Page 4 of If the Boot Fits

“Duke thought you’d marry a fancy gent from back east.” Clint peered up at her, his face meticulously nonchalant, but worry shone in his brown eyes. “Dad was hoping you’d stay closer to home if he introduced you to some rich Texas fellers. Something about new money bein’ just as good as old in the West.” His brow wrinkled. “That never made no sense to me. Why do Eastern folks like old money better? It’s all dirty and crinkled. I’d much rather have shiny pennies in my pockets than grimy ones.”

Samantha smiled as she fingered his dark brown hair, straightening the strands she had rumpled earlier. “Shiny pennies are definitely better.”

She’d never cared for the snobbish types who considered themselves above others just because their money had been handed down through multiple generations instead of earned through honest labor. In her mind, a man who worked for his money understood its value and was less likely to squander it.

“So you think you might end up liking one of the fellas in there enough to stick around?” Clint jabbed a thumb over his shoulder toward the house. “I don’t like it when you’re in Boston.”

Her heart squeezed. All this time, she had focused on what she was missing by being sent to school a thousand miles away. She’d given little thought to how Clint might feel, assuming that a young boy who was the apple of his daddy’s eye would want for nothing. He’d be riding the range and learning the ropes of ranching, cutting up with the hands in the bunkhouse, and doing all the things a daughter wouldn’t be allowed to do. Until this moment, she hadn’t considered that a boy of twelve might actually miss having his sister around.

After they lost Mother, Samantha had filled the maternal role to the best of her ability. While other ten-year-old girls played house with their dolls, Samantha had lived it with three-year-old Clint. They’d grown close during those years, but the older Clint became, the more interest their father showed in him. By the time she left, Clint was spending the majority of his free time outside with the men, his sister forgotten. Or so she’d thought.

Whipping an arm around his shoulders before he could remember that sisterly displays of affection were embarrassing to young men, she squashed him into her side and grunted in exaggerated effort as she hugged him tightly. “I missed you, too, little man. And I’m not in any hurry to return to Boston.”

She missed her volunteer work there, though, the calling that had breathed new purpose into her empty life. Yet it seemed the Almighty wanted her here. Why, she wasn’t quite sure, but maybe Clint was part of the reason. Despite the physical distance that had separated them these past three years, she loved her little brother ferociously, and if he needed her, she’d give up Boston in a heartbeat. Besides, she’d much rather believe God had brought her back to Texas to help Clint than to yoke her to one of the self-important bulls her father had penned in the ballroom.

Clint started squirming inside her embrace, so she dropped a kiss on the top of his head with an obnoxiously loud smack and let him go.

“Eww.” He rubbed a hand over his hair. “No kisses, Sam.”

She nudged his shoulder with the side of her arm and winked. “I only slobbered a little. I promise.”

His nose scrunched in brotherly disgust. “Maybe you should go back to Boston.”

Laughter bubbled out of her, easing the tension that had been making her head ache for most of the evening. Heavens, but it felt good to get the weight of her future off her shoulders for a few minutes.

“Nope. I’ve decided to stay. Just so I can torture you with kisses.”

He groaned and rolled his eyes, but there was a twinkle shining in their depths that had been missing earlier.

“You slime me with kisses, and I’ll slime you with frogs in your bed!”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

He smirked and tipped his head toward the pond. “Plenty of ammunition in there.”

She shivered, knowing he’d do it. Might be best to check her sheets tonight to make sure he—

A scraping sound above her cut off the thread of that thought. Was that a window? She lifted her chin to look. None of the guests should be on this side of the house. The ballroom was on the other—Good grief! Was that a—?

“Look out!” Samantha lunged for Clint and shoved him away from the house. Away from the witless man who’d just leapt out of a second-story window. Air whooshed from her lungs as she tumbled atop her brother, his elbow jabbing her midsection.

“Stop! Thief!” Her father’s voice boomed above her, startling her almost as badly as the reprobate crashing through her mother’s rose trellis.

She struggled to rise, determined to protect Clint from whatever evil threatened, but her twisted ball gown fought her at every turn. Worse, Clint slipped out from under her like a greased eel and charged after the intruder.

“No, Clint! Come back!”

Merciful stars. Had the boy no sense? The man stumble-running toward the pond could have a weapon.

Please, God, don’t let him hurt Clint.

Yanking her skirt hard enough to pop seams, Samantha finally freed her legs and scrambled to her feet. She set off after them, calling her brother’s name. Forced to slow as her breathing grew labored, she cursed her vanity for insisting on wearing a gown that required tighter corset lacing.

Thankfully, no shots had been fired. Although that might change when Daddy and his men caught up to them. For now, the villain’s focus seemed centered on winning a footrace. Which he was doing handily. His long legs had smoothed out their cadence, lengthening his lead. He’d already circled the far end of the pond and would soon disappear into the trees beyond. Probably had a horse stashed nearby to make his escape. A fact Clint must have calculated as well, for he changed direction at the edge of the pond and made for the first cedar tree.

Realizing his intent, Samantha snatched up her skirt and ran for the water. He couldn’t. It was too dangerous.

Some of the ranch hands used the pond as a swimming hole. They’d built a platform in the tree and installed a rope swing. A swing a too-clever-for-his-own-good boy might attempt to use as a pendulum to launch himself to the opposite side.