Reunited with the Cowboy

by Claire McEwen

  “Okay, sure.” She could do this. Her worst fears, of being judged or rejected or reminded of her past, were just that. Fears. She’d faced down Caleb. Yelled at him, even. If she could do that, she could do anything.

  “There’s also a slideshow about preventing predation. I’ll email that.”

  “Right. A slideshow.” Her words came out stilted as she tried to picture herself presenting at a town council meeting. Would people listen? Would they whisper gossip about the accident?

  Cooper reminded her of a few other administrative details, like turning in her time sheet. While she listened, Maya noticed a sound coming from some low blackberry bushes on the other side of her truck. She walked around to look, but didn’t see anything but dusty brambles.

  When the conversation was over, Maya put her phone in her pocket and went to kneel by the bushes, trying to see underneath the tangled canes. They were swaying now, like whatever was in there was moving around, maybe stuck in the thorns. She heard a low whining noise. “Who’s there?” she called.

  Another whine and the brambles shook wildly, then parted, and a black nose poked out. It was attached to a light brown muzzle, framed by a big square head. Dark eyes peered at Maya hopefully, and fuzzy ears perked up and then forward.

  “Hey, it’s okay. You can come out of there.” The dog crawled out into the open. It was all angles and bones and scruffy brown fur, covered in foxtails and burrs. With a jolt, Maya realized that it was missing its rear left leg. An old injury, thank goodness, but still...the poor dog. It crouched before her, cowering a little. One big ear flopped forward like a folded napkin.

  “Holy smokes, look at you.” She held out her hand, knuckles down, and kept as still as she could, crouched there in the gravel, eye to eye with the dog, who, now that it had her attention, was watching her warily.

  “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you,” Maya promised. Gray hair flecked its muzzle and etched the brows above its eyes. Eyes that held a world of hurt. The poor creature had probably been abandoned somewhere on this road.

  “You’re safe,” she promised. “Come with me. I’ll take care of you.” This guy needed a rescue. Good thing Cooper had called when he did, and that she’d pulled over here.

  The fuzzy, lopsided ears came up, and the dog rose and took a few tentative steps forward, until its nose, cold and damp, snuffed at Maya’s knuckles with a few loud breaths. It retreated, growled low and regarded her with a suspicious glare.

  “You’re confused. Wondering if I might hurt you,” Maya said. “I won’t.” She turned sideways, put her hand out again and waited. This situation felt familiar, and then it hit her. Caleb was like this dog. Wounded. Trying to reach forward for connection. Retreating back into his fear. Growling to cover it up.

  Though somehow it was a lot easier to be compassionate with a dog than with an angry man who’d broken your heart.

  She could rescue this dog, but who could rescue Caleb? He’d made it clear he didn’t want her help, but maybe she could speak with someone else who could try. Was he still friends with Jace? Grandma had mentioned that he was back in town. Or maybe Caleb would listen to Grandma? They’d always really liked each other, before the accident.

  And then she knew the right person. Annie, from The Book Biddies. Annie was one of the most respected ranchers in the area. Caleb would listen to her, if he was going to listen to anyone. He needed help with his ranch and with his life. If anyone could set him on the right path with both, it was no-nonsense Annie Brooks.

  Relief that she had a plan, a way to possibly still help him, took away some of the tension Maya had felt ever since she’d left the Bar D. She’d phone Annie, just as soon as she got this dog figured out, and ask her to go see Caleb.

  And indirectly, by sending Annie to help, maybe Maya would be able to make some amends for her role in Julie’s death, and all the ruin that had come after it.

  Hope rose and lifted some of the strain off Maya’s shoulders. What did Grandma always say growing up? Grandma had a saying for every occasion. Oh yes. Where there’s possibility, there’s hope.

  The big dog, as if sensing that, crept closer again, its broad pink tongue swooping over the back of her hand. Like he’d finally decided he could trust her.

  “Hey.” Maya smiled at the rough tongue and the bushy tail that had perked up and was wagging over the dog’s back like a flag. “Are you going to let me take you home?”

  She stood slowly, ran a hand gently over the dog’s head and down its back, wincing at the knobby backbone and the sharp ribs. The dog was thin, but as far as she could tell, he—she peeked underneath to confirm—yes, he, wasn’t injured. A bath, a vet trip and a few good meals, and he might be just about fine.

  Maya wasn’t sure what her grandmother would think about a three-legged canine visitor, but there was no way Maya could leave the poor animal here. Maybe if Grandma didn’t like him, one of The Book Biddies would have an idea of where he could go. Maybe Annie would fall for the old dog and want him to keep her company out on her ranch.

  Because how could she not fall in love with those floppy, fluffy ears and the dark yearning eyes?

  “I’m calling you Einstein,” she told the dog. “You look wise and those gray eyebrows...well, they’re very distinguished.”

  Maya went around to the passenger side of the truck and pulled an old towel out from behind the seat. She laid it down before looking back at the dog. “Want to get in?”

  The dog shambled over, moving pretty smoothly on three legs. At the truck, it eyed the height into the passenger seat with a dubious expression and turned to look up at Maya, the question clear in his big brown eyes.

  “Really? You want a lift?” Maya sighed. “Well, I suppose a missing leg gets you certain accommodations in life.”

  She ran her hands over the dog’s body, trying to see if he flinched at all. He seemed like a big teddy bear, but she didn’t want to assume that and then have him turn around and bite her.

  He didn’t seem to mind her touch. In fact he leaned into her, as if, now that he’d decided to trust her, he was relieved to have her take some of his weight. Or maybe he was just relieved to not be alone anymore. Maya knelt and wrapped an arm around his big chest and another around his backside. He was a big dog—he had to be part German shepherd—and she wasn’t actually sure she could lift him.

  “Small but mighty,” she muttered, her motto when she was on the trail with her backpack full of gear. Pushing off with her legs, she stood, staggered, but managed to get the dog level with the passenger seat and maneuver him close enough that his front paws were on the towel.

  With a wiggle and an awkward kick with his one back leg, he was on the seat. He sat down like he belonged there and looked over at Maya with a concerned expression wrinkling the fur between his eyes. As if he was asking, Well, what are you waiting for?

  “I’m coming.” Maya wiped her hands on her jeans and shut the truck door, walking around to the driver’s side again. She fastened her seat belt and glanced at her new companion. “Ready?”

  She could swear that her new friend nodded, his eyes so full of soul and so oddly human that it was easy to imagine he knew exactly what she was saying.

  “Okay. We’re going to stop by the vet and see if they can check you over. Then we’ll go home and meet my grandmother.”

  The filthy brown fur ball blinked once. And then calmly watched the road ahead as Maya drove them into town.

  Strange how one morning could have so much to it. The horror of finding Caleb on the porch. A little hope when it seemed like they might work together. And then despair when their past came crashing down between them. A work mandate from her boss that she wasn’t actually sure she was capable of. And then this dog here, who needed her immediate help and reminded her that Caleb did too, even if he didn’t want to admit it yet.

  She looked over at Einstein. “Things ha
ve been a little rough for both of us. But we’re going to be just fine. Don’t you fret.”

  The big dog flopped down on the seat and put his head in her lap. Either he trusted her promise or he was just too tired to stay awake any longer. Or maybe he felt like she did. That he belonged here, with her.

  CHAPTER SIX

  CALEB HAULED HARD on the wire, bracing himself against the fence post, driving the staple into the splintery wood. It would be a whole lot easier if he had someone to help him with this task, but that required a budget he didn’t have.

  And maybe this was better—therapeutic—his body braced, pulling wire, leveraging the post, muscles straining until his triceps, biceps, lats and pecs were all on fire. Pain was good; it grounded you, distracted you and reminded you that you were still here. Not dead and buried out on this empty ranch.

  He hadn’t minded the quiet out here so much at first. After years of shared barracks, shared tents and shared dirt under a desert sky, he’d been ready for solitude. For a night unblemished by other men’s snores and grunts and all that breathing.

  The ranch had been blissfully quiet. Soothingly peaceful. There was all that space and it was all his.

  But after Maya had left here two days ago—so furious, so upset—the solitude had felt a little less comfortable. Too much quiet let your thoughts get loud. And his weren’t just loud; they were as tangled and twisted as this wire. Weighed down with the terrible things he’d said. And she’d said.

  And all the things he didn’t say. The things he’d wanted to.

  He got tongue-tied around emotion. Like he wasn’t fluent in the language. His had never been an effusive family. Mom and Dad were both quiet, hardworking, practical people. Caleb had been expected to grow up and man up and deal with whatever came his way.

  Which was good in some ways. It helped him through years at war. But in the moments that mattered, when there was something big that needed saying, he got stuck. Like he didn’t have the vocabulary for what was going on inside him.

  And because of that, he’d ruined something with Maya on her visit. Some chance at contact, some chance at a change in the old hurt between them.

  He drove the heavy staple into the post with one blow of his hammer. It wasn’t just the emotions that ruined him. He’d lashed out—at her success and his failure, at the way she’d found him, passed out like some derelict on his porch. The image of that empty bottle had been slowly spinning in his head ever since. And the horror on her face when she’d realized what it meant.

  Caleb reached down for more wire, carefully avoiding the sharp points. A metaphor for his life, because avoiding pain was pretty much what he did now. By drinking. By fighting. By pushing anyone who might cause him any hurt right out of his life.

  Just like he’d done with Maya.

  Adam was right. He had to grow up, he had to face what was going on with him. He’d been a Marine, a soldier, and that was still the kind of man he should be. Not a coward who hid in a bottle because he was afraid of his memories. Not a loser who refused to shoulder blame that was his.

  Ever since Maya had come and gone, Caleb had been trying to do things differently. Instead of the bottle before bed, he’d gone for a run, done pushups and worked on fixing up his house, until he was so tired, his mind had no choice but to let him sleep. And when the nightmares came, he refused to medicate. He’d drunk water, read a book or cuddled Hobo, and somehow he’d eventually dozed off.

  Of course he’d woken from a dream, twisting and sweating, at 4:00 a.m. today, knowing there was no way he was getting back to sleep. So he’d come out here to work, to watch the foggy sky go from dark to gray, to feel the thick marine layer—a dense, wet summer fog—coat everything in refreshing dampness.

  The sky, the horizon and the newly mowed field beyond—it was all waking under the mist. It might have been a rough night, but this was a good way to start the day.

  The sound of a truck in the driveway had him straining to see who might be coming out here before seven o’clock on a Saturday morning. It was a pickup he didn’t recognize at first, a deep gray color that instantly classified it as not-Maya’s, which should have been a relief but somehow tasted more like disappointment.

  The truck pulled up by the barn, and a lone figure jumped out of the driver’s seat and started toward him. A tall, thin woman, holding something in each hand and a bag on her arm.

  Caleb blinked through the blowing mist and started toward her, wiping his filthy hands on his jeans.

  “Good morning,” she called cheerfully. “I thought you might want some coffee.”

  It took him a moment to recognize her. Annie Brooks. Head of the local ranchers’ association and breeder of some of the finest wool sheep on the West Coast. They’d met often when Caleb was young, when Annie and his dad would stop by each other’s ranches for a chat and a little friendly competition. But he hadn’t seen her since he’d been home. What was she doing here now?

  Then she handed him a cup from the Creek Café, and he inhaled the strong coffee scent, and he didn’t care why she was here. “Thanks.” He raised his cup in a salute to hers. “What brings you to the Bar D?”

  “I wanted to see how you’re doing.” She walked toward the fence he’d been working on. “It’s not easy, bringing a place like this back to life.”

  He followed, trying not to notice the bag tucked under her arm, because maybe she’d picked up a few pastries from the café as well, and suddenly the breakfast he’d never had didn’t seem like enough.

  She must have read his mind, because she handed him the bag. “Danish. Wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I got a few types.”

  His stomach rumbled loud enough for her to hear. He hadn’t eaten since the can of chili he’d heated up last night.

  Annie grinned. “Guess I got here just in time.”

  Caleb tried to remember what he knew about Annie. A fixture in the ranching community around here since well before he was born, a fierce advocate for sustainable ranching practices. He knew that because she wrote a column in the Shelter Creek Sentinel once a month. She’d been on the town council, never had kids that he knew of, was a widow and was good friends with...Maya’s grandmother. Caleb remembered seeing her at Maya’s grandma’s annual backyard barbecues.

  “Did Maya send you?”

  Annie shot him an amused glance. “She mentioned your meeting didn’t go so well. But I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to speak with you myself.” A thin spark of a smile added dimples to her weatherworn cheeks. “Is that okay with you?”

  Caleb felt his face get warm under its coating of mist. “Of course.” He set his coffee on the fence post and reached in the bag for a Danish. He took an enormous bite of the sweet bread, and what seemed like apricot and blackberries, and just about passed out from the perfection. “And if you bring these, you can come anytime,” he mumbled through the crumbs.

  Annie laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Then her tone dipped into serious. “I’m here because, frankly, I’m a little worried about you. This ranch needs a lot of work, and if the rumors are true, your dad didn’t leave you with a lot to work with.”

  Shame washed most of the taste out of the pastry and Caleb swallowed it in a lump. Chased it with a gulp of coffee before he let himself answer. “I don’t know who’s been spreading those rumors, but I’m fine.”

  Annie nodded thoughtfully, but didn’t answer. Instead she surveyed the field on the other side of the fence. “Looks like you mowed this pretty recently.”

  “Yup.” After a few hours in the junkyard, searching for the right water pump, and a few hours more putting it in, he’d gotten the old tractor running again. He’d mowed yesterday afternoon, trying not to feel guilty about the various critters who’d taken off running when they’d heard him coming. Maya had been right: that field had been a small animal buffet, an open invitation to predators to
take up residence on his ranch.

  She’d been right, and he’d been a jerk.

  “So, look,” Annie said briskly. “I’m here because I want to see you succeed. I want the Bar D to make a comeback. I can offer you advice, I can lend you a ram or two if you need them at breeding time and the Ranchers Guild has money available. It’s set aside for hardships, and son, you’ve got a fair number of them here. If you need some money, you just say the word.”

  Caleb’s whole head was on fire—he was so damn embarrassed. “I know you mean it kindly, Annie, but I don’t want to be the local charity case.”

  She puffed right up like an indignant hen. “You are not that, Caleb Dunne. You spent over a decade serving our country. Risking your life and dealing with God-knows-what. Now you’ve come home to a property that’s been long neglected and the community would like to help you fix it up a little. That’s all. It’s not charity—it’s common decency. So please don’t let your pride stand in the way.”

  He felt about ten years old, with her scolding him like that. And part of him—the soldier, the warrior—wanted to tell her to get off his land. Because accepting her help felt like accepting defeat.

  She must have read his mind because she said quietly, “When you were out there fighting, were you expected to do it alone?”

  “Of course not.” He picked up his shovel, leaned on it, wanting something to do—anything—because this was so uncomfortable. What was it with the Shelter Creek women anyway? So much meddling and prying. And the worst thing was he probably really did need their help, and the fact that they could see it made him all the more pathetic.

  “So, why do you need to do this alone?” She gestured to the barn behind them, the downed fence at their feet. “People would love to help you. We’d love to have a chance to thank you for your service and get you back on your feet. You’re born and raised in Shelter Creek. You’re one of us.”

  Caleb cleared the ache out of his throat. “I don’t know, Annie. I appreciate the offer. I really do. But I have to think on it.”