Rodeo Baby Page 4

  As a child, Sam’s life with Mom and Dad had been formal and less than affectionate. But Gramps had been all about hugs, kisses and effusive expressions of love. Sweet balm to a lonely kid.

  They rounded the corner into his room and Chelsea bounded over to the frail man in the wheelchair beside the window.

  “Chelsea! Sam!” Gramps clung to his great-­granddaughter with closed eyes. When he opened them, they were watery.

  “You’ve grown.” His voice, anything but frail, jumped with love and his irreverent humor. “You’re a young woman. What’s all of this?”

  He studied the black nail polish. He feathered a touch over the spider’s web of mascara obscuring her pretty blue eyes.

  “Where did all of this come from? Where’s my little Chelsea?”

  Chelsea shoved her hands behind her back. She shrugged, moody again.

  Gramps touched her cheek and smiled. “You’re still my beautiful girl.”

  He turned his gimlet gaze on Sam. “What’s with the hat and boots? You’ve never worn cowboy boots in your life.”

  Sam surged forward to shake his hand. Still surprisingly strong, Gramps pulled him down for a hug. Sam hung on, love rushing through him like a clear mountain stream. His vision misted.

  “It’s good to see you,” Sam said and then cleared his throat. When he straightened, he kept his grandfather’s hand clutched in his own.

  This, this, was why he was here, to protect this dear old guy. Heaven help this town if they cheated his grandfather.

  Gramps’s eyes were damp again, too. They’d struck up this magical bond through the annual visits Gramps had made to New York City.

  When finally old enough to understand how much Gramps hated the city, Sam realized the sacrifice Gramps made in spending every Christmas with Sam instead of in his beloved town.

  His love for his only grandchild was clear.

  It served to cement Sam’s love for him all the more.

  “We’re here incognito, Gramps,” Chelsea blurted. Sam wished she hadn’t. He’d planned to ease into the particular form of subterfuge he’d originally hoped he wouldn’t have to use.

  Gramps came to attention. “You’re here to fix my problem?”

  “Yes. I told you I was coming to help.”

  “Yeah, but what’s this about being incognito?” Gramps frowned. “What does Chelsea mean?”

  No help for it now. He might as well jump in.

  “She’s right,” Sam admitted. “I’m not using Car­michael. We’re here as the Michaelses. We’re Sam and Chelsea Michaels.”

  “Why?” Gramps sounded frail.

  “To find out exactly what’s going on with the fair those women in town are putting on this summer.”

  “I asked you to make sure they aren’t cheating me. I thought you would come here to confront them directly.”

  “I decided this was better.”

  “You want to be dishonest.”

  “Not want. I need to be dishonest to catch these women in their dishonesty.”

  “But I thought—why can’t you just be yourself?”

  “That’s what I asked, too.”

  “Chelsea, for once can you support your dad? I’m not the villain here. Gramps, you leased the land to them for only one dollar. Now you can’t remember how long the lease stands. You didn’t get a written contract out of them. I have nothing to read over, nothing to verify what the deal is. We know nothing about how the profits will be split. I find it shameful that these people only offered you a dollar.”

  Sam scrubbed his hands over his face. “You asked me to find out if they’re ripping you off. This is how I’m doing it.”

  He pointed to both Gramps and Chelsea. “Neither of you gets to decide how it should be done. I’m helping out in my own way. Period.”

  “But—”

  Ire roused, Sam asked, “Do you think if I asked if they were being honest with you that I’d get a straight response? Come on. That’s naive. I’ve worked in business for close to twenty years. I know how important it is to protect oneself with a written contract. How do you know this revival committee won’t rob you blind if I don’t come in under the radar to find out?”

  “I know. I know.” Gramps raised a placating hand. “It’s just—I’ve known most of ’em since they were in diapers. I thought I trusted them, but...” Gramps looked lost. “I don’t know what’s wrong. I don’t know what to do.”

  He sounded so plaintive, so unlike the strong, vibrant man Sam had always known. Beside him, Chelsea made a small sound that might have been distress.

  “You don’t have to do anything, Gramps,” Sam said. “That’s why I’m here.” He squeezed his grandfather’s shoulder. “So you don’t know exactly what I should look for?”

  “No. All I have is a feeling.” Gramps turned from staring out the window to pin him with a glare. “You just got divorced. Is your ex bleeding you dry? Why are you helping me? Are you afraid of losing your inheritance?”

  The change in tone and subject sent Sam reeling.

  “No!” What had ever given Gramps the idea that Sam wanted him to die so he could have his money? Gramps had never spoken to him with this harsh a tone before. “How can you think that? I want you to live forever. This isn’t about me. It’s about protecting you.”

  Gramps relaxed back into his chair, momentarily bewildered. That confusion worried Sam. Gramps had always been sharp.

  He shared a worried frown with Chelsea.

  Gramps puckered his forehead. “If it’s not about your inheritance, why are you so worried?”

  “Because you are. You put your life into that place and only left when your body was no longer up to the work.”

  “Yeah? So?”

  “So, I know how much it meant to you. When you retired, I thought it would live on in everyone’s memories as your tradition carried down from your father.”

  “Uh-huh. So?”

  “So...these women are stealing your history and your legacy.”

  “That’s what you’re worried about? I thought it was money.”

  “Of course I’m worried about money. They’re giving you one dollar for use of the land with no contract for a percentage of the profits.”

  When Gramps didn’t respond, Sam asked, “You are getting some of the profits, aren’t you?”

  Gramps’s gaze slid away before admitting, “I don’t remember.”

  Sam swore under his breath, worry burrowing into him. Gramps wasn’t the type to forget this kind of thing.

  “I got an idea, though, about what’s going on.” Gramps smiled. “With you, I mean.”

  “With me? How is any of this about me? There’s nothing going on with me.”

  “Sure there is. You’re going on about history and legacy and tradition. None of that going to matter to me when I’m gone. You’re worried about heritage for your sake. Not mine.”

  Stunned, Sam stared. “No... I...”

  “It’s true. I remember how you used to listen to all my stories. Now that you’re finally here, because of this revival, you won’t be able to have any part of it like you’d thought you would some day.”

  “But—” Hard to argue with the truth. Today, seeing the amusement park for the first time and Gramps’s house and Gramps, yeah, he did care about his heritage. “I care about them ripping you off, too.”

  “The money. Yeah. But I don’t know if I’m being ripped off.”

  “But you didn’t sign anything.”

  “Nope. Not a single sheet of paper.”

  “So even if you had negotiated for a share of the profits, you have no idea what you agreed to. So these women could make up any terms they want.”

  Gramps’s brow furrowed. Then he perked up and a wide grin split his old fac
e. “They won’t hurt me, Sam. Ever.”

  Sam stopped pacing. Gramps’s behavior worried him. Confused at one moment and happy the next. Distrustful and then immediately certain the women meant him no harm. Sensing mental deterioration, Sam needed to talk to his grandfather’s doctor. How could Gramps forget the details about the deal he’d made with the women?

  “I can’t believe that remark about the inheritance.”

  A twinkle in Gramps’s eye mollified him. “After all you’ve been through lately, it’s a relief you’re still my great, honorable grandson.”

  “What’s honorable about pretending to be someone he isn’t?” Chelsea asked.

  “His heart’s in the right place,” Gramps replied. “That’s all I need to know.”

  Time to move forward on everything. “Okay, let’s go over their names. We’ve already met one of them. The diner owner.”

  “Violet Summer,” Gramps said.

  “We stopped there for lunch. I can’t say she left a good impression. She’s opinionated and sarcastic.”

  Chelsea giggled. “She didn’t like the way Dad flirted with her.” She did her impression of him complimenting Violet’s eyes.

  Gramps barked out a laugh. “Nope. Vy wouldn’t like that. She doesn’t suffer fools gladly.”

  “I’m not a fool.”

  “No, you aren’t, Sam, but Vy doesn’t know you yet.”

  Eager to move off the topic of the diner owner with curves in all the right places, Sam said, “Chelsea and I are going to be staying with another of the women. Rachel McGuire.”

  “Yep, she lives now with her husband, Travis Read. What do you mean, you’ll be staying with them?”

  Sam explained about getting a job on the new ranch.

  “A job?” Gramps picked up a cup from a small table and took a sip from a straw. “Doing what?”

  “He’s going to be a cowboy, Gramps.” When had she become such a tattletale?

  Orange juice sprayed from Gramps’s mouth and down the front of his shirt. Sam expected embarrassment or at the very least dismay, but Gramps laughed hard.

  Chelsea giggled with him.

  Sam blotted OJ from Gramps’s shirt.

  When he finally stopped laughing, Gramps gasped. “What do you know about being a cowboy?”

  Sam stiffened. “Enough to get by.” Not really, but he wouldn’t admit it. His pride was taking a beating in this town.

  “There is no getting by in ranching. It’s hard work. You either know what you’re doing or you don’t. Where’d you learn about it? On your computer?”

  Because that is exactly what he’d done, Sam didn’t respond.

  “Dear Lord, I’m right, aren’t I? You looked at some pictures on the line—”

  “Online, Gramps,” Chelsea said and Sam wanted to object. Don’t encourage him.

  “And maybe read, what, a couple of books or magazines? Now you think you know how it’s done?”

  Still, Sam didn’t respond. He wasn’t as naive as they thought. He knew he’d be faking a lot, but he was doing the best he could with the little he had.

  “My God, don’t do this.” Gramps slammed his juice cup onto the table. “It shows disrespect for real cowboys. They aren’t some cliché you see in old movies. They’re real hard workers. I admire those men and women. They are as tough as they come but can be real gentle when they need to be.”

  “What do you mean, Gramps?” Sam’s daughter, who didn’t care about anything Sam said these days, hung on her great-grandfather’s every word.

  “They love their animals, but will put one down in the blink of an eye if it’s in pain. Tough people.”

  “Put one down?” Chelsea squeaked.

  “Yep, sweetheart. If they have to.”

  “Even their own, like, horses?”

  “Or dogs. Knew a kid, only thirteen, out plowing in the field. Ran over his dog. No one else was home. Dog was mangled, suffering something fierce, dying. That boy ran to the house and loaded a rifle. When he got back to his dog, he shot him. Put him out of his misery.”

  Chelsea covered her mouth with her black-nailed hands. “He killed his own dog? Gramps, that’s awful.”

  “Yeah, but it was the right thing to do. Showed compassion. Said it was the toughest thing he’d ever done in his life. ’Course, his life isn’t over yet. Who knows what else he’ll be called on to do before his life is over.”

  Chelsea stared at Sam, the look in her eye clearly saying, “Could you do that?”

  Chelsea and Gramps didn’t get that he could be as tough as he needed to be to protect his family.

  Sam knew how hard the job would be, but he also knew he was strong. Maybe not in the same way but durable enough in spirit. He’d be damned before he let anyone in this town get the better of his grandfather.

  “You think you can take on that kind of job?” Gramps watched him.

  “I will do the job to the best of my abilities. I’m a hard worker, I don’t mind putting in long hours and I’m more capable than you think.”

  Gramps’s expression softened. “Your parents were quick to share your accomplishments. They were always proud. I know how smart you are and all the things you’ve done, but this is another barrel of horseshoes altogether.”

  Sam needed to steer away from this argument.

  “Who are the other women? I forget their names.” He didn’t really. Sam had a mind like a steel trap, but he hoped Gramps might have some new information to help Sam get the job done.

  “Nadine Campbell, Honey Armstrong and Max Porter. Oh, and a new one. Samantha Read.”

  “Any relation to the guy, Travis, who we’re heading off to meet?”

  “His sister,” Gramps responded. “New to town like him.”

  “If these women are so keen to do something for this town, why don’t they create something of their own instead of taking over your fair and rodeo?”

  “Because the fair is there and already set up. The rides, the concession stands, the fairgrounds, the barns and stables. All they have to do is renovate and update.” His grandfather stared out of the window again. “I never wanted it to lie fallow all of those years. It’s special, Sam.”

  Before Sam could say anything, his grandfather glanced from his grandchild to his great-grandchild. “Go see the fairgrounds. It’s your heritage. Take Chelsea. It’s her heri­tage, too.”

  “We did, Gramps,” Chelsea said. “I love it.”

  “You saw it?”

  “On the way over here.”

  A slow smile spread on Gramps’s face. “You love it?”

  “Yeah. It’s magical.”

  “It sure is,” Gramps agreed.

  The two of them talked like children, Gramps taking a childlike delight in Chelsea’s enthusiasm. While pleased to see him happy, Sam had to remember to bring it up with Gramps’s doctor. Was it regression?

  To Sam, he said, “I never agreed with your father’s decision not to bring you home to visit.”

  Sam didn’t like criticism of his parents, even if their values didn’t always jibe with his own.

  “Don’t grimace, Sam. This should have been as much your home as New York was. It’s your heritage. And now you can finally get to know the place and the people.”

  “Why didn’t Dad ever come home? He would never tell me when I asked.”

  “A woman,” Gramps barked. “Why else? He was young and foolish and heartbroken. Silly pup.”

  “Who? Did the woman stay in town?”

  “She married someone else. She’s still here.”

  “Dad did all right with Mom. They seemed to be happy.” His mom had died five years ago.

  Gramps motioned for Sam to come around to the back of his chair. “Push me out to the sunroom. Faces east. To
o hot in the morning. Have to wait until afternoon. It’ll be cool enough now.”

  Sam wheeled him down the hallway, with Chelsea walking alongside holding Gramps’s hand. “Which way?”

  “Right at the far end.” He took a big plaid hankie out of his pocket and blew his nose. “Pretending to be a cowboy might be your first failure, Sam.”

  No, not his first. Not even close.

  What of his marriage? What of his wife leaving in the most dishonest way possible? What of not protecting himself from his father-in-law?

  What of not being able to protect his child from the fallout?

  He glanced at Chelsea. What of his failure to bridge the gap that separated them?

  Sam positioned Gramps beside a window that looked out onto a golden field with low purple-gray hills in the distance.

  “Can you visit while you’re staying in Rodeo or will that blow your cover?”

  Blow his cover? “Gramps, this isn’t a spy movie. But, yeah, we’ll visit a lot. Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.” Or maybe they would. Were cowboys still expected to break in Mustangs? He didn’t have a clue. He’d have to look it up online. Why? No way could he fake that.

  Could he fake any of it?

  In the solarium, another resident, a tiny woman with an eye for Gramps and a tiny shih tzu in her lap caught Chelsea’s attention, and she went and played with the dog and talked to the woman.

  Yet again, she had more smiles for everyone else than she did for him. A split second of despair rattled him. How did he bridge the gap?

  “She sure likes animals, doesn’t she?” Gramps asked.

  “She’s never met an animal she didn’t like.”

  “How long you planning to stay?”

  “I have a month to determine the intentions of these women.”

  “How come you can take so much time off work? I know you’re the owner of the company, but shouldn’t you be there to oversee things?”

  For a few tense moments, Sam worried in silence. He’d already explained all of this on the phone to Gramps before he came. “I no longer own the company. Tiffany got it as part of the divorce settlement. She bought me out. To be accu­rate, her father bought me out. Since he’d bankrolled the company for Tiff and me at the start and owned a controlling share, it was easy for him to pull the rug out from under me.”