His very first course of action had been to drive straight out to the ranch, where he’d found a family by the name of Cantu in residence. Mr. Cantu had proudly claimed to have purchased the ranch only days earlier. A broken-down old piebald had snuffled around the corral next to the barn, the corral where Chandler had intended to off-load his own horses. Instead, after examining the loan closing papers that Cantu had graciously provided and recognizing Kreger’s signature, Chandler had turned around and hit the road again, managing to keep his temper in check until he was away.
After he’d calmed down, he’d made two phone calls. The first was to his cousin Asher, an attorney, who agreed to see him Monday morning. The second call went to an old friend, Dovey Crawlick, who ran a shoestring animal rescue operation a mile or so southeast of town. She had kindly given Chandler space for his horses at a more-than-reasonable rent and told him that she’d heard Kreger was staying in the Maypearl area.
After following rumors across the state, Chandler eventually wound up calling on Kreger’s elderly great-uncle, from whom Pat had recently requested a large loan and been refused.
“Don’t hold with gambling,” the old man had said mo rosely, “but he said they’d break his legs if he didn’t come up with the cash.”
Chandler had to conclude that Kreger had sold the ranch to cover his gambling debts. That was when Chandler had given up the chase. He’d known, of course, that Kreger was apt to wager a bit here and there, but it hadn’t seemed to be a serious problem. Until now.
In a foul mood, Chandler made his way back to Chatam House in the wee hours of the morning. He couldn’t help thinking about Bethany. Had the aunties allowed her to move into the carriage house with Garrett? He rather doubted that, unless of course the two were married. If they weren’t, they probably soon would be. Then he’d have to see her, them, on a daily basis. With everything that had gone wrong in his life lately, that seemed like adding insult to injury.
Not wanting to rouse the household, he decided to sleep in his truck. It would not be the first time that he’d sacked out in the backseat. He needed to hide his trailer, though. Dovey hadn’t had room for it at her place, but the aunties would not appreciate having a dirty horse hauler parked within sight of the street. Moving mechanically, he backed the trailer through the porte cochere, past the carriage house and around the corner of the building out of sight.
After rolling down all the windows to take advantage of the slight breeze, he crawled into the back cab. He set aside his hat, tugged off his belt and boots and curled up on the seat, his head pillowed on his folded forearms. But peace proved elusive as his mind played restlessly over all he’d learned.
That Pat had sold the ranch out from under Chandler hurt, but the reason hurt just as much. He’d trusted Pat Kreger. He had defended Pat staunchly against his father for years. In the end, however, Hub had been proved right about Kreger, and eventually Chandler would have to deal with that. Just then, though, he was trying to wrap his mind around the fifty-thousand-plus dollars that he’d apparently poured down a bottomless hole.
The thought made him physically ill, his disappointment so deep that it was a constant ache. His whole future had just disappeared! Why hadn’t he known that Pat was out of control? Why had he made so many excuses for his old buddy?
Feeling brainless and foolish, Chandler did the only thing he knew to do. He prayed.
Lord, I need Your help here, he began. I’ve been stubborn and stupid and, boy, am I paying for it. I’ll be paying for some time to come, too. But I deserve it. So I guess first of all I need to ask for Your forgiveness. I really want to do better from now on, to let You guide me. Meanwhile, I’m in a fix. I can’t live off my old aunts. I need some real cash. To get that, I need a new partner, but how do I find a new partner when I’m not even sure I can trust my own judgment anymore? Please give me some real direction here, Lord.
Chandler went on, pouring out his troubles and concerns, facing his deepest fears and failures and beseeching his Lord for aid. He thought of Bethany again. By all appearances, things had turned out well for her, at least. He felt a prick of envy, but whether for her or Garrett, he didn’t know. A little of both, maybe. He drifted into a place of comfort before he could figure it out, and rest found him at last. He slept deeply and completely, his mind a blank, despite the heat and cramped quarters.
Suddenly, bright daylight blinded him. He thought that he must be dreaming, for hands seemed to grapple about his shoulders. Fists closed in the fabric of his shirt, and he instinctively stiffened. The next instant he was being pulled bodily through the open window of the truck cab.
Panicked, he brought his feet up onto the seat and pushed, angling his shoulders through the window, until he could get his hands on the roof of the truck and haul out the rest of the way. He barely got a foot on the ground when a fist slammed into his shoulder. It would have hit his jaw if he hadn’t been in the process of bringing down his second foot.
“Hey!”
He let the blow turn him, his hands coming up defensively, and glimpsed a dark head before a second fist flew his way. Ducking left, he felt knuckles clip his ear. Tucking his chin, Chandler threw a hard right, glancing a blow off his opponent’s ribs. After an answering pop high on the left side of his chest, he started slugging madly. A savvy fighter, the other guy stepped in close, wrapped his arms around Chandler’s shoulders and threw him onto the ground. Chandler made sure that they both went down, twisting to land on his side rather than his back.
“Can’t leave her alone, can you?” a voice growled in his ear as the two wrestled.
“What?” Chandler squawked.
“You’re not going to bounce in and out of her life!”
“Who?”
“Don’t want the kid, but you want her, don’t you?”
“What’re you tal—”
Something hit Chandler on the side of the face and shoulder, something prickly and stiff.
“Ow!”
“Ouch!” yelped the other guy.
Chandler rolled away, becoming aware of a great din, something more than his own grunts and groans and the scrabble of gravel. One sound stood out among the others, the sound of his aunt’s voice.
“Stop that! Stop it right now!”
Realizing that the blows had ceased, Chandler looked up. Magnolia glared down at him, a broom in her hands.
“Aunt Mags?”
“What on earth do you think you’re doing, Chandler Chatam?”
“Defending myself!” Chandler exclaimed.
At the same time, his opponent barked, “Chatam?”
She switched her gaze in that direction. “And you, Garrett Willows! Why are you fighting with my nephew?”
Garrett rocketed to his feet. “He’s your nephew?”
Chandler sat up, trying to catch his breath. Garrett the gardener had attacked him? He glared up at the dark-haired man towering uncertainly over him. Willows. Garrett Willows. Wasn’t that what Magnolia had said? Was he Bethany’s husband, then? The idea seriously rankled.
Chandler shoved up to his feet and pointed a finger. “He attacked me!”
“Chandler?”
Hearing Bethany’s voice, Chandler whirled. She stood beneath the porte cochere with Hypatia and Odelia, her cornflower blue eyes wide.
“Why are you fighting with my brother?”
Brother. He glanced at Garrett Willows. His aunts’ gardener was Bethany’s brother?
She looked as stunned as Chandler felt—and stunning. In dark brown leggings and a long pink top with tiny puffed sleeves, her dark hair a silken fall to her shoulders, she looked wholesome and healthy and radiant. And pregnant, he