TEMPERED FIRE
Prologue
Since Stanley Morrison arrived in Bandera, Texas a few weeks
ago, the Annual Charity Rodeo hosted by the Rockin’ H Ranch had been
the talk of the town. Anticipation floated in the air, excitement
brightened every eye, and enthusiasm animated every conversation.
Now that the day had finally arrived, Stanley understood why. He’d
watched all day as riders with skill and style equaling professional
rodeo cowboys, and girls, performed on animals of the highest
quality to turn around and donate all of their winnings to charity.
Generous donations, considering some of the top prizes ranged up to
five hundred dollars, and he was proud to be a part of it, if only
as a hired hand. Though he’d gained employment at the Bar S ranch
for his ability in working with horses, today Stan filled the
capacity of groom, tack-hand and babysitter.
He looked up from his chore of shortening stirrups as the roar of
the crowd increased when the last contestant in women’s barrel
racing shot into the arena. As usual, the first thing he noticed was
the magnificent specimen of horseflesh, but his eyes were invariably
drawn to the rider. Despite the distance between himself and them,
he saw beauty in the young woman. Long legs encased in designer
jeans rested comfortably in the saddle. Pulled into a French braid,
dark hair hung like a thick rope down her back. Though her brow was
tense with concentration, the fine, porcelain-like skin of her face
appeared soft and lustrous despite the thin veil of dust hanging in
the air. Style and grace lined every fluid movement of horse and
rider as they rounded the barrels in the fastest and smoothest
exhibition he’d seen in a long time, if ever. A nudge from the boot
resting in the stirrup he was supposed to be shortening, reminded
him of why he was here.
“A kiss for luck?” The young girl in the saddle leaned down to brush
her lips across his cheek.
Surprised, Stanley stepped back and
eyed his boss’s daughter. She was a pretty young thing,
blond-haired, dark-eyed and would turn fourteen just days before
entering her freshman year of high school. “You’re too young for
anyone but your father to be kissing you, for any reason.”
Lori Strickland’s eyes narrowed into
tiny slits of black fire, she grunted in a very unladylike manner.
“You sound just like my father.” With that, she whirled her horse
around and headed for the paddock to take her place in line for the
pole-racing event
Stanley shook his head with a sigh
and rested his elbows on the fence to watch the winner of the
barrel-racing contest return to the arena. His heart stopped then
thundered in his chest when her name blared over the intercom. Her
horse bowed and she blew a kiss to someone in the crowd before
turning the big stallion around in a fancy whirl and exiting.
Intrigued, Stanley found himself looking forward to his first and
only, year at Bandera High School.
~ ~ ~
Craig Harris ambled up the stairs to
his daughter’s room. At sixteen, Amber Nichole, was usually busy
helping her mother this time of day. Today she seemed oblivious of
that fact; she'd been in her room for the last several hours.
“What!”
A frown marred his forehead at the
frustrated tone that bade his entrance. He opened the door, his eyes
widening in shock and disbelief at the mess he encountered. Clothes
covered every available inch of her bed. Shoes were strewn
carelessly around the room.
Amber was having a problem.
“Is ‘what’ any way to welcome someone
coming to your door?” Craig asked. “What in the world is going on?"
A sound of pure frustration escaped
his daughter’s lips when she drug her hands through the thick mass
of black hair, shaking it off her shoulders so that it settled
around her waist.
"I can't figure out what to wear
tomorrow."
Craig grinned. "Ace doesn't seem to
be having a problem. Since when did it matter so much?"
She snorted. "The only thing Ace is
worried about is how he can get his new boots dirty before he gets
downstairs," she growled, referring to her baby brother, Adam Craig
Harris the Fourth, which was shortened to A.C., then evolved into
Ace. "It's always mattered. I've just never worried about it
before."
"And what good does worrying do? Does
worrying add one more hour or day..." He stopped quoting the
scripture and laughed at the frown she bestowed on him.
"Don't come in here spouting Bible
scriptures and don’t laugh at me."
Craig’s eyebrow quirked in concern.
Despite the horror stories he’d heard about raising hormonal
teenagers, he’d never had a problem gauging his daughter’s moods and
coaxing her out of them. Though passionate about many things, he’d
never imagined that his mature, well-rounded, normally composed
child would be in a tizzy over what to wear. Nor had he ever
considered her taking that tone with him.
"The best book I know," he countered.
Amber heard the concern in her
father’s voice and rubbed her throbbing temples. Taking a deep
breath she let the scripture flow through her, bits and pieces
reaching through the turmoil in her mind and soothing her frazzled
nerves…Therefore do not worry saying “What shall we eat or
what shall we drink or what shall we wear?” for your heavenly Father
knows that you need these things…what good does worrying do, does it
add one more hour or one more day…Therefore, do not worry about
tomorrow; tomorrow will take care of itself...
Everything took on a new perspective.
She sighed, smiled. "Okay, I'll just pray about it tonight and the
first thing I grab in the morning will have to do."
"That's my girl," her father soothed,
stroking her cheek. "Now, about this room...." She looked around.
Surprise registered on her face when she realized the mess she'd
made.
"Daddy," she purred slipping her arms
around him and resting her head against his chest.
Craig tossed back his head with a
laugh. "Oh, no you don't. You made the mess, you clean it," he
teased, disengaging himself from the arms around his waist. She
pouted prettily but her eyes were sparkling.
"Mean old Daddy."
"Dinner's almost ready," he informed
her, making his escape, then paused in the doorway. "Amber?" When
she looked up from her chore, he continued.
"No matter what you wear tomorrow,
you'll be the most beautiful girl there," he assured, love and pride
evident in his voice.
She grinned. "Thank you. And your
opinion is in no way biased I'm sure," she teased. "I love you too,
Daddy."
Nervous and excited about entering
her junior year of high-school, hearing her father’s wolf whistle
pleased Amber when she came downstairs the next morning dressed in a
royal blue denim skirt, western blouse, and boots.
"Go change. You look way too good to
leave the house without me."
His eyes glistened with pride. Amber
laughed and kissed his cheek. "It's the first thing I grabbed," she
said, moving out of the way as, dressed in new jeans, cowboy shirt
and boots, Ace barreled down the stairs on his way to the table.
Nearly nine years younger than she, he was entering the second
grade.
Though she had her driving license
and the use of a car, Amber respected tradition. Her mother would
drive them today and quite possibly the first week or so, however
long it took for Ace to get comfortable with his new class and
Tamera to get comfortable with letting him go. As her baby, long
awaited and desperately wanted, she was protective of her son.
Sometimes too protective, but, considering what she went through to
have him, it was allowed. Amber harbored no jealousy, nor did she
feel slighted in any way. She and her mother had a very special
relationship. Her father, on the other hand, was her life. He was
the one that she would miss the most today, she thought. Little did
she know that very soon things would change drastically between
them.
~ ~ ~
Craig lingered over a second cup of
coffee on the clear October morning. The days were getting shorter
already and cooler. Another year was nearly over. Amber had just
rehearsed the evening’s events with them for the hundredth time.
"Amber, we've been through this twice
before already," he chided in a gentle, teasing tone. "Relax."
She fidgeted, unable to keep still
for the excitement curling in her gut. Being Junior Maid on the
Homecoming Court was not all that was causing her heart to flutter
and her stomach to clench like a nervous fist. She was used to that,
being both Freshman and Sophomore Maid before. But the boy she had
noticed, really noticed, for the first time last night had her as
nervous and excited as an untrained filly.
"I met the guy I'm going to marry
last night," she remarked, raising sparkling eyes to her father’s
teasing gaze.
Her voice was soft, husky. Craig
grinned. "Oh, yeah? Who's that?"
"Stanley Morrison."
She practically sighed over the name,
Craig noted, his grin fading into a frown. "You can't date until
your twenty-one or marry until you're thirty-five. What makes you
think this boy will hang around that long?"
"By the time I'm thirty-five,
you will be a grandfather," she assured, rising from her
seat. “Several times over,” she added, her smile smug.
Craig's jaw dropped and eyes widened
as much from her remark as the way she looked, all breasts and hips
and curves, with incredibly long legs in an extremely short skirt.
He couldn't have been more surprised had she sprouted wings or
horns. "You can't wear that, it's indecent!"
She laughed, placing a kiss on his
cheek. Short skirts and boots were all the rage. "It's the style,"
she said, wiping the pale mauve lip print off his freshly shaven
skin before walking away.
"To hell with style, it's too short!
Who determines style anyway?" Craig demanded, and heard her
answering laughter.
"Nobody's father that's for sure!
Don't have time to change. Come on brat," she called to her brother.
"We're going to be late."
Placing a quick kiss on his mother’s
cheek and slapping his father’s hand with a high-five, Ace ran to
meet his sister. "I'm not a brat," he countered in the familiar
morning banter.
"Yes you are," she argued, placing a
kiss on his silky blond head. "You've been a brat since the day you
were born," she concluded, her blue eyes dancing into his gray ones
as she helped him into his jacket.
The door closed behind them before
Craig found his voice. "Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded of his
wife, who was nearly doubled over in a fit of giggles.
"Tell you what?” she asked, gasping
for breath. “That she’s growing up?"
"That she's built like a..." he
stuttered, flushing at the description that came to mind, positive
that it wasn't appropriate for his daughter. “And who in the
hell is Stanley Morrison?”
Tamera's giggles turned into shouts
of laughter. “Oh man, I wish I had a camera, the look on your face
is priceless,” she remarked, once she’d caught her breath. “Did you
expect her to stay five forever?"
Craig didn’t think that was funny one
iota. His eyes narrowed, jaw muscle twitched. “No, but I didn’t
expect her to grow up overnight. Do you know anything about this
boy?” His wife’s blonde hair bounced off her shoulders when she
shook her head, her eyes laughed and mocked him.
“I’m glad you think this is funny,”
he growled, throwing her into another fit of giggles. “Aren’t you
the least bit curious?”
Tamera wiped tears of hilarity off
her cheeks before answering her husband. Like thunderclouds rolling
in over an otherwise clear sky, his glittering gray gaze had
darkened with emotion. The muscle in his jaw throbbed as it usually
did when he was angry or upset. A shiver of pleasure shook her at
the pure, male, animal magnetism he exuded. “Not really. I’m sure
he’s just some new kid at school. We’ll find out soon enough.”
Craig watched the play of emotions on
his wife’s face and in her gaze. Sparkling like rare, precious gems
those expressive blue eyes changed from shining sapphire to smoky,
midnight blue. Shifting from laughter to soothing to something more
basic, more primitive in the span of a heartbeat, she still had the
power to capture him with a single look. Pushing back his chair, he
walked to where she sat.
"Ride with me today," he urged,
pulling her into his arms.
"It's too cold," she argued. "Stay
home today," she countered, slipping her arms around his neck while
pressing her body against his in blatant invitation.
His daughter's appearance was
forgotten. So was the work he had planned for that day.
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