Page 8 of One in a Million

Roper filled a glass with cold milk and pulled out a chair.

“You don’t look very cheerful.” Kirby dribbled a few drops of Jack Daniel’s into his coffee, which his wife pretended not to notice. “What happened? Did you get fired or something?”

Roper glanced down at his plate. For a drinker, his stepfather could be surprisingly sharp. “I didn’t get fired,” he said. “Frank died. When Darrin tried to push me around, I quit.”

“Frank died?” Rachel stared at him. “My word, what happened?”

“His daughter found him lying dead in a stall. Somebody called the police. We’ll know more after the autopsy,” Roper answered before remembering that he was no longer a Culhane employee. Unless the autopsy results were in the paper or on TV, he might never know how Frank had died.

Kirby added more whiskey to his coffee mug. “Well, however old Frank met his end, the bastard got what he deserved.”

Roper raised an eyebrow. “It’s odd you should say that. Frank was always fair with me. I’m sorry he’s gone.”

Kirby snorted. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew what I know.”

“Does that mean you’re about to tell me?” Roper asked.

Kirby took a sip from his mug. “Well, I suppose you’ve got a right to know . . .”

“Stop it, Kirby!” Rachel turned to face her husband, her eyes blazing. “We agreed that we wouldn’t talk about it. So keep your word and keep your mouth shut.”

Roper glanced from one parent to the other. “Dad, you said I had the right to know. So, what’s it to be? Are you going to leave me hanging?”

Kirby sighed and shook his head. “Your mother’s right. Frank’s dead. The sooner he’s buried and forgotten, the better.”

Roper finished his cake, shoved back his chair, and stood. He might be smart to put the matter aside. But his parents were hiding something dark about a man he’d respected in life. How could they expect him to live the rest of his days without knowing what it was? It just didn’t seem right.

He planted himself in the doorway. “This isn’t fair,” he said. “You brought it up, Dad. You owe me the truth.”

In the silence that hung in the kitchen, the ceiling fan rotated lazily above the table. Kirby and Rachel exchanged glances. At last Rachel spoke.

“It’s not our place to tell you, Roper,” she said. “If you want to know the truth, ask your sister.”

CHAPTERTHREE

Roper strode outside, collected his tools from the shed, and started mounting the new gate for the round pen. As he measured, drilled, and pounded, his thoughts clashed like dueling aircraft in a World War I-era movie.

Had he done the right thing, leaving his parents in the kitchen without another word? Or should he have stood his ground, refusing to leave without hearing the truth?

Had anything really happened between Cheyenne and Frank, who was old enough to have been her father? If true, would the full story give him any satisfaction? Would telling it give his sister any peace?

Let it go, Roper told himself. Frank was dead. Cheyenne was twenty years old, and her personal life was nobody’s business but her own. He might share the same house with his sister, but they existed in different worlds.

Not that Roper had planned things that way. He’d adored his baby sister the first time he held her. But time and circumstance had kept them from becoming close.

Roper had been a Colorado ranch kid when Cheyenne was born. She’d been a two-year-old hellion when he’d left home to go on the rodeo circuit. While she was learning to rope her first calf, he was in rehab, recovering from a crushing wreck with a saddle bronc named Hellboy. In more recent years, Roper had discovered a passion for reining and was moving up through the ranks as a trainer, while Cheyenne was bringing home the rodeo buckles, first as a junior rank competitor, then joining her three brothers on the national stage. The boys’ skill and grit had made them champions. Cheyenne’s charisma had made them celebrities.

Two years ago, with a mountain winter looming, the McKennas had decided to sell their property and move to Texas. The warmer location would allow the young riders year-round training and easier access to the big-city rodeo venues.

Things were falling into place. A neighbor had made an offer on their ranch, and the family had put down earnest money on the property they’d found in Texas. They were packing to move when everything fell apart. The buyer for their Colorado ranch had declared bankruptcy, leaving them with no way to close the loan on their new Texas home.

But all was not lost. With the help of a near-miracle—involving a late balloon payment to the bank, Rachel’s prayers, and Roper’s offer to stay in Colorado until the ranch could be sold, the McKennas had finally made their move and become Texans.

For Roper, the delay had meant nine months of cold, storms, and loneliness, broken only by training sessions for his clients and their horses. But his sacrifice had been worth it. Once more, the family was together again in a good place, doing what they loved best.

And fitting somewhere into the picture was the alleged encounter between Cheyenne and Frank. Maybe it had happened during Roper’s solitary vigil in Colorado. Or maybe it hadn’t happened at all.

Let it go,he told himself again. And for a while, he almost did.

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