A Bride for the Texas Cowboy

by Sinclair Jayne

  She’d been fooling herself. She wasn’t over August.

  Too bad. She wasn’t going to let her history—the happiness and heartbreak with August Wolf—define her. He didn’t love her. Probably never had. And he definitely hadn’t wanted to make a life with her—marriage, children, a home together.

  Get over it.

  She’d moved on.

  Only it suddenly didn’t feel like that. And she had to own their end before she took one more step.

  August looked up, his lean, angular face devoid of expression. His cyan eyes, always so beautiful and unusual that looking into them made her feel like she’d fallen into another world, were now dark, flat. Empty. No insouciant smile kissed his lips. No dimple. No smartass comment. Silence.

  A stranger.

  A beautiful, beat-up and eerily silent stranger.

  Catalina forced herself to stand still. Not run to comfort him. Tell him it would be all right. For a moment they were kids again. And August was lost. And she was going to be the one to find him. To save him.

  “You came.”

  His voice was flat. Like her life.

  “You called.” She barely resisted a mocking curtsey.

  Disbelief skittered across his beautiful features.

  He’d doubted she’d come this time.

  Catalina hated herself all over again.

  *

  Cat had come. His Cat. He didn’t deserve her. Never had. But other than Axel, Cat was the only person he’d ever been able to count on.

  And Axel had enough burdens. And the price was too high for August to ever ask.

  He stared hard at her, trying to make the whimsical image in front of him match nearly a lifetime of memories. Had he hit his head harder than he thought? He’d been offered a scan for a concussion, but he’d claimed he hadn’t hit his head. Not hard anyway. He didn’t have symptoms—not many. His head throbbed along with the rest of his body like he was a giant drum, but he didn’t have time for BS right now, and he’d been more focused on his friends and crew—Derek, Erika, Pete and Brent and Brent’s sister…what was her name. Hayley? No, Haven. All of them had been injured when the wine tour bus had crashed through the front of his tasting room, destroying much of his newly remodeled space and also his apartment above.

  He wasn’t so injured that he couldn’t see the irony in that, but he sure didn’t appreciate it.

  And now he had to worry about a possible head injury because Cat did not look like his Cat—his longtime childhood friend, first girlfriend and then on-again, off-again lover. It seemed like she’d always been part of his life, and he hadn’t wanted to imagine a life without her in it. But four years ago he’d made the ultimate sacrifice, which had turned into a colossal mistake for him.

  And forgiveness was not in Cat’s vocabulary.

  He didn’t blame her. But he’d done what he thought was best for her.

  No good deed…

  But here she was.

  So what the hell was he going to do now?

  “Sorry.” August carelessly shoved a shock of black hair out of his face and looked up at Cat, who looked… He wasn’t really sure how to describe how she looked. Sparkly. And over-the-top like a kid playing dress-up. Pepto pink that burned his corneas. She seemed like she’d made an unexpected and uncomfortable stab at elegant but changed her mind midway judging by the crookedly buttoned denim shirt over the body-hugging pink dress. She’d bottomed the look with a pair of mud-caked black and brown cowboy boots like she’d just come in from the vineyards.

  He blinked, but she was still there.

  And still fantastical.

  “Not dead,” he joked.

  Yet.

  Pale, greenish gray eyes sparked and narrowed.

  There was his Cat. Pissed. Unamused.

  “Not funny considering.”

  He looked down. No, it wasn’t funny. His employees were injured. Two badly enough that Derek had coded on the way to the hospital. Been jolted back to life and had been in surgery for hours.

  “How is your staff?” The pink hem skimmed the top of her cowboy boots as she stepped closer to him.

  He closed his eyes.

  Man up.

  Usually he had more time to prepare to meet Cat. Calling her had been instinctive. And under the influence of painkillers, which had played with his head. He still didn’t feel clear. He was nauseous as hell, and the lurid pink was not helping.

  Her skin—white and luminescent like a pearl with a smattering of freckles across her collarbone, nose and cheeks—was stark against the shocking pink.

  “Jesus,” he breathed, suddenly sick. He lurched to his feet, forgetting about the cane that in theory would help him walk for a few days until the swelling in his banged-up and twisted knee had gone down.

  He staggered and would have fallen, but strong arms seized him.

  “Sick,” he mumbled, feeling like all of his organs were poised to make a swift exit from his battered body.

  Catalina snagged the cane, wrapped his hand around it, and then one arm hugged his waist, holding on to his jeans as she helped him to the bathroom. She kicked the door wide and blocked the recoil with her small body as she hustled him through.

  He wasn’t going to make it. Nor did he think he could bend over with his ribs feeling the way they did. A position of worship at the porcelain throne would be impossible for quite a while. And Cat, knowing him better than anyone ever had, sensed that and got him to the sink right as the water and the pills and some saltines a nurse had repeatedly pushed on him to help keep pain meds down all came violently up.

  August heaved and spat and tried to suck in some air through his aching ribs. He didn’t know which was more painful—convulsing, trying to empty a stomach that was already empty, or trying to pull some air into his lungs that felt as battered and bruised as the rest of his body. The vertigo was the cherry on top.

  Cat still held on to him, but with her free hand, she turned on the water and splashed some on his face. The cool was welcoming. He closed his eyes, hoping the room would stop spinning and the hospital-white tiles would stop blinding him.

  “Drink.” Catalina had water cupped in her hand.

  He didn’t have a choice—like so much of his life with her. She tilted the water into his mouth.

  Amazing that for such a small thing she had such strength. Power. Fierceness. And all of that wrapped around a sweet soul. Catalina might be blunt, but she was a nurturer at heart.

  “Christ,” he muttered.

  “Little late for you to start praying now,” Catalina said, but her voice lacked the hard, sarcastic edge that had greeted his last few attempts to reach out.

  “Never too late, Cat.” He dug deep for his voice, still bent over the sink, feeling hollow as a drum. “Always redemption for a sinner. Just have to ask.”

  “And there he is,” she murmured. She eased him back up to standing.

  “Ribs, right?”

  He wondered if she was remembering another not-so-bright moment in their history. He’d still been in college, young and arrogant. Sampling too much of his product at a beer and music festival, when some idiot started aggressively hitting on her. He’d played hero, thinking she needed help and had done okay until the loudmouth asshole’s friends had jumped in. He’d been on the ground, getting pummeled, and then there was Cat with a knife, jerking back one man’s head by his hair, straddling his body from behind, knife at his throat.

  “Stop,” was all she’d said to the other two.

  Did she still carry the knife?

  Considering she hated him, that image should disturb him. Not make his dick stir.

  Definite head injury. He had enough problems with his life and Cat to ever let that southern idiot pipe up and try to weigh in on any decision. He’d let that jackass speak up too many times, and now at twenty-eight, he was determined to think only with the head on his shoulders. Only that head didn’t have a lot to say at the moment.

  Cat looked at him, her
gaze assessing but cool.

  He stared right back. It was all he had to give her at this point. Him. At the bottom. Again.

  Some air seemed to leak out of her, and she dug into her teal backpack. Pulled out a blue, yellow and rust scarf. Sighing, she ran it under the water and softly laid the cloth over his forehead.

  He nearly groaned at how good it felt. And smelled. Like Cat—fresh earth, pungent green, hint of floral and then clove. Her fragrance, which seemed to emanate from her delicately made body, always made him feel refreshed, whole, and then hungry. For as long as he could remember, she had smelled like this.

  With his one working hand he held on to the soft scarf, let himself hide in it. So many questions, decisions, explanations. He just needed a second and then he’d face her.

  “I’ll take you home.” Her voice was decisive and asked nothing of him.

  Chapter Two

  Catalina pulled out of the hospital parking lot just as the sun edged above the low rolling hills in the east and cast a golden glow. She closed her eyes. Early spring in Texas Hill Country. Didn’t get much prettier than this. Oregon was beautiful, yes, but often overcast or drizzly and much cooler until July.

  For a moment her heart hurt. She couldn’t come back. Too close to family. Way too close to August even though much of his businesses took him all over the northwest. She felt low enough at the moment without handing anyone else a shovel.

  “Ghost Hill?” she asked. She didn’t know where August had been living while he’d been in Last Stand. He’d been as keen to leave home as she’d been.

  “Don’t let Axel hear you say that.” August stared blankly out the window, and she stirred uncomfortably, trying to shove down the compassion that threatened to spill out. The urge to do or say something to make August feel better was a hard habit to break.

  Then why are you here?

  “I was staying at the apartment above my tasting room, but I’m going to need to move to the ranch. Should have stayed there from the beginning.” He winced and muttered. “Axel can finish where the tour bus left off.”

  “You still trying to out-howl the top Wolf?” she teased and then wanted to kick herself. What the heck was wrong with her? They weren’t friends again. He’d slammed that door and hammered it shut with a box of nails.

  “Not how I’d put it,” August said, “but Axel is as much of a hard-ass as he ever was. He despises that I planted a vineyard on grazing land. Furious I’m starting a winery on a century-and-a-half-old cattle ranch. He thinks I’m going to suddenly morph into a falling-down drunk like half of our family tree.”

  So many things she could say about August’s family dynamic, but she pressed her lips shut. Not like she had room to advise. Her family rootstalk was rotten through. Her mother had walked out on all of them when Catalina had been eight, taking her older sister, and Catalina had no idea or interest in where either of them were. And she hadn’t spoken to her father or two brothers in two years; it was a toss-up over which one of them was more relieved by that.

  Dang. An hour in Last Stand and she was falling back into old patterns of being with August and tensing up about family dynamics and drama.

  Catalina forcibly dragged in a long, deep breath through her nose, held it and then pursed her lips and breathed out to a count of seven. Then she relaxed her shoulders.

  She was an adult. In control of her destiny. She wouldn’t hand August her heart again. No way. No how.

  “We’ll need food. There’s nothing at the house,” he said as she turned out of the hospital parking lot.

  “You’d be surprised at what I can whip up out of nothing for breakfast,” she argued. No way was she going anywhere public. She’d been gone thirteen years. Last Stand was small, but people’s memories were large.

  “Besides, you have the garden and…”

  “Nothing,” he said. “There’s nothing.”

  She chanced a look at him, unnerved by the flatness of his voice.

  “Nothing, as in…?”

  “Nothing. Axel packed up the house and locked it up tight when Anders left after high school. Then moved down to one of the bunkhouses.”

  “What?” The sprawling Wolf ranch house had been a haven for her. It still featured in her perfect house fantasies. She’d spent so much time there as a preteen and young teen—a mother’s helper to Elizabeta Wolf for her baby and toddler, Axel and August’s younger brothers. Mrs. Wolf had taught her how to cook, how to garden, how to sew. How to feel important. She couldn’t imagine owning the Wolf home and not living in it. So many tragedies, yes, but so many loving memories, laughter and games and…

  “When I…well…when I knew what I was going to do when I came into my share of the ranch, I did a serious remodel on the house. No input from Ax or Anders, but when I finished, it was just too big to live there alone. Axel didn’t budge from the bunkhouse—he likes to be close to his ranch hands.” August’s voice hardened. “And Anders is too busy trying to kill himself and bed half the buckle bunnies on the American Extreme Bull Riders tour.”

  “I thought the house belonged to all of you.”

  He shrugged and didn’t meet her searching gaze. “I thought…I hoped…dunno. Probably dumb.”

  The last thing August was, was dumb. Catalina felt sour. He was brilliant. Everything he touched turned to gold.

  Except me.

  “To beat a dead horse, so to speak, last year I had a designer trick it out. Three separate wings of bedrooms for families along with en suite bathrooms and an office for each wing, and then a large common area built from the original kitchen.”

  His voice gained enthusiasm. “It’s massive. Doubled the kitchen, dining area; there’s a great room that’s more like a rec room and then a huge outdoor kitchen, covered patio, pool and sports court. Perfect for when we all have families.”

  She stared at the road, feeling a little sick.

  Families. Of course. August would marry one day. A beautiful woman who would gaze at him adoringly and know how to dress for openings and parties, and they’d have beautiful children together.

  No changelings or ugly ducklings for August.

  Her hand reflexively pressed against her stomach.

  How dare he bring that up to her, especially after how he reacted and what he’d said.

  For a moment, she thought she would hit him. Her fist balled up. But she wasn’t the scrappy elementary and middle school kid who’d had to fight her way through the painful teasing and bullying before her mouth became more wicked hard than her fists.

  “Hey, you passed the market.”

  Catalina squinted at the unrolling ribbon of asphalt and for a moment briefly fantasized about driving. Just driving and driving and driving. Blaring the radio to drown out her thoughts.

  But instead she pulled a U-turn faster than she should.

  “Damn, girl, where’s the fire?” August hissed between his strong, white teeth, and his complexion went a little greener.

  Oops.

  She turned into the grocery store lot a little more slowly.

  “The house sounds lovely,” she said tonelessly and parked.

  “Doesn’t matter. He said he’d never go back there.”

  Catalina stopped the Jeep.

  “Thought I could get him to change his mind.”

  She huffed out a laugh at that concept. August’s lips twisted ruefully.

  “It’s been done a month or so. Everything’s been purchased or so the constant stream of invoices indicates. So now with the accident and having to rebuild my tasting room and apartment, I might as well see what’s there.”

  He sounded hollow—as hollow as she’d been feeling lately.

  What a pair.

  Not together anymore.

  Even if she wanted to be.

  And she would. She knew herself. August could always get around her, always gain back her trust and love. Probably it was a game to him—a reflexive game he played just because he could.

  “Have yo
u seen it?”

  “I prefer to be surprised.”

  She couldn’t help looking at him after that total lie. He might say things like that, but both of them knew it was nowhere near the truth. Axel was not the only controlling Wolf on Ghost Hill Ranch—not by a long shot.

  “C’mon, Cat.” He swallowed hard and looked at her, and for a moment she saw the lost boy he’d been, eleven years old just learning that his mother had died a few months after his younger brother. She, the feuding neighbor’s unwanted daughter, who lost one mother and had felt like she too had suffered a more unbearable loss, had tried to step into the abyss and save them all, including Axel.

  Epic fail.

  “Help me out.”

  “I can’t,” she said, not sure exactly what she was refusing.

  But she felt the first pang of worry that she might not be able to walk away as cleanly as she’d planned.

  “I have nowhere else to go, Kitty Cat,” he said. “I have no one else.”

  She snorted at that, only he looked dead serious and in pain.

  He’d always had someone else. That was why he had wanted the break from her. To see what other options he had.

  “I turned the entire upstairs of the building into an apartment and was living there since I couldn’t stand to rattle around in that house on my own. And the apartment’s gone too. The bus hit a support beam, so part of the second floor caved into the first.”

  She reached out to touch his hand in sympathy but quickly withdrew, balling her fist against her chest.

  No touching.

  So hard. She was a very physical person, or her impulses were. And she and August had had a very physical relationship once they’d grown up.

  Catalina flung open the Jeep’s door.

  “I’ll buy some groceries.” She rushed the words and then stumbled toward the entrance to the store, mouth dry, heart pounding, desperate to get away from the memories August effortlessly evoked.

  She grabbed a handbasket, mentally cataloging easy but nutritious meals she could make for… She stopped abruptly. What was she thinking?

  She wasn’t staying.

  She wasn’t playing concerned girlfriend. They weren’t even friends anymore.