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Samantha's Cowboy
Marin Thomas
There should be millions in Samantha Cartwright's trust fund… but it's empty.Luckily for Wade Dawson, her financial adviser, Samantha doesn't know that yet. So Wade's buying time to solve the mystery of the missing money by playing cowboy on her ranch. But he's in way over his head! Wade is so different from the men Samantha is used to. He wears a tie to work instead of dusty jeans and a Stetson. And while she's intrigued by him, she's frustrated by the delay.After all, starting her new horse ranch will finally prove to her overprotective father that she's capable of running her own life. But Samantha's memory lapses from an old injury once brought harm to a child she loved, and she cannot risk being a danger to Wade or his young son. Even if the businessman does look irresistible in a cowboy hat…



The McKade Brothers

The McKade Brothers

The McKade Brothers

Hearts of Appalachia

Hearts of Appalachia

Hearts of Appalachia

Time passed slowly as Sam watched Wade—more specifically as she ogled his chest.
For a guy who wore a suit to work he had nicely defined pecs and biceps. Not the bulging muscles the cowboys flaunted but the lean, hard muscles of a swimmer or a runner. Sam studied the intriguing patch of dark hair in the middle of his chest, before following it down his stomach, where it disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans. When her eyes reversed direction, she discovered Wade staring at her.
Their gazes clashed and Wade’s brown eyes smoldered with invitation.
Oh, boy. She was in trouble.
Big trouble.

Dear Reader,
Everyone is forgetful at times, but Samantha Cartwright’s forgetfulness comes from an injury that almost took her life as a teenager. She’s convinced her handicap stands in the way of what she really wants—a family of her own.
I created Wade Dawson to rescue Samantha, but he isn’t your typical cowboy. As a matter of fact, he’s the furthest thing from a cowboy—he’s a financial adviser. But Wade shows Samantha that it’s not the clothes that make a man a cowboy—it’s pure stubborn determination. And Wade has plenty of that.
I hope you enjoy watching Samantha and Wade fall in love. If you missed my books about Samantha’s brothers Duke (The Cowboy and the Angel, Nov 2008) and Matt (A Cowboy’s Promise, April 2009), both books remain available through online retailers or may be ordered by your local bookstore. Late in 2010 be on the lookout for a fourth sibling, who mysteriously resurfaces to claim his rightful place in the Cartwright family.
For more information on my books visit www.marinthomas.com. For up-to-date news on Harlequin American Romance authors and their books visit www.harauthors.blogspot.com.
Happy reading!
Marin

Samantha’s Cowboy
Marin Thomas



ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Marin Thomas grew up in Janesville, Wisconsin. She attended the University of Arizona in Tucson on a Division I basketball scholarship. In 1986 she graduated with a B.A. in radio-television and married her college sweetheart in a five-minute ceremony in Las Vegas. Marin was inducted in May 2005 into the Janesville Sports Hall of Fame for her basketball accomplishments. Even though she now calls Chicago home, she’s a living testament to the old adage “You can take the girl out of the small town, but you can’t take the small town out of the girl.” Marin’s heart still lies in small-town life, which she loves to write about in her books.
To my niece Desirée—
because you never gave up.
As you look to a future full of possibilities
always remember…
The best helping hand that you will ever receive is the one at the end of your own arm.
—Fred Dehner

Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen

Chapter One
Samantha Cartwright was fit to be boiled down to glue—that said a lot for a woman who intended to run a sanctuary ranch for neglected horses.
She swung her Chevy Silverado pickup into the no-parking zone in front of First Place Tower at 15 East Fifth Avenue in downtown Tulsa, Oklahoma. Three o’clock on a Friday afternoon and not a soul in sight. The mid-July hundred-degree heat wave had sent the city’s business professionals home early.
Charles Dawson’s ornery backside better be in his office.
No sooner had Sam’s dusty Ropers hit the pavement than a security guard materialized out of thin air. Sucking in his baby smooth cheeks, he pointed to the sign at the curb. Sam fumbled with the floor mat until her fingers found the fifty-dollar bill she kept hidden for emergencies—empty gas tanks or bribes.
“The…sign…says…No…Parking.” The young man emphasized each word as if Sam was slow on the uptake.
She willed herself not to react to the insult. He couldn’t know that her uptake was indeed problematic at times. “I’m not parking here.” She slapped the keys and the money into his palm. “You’re taking my truck for a spin around the block until I return.”
His cheeks inflated like air bags, as he protested, “Ma’am, I can’t.” But she noticed his fingers curled around the cash.
“Of course you can—” Sam read the name embroidered on the front of his blue uniform “—Dave.” She strode toward the building’s entrance, catching her reflection in the dark glass doors. She should have showered and changed into street clothes before driving into the city. Oh, well. Sam had ceased trying to impress men years ago. No matter how she dolled herself up or how many male heads she turned, in the end her shortcomings sent them running. Not even the Cartwright name had been enough to coax a down-on-his-luck cowboy to stick by her side.
“May I help you?” A woman in a lilac-colored suit with blond hair neatly tucked at the nape of her neck stood behind a crescent-shaped kiosk in the middle of the lobby.
Now that Sam had sacrificed the time to make the hour drive into Tulsa everyone appeared eager to assist her—except Mr. Dawson who hadn’t had the courtesy to return one of the several messages she’d left for him over the past two weeks.
The purple flower flashed a placating smile as her French-manicured thumbnail clicked and unclicked the ballpoint pen in her hand. Sam approached the desk, forcing the petite blonde to crane her neck to maintain eye contact. At five feet nine inches, Sam towered over most women.
“Thanks, but I’m afraid the only person able to help me is Mr. Dawson.” Sam veered toward the bank of elevators at the back of the lobby, her boot heels clacking against the marble floor. A plaque on the wall indicated Dawson Investments occupied the fourteenth floor. According to the directory, the building did not have a thirteenth floor.
Once inside the elevator, she patted the front of her jeans, double-checking that the note she’d written earlier in the morning remained tucked inside the pocket. Stick to your agenda and all will be fine.
The doors opened to another lobby and another blond receptionist—this one wearing a fuchsia-colored suit. The woman gave Samantha a head-to-toe glance, nose curling with disgust. “Good afternoon.”
“I’m here to see Charles Dawson.”
“Did you have an appointment with Mr. Dawson?” The receptionist flipped furiously through the day planner on the desk. “I’m positive I rescheduled all of his commitments.”
“This is a spur-of-the-moment visit.”
Veronica Smith—according to the nameplate on the desk—blew out a breath and pressed a hand to her heart. “Oh, good. I didn’t make a mistake.” Her smile widened. “I’m sorry, but Mr. Dawson is out of town.”
Blast it! “When will he return?”
“Not for a few weeks. He’s overseas combining pleasure with business.”
Sam would’ve loved to have given Mr. Dawson the pleasure of her boot against his backside. “Who’s covering for Mr. Dawson in his absence?”
“His nephew, Wade, I mean Mr. Dawson, is handling things.”
“Fine. I’ll see Wayne then.”
“Wade. Wade with a D.”
Whatever. Sam’s nerves pulled taut. “I need to speak with him right away.”
“Mr. Dawson is in a meeting.”
She’d been pushed to the end of her rope and now someone was going to hang. “I’m not leaving until I see Mr. Wade-with-a-D Dawson.”
Veronica frowned. “Excuse me, but who are you?”
“Samantha Cartwright.” In case the woman was totally clueless, she added, “Cartwright Oil.”
The blonde’s eyes rounded, then she tapped her pencil against the desk calendar. “Let me see if I can squeeze you in…”
Sam hadn’t driven sixty-five miles to be squeezed in anywhere. Each time she’d phoned Dawson Investments one of the secretaries had reassured her that her call would be returned. At first Samantha had second-guessed herself and worried that she’d forgotten to leave a message or worse—she’d thought she’d called but hadn’t. After one week she’d kept a log of her phone calls to the firm.
Enough was enough. She left Veronica flipping the pages of her day planner and strolled through the office doors of Dawson Investments. Where to find…Wade with a D?
She marched down a corridor of glassed-in conference rooms. Bingo. At the end of the hall several men in monkey suits crowded around an oval table. The man seated at the head of the table with his back to Sam read a document out loud. The other apes appeared bored to death—one twirled his pencil on his palm. Another played with his BlackBerry. Four others stared bug-eyed into space. And the chimpanzee nearest to her sketched cartoon figures in the margins of a memo.
Sam rapped her knuckles against the glass pane.
The pencil twirler knocked his coffee into his lap. The artist scrambled to cover his drawings. And one of the men who’d been zoning out toppled backward in his chair and landed on the floor, staring at the ceiling.
She’d take a brooding cowboy any day over these pansies in suits.
Finally the head pansy shifted in his seat and stared at her through black-rimmed glasses. Hair neatly styled, no sign of a five o’clock shadow and unlike the other men in the room, he wore a pocket protector in his crisp white shirt along with the traditional red power tie—knot perfectly done.
Mr. Wade with a D was a nerd, albeit a handsome nerd.
His dark brown eyes pinned her and the air rushed from her lungs leaving her light-headed. He waved her into the room.
She didn’t need to be asked twice.
“May I help you?” The rumble of his deep voice contradicted his clean-shaven nerdiness. In her opinion his voice was better suited for whispering sweet nothings behind the barn than translating company performance reports. The outer corner of one dark eyebrow rose above his black frames. Shoot. What had he asked?
“Gentlemen, we’ll resume this meeting on Monday. Enjoy an early start to your weekend.”
The monkeys gathered their belongings and disappeared. Once the door closed, Sam exhaled a sigh of relief. Crowds made her nervous and she appreciated Wade with a D’s thoughtfulness in clearing the room.
Left alone with Calamity Jane, Wade studied the daughter of oil tycoon Dominick Cartwright. Sixteen years had passed since he’d last seen her. Time had transformed a pretty teenage girl into a breathtaking woman. Not even dirt-smudged cheeks, a messy ponytail or faded jeans and a wrinkled shirt detracted from her beauty. Evidence of Spanish ancestry, which rumor claimed she’d inherited from her mother, was apparent in her dusky skin, pitch-black hair, high cheekbones and almond-shaped dark eyes. He hadn’t remembered her being this tall—standing almost eye-to-eye with him—and he resisted rolling forward onto the balls of his feet to gain another inch.
Samantha’s gaze circled the room, skipping over him. Where was the smart-mouthed, self-confident braggart who’d once called him a wimp because he couldn’t climb a tree? He held out his hand. Her grip was warm, firm and callused, her fingernails bitten down to the quick—not the hands of a pampered princess. “Nice to see you again, Samantha.”
A wrinkle formed in the middle of her forehead. “Have we met before?”
The question shot through his ego like a marksman’s arrow. Apparently he hadn’t made much of an impression on her all those years ago—par for the course. He wasn’t a man women swooned over. Even his ex-wife had labeled him and their marriage unremarkable.
“Uncle Charles and your father were college buddies at the University of Oklahoma.” When that didn’t jar her memory, he added, “I accompanied my uncle to the Lazy River Ranch years ago.” Wade had been a junior in college, majoring in finance, when his uncle had suggested he meet one of Dawson Investment’s biggest clients. At the time Wade had no idea his uncle intended to put him in charge of managing Samantha’s trust fund once Wade had joined the firm two years later. “You offered me a lesson in tree climbing that afternoon.” After an uncomfortable silence, Wade accepted that Samantha didn’t remember him.
Feeling like an idiot, he motioned her to the nearest chair. She remained standing and he swallowed his irritation. “What can I do for you?”
“I’ve phoned the office several times, but my messages have gone unreturned. Not until today did I learn that your uncle was out of town on business.”
Darn Veronica. The receptionist his uncle had hired was an airhead. “I apologize for the inconvenience.”
“You should. Better yet, you might have had the courtesy to at least return one of my calls, seeing how my father’s money keeps this firm afloat.”
Now this was the Samantha Cartwright he remembered—bossy and arrogant. Oddly, her waspish attitude put him at ease—much better than the damsel-in-distress expression she’d worn moments ago. He’d never considered himself hero material and no female had ever asked him to save her. “Please accept my apologies. How may I assist you?”
Instead of launching into a tirade, Samantha patted her clothes. Wade found it impossible not to follow the path of her hand, especially when she pressed her fingers against her breast before they dropped to her jeans where she removed a slip of paper from the pocket. She scanned the note, then announced, “I’d like to cash in my trust fund.”
Since joining his uncle’s firm Wade had worked diligently to grow Samantha’s savings. As a matter of fact he’d increased her net worth by several million dollars. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-two. As of today.”
She was of legal age to withdraw money from the trust without her father’s consent. Wade was positive he hadn’t received a reminder of Samantha’s upcoming birthday from the e-mail system he’d set up to notify him of changes in the status of client accounts.
“Are you going to stand there and ogle me or do I get my money?”
Wade would have preferred to ogle but said, “Let’s continue this discussion in my office.” He held open the door and when she brushed past him, he caught a whiff of honeysuckle—the delicate feminine scent at odds with the sullied, sharp-tongued cowgirl. Wade’s office was a windowless room in the middle of the floor—but not for long. He was in line for a promotion to vice president and the position came with a corner office and a view of downtown Tulsa.
“Something to drink? Water? Coffee?” he asked, as soon as Samantha claimed the chair in front of his desk.
“No, thank you.”
Wade wiggled his computer mouse until the screen saver popped up—a photograph of his eight-year-old son, Luke, proudly displaying his first-place spelling-bee ribbon. A few typed passwords later and Wade had Samantha’s personal information in front of him.
Yes, indeed. Samantha Cartwright was thirty-two years old today. For the life of him, Wade couldn’t figure out why she was dressed like a ranch hand on her birthday. He’d have expected her to spend the day getting dolled up for a celebratory night on the town. “Happy birthday,” he said.
“It will be once I have my money.”
What did a pampered rich girl want with millions of dollars? Last he’d heard she worked in her father’s company pulling down a substantial salary—probably doing nothing but sitting at a desk and looking beautiful—like Veronica.
Before Wade accessed the financial particulars of her account, he asked, “Is your father aware that you intend to withdraw money from your trust?”
Her chin jutted. “No, and I’d rather he wasn’t contacted.”
The hair on the back of Wade’s neck stood on end. As his son would say…Wade smelled a stinker. He suspected Samantha was up to no good, but just how far did he stick his nose into her business without crossing the line? “What are your plans for the money?” He’d worked his ass off researching and selecting investments guaranteed to increase the wealth of her holdings. He hated to see his hard work squandered on a Paris Hilton-type shopping spree.
“Am I required to tell you in order to receive my money?”
“No,” he answered honestly.
Her attention shifted to the filing cabinet in the corner, then the keyboard, then the desk calendar before making eye contact with him. “I’m opening a sanctuary ranch for abandoned and neglected horses.”
Now red flags flapped inside Wade’s head. What did a wealthy woman want with rescuing horses? He suspected Samantha’s ranch was nothing more than a pet project she’d ditch once boredom set in.
“I purchased an old farmstead and I need the money to make several renovations.” Her fingers crushed the yellow notepaper in her hand.
“As your financial adviser I’m obligated to warn you that a horse sanctuary isn’t a sound investment.” An image of a stallion eating from a feed bin filled with hundred-dollar bills popped into his head.
Her eyes narrowed. “The ranch may not be a moneymaking venture, but saving horses is a noble cause.”
Wade wasn’t a horse lover. The private school he’d attended before college boasted riding stables, but after landing in the dirt several times during his first and only riding lesson, Wade had participated in indoor activities such as debate and math club. He had to talk sense into Samantha before she wasted years of his time and effort.
Legally he was required to hand over her money no matter how foolish her plans, yet he had a responsibility to Dawson Investments to dispense client funds in a manner that least impacted the company’s bottom line.
“What amount do you need to get this project off the ground?” he asked.
“I hadn’t considered…” She waved her hand in the air. “I’m positive the funds in my account will be more than enough to cover the costs.”
Heartburn stung Wade’s chest. He had a hunch Samantha had jumped into this venture without creating a budget. “My suggestion would be to withdraw money in smaller increments, allowing the remainder of your funds to continue earning interest.” That was sound advice and Dawson Investments would then be able to absorb the loss at a slower pace. “Have you made a list of property improvements?”
She uncrumpled the note in her fist. He caught a glimpse of the chicken scratch on the paper but couldn’t make out the words. “I need to dig a well.”
She bought a ranch with no water source?
“The previous owner’s well is almost dried up,” she continued.
“Have you contacted a water-drilling company?”
“No—”
Samantha Cartwright hadn’t a lick of sense. She should have paid a drilling company to confirm that there was water in the ground before she’d purchased the homestead.
“—but Millicent assures me there’s water.”
“Who’s Millicent?”
“A water witch who lives on the property.”
You’ve got to be kidding. Avoiding the topic of water witches all together, he asked, “What other repairs and renovations are a priority?”
Her front teeth worried her lower lip, giving Wade the impression she hadn’t prepared at all for this hobby. “I’ll need new fencing, corrals. A barn. A house.”
“Everything’s a priority?” At her nod, he said, “Give me a minute to check the balance of your trust.” He entered the security codes and accessed the transaction page of her account.
Holy hell.
If his eyeballs hadn’t been attached to his brain by optic nerves they would have popped out of their sockets and bounced off his keyboard.
Sweat beaded across the bridge of Wade’s nose and his glasses slipped. He shoved them back into place and gaped at the monitor, willing the numbers—any numbers—to appear.
Nothing save Samantha’s name, account ID and a big fat 0 in the balance column. His fingers clicked the keyboard, searching for a transaction code that would allow him to trace the funds, but there were no notations or documentation of a bank account or wire transfer. Samantha’s money had vanished into thin air.
After confiscating the roll of antacid tablets inside his desk drawer, he tossed three into his mouth and chewed furiously. Where the hell had her money gone?
He’d busted his butt for Dawson Investments and had done all his uncle had asked of him—even marrying the daughter of one of the firm’s clients. His uncle had insisted the marriage would be a match made in heaven but in reality it had been a union from hell that had lasted five years too long. Since his divorce Wade had given up a social life—not that a single father had much time for one—and he’d worked twelve-hour days and most weekends. He’d get to the bottom of this mess or die trying because he wasn’t giving his uncle one damned reason to pass Wade over for a promotion.
The problem had to be a computer glitch. On Monday he’d contact the firm’s technology expert to resolve the issue. Until then he needed to buy time.
“What’s the matter?” Samantha’s question cut through Wade’s panic.
“Nothing.” He logged off the account. “Why?”
She pointed to the roll of antacids. “Aren’t you feeling well?”
Surprised by her concern, he said, “I’m fine.” Then he took a deep breath and willed his anxiety aside. “Do you have your birth certificate and a picture ID with you?” At her frown he lied. “Regulations.”
“I didn’t bring my birth certificate.” She handed him her license.
Most people looked like goons in license photos. Samantha resembled a sultry seductress with her long black hair and a half smile that made Wade think of dark corners and slow kisses. “I believe you said you’d rather your father not be informed that you’re accessing your funds.” Please don’t change your mind.
“Will that be a problem?”
“Not at all.” The fewer people who knew about Samantha’s visit today, the better.
“Thank you.”
“Have you contacted a financial planner to assist you with managing the funds once you withdraw them?”
Her teeth nibbled her lip and her gaze shifted to the wall behind Wade. He couldn’t remember Samantha being this unsure. What had happened to the young girl who’d mocked his manhood and delivered a crushing blow to his budding ego? “I’d be happy to advise you on your transactions.”
“I guess that would be all right.”
He blew out a deep breath. “Okay, then. I recommend withdrawing only enough money to tackle one improvement project at a time.”
“I’d prefer to begin several renovations at once in order to get the ranch up and running as soon as possible.”
Wade reached for the antacid tablets. He should have figured she’d make this difficult. “The well needs to be dug before anything else.” Fence posts couldn’t be installed without cement and water was a necessary ingredient in mixing cement.
“All right. I’ll start with the well.”
“In the meantime, you’ll need to acquire estimates on fencing and corrals.”
“Forget the estimates. I’m more concerned with getting the renovations done quickly than with saving a few hundred dollars.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s not like I’ll run out of money.”
Score one for Calamity Jane.
“How long until I receive the first check from my account?” she asked.
“Seven to ten days.” Then he offered, “I’ve got time on my hands this weekend. I’d be happy to contact a drilling company and begin the process for you.” He’d have to raid his 401(k) to pay for the well if he didn’t recover her money by then.
“I appreciate your help. My brother Matt is getting married next Saturday and there’s a lot going on right now.”
Better her brother than Wade. He tore a piece of paper from his legal pad. “Where’s the property located?”
“Southeast of the Lazy River on Route 38. It’s the old Peterson farmstead. There’s a mailbox at the entrance with the name painted on it.” She stood, her pretty chocolate eyes skipping over him. “You’ll inform me when you receive the well estimates?”
“What’s your cell number?” A lengthy pause followed and Wade wondered if Samantha was worried that he’d call her asking for a date—fat chance of that happening. Women like Samantha Cartwright were out of his league. He scribbled the number she recited beneath the directions to the ranch, then handed her one of his business cards. “In case you need to get in touch with me.”
Their fingers bumped, and an electrical pulse shot up Wade’s arm. Samantha grasped the note, spun on her boot heels and walked out the door. Wade shook his arm to dispel the tingling sensation, certain he suffered from a pinched nerve. Samantha Cartwright was a beautiful woman but she was a client and therefore off-limits.
How had twenty million dollars vanished into thin air?
He had a week to recover Samantha’s funds or he might as well kiss his promotion goodbye.

Chapter Two
When Sam exited the building, Dave the security guard drove up in her truck, radio blaring. As soon as he spotted her, he cut the music, left the engine running and hopped out. “Nice ride.”
“Nice valet service.”
He grinned. “Anytime.”
With a wave, Sam pulled away from the curb and merged into downtown traffic. Not until she stopped at a light did she remember to turn on the GPS system. She hated driving in the city and had difficulty remembering street names and exit ramps. She tapped the screen until the favorites menu popped up. She hit Home, then concentrated on navigating traffic. After a few minutes she relaxed her grip on the wheel and merged onto I-75, passing the defunct Indian Nations Amusement Park. A few miles later she took Highway 67 to 64, breathing a sigh of relief as Tulsa faded in the rearview mirror. She flipped open her cell phone and pressed 4. Her brother’s voice mail answered.
“Hey, Matt. It’s me, Sam. I have a surprise. Meet me at the Peterson homestead on Route 38. I’m forty minutes from there. But don’t tell anyone, okay? Bye.”
Sam wanted Matt to be the first to learn of her plans. They were as close as any brother and sister could be. He’d been there for her in the darkest hours when horrifying memories of her accident had tortured her sleep. To this day not even her father knew about the nightmares.
And if she had her way, her father would never learn about her visit to Dawson Investments. The meeting with Wade lingered in Sam’s mind, frustrating her more than Wade’s uncle neglecting to return her phone calls. Concentrating had been difficult in Wade’s presence and she worried she’d made a fool of herself. That she couldn’t remember meeting him years earlier bothered her. He must have visited the ranch around her sixteenth birthday—when she’d been kicked in the head by a horse. The weeks leading up to and following the accident had been permanently erased from her memory.
Her first impression of Wade with a D hadn’t been very complimentary. Her job at her father’s oil company often brought Sam in contact with arrogant, self-centered and opinionated businessmen. Bankers and investors considered themselves intellectually superior. Heaven forbid if they made a mistake or misjudged a situation—they’d never admit as much. But unlike most financial investors Wade had tempered his I-know-what’s-best attitude with generosity—offering to contact a drilling company and obtain estimates for a well. He’d gone out of his way to help her—maybe because he’d felt guilty his uncle had ignored one of the firm’s most wealthy clients. Although he’d given her no reason to trust him, she sensed Wade was an honorable man who would keep his word and not contact her father.
Genuine niceness aside, Wade was handsome in a nerdy kind of way. She’d grown up around dusty cowboys and sweaty ranchers all her life and was surprised that she’d found Wade’s clean-shaven face, neatly styled hair, crisp clothes and clunky glasses attractive and…sexy. That was good and well but she had little in common with him. If she was smart she’d focus on the horse ranch and not her financial adviser.
If Sam’s father caught wind of her plans he’d meddle in her affairs and guilt her into giving up her dream. She understood and sympathized with his overprotectiveness following her near brush with death and her long and arduous recovery. But the accident happened sixteen years ago. The time had come for both father and daughter to put the past behind them and move on.
For years, she’d bowed to her father’s fear, allowing him to choose her path in life. No more. If her brothers, Matt and Duke, had the courage to defy their father and pursue their heart’s desire, then she could do no less.
She wanted to make a difference and do something with purpose. She’d dreamed of opening a sanctuary ranch for years but worried she’d never overcome her fear of horses. She’d decided if her dream was to come true she needed to conquer her fears. A few months ago, behind her father’s back, she’d begun volunteering at the Tulsa SPCA equine center. Although horses terrified Sam, her previous injury hadn’t erased the memory of her love for the animals. She hoped by the time she completed renovations on the Peterson property she’d have no qualms about handling horses on her own.
Sam admitted horses alone wouldn’t fill the void in her life. She dreamed of falling in love. Of finding a man willing to overlook her faults and put up with her memory lapses. With Duke happily married to Renée and living in Detroit and Matt heading down the aisle with Amy in a matter of days, Sam realized how alone she would be. Sure, her father pampered her when he was around, but his business travels took him away for weeks at a time.
Juanita, their housekeeper, generously included Sam in her family activities but it wasn’t the same as having a husband of her own. One day Sam hoped to find a man who didn’t want children. As much as Sam loved children—motherhood was out of the question. Never again would she allow her handicaps to cause harm to a child.
Her one serious relationship had ended in disaster when her absentmindedness had put Bo’s daughter, Emily, in danger. Not even the promise of inheriting the Cartwright fortune had kept Bo from believing he and Emily were safer without Sam.
Matt had tried to heal her broken heart by setting her up on dates with his rodeo buddies. To this day, her brother wasn’t aware that one of the cowboys had used Sam’s forgetfulness to his advantage and had wiped out her checking account before riding off into the sunset.
Although Sam was grateful for her family’s love and concern, their smothering had hindered more than helped her. The time had come to stand on her own two feet and make a play for the future she wanted—not the future others believed best for her.
The Peterson mailbox came into view and she flipped on the blinker. As the truck bumped along the rutted road she made a mental note to add a fresh layer of gravel to her ranch improvement list. Halfway to the house Matt’s truck appeared in the rearview mirror.
As soon as they parked their vehicles and got out, Matt motioned to the crumbling farmhouse. “What’s up with this place?”
Flinging her arms wide Sam spun in a circle. “This is my birthday present to myself.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Nope.” Her smile faded at her brother’s grimace. “It’s not so bad,” she insisted, studying the home’s caved-in roof and broken windows. The outer walls leaned inward in danger of collapsing from a strong wind and the porch bowed like an old swaybacked nag. Sam’s stomach churned. Had she gotten in over her head? She hated when she second-guessed herself. “Say something,” she demanded at her brother’s silence.
“I’m guessing Dad’s in the dark about this…present?”
“Yes, and he’d better stay in the dark.” Matt’s eyes narrowed and she blurted, “I know what you’re thinking.”
“No, sis, you don’t.”
“You’re wondering if this is another one of those spur-of-the-moment decisions I’m famous for making.” The lingering side effects from the injury to her brain years ago weren’t horrible, just a nuisance—similar to a mosquito bite. One minute you were scratching, the next you forgot about the itchy bump.
“Well, is it?” Matt demanded.
“Not at all.” Once in a while she jumped the gun and made conclusions based on…well, nothing really. When she was nervous, she became forgetful, which often led to anxiety attacks. And lastly she tended to recall things out of order. She’d learned to compensate for her limitations by keeping lists and recording her activities. “I didn’t make this decision lightly and I weighed the pros and cons.”
“The property is a dump. When’s the last time anyone lived here?” he asked.
“Twenty-five years ago.”
“How long has the place been on the market?”
“Ten years.”
“Give it to me straight, Sam.” Matt rubbed his brow. “Why hasn’t this land sold before now?”
“The well’s going dry.” She raised a hand to forestall any lecture. “I’m aware that I’ll need a source of water if I intend to board horses.”
“Horses?” Her brother’s face paled.
Samantha squeezed his arm. “Promise you won’t tell Daddy, but I’ve been working with horses at the SPCA and I’m feeling more confident around them.” She sucked in a deep breath, grateful her brother hadn’t interrupted. “I intend to board horses that the SPCA can’t find foster homes for.”
Matt studied her, then he brushed a strand of hair from her face and asked, “Will you have help?” He really wanted to know if there would be someone to watch over her.
“I plan to hire a couple of hands.”
Her answer appeared to satisfy him because he changed the subject. “Tell me you had a drilling company confirm a second water source before you signed the closing papers.”
“Better than that,” she boasted. “I checked with Millicent, the resident water witch.” Sam had witnessed the old woman’s dousing stick wiggle and shake when they’d walked the property.
“What do you mean resident?”
Sam pointed beyond the barn to a shanty near a huge hackberry tree.
“That hovel’s hardly habitable.”
“Millicent’s lived on the property all her life. Her parents were sharecroppers.”
“Why hasn’t she packed her things and left?”
“She has nowhere to go.” Sam shrugged. “She’s not hurting anything by staying.” Having remained under her father’s roof all these years, Sam was leery of living alone and looked forward to having a neighbor when she set up house on the property.
Matt frowned and she sensed he struggled with wanting to support her and at the same time protect her. And she loved him dearly for caring. “What about your nightmares?” he asked.
Once in a while Sam’s nightmares were so vivid she woke screaming—a silent scream her father never heard. But Matt had sensed his sister’s night terrors and had held her until she’d fallen back to sleep. As the years passed, the nightmares occurred less frequently, holding off for months at a time until Matt arrived home from the rodeo circuit.
“I haven’t had a nightmare in over a year,” she lied. Last night she’d awoken soaked in sweat and gasping for breath. “I want—” tears welled in her eyes and she brushed them away “—need this ranch.”
Matt hugged her. “Dad’s going to blow a gasket.”
“Daddy isn’t going to find out.” She hoped. “At least not right away.”
“Maybe I can talk Amy into staying at the Lazy River after we’re married. We could help—”
“No. I’m doing this on my own.”
“Where is the money coming from?”
“My trust fund.” She crinkled her nose. “Now that I’m thirty-two, I can withdraw money without Daddy’s permission. After the wedding he leaves for Europe. By the time he returns, I’ll have made significant progress and then I’ll break the news to him.”
“You’re really going to do this, aren’t you?” Matt held her gaze.
“You and Duke got your dreams—I want mine.”
“We’ll worry about you living here all alone.”
“I’m not alone.”
“That’s right, your closest neighbor is a witch.” Matt yanked her ponytail. “C’mon. We’d better head home. Duke and Renée are flying in for your birthday.”
One brother down. One to go.

WHEN SAM PULLED INTO the Lazy River ranch yard, she noticed her father’s 1959 two-door black-and-chrome Chevrolet Apache pickup parked near the house. Although Dominick Cartwright could afford any car in the world, he had a soft spot for old Chevy trucks. And right now Samantha’s nephew sat behind the wheel, pretending to drive.
Duke and Renée had adopted Timmy shortly after they’d married this past February. The little boy had been in the Detroit foster care system his entire life. Sam was thrilled he’d gotten his wish for a family and she loved playing the role of favorite aunt. After Matt married Amy, Samantha would add two nieces to her brood—Rose and Lily. As much as she loved hanging around the children, they were a painful reminder that this was as close to motherhood as she’d come.
Sam parked her truck, then headed for the old Apache.
“Happy birthday, brat,” Duke called.
“Daddy said you weren’t arriving until the wedding next week.” She bear-hugged her stepbrother, then poked her head through the truck window and planted a big, loud smooch on Timmy’s cheek.
“Gross, Aunt Sammy!” Timmy made a big production of wiping germs off his cheek.
“I didn’t want to miss your birthday,” Duke said.
Before her stepbrother had met Renée he couldn’t get far enough away from the Cartwright ranch. Sam credited Renée with softening Duke’s attitude toward children and family.
“I’m glad you’re here.” Then she added, “Maybe Renée will convince Amy to allow Daddy to invite more guests to the wedding. Amy wants to keep the reception small enough to have at the house and Daddy wants to move things to the Crowne Plaza Hotel in Tulsa.”
Duke chuckled. “Sounds like the old man.”
“Got a minute to talk?”
“Sure.” Duke opened the truck door. “Timmy, go see if Aunt Amy needs help with Rose or Lily.”
“Girls are so lame.”
“Oh, c’mon. Lily’s a cutie,” Sam said.
“Uncle Matt told me Lily poops marbles in her pants. That’s gross.” Timmy marched off, grumbling under his breath.
“Let’s take a walk.” Sam slipped her arm through Duke’s and they strolled toward the barn. “How’s life in Detroit?”
“Renée’s working with a local teacher to create a homeschooling program for the kids who end up in Santa’s Shelter when the doors open this September.”
“What’s happened to the kids you discovered hiding in your warehouse this past Christmas?” Aside from Timmy, Sam couldn’t remember their names.
“Renée’s keeping a close eye on the group. Mrs. Jensen suffered a mild heart attack a few months ago and Renée worried that she’d have to find a new home for Crystal and Evie. Crystal surprised everyone by stepping up and caring for the other children while Mrs. Jensen recovered.” Duke chuckled. “Crystal even ditched the gothic clothes and dyed her hair back to blond.”
“Wasn’t there a teenage boy in the group?”
“José. He never surfaced after running away from the Covenant House, but a few weeks ago Renée found a note in our mailbox with the words I’m okay scribbled on it.”
“From José?”
“We can’t be sure but the paper smelled like cigarette smoke and Renée was never able to convince José to quit the cigarettes.”
They stopped at the bench outside the barn and sat. “Willie’s story took an interesting turn,” Duke continued.
Sam wracked her brain but couldn’t recall a boy named Willie.
“Willie’s birth dad entered the picture and not by choice. Evidently the young man wasn’t aware that he’d gotten Willie’s mom pregnant.”
“Is he going to raise Willie?”
“Not sure. It’s a tabloid mess. Willie’s father is white and the son of Richard McDaniel, a prominent plastic surgeon in Detroit.”
“How did the story become public?”
“You’ll have to ask Renée for the details but apparently a disgruntled patient of McDaniel’s leaked the information to the press.”
“Where’s Willie now?”
Duke chuckled. “Living at the McDaniel mansion. Willie’s father is in college and his grandfather’s divorced, so the boy’s under the supervision of the McDaniel housekeeper.”
“Wasn’t there one more child?” Sam asked.
“Ricci. He was arrested for street racing. His foster family gave up on him and Renée had to place him in a boy’s orphanage. His probation officer keeps a close eye on him, but Renée believes it’s only a matter of time before he runs away and joins a gang.”
Sam couldn’t imagine the day-to-day emotional upheaval her sister-in-law experienced as a social worker. “Renée’s a special woman.”
“I’m lucky to have Renée even though I share her with hundreds of kids,” he said.
“What about your condo? When do you two plan to move in?” Her brother had purchased an old warehouse along Detroit’s riverfront. Company offices and a condo were to occupy the top two floors while the rest housed a recreational center and shelter for homeless children.
“Renée and I decided against the condo.”
“Really?”
“We want our kids to grow up in a neighborhood with other families. And Renée worried about moving away from her mother. For now we’re keeping Renée’s house and making plans to expand.”
“You said kids as in plural.”
Duke grinned. “Don’t tell anyone but Renée’s pregnant.”
“Oh, Duke, that’s wonderful!” Sam fought a pang of envy as she hugged her brother. “When is she due?”
“Middle of January.”
“Is Timmy excited?”
“He doesn’t know yet and we don’t want to make the news public until after Timmy’s surgery at the end of August.”
The boy had been born with a clubfoot but because he’d been shuffled from one foster home to another through the years he’d never had the deformity corrected.
“Would you call me when Timmy checks into the hospital? I’d like to send him a gift to cheer him up.”
“Sure thing.” Duke cleared his throat. “Matt hasn’t known Amy or her daughters long. Has he said much about their relationship?”
Sam laughed. “You’re one to talk. You met Renée in December and married her in February.” Her teasing remark earned her a pinch on the arm. “Hey!”
“How does Matt feel about inheriting an instant family?”
“How did you feel about marrying a woman who’ll always be involved with other people’s children?” Sam countered.
“Touché.” Duke chuckled. “That Rose sure is opinionated and Lily, with her blond curls, is nothing but a handful of cute.”
Sam’s turn to share her personal news. “I bought the old Peterson homestead on Route 38 two weeks ago.”
“I’m listening,” Duke said, offering his undivided attention.
That’s what she loved about her stepbrother—he never rushed to judgment like Matt did. Duke heard a person out before offering an opinion. “I need to be part of a worthwhile cause. I hate working in Daddy’s office. There are days I can’t breathe let alone concentrate.”
“I’m sorry, Sam.”
“For what?”
“I should have taken your complaints more seriously when you came to Detroit before Christmas. I could have spoken with Dominick.”
“I wasn’t ready to do anything then. But I am now,” she insisted, hoping to reassure herself as well as her brother.
“What exactly are you doing?” he asked.
“The same thing you and Renée have done for homeless kids, except I’m opening a sanctuary for neglected and abandoned horses.”
“An admirable cause but are you ready to work with horses again?”
“Yes.” She didn’t have a choice—not if she intended to move on with her life. She needed to put her fears to rest if she wanted to experience again the special relationship with a horse that she’d always treasured. “I’ve been visiting the SPCA equine center for several months.”
“Does Dominick know you’re hanging around horses?”
“No,” she admitted, then rushed on. “Daddy would have made a big fuss if I’d told him. I’m taking things slow and working with horses that are mild-tempered.” For now. She eventually wanted to help all horses—even the unpredictable ones.
“Does Matt approve?”
“He’s having fits because the property’s in poor condition and with the wedding preparations he doesn’t have time to help out.”
“I could—”
“Thanks but I don’t need help from a man who can’t pound a nail without hitting his thumb.”
Duke mussed her hair, then smiled. “You’ve got a big heart.”
“So do you, Duke. Or else you wouldn’t be sharing your warehouse with homeless kids.”
“If you need help making financial decisions—”
“Thanks, but Wade Dawson volunteered to handle my money.”
“Dawson is your financial adviser?”
She nodded. “His uncle owns Dawson Investments.”
“Do you trust him?”
She had no choice—not if she wanted to prevent her father from discovering her plans. “He’s competent.” Good-looking. “And he’s insisting I withdraw money on an as-needed basis to keep the balance of my savings earning interest.”
“Smart man.”
Trusting men outside her family wasn’t easy for Sam. But Wade made her want to believe he wouldn’t take advantage of her—even if he discovered her shortcomings.
Sam would never allow another man—even a nerdy one—to make her feel that vulnerable ever again.

Chapter Three
“That’s insane!” Wade shouted into the phone. The drilling company he’d contacted after Samantha Cartwright had left his office yesterday phoned back with a quote for the Peterson homestead—a hundred dollars per square foot drilled and an estimated drill depth to hit water of 1,100 feet. A $110,000 may not be a big deal to a Cartwright but it was a damned big deal to Wade, whose retirement fund would take a hit until he recovered Samantha’s money.
“What do you mean you’ll have to use diamond bits?” The company manager droned on about the pricey bits needed to break through bedrock. Then he spewed data from well logs of properties in the area to justify his cost.
The one thing preventing Wade from suffering cardiac arrest was the news that the first available drill date for the property was early September. Wade suspected if he mentioned the Cartwright name the owner would rearrange the company’s schedule and break ground tomorrow. Wade remained silent. He needed more time to investigate Samantha’s trust fund debacle. Numerous calls to his uncle had gone unreturned, which was out of character for the old man. Whatever his uncle was up to, Wade didn’t appreciate being left in the dark.
When the manager offered to reserve a date in September, Wade declined. “I’ll be in touch.” He snapped his cell phone shut and stared out his condo window at downtown Tulsa. His conscience nagged—to inform Samantha about the missing funds or not? Wade’s job, his future at Dawson Investments, his position in the family—too much was at stake.
In the end it was Wade’s personal financial situation that made the decision for him—he didn’t have $110,000 to pay the drilling company. Three years ago his ex-wife, Carmen, had walked away from their marriage with half his 401(k). She’d also gotten their home and a hefty child-support check each month. After purchasing his condo and furnishing the rooms, Wade had all but drained his retirement portfolio.
Then his son had begun having problems when he’d entered first grade. Wade remembered what it had been like to be the kid who didn’t fit in. Luke’s genius IQ made relating to his peers difficult. Carmen had insisted Luke would adjust, but Wade had refused to stand aside while the boy suffered teasing and ridicule. Wade enrolled his son in the Tulsa Boys Academy—a private school for overachievers and high-intellect children.
The cost of tuition was another reason he hadn’t been able to sock money away. Wade didn’t care because Luke thrived at the academy and enjoyed learning in a challenging and stimulating environment. Wade was determined to keep his son in the school even if he became penniless in the process.
Luke strolled into the living room, carrying his favorite book—The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian. Although it was only 8:00 a.m. on a Saturday, Luke had been up reading for an hour. “What’s the matter, Dad?”
“Nothing.” Wade’s chest tightened with love at his son’s concern. The boy was a miniature replica of himself right down to his choice of reading material. Wade had spent his childhood with his head buried in books—fantasy had been better than real life. Even though Luke had enrolled in a summer school literature program at the academy, Wade hated to see his son spend the entire weekend reading.
Wade had custody of Luke every weekend and the two used the time together to do guy stuff—like bowling or attending a professional soccer game. They’d gone fishing once, but Wade hadn’t been able to untangle the lines, so they’d tossed their poles in the trash and spent the afternoon at the condominium’s swimming pool. “You up for a car ride in the country?”
Luke adjusted his glasses and shrugged. “I guess.”
Wade eyed the boy’s khaki shorts and short-sleeved Polo shirt. Carmen dressed Luke like a Dapper Dan doll. Maybe if his son tore the pockets on his pants or smudged his shirt Carmen would think twice about purchasing expensive outfits for an eight-year-old. Then Wade glanced at himself and cringed. He wasn’t much of a role model in his khaki pants, loafers and short-sleeved cotton Oxford shirt.
“Where are we going?” Luke asked.
Scooping the car keys from the ceramic bowl on the coffee table, Wade said, “To an old farm.” Assuming Samantha would be occupied with her brother’s wedding plans, he intended to check out the Peterson place. With any luck he’d devise a plan to convince Samantha to hold off on her pet project—at least until he spoke with his uncle.
“Can I bring my book?”
“Sure.” His son lugged books around like other kids carried iPods and cell phones in their pockets. Wade knew for a fact that Luke had read The Chronicles of Narnia series three times already.
Fifteen minutes later Wade left the Tulsa city limits behind. He lowered the car windows, the hot afternoon breeze ruffling Luke’s hair and flipping the pages of his book. “Look out there.” Wade pointed to the grazing cattle. “That’s a huge herd.”
Luke watched the animals for all of three seconds before burying his head in the book again.
So much for distracting his son. Wade closed the windows and adjusted the air conditioner. Left alone with his own musings, Samantha’s face popped into his mind—an annoying habit of late. Her dark eyes and high cheekbones were bold, exotic…striking.
A warm throb pulsed between his thighs. When was the last time a woman had stirred him physically, and why did that woman have to be Samantha Cartwright? The cowgirl hadn’t even remembered him.
The women he’d gravitated toward in the past shared few traits with the oil baron’s daughter. Yesterday he’d been caught off guard by the vulnerability in Samantha’s gaze—the look hadn’t been there when they’d met years ago. What had happened to the girl whose stare had intimidated Wade and whose words had challenged him to climb a tree he had no business scaling? Not even after he’d fallen and broken his arm had she uttered an apology. Whatever the cause for the change in Samantha’s demeanor he hoped her congeniality lasted until he located her money.
He spotted the Peterson mailbox along Route 38 and turned onto a dirt road laden with potholes. Samantha had her priorities out of order. If she wanted a new well dug, first the road needed to be regraded and topped with several inches of fresh gravel so the drilling trucks could drive onto the property. The BMW’s suspension survived the bumpy ride and Wade parked in front of the crumbling farmhouse.
Book forgotten, Luke pressed his nose to the windshield and gaped. “Is it haunted?”
“Maybe. No one’s lived here for years.” His mind quickly calculated the cost of building a new house if Samantha stuck to her goal to turn this place into a horse sanctuary. The barn wasn’t much better—half the roof was missing and immense holes peppered the sides. A crumbling brick silo stood off in the distance. The property was in worse shape than Samantha had let on. No wonder she wanted to keep her father in the dark about her plans.
“Dad, there’s an old lady sitting under that tree.”
The resident water witch. “C’mon,” Wade said. “We’ll introduce ourselves.” The granny didn’t budge from her rocker as they approached. “Hello,” Wade called. “You must be Millicent.”
Cloudy gray eyes peered at Wade through a wrinkled face that resembled a Chinese shar-pei. “Who wants to know?”
“I’m Wade Dawson, Samantha Cartwright’s financial adviser.” He held out his hand and the old woman hesitated before offering hers. The digits crooked at odd angles and her knuckles were swollen and red with inflammation. Taking care, Wade squeezed gently.
“If ya folks is lookin’ fer Sam, she ain’t here.”
Before Wade explained his visit, Luke blurted, “How old are you?”
“Well now, I ain’t sure.” Millicent spat tobacco juice at the ground, barely missing Wade’s shoes. “I reckon somewhere’s ’round a hundred.”
“Wow, that’s cool.” Luke squinted through his glasses. “The cost of a first-class stamp when you were born was just two cents.”
Although Wade enjoyed listening to his son spew trivia off the top of his head, most people didn’t. More often than not intelligence earned enemies not friends.
Millicent narrowed her eyes until the wrinkles on her face swallowed them whole. “What else ya knows ’bout 1909?”
“Skee-Ball was invented by J. D. Estes in Philadelphia. And the U.S. issued the first Lincoln penny.”
When Luke paused, the old woman said, “Go on, youngin’. I’m listenin’.”
“The 1909 Model T Ford was one of the fifty worst cars of all time.”
“I wouldn’t know ’bout that. My daddy didn’t have no car.”
“Did you ever own a car?” Luke asked.
“Son, that’s none of—”
“Shush now.” Millicent waved a knobby hand in the air, excluding Wade from the conversation. “Years ago Mr. Peterson gave me his 1953 Bel-Air.”
“What happened to the car?”
“It’s over yonder in the barn.”
Wade shielded his eyes against the glaring sun and stared at the dilapidated structure. “You’re storing a Bel-Air in that barn?” It was a miracle a strong wind hadn’t blown the structure down.
“Said so, didn’t I?” The granny grunted.
Before Wade had a chance to ask about the antique car the sound of a diesel truck engine met his ears. A large four-by-four extended cab pickup stopped next to his BMW. Samantha sat behind the wheel.
Damn. The last person he wanted to run into today was the rich cowgirl.

SAM GRIPPED THE STEERING WHEEL until her knuckles ached. All those stupid female fantasies she’d nurtured since meeting Wade yesterday had been run over and flattened when she spotted the little boy at his side. Of all the scenarios she’d envisioned of her and Wade there had never been a child in any of them.
Go figure. The one man who’d piqued her interest, since her disastrous relationship with Bo, had a child. Kids weren’t part of Samantha’s future, so that meant Wade wasn’t, either. Swallowing her disappointment, she hopped out of the truck and headed toward the group gathered beneath the hackberry tree.
“Hello, Wade.” Sam glanced at the boy and then looked away. The memory of Bo’s daughter wandering off while in her care forced Sam to retreat a step, increasing the space between her and the child.
“Samantha, I’d like you to meet my son, Luke. Luke, this is Ms. Cartwright. She owns the property.”
There was no mistaking the resemblance between father and son. The miniature male possessed Wade’s dark hair, dark eyes, square chin and even the same black-rimmed geeky glasses—not to mention they wore similar outfits.
The boy flashed a crooked smile and waved his hand. “Hi.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Luke.” She switched her attention to Millicent. “You doing okay?”
“Jest shootin’ the bull.” The old woman pushed herself out of the rocker. “Best be headin’ inside.” Millicent shuffled toward the clapboard shanty.
“Wait!” Sam and Wade spoke at the same time.
Embarrassed by her outburst, Sam sputtered, “No need to leave on our account.” Wade unnerved her and she needed Millicent to act as a buffer between her and the financial guru. “What brings you out to the Last Chance Ranch?” she asked Wade.
“The what?”
“I’m calling my horse sanctuary Last Chance Ranch.” The ranch wasn’t only a last resort for unwanted horses but also an opportunity for Sam to finally strike out on her own.
“I stopped by to get an idea of the amount of work that needs to be done on the place.” His mouth twisted into a grimace. “There must be a hundred small spreads in the area in better condition than this.”
Sam admitted the property was in poor shape, but that’s why she’d bought the place below market value. She flashed a smug smile. “Now you understand why I need my trust fund money sooner rather than later.”
“Speaking of money,” Wade said, “I contacted a drilling company after you left the office yesterday. They phoned with a bid this morning.”
“How much?” she asked.
“A hundred dollars per foot drilled and the well comps in this area put the water table between a thousand and twelve-hundred feet.”
“That’s $110,000,” the boy blurted.
Good grief. The details had barely registered in Sam’s head before the little genius had spouted a dollar amount.
“The cost doesn’t include testing the water or capping the well.” Wade nodded toward the ranch road. “The potholes need to be filled and new gravel laid down before heavy trucks drive in here.”
“When can the drilling company break ground?” What was a hundred grand when she had millions?
“They’re booked solid until September.”
Panic pumped through Sam’s bloodstream and she forced herself to breathe in deeply through her nose. In…out. In…out. Becoming upset would lead to confusion and forgetfulness and she refused to make a fool of herself in front of Wade. Even though they had no future, she didn’t want him to believe she was a ditz. “The well can’t wait until September.” The faster she got the ranch up and running, the less chance her father would interfere with her plans. Sam had a nasty habit of backing down when confronted by her father. “I’ll phone the company Monday morning and offer more money.”
Wade’s face lost color. “Don’t waste your money on bribes,” he insisted. “Acquiring the necessary permits to drill will take time.”
“Bunch o’ nonsense if ya ask me,” Millicent said, inviting herself into the conversation. “Don’t need no machine to show ya where the water is.” She rolled her lips over her gum. “The water ain’t no thousand feet down, neither.”
Sam cleared her throat. “Millicent is a dowser.”
“You mentioned that yesterday,” Wade said.
Oh. She’d forgotten.
“What’s a dowser?” Luke pushed his glasses up his nose and squinted through the lenses.
“I’ll show ya. First, I gots to find a divinin’ rod.” Millicent wandered off toward the barn.
“A what?” Luke asked his father.
“A magic stick—” Sam answered for Wade “—that shakes and wiggles when it senses water below the ground.”
“Folklore, son.” Wade shook his head.
“Maybe, but Millicent doesn’t charge a hundred thousand dollars for her services.”
“What’s the going rate for a water witch?” he asked.
“A can of coffee and a pouch of tobacco would probably suffice.”
“After you.” Wade swept his arm out in front of him.
Sam followed Millicent, the big geek and the little geek trailing behind.

WADE WISHED HE’D NEVER suggested a drive in the country this morning. He’d rather be in his comfortable, air-conditioned condo reading Friday’s Wall Street Journal instead of tromping through prickly weeds in ninety-degree heat while an old granny poked the ground with a tree branch. He doubted any psychic could detect a drop of moisture in this mini dust bowl. Another gust of wind blew dirt in his face, forcing him to remove his glasses and wipe them against his shirt.
The water witch stopped beneath a tree and stared up the trunk. “What’s wrong?” he asked, impatient to end the hoax.
Luke peered at Wade through dusty glasses. “Millicent’s looking for a stick.”
Wade removed his son’s glasses, cleaned them off, then handed them back. “Won’t any stick do?” he asked Samantha. The old biddy had a habit of ignoring him.
Samantha leaned near and whispered, “A willow or peach tree switch works best for dowsing.” The scent of honeysuckle drifted up Wade’s nose, distracting him. He decided the sweet smell came from Samantha’s shampoo.
“Is that a peach tree?” Wade curled his fingers into a fist to keep from touching Samantha’s dark hair, which glistened beneath the hot sun.
Before Samantha had answered his question, Millicent spoke. “This here’s the one.” The granny pointed to a branch five feet above the gray bun on her head, then settled her rheumy eyes on Wade. “Don’t stand there, ya dope, climb up ’n fetch me that twig.”
Was she nuts? Wade glanced at Samantha. The last time he’d climbed a tree he’d fallen on his ass in front of a teenage girl. This time he was a grown man. The teenager was a beautiful woman. And he’d probably land on his ass again.
“I’ll get it,” Samantha volunteered.
Aw, hell. He studied his leather loafers—his treadless weekend shoes—and silently cursed. “Wait.” He stepped in front of Samantha and searched the tree trunk for a foothold.
“If I give you a shove, you’ll be able to grab that lower limb.” Samantha inched closer.
Although he liked the idea of Samantha’s hands on his rump, with his luck her hold would slip and catch him in the nuts and he’d land at her feet curled up in a ball of misery. “I’m too heavy.”
“What about me, Dad? I can reach the branch.”
To Wade’s knowledge, his son had never climbed a tree in his life. “I don’t—”
“Hoist the boy onto yer shoulders.” Millicent glared at Wade, daring him to defy her.
“Luke’s never—”
“Give him a chance, Wade.” Samantha grasped his arm, her gaze imploring. He appreciated that she stuck up for his son, but it was the pleading expression on Luke’s face that tore at Wade. Climbing a tree was an adventure, the kind Luke read about in books but had never experienced. “Be careful.”
Luke’s grin went straight to Wade’s heart. “I won’t get hurt, I promise.”
Throat tight, Wade stood aside while Samantha gave his son a crash course on the dos and don’ts of tree climbing. Then she bent at the waist and cupped her hands. Luke placed his foot in the hold and Samantha hoisted him high enough to seize a lower branch.
“Now step on my shoulder, Luke,” she instructed.
“Here.” Wade offered his shoulder. When Luke pulled himself onto a thick branch that held his weight, Wade released his legs. As he lowered his arms, Wade’s hand brushed Samantha’s breast and she sucked in a quiet breath. “I’m—”
“Dad, I did it!” Luke’s shout saved Wade from an embarrassing apology.
“Hold tight!” Out of the corner of Wade’s eye he noticed Samantha’s rosy cheeks. Darn it. The blunder had happened quickly, leaving only a sensation of softness lingering on his fingertips.
“Git that branch to yer right.” A craggy voice ordered.
Luke touched the limb Millicent indicated. “That’s the one, boy. Snap it off cleanlike.”
“I can’t,” Luke complained after several attempts to break the branch.
“Twirl it one way, then the other fer a bit.”
“What about a different branch?” Wade raised his arms ready to catch Luke should his son lose his balance.
“Nope. Gotta have that one.”
Face scrunched in determination, Luke fought the branch until his glasses slipped off his nose and fell to the ground.
Samantha scooped them up.
Time to end the adventure. Luke was blind without his glasses. “That’s enough, son. Lean over and I’ll catch you.”
“No, Dad. I can do this. I promise.”
“Quit pesterin’ the boy.” Millicent glared.
“Give him a little bit longer, Wade. He’s almost got it,” Samantha said.
Wade wasn’t used to being ganged up on. Luke was so far out of his element not even his brilliant mind would save him if he made one wrong move. A moment later…
“I did it!” Luke shouted, swaying sideways on the limb as he waved the switch above his head.
“Sit still, afore ya fall on yer face.”
Luke handed the branch to Millicent, who inspected her dowsing tool with great care, then pronounced, “This’ll do,” and walked off.
“Roll onto your stomach and lower your legs while hanging on to the limb,” Samantha said.
His son followed her instructions, then Wade grabbed him around the waist. “Let go.” He lowered Luke to the ground. Samantha handed over the eyeglasses and as soon as Luke put them on he tore after Millicent.
“Guess my son’s a better tree climber than his father.” Wade smiled sheepishly. He expected at least a murmur of agreement from Samantha, not a blank stare.
“You don’t remember, do you?” he asked.
“Remember what?”
“You challenged me to a tree-climbing contest at the Lazy River Ranch when you were in high school and I was in college. I fell out of the tree and broke my arm. You called me a wimp.”
Her beautiful eyes widened, then without a word she spun and walked off.
She really doesn’t remember me.

Chapter Four
Darn it. Wade refused to drop the tree-climbing incident.
Okay. Years ago he’d fallen out of a tree and had broken his arm while visiting the Cartwright ranch. Big deal.
Sam stomped toward the barn, the nerdy financial investor dogging her boot heels. Her memory lapse had bruised Wade’s ego, confirming her suspicion that the man hadn’t heard about her near-death experience with a horse. If she had her way, he’d remain in the dark about that period in her life. She feared if he learned she suffered lingering effects from the head trauma, he’d alert her father and attempt to put a stop to her plans for the Peterson homestead. And she for darn sure didn’t care for Wade’s pity—she’d been on the receiving end of enough sympathetic stares to last a lifetime.
Mr. Financial Adviser exasperated and intrigued Sam. Wade was a nice change from her brother’s rodeo friends and the roughnecks who worked on her father’s oil rigs. An aura of sophistication surrounded Wade. His neatly styled hair, clean, crisp dress shirts and sexy cologne stirred her as no other man ever had.
Good grief, Sam. Wade has a son, which means he’s married and off-limits. Besides, converting this property into a horse ranch was her first priority. There would be time later for setting her sights on a man to share her life and dreams with.
She skirted the corner of the barn, Wade following as he swatted at a black fly buzzing his head. She swallowed a chuckle. Next time don’t wear cologne. Better yet he should stay in his corporate office and let her deal with the property renovations.
“Ya see the best chance o’ findin’ water is with a fresh-cut switch. Ya got to have a fork in the branch like a Y shape or it’s bad luck.”
“How does the stick find the water?” Luke asked.
“It jest knows.”
“A stick can’t just know,” Luke argued. “There’s gotta be a scientific reason for the twig’s power.”
“Don’t know nothin’ ’bout science. Jest magic.”
The boy gaped. “You have magical powers?”
“Some folks calls me a water witch.”
Luke shrugged. “You do kinda look like a witch. You’re old and you have lots of wrinkles.”
Sam smothered a smile behind her hand. Little Einstein was honest if nothing else.
“Years o’ pickin’ sugar beets and beans in the sun give me a face full o’ lines.”
“But you’re not mean like the witches I read about in books.”
“Enough talk about witches, Luke.” Wade’s comment earned him a glower from Millicent.
“Tell me how the stick finds water.” Luke slid his glasses up his nose.
“The stick don’t. I finds the water.” Millicent closed her eyes and said, “First, I quiet my mind.”
“Don’t your eyes have to be open to see?”
“Shush now, boy. I sees everythin’ in my head.” No one moved, then Millicent whispered, “I’m searchin’ fer an ol’ time well made o’ stone with a windlass fer haulin’ water a bucketful at a time.”

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