
Crud. He’d forgotten about that. The regular horse and trail guides, Joe and Katie, were on vacation for the next two weeks. “Hang tight. I’ll be right there.”
And for a reason Trenton couldn’t explain, the distraction was a very welcome one. Perhaps it was Trenton just being a coward, not wanting to open a can of worms he might never crawl out of. Or perhaps he liked the idea of putting the city slickers back in their place. First the smart-mouthed driver questions his directions, and now the prissy princess challenges their treatment of horses? They were something else.
With a spark of determination coursing through him, Trenton snatched his gloves, hurried out of the house, and untied Trigger from the post. Discovery time would have to wait.
“Let’s go, boy,” he said as he climbed onto the saddle. “Let’s go put these folks in their place.”
Chapter 5
Who went around using terms like fancy pants? Uncivilized, ornery old men, that’s who. So far, the guys in this town behaved more like Neanderthals than men. And this guy could tell her all day long that they were good to their horses, but Andie would have to see it herself before she believed it.
“Sorry about that,” the woman with the phone said as she hurried back inside. “Mr. Mcgrath will be here shortly.” She was good at playing cool, Andie would give her that much, but she could tell by the woman’s jagged exhale through pursed lips that she was ruffled. “So where are you folks from?”
“The west coast,” Andie lied on demand. “We weren’t spending any time as a family so we decided to invest our funds into a place that would bring us all back together.” There. She’d done it. She’d passed her first where-are-you-from and what-are-you-doing-here challenge.
“Well, that’s as good a reason as any.” The woman’s Dolly Parton accent matched her appearance to a T. Platinum blonde hair, western style clothing with a highly feminine flare, and a smile that coated that accent with a layer of charm.
It was a good thing that Andie and her brothers had never picked up a New Jersey accent; the private school Dad sent them to saw to that. Of course, Memphis and Maverick had adopted that Jersey sound in their late teens. Another fact that might tip off anyone looking for them. The mob would likely guess that all the kids had heavy accents like their grandfather.
