The Cowboy's Comeback

by Melissa Senate

  “But if we both want to and clearly we do—”

  She shook her head. “I’m attracted to you. No doubt. But like I said, I’m done with romance. And certainly with someone who broke my heart so bad I can still remember how hurt I was ten years later. I’m sorry, Holt. But I won’t go there.” She grabbed her bag and headed for the door. “I don’t want to disappoint Robby, so I won’t back out on him. But no more, Holt. We don’t sit on the same sofa anymore. Got it?”

  He managed something of a smile that he hardly felt. “Got it.”

  At least he knew for absolute sure that she was still attracted to him. The kiss last night could have been chalked up to nostalgia. But tonight had been pure chemistry and undeniable heat.

  He just had to prove to her that he’d changed, that he was the guy she’d always thought he was. He had a solid two weeks to do that, while she was here every day.

  And dammit, he’d do it.

  * * *

  “Good luck with that,” Brittany said with a warm smile. She and Amanda sat at the kitchen table in their condo the next morning, Amanda on her second cup of coffee and a barely touched bagel after telling her roommate all that had happened yesterday. “Look, I get why you’re wary of Holt. But like I said before, keep an open mind—even just a smidge open.”

  Amanda grimaced. “My mind is a smidge open—otherwise I wouldn’t have kissed him back last night. My hands were all over his chest! That brought back some serious memories. For a second there, I was so lost in ten years ago that I forgot I’m supposed to sit far away from Holt whenever we’re alone in a room together.”

  Brittany laughed, tucking an errant long ringlet behind her ear. “Yeah, good luck with that too. You like him too much. You have too much history. And you’re too attracted to him for that. You know, Amanda, the read I’m getting based on everything you said happened yesterday and the day before is that Holt Dalton is still very much in love with you.”

  A little burst of sadness made its way from her stomach to her chest, stopping on the left side. She shook her head. “How in love could he have been, Brittany? He just walked away.”

  “Because he was going back to nothing, honey. Back to the guy he was before he met you.”

  Huh. Amanda hadn’t thought of it that way. “Go on,” she said. “I’m listening.” Thank God for insightful roommates.

  Brittany took a sip of her coffee. “He was headed down the wrong road in those days, right? Getting into trouble with the law for minor offenses. No plans for his life after dropping out of college. No job, no direction. And didn’t you say he had some issues with his father? So he couldn’t just go home. He had nowhere to go and that’s where he thought he would take you, Amanda. So he broke up with you instead.”

  Amanda gasped. “You’re right. You are one hundred percent right. That makes total sense to me.” She sat back, kind of stunned. She’d never been able to understand how a guy who’d obviously loved her—and Holt had, she was sure of it—could have just dumped her that way, torn them apart and taken off as if the whole summer hadn’t happened. Now she knew. He’d done it for her.

  She stared at her sesame bagel, something poking at her heart. “But, Brittany, I could have helped turn his life around. He knew that too. I would have set him on the right path. He didn’t trust in that. That says something too.”

  “Yeah, it says he didn’t trust in love or people enough for that because of what he’d gone through in his own life. It’s not about you, Amanda. I know it’s hard not to take it personally. But his reasons and thought processes when he left you—it was about him.”

  “I hear you. I don’t like it, but I hear you.”

  “I can be louder if you need it,” Brittany said, grinning. “Any time you need some coaxing over to the love side, you just let me know.”

  “And what about you?” Amanda asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “I date plenty. But I like my singlehood just the way it is.”

  Her roommate had met a lot of special someones. And she’d let them all go. When she was ready, she’d be ready. That was all there was to it.

  Brittany had to get to work, so Amanda cleaned up, played with Poindexter for a few minutes and then sat down at her desk in her bedroom. She checked her email—for the millionth time—hoping there would be a response or two about her post on the chat group of people with adoption queries. She wanted to have good news for her friend and neighbor, Mel, about the whereabouts of Beatrix Abernathy—the long-lost baby that Mel’s fiancé’s great-grandfather had had to give up for adoption seventy-five years ago.

  There was a response!

  Dear Amanda, I hope you connect with the person you’re looking for. I found a half sister I never knew existed through this group so don’t give up hope if it takes a while to get a lead.

  Amanda’s heart sank that the response wasn’t from someone who did have a lead on Beatrix, but at least some kind person out there was sending good wishes her way, particularly someone who had connected with the person she’d been looking for. Amanda did appreciate that. Especially because she had no idea how they’d ever find Beatrix otherwise with such little information to go on.

  Someday I will find a way to bring her back to you...

  Josiah Abernathy’s words to his young love, Winona Cobbs, filled her mind, all the determination in that letter he’d tucked inside his journal, buried under the floorboards of his old ranch house for seventy-plus years.

  Where are you, Beatrix Abernathy? she wondered. Right here in Bronco? For all Amanda knew, she’d walked past her in town countless times over the past two years. I sure hope we find you.

  There were so many ways people, loved ones, got separated from one another.

  You and Holt have a second chance. Stop resisting it, a little voice said.

  Oh, you resist it, Amanda Jenkins, and hard! another, louder little voice said. That man will crush your heart again. Mark my words. It was all about him then and it is now.

  Poindexter jumped up on her desk and sat right beside her laptop.

  “What to do, Poin?” she asked the wise cat. “Give me a sign.”

  Poindexter began grooming his face with his paw, which told her nothing. Except that maybe she should start researching adoption instead of just thinking about it. She typed Wyoming Department of Family Services into the search engine and clicked on Foster Care and Adoption Requirements. She could foster a child or adopt as a single person—that was good. She read about how to become a foster parent, which seemed the way to begin the process since she wanted to adopt an older child. A half hour passed and she’d taken pages of notes, excited and a little scared at what a huge undertaking this would be.

  She glanced at the time; she had to get into the shower and get cracking on her to-do list. She had a busy schedule of work at home and two meetings, and then she’d head back to Holt’s house to work with Robby and spend time with her favorite seven-year-old.

  She thought about Brittany’s “good luck with that,” which made her worry that this attraction thing with Holt was out of her hands, that she couldn’t stop it or even try to. Amanda was pretty sure her roommate was right about that. Maybe all the reason to work harder at remembering how badly he’d hurt her, that it had been all about him so she wouldn’t get her head all turned around.

  She’d focus on Robby when she was at the Dalton home. Not his superhot dad.

  Chapter Nine

  “Guess what, Daddy?” Robby said when he and Amanda came in from the backyard. It was already five which meant Robby and Amanda’s two hours together had come to an end. “I read a whole line today without having to stop. I didn’t get messed up!”

  Holt’s heart moved in his chest and he smiled at his son. “I’m proud of you, Robby. You’re working hard and it’s already paying off.”

  Robby nodded. “Does that mean we can have pizza for di
nner?”

  Holt laughed. “I am dying for pizza, actually.” He turned to Amanda, once again hoping she’d say yes. “Join us? My treat.”

  “I’m getting pepperoni and mushroom, my favorite,” Robby said. “What’s your favorite pizza, Amanda?”

  “My favorite is just plain cheese, actually. Just the crust, sauce and mozzarella cheese. Perfection. And now I can’t stop thinking of having some pizza.”

  “Yay, Amanda’s coming,” Robby shouted, clapping his hands.

  He smiled and glanced at Amanda. He had to give her an out to show her he had heard her last night and would respect how she felt about the two of them spending non-necessary time together. “Robby, Amanda might already have dinner plans.”

  She looked at him, then at Robby. “What? And miss pizza? No way. And besides, there’s a great place not too far from my apartment building, so I’d be passing it anyway.”

  She’d definitely added that so he’d know this was strictly about convenience and a craving, but there was hope for a second chance here, he knew. And he was taking it.

  Twenty minutes later they were inside Bronco Brick Oven Pizza, sitting at a round table and awaiting their orders. For the first time in a long time, Holt was sitting with his son and a woman inside a restaurant, and he liked it. Usually it was just him and Robby, all the time, everywhere they went. Yeah, his parents or brothers joined them sometimes, but there always seemed to be an absence. He knew that Robby wasn’t aware of it most of the time; he knew his son very well—and he could always tell when Robby was aware of it. He certainly wasn’t now. His adorable face was free of any kind of sadness. Robby had clearly had a good time with Amanda earlier, and was equally happy that she was with them now.

  Just after the waiter set down their drinks, a cute kid about Robby’s age with red hair and freckles came up to their table. A woman who looked a lot like him and a little girl were behind him.

  “Hi, Robby!” the boy said.

  Robby grinned. “Hi, Liam. The pizza here is soooo good, right?”

  “I had like a million slices,” Liam said with a big nod. “We just signed up for the fun run,” he added, pointing to a poster and sign-up sheet on the far wall. “I want to win this year. Last year I was one of the last kids.”

  Holt smiled. “Well, it’s a fun run so it’s all about fun. Good for you for entering!” He smiled up at the mom, then turned to his son. “Robby, would you like to sign up?”

  Robby nodded with a grin. “I love running and I’m good at it.”

  “The fun run really is fun,” the woman said. “It’s a mother-son event that the pizzeria is sponsoring.”

  Holt’s stomach twisted at the words mother-son. He watched Robby’s face fall as he stared down at his cup of soda.

  “I can barely run half a mile,” the woman continued, oblivious, “but I actually pulled it off last year. And it was great to do something like that with my son. Are you a runner?” She directed the question to Amanda. “You and Robby should enter!”

  “I’m kind of a couch potato,” Amanda said, glancing at Holt to interject—and fast.

  “Well, think about it,” the woman said before he could say a word. “Nice seeing you,” she added before heading toward the door.

  “I wish I could do the fun run but I can’t because my mom isn’t around,” Robby said, tears filling his eyes and streaking down his face.

  Holt stood up and knelt beside Robby. “Hey, there,” he said, pulling his son into a hug. Robby cried harder, burying his face in Holt’s shirt.

  Holt looked at Amanda, sure his own his expression mirrored the heartbreak on hers.

  Suddenly, she pointed at herself and mouthed, I could run with him.

  He was so moved he could barely process it. Holt pressed his hand to his chest and mouthed back thank you.

  “You know, Robby,” Amanda said, “I might be a couch potato—meaning I’m usually on my couch instead of outside jogging—but I’d love to do the fun run with you. If you want.”

  Robby’s face emerged and he wiped under his eyes. “But it’s a mom and son run.”

  “I’ll bet if I read the rules on the poster,” Amanda said, “they’ll say that you can run the race with me. I’ll bet tutors are allowed.”

  Robby brightened. “Really? Can we check?” He ran over to the poster on the opposite side of the pizzeria.

  Again, Holt was so touched by what she’d said that he couldn’t find his voice. As she stood to follow Robby, he reached for her hand to stall her. “You’re the absolute best, Amanda Jenkins.”

  She smiled, holding his gaze for a heartbeat, then glanced at where Robby was standing. “It would be my pleasure. Really.”

  This was about more than wanting experience at motherhood. This, right now, was about how she felt about Robby, one particular seven-year-old who happened to be his beloved child. She cared about Robby very much. Did she know how much that meant to him?

  Robby was waving her over. As Holt and Amanda headed to the poster, he sent up a silent prayer that the rules didn’t actually say mothers and sons only. That would be nuts, right? Not every child had a mother. “Can you help me read the rules, Amanda?”

  Holt smiled to himself at that.

  Amanda scanned the fine print, which was minimal. “Hmm, this event is open to boys ages five to eleven and an adult female relative, caregiver, teacher, or family friend.” She turned to Robby. “That’s me. Family friend. So let’s do this!”

  “Yay!” Robby said, jumping and clapping.

  The people at the table closest smiled in that “he’s kind of loud” way. Holt ignored them but ushered Robby and Amanda back to their seats just as their pizzas were served.

  “I can’t believe I get to do the fun run!” Robby said, picking up his slice of pizza.

  Amanda lifted her plain slice too. “Hope you don’t mind that I’m not very fast.”

  “I’m really glad because I’m not fast either,” Robby said, giggling.

  From tears to giggles just like that.

  For the third or fourth time since Amanda Jenkins came back into his life, Holt felt his heart move inside his chest.

  * * *

  Holt had just left Robby’s room after reading him a story and telling him a story—about the tortoise and the hare, which he loved—when the knocking on the front door began. He glanced at his phone for the time. Past nine.

  That was weird. Since arriving in town a year ago, Holt had kept to himself, well, except for the dating he’d done when he’d first moved here, trying to find his Ms. Right and a mother for Robby and failing miserably on both counts. He hadn’t made friends off the ranch; he simply had no time between work and raising his son. His brothers were his social life. And none of them would be banging on the door this late, knowing it was past Robby’s bedtime.

  Maybe it was Amanda. Maybe she’d changed her mind about doing the race with Robby. About their entire arrangement. Holt sure hoped that wasn’t the case.

  But no way would Amanda be knocking on the door right now. She wouldn’t risk waking up Robby either; she would have texted to say she was outside.

  Holt glanced out the window on the second-floor landing. A silver Range Rover was idling in the drive. Did he know anyone who drove a Range Rover? He didn’t think so.

  Bentley had come bounding out of Robby’s room and stood at the top of the stairs, waiting for him. Luckily, the dog didn’t bark and wake up Robby, who’d finally gotten to sleep after being so excited about participating in the fun run with Amanda. They headed down, Holt wondering who was on the other side of the front door.

  With Bentley at his side, Holt opened the door to find a total stranger with a spitting mad expression. Whoa, dude. The man was in his late forties, maybe early fifties, with a receding hairline and a bit of a paunch. He wore expensive leather shoes—not the work boots or
cowboy boots you saw on a cattle ranch.

  “You Holt Dalton?” the man asked, anger radiating out of his narrowed blue eyes.

  “I am,” he said. Once upon a time, Holt would have deflected, given his troublemaking days. Now, he had nothing to hide. “What’s this about?”

  “I went to the main house and spoke to the owner of the ranch. A Neal Dalton. He said to talk to you.”

  Huh? His dad had told this man to come talk to Holt? “About?” he asked, wondering what the hell was going on. He stepped out onto the porch, letting Bentley out too, and keeping the front door just slightly ajar.

  “One of your cowboys, ranch hands, whatever the hell they’re called, is corrupting my daughter,” the man said. “She’s only eighteen and a college freshman. I want you to call him off.”

  Holt gaped at the man. “Call him off? What’s the issue, exactly?”

  “The issue is that he’s a troublemaker who is not going to mess up my daughter’s life. I want you to put an end to their relationship.”

  So this man had gone to the main house, spit out this request, and Holt’s dad had sent the guy here? Why?

  Because Holt had once been that cowboy? And Amanda had been that corruptible daughter who had to be protected from the likes of him at all costs? He’d never met Amanda’s dad, but if the man had known about Holt’s past he probably would have tried to talk her away from him too.

  “Who’s the hand?” Holt asked.

  The man seemed to relax, as if he thought he was finally getting somewhere, that Holt would take care of it. Holt had no clue what he’d do. But he wanted to know who he was dealing with. Dalton’s Grange employed a slew of cowboys, some part-time, particularly in the spring and summer.

  “His name’s Brody Colter. He’s a real punk.”

  Brody. Holt knew who he was. It had been Holt who Neal had sent to bail the guy out of jail about three months ago. Brody had been charged with assault in a bar fight but the charges had been dropped. Holt didn’t know the ranch hand well, but according to Neal, Brody was one of their best cowboys—never late, good at his job, respectful of others. He’d been working at the ranch part-time during high school and since he’d graduated in June had gone full-time. Getting into a bar brawl and ending up in jail—no one to bail him out but his boss—didn’t fit with Holt’s image of Brody Colter at all.