Cowboy Come Home

by Carly Bloom

The view before him was stunning. The giant live oaks rose majestically in the front pasture, set against what looked like an airbrushed sunset of orange, red, and burnt umber. It reminded him of melting sherbet on a hot summer day, or the mingling colors of an artist’s palette, or…

  Claire’s hair cascading down her bare back.

  The Hill Country sunset before him paled in comparison. How he’d loved running his fingers through Claire’s hair while it magically changed colors depending on the light. It had been the color of a cinnamon stick when she’d ridden away this afternoon, leaving the taste of her kiss on his lips.

  Watching her climb had been amazing. She’d been so focused and strong, and yet, she’d taken a dumb risk, and she’d done it alone. It made him shiver to think about what could have happened.

  He had marks etched in his rough palms from holding that rope so tightly. Every muscle in his body had been taut with tension. Every brain cell focused on where Claire was going to put her feet and fingers next. And then when she’d made it to the top, the relief had knocked him senseless. Made him soft.

  He’d lost his mind and kissed her.

  Ford crossed his hands over his stomach and inhaled deeply. He’d known that coming back would stir old feelings, but he’d thought he would be tough enough to ward them off.

  He’d had a lot of practice keeping his feelings under lock and key. Especially after Abby drowned. His mom had fallen apart often, so Ford had had to keep it together. The heartache, the goddam guilt…

  It was easier when he kept moving. He’d left home to work on a ranch out west the minute he’d turned eighteen. And ever since then, if feelings surfaced, he dealt with them by riding or roping or hammering fence posts like he was driving a stake through the heart of a monster.

  He’d thought he could do the same with his feelings for Claire, but so far, he was barely keeping a lid on them. The pot was simmering, just below a full boil, and the lid was dancing and rattling like the tail of a diamondback. Maybe tomorrow things would get back to normal. She’d go into town to work at Maggie’s, and he’d start riding and roping and hammering fence posts. Work it all out of his system.

  Nail that lid down.

  He took a deep breath. The thick, honey scent of bluebonnets settled over his senses. The iconic Texas wildflower was just starting to emerge from its sleepy winter slumber. In another week or so, pastures everywhere would turn into vast oceans of blue waves.

  Bluebonnets. The exact color of Claire’s eyes.

  He shook his head and tried to focus on the sounds around him. If he did that, Claire’s eyes would be forced out of the picture. His mind was a small place. Couldn’t hold it all.

  Crickets chirped, bullfrogs croaked, and tree frogs screeched, singing the ballad of the Hill Country. It all amounted to Mother Nature being horny. Sex was what kept the world spinning. The frogs and bugs were just trying to attract mates, and the wildflowers were putting it all out there for the bees.

  Men were no different. They were just horny bullfrogs hoping for a bit of immortality, and places like honky-tonks were where they went to croak and prance about. The two-step was nothing more than a mating dance.

  Ford had done his share of croaking and two-stepping in honky-tonks. Hell, he was a Jarvis, after all. Although, for the last two years he hadn’t much felt like croaking.

  Ever since Claire.

  The screen door slammed, startling him, and cold droplets hit his arm. He looked up to see one of the twins holding out a beer. Ford accepted it and took a swig. It felt good going down. “Thanks.”

  “Sure you don’t want to come to Tony’s with us?”

  Most of the downtown businesses, including the Corner Cafe and the Dairy Dream, had taken on water. Tony’s sat just on the outskirts of town, nowhere near a river or creek, and it was open for drinks, dancing, and bar food. They’d be doing a booming business tonight.

  “I plan to hit the sack the minute my clothes go in the dryer.”

  “We’ll try to be quiet when we come in, then.”

  “Thanks. That’s considerate of you—”

  “I’m just kidding. We’re going to be noisy as hell.”

  Ford laughed. That sounded more like it. Luckily, he slept like the dead when he was tired. They wouldn’t bother him.

  “Bryce!” the cowboy bellowed. “Get a move on.”

  So, this must be Beau.

  “I heard you and Claire checked out the dam?”

  News traveled fast on ranches.

  “Yep,” he said. “Didn’t see a thing other than a bunch of trash, which we need to organize some kind of cleanup for.”

  He skipped the part where Claire nearly drowned—again—before climbing up the side of a cliff.

  Beau shook his head. “I’m glad they found Alison. I can’t imagine what her parents were going through.”

  Ford could.

  It had taken three hours to find Abby.

  The screen door slammed again as Bryce, Kit, Manuel, and Emilio stepped onto the porch.

  Ford sneezed. “Jesus. You guys are wearing enough aftershave to choke a horse.”

  “I think it’s me,” Kit said. “I spilled some on my shirt.”

  “You’re not getting in my truck smelling like that,” Beau said. “Go in and change.”

  “Seriously?” Kit asked.

  “You’ve got two minutes. Then I’m leaving.”

  “Shit,” Kit said, rushing back inside.

  Beau sat in the rocking chair next to Ford while Bryce and the others sauntered over to the truck and leaned against it. Beau eyed Ford, making him uncomfortable. “Are you really leaving for West Texas in a few weeks? It seems like this foreman position is the perfect job for you. I mean, Rancho Cañada Verde is a beautiful ranch, and Gerome Kowalski knows how to run it.”

  Ford still couldn’t fathom the fact that Gerome was considering selling it. But he wanted to do what was best for his family. Wouldn’t any man?

  “I like West Texas,” Ford said. And it was true. He enjoyed the peace and solitude, two things he’d yet to experience since returning to Rancho Cañada Verde.

  “But what about Claire?” Beau asked.

  Ford nearly choked on his beer. “What about her?”

  “Aw, come on, Ford. You guys might have thought you were being discreet the last time you were here, but everybody knew what was going on.”

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ford said.

  Kit came bursting through the door, tucking his shirt in and ending the conversation. The stench was only slightly diminished.

  Beau stood and wrinkled his nose. “You’re sitting in the back, and we’re riding with the windows down.”

  He tipped his hat at Ford. “All I’m saying is we wouldn’t mind you sticking around for a while.”

  Ford nodded. It didn’t feel awful to have someone acknowledge your hard work, and to maybe indicate they even liked your company.

  “And I’m sure Claire feels the same way,” Beau added with a wink before heading to the pickup.

  Ford doubted that.

  She’d kissed him back, though.

  As the men drove off, he leaned back in the chair again and lowered the brim of his hat. He closed his eyes and tried to listen to horny nature. What he heard instead was the sound of a four-wheel ATV coming down the lane.

  * * *

  Claire came around the curve in the Polaris, saw the familiar figure of Ford sitting on the bunkhouse porch, and dang near turned around. But she’d promised her mom she’d deliver supper to the bunkhouse.

  She and Ford had avoided being in the same square foot for only three hours. She should have known he wouldn’t go back across Wailing Woman tonight.

  Her heart rose to her throat. She was not prepared to face him so soon after his lips had mistakenly made their way to hers, and she specifically wasn’t ready for it while he was shirtless and bathed in the glow of a sunset.

  Ford didn’t look up as she approached, even
though he surely heard her coming, and his hat was pulled down over his eyes as if he were sleeping, which he most definitely was not.

  It had been a trying and emotional day. And now she had a shitstorm of feels racing around like a dang dirt devil on steroids. So why did the sight of Ford’s bare feet, kicked up on the porch railing, calm her so? And why did it also make her pulse race?

  Seeing Ford was like seeing a welcome mat after a hard day. It perked you up and settled you down at the same time.

  If Ford was going to be around for the next few weeks, they were going to have to come to some kind of understanding.

  Like no more kissing.

  Because no matter how good a frog kissed (and this one kissed really well), he would not turn into a prince.

  She turned the engine off and grabbed the two gigantic bowls of spaghetti her mom had prepared. She noted the absence of Beau’s truck and the fact that it was unusually quiet. Was Ford here alone?

  He didn’t stir as she climbed the steps, nor did he look up when she stopped and stood right next to him. His hat was pulled over his face, leaving only his chin visible. No part of him acknowledged her presence.

  “If you start fake-snoring I’m going to drop one of these bowls of spaghetti on your head.”

  The chin moved a bit, yanked around by a half-assed grin.

  “I’m serious, Ford.”

  Ford sighed and raised his hat. He opened one eye and looked at her. “Is there something I can do for you? Pluck you out of a creek? Yank you up the side of a cliff?”

  “I was already out of the creek when you came along, and I climbed up that cliff by myself, thank you very much.”

  “You’re supposed to be avoiding me, remember?”

  “I wouldn’t have agreed to bring supper if I had known you were here.”

  Ford smirked and opened the other eye. The smirk turned into a smile as he took in her pink T-shirt with black lettering that said DON’T FLATTER YOURSELF, COWBOY—I’M ADMIRING YOUR HORSE.

  Ford absentmindedly dragged a hand across his chest and down his stomach. “Did you say supper?”

  Did he have any idea what it did to her when he rubbed his hand all over himself like that? She’d spent the ride back to the house and the thirty-minute shower and the time it took to help her mom with dinner rehashing all the reasons why another kiss absolutely could not ever happen.

  But now, looking at Ford, she couldn’t remember a single one.

  Something about frogs.

  “Spaghetti and meatballs.”

  He removed his bare feet from the railing and stood up. “Did you make it?”

  Claire laughed. “What do you think?”

  “I figure your mama made it.” Ford took a swig from the beer bottle on the railing, and then took the bowls from Claire’s hands. “The guys are out, but be sure and tell Miss Lilly thank you.”

  He turned for the door.

  “Well, good night then,” Claire said. Because he clearly wasn’t going to invite her in, and that was a good thing.

  So, why did she feel disappointed?

  Because she was a woman. And Ford was a man. And there was this thing called attraction, which she absolutely was not going to give in to. Ever.

  Ford opened the door with one hand while he balanced the spaghetti bowls with the other. Then he paused. “Would you like to come in?”

  Say no. Say no. Say no. Say—

  “Maybe just for a minute.”

  Betrayed by her own voice.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ford focused on shoveling spaghetti into his mouth while Claire fidgeted next to him at the table. Why the holy hell had he invited her in? Hadn’t he told her earlier today that they needed to stay away from each other?

  Her fault for showing up on his porch.

  Of course, it wasn’t his porch, and she hadn’t known he’d be there. But still…

  Why did you invite her in, idiot?

  Because his mama hadn’t raised a fool with no manners, that’s why. Not that you’d know it by watching him wolf down his food. But as long as his mouth was full, he couldn’t accidentally kiss her. Not without making a mess, anyway.

  He was running out of spaghetti. What were they going to do when that happened?

  “Would you like some more?” Claire asked. “I imagine the boys will eat at Tony’s. And you seem to be incredibly hungry.”

  Ford swallowed and wiped his mouth on a napkin. “I don’t think I could eat another bite.”

  That was the damn truth. He leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his neck. Claire’s eyes dipped down to his bare chest. Oh Lord…

  “I bet my clothes are dry,” he said, rising from his chair.

  Claire rose, too. “I’d probably better get going. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it was thrilling to watch you eat. But—”

  “I’m sorry about your dad,” he said softly. Because he was, indeed, very sorry about Gerome’s illness. And also, because—dammit dammit dammit—he didn’t want her to leave just yet.

  “Is that why you agreed to come back to the ranch?” she asked. “Because Dad is sick?”

  “No. I mean, I could tell something was up. But I wasn’t sure what it was. Just knew he needed me.” He ran a hand through his hair, remembering his earlier conversation in Gerome’s study. “He just told me why today.”

  “He just told me today, too,” Claire said. “I guess I’m glad you didn’t know before me. That would have hurt even worse.” Her voice cracked and her blue eyes got awful shiny.

  If she started crying, it was all over. He was going to take her in his arms, and then he was going to comfort her the only way he knew how, and then they were both going to regret it afterward.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. “I didn’t know you just found out today. You’ve had an awful lot of trauma in a short amount of time.”

  He knew what that could do to a person.

  “He seems confident, like always, and says it’s a very treatable form of cancer.”

  “We just need to get him over this hump,” Ford said. “And then don’t you worry. He’ll give up the silly notion of selling the ranch.”

  He knew it was a mistake as soon as he said it. There was no sign of acknowledgment on Claire’s face. No comprehension. Just a blankness. But it didn’t stay that way for long. While Ford’s mind stumbled around, looking for a way out, Claire’s jaw dropped. Her eyebrows rose. Then they dove down into a vicious frown as her hands found their way to her hips.

  “What did you say?”

  The phrase Don’t kill the messenger flashed through his mind. Why the hell hadn’t Gerome told him that Claire didn’t know? Probably because Gerome didn’t think he and Claire ever talked. Which they didn’t. So how had this happened?

  “Now, listen, Claire. There might have been some misunderstanding—”

  “Oh, you’re damn right there’s been a misunderstanding. Dad would never sell Rancho Cañada Verde!” Claire walked to the counter, spun around, and walked back to the table. “It’s been in our family for five generations! I’m the sixth. You’re just…Ford, you’re just wrong.”

  He wished he was. And he wished he hadn’t opened his big, goddammed mouth. But he had, and the truth was out of the bag. Still, it wasn’t set in stone. Gerome hadn’t sounded completely intent on selling the ranch.

  “It’s nowhere near a done deal, Claire. He’s just concerned is all. For one thing, beef prices are down, and nobody thinks they’re coming back up. Lots of ranches are struggling.”

  Claire bit her lip. Wrung her hands. “Are we?” she asked. “Struggling?”

  Gerome had indicated they might be. At least a little. But that was between Claire and Gerome. Ford hadn’t seen the books, and he didn’t want to. He’d gotten in deep enough already.

  “I don’t really know,” he said. “But this is a big ranch. It’s a lot of work. Gerome said he doesn’t want it to be a burden for you and your mom if—”

  Oh, shit. He h
adn’t meant to go there.

  “If what?”

  He swallowed. Hard. “I’m sure your dad is going to be fine. But he’s facing his mortality. He’s thinking about things. It’s only natural. My mom did it when she had breast cancer—”

  “She’s still doing fine?” Claire asked, eyes huge and filled with concern. “I’m so sorry, I haven’t even asked about her…”

  “You’ve been busy nearly drowning and learning your own dad has cancer,” Ford said. “And she’s doing fine. She’ll probably outlive us all. And…”

  He looked down at his bare feet. Cleared his throat.

  “What?” Claire asked.

  “She said to tell you hi,” he said.

  Claire smiled and put a hand to her chest. “Bless her heart.”

  There were two ways to use that phrase, and Claire had just uttered it in complete sincerity, as Southern women most often did.

  “Your dad is going to beat this, Claire. But someday, maybe a long time from now, this place is going to be yours. And like I said, it’s a lot. Gerome runs it like a well-oiled machine, but the reality is sweaty, gritty, and detailed work on one end. On the other, it’s like running a business and dealing with markets and subsidies and tariffs. It’s not easy.”

  “I know that,” Claire snapped.

  Ford didn’t say anything, because he didn’t know if she really did. Claire could rope. She could ride. But did she understand pasture rotation? Did she know how to keep breeding records? Did she know how much of Rancho Cañada Verde’s product was sent to Mexico? Did she keep up with the ever-changing laws in that regard?

  She was watching his face, and even though most people had a hard time figuring out what he was thinking, he got the feeling she was reading his mind.

  * * *

  Ford wasn’t lying. This much Claire knew. But was he mistaken? Had he misunderstood her dad?

  Rancho Cañada Verde was her father’s lifeblood. It was his anchor. His very reason for being. It was inconceivable that he would ever consider selling it. With the exception of his family, there was nothing Gerome Kowalski loved more than Rancho Cañada Verde.

  Family.

  Claire swallowed down a lump. Her dad would do anything for her and her mother. He’d said so over and over again. And while it was true that Rancho Cañada Verde was his lifeblood, it wasn’t really his anchor.