Page 8 of If the Boot Fits

Duke took his hat off and slapped it against his leg. “Shoot, that describes half the men in the county.”

Samantha dipped her chin. “Sorry. After Clint fell into the pond, all of my attention fixated on him.”

“As it should.” Her father seemed to come to some kind of conclusion. His gaze took in her ruined gown, stained with water and pond scum, and he tentatively touched her shoulder. The touch was awkward for both of them, but the approval inherent in the gesture softened a few of the hardened edges around her heart. He turned to his men and did what he did best, issue orders.

“Martin, see what tracks you can pick up before we lose the last of our daylight. Fellow probably had a horse stashed nearby so it’s doubtful you’ll find him, but maybe he’ll have left a clue behind that can help identify him. Duke, fetch Dr. Abbott. I’m going to take my children back to the house and send our guests on their way.”

Duke shoved his hat back on his head and nodded. “You got it, Boss.”

Martin headed toward the pond, his gaze glued to the ground.

Worried he’d discover the one thing that might successfully identify Clint’s rescuer, Samantha called out to him. “I saw him running down the game path toward the trees over there.” She pointed in the direction the man had fled.

Martin tipped his hat and started striding in that direction. “Much obliged, ma’am.”

She nodded to him and held her breath until he passed the boot-infested juniper bush.

Letting her father steer her back toward the house, she made a mental note of the bush’s position. She’d be taking an early morning stroll tomorrow. With a basket. One large enough to hide a man’s boot.

If anyone was going to puzzle out the identity of Clint’s mystery rescuer, it was going to be her.

4

The cover of Mark Twain’s Roughing It creaked slightly as Samantha eased it closed. She’d continued reading for several minutes after Clint’s breathing had deepened to make sure he slept soundly. Rising from the chair next to her brother’s bed, she laid the book on the night table and turned down the lamp.

His hair had nearly dried after the hot bath she’d insisted he take while they’d waited for Dr. Abbott to arrive. Samantha brushed a curling piece off his forehead with a featherlight touch. He needed a haircut. A smile curled her lips. With his features relaxed in sleep, it was easy to see glimpses of the toddler he’d been. Yet manhood would reach him soon.

Grant him wisdom and a healthy dose of common sense as he grows, Lord.

Hopefully, today’s misadventure would teach him the value of caution. Heaven knew he could use a tad less impulsivity.

“Sleep well, Clint,” she whispered as she bent down and bussed his forehead.

She turned to leave, then pulled up short when she spotted her father’s large frame filling the doorway. He was leaning against the jamb, one ankle crossed over the other as if he’d been observing them for quite some time. Not sure how she felt about that, she frowned slightly as she crossed the room. He shifted to give her access to the hall, his expression hard to read.

“How long have you been there?” she whispered when he pivoted to follow her.

A grin creased his weatherworn face. “Since the camel ate Twain’s overcoat.” His smile widened. “Of all the outlandish yarns in that book, that one’s my favorite.”

Samantha blinked. He knew Twain’s stories? Strange, but she’d never considered that he actually read the books on his study shelves. She’d thought them merely a symbol of his wealth. Hadn’t Mother emphasized the importance of him presenting himself to business associates as a man of intelligence and learning in order to secure their respect? Samantha remembered being a young girl and helping her mother unpack the books she’d ordered to line the new shelves the carpenter had installed. The books had seemed dreadfully dull at the time, since none of them contained pictures. Literature. History. Scientific texts. Religious tomes. Classical works. All placed at eye level, their spines a dignified display.

The lower shelves had filled more slowly. She’d hadn’t given much thought to who had purchased the additional titles. The books had just appeared little by little over the years. As her love of reading had grown, she’d explored them, of course. Finding most of them to be dry volumes discussing animal husbandry, agriculture, and business. An entire shelf had been dedicated to the annual release of the Farmers’ Almanac. But there’d been novels, too. And children’s stories. All with a boyish adventure flavor. She’d seen them as further proof of her father’s preference for Clint, but what if he’d procured them simply because they matched his personal reading preferences?

She’d always assumed that when her father retired to his study in the evenings, he was working on payroll and other business matters. That had likely been true, but perhaps when the work was done, he had stretched out on the sofa, picked up a book from one of those lower shelves, and relaxed by getting lost in an entertaining story. The picture that idea painted so unbalanced her perceptions, she had to shake it away with a wag of her head before it dismantled the guard she’d learned to retain in her father’s presence.

“Your mother would be proud of you, Samantha.” The quiet rumble of her father’s voice drew her out of her woolgathering. “Taking care of Clint the way you have.” His big hand touched the small of her back as he guided her down the hall away from her brother’s room.

“I miss her,” Samantha murmured.

Even though she’d lived at the ranch for six years without Victoria Dearing before leaving for school, there was something about coming home from Boston that made the missing more keen. As if the distance had seduced her into believing that all her family waited for her in Texas. No matter how sternly her intellect warned her heart not to get lost in irrational wishes, each time she came home and found her mother gone, the resulting ache took weeks to fade.

“I miss her, too.” Her father sighed. “You remind me of her, you know.”

Samantha halted and swiveled to look at him. “I do?”

A nostalgic smile curved his lips as he nodded. “She was always ready to take charge of any situation involving family.” He chuckled softly. “She never tried to insert herself in ranch business, granting me full reign over anything dealing with livestock or property, but when it came to dealing with people, she insisted I yield to her greater understanding. It seems I was wise to heed her counsel, for you’ve grown into exactly the sort of young lady she hoped you’d become. Confident. Cultured. Resourceful.” He shrugged. “’Course I’d like to think you get some of your gumption from me. As much as I loved your mother, I can’t imagine her wading hip deep into a pond while wearing a fancy ball gown.”

Uneasy with his praise, Samantha dipped her chin. “Yes, well, Mother possessed a level-headedness I never quite mastered. When I saw Clint fall, I waded in without considering my own lack of swimming skill or the fact that the heavy layers of fashionable froth I wore would likely sink me straight to the bottom. Not the most intelligent maneuver.”