Free The Counterfeit Cowgirl by Kathryn Brocato Page A

me, Felicity Clayton. How dare that ungrateful old biddy go around sayin’ you robbed her bank account?” Becky took a furious turn around the room. “I told you what would happen if you extended a helpin’ hand to her, so don’t say I didn’t warn you. She may have been my mother, but she was a wicked, vicious old hag. It’s her fault you’re lyin’ there at death’s door this very minute.”
    Aaron stood quietly in the kitchen, just out of sight, and listened, unabashed. Like almost everyone who enjoyed country music, he was familiar with the high points of Becky Lozano’s career. But he never had a clue that Lureen Tucker was Becky’s mother. No one had. It was incredible.
    “I’m hardly at death’s door.” Felicity’s voice was deliberately pitched, he suspected, to soothe her mother. “She was mentally sick. You can’t hold anything against her.”
    “Oh, yes, I can,” Becky spat. “I could’ve forgiven her for anything she ever did to me — and that was a lot, let me tell you — but
never
for what she did to my baby.”
    Felicity abandoned that argument. “Well, she certainly didn’t have anything to do with me trying to ride that horse.”
    Fascinated, Aaron took care not to advertise his presence in the kitchen by rattling or clinking anything.
    “Don’t you try and tell me she didn’t cause this,” Becky snarled. “Fenton told me what she was tellin’ people.”
    “Mama … ”
    “And I’ll bet all the neighbors around here think you stole your own money from the old witch. You in there,” Becky called. “Where’s that ice pack?”
    Aaron appeared with ice in a plastic bag and a clean dish towel. He hoped his expression conveyed his deep concern for Felicity’s health. She lay with her eyes closed while Becky lovingly tended to her forehead. Aaron had never seen anything like it.
    At least, not since the time two weeks ago when he’d watched Deborah place a similar pack on Joey when he fell and bumped his forehead. It was clear Becky intended to nurse her daughter back to health as if Felicity was a child.
    Felicity lay in silence while Becky ordered Aaron back to the kitchen. When he returned with the chamomile tea, Becky carefully centered the tea cup on the coffee table within easy reach of Felicity’s hand.
    Aaron said nothing. He knew better than to speak until Becky gave him leave. He’d thoughtfully made Becky a cup of chamomile tea also, and he set it on the coffee table before her.
    After carrying Felicity in his arms all the way across his lawn and Felicity’s to the accompaniment of Becky’s scolding, he had offered further assistance. It looked as though Becky intended to make full use of his services.
    Felicity’s brown eyes, so similar to Becky’s, watched him warily from beneath the edge of the ice pack. Aaron felt so ashamed of himself, he could hardly meet Felicity’s gaze. He still couldn’t believe he had been so obtuse. He had taken Lureen’s rambling statements as fact, even though he’d known she wasn’t quite normal.
    It served him right if he had to grovel a little. He stared at Felicity’s slender figure and swallowed. He couldn’t have lived with himself if she’d been seriously hurt.
    Becky gulped down scalding chamomile tea. “Thanks. I ain’t usually so rude, but seeing my baby all laid out on the ground by that awful bronco of yours was just too much.”
    “My apologies, Ms. Lozano.” Aaron made no foolish attempt to defend his horse. “I should never have let her ride Rhyolite.”
    “You sure as heck shouldn’t have,” Becky agreed, although her rich voice sounded much more mellow.
    “She’s a very brave young woman,” Aaron said. “Not just anyone could stay on Rhyolite the way she did.”
    Felicity rolled her eyes. He could see the slight movements of her face beneath the ice pack before Becky reached over and adjusted it.
    Becky collapsed onto one of the dirty old armchairs that Felicity had thrown a sheet over.