Stay with Me (Cowboys of Crested Butte Book 4)

by Heather Slade

  He didn’t read through all of them; it wasn’t necessary. The last one she’d sent was the only one that mattered.

  Callie in ICU at Mount Mercy GET HERE.

  “Hey, Daddy. I’m calling to let you know I landed safely and I’m checked into the hotel. You can call back if you want, or we can talk tomorrow.”

  Her father insisted Tristan call when she traveled, especially when it was on behalf of their family business. It didn’t matter that she was turning twenty-seven in less than a month. She was still his little girl, he’d tell her, and it was his duty to make sure she was safe.

  Duty was an oft-used word in her father’s vocabulary, as were honesty, integrity, faith, and family. They built their business on those words.

  Tristan’s father and grandfather started Lost Cowboy Company two years ago, wanting to offer American-made apparel that was inspired by the ideals the nation was built on. Their ads, social media posts, the clothing they offered, even how it was made, represented a strong adherence to the principles her family lived by.

  Tomorrow morning she was meeting with the guys from Flying R Rough Stock. They’d spoken a few times since their first meeting at the National Finals Rodeo last December. They were close to finalizing a deal in which Lost Cowboy would team up with them to sponsor competitors on the rodeo circuit.

  Billy Patterson, a former Saddle Bronc National Champion, was one of the primary partners in the rough stock contracting business. His involvement gave Flying R a foot in the door to every rodeo circuit in existence. It would take Tristan months to lay the groundwork she would be handed by teaming up with them.

  Jace Rice had also been at most of their initial meetings. She liked Jace as much as she liked Billy. They were the kind of men that embodied the principles of the Lost Cowboy brand.

  Their other partners, Ben Rice and his brothers, Matt and Will, were Jace’s cousins. Ben attended a couple of their meetings, but she didn’t know him as well as she knew Billy and Jace. Ben was the lead singer of the band CB Rice, but had his own stake in the rodeo industry through his wife, who’d placed fourth at NFR a few years previously.

  The meeting tomorrow was at their headquarters, the Flying R Ranch in Crested Butte, Colorado. Tonight she was staying in Gunnison, near the airport. When she said she’d rent a car, Ben’s wife, Liv, insisted either she or one of the guys would come get her and bring her to the ranch.

  “You should stay with us,” Liv told her. “We have more room than we know what to do with. It would be silly for you to stay anywhere else.”

  Tristan spent enough time traveling and staying in hotels that she accepted the invitation without hesitation. If they were able to nail down the details of the partnership on this trip, she’d be spending a lot more time with the Flying R team. She might as well get to know the people she’d be working with.

  Bullet listened to the messages from his mother-in-law, but it was hard to get anything more out of them other than Callie was in the hospital, and he needed to get there right away.

  It took him less than five minutes to throw his gear in a bag and get on the road. It was an hour’s drive to get to the hospital, which wasn’t far from where Callie’s parents lived.

  But right now, all he could think about was where his son was. Callie’s mother didn’t mention Grey in her messages. He called his grandmother, the woman who raised him and his sister while their parents were on the road, with the band. She didn’t live far from Callie’s parents. Maybe she’d know.

  “Hey, Gram—”

  “Oh, Bullet, I’m so glad you called. Callie’s parents have been tryin’ to get in touch with you. Something awful’s happened—”

  “I know. I’m on my way to the hospital right now.”

  “Oh, thank goodness, Callie—”

  “I’m sorry to keep interruptin’ you, but do you know if they have Grey with them?”

  “They didn’t tell you? Grey is here, with me.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “He’s fine. It’s Callie who’s in rough shape. You better get to the hospital quick, Bullet.”

  “I’ll come by once I’ve seen her. Tell Grey his daddy loves him.”

  “I will, Bullet, and I’m so sorry.”

  Before she said anything else, Bullet said goodbye and hung up. Whatever was going on with Callie wasn’t something he wanted to hear over the phone.

  He pulled the truck over and looked up at the sky. “Lord, thank you for keepin’ my boy safe, and please, lay your healing hands on his mother.”

  He rested his head against the steering wheel. His life had been one clusterfuck after another since the day he met Callie.

  The night he met her, she was drunk, underage, and about to get in a shit-ton of trouble. Against his better judgment, he’d agreed to get her out of the bar they were in, and take her home. That, actually, wasn’t what she’d asked him to do, but until she was sober enough for him to determine whether she was at least over eighteen, there was no way he’d take her up on what she’d offered.

  He had to stop twice on the drive to her house, that night, so she could throw up alongside the road. At least she gave him enough notice that he had time to pull over. If she’d gotten sick in his truck, he might’ve been tempted to let her walk home.

  Two years later, it had never gotten better. Drama was her middle name, and if it didn’t happen on its own, Callie created it. He wasn’t sure, now, if he would’ve married her if she hadn’t gotten pregnant. Sometimes he thought he probably would have. Other times he hoped he was smarter than that.

  When he found out they were having a boy, he told Callie he wanted to name him Henry Greyson, after his granddad on his mother’s side. She liked the name, so she didn’t give him a hard time about it.

  It hadn’t been that simple three years ago, when his first child was born. The baby’s mama fought him on the little girl’s name every step of the way. It wasn’t the only thing she fought him on. In fact, there was little she didn’t fight with him about. He knew that was was because he’d refused to marry her, and he’d wanted a DNA test to prove he was the father.

  When the tests came back positive, they settled on Hannah Pearl. He’d wanted his little girl named Pearl. He didn’t know why; he just loved the sound of it. He called her his perfect Pearl, never Hannah. It drove the girl’s mama crazy, but he didn’t care.

  His daughter lived in Texas with her mama full-time. She moved there to be closer to her family, which meant a twelve-hour drive each way in order to see Hannah Pearl. He didn’t get to see his daughter very often, and they were long overdue for a visit.

  When he got into town a couple of days ago, Callie was on a bender. He’d finally found her in a town or two over, drunk as shit, but with her cousin, thankfully. He’d picked her up, carried her ass to his truck, and drove her home. She railed at him the whole way, but he’d learned to tune her out.

  She’d seemed better yesterday, although she wasn’t very talkative. She usually had a laundry list of everything he’d done to piss her off. Not this time.

  When he left her parents’ house last night, Callie was sound asleep. Grey was too, in the crib in her room. Her mom and dad weren’t home, but he’d figured they would be soon.

  Bullet drove past the hospital and pulled into the bar he saw across the road. He needed a drink before he faced whatever trouble Callie got herself into this time.

  He downed three shots, one right after another, not missing the looks the pretty bartender was giving him. Any other day, he’d stick around and see what else she’d give him, but today he couldn’t.

  He threw a twenty on the bar and stood to put on his jacket.

  “Where you goin’, cowboy?” she pouted.

  “My wife’s in the hospital—” He was thinking about offering to come back, but as soon as he said the word wife, the bartender glared at him and walked away.

  “Can I help you?” asked the woman behind the desk in the lobby.

  “Uh, yeah. Le
t’s see, my wife is in the ICU. I think that’s what the message said. Lemme look.” He pulled out his phone. “Yep, the ICU.”

  “Name?”

  “Bullet Simmons.”

  The woman waved her hand in front of her face and glared at him. “Her name is Bullet?”

  “No, ma’am. That’s my name. My wife’s name is Callie.”

  “Take the elevator to the fourth floor and turn right. You’ll need to show your identification when you get up there.”

  He turned the corner and waited for the elevator.

  “Drunkard comin’ to see his poor wife who’s in intensive care. Wonder what put her there?” he overheard the woman say to the next person in line. He was damn sick and tired of people thinking Callie’s problems were because of him. Damn sick and tired of it.

  Right after they married, his in-laws had sat him down and told him about Callie’s illness. Might have been nice if they’d told him a little earlier. Maybe they thought he wouldn’t have married her if they had.

  While she was pregnant, she’d been good about taking her meds. After the baby was born, not so much. She was afraid they’d affect her breast milk, and she was determined to breastfeed. Grey wasn’t ten days old when she had her first fit. That’s what Bullet started calling them—fits. He had no idea what started it, but suddenly she was screaming at him. Then she pummeled him with her fists. It took him a minute to react, that first time, and when he did, it’d been to hold her at arm’s length. When she couldn’t reach him to hit him, she’d turned her head and bit his arm.

  He’d almost backhanded her that day, out of instinct, but stopped himself. Before it could get worse, he left. He was less than a mile away when he turned the truck around. What was he thinking? He couldn’t leave their baby alone with her.

  When he got back to the house, she was on the bed, sobbing into a pillow. The baby was in the bassinet next to the bed, also sobbing. Screaming was more like it. He called her name, but she didn’t appear to hear him. Was this what it was like when she was home alone with Grey? Did she just leave him in his bassinet, screaming?

  He picked the baby up, that day, and drove to his in-laws’ house. Later that night, he moved Callie, the baby, and himself in with them. He hadn’t wanted to, but he didn’t see he had any choice. They’d agreed it wasn’t a good idea to leave her alone with the baby.

  Callie’s dad stood when Bullet got off the elevator and approached the ICU waiting area.

  “Hello, son,” his voice broke, and he turned away from Bullet.

  “What’s goin’ on?”

  “It’s Callie.”

  “Is she…oh, God,” he couldn’t continue.

  “No, but she’s unresponsive.” When he saw tears ran down his father-in-law’s cheeks, Bullet felt as though he might cry, too.

  The door opened, and Callie’s mom joined them in the waiting room.

  “Where…in…the…hell…have…you…been?” she spat at him.

  “Now, Mama,” his father-in-law began. “This isn’t Bullet’s fault.”

  “Isn’t his fault? Did I hear you right? Did you just say this isn’t his fault?” She turned and jabbed Bullet in the chest with her finger. “Why did you leave last night? Why? Answer me. What was so damn important that you left our little girl all alone?”

  Bullet backed away from her, but she kept coming at him. Callie’s father put his arms around his wife’s waist and stopped her. When he did, she broke down in tears.

  “She tried to kill herself last night, Bullet,” she sobbed. “And where were you? Where were you?”

  Bullet felt the air leave his lungs. She’d been asleep. He doubted she or Grey would wake up before her parents got back, which he figured would be any minute. They never stayed out past seven-thirty or eight. He hadn’t left much before then. What the hell had happened?

  1961

  Bill kicked at the dry dirt under his feet as he walked down the driveway. He turned, when he reached the road, and looked back at the house. He’d probably never see it again. When he came home, his mama and baby sister wouldn’t be living in it anymore. It no longer belonged to them.

  It’d been a long three years since his daddy first got sick. Bill was only eight when it started. Life was good back then. In the summer, folks would come to their ranch for a week or two at a time. In the fall, the dude ranch part of their business shut down, and hunters would come.

  That’s how his daddy got sick. They still couldn’t say what it was, but his mama remembered seeing a bite after he spent a day guiding hunters. He wasn’t the same after that.

  At first he got real weak. Bill had to pick up more of the chores when that happened. As his daddy’s health got worse, they had to cancel the rest of the hunting trips, and then in the spring, he didn’t have enough strength to get the dude ranch operational again.

  His mama started selling off cattle to pay the bills. Next went the bulls, and finally, the horses.

  When his daddy died, last week, his mama told him two things. The first was they had to sell the land and their house to pay off the medical bills. The second thing she told him was that, as the man of the house, even though they wouldn’t have an actual house for a while, it was his responsibility to find work and help support the family.

  His eyes filled with tears he quickly brushed away with the back of his hand. Flynn men didn’t cry. That’s what his daddy told him. And since he was a man now, he was done with crying.

  All that mattered, at this point was finding work. There were three other dude ranches within a hundred mile radius; one of them had to be hiring. He might be young, and he might be little, but there wasn’t a harder working cowboy in the State of Colorado. He’d prove himself so.

  Pre-Order today!

  Win Me Over

  The Promise

  She closed the car door, and zipped her jacket. The blue sky and bright sun were misleading. This close to the ocean, the wind could be fierce, even on the sunniest days.

  From where she stood in the gravel parking lot across the street, she saw a man walking toward her small town’s only supermarket. There was something familiar in the way he held himself. His worn barn jacket was taught across his shoulders, but hung loose over his narrow hips. Although his jeans were more metro than ranch, his boots were all cowboy, and so was his black, felt Stetson.

  Peyton took a deep breath. It wasn’t the first time her mind played this particular trick. She looked left and right once she got inside, but didn’t see the man who’d probably been a figment of her imagination anyway.

  Growing boys needed milk and orange juice, so before she’d even left the first aisle, her cart was half full. She was reading over her shopping list, on her way to the produce section, when her eyes met a pair of hauntingly familiar deep, blue eyes—eyes of a man she thought she’d never see again. Her disappointment was palpable as she scanned his face. The eyes were familiar, and maybe even the way he held himself that had her heart skipping a beat. But the man standing in front of her, whose eyes took in every inch of her in the same way her gaze traveled from his face to his hands, was not who she thought he was.

  He raised and lowered his chin, “Hey.”

  Peyton nearly closed her eyes. She knew the deep timbre of that voice intimately. “Sorry, you look so much like someone—” What could she say? Someone she used to know?

  “Yes,” he murmured.

  “Get that a lot?” She tried to laugh, but the pain she felt whenever she allowed herself to think about Kade Butler brought her closer to tears than laughter.

  “No, I don’t.”

  “I’m sorry, you don’t what?”

  “Get that a lot.”

  “Oh…uh…well.” Her hands gripped the shopping cart handle, but before she could move it forward, he grasped the wire basket.

  “I’ve been looking for you.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Name’s Brodie. Brodie Butler.”

  Peyton closed her eyes just long eno
ugh that the tears she thought she held at bay flooded over her lids, and down onto her cheeks.

  “I’m sorry, Peyton. I didn’t mean for it to happen this way.”

  “But you meant for it to happen?”

  “As I said, I’ve been looking for you.”

  Download today!

  The Promise