He walked out before he could say any more and passed Angelina as he strode through the kitchen.
She looked at him, then beyond, toward his father’s office. Concern drew her brows together, but he didn’t need her concern. Right now he needed manual labor, mindless and back breaking, something to help him forget that his career had capsized and he was scraping a living working for his selfish, self-absorbed father—again.
He slammed through the door and stomped across the yard. Hobbs took one look at him when he banged into the barn, and the old cowboy stopped and sighed. “I was hopin’ for a peaceful night, but if you go crashin’ ’round like a madman, these gals are gonna be droppin’ young’uns every which way.”
Colt marched straight through the barn, flung open the far door, and stood, breathing in cold, fresh air while his nerves settled. And when the cold bit deep into his cheeks and ears, he closed the door, turned, and faced Hobbs. “I’m fine. I’ve got this. Go get some sleep.”
Hobbs faltered, then shrugged. “You know where I am if need be. We’ve got two that look mighty antsy and two that might surprise us.” He pointed to the near end of the barn. “I think the others have a few days, but I’ve been proved wrong before.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
Hobbs turned, then swung back. “I knew they was in that cabin.”
That wasn’t a big surprise. Age had done nothing but sharpen the older man’s vision and wisdom.
Hobbs gripped the rail in front of him, watching the cows he’d separated from the herd. “I weren’t sure who or what, but I knew Sam was keepin’ someone safe there. And while that’s a secretive kind of thing, it ain’t necessarily bad, Colt.”
Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t, and maybe it was just that glimpse in a really old mirror that upset him. A little boy lost, wishing for his mother to come see him. Tuck him in. Say his prayers with him and read him a story.
This wasn’t his fight. Once he got back on his feet he’d catch the first red-eye back to his life at One Financial Center and reclaim his place among the gilded. While here—and while around Angelina, especially—he meant to keep his distance, because every time she turned those smoke-brown eyes his way, the last thing on his mind was distance.
Colt Stafford had been carefully aloof—polite but distant—for the past two weeks since bringing Noah and her mother to the house.
It’s better that way, Angelina decided as she parked the SUV in a rare empty spot in front of Hammerstein’s Mercantile. Ham sat tall behind the seasonal counter of a store that offered just about anything a body could want or need, according to the change in weather. He glanced up and gave her a little wave, friendly, like always. She waved back, kept walking, and ran smack into Colt at the junction of bulk dried foods and Hammerstein’s Deli.
“Sorry, ma’am.” Firm hands grabbed hold of her as she stumbled, and the smell of roughed leather, horse, and coffee made her take a quick breath of appreciation. “I wasn’t paying attention, I—” He stopped when he realized it was her inside the coat and hat, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he held her tighter, drinking her in with those big blue eyes. She’d respected his distance for those two weeks, but now…
Oh, now…
Her heart sped up. So did her breathing. She averted her eyes, refusing to explore the question of what it would be like to kiss Colt Stafford. But for these short seconds, she wondered what it would be like to step closer to Colt instead of away…
He dropped his hands, and she shoved her foolish thoughts aside. “No harm,” she told him, as if nothing had happened to shatter her carefully constructed safe zone. “Hard to see your way forward when you’ve got your eyes trained behind you, and I see Ham’s got some mighty good-looking help here today.” She flashed a teasing smile toward Ham’s daughter Gretchen.
Total cowboy, Colt turned toward Gretchen and touched the brim of his hat. “True words.”
“Aw, thanks, guys. You’ve come for your order, Angelina?” Gretchen opened the sliding glass door on the display cooler and lifted out a good-sized bag. “I’ve got it all sliced, the rolls are fresh, and Dad has your veggie bags in the produce cooler—along with the secret dressing, of course.”
“Gretchen, thank you. Having this ready is a real timesaver. This way I won’t have to be away too long.”
“Calf dropping’s a busy time. Glad to help.”
Angelina indicated Colt’s sandwich bag with a glance. “You got your own lunch?”
“Seemed sensible.” He drawled the words while giving her a more intent look. “More peaceful that way.”
“ ‘Peace begins with a smile,’ Colt.” She locked eyes with his. “Mother Teresa liked to say that. You might want to give it a try. It couldn’t hurt, and it might knock part of that chip off your shoulder. But there’s no one to smile at if you spend every single day alone.”
“It’s been working so far.” He turned and touched his finger to the brim of his hat again. “Gretchen. Have a good one.”
“You too, Colt.”
“See you later, Angelina.”
“Right.” She shifted her attention back to Gretchen as Colt headed toward the mercantile’s front door.
“Um? Totally smokin’,” Gretchen said. She indicated the far door with an admiring look. “My older sister always called him the hot one, as if Nick and Trey barely made the cut. I thought she was crazy.” She leaned forward and sighed, purposely over the top. “Now I have to apologize to her because she was spot on. How long is he staying?”
Wasn’t that the question of the hour? “I don’t know, but he’s been a huge help to Nick in light of Sam’s illness.”
“Angelina, you are so PC,” Gretchen teased as she swiped Angelina’s credit card and waited for the machine’s flash of approval. “I’m sure Hobbs and Brock and Murt are big helps too, but the three of them together don’t sport the eye candy of the number one son.”
“Colt’s good looking?” Angelina made a doubtful face, playing along. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“Really?” A deep voice sounded right behind her.
Gretchen’s change of expression confirmed it—Colt hadn’t left the store. Angelina started to move away, embarrassed, but Colt just grabbed the bag of food in one smooth gesture. “Maybe my looks will improve if I help carry things to the car. Ham gave me the produce bags, so I figured I’d come back this way and give you a hand.”
Gretchen made a little face of contrition, handed off the receipt, and waved. “Um…see you guys later.”
“Thanks, Gretchen.”
Gretchen started to nod, but then Colt turned back her way. “So your sister thinks Nick and Trey pale in comparison, hmm?”
Gretchen flushed.
Colt winked at her. “Tell her I said hey.”
“I will.”
Angelina pulled the heavy glass door open, then held it for Colt as he came through. Once the door swung shut behind them, she stopped. She was about to read him the riot act for a number of reasons, including, but not limited to, flirting with girls barely out of college, sneaking up on folks when they were talking about him, and eavesdropping on private conversations held in a public place.
And then he set down the bag of fresh produce, raised his hand, and laid it ever so gently against her cheek. Her skin warmed to his palm. His eyes met hers and held for long, slow, sweet seconds. And then he grazed her cheek lightly and sighed. “We could be in big trouble here, Ange.”
Angelina stiffened. A good cop was supposed to be skilled at avoiding trouble, but right here, right now, trouble in the form of Colt Stafford looked mighty nice. Worse, she was pretty sure Colt understood his appeal to women and probably used it to his advantage. She didn’t need or want to put herself in that situation again. Ever.
“I think about you all the time.” His eyes traced her face, her eyes, her lips…lingered there…and then he lightened the moment with a teasing smile. “It actually borders on annoying.”
“Then stop,” she told h
im, wishing the attraction away. “Stop thinking about me.”
“But what if I can’t?” He said the words soft, so soft she wasn’t really sure she heard them. “What if I don’t want to?”
She’d met trouble face to face with a money-comes-first type. She wasn’t looking for a repeat performance. She stepped just out of reach. “May I remind you that you’re here on a temporary basis, ready to jump ship in a New York minute? I suggest we muddle along like we have been, avoiding one another while maintaining a polite distance.” She raised her eyebrow. “Politeness means not being a surly bear, snapping and growling every chance one gets.”
“The surly bear disappears when I’m near the kids, right?”
She had to hand it to him; he was on his best behavior when the kids were around. Sweet. Funny. Compassionate. She started across the broad porch toward the SUV. “You’re surprisingly good with them.”
“Why surprising?” He grabbed the bag he’d set down and followed.
“I don’t think most Wall Street types make racing cars on the carpet and pick-up sticks a priority.”
“How many Wall Street types do you know?” He paused when they reached the wide, open steps leading down to the street. “I can’t imagine it’s too many.”
“One was enough.”
He held her gaze, thoughtful. “He didn’t play by the rules?”
“In retrospect, I should have set much firmer rules. I know better now.”
“So that makes me a bad guy by association.”
She wanted to say yes and lump all successful money marketers together, but was Colt a bad guy?
She’d seen enough of him to recognize the wounded soul within. But lots of folks had wounded souls and actually did something positive as a result. “I’ve got to get the lunch stuff home.”
“I’ll help you put it in the car.” And then he made the subtle move that wrangled her heart just so.
He shifted the bags all to one arm and took her hand to help her down the steps.
Nothing big, no grand Manhattan-style gesture, just a gentleman helping a lady to her car.
He released her hand to open the back of the SUV and stow the sacks of produce inside. She instantly missed the feel of her hand in his. The grip of his fingers, strong and sure, cradling her smaller hand. It felt like a promise to keep her safe from harm—the kind of silly, fun, feminine thought cops rarely allowed themselves, but for this moment she did, and it felt wonderful.
“Colt.”
“Hmm?” He pushed up the brim of his old black hat and didn’t offer the dazzling grin he flashed freely. This smile was calmer. Sweeter. Special.
Her heart didn’t want to calm.
She forced it to because nothing about this could end well. He’d leave, she’d leave, Noah’s sensitive nature would be messed up, and her mother would aim “I told you so” looks in her direction. “Don’t start things you can’t finish, cowboy.”
“I never do.”
She was pretty sure he took it more like a challenge instead of the warning she intended. He swung open the driver’s door for her, held it as she stepped inside, then closed it behind her. He moved aside as she pulled away, but when she glanced back in the rearview mirror, Colt Stafford was still watching.
Red flags popped up in her brain, but her heart would have none of it because the minute Colt took her hand, he grabbed hold of a piece of her heart as well. She knew better than to allow herself to travel that road again. She’d be foolish to allow the two-sided attraction to grow, and she’d put a firm lid on foolish a few years back. No way was she going to reopen that box now.
—
Colt watched Angelina drive away, and for the first time since everything went bad, he wondered if there was more than money at stake in his circumstances. Maybe…just maybe…he was supposed to be here. Of course the idea was ludicrous and got shoved aside when he heard the crusty voice from the broad mercantile porch behind him. “You’re back.”
Colt didn’t miss the slur, which meant Johnny Baxter had tied one on quite early in the day. He stepped onto the sidewalk and tipped his hat slightly as he continued to move toward his truck. A quiet acknowledgment wasn’t going to be enough for Johnny. He followed Colt along the walk, then grasped the porch rail at the far end and spat as Colt reached for the driver’s door of his truck.
The spittle landed shy of the car. Colt hoped Johnny would be content with making his opinion known and moving on.
Johnny wasn’t all that bright.
He moved down the porch stairs, shaking a finger in Colt’s direction. “Just like the old man, ain’t ya? Takin’ and keepin’ and squanderin’. He done it with land and pushin’ folks out. You did it with honest folks’ money. A chip off the old block. And now you’re home, a raw pup, tail tucked. And that ain’t no surprise to anybody hereabouts. Old man sick, the failure son comes home to run the place into the ground. Same old, same old.”
Colt held back, but just barely. It took everything he had not to drive a fist into Johnny’s sneering face, and he might have done just that, but Sheriff Rye Bennett came across the porch from the other direction. He gave Colt a slight shake of his head as he descended the stairs, then stuck out his hand when he drew close enough. “Welcome home, Colt.”
His move defused the situation, but not Johnny’s wrath. “Like always, it ain’t what you know, it’s who you know ’round here. And everybody wants to saddle up with the Staffords. Even the law.” Johnny shuffled off, spewing words not fit for anyone’s ears, his feet scraping the worn concrete path.
Rye sighed, then turned back to Colt. “He’s gotten worse. He’s rarely sober and blames your father for everything he’s lost—his farm, his wife, his estranged kids, and his job.”
“Heavy list.”
“Things have a way of trickling down,” Rye noted. “If he hadn’t lost the farm in that drought, he might have stayed married and not become an alcoholic. One change affects the other. That wasn’t Sam’s fault, but his arrogance in bidding on four spreads in the face of others’ failures left some rough feelings.”
“That was twenty-five years ago. You’d think folks would move on, wouldn’t you?”
“Some, yes. Others, no.” Rye waved down Center Street. “You know how it is here. With folks who go back several generations, stories don’t fade, they grow with time. In their minds, the proof is right there in front of them, day in and day out. While so many places fell apart, the Double S flourished and grew.”
“And my father wasn’t exactly subtle about any of it.” He watched as Johnny turned right on First Avenue. “But we’re still talking a long time ago, Rye. We were kids.”
“Brats, riding and roping and falling out of the saddle.” Rye fake-punched Colt’s arm. “And now we’re here again.”
“You were on the force in Chicago, weren’t you?” The last Colt knew, Rye was a big-city officer in Chi-Town.
“Yup.”
“Did you hate the city?” Colt found that thought surprising, but why else would someone come back to Gray’s Glen?
Rye scoffed. “Loved it. Something going on all the time. But when my mom died, I had a choice. Either come home and raise Jenna and Brendan here, or take my two middle school siblings into the crazy of Chicago and pretend I could keep an eye on them while I worked. That made it a no-brainer.”
Rye’s mother was gone? Regret hit Colt as he stood with his old friend. “I didn’t know about your mother, Rye. I’m sorry.”
“I appreciate the sympathy,” Rye said. “It came fairly quick and a surprise to boot. Good for her, worse for us. If you really want to know stuff,” he added, “you’d have to come home once in a while.”
Nick had said the same thing. Both were right. Colt hauled in a deep breath. “I’ll do better.”
Rye snorted.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Colt said.
“No problem.”
“How are the kids doing?” Colt asked.
“It’
s been eight months, and every stinking holiday and anniversary puts Jenna in tears and makes Brendan want to punch people,” Rye told him. “He’s running track this spring—if spring ever gets here—and I’m hoping that helps. He needs a goal, an end game.”
“He needs his mother,” Colt said softly. He knew that no amount of outside activity could take the place of someone who loved you best.
Rye didn’t pretend otherwise. “I know. You comprehend that more than anyone. But I can’t do anything about that except try to be here for them. It doesn’t help that there’s so much garbage kids can get into these days. I feel more like a guard than a brother.”
“That’s probably a hazard of the trade when you put on the uniform. Why don’t you bring the kids over for dinner this Sunday?” Colt suggested. “The temperatures are rising, which means mud, but mud means softer weather. I can get them up on a horse. Give them some paddock practice. Nothing like big animals and getting dirty to train a kid’s brain the right way.”
“They’d love it,” Rye replied. “What time? I’ve got to get them to church at ten, so the afternoon would be better.”
“Angelina and Dad will be coming into town for church too. Come by around two,” Colt said. “I’ll run it by Angelina just to make sure.”
“Sounds good. And when I get tempted to hang around after dark, kick me out, okay?”
“You’ve got a curfew, Rye? Is that one of the new town regulations?”
“If it was, I could hound the mayor and get it fixed. No, it’s the homework thing. Life with kids. Weekend homework is always a last-minute, throw-together thing for Brendan. Jenna’s is done by supper time on Friday. Brendan’s is a struggle every Sunday night.”
“That brings back a memory or two.” Colt chucked him on the arm. “I’ve got to head out, but thanks for coming over here when you saw Johnny. I appreciate it.”
Back in the Saddle Page 11
