Blackest Heart [Wayback Texas]

by Amber Leigh Williams

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  The Wild Rose Press

  www.thewildrosepress.com

  Copyright ©2008 by Amber Leigh Williams

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  CONTENTS

  Blackest Heart

  Dedication

  Praise for Blackest Heart

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  About the Author:

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  A sharp breath escaped her as she watched his eyes smile at her, crinkling up at the corners. She was the astonished one. Her body froze up when he reached out with one of those hard, wide-palmed hands. If she could've moved, she wouldn't have stepped back.

  His fingertips brushed over her damp hair, from her brow back over her crown. As she fought hard against the urge to close her eyes, sigh and melt, her scalp tickled under his light touch. His fingers combed through the ends of her tresses and repeated the motion, slower the second time through. Afraid she'd sway, she gripped the rail next to her.

  The amusement in his eyes had faded. They'd lifted to the scars she'd left exposed by combing her hair back from her face. His thumb traced the smooth, jagged line, tracing it to the corner of her eye.

  She tried to read his face. The tender moment between them intensified. The tingles deepened. Though she wanted to turn his attention away from those imperfections on her face, she drew comfort from his whispering touch. His eyes darkened. There was anger there now. He was angry she'd been hurt. Her heart picked up pace, welcoming his fury.

  Blood singing and warming skin chilled by the nightly breeze, she allowed her eyes to close. She could hear him breathing, just barely. Edging closer, she reached up to touch him. Her fingers found the cords of his upper arm. They wrapped around them, gripping them for support.

  Finding the scar by her mouth, his fingertips began to trail down the angled mark. Her eyes popped open, fixed on his and her breath seized when he touched the very corner of her mouth. Eyes tracing the line of her lips, his touch lingered. She wanted his lips to do the same. She waited breathlessly, heart thudding hard between them.

  Blackest Heart

  by

  Amber Leigh Williams

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Blackest Heart

  COPYRIGHT ©

  2008 by Amber W. Shedeck

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

  Cover Art by Tamra Westberry

  The Wild Rose Press

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Yellow Rose Edition, 2008

  Published in the United States of America

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Dedication

  To Dana Ozak, a truly AWESOME cp and friend!

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Praise for Blackest Heart

  "Stella Ridge discovers that home sweet home and the arms of a strong, quiet cowboy are just what she needs to get her life and heart going again in Amber Leigh Williams's fantastic Wayback tale-Blackest Heart. With a wonderful cast of supporting characters, including Stella's adorable brothers, Stella and Judd will warm your heart and make you believe in the wonder of sweet homecomings."

  ~Marguerite Arotin—Author of One Enchanted Summer and Return of the Prodigal Daughter

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter One

  "Stella, I understand you need some TLC. No one's going blame you for one second. But let's be serious here, sweetie. Texas?"

  Stella Ridge rolled her eyes as she strolled through the bustling airport toward the nearest exit, suitcase rolling noisily behind her. She'd known how her agent would react to the news of her impulsive departure. “It's home, Cal. Just because I abandoned it doesn't mean it's fallen off the map."

  "Is it really even on a map?"

  Stella bit back a retort, exasperation edging her words. “Sure it is. It's not that far outside Abilene."

  "Who's Abilene?"

  She sighed. “I'm going to have to let you go. I've got to rent a car."

  "Listen to reason, sweetie.” Cal's voice sounded urgent over Stella's phone. “If you walk out of that airport, you'll be making a huge mistake."

  "This is something I need to do. Please understand."

  "I have a fantastic idea! Why not hop on the next flight out to Fiji? You can spend a month at that resort you love so much."

  "I don't want Fiji. I want home. I want family."

  "There are plenty of resorts back here in LA. You haven't seen that dusty town in almost two decades. This is your home. Your family's here. What about me? I'm your family, Stella."

  "Be careful, Cal,” she said in the sultry voice that had sold millions at the box office. “You're very nearly whining."

  "Remember that script you love? They want you for the part."

  "You're bluffing,” she said, spying the car rental sign up ahead. “Hanging up now."

  Cal huffed out a frustrated breath. “You're taking the coward's way out. What's so great about Wayback, Texas?"

  "It's normal.” She ended the call before Cal could reply.

  She joined the queue at the rental counter, pulling the bill of the ballcap low over her forehead. No one had recognized her at LAX or on the commercial jet, but she wasn't taking any chances. Especially now that she was so close to her destination.

  When she handed her identification to the rental clerk, she watched anxiously from the shadows of the cap as the woman scanned her picture and name. Stella caught the quick flash of recognition then the spark of surprise as the woman's eyes zoomed up to scan her face. Stella's heart pounded in dread. She said a silent prayer though she knew it was useless.

  Game's up.

  The clerk's eyes found the thin scar at the corner of her eye and the other, smaller one on the edge of her lip. Her eyes filled with pity and warmth. She turned to the computer to type while Stella's lips parted in surprise. The printer next to the computer hummed, then the clerk grabbed the paper from the tray and set it with a pen on the counter. “Sign right there on the line."

  Stella picked up the pen. She knew the clerk watched the ink loop over the line in the autograph she'd used Lord only knew how many times over the past eight years.

  The clerk handed her a receipt and a key ring, then gave her directions to the rental parking lot.

  "Thanks so much.” Stella smiled, relieved by the kind gesture.

  The clerk nodded, eyes winking again with sympathy. “Wel
come home, honey."

  * * * *

  Stella ignored the twelve times her cell phone rang on the long drive from the airport to her hometown. She didn't have to look at the caller ID to know it was Cal calling to cajole or scold her into going back to LA. She turned the radio up, flipping the dial. Country music crooned out of the speakers from just about every local station. She settled for Keith Urban and enjoyed the winding road home.

  The sun sank and bathed the light cloud cover and pancake-flat landscape in burnt orange then moody red. Shadows from the wooden power poles lining the empty highway stretched, reaching for the night looming in the east.

  A sense of isolation and quiet settled over her. She rolled down her window, stuck a hand out to catch the cooling air. It felt denser, softer. It smelled richer, more real than she remembered. She took off her cap and let the breeze dance through her hair. She turned up the radio and sang along off-key to LeAnn Rimes's “Good Friend and a Glass of Wine."

  She'd forgotten there could be moments like this. She'd forgotten that yawning sense of being alone for miles and miles. Just her and the dying day.

  Cal was so wrong. This was exactly where she needed to be. Stella was so happy she'd taken Sherrie Porter's advice. Well, it was Sherrie Serrano now. The model had returned to Wayback to recover from a house fire and had not only found home again but a husband, too.

  Stella grinned, remembering just how blissful Sherrie had looked when they'd bumped into each other in LA. One look at how her husband, Jake Serrano, had turned out ... Well, no woman would blame her. But Stella had craved that look of fulfillment. It'd taken Stella three days to make up her mind, pack her suitcase and hop on the next flight out to DFW.

  It had gone dark when she finally saw the lights up ahead. She recognized the all-too-familiar Waffle House sign. She knew she was home when she saw the sign across the street for The Corral Motel.

  She passed both and immediately saw the bright lights from the fairgrounds and rodeo arena. She checked the clock on the dash. Seven-fifteen. She was just in time for the big show.

  Stella braked slowly as she neared the entrance. Trucks and horse trailers packed the gravel parking lot to the brim. At the last minute, she pulled in and parked. Glancing around, she took a minute to tuck her hair into the ballcap again before grabbing her purse and stepping out into the night. She began to walk toward the bright lights.

  A booming voice called over the arena loudspeaker. She heard the phrase bull riding and smiled. When was the last time she'd seen bull riding? Realizing she hadn't since leaving Wayback, her excitement and nostalgia swelled.

  As she weaved her way around the horse trailers, she looked for the Ridge Range logo, and wondered if Keefe or Casey were here. Had either of her brothers ever gotten into bull riding? Keefe had competed in bronc busting, starting in the junior league but he'd worked his way up to pro by the time she'd left town. For a time, Casey had done some calf roping though not with Keefe's passion. Casey, like her, always had eyes for life outside the rodeo and Wayback.

  What would they do if they saw her? She hadn't called to tell them she was coming back. She'd been away so long, but they'd parted on good terms, and Casey had come to LA to be with her after her accident. Could it be the same between them again? Would they forgive her for fifteen years of absence?

  A few stragglers were in line at the entrance. She bought a ticket and breezed through, pulling the hat brim down self-consciously. Would she recognize the people she'd once known so well? Her heart picked up pace as she set off toward the arena entrance, following the jean-clad, Stetson-bobbing throng. It smelled like a carnival with more than a touch of animal and manure. She heard a bull bellowing. The excitement caught her. Lord, she'd missed rodeos!

  There was no line at the beer stand, so, she hurried over to buy one, then went in to catch the show.

  The arena was packed. There wasn't a seat nearby. She went down to lean against the rail near an excited gaggle of boys. Sipping her beer, she looked around at the spectators who were waiting for the next rider and laughing at the clowns in their oversized overalls and straw hats. She leaned against the rail and spotted the bull in the chute. He was a wild one, bucking and snorting. A rider was perched on the top of the chute's rail, waiting for the right moment to climb on.

  The announcer's voice cut through the crowd's anticipatory chatter. “All right, here we go, ladies and gents. Next up is number thirty-seven. He's the fiercest, most winningest bull rider right here in our hometown. That's right, folks. Here's Wayback's very own, Judd Black!"

  The crowd cheered. The boys next to her whooped. Her mouth dropped open in shock. “Judd Black,” she murmured, gripping her beer, eyes on the rider. “Good God Almighty."

  * * * *

  "Come on, Jack,” the bull handler, Wade, coaxed on the other side of the stall, trying to soothe the black bull in the chute. “Come on, son. Settle down.” He glanced over at Judd. “You ready, Black?"

  Judd jerked a nod, eyes on Jack. Every muscle in his body was on alert, ready for his moment and a hell of a ride. Jack was short for Jack the Ripper and two thousand plus pounds of pure mean with long horns and one purpose—buck ‘em.

  Some said bull riders were crazy. He didn't feel foolish. Juiced, yeah. But far from reckless. His mind was so focused on the task at hand that he didn't hear his name called over the loudspeakers or the cheer from the crowd.

  Eight seconds. He'd done it before. He was ready to do it again.

  His black Stetson was pulled low, casting his eyes in shadow from the bright arena lights. His jaw clenched tight. He flexed his gloved hand, waiting for Jack to settle down long enough for him to hop on.

  Jack gave a snort then calmed. Judd didn't wait for Wade's okay. He jumped onto Jack's back. Wade worked quickly to strap his hand in place. Jack quivered underneath him and pawed the ground. He jerked forward, anticipating freedom. Judd squeezed his thighs tight around Jack's wide flank. The animal was ready to rip loose. The bull's ripe scent stung his nostrils.

  "Here we go.” Wade slapped Judd's arm.

  Judd lifted his hand in the air.

  Wade motioned the man holding the chute's gate. He stepped back, the gate swung open, and the crowd roared as Judd and Jack came flying out of the chute.

  Eight seconds seemed like forever. Jack was mad and proving it. His hind legs kicked up. Judd held on, trying to anticipate Jack's wild movements. His arm was in the air, body bowing back and forth with Jack's movements. The seconds stretched. As if sensing Judd's victory, Jack began to whirl around, desperate to buck him off.

  The clock buzzer went off, signaling eight seconds. The crowd came to its feet, clapping and hollering. Judd yanked his hand out of the leather strap, slid off Jack's back, and backed away from the bull. Apparently, Jack wasn't ready to give in to the humiliation. He charged after Judd, horns down, snorting.

  The crowd screamed. Judd took off as fast as he could for the nearest wall. He heard Jack's hooves pounding through the dirt after him. He dove for the wall, climbed up as fast as he could and grabbed the rail.

  His gloved hand slipped off the rung. He felt himself falling back. A hand latched over the back of his, slim and white, but strong. He grabbed onto the rail as the rescuing hand tugged hard, helping him pull himself up just as Jack plowed into the wall below him. The crowd cheered as he came safely into view, barely escaping injury or worse. Glancing down, he saw the handlers chasing after Jack who was still in no mood to be tamed. He looked around to see who'd helped him out.

  His adrenaline-pumped heart stammered to a halt. The pale face shadowed by the ball cap was a woman's. As he stared into the familiar, muted green eyes and realization washed through him, his hand almost slipped on the rail again. His lungs seized, halting his panting breaths.

  He'd seen her many times over the past fifteen years but only in movie theaters and on television.

  God. She was back. Big as life. In the flesh. His mouth went dry when her lips turned up in
a soft smile.

  "Hey, Judd,” she said in the voice that had made her famous.

  His eyes found the thin, pale scar by her mouth. It'd faded to pink since the highly-reported accident and subsequent emergency surgery. There was another scar by her eye, barely noticeable but there marking her perfect face all the same.

  She must've seen where his eyes had gone. Smile fading, she took a half-step back and looked down. He watched her bend to pick up his Stetson. She dusted off the brim and handed it over the rail. “Lose this?” she asked.

  He took it and set it on his head. Unsure of himself, he gave her a short nod then jumped back into the corral.

  Walking away from her on numb legs, he looked up and saw Wade running toward him, mouth stretched wide to accommodate his eager grin. “Hell, kid, that was a sweet ride! You and Jack-boy put on a hell of a show. The crowd got their whole money's worth out of that performance. You okay?"

  Hell no.

  * * * *

  Judd Black. By God. She hadn't had a chance to say goodbye to him before she left for acting school. But she remembered, clear as day, the last time she'd seen him herding cattle with her brothers. Around the time she'd left Wayback, he'd taken to hanging out down at the rodeo ... mostly to avoid her brother Keefe. She'd forgotten all about their long-running feud and wondered if they'd finally come to blows or if they'd ever settled things between them.

  When she was fifteen and gearing up to leave Texas, Judd had already gone to work for her father with her brothers. He'd been a daily presence on her father's cattle ranch, Ridge Range, since Jim Black, her father's original foreman, had found him, walking through the woods on the outskirts of the Range, bruised, limping and starving. He'd been ten years old.

  They'd tried to find out where he'd come from, what had been done to him. Accident? Runaway? No one had ever found out. Judd was mute. When anyone had asked his name, where he'd come from, what had happened, who his folks were, he hadn't said a word and continued to hold his silence for the next three years.