Page 3 of Captured by the Billionaire Cowboy (The Secret Billionaires #7)
The caretaker scowled. “Just tell me which one you want for the money you’ve already paid and you can be on your wa–”
“I’ll take them all!”
Surprise silenced the man, yet suspicion swiftly replaced it. “Do you have that sort of money?”
She breathed out, calculated again. It would be nearly every cent of the nest egg she’d spent years saving, but there was no choice. How could she take one horse and leave the others? Notching up her chin, she nodded.
“All right.” He stroked his wiry goatee. “Come inside and we’ll take care of business. Just get the horses out of here by tonight.”
Her breath and world hitched. “Tonight?”
“I’m not feeding them one more meal. You have a few hours to make arrangements, then I’m gone. One way or another, the horses will be, too.” He smiled, cruel, malicious and gleeful . Did the man actually enjoy hurting animals?
She no longer hid her distaste as she followed him into a ramshackle office, as she called her bank and made arrangements for the transfer of funds.
With a pledge to return, she somehow made it to her fifteen-year-old blue pick-up, unlocked the door and sat on the duct-taped seats.
Yet she didn’t start the car, because there was nowhere to go, no destination for a dozen horses that deserved the space to roam, heal and live .
Water pricked her eyes, blurring her vision and dampening her cheeks.
She leaned forward until the scratchy padding of the wheel stopped her.
She had a dozen horses, nowhere to board them and 672 euros in her bank account.
What was she going to do?
If she didn’t get the horses off the property, all her efforts would be futile.
The man would dispose of them. With only two stalls, and one already occupied, she couldn’t keep the horses at the cottage.
The stables at her current job were already overfilling with prime horseflesh, and people paid handsomely for that right.
She called her boss to ask if she could borrow a couple of ranch hands with trailers to move them, and the sympathetic man agreed.
Yet without somewhere to transport them to, none of that mattered.
Time was running out.
She called every ranch she knew, and many she didn’t, spoke to workers and managers and owners, asking and reasoning and pleading, yet her search was fruitless.
Most didn’t have the space or resources for that many horses with no notice and no compensation.
She asked for referrals to other ranches, and then referrals from the referrals, yet the minutes and hours passed without even a maybe.
Desperation tightened sore muscles. The owner had been clear – if she didn’t take the horses tonight, he’d consider them abandoned. The horrible man might even sell them twice. Even if she could take legal action later, the horses would be gone. Destroyed. And it would destroy her.
There had to be some solution, some place where she could take them. Someone who could help.
Rowan.
But no. She couldn’t be that desperate.
Only she was.
A hundred images surfaced, a thousand moments amidst endless emotions. The day they met in the stables, the kind but serious boy, the child who had been her playmate and then her friend, her best friend and then her first crush. Then her boyfriend… until he shattered her.
She hadn’t visited the spacious ranch where Uncail Frank worked as a caretaker in many years, not since the stern owner banned kids when she was a teenager.
Although Frank still visited her regularly, he spoke little of his work, except to mention when the owner passed away and Rowan took control.
The ranch was located in Waterstone, an idyllic town a few hours distance.
If they could temporarily house the horses, their lives would be saved.
Would Rowan remember? Would he be willing to help? Was she willing to ask him for help?
For the horses – anything.
Her breath stilled as she dialed her uncail’s number. He answered after the first ring. “Frank O’Connor.”
Relief sored, immediately tempered by the dismal chance of success. Usually her uncail’s warm baritone was enough to calm her, yet today nothing could vanquish the turmoil galloping in her stomach. “Uncail Frank.”
“Ciara, how are you?” He spoke carefully and lowly, as if sensing the emotion threading through her voice. “Are you all right?”
“A little overwhelmed.” She paused, steeled herself. “I have a big favor to ask. I saw this story on social media…”
Frank stayed silent as she explained the situation, told him about the horses she hadn’t truly yet saved.
He would understand. He’d worked on a ranch since departing the Irish Defense Forces four decades earlier and was dedicated to the animals he loved.
Finally, she finished with the question that would determine everything, “Would Rowan let us board the horses at his ranch? Just for a few days until I figure out what to do?”
Frank didn’t answer right away. Then, “Can I call you back?”
“Of course!” She rubbed a chest tight with anxiety. He hadn’t said no. Of course, he’d have to check with Rowan before making his decision.
“Just give me a few minutes.”
A minute turned into five, then to ten and fifteen, as her heart raced like a contender at the Preakness. Time stretched as the fate of a dozen lives teetered at the crux of two paths. If this last chance fell through…
The phone rang.
“Hello,” she said tentatively.
“Bring them.”
Without a doubt, people for two towns heard her shout of elation. “Thank you so much.” Ciara blinked as the world blazed a thousand times brighter. Was this really happening? “Tell Rowan thank you, too.”
“Actually, I wasn’t able to reach him.”
“What?” Unease threatened her joy. If Rowan didn’t know, he hadn’t approved. And if he hadn’t approved, he could evict them in an instant. “Didn’t you call him?”
“I tried, but he didn’t answer.” Frank’s voice remained calm, unconcerned. “Don’t worry. Rowan spends most of his time at the other ranch. He hasn’t visited in years.”
What would Rowan do if and when he discovered a dozen horses at his ranch?
If she was anything less than desperate, she would have insisted on reaching him first, but the horses’ lives were at stake.
Besides, Frank had worked for the family for decades.
He must be certain Rowan would agree or he wouldn’t have told her to come.
With a grateful thank you, she bid farewell and hung up the call. She may be a lot poorer, but twelve horses had a second chance because of her.
And that was worth everything.
The Irish sunset blazed in fiery glory, a natural masterpiece of reds, oranges and yellows over never-ending emerald lands.
The air was sweet with wildflowers, their fragrant essence dancing on a gentle, cooling wind.
Through the sky, a lapwing soared, displaying the distinctive feathery crest that signified it as the national bird of Ireland, above horses that roamed in wide corrals, of varying sizes, ages, and colors.
Beautiful and magnificent, they possessed kind dispositions, endless grace and inherit strength.
He would never reveal how much he loved them.
“You’re going to be angry.”
Rowan stepped back from the corral, pushing up the smooth fabric of his organic cotton shirt. He stole a moment to don a neutral expression, arrange and adjust his mental mask. He should have known his escape would be short-lived.
The approaching man was tall and muscular, with blue eyes and blond hair.
Tanned from the sun, and handsome enough to draw endless attention, he could have been Rowan’s reflection.
Behind him, another man followed, also with the same build several inches above six feet, the same uncannily similar features.
They could have been triplets, yet a handful of years separated each.
It seemed a generation.
“Quinn.” He nodded. “Spencer.”
“Hi guys!” Another man arrived, the final brother in their quartet. A few years younger, with tousled auburn hair and a far shorter stature, Davey wore a Special Olympics t-shirt and a smile that brightened the stormiest day.
Rowan relaxed. “Hey, buddy.” He reached out and pulled the younger man in for a hug. “You doing all right?”
Davey gave a big thumbs up, and the world turned a little less gray. Yet stark sobriety soon returned, as Rowan turned to Quinn. “What will make me angry?”
Quinn and Spencer exchanged dismal expressions, locked in a silent tug-of-war. Finally, Quinn spoke, “The horses from Darton aren’t exactly what he promised.”
“I told you buying from Darton was a bad idea.” Spencer gripped the railing tightly.
“He treats his horses as bad as he treats his enemies, and he considers everyone an enemy.” He pushed off the railing, speared Rowan with a penetrating gaze.
“Judging by the number of horses, you nearly bought his entire stable.”
He had bought the entire stable. “I’ve already seen them. I’m keeping one.” He hadn’t been looking for another horse, but the mare had been as sweet as the sugar cubes he kept in his pocket, as she nibbled through the glittering delicacies and his resistance. He’d named her Sweetheart.
Another thing he would never admit.
“We can’t use them for stud or racing, at least not in their current form.” Quinn frowned. “What do you want to do with them?”
Rowan paused, as if considering the question.
In truth he’d formulated his plan before he ever purchased them.
“Do you remember that non-profit that asked if we could donate to their equine therapy program? The one for children with serious illnesses?” He tipped his vegan leather hat. “We’ll send them there.”
Spencer’s intelligent gaze sharpened, turning assessing, calculating, almost suspicious . “Despite their condition, they’re young and should recover. You could sell them and recoup some of what you paid.”