A Cowboy Summer (Harlequin Super Romance)

by Salonen, Debra

  A.J., who was sitting sprawled in his favorite chair—the king’s throne Esther used to call it—shrugged. “They all do,” he muttered.

  In Will’s experience, leaving was inevitable, but it was usually Will who walked away. He’d yet to meet a woman who inspired him to stay put. Or maybe, as his pal Hayward once said, Will never gave one the chance to inspire him properly.

  “She had to get home to Zoey,” A.J. added. “Poor little mite was too sick to come to the funeral. Annie was caught between a rock and a hard place—trying to be a good daughter and a good mother at the same time.”

  The tiny bit of ire Will felt disappeared. He had no right to judge Anne. He barely knew her.

  But guaranteed they would know each other better by the end of the summer, he told himself as he turned at the large, rough-hewn sign making the entrance to the Silver Rose.

  The tires of his four-wheel-drive Chevy churned up dust as he raced down the mile-long driveway. Esther had dreamt of getting the lane paved one day. Will had suggested it once to A.J., who nixed the idea. “Blacktop will get chewed up in winter, and concrete breaks. With gravel, it ain’t quite so slippery.”

  Made sense, Will had thought at the time. But A.J. wasn’t the one trying to keep dust off the furniture. “Sorry, Esther,” Will murmured.

  The ranch, which had been in the Cavanaugh family since pioneer times, was a well-laid-out arrangement: house and garage on the left-hand side of the hub and barns and outbuildings to the right. In the middle of the circle was a sprawling cottonwood tree that had been climbed by generations of Cavanaugh children—fewer and fewer as the years went on. Will’s father had been an only child and Will was an only child. A.J. had had two older brothers who were killed in World War II, leaving no heirs.

  Will’s grandmother was Boston born. Her family had been mortified by her decision to marry a rancher living on the edge of the wilderness and threatened to disown her.

  At some point, her parents had forgiven her, but Will was pretty sure no one from that side of the family had come to her funeral.

  Not that he remembered much from that time. His parents had been killed in a car accident and he’d come to live with his grandparents. But his grandmother wasn’t the same woman he’d known. Sad and withdrawn, she’d died a few years later. “Grief sucked the light right out of her,” his grandfather had said.

  When A.J. remarried, it was something of a relief to have a woman in the house, even though Will took off not long after. But his affection for Esther had grown over the years. She was the quintessential grandmother—happy, welcoming and nosy in a caring way. She would spoil him rotten the whole time he was visiting, then send him off with a huge care package.

  As Will neared the buildings, the first thing he spotted was an older motor home. Spotless and outwardly road-worthy, it appeared perfect for an old man on a mission. When his grandfather first introduced the idea of crossing the country alone, Will had tried to talk A.J. into waiting until Will could accompany him, but A.J. said it wouldn’t be proper. This trip belonged to Esther.

  Will still had some trepidation, but since A.J. hadn’t asked for his opinion, Will didn’t offer it. The only thing A.J. had asked for was three months of Will’s life. A shiver tingled down his back as Will considered how providential his grandfather’s call had been. Three months of healing might give him a shot at the Labor Day Buck-Off in Reno.

  Talk about timing, Will thought. Rolling down his window, he took a deep breath of the brisk, pine-scented air. Nothing in his travels had ever compared to that smell. His heart felt full and excitement coursed through his veins. It was good to be home.

  Not that he didn’t expect to be chomping at the bit to leave by the end of August. Ranch life hadn’t been enough to keep his father settled down and fulfilled, and Will was familiar with the restless yearning that struck him whenever he tarried in one place too long. He figured that was another reason he’d stuck with bull riding so long—the itinerant lifestyle suited him fine. No matter how tempting it was to put down roots, there was always another event up the road calling his name.

  But three months won’t kill me, he thought. My co-manager, on the other hand… Will scanned the yard for a sign of Anne or her daughter. A.J. had informed him last night that the two would be here when he arrived.

  Will still couldn’t quite believe that a city girl like Anne had agreed to spend the summer at the Silver Rose. Not only did the move seem out of character—she’d made it clear over the years that she wasn’t fond of Nevada—but he imagined Anne would find it painful to step into her mother’s shoes so soon after Esther’s death.

  As he pulled into a parking spot in front of the two-story white farmhouse, a movement on the covered porch caught his eye. Two figures—a woman and a child—occupied the glider that faced the road. The smaller one jumped to her feet and rushed to the railing. Will couldn’t make out her features thanks to the shadows cast by the old-fashioned coach lights on either side of the door.

  Even though daylight savings time had extended the evening by an hour, mountain dwellers knew that in these parts night fell like a stage curtain. Temperatures dropped dramatically in a matter of minutes and those not prepared could find themselves suffering hypothermia. Will ignored the chill when he stepped out of his truck.

  “Hey, there,” he called. “I made it.”

  He closed the door, leaving his gear where it was. Will already knew which cabin he planned to use for the summer. Esther always gave him his pick when he visited and he preferred to keep some space between himself and the house.

  He stretched cautiously. He’d learned the hard way not to make sudden moves until his muscles were fully aware of his intentions.

  A waist-high fence encircled a twenty-foot strip of lawn that Esther had valiantly battled to save from moles, gophers and marauding deer. When he reached the gate, an odd mix of carved wood and deer antlers, he lifted his arm in greeting. “Howdy, ladies.”

  Too late he remembered Rupert’s Bastard—the bull he’d been riding in Fort Worth when he landed on his right shoulder, tearing his rotator cuff. He winced and let his arm fall to his side.

  Maybe they didn’t see…

  “Are you hurt?” the little girl asked. She leaned so far over the railing that her mother tossed the book they’d been reading on the seat cushion and rushed to her daughter’s side.

  Will used his left hand to rub away the tingling sensation. The pain was less severe if he kept the shoulder moving. Driving for three days hadn’t helped. “Naw, I’m fine,” he said, closing the gate with the heel of his boot. “Just a bit on the stupid side. A smart person would have flown.”

  Stepping carefully to avoid the tulips that were just beginning to blossom in Esther’s flower bed, he walked to where Zoey was standing, her small feet in sporty pink leather sneakers wedged between the rungs of the railing. “You must be Zoey. That’s a great name, by the way. I’m Will.”

  Ignoring the twinge in his shoulder, he reached up to shake her hand.

  Her smile revealed a mixture of missized teeth and gaping holes. Her eyes were almost too big for her face, but she would be a looker in a few years.

  Not surprising, he thought, shifting his gaze to Anne, who, despite the dark circles under her eyes and serious frown on her lips, was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever met. That fact had dawned on him at her mother’s funeral, which had struck him as horribly inappropriate timing.

  “Your grandfather was getting worried,” Anne said. She was dressed in tennis shoes, jeans and a baggy NYU sweatshirt. Her straight, collar-length, blond hair was tucked behind her ears. “He expected you earlier.”

  Not much of a greeting, Will thought. He wasn’t sure how to interpret that. Was she unhappy about this arrangement? Or just tired from travel?

  “Hello, Anne,” he said, touching the brim of an imaginary hat. “Good to see you and finally meet your daughter. I had water-pump trouble in Tonapah. Am I too late for dinner?�
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  He gingerly backed out of the flower bed— Esther had loved her plants—and mounted the steps. Anne and Zoey met him. In the light from the coach lamps, he could see Anne’s smile and the hint of mischief in her eyes. She has emerald-green eyes. How had he forgotten that?

  “We ate hours ago,” she said. “A.J. barbecued half a cow. At least, I think it was beef. It might have been a brontosaurus.”

  Zoey laughed and shook her head. “Mommy, dinosaurs got eggstinct a long time ago.”

  “Extinct,” Anne corrected. Winking at Will, she added, “Maybe it was a buffalo.”

  Zoey made a face. “Eouw.”

  Will rested his shoulder against the upright post. “I guess that means we’re officially on ranch time, huh?” A.J. liked his meals at five, eleven and five. Surprisingly, the guests who stayed at the Silver Rose never complained about what had to be a change in their eating pattern. Of course, Esther wisely kept coffee in an insulated dispenser and various breads, rolls, cookies and snacks on hand at all times.

  “Will we be adhering to that schedule while A.J. is gone?” Will asked, curious about how Anne saw their roles.

  Anne rested a pretty, slim hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “I don’t know. Quite honestly, I haven’t had time to think about it. And since I’ve never been a guest here, I don’t have any history to maintain. Do you?”

  “Some,” Will said, surprised by her candor. Knowing her background in hotel management, he’d expected her to come in with a rigid agenda.

  Before he could elaborate, the screen door swung open on a squeaky hinge and his grandfather stepped outside. “’Bout time you got here, boy. I was ready to send out the dogs.”

  Will chuckled at the old joke. As an imaginative ten-year-old, Will had tried to train his grandfather’s ragtag troop of cow dogs to be bloodhounds. While the experiment had been doomed to fail, the canine participants had stumbled across several of Will’s hidden carcasses— G.I. Joe dolls swathed in chicken skin he’d filched from the kitchen.

  Will closed the space between them and gave his grandfather a hug. Was it his imagination or had A.J. shrunk since he’d seen him last month on the way to Texas? “You know me, Gramps, a day late and a dollar short.”

  A.J. returned the embrace but, typical of a man of his era, quickly backed away. “At least you made it,” A.J. said, his voice gruff.

  “Sorry I worried you. My cell phone won’t hold a charge. I tried a couple of times from a pay phone but nobody answered.”

  “We musta been outside. The girls were checking out my new home away from home.”

  Will gave in to the urge to look more closely at the mother and daughter standing to one side. Anne had positioned herself to shelter Zoey from the night breeze, her hands linked at Zoey’s chest. Both were casually dressed, but the overall package looked expensive. That understated glamour, he decided, was what suddenly filled him with an odd uneasiness.

  “How come the service didn’t pick up?” Will asked, forcing his gaze back toward his grandfather.

  “Mountain Phone got bought out by a bigger company. The gals that worked the reservation service got relocated— Phoenix, I believe. I been handling it myself and sometimes I forget to turn on the dang machine. That’s something you and Anne can work out.”

  A.J. turned away and headed back inside. “Let’s get you fed, then we’ll have a meeting. I’m heading out early, so we’d best get our business talk out of the way tonight.”

  “Fine with me,” Will said. A blatant lie. He’d been hoping to talk A.J. into sticking around a few days longer to give them all time to settle into their new jobs. Apparently that wasn’t going to be the case.

  He held back, waiting for Anne and Zoey to go into the house first.

  Anne took her daughter’s hand. “I promised Zoey she could take a bath in Grandma’s tub. I’ll be down as soon as I can.”

  Zoey followed docilely, but her gaze never left Will. When they parted company at the foot of the stairs, he gave her a wink. “See you in the morning, Miss Z.”

  Hurrying after his grandfather, Will glanced around the foyer and dining room. Nothing had changed since his last visit, although the whole place seemed a bit dustier and less vibrant than when Esther was alive. Still, the two-story ranch house reflected her vivacious spirit in its furnishings and color. He’d heard someone at the funeral refer to the decor as shabby chic. Will called it Early American Esther.

  Will stiff-armed the swinging door into the kitchen and found his grandfather at the microwave. The interior light of the built-in appliance came on, and Will spotted a familiar-looking bowl on the turntable. Esther had loved her colorful food-storage containers but never scolded him if he failed to return them to her. A month after her funeral he’d broken down and cried after discovering half a dozen under the seat of his truck.

  The bell dinged loudly. A.J. handed Will a fork and knife. “Sit down. You know where the napkins are. Here’s some beans. I put your steak on the grill when I heard you drive up. Still like it bloody, right?”

  “You bet.” In truth, Will’s tastes had changed over the years. He ate less meat and more vegetables and salads, but he wasn’t about to share that with A.J. In this part of Nevada, an inch-thick steak was a man’s birthright.

  Before sitting down, Will walked to the refrigerator and helped himself to a beer. He took a healthy swig then pulled a stool up to the counter, where a plate and drinking glass had been set out. While his grandfather tended the meat on “the barbecue deck,” as Esther had called it, Will let his gaze wander.

  An innovative remodeling project nine years earlier had doubled the space, and added a sitting room and master bath to the second floor. New cabinets, marble countertops and top-of-the-line appliances—including an eight-burner stove—had been necessary for Esther to offer culinary lessons for those guests who chose not to accompany the cowboys into the field. To A.J.’s surprise, she’d developed quite a following over the years. In some cases, even the husbands stuck around for a class or two.

  Is Anne planning to cook, too? Will wondered.

  “What’s wrong with your truck?” A.J. asked, returning to set out a loaf of homemade bread and the butter dish.

  Will grabbed a serrated knife from the wooden block. The bread was probably a gift from some concerned neighbor, he thought as he slathered a slice with butter. “Same ol’, same ol’,” Will said, tearing off a chunk with his teeth. He’d had his jaw wired shut a year ago to help the bones knit. His bite still wasn’t quite right. His dentist wanted him to wear a retainer or some molded guard at night, but Will wasn’t that desperate. He just chewed a bit slower, taking care that his teeth didn’t grind. “That hunk of junk has been a lemon since the day I bought it,” he admitted with a rueful smile.

  A.J.’s shaggy white eyebrow arched, but he didn’t say the words Will deserved to hear: “I told you so.” Instead, he returned to the deck. As the door closed, the smell of barbecued meat rolled in on a gray cloud.

  Will appreciated his grandfather’s restraint. Three years ago, after a particularly lucrative ride that brought him just over fifty grand, Will had called to ask A.J.’s opinion before he bought the vehicle. “Sounds like more truck than you need,” A.J. had said with his penchant for understatement.

  Will bought the lifted, turbo-charged four-wheel-drive, anyway.

  “Sure is a looker,” A.J. had said when Will came by to show it off. “Looks as though it’ll cost you plenty when all’s said and done.” Then he added, “But at least it won’t ask for alimony when you dump it.”

  His grandfather’s pithy jest proved prophetic. The darn thing ate tires as if they were made of pizza dough and guzzled gas like a wino. Will planned to sell it this summer. Surely he wasn’t the only foolish cowboy in the world.

  Will ladled a scoop of beans onto his plate. The calico-colored mix was made up of five or six different varieties in a tomato sauce. His first bite made him moan with pleasure. “Mmm…” Was that chipotle
pepper he tasted? Just a subtle bite, but delicious.

  A.J. returned, the screen door banging behind him. He carried a charred steak so large the edges hung over the rim of the plate. Anne was right—it could have been buffalo.

  “Sorry I was too late to eat with all of you,” Will said, mopping up more of the beans with his bread.

  A.J. set the platter beside Will’s plate then drew up a second stool. “The rest of us ate at a normal time.”

  Will repeated his apology then added, “These beans are great.”

  “Joy McRee made them. Didn’t you used to date her daughter?”

  “Judy? Kind of. Took her to the prom. Is Joy available to hire?”

  A.J. gave him a funny look. “That’s the same thing Anne said. Maybe you two aren’t as different as you think.”

  When A.J. had first proposed this arrangement, Will had argued that he and Anne came from opposing schools of business—college and corporate versus remedial and country. A.J. hadn’t bought it. “You don’t have to agree on everything. Look at me and Esther, for pity’s sake. We hardly ever started out at the same place, but sooner or later we found a way to work things out.

  “You and Anne just have to keep the place afloat long enough for me to do what I gotta do. When I come back I’ll probably put it on the market and settle into some old folks’ home.”

  The idea had struck Will as so abominable he’d been momentarily speechless. Apparently, A.J. had interpreted Will’s silence as approval, because he’d forged ahead with his explanation of how he envisioned the summer. “Anne’s a city girl. She doesn’t know squat about running a ranch. And you aren’t exactly what I’d call a people person. Me, neither. That was Esther’s strong point.

  “The way I see it, if you and Anne can take care of your own business and stay out of each other’s pockets, everybody ought to get along just fine. Think you can handle that?”

  Put that way, how could Will say no? He’d never backed down from a challenge. And if he and Anne were able to keep the place running smoothly, maybe A.J. would return with a more positive outlook. Will couldn’t picture his grandfather in any kind of retirement facility. A vital, active man like A.J. would shrivel up and die without something to keep his interest. And Will wasn’t about to let that happen.