“Your daddy was a born horse trader, baby girl.”
She processed that statement, her chest tight with dread. She didn’t want to, but she asked, “What did he do?”
“Your daddy had one of the finest collections of rodeo memorabilia anywhere outside of the Western Heritage Museum. Turns out Doc’s former owner is a collector.”
“Wait. Doc?”
Boots nodded. “The colt. They call him Doc for short.”
She had to think about that a minute before the initials DR—for Double Rainbow—occurred to her. “Oh! Sorry. I’m slow. I’m still...Daddy had a collection?”
He laughed. “Neither of us would have called it that, but the attic and the loft in the barn were filled to the rafters with stuff. Your daddy was a pack rat. He never threw anything away. This ol’ boy drove all the way down from Illinois towin’ a big ol’ trailer with the colt inside. He sorted all the boxes, loaded up his trailer and left Doc in trade. Ben figured it was a good deal.” His eyes misted. “I think he knew he was dyin’ but wasn’t ready to surrender to the damn cancer. Ben probably figured neither of us would want to sort all that stuff.”
Boots stared out the window. He didn’t look at her as he continued. “Your daddy wanted to leave you something, baby girl. A legacy. A way to find your own roots, and he hoped you’d put those roots down here.”
Cass sucked in a long breath and held it a moment to ease the tightness in her chest. It didn’t help. Despite the burning tears filling her eyes, she managed to choke out the words. “I didn’t know how bad he was, Uncle Boots. I should have come sooner.”
“He didn’t want you to know, hon. He even hid it from me for a long time. But gettin’ ahold that little stud was his final gift to you. It’s up to you, Cassidy Anne. What are you going to do with it?” The old man’s eyes twinkled as winked at her. “And what are you gonna do about that young buck sniffin’ around you in the barn?”
Seven
Chance pulled up in the yard and parked. He sat for a moment, feeling far too much like a high school boy on his first date. The fact they’d been caught all but in flagrante delicto in the barn that afternoon didn’t bother him. But the look Boots had given him did. The old man knew who he was, but Chance could not figure out why he hadn’t told Cass. He needed to have a little chat with Boots Thomas.
His cell phone chimed, and he glanced at the caller ID. Barron Security—Cash calling from the office. He answered with a blunt, “What’s up?”
“I’ve been following up on the paper trail on that colt the old man wants.”
Chance rubbed his forehead. He’d all but forgotten about the colt between his efforts to dodge filing the lawsuit to foreclose on the ranch and reining in his wayward thoughts about the woman he was supposed to ruin. “This couldn’t wait until morning?”
“You’re sitting at Ben Morgan’s place, aren’t you?”
“Dammit, Cash. Are you tracking me?”
“What do you think? Gotta love built-in GPS on the smartphones.”
Grimacing at the virtual leash, Chance steered the conversation back the subject. “What about the colt?”