“Some cowboys we are.” Cole straightened, a wry smile on his face. “Using a cell phone to track fence breaks. What would Grandpa think?”
“He’d probably have himself a good laugh.”
By Grandpa, Cole referred to their mother’s father. They knew hardly anyone on their father’s side of the family save Gabe, and him only since the death of their father.
How much their lives had changed in the past two months. Especially the past year, for Josh. First, he divorced his ex, followed by a lengthy and expensive custody battle over his two-year-old son and nine-month-old daughter. He was leaving soon to pick them up and bring them back to Dos Estrellas. He wasn’t returning to the circuit.
He was trading one career for another, that of pro rodeo cowboy for cattle rancher. Never had he thought he’d follow in his father’s footsteps or once again live at Dos Estrellas.
His gaze strayed to the ranch house and outbuildings, which appeared small from this distance. Smoke rising in a lazy curl from the chimney and a tractor driving across the open area lent the scene a charming, country feel.
Josh experienced a tug on his heartstrings. Odd. He wasn’t the sentimental sort, certainly not about this place.
“Do you remember living here at all?” he asked Cole.
“Barely.” Cole, too, stared at the ranch. “We shared a room. With bunk beds. I can remember being jealous because Mom let you have the top bunk.”
Josh remembered, too. It was the room Cara now occupied. He and Cole were staying in a guest suite that had been added to the main house about ten years ago. Once Josh returned with the kids, he’d occupy the apartment above the horse stable. It was Raquel’s idea, and Josh appreciated it. That way, Cole could keep the guest suite and the kids wouldn’t wake up the entire household with their crying.
“We had a pony,” Josh said.
“Thunder.” Cole smiled. The memory must not have haunted him like most of the others from when they lived with their father. “You tried to rope a cow from him.”
Josh also smiled. He’d been six at the time. “No trying about it. I did rope a cow.”
“And, if I recall correctly, you got jerked clean out of the saddle and dragged across the pasture.”
Josh chuckled. “After Dad rescued me and cleaned me up, he hollered at me for a full twenty minutes until my ears rang.”
“Figures.” Cole’s mood changed in an instant. “Parenting wasn’t his strong suit.”
“Actually, I think he was scared. It was a pretty foolhardy stunt. I was lucky to wind up with no more than a few cuts and bruises.” Josh didn’t often defend his father. Funny that he did now. Being a father himself had given him a new perspective.
“I guess.” Cole shrugged.
“It wasn’t all bad when we lived here.” Josh pocketed his phone and mounted Wanderer. Once in the saddle, he surveyed their surroundings. Beyond the ranch house lay the quaint community of Mustang Valley, with its equestrian trails and green belt park at its center. To the south, the striking McDowell Mountains shimmered tans, browns and gold in the midafternoon sun. “I could pick a worse spot to raise the kids.”
Cole sent Josh an arch look before hauling himself up into the saddle. “Are you ready for fatherhood?”
“I’ve been a father for almost three years.”
“Yeah, and you’ve spent maybe one of those years with the rug rats.”
Partially Josh’s fault, as a rodeo man was on the road a lot. But partially his ex-wife’s fault, too. Twice she’d taken off with the children for weeks at a stretch without telling Josh where they’d gone. Twice he’d hired a private investigator and tracked them down.
Her actions had gone a long way in convincing the judge that Josh deserved full custody, as well as her acute drug addiction. She’d recently completed a third stint in rehab and was moving into a halfway house for the foreseeable future. If she remained in the program and stayed sober for three straight months, Josh had agreed to supervised visitation.
For now, the children were staying with his former in-laws, having a last visit with them and Josh’s ex before he assumed custody. His former in-laws’ promise to watch his children carefully was the main reason he’d agreed to the stay. That, and his respect and affection for them. They loved their grandchildren and hated the mess their daughter’s addiction had made of everyone’s lives as much as Josh did.
“We’re done here.” He turned Wanderer’s head toward the ranch and pushed the horse into a jog. Thinking of his ex-wife soured his mood as much as thinking of their late father did Cole’s. “Let’s get back—” He almost said “home,” but stopped himself at the last second.
“Why the hurry?”
“I want to talk to Cara.”
“What about?”
They rode along the narrow trail. Josh had to speak over his shoulder to be heard.
“She had a small dead-broke gelding that would make a good horse for the kids.” He didn’t mention the black, deciding to keep that piece of news to himself.
“Look, I admit I know squat about kids, but aren’t they a little young to ride?”
“Nathan’s almost three.” True, baby Kimberly wasn’t walking yet, but she would at some point. “We were that age when Dad started us riding.”
It was probably the only thing their parents hadn’t argued about. Coming from a rodeo family, their mother had loved riding as much as their father and encouraged her sons from an early age. She hadn’t yelled at Josh after he’d hurt himself roping the cow. Instead, she’d gone out the next day and bought him his first real lariat.
“You sure you just don’t want to see Violet?” Cole flashed Josh a sly grin. “She’s due back from the grain supplier about this time.”
For some reason, Cole and Gabe believed Josh was interested in the livestock manager. Not that Violet wasn’t pretty, and Josh did like her. As a friend. Nothing more.
Nonetheless, he didn’t correct his brother. The same uncertainty that had him keeping his interest in the black mustang to himself also made him keep his fascination with Cara a secret. Cole might not appreciate Josh’s plan to get to know Cara better. Then again, Cara might not appreciate it, either.
No matter. He was determined. Josh hadn’t successfully competed at a championship level the past twelve years because he gave up quickly. Cara, he’d begun to suspect, was worth the effort.
* * *
USING THE POCKETKNIFE she always carried, Cara sliced through the twine binding a bale of hay. With practiced ease, she yanked the twine loose, then quickly wound it into a small ball, which she tossed into the bed of the pickup truck with all the rest.
Next she grabbed four flakes of hay and tossed them into the feeder. Dust and tiny particles swirled in the air, and she wiped her nose on her jacket sleeve, banishing the tickle. More flakes followed until the entire bale was gone and the feeder overflowing.
That done, she moved to the next one. Twenty bales for this trip. She alone had loaded them onto the flatbed trailer and driven the pickup and trailer across two miles of pastureland to the mustang sanctuary.
An old cattle barn sat at the center of the sanctuary. With the help of volunteers, Cara had converted the structure into a feeding station that, as it turned out, was seldom used. Then came the drought. With grass in short supply, Cara now made the trek three times a week, loading hay purchased with their donated money into the dozen metal feeders—a gift to the sanctuary from an elderly woman who retired last year and sold off her ranch.
Cara continued stuffing the feeders full of hay, looking at her audience every few minutes. Nearly half of the sanctuary’s two hundred mustangs surrounded the cattle barn, milling impatiently. The remainder had stayed in the hills. Eventually, however, they’d come down. If not today, then tomorrow or the next day, driven by hunger and the slim p
ickings.
Rubbing the palm of her right hand through the leather gloves she wore, Cara rolled her head from side to side. Aches and pains were a constant.
No wonder. Feeding and caring for two hundred horses was hard work. Thank God. Most nights, she fell into an exhaustion-induced slumber in which she could escape the guilt and grief that filled her days.
On those rare nights when sleep evaded her, she sat alone in the rocking chair by her window, revisiting her worst memories and blaming herself for something no amount of counseling had convinced her wasn’t her fault.
“I’m not sure why, but I think we got off on the wrong foot.”
Cara rounded and bit back a retort. The last person she wanted to see stood before her. When had he arrived and how had he gotten into the feeding station without her hearing? Catching sight of his horse tethered to the railing behind him explained it. No roaring engine to alert her.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She resumed cutting open hay bales.
Josh grabbed a thick stack of flakes before she could and added them to the feeder. “Two months I’ve been here, and you still try to avoid me.”
“You actually have to ask why?”
“I’m not the enemy, Cara.”
“You’re not my friend, either.” She moved in front of him. “And I don’t need your help.”
He ignored her and lifted the remaining flakes as if they weighed nothing. “We’re going to be living together for the next year, at least. It would serve us both to get along.”
“We’re not living together.” Apparently, he didn’t carry a pocketknife, for he waited for her to cut open the next bale. “You’re staying in the guest suite.”
“Living at the ranch, then.”
“I get along with you.” As best she could. He didn’t make it easy.
“You tolerate me.”
“August promised the ranch to Gabe.” She stood back, hands on her hips. “He’s the one who worked alongside August. The one August trained to take over.”
Josh took advantage of her irritation and lifted half the bale into the next feeder. “So I’m told. By you and Gabe and Raquel. Repeatedly. Yet he left the ranch to all three of his sons.” The remaining hay followed.
The man was persistent, and she didn’t like persistent people. Too reminiscent of her ex-husband. Though in all fairness to Josh and anyone else, her ex went above and beyond. If not for him demanding she stay and continue their argument, Javier might not have—
“I’m sorry,” Josh said between armfuls. “I know you don’t like the situation.”
“None of us do.”
“You have your sanctuary.”
She crossed her arms and eyed him. “Which you want.”
He stopped. “The cattle operation is barely getting by. The sanctuary pastureland is some of the best on the ranch.”
“Grass wouldn’t be in such sort supply if you hadn’t bought four hundred steer last month.”
“That wasn’t my decision alone. Gabe is the one who suggested we buy the steer.”
“And it’s his fault they were sick with red nose?”
Josh’s expression hardened. “I didn’t say that. Don’t put words in my mouth.”
She had. Mostly because she understood why Gabe had pushed for the purchase of the steer. He wanted his half brothers gone more than Cara did.
With the help of their neighbor, Theo McGraw, and the money Cole had received from selling his championship horses, the steer were now healthy and thriving, recovered from the virus. They were also eating. A lot.
“Cattle are what put the roof over our heads and the food on our table,” Josh said.
“I’ll pay rent,” Cara answered stiffly. Donations were down, but she’d find the money somehow.
“We don’t want your money.”
She resisted lashing out. The fact was, she did depend on Dos Estrellas for her room and board. The arrangement hadn’t felt one-sided when August was alive. Cara had contributed to the household by running errands, cooking and cleaning so that Raquel could devote herself entirely to August’s care.
Since his death, Cara had poured herself even more into the sanctuary, her contributions at home not needed as much. She supposed it was possible for others, like Josh, to view her as a freeloader. He didn’t see her as part of the family like Raquel and Gabe did. The way August had. They’d taken in her and Javier without a single qualm or hesitation after she and her ex separated. She loved them for it.
“What do you want?” she asked testily.
“If this ranch goes under, you’ll lose the sanctuary.”
“Hmm. Either I lose the sanctuary by giving the land back to you and your brother, or I lose it because the ranch goes under.” Her voice dripped sarcasm. “Let see, which option do I pick?”
Josh’s expression remained hard. “You’d be giving the land to Gabe, too.”
“He doesn’t want it.”
She had Josh there. Gabe was her staunchest supporter. He’d fought his half brothers tooth and nail, insisting she be allowed to continue using the five hundred acres August had granted to her in his will.
“Not yet.” Josh arched one brow. “He may change his mind when we go broke.”
“He’ll sell off some of the cattle first. He’s done it before.”
“Cole and I weren’t here then.”
She tensed. “Are you threatening me?”
“I’m asking you to see reason.”
“Ah.” She nodded. “Your version of reason.”
“Let’s not argue. That’s not why I came here.”
“Why did you?”
“First we finish feeding.” He hoisted a bale from the flatbed trailer.
She started to protest, again, that she didn’t need help. The pain shooting up her arm from her sore hand changed her mind.
They labored side by side for several minutes and were almost done when he asked, in a far more amiable tone, “What got you started rescuing mustangs?”
She considered making an excuse about why she didn’t feel like talking. Instead she said, “The Powells.”
“The family who owns the horse stables up the road?”
She nodded. “We’re friends with them. They rescued Prince a few years ago. He was the last wild mustang in the valley. Up until the 1950s, wild herds continued to roam the mountains. After Prince, the Powells began rescuing other mustangs from all over the state. Ones that were starving or in overpopulated herds or sometimes abused and neglected.”
“But how did you become involved?”
“The Powells needed help, and I had time.”
That was true. It was also true she’d started volunteering after things between her and Manuel had turned bad. Javier was a baby. The Powells hadn’t minded that she brought him along, as they were simply happy for another set of hands. But Josh didn’t need to know that part, and she wasn’t about to tell him.
“When did you acquire the sanctuary and move it here?”
Leave it to Josh to ask the hardest question. “Three years ago. The Powells were running out of room and busy with—” She hesitated, not wanting to say “having babies and raising their children.” That had been an activity Cara and the Powell wives once had in common. “With work,” she finally said. “I started with a few mustangs. Then more. Eventually, they all came.”
That was after her son died. Without the sanctuary, Cara was convinced she’d have gone quietly crazy.
A loud clattering made them turn around. They were met by twenty or so mustangs, their heads hanging over the gate and their tails swishing.
“Looks like the natives are getting restless.” Josh smiled at the horses ready to storm the feeding station and chow down.
Cara woul
d have replied except she couldn’t. Josh’s smile, and the laughter lighting his eyes, literally captivated her. He was so handsome, more rugged than movie-star pretty despite his classic blond hair and blue eyes. Not that she hadn’t noticed his looks before now. But their effects on her were new.
She and Josh didn’t usually stand this close. That must have been the reason. If she moved her hand a mere inch, it would graze his shoulder. She wasn’t tempted. More like curious. It had been a long time since she’d touched a man with anything other than innocent casualness.
Wait. Wait. Wait! This was seven kinds of wrong. Josh Dempsey was the last man about whom she should be entertaining romantic notions. Correction: she should not be entertaining such notions about any man. Her son had died two years ago in an entirely preventable accident. She wasn’t entitled to feel anything but grief and guilt. She might never be entitled.
“Ready?” Josh’s bright smile hadn’t dimmed one small watt.
“Sure.” Cara hesitated, worried her wobbly knees would buckle. “Can, um, you get the gate?”
He spared her the briefest of odd glances before doing as she’d asked. “Stand back,” he called. “Here they come.”
She had only enough time to duck behind the nearest feeder before the horses clambered through the gate and headed straight for the hay, pushing and shoving and nipping at one another in their haste.
The sight was a comical one, and Cara almost laughed. She didn’t, though. Like romantic attraction, happiness wasn’t possible. The mechanism inside her responsible for manufacturing it had broken.
Josh did laugh. The sound, loud and rich and full, caused a pleasant ripple to course through her. She tried to tamp it down and failed.
Suddenly afraid and not sure of what, Cara cut a zigzag path through the horses toward her pickup truck.
“Wait,” Josh called.
She reluctantly stopped. The next instant, he was beside her, and her awareness of him intensified.
Come Home, Cowboy Page 3
