Cowboy Come Home

by Carly Bloom

  Her mother was his anchor.

  And Claire knew that she, Gerome Kowalski’s one and only daughter, was her father’s reason for being.

  You’re why God put me on this earth, princess.

  If Ford was right, and the ranch was struggling…

  Twelve thousand acres of Texas Hill Country with multiple sources of water was probably worth a fortune. In her father’s mind, it would set her and her mom up for life, and they wouldn’t be burdened by the very hard work of running a ranch.

  For a moment, it felt as if the ground beneath her wasn’t solid. As if it might shift and split and swallow her up. She might as well be back at the dam, trying not to sink. Or in the middle of Wailing Woman crossing, watching the water rise.

  A sharp pain hit her right below the rib cage. She tried to inhale and found that she couldn’t. A light sweat broke out all over her body. Good grief, was she having a panic attack? She’d never had one. What did they feel like?

  A warm hand landed on her shoulder. “Breathe, Claire.”

  She looked into a pair of cool hazel eyes. Calm eyes. She took a shaky breath.

  Ford rubbed her shoulder, and she focused on the weight of his hand. It anchored her, and the ground stopped shifting.

  “This is my home, Ford,” she said. “I’m Claire Kowalski of Rancho Cañada Verde. It’s who I am. It is literally how people introduce me. And you’re right. I don’t know the first thing about running this ranch, and I don’t even know how that happened.”

  Actually, she did know how it had happened. Rancho Cañada Verde was her home, and she loved roaming its valleys and climbing its limestone hills. She’d loved the summer days of her childhood spent swinging off rope swings into the Rio Verde, nights around a campfire beneath a blanket of stars, and the sheer delight of being a girl with a horse and twelve thousand acres. But while the beautiful landscape fed her soul, her heart and mind grew weary from the isolation. Claire, an extrovert through and through, needed people. So as soon as she was old enough to drive, she’d gotten a job at the Dairy Dream in town. And after college, she’d worked fashion retail jobs until Maggie had brought her on board at Petal Pushers.

  The constant flow of folks in and out, the ever-changing faces and stories and juicy gossip…You didn’t get that kind of energy on the ranch.

  And speaking of people and how important they were, another thought struck her. “What about Beau and Bryce? And the others who work here full-time?”

  Ford shrugged his shoulders. “It’s unfortunate, but they’re cowboys. There’s always work somewhere.”

  “You don’t understand,” Claire said fiercely. “This is their home. Beau and Bryce have never lived anywhere else.”

  “I know their daddy was the foreman.”

  “For twenty-seven years,” Claire said. “When he retired, Dad offered him the cabin and two acres.”

  “He didn’t want it?”

  Claire grinned. Even under these circumstances, the image of Mr. Montgomery wearing Bermuda shorts and a cowboy hat on the beach made it difficult to keep a straight face. “No,” she said. “He always wanted to live near the Gulf. He and Mrs. Montgomery moved into a condo in Corpus Christi. They’re having the time of their lives.”

  “See? People move on.”

  That might be true. But it was easier for some folks than it was for others. And Claire might be adventuresome, but she wasn’t a moving on kind of woman. She was the kind of woman whose roots dug deep down into the earth and didn’t let go.

  Her father thought she wasn’t strong enough to inherit the ranch. That she couldn’t keep it going by herself. It wasn’t often that Gerome Kowalski was wrong about anything. But he was wrong about this.

  Claire looked up at Ford. “I want you to teach me how to run this ranch. Dad doesn’t need to keep up the search for a new foreman. I’ll step into the position after you leave, and he’ll see it’s in good, capable hands and that there’s no need to entertain silly notions like selling it.”

  Ford made the very serious mistake of grinning.

  “You? As foreman?”

  “Or…forewoman. Whatever you want to call it. And please wipe that grin off your face. You look ridiculous. Also, a little sexist.”

  Ford’s grin disappeared. “You should know me better than that, Claire. I was raised by my mom, my grannie, and my aunt Lucy. They quite literally beat a healthy respect for women into me.”

  “But you don’t think women should run ranches?”

  “It’s not the woman part of your suggestion that surprises me. It’s the Claire part.”

  That was even worse! “I didn’t think it was possible for you to be even more insulting, but look at you powering through.”

  “Now, listen. You’ve misunderstood me. I know you’re—”

  “Capable? Is that what you were going to say?”

  “Yes, actually. That’s exactly what I was going to say. But—”

  “Nothing that comes before the ‘but’ matters.”

  That was something her dad always said, and it was true. Ford was about to say she was capable but, and then list all the reasons why she wasn’t capable.

  “Forget I said the b-word. You’re obviously capable. But do you want to run this ranch? You’re so happy working at Petal Pushers. Will you get the same joy from being a foreman?”

  “It doesn’t really matter what I want.”

  “I think you’re wrong. It matters a lot.”

  “Maggie is selling Petal Pushers,” Claire said. “So, it’s a moot point.”

  “Oh,” Ford said. “To who?”

  “To anybody! Jesus, I don’t know. Why do you care?”

  Ford raised his eyebrows.

  “I’m sorry—”

  Ford put a hand up. “You don’t owe me an apology.”

  “It’s just that…Well, I’d hoped to buy it and make it my own. I’m disappointed. But it doesn’t matter. What matters is that Rancho Cañada Verde is my family’s home. And it’s Ruben’s home, and Beau and Bryce’s home—”

  Ford shook his head and stared at his hands. “Your dad is trying to do what’s best for you. And I’m not sure you know what that is. But if you want to learn how to run this ranch, I’ll do my best to teach you in the time I have.”

  “Great,” Claire said. “When do we start?”

  “The same time as always. At sunup.”

  Claire gulped. She’d seen her share of sunrises, but she’d almost always been on her way to bed at the time.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lights glowed through the bunkhouse’s kitchen window, and Claire could clearly see three figures standing there. They were probably laughing at her.

  Whatever. She sat up straight in her saddle and squared her shoulders.

  A girl needed chaps if she was going to chase calves and heifers through the brush. And the only chaps Claire owned happened to be the ones she’d worn as Hill Country Rodeo Queen. They were red, white, and blue, and patterned like the Texas flag with its lone star in rhinestones.

  She’d worn them in arenas. She’d worn them in parades. Heck, they’d even appeared in a Texas Monthly photo spread called “Women on the Range.” But she’d never worn them to work on the ranch.

  She was excited. She hadn’t ridden fence lines since she was a kid, when her dad would take her out, just the two of them.

  Let’s ride them fences, princess.

  The rides, often at sunset, were some of Claire’s sweetest memories. Her dad would take a blanket and a snack of cheese and dried summer sausage, which he’d cut with his pocketknife while telling her stories about the ranch. To this day, she didn’t know which ones were true and which ones were made up. Had pirates really buried treasure in Quartz Cave? Probably (most definitely) not. But it didn’t matter. They were Rancho Cañada Verde stories. They were her stories.

  When had the sunset rides stopped? Most likely around high school. Suddenly, there’d been dances and football games and her afterschool job
at the Dairy Dream. Then came college. She’d never forget her dad standing in the middle of her dorm room dressed in his fancy ostrich boots and straw Stetson that made him look even bigger than he was, and he was already larger than life. She’d been embarrassed and wished he’d worn cargo shorts and a polo shirt like the other dads.

  If she could go back to that day, she’d rise up on her toes to give him a kiss instead of shrugging and rolling her eyes.

  Dang it. She was going to start crying just as she arrived at the bunkhouse porch.

  Shake it off, Kowalski.

  The door opened and there stood Ford. With the light shining from the cabin behind him, she couldn’t see his face or his features, but there was no doubt it was him. She recognized the way he held his shoulders, the tilt of his hat—brim pulled low—and the way his hips moved when he finally stepped through the door.

  Her heart rushed out to meet him, leaving her breathless. Could you put a leash on your heart? Because hers needed one. It felt like an out-of-control slobbering puppy.

  She didn’t dare dismount out of fear she’d follow her stupid heart and leap right into Ford’s arms, which would be especially embarrassing since he wasn’t even looking at her.

  “Good morning, Claire,” he said, heading for Coco with the saddlebag. “You’re right on time.”

  He was pretending he didn’t see the chaps. “I know you want to say something, so go ahead and get it over with.”

  Ford messed with the buckles on his bag. “Say something about what?”

  “About the chaps.”

  “You can’t wear those,” he said, without even looking up.

  Oh, she was dang well going to wear them. “They’re perfectly functional.”

  And custom made.

  Ford turned to face her and the sun caught his eyes. Her heart began panting and quivering. It was going to leg-hump him if she didn’t get it to heel.

  “Functional for showboating, maybe. But not for working. Take them off.”

  No way. They were protecting her Guess jeans. “They’re all I’ve got.”

  “There’s a spare pair of chinks in the bunkhouse.”

  Chinks were a shorter version of chaps, and they were awful. They came mid-calf, and nothing that came mid-calf was flattering on anybody. “These are fine. Might as well get some use out of them.”

  Beau and Bryce came out of the bunkhouse, both grinning like idiots. For some reason, Beau saluted, and Bryce began singing, “The eyes of Texas are upon you…”

  Ford walked over and stood right next to Claire’s right leg. He touched a rhinestone. “These are going to catch the sun, and then no heifer in her right mind is going to let you anywhere near her.”

  Claire crossed her arms while Ford lifted some fringe.

  “And this is going to get caught in brush and cactus. If it gets hung up on some barbed wire, you’re coming off of your horse. But most importantly, if you’re going to be the ranch foreman, you need to be taken seriously. And those two”—he pointed over his shoulder at the twins—“are going to start shouting Remember the Alamo any minute.”

  He was probably right about that.

  “Your rodeo princess days are over, Claire. Go change.”

  The sunrise was casting everything in a yellow hue, and Claire hoped it covered the blush she felt creeping up her cheeks. Because Ford wasn’t wrong. About any of it. And she hated that.

  “Queen,” she muttered under her breath.

  “Pardon?”

  “I was a rodeo queen,” she said, getting down from the horse.

  “Whatever you say, Your Majesty. Just get your royal ass into a pair of chinks. We’re burning daylight.”

  “The daylight hasn’t even gotten off to a decent start—”

  Ford popped her on the behind with a rolled map. “Get a move on,” he said sternly.

  But she’d caught the grin. And it sent her reeling.

  * * *

  Ford wiped the sweat out of his eyes with the back of his sleeve.

  Damn. He should have known Claire would make him eat her dust after being forced out of her fancy chaps. She and Cinder had taken off like it was the Kentucky Derby, and it was all he could do to keep up. He marked the map with the latest spot that needed new posts and wires, and then rolled it back up.

  Beau and Bryce were out on ATVs with a drone, which would be able to nab a bird’s-eye view of the fence lines that were harder to reach.

  Claire was up ahead, working a calf out of the brush. The thing was bawling for its mama, and the mama was bawling back from the other side of the fence in the rye pasture. The calf had gotten out and couldn’t figure how to get back in.

  Inexperienced cowboys might start hollering and chasing the calf, but an instinctive one knew how to quietly round up a straggler and get it where it needed to go without stirring up a fuss.

  Claire was instinctive. And holy shit, she could cut that horse on a dime. You could tell she and Cinder had competed in barrel racing. Earlier, Ford had just sat back and watched as they’d brought four heifers and three calves down from the limestone hills. One of the calves had been like a cat on a hot tin roof, running every which way, and then the other two would try to follow. Claire and Cinder stayed one step ahead of them the whole time. Neither one of them even broke a sweat.

  And truth be told, Claire probably could have done it in rhinestones.

  She liked sparkly things. Flashy things. High-heeled shoes and low-cut blouses. Red nails and shiny lips. This was nothing new to Ford. His mom and aunt never missed their Friday at the beauty shop, and they could work their way through a drugstore makeup aisle while blindfolded. But Claire’s sparkly, fancy things were decidedly more expensive.

  She was used to the finer things in life.

  But finer things or no, like his own former rodeo queen mama, she was tough as nails. And she was smart. There was no doubt in his mind that she could learn how to run this ranch. But would it put a smile on her face the way working at Petal Pushers did?

  Ranches weren’t gardens that attracted social butterflies. Most cowboys were loners who wanted to be given a job and the freedom to go about doing it without having to talk to anybody but the cows. And it was sunup-to-sundown work. And often weekend work. There wasn’t a lot of down time for socializing. Not that any of them wanted it.

  But one thing he’d learned about Claire was that she thrived on social time. Good Lord, watching her with his mother and aunt and sister at Thanksgiving had been a hoot.

  He swatted at a fly. Thanksgiving had been a mistake. If it hadn’t been for his brother Worth setting his ass straight, things would have gotten even worse than they had.

  Jarvis men didn’t settle down. And they really didn’t do it with women like Claire. Women who were like one of those big wrapped Christmas presents that had another wrapped box inside. And another. And another. A million little surprises nestled inside of each other like the Russian doll his grannie kept on a shelf.

  Claire deserved a man who was going to stick around long enough to unwrap each and every gift. And take his time doing it. Not one who was only going to get through one or two bows before getting an itch to move on.

  A voice from some place stupid in the back of his head said, But what if you don’t get the itch to move on?

  He snorted. Jarvis men always got the itch. The fact that he wasn’t feeling it right now didn’t mean a damn thing. And the itch was good. It’s what got you moving before bad luck set in.

  “Are you done napping over there?” Claire hollered.

  Her hair had come down and she skillfully whipped it up into some kind of knot and stuck her hat on it.

  “I was marking the map for Kit and Manuel,” he said. “They’re restringing wire along the highway right now. But they’ll be hitting these spots next. And we need to get some hay out so these girls will stay put while they work.”

  Claire and Cinder trotted over. “Do we have hay in the eastern barn?”

  “
Don’t know. This time of year, probably not. We’ll have to get it hauled in this afternoon.”

  “I’m not going to be around in the afternoon,” Claire said. “I have to get to Petal Pushers.”

  “I thought it was closing.”

  “Well, it’s not closed yet. And I’ve got a craft session scheduled at two o’clock. I doubt many people will come considering the state of things. But I need to be there just in case.”

  Ford remembered how much she loved teaching those craft classes. He added artist to the long list of things Claire was good at.

  “Hungry?” Ford asked.

  “Starving.”

  “I’ll race you to Comanche Hill.”

  He didn’t wait around for a response. He and Coco took off. Claire could eat his dust for a change. Comanche Hill was nearby, and there was a huge oak tree they could picnic under. He didn’t have to look over his shoulder to know she and Cinder were hot on his and Coco’s heels.

  He could feel the tug. Hell, it was like Coco felt it, too. Ford could swear the damn animal was holding back, either wanting the girls to catch up or maybe even let them win.

  Traitor.

  But they didn’t win. He and Coco arrived at the giant oak first, and he dismounted and grabbed lunch out of the saddlebag.

  He didn’t look up when Claire and Cinder arrived on the scene a few seconds later, just set about laying out the spread.

  “You cheated,” Claire said.

  “How?”

  “You took off before I even agreed to race you! In fact, I didn’t agree. This wasn’t a race, so you didn’t win.”

  “If you say so,” Ford said, pulling out his pocketknife to slice the ring of summer sausage he’d brought.

  “I do say so,” Claire said, hopping down from her horse.

  “I got here first, though.”

  Claire punched him lightly on the arm before sitting on the grass.

  She sighed and looked at the valley below. “Everything is perfect up here on the hill. You’d never know there’d been a flood.”