Page 4 of Captured by the Billionaire Cowboy (The Secret Billionaires #7)

“Too much work. We’ll take a tax write-off instead.” Rowan waved his hand, then paused. “It’s going to be expensive to care for this many unexpected horses. Send some funds to upkeep them.”

For a moment, his brothers remained silent. “Are you sure?” Quinn finally asked. At Rowan’s nod, he displayed no surprise. “And what about being swindled by Darton?”

“I’ll take care of it.” A few phone calls to influential people would share the extent of Darton’s cruelty to both equine and human creatures. The tycoon would soon find his business bridled by his own shameful deeds.

A strong voice sounded from the stables, “Mr. Byrne, are you there?”

If business was good for one thing, it was as a distraction from uncomfortable conversations.

Rowan nodded to his brothers, as he stepped towards the stables, unwittingly slowing as he passed them.

They stared at him, the air thick with the emotion of a thousand unsaid words.

He strode swifter, away from the paddock, away from his family.

Away from the sour taste of regret. While they could voice their every thought, he had to stay focused, detached. Too much depended on him.

The ranch. The business. The employees. The family. Everyone.

Rodrigo, his executive manager, emerged from the stables, carrying a sleek tablet.

The middle-aged Hispanic man had worked for his family for a generation, and like almost everyone at the ranch, wore jeans, a cowboy shirt and a friendly expression.

“There you are. About a hundred people have been looking for you. You have a conference call with the Hallowell breeders in an hour. Plus, you’re double-booked for most of next week and received forty-two messages. Frank O’Connor’s is at the top.”

A muscle ticked in Rowan’s jaw, even as he kept his expression neutral.

He’d only taken a few hours off. The world had missed him, even if he hadn’t missed the world.

Grasping the tablet, he opened Frank’s message, read it once, then again, not quite understanding, and then not quite believing.

A dozen horses. A life-or-death situation.

Ciara.

He took a deep breath of something he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Then, without conscious thought, he replied, “I’m taking a vacation.”

Rodrigo nearly stumbled. “You’re taking a what?”

“A vacation.” Rowan said the word louder, stronger, as he strode back to the house, unknown emotions issuing a directive he could not ignore. “I haven’t taken a vacation in… how long has it been?”

“One hundred and seventy-two years.”

Rowan frowned. “That’s not true. I took a few hours off last week.”

“Last week?” Confusion transformed to wry understanding. “Are you counting your double root canal?”

“Absolutely,” Rowan replied. “The laughing gas was extremely relaxing.” And the double root canal was, well, painful.

Rodrigo chuckled, and for the first time in a long time, humor swirled…

and anticipation. Years had passed since he’d seen his childhood friend.

That she was on a mission to save a dozen horses didn’t surprise him, not like his willingness to leave work when he hadn’t taken a vacation in, as Rodrigo guessed, over a hundred years.

Perhaps when he saw Ciara, he would know why.

For a moment, they were teens again. She was the summer to his winter, the brightly shining sun to his darkness. The future he didn’t deserve.

Yet soon the brightness returned to the past, the future that wasn’t meant to be. Impossible yearnings didn’t change anything. Likely she already had a doting husband, with three point two children, yet it wouldn’t matter if she was available. He could never be what she wanted.

Not after what he had become.

“We did it, Jasmine,” Ciara whispered. “You’re safe.” She reached for the Quarter Horse, yet instead of nuzzling her, the horse skittered back, as if afraid of being hit. Fire burned through Ciara’s veins. She probably had been hit.

Physical scars were visible for the world to see, but horses bore emotional scars as well, painful remnants of past trauma.

They remembered damaging events long after the danger was gone, and could even read human body language, recognizing and remembering human feelings.

It was why Ciara sought to convey hope and love. “I’m not giving up on you.”

She took a deep breath of woodsy air, tangled with the scent of wildflowers from the surrounding plains.

With wide spaces, high ceilings and carved wood embellishments, the spacious stalls were luxury defined, displaying the wealth of the man who owned them.

Now they held a cornucopia of horses: Thoroughbreds, Quarter Horses and other types and breeds.

They were a varied lot, both male and female, large and small, their coats ranging from winter white to midnight black and all the neutral colors in between.

Their personalities were also a spectrum, stretching from timid and shy to loud and aggressive.

Their only true link was the neglect they wore for all to see. “I won’t give up on any of you.”

She may never be able to ride Jasmine, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was giving her a decent life.

They needed calmness and understanding, an atmosphere of peace.

Ciara softly hummed Too Ra Loo Ra Loo Ral, and, when Jasmine perked up her ears, sang more Irish lullabies, promising love and devotion, a life of hope.

Even if Jasmine couldn’t decipher the lyrics, she understood their intention, the love.

The minutes passed, yet Ciara kept singing, as the time melted away. The horses watched in rapt attention, noticeably less agitated, almost peaceful. When she finished a long cappella, she slowly reached out. “Good girl,” she whispered to Jasmine, and this time, the horse didn’t shy away.

Her heart rejoiced.

She backed up, slowly, carefully, so as not to undo the day’s progress. The animals studied her, yet the tension had slid away, and a few seemed all but calm. How astounding what a little kindness could do.

“How are they doing?”

Ciara smiled as her uncail entered the stable, wearing dark blue jeans and a green plaid shirt. A tall man, he stood ramrod straight, his military years never forgotten. Yet a distinct kindness tinted his brilliant blue eyes, and he watched with a softness formality couldn’t hide.

“Wonderful, because of you.” She held her hands to her heart. “I can’t thank you enough.”

The older man waved away the compliment as he approached the animals. Yet a frown soon tugged down his lips, no doubt at their poor condition. “I didn’t do anything. It’s Rowan’s ranch.”

“Still, you’re the one who made this happen.” She shuddered at the unfathomable path they had avoided, the reminder that technically she still hadn’t permission to board the animals. Of course, she would be long gone before Rowan returned.

The thought should bring relief. Most certainly satisfaction. At the very least apathy. Yet the slightest tinge of dismay surfaced, amidst… longing?

She forced her attention back to the animals. “They’re much improved now that they’ve had a good meal.”

Frank studied the horses, keeping his movements measured as he edged nearer. As if sensing a kindred spirit, they didn’t try to bolt. “They’ll be even better with a good night’s rest.” His voice softened. “As will you.”

“I’m fine.” She stood taller, even though she’d been up for almost twenty-four hours, and in frantic motion for most of it. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the dewy aroma of rain scented the air. “I’m going to stay a little longer, in case the storm spooks them.”

“Did you tell your sister what happened?”

She nodded. “I told Sophia I won’t be home for a few days, and she was kind enough to offer to care for Snowflake.

I have some vacation time saved, so work isn’t an issue.

” Her sister had been all that was kindness, even offering to drive out herself.

Ciara had turned her down, but her sister’s steady support meant everything.

Thunder sounded again, this time louder, closer.

Frank took a fleece jacket off a metal hook and handed it to her.

“If I thought arguing would make a difference, I would, but I see that stubborn streak you inherited from me. Just don’t stay out here too long,” he ordered. “I had the guest room made up for you.”

“Yes sir.” Ciara grasped his hand. It was rough from decades of hard work, with a long, old scar in the middle. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He left, and her smile faded. The uncertainties were daunting, the future uncertain, but she would find a way to make it right. Somehow, she would find a good home for each and every horse.

She wouldn’t rest until she did.

Rowan turned the windshield wipers to maximum, grimacing as they did little more than redirect the rain streaming over his truck.

Midnight had come and gone long ago, and the time he’d planned to arrive was a distant memory.

After working later than planned, the two-hour drive turned into four due to unrelenting weather and treacherous road conditions.

Finally, the ranch’s lights came into view, like a safe harbor to a waterlogged shipwreck survivor.

The vehicle plodded through the muddy dirt road, navigating curves and dips reminiscent of a lifetime ago.

Thank goodness he’d chosen to drive the truck instead of his ’59 Shamrock Car.

He’d been tempted to bring the rare antique, one of an estimated ten of the cars built in Ireland decades ago.

His father had spent a fortune on the car just to say he could, then promptly forgot about it.

When Rowan was a teenager, he spent hours working to get it back into fighting condition.

Not with his dad, of course. With the man he was going to see.

It was strange to be returning to the ranch after all these years, and even stranger now that it was filled with horses.

It represented more troubled times than good, a million memories he could never forget.

Despite the short distance, he stayed far, leaving the upkeep to the caretaker who had worked for his family for generations.

Of course, he could never be mad at Frank, the man who showed him how to ride a horse, the man who cheered when he won third prize at the science fair, the man who promised a young boy his mother was watching down on him.

Frank was more of a father than his real one had ever been.

Now the ranch was occupied by horses – and Ciara . The details of the current situation were unknown, but based on Frank’s short message, the caretaker did the right thing.

Rowan slowed the car, carefully guiding it between the house and the stables. Although the buildings were separated, a covered walkway shielded him from the worst of the rain. He parked in a semi-dry spot, switched off the ignition and opened the door.

The air was hot and balmy and smelled of horses and moisture.

Instead of heading for the large farmhouse, he turned straight to the stables, unwilling to wait until morning to greet his new guests.

Since horses only slept three hours a day, mostly in a series of short standing naps, many of them would be awake.

Horses only needed to lie down for REM sleep, which they were able to achieve in far fewer hours than humans and other domesticated pets.

Otherwise, they locked their muscles with their stay apparatus to enjoy short naps.

It was a throwback to the days when they were fiercely hunted and needed to be able to flee immediately if set upon by a mountain lion or other predator.

His eyes adjusted to the darkness as he walked from the bright outside floodlights to the dimmer lights of the stable.

The scent of hay and horses was strong, but he welcomed it.

It smelled like home . The ground was soft under his boots, and the thunderous rain became a soft pitter-patter against the structure’s sturdy roof.

Gentle neighing provided a soft background melody.

As he walked past a bay mare, it whimpered in alarm, scooting back against the far side of the stall. Rowan frowned, then deeper, as the next horse jumped at his soft footsteps. A third and fourth proved just as fearful, solidifying the obvious. These horses had been mistreated.

Never again.

Even if they were Ciara’s horses, they were in his stables. He shared responsibility for them.

A vision of the girl who was once his only friend flashed, as it had a dozen times today.

Even through the haze of long ago memories, the image was as brilliant as the last time they’d met.

She’d visited every summer, until his father decided even that small bit of innocence couldn’t intrude on his never-ending work.

She was a vibrant girl, a kind child who cared about everyone and everything, even the flies she caught and released.

She didn’t deserve to have her heart broken.

Yet he hadn’t a choice. His world had all but destroyed him – he couldn’t let it destroy her.

Still, he couldn’t stop the memories, no less vibrant for the years that passed since their creation.

He’d been shocked – and far more satisfied than expected – to learn she was residing in Ireland.

The desire to keep her safe and happy tangled with the need to see her.

Now he had an excuse. She had brought herself to his world, and he would not stay away.

He returned his attention to the horses, gently greeting those who were awake.

A few were sleeping while they stood, and one mare was lying on her side.

He entered her stall and crouched down next to her, breathed deeply when it was clearly just REM sleep.

He moved on to soothe a finicky tan Quarter Horse next.

He travelled from horse to horse, comforting those that were alert, promising he would care for all.

Yet at the last, he froze. The stall didn’t hold a horse.

It held a woman.