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Matt’s face was a blank mask when he stopped in front of his father, his gaze raking quickly over the old man’s face before moving on to Ryan.
“I was just explaining to your father how much his recent phone call to my mom had upset her,” Ryan said.
If he’d had any question as to whether or not Matt would automatically back his father, it was answered when his brother shot Charles a fiercely angry look.
“If it happens again,” Ryan continued, “I’ll make a call of my own.” If his mother was being harassed, then Montoya’s mother could join the fray.
“Do that,” Matt growled, “and I’ll beat the shit out of you.”
“Or try?” Ryan asked flatly before he turned his attention back to Charles, who appeared to be on the verge of a stroke, he was so red. “No more calls, you son of a bitch. Leave her alone.”
Then, having had all the family reunion he could handle for one day, he turned and stalked back toward his trailer. Neither Montoya followed him. Good thing.
He loaded PJ, locked the tack compartment, pocketed his keys. Now that his mission was accomplished, he had to stop by the rodeo office and then grab a hamburger for the road before he put a couple hundred miles between himself and his old man. If he could choke a burger down. Talk about a bad taste.
“Great run, Ryan!” a young voice called as he approached the rodeo office.
Ryan smiled and nodded at the boy dressed in chaps and carrying a red, white and blue rope. “Thanks, bud.”
He conducted his business in the rodeo office, which took about fifteen minutes longer than it should have, and got into the concession line.
People stopped and said hello as he waited, congratulating him on his run—still the winning time—and Ryan chatted with a few of them even though he wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of there. He’d just made it to the counter and was about to give his order when a collective gasp went up from the crowd, followed by silence. The nasty kind of silence that indicated something bad had just happened. Ryan’s gut tightened as he waited for the hubbub that would erupt when the injured cowboy got back to his feet. The crowd remained stubbornly silent.
“Oh, no,” the elderly lady in the booth gasped, craning her neck to see, but the solid gate panels blocked the view.
“Our medical team is on the scene, taking a look at this cowboy,” the announcer finally said in a reassuring voice. “As you know, these guys are the best in the business.” The ambulance rolled past the concession stand then, and the wide arena gate swung open to give access. The lady gasped again and Ryan instantly understood why.
The sorrel horse with the distinctive white spot on his side standing near the crouched group surrounding the downed cowboy belonged to the crowd favorite.
His brother. Matt Montoya.
* * *
JUST WHEN ELLIE was beginning to think the dusty single-track road was never going to end, she rounded a corner and a rustic ranch spread out in front of her in postcardlike perfection. She pulled her leased Land Rover to a halt, taking in the large red barn and several smaller outbuildings on the edge of green fields. The single-story, shake-roofed house with a porch surrounding it on three sides nestled close to a stand of evergreen trees. Cows and horses grazed in the pastures and a pair of large birds flew in lazy circles over the pond at the edge of one of the fields.
Milo had bought the place eight months ago and since then had spent a grand total of one week there, shortly after the purchase, but didn’t seem to be able to stop talking about “his ranch” to anyone who would listen. Now Ellie understood why. It was gorgeous.
Gorgeous and really, really close.
After fifteen hours of travel Ellie was more than ready for a hot bath and a bed. Ten minutes later she parked at the end of the flagstone walk, not liking the fact that the place felt as deserted up close as it had appeared from a distance. Had Angela or Milo told the staff she’d be arriving? A question Ellie hadn’t thought to ask. Ellie, who always thought of everything.
She’d been rattled lately. Disorganized. Not herself.
Ellie rang the bell. After the second ring she knocked, then, after a suitable amount of time, tried the handle. Locked. Okay. She set down her handbag and stood for a moment, hands on hips, surveying the ranch, watching for some sign of movement around the barn and outbuildings. Nothing.
