by Gail Barrett
She scanned the mountains ringing the horizon—the Bridger Mountains to the north, the Madison front of the Rockies to the west—their huge peaks dusted with snow. It always amazed her how far she could see out west without humidity hazing the air. Looking up, she spotted a lone hawk riding the currents, and a soothing peace settled inside. She loved the wide open spaces of the land where she’d grown up.
Then a man drove past in a pickup truck and shot her a hostile glare. She stiffened, trying not to let it affect her, but her fleeting sense of harmony disappeared. That right there was the reason she’d moved back east—because of people like him. To them, she was a Native American first, an individual second. Even having a Caucasian mother hadn’t helped her fit in. At least in the anonymity of Chicago, she had the freedom to be herself.
And frankly, there’d been nothing to hold her here after high school. No family, aside from her father. No man, not after Cole Kelley made it clear where his priorities lay.
Her stomach turned over at the thought of Cole. In the past she’d managed to avoid him during her visits home to Maple Cove—but that was before her father had become the foreman on his ranch. Now that her father lived in a cabin on the Bar Lazy K, she was bound to run into Cole.
But maybe not. October was roundup time, the busiest time of the year. Cole would be loading cattle, shipping them to market. If she was lucky, she’d never see him around.
And if she did… So what? Cole was ancient history. He’d made his choice—his land over her—and she no longer cared. She had a great life in Chicago—a cozy apartment, good friends, a fabulous job despite the current setback. If she’d hoped for more at one time—if she’d longed for a family and marriage to Cole—she’d learned the futility of that. There was no point dreaming for things she couldn’t have.
A new Ford pickup pulled up to the curb, and she waved to the driver, Kenny Greene, a former high school classmate and a cowboy on Cole’s ranch. Determined to forget Cole—and her worries in Chicago—she tossed her suitcase into the back of the shiny pickup and climbed into the passenger seat.
For the next two weeks she was on vacation. She would bake her father chokecherry pies, sit on his porch swing and read and go for long rides on his horse while he napped. The Bar Lazy K had twelve thousand acres to get lost in, more if she rode onto government land. She’d never see Cole Kelley or even give him another thought.
She hoped.
Late that evening, Cole pulled into his yard and parked in the fluorescent halo pooling from the pole light next to the barn. More light poured from the ranch house, glinting from the floor-to-ceiling windows like honeyed-gold.
He cut the engine, a deep weariness seeping through his bones, and sighed. Damn, he was tired. He’d put in another sixteen-hour day. He tossed his leather work gloves onto the dashboard and massaged his throbbing temples, still unable to believe that he’d lost those cows.
It made no sense. None of his neighbors would have done it. They were all on friendly terms. In fact, the neighbor who owned the alfalfa was trying to sell Cole his thousand-acre spread—if Cole could swing the down payment when he sold his cows.
And he couldn’t imagine his father’s mistresses shooting the cattle. Shooting Hank, definitely. Cole was surprised his mother hadn’t done that years ago. But to kill the cows?
Still, he’d bet his ranch the killings were related to his father. He couldn’t prove it, but given the problems plaguing his family, no other explanation fit.
His back aching, Cole climbed out of the truck and rotated his stiff shoulders, then bent to pet Domino, who’d joined Mitzy in circling his feet. He’d reported the shooting to the sheriff. He’d herded the surviving cows back into their pasture and strung new wire on the fence. And tomorrow, he’d have his men check every cow on every inch of the twenty-square-mile ranch.
He just hoped he could get those cattle to market before that predicted cold front moved in—or anything else went wrong.
A soft whine drew his gaze. “Hey, Ace.” He stooped and scratched the gray-muzzled, fifteen-year-old border collie who thumped his tail and licked his hand. Ace had retired from chasing cows when his eyesight failed and now spent his days in the house, pampered by the ranch’s cook and housekeeper, Hannah Brown. But, retired or not, the old dog still faithfully greeted Cole whenever he came home.
The other two dogs, not to be ignored, leaped against Cole and butted his hand. Cole laughed and ruffled their fur. When he straightened, they bounded off, heading for their food bowls, no doubt.
His own stomach growled, and he shot a longing glance at the ranch house, wanting nothing more than a cold beer, a hot meal and some long-overdue oblivion in his king-size bed. But he had a lame colt to check on first.
He strode to the barn, the sight of the freshly painted corral easing his tension a notch. His grandmother had built the lavish ranch house on the family homestead, its soaring ceilings and two-story windows more suited to Aspen than Maple Cove. But the barn… Fierce satisfaction surged inside him. That was Cole’s contribution, the first thing he’d remodeled when he and his brother Dylan had bought the place. He’d added a dozen horse stalls, created more heated space to birth calves. He’d also upgraded the pens and loading chutes, satisfied that he now had a modern outfit to tend his stock.
He opened the wide barn door, greeted by the familiar scent of hay. A soft light came from the nearest stall where his ranch foreman kept his horse.
“Rusty?” he called out, his exasperation rising. The stubborn man was supposed to be lying in bed with his broken leg propped up, not fooling around with his horse.
He swung open the gate to the stall, expecting to see his old foreman hobbling on his crutches and cast. Instead, a woman stood with her back to him, brushing Rusty’s chestnut mare.
Bethany Moore. Cole abruptly came to a stop. Even after a dozen years, the sight of her straight black hair shimmering in the lamp light and those long, slender legs in her tight blue jeans knocked his heart off course.
She whipped around, and her black, fathomless eyes met his, giving his pulse an erratic beat. He scanned her full, sultry lips, her high, exotic cheekbones, the feminine curves of her breasts. And damned if she didn’t still get to him, even after all these years. From her dusky skin and erotic mouth to the intelligence in her sooty eyes, she called to something inside him, appealing to him in a visceral, primitive way.
And memories flashed back before he could stop them—Bethany riding beside him into the mountains, her satiny hair streaming behind her like a sensual flag. Bethany digging with him for arrowheads, her white teeth flashing as she laughed. Bethany poised above him, her tawny skin bathed by moonlight as they made love beneath the stars.
As a teenager, she’d burned him alive. She’d sparked a craving in him he couldn’t resist. And he’d never experienced anything remotely like it since.
Realizing he was already half aroused, he scowled. After the day he’d had, Bethany was the last person he needed to deal with. “What are you doing here?” he said, his voice roughened by fatigue.
Her full mouth flattened. She flicked her head, swinging her long, straight hair over her back. “Brushing my father’s horse.”
Obviously. His frown deepened. She lifted her chin, her eyes sparking fire, a sure indication that he’d ticked her off. Then she hung up the brush on a peg in the stall and pushed past him out the door, her soft scent curling around him like a taunt. “Bethany…”
She spun around. “I’m only here to take care of my father, okay? I’m not going to bother you.”
The hell she wouldn’t. Just seeing her stirred up feelings he didn’t want to deal with, memories he had no desire to relive. His temples suddenly pounding, he crossed his arms. “I was just surprised to see you. I never expected you to come back to Maple Cove, considering how anxious you were to leave.”
“Anxious?” She shot him an incredulous look. “I had no choice. You knew I couldn’t stay here.”
She meant she wouldn’t stay. But no one ever did. His own temper rising, he lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “It was none of my business what you did.”
“Yes, you made that clear.” She shook her head, and a weary look replaced the temper in her eyes. “Don’t worry, Cole. I’m only here for the next two weeks. I’ll be sure to stay out of your way.” She turned on her heel and stalked from the barn, her boots rapping the cement floor.
He watched her go, a dull ache battering his skull. Hell. He’d screwed that up royally, putting the perfect cap on an already lousy day.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled. He hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings. And he hadn’t meant to dredge up the past. She’d just caught him off guard. He was exhausted, hungry, worried about his ranch and his sister. He’d needed time to prepare.
But maybe it was for the best if she was mad. He didn’t need more complications in his life—and she’d only leave again. Besides, they weren’t exactly friends, despite the attraction he still felt. They were former classmates, former lovers…former everything. Whatever they’d shared was over, and there was nothing left to say.
Nothing except sorry. He dragged his hand over his face with a sigh. He owed her an apology, all right. No matter what his mood, she hadn’t deserved to have her head chewed off. But he’d deal with that in the morning.
And then he’d stay as far from Bethany—and temptation—as he could.
Chapter 2
So much for not giving Cole Kelley another thought.
Bethany stood in the pharmacy in the neighboring town of Honey Creek the following morning, berating her lack of control. She’d spent the entire night tossing and turning, reliving every nuance of that strained encounter in the barn. She’d overreacted. She’d let Cole’s vibrant blue eyes demolish her composure, bringing back a flood of rejection and pain. But she hadn’t expected to see him so soon—or that he’d look so impossibly good.
Disgusted with herself, she exhaled, determined not to spend more time thinking about Cole. If she’d learned anything in the years since high school, it was that there were things she couldn’t change. So she’d moved on. She’d made a good life for herself in Chicago. And she had enough to worry about without obsessing over him.
“I’ve got it in stock,” the pharmacist said, returning to the counter where she waited. “But it will be about twenty minutes before I can get to it.”
“That’s fine.” Pulling her mind back to her father’s prescription, Bethany glanced at her watch. “I’ll do some shopping and come back.”
Dead tired from the lack of sleep, she strolled up the narrow aisle of the pharmacy and pushed open the door to the street. It was early, barely nine o’clock, and nothing else was open in Honey Creek except the ranch supply store and Kelley’s Cookhouse, the town’s most popular place to eat.
Yawning, she glanced up the empty main street toward the restaurant, debating whether to get some coffee while she waited for the prescription. She could definitely use the caffeine boost. But Cole’s aunt and uncle owned the cookhouse, and she’d gone there on dates with Cole—memories she didn’t need to stir up.
Another yawn convinced her. She started up the tree-lined sidewalk just as a black, four-wheel-drive pickup pulled up to the restaurant and parked. Cole Kelley climbed out, and Bethany came to a halt.
Her heart somersaulted as he turned toward her. Their eyes met in the morning sunshine, and her traitorous pulse began to race. She shifted her weight, the urge to flee surging inside her, but she forced herself to stay put. She wasn’t going to spend the next two weeks bolting like a startled rabbit whenever she ran into Cole.
He started toward her, his long, determined strides devouring the distance between them. She pasted a neutral expression on her face, refusing to let him see how rattled she felt. But it was hard to feign indifference when the lanky, rangy teen she’d once loved had turned into an impossibly virile man.
She skimmed the wide, thick planks of his shoulders, the intriguing fit of his faded jeans. Years of ranch work had broadened his neck and back, erasing any hint of softness, turning his powerful biceps to steel.
She swallowed around the dust in her throat, her blood humming as he drew near. Cole had certainly aged nicely. And he was no vain Chicago businessman with muscles toned in front of a mirror. He was the real deal, a rugged Montana cowboy, a one-hundred-percent-natural male.
He stopped close enough to touch her, and his startling blue eyes captured hers. Her pulse beating wildly, she scanned his sensual mouth, the strong angles of his rock hard jaw, the lean, tanned planes of his face. Sunshine slanted through the branches of a nearby maple, highlighting the sun kissed streaks in his espresso-colored hair.
“Listen, Bethany…” His deep voice rumbled through her, and she rubbed her arms, trying to quell her response. He had the sexiest voice she’d ever heard, a deep, gravelly rasp that tempted a woman to sin. And when he’d whispered to her in the dark…
She shivered again, battling her reaction. It was conditioning, nothing more, like Pavlov’s dogs. One look at Cole and she instantly thought of sex—which was inevitable, considering the molten affair they’d had.
But she knew that wasn’t quite accurate. Any woman would react to him the same way. Cole’s blatant masculinity attracted women like a lone tree drew lightning during a violent electrical storm.
“I’m sorry if I was rude last night,” he continued. His lips edged into a grimace, making sexy dents bracket his mouth, and she found it hard to breathe. “I had a bad day. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”
“That’s all right.”
“No, it’s not. Not really.” His intense eyes skewered hers. “How about if we start over? I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”
“Oh.” Her gaze shot to Kelley’s Cookhouse, where two elderly ranchers limped out the door. “Thanks, but I don’t think—”
“Come on, I owe you that much. And you can fill me in on Rusty’s progress.” He tilted his head. “I was heading there anyway. I need to talk to my Uncle Don.”
Her instincts warned against it, but she never did have any willpower around Cole. A whispered word, one glance from those hypnotic eyes had convinced her to abandon every inhibition—with the most erotic results.
But that was then. Surely she could have a cup of coffee with him now without falling apart. And maybe it would put their relationship on a more casual footing. Then she could simply nod and wave when she saw him on the ranch—and finally get him out of her head.
“All right. Coffee it is.” She just hoped she wasn’t making a mistake.
“So how is Rusty?” Cole asked, adjusting his longer stride to hers.
“He’s in a lot of pain. He won’t admit it, but I heard him groaning all night.” While she was lying awake thinking about Cole. “That’s why I’m here. The pharmacy in Maple Cove didn’t have his prescription and I didn’t want to wait another day.”
“It was a nasty break.”
And an even odder accident. “He didn’t tell me what happened, just that he fell off his horse.” Which was bizarre. She’s seen her father stick to the back of unbroken mustangs. She couldn’t imagine him getting thrown from his steady mare.
“He was out riding fences in the pasture that borders Rock Creek, near the old Blackfoot teepee ring. He’d stopped there on his way back up to the mountains to find my missing cows. He said his mare spooked and dragged him a ways.”
“Dragged him?” Horrified, Bethany stopped and gaped at Cole. “He didn’t tell me that.”
“He probably didn’t want you to worry.”
Or insist he stay off a horse, especially at his age. But she knew better than to suggest it. Behind her father’s quiet, laid-back facade lurked fierce stubbornness and pride.
“I can’t believe his horse dragged him. That mare never spooks. What on earth set her off?”
“He didn’t see,” Cole said as they resumed walking.
“He’s lucky he wasn�
��t killed.” Shaken that she could have lost him, Bethany climbed the wooden steps to the cookhouse. While she’d been oblivious in Chicago, her father could have died.
Cole pulled open the door, jangling the welcoming cowbell, and she preceded him inside. The restaurant hadn’t changed in the past twelve years. The same red-checkered cloths still covered the tables. The old, planked bar still dominated the room, flanked by square wooden stools. Cattle brands and horseshoes decorated the walls, along with photos from local rodeos. The familiar scents of coffee and bacon permeated the air.
She didn’t know how many hours she’d spent here in high school, hanging around with Cole. But it brought back a rush of longing, a poignant reminder of the hopes she’d left behind.
A reminder she definitely didn’t need right now. She was trying to gain some distance from Cole, not remember the good times they’d shared.
The saloon-style doors to the kitchen swung open. Cole’s aunt Bonnie Gene came bustling out, her face wreathed around a smile. “Why, Bethany Moore! Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” She hurried around the bar, her shoulder-length brown hair swinging, her light brown eyes shining with warmth, and Bethany couldn’t help but smile back.
“It’s about time you came back here,” Bonnie Gene scolded. “And aren’t you as gorgeous as ever!” She gave her a hard hug and turned to Cole. “Isn’t she gorgeous, Cole?”
Bethany’s face burned. She braved a look at Cole. His eyes met hers, and a sudden sizzle of awareness stopped her breath. So he still felt it, too.
“Yeah,” he said, his voice gruff. “She’s gorgeous.”
Her heart skittering, she jerked her gaze away.
“Sit right here.” Bonnie Gene ushered her onto a stool. She pulled another seat close and pushed Cole into it, maneuvering him faster than a border collie herding cows. “Coffee?” she asked Bethany.
