Cowboy to Command

by Sabrina York

  His cell phone had buzzed just as he was heading out to find Porsche. He didn’t recognize the number and thought about ignoring it.

  Thank God he hadn’t. It was Penny, in a panic.

  She and Mark had packed their things and were heading toward Snake Gully when they were sideswiped by a big rig. Their car had veered off the road into a field and hit a cow.

  In an irony of fate Brandon would never understand, the cow was fine.

  But Mark was in the hospital in critical condition. He needed blood, and with the rare blood type they shared, he needed Brandon to come immediately.

  As Brandon had rushed out the door of his camper in a panic, he’d glanced up at the house, toward Porsche’s room—and yeah, he knew damn well where it was, which had caused him some sleepless nights.

  And there she stood, in Cody’s arms.

  To his horror, Cody had lowered his head and kissed her.

  He’d been stunned.

  Poleaxed.

  He’d stood there and stared, watching her kiss another man, a man she’d loved forever. One she’d wanted to make jealous with this fiction of a romance between them.

  He was about to storm up there and demand satisfaction, to yank her into his arms and blot out the feel of another man’s lips, but then she’d turned. And smiled. The sight sent rivulets of agony through his soul. That was the smile of a woman utterly in love.

  It was unmistakable.

  Surely she couldn’t have played him.

  Surely she wasn’t that kind of woman.

  If she was, it would destroy him.

  The best-case scenario he could summon was that she’d been straightforward with him about everything, but when their ploy finally—and disastrously—worked, she’d realized that she still loved Cody after all.

  That would destroy him as well.

  Everything—his future, his hopes, his heart—depended on her.

  He wasn’t a coward, the kind of man to back down from a fight, but he needed some space. Needed to process. Needed to wrangle the jealous demon back into its cage. And Mark needed him.

  So when Porsche saw him and the blood drained from her face and she turned on her heel to chase him down, he didn’t delay. He got in his camper and headed for town.

  Oh, he’d talk to her.

  Later.

  At the moment, he just couldn’t face any of it. Not what he’d seen. Not what he feared. Not what he might have lost.

  If he’d ever had it at all.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Porsche blew into the house, rushed through the foyer, and headed for her room. “Hey,” Ford called from the kitchen as she rushed past. “Look who’s finally come home.”

  She didn’t answer. What was there to say, anyway? Besides, she had to hurry if she wanted to catch Brandon. Had he gone to Mark and Penny’s hotel? Which one were they staying at again? They hadn’t shown up at the B&B as they’d talked about last night, so maybe they’d changed their minds.

  Or maybe Brandon had changed it for them once he saw her kissing Cody.

  Maybe the three of them were headed north to their new home in Seattle.

  Panic trilled through her, and she dumped her suitcase out on the bed. She should probably pack fresh clothes and some snacks, because if he’d headed for Seattle, she’d need them. Who knew how long she would be on the road.

  Oh, how she regretted letting Cody kiss her. What an idiot.

  Why had she let him kiss her? She hadn’t wanted to kiss him. She’d felt sorry for him.

  If only she’d had time to explain that to Brandon.

  But there was no time. No time. Where on earth was her clean underwear? In a frenzy, she started throwing things into her suitcase, willy-nilly. She growled when she realized some of it was the clothes she’d just dumped out.

  “Running away from home?” A deep, amused, and wholly annoying voice rumbled through her room. She turned and glowered at Ford. He was dressed casually, way casually, standing there in his pajama bottoms with a cup of coffee in his hand. Crystal stood behind him in a silk robe. Apparently the two of them had been enjoying her absence. Although why they needed to be so diligent, when Crystal was already as pregnant as she could be, was a mystery.

  “Where are you going, Porsche?” Crystal asked in a wobbly voice.

  “After Brandon.”

  “Oh my goodness. What happened?”

  Ford fixated on the tears streaming down Porsche’s face, and his expression went stony. “Are you crying?”

  “Of course I’m not crying. I never cry.”

  “He made you cry? I’ll kill him.”

  “No you won’t.”

  Ford tried to roll up his sleeves but realized he wasn’t wearing a shirt. “I’ll kill him.”

  Good God. That was the last thing she needed. Brandon dead before she could talk to him and Ford in prison for manslaughter. They’d be featured on that country criminal reality show, Hillbilly Haven, for sure. She stilled and folded her fingers into fists. “Ford?”

  “Yes, Porsche?”

  She grabbed her suitcase—and whatever was in it—and met him toe to toe. “Butt out.”

  And for once, he did. He stepped out of the way and let her leave, but she could feel his furious gaze burning through her all the way to her car.

  • • •

  They nearly bled him dry, but Brandon didn’t care. Mark was his brother. He’d die for him if need be. Funny, how the realization came now, when it might be too late.

  He sat in the little room inhabited by vampires and phlebotomists—if there was a difference—and desultorily chewed on the cookie the nurse had commanded him to eat.

  It was nowhere near as good as Lisa’s cookies. But then, nothing was.

  He glanced up when Penny came and sat beside him. She took his hand, though her fingers shook. “Thank you for doing this,” she said in a wobbly voice.

  He pulled her into a hug. “Of course.”

  “I . . . I . . . I . . .” she hiccupped. “I don’t know what I’ll do if he . . .”

  “He’s not going to. He’ll be fine.” He tipped up her chin and made her meet his gaze. Her expression, the anguish in it, speared him like a medieval halberd. It hurt. “Didn’t Mark ever tell you the Stewart family secret?”

  Her eyes widened. “No.”

  “It’s not a secret so much as a curse. Maybe a secret curse. Also, not very secret.”

  She gave a wet wail that might also have been a laugh. “Will you get to the point?”

  “Of course.” He pinned her with a determined look. “Stewarts are extraordinarily stubborn.”

  Okay, that snort was definitely a laugh. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “Look at us. I lost my leg. He was paralyzed from the waist down. Do you see either of us rolling over and giving up?”

  “No.”

  “Of course not. We’re both too stubborn. He’s got a lot to live for. He’s got you. When you go in there, remind him of that, and tell him, point-blank, you will not allow him to give up. Be sure he knows how you feel about him. Okay?”

  They hugged a bit more, because they both needed someone to hold and then she said, “You’ve been here a while. Maybe you should take a break?”

  “How about you? You’ve barely left his side.”

  “I’m not leaving. Besides, the nurses very kindly offered to let me use their shower and they’ve given me a cot if I need to rest. Though I don’t see how I will, because they’re also plying me with coffee.” She pulled out a tissue and blew her nose in an inelegant honk.

  “Can I get you anything?”

  Her eyes glazed over as she thought. “I saw a fabric store in town. On Main Street, across from that bar and grill?”

  He blinked. Apparently he’d missed that. “Okay.”
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  “If you could find a length of blue ribbon, I would love you forever.”

  Blue ribbon? “You’re a cheap date.” Hardly a time to joke, but she did smile, which was a win. “Why that?”

  “It’s a symbol for us. I used it when I was helping him return to the world. A reminder that he was a reason to live.”

  “Like the yellow ribbons?”

  “Yes,” she said dryly. “Only it’s blue.”

  “Okay.” He huffed out a laugh. “Blue ribbon it is. Anything else?”

  Her eyes widened. “Is there a bakery in town?”

  The only baker he could think of was Lisa. “I can find out.”

  “He really likes lemon tarts.”

  “I don’t think they’ll let him have lemon tarts in ICU.” She was a nurse. She should know that.

  “You don’t understand much about carrots, do you?”

  Brandon blinked. “Carrots?”

  “You know. Carrots and sticks? Carb-related motivation?”

  He wrinkled his nose. “I hate carrots.”

  “You would love them if they were lemon tarts.”

  Some women were just beyond his comprehension.

  “Okay. Blue ribbon and lemon tarts it is. I’ll be back soon.” Before he could stop himself, before he could consider his actions, he kissed her on the forehead.

  Then again, it felt right.

  She was Mark’s woman. In his mind, wedding or not, they were family.

  He didn’t find a bakery in town, but he did call the ranch house and by some miracle, got Lisa on the phone. She was horrified to learn what had happened and agreed with alacrity to bring lemon tarts to the hospital at once, which made him wonder if she had one of everything always and constantly squirreled away in her pantry.

  He also wondered how the Silvers were not fat. Yet.

  The blue ribbon was easy. A little old lady who ran the fabric store seemed delighted to have a customer, especially such a nice young man. When he told her what he wanted and why, she refused to let him pay for it.

  It just underscored how much he felt at home in this town, and he vowed never to forget her kindness, especially once he opened his restaurant.

  Oh, damn. Did he really feel at home in this town? Welcome in this town?

  With absolutely no warning, a linebacker smacked into him as he headed for his camper, parked in the lot. The force of the blow slammed him against the wall so hard it shook.

  The blow dazed him, but he was able to make out Ford McCoy’s furious features, his eyes burning with a terrifying wrath. “You swore you wouldn’t hurt her!” he bellowed.

  “What?”

  “I warned you.” He held Brandon by the neck and pulled back a fist.

  “I didn’t hurt her—”

  “Really? Then why is she crying?”

  Crying? She was crying? He was the one who should be wailing at the moon. “I have no idea.”

  “Don’t you? You bastard.”

  “Ford, I didn’t hurt her,” he spat. More bitterness welled on his tongue. “I helped her achieve her dream. I helped her win the unwinnable man. Cody Silver.”

  “Cody is not her dream.”

  “He’s what she wanted.”

  “Is he? Don’t you see? He’ll lose interest in her in a week.”

  “You’re not very flattering to your friend.” Or his sister.

  “I’m being honest. I know Porsche. And I know damn well, she sure as shit isn’t crying over Cody Silver.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t you know?”

  Brandon shook his head. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Did you even plan to say good-bye?”

  Good-bye? “No!” He never planned to say good-bye. But this only infuriated Ford more. Thankfully, he let go of Brandon and began to pace.

  “How dare you leave her!”

  “I didn’t leave her.”

  “How dare you make her love you and then just drop her.”

  “I didn’t drop her.”

  “How dare you—”

  “Ford!” He had to yell to get it through that thick skull. Maybe Porsche wasn’t so wrong in her assessment of her brother. He listened about as well as Dougal.

  Ford stopped. Stilled. Stared. “What?”

  “I didn’t leave Porsche. I got a call that my brother was hurt. He’s in the hospital. I needed to come here to help.”

  It was amusing watching his fury fade into discomfiture, watching his lips flap the way they did. “Oh,” he said. He tugged on his jacket and grumbled beneath his breath.

  “Why does Porsche think I left her?”

  “How the hell should I know?” Ford waved his hand in some vague direction. “She came into the house, blubbering and saying she was going after you. She packed her suitcase, threw it in the car, and took off.”

  Brandon shook his head. “Where the hell did she think I went?”

  “I don’t know. What did you say to her?”

  “Nothing. But . . .”

  “But what?”

  “I did see her kissing Cody.”

  “What?” Ford whirled around and scrubbed his face. “Son of a bitch. I’d assumed she was talking about you. I thought for sure she’d finally given up on that pipe dream.”

  “Yeah,” Brandon said, resting his hands on his hips. “So did I, but they kissed.”

  “I’ll kill him. If he thinks he can run off with my sister . . .” Ford trailed off as Cody emerged from Bubba’s with a bouncy blonde on his arm. The two seemed to be engaged in a deep conversation, one that was very amusing.

  Ford’s face went red. “Cody Silver!” he bellowed in a tone that brought Wyatt Earp facing off against Billy Clanton at the O.K. Corral to mind.

  Cody, naturally, froze. He turned his head and lifted a hand, but a flicker of panic crossed his face. He whispered to the girl, and she skittered back to the saloon. In fact, it was probably Brandon’s imagination, but it seemed as though everyone on the street cleared out pretty quick.

  Ford propped his fists on his hips and glared across the road at Cody. No doubt he was wishing he had a six-iron on him or something. “Did you kiss my sister?” he hollered.

  Even from here, Brandon could see Cody’s Adam’s apple work. “What?”

  “You heard me. Did you kiss her?”

  “I . . . ah . . . yeah?”

  “You askin’, or tellin’?”

  “Listen Ford, it was just a kiss. You know. To see if we liked it.”

  Something bubbled in Brandon’s belly. It sent an acidic burn up his gullet.

  Ford didn’t let up. “You better not have liked it!” he shouted.

  Cody looked this way and that, probably searching for an escape. “She didn’t,” he responded. His voice bounced eerily off the buildings.

  “What?”

  “She didn’t like the kiss.”

  Ford exchanged a confused glance with Brandon, only Brandon’s glance was more relieved than confused. “She didn’t like kissing him,” Ford said.

  “I heard.”

  He thought about this for a moment, scratching his whiskers, and then called back, “Did you make her cry?”

  “What?” Something of a squeal. “I did not make her cry. Is that what she said? That I made her cry?” He dared to cross the abyss and stopped short beside them. “All I did was ask for a kiss—”

  “You asked?”

  His brow furrowed, as though he didn’t remember, and Ford growled. “I kissed her, but she didn’t like it and I left. I swear that was all.”

  “Any reason that would make her cry?”

  “None that I can see. Unless I had bad breath.” He huffed into his palm.

  Ford turned his scorching attention on Brandon
. “That means she was crying over you.”

  “Oh yeah,” Cody nodded with alacrity, “that was probably it.”

  Brandon glowered at him. He turned to Ford. “If she was crying over me, I have no idea why. Why don’t we find her and ask her?”

  “Because she took off after you.”

  “I’m right here.” Besides, he’d had enough of this. “I’m going back to the hospital. If you want to come and yell at me more, I’ll be there.”

  “They don’t let me yell at people there!” Ford roared.

  “Good to know.” Brandon headed for the camper. “Oh and Ford, you might want to call your sister. If she’s haring off after me, she’s headed in the wrong direction.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Porsche ignored Ford’s call several times before it annoyed her enough to pick up. She pulled over to the side of the road, because she was a firm believer in no-distraction driving. And Ford was definitely a distraction. Or at least, an annoyance.

  “What?” she barked into her cell.

  “Where are you?”

  She sighed. “In my car.”

  “Hardy har har har. Are you going after Brandon?”

  “I told you I was.”

  “No, you didn’t. Not really.”

  “Ford, I told you—”

  “You weren’t specific.”

  “I was.”

  “You said him.”

  “Well, who the hell else would I be chasing after?”

  “Cody?”

  “What? Be real.”

  “Listen, it doesn’t matter. Point is, Brandon is here.”

  She stilled. What? She stared out at the road she’d been following like a bat out of hell. Mortification crept up her cheeks in a hot rise. There might have been a tinge of relief in it. “He’s at the house?”

  “No. He’s in town. In the hospital.”

  “What?” Her heart lurched, and she put the car in gear, screeched a U-ie, and zoomed back toward town praying to God there were no speed traps in this neck of the woods.

  “Jesus,” Ford growled. “Drive safely, will you?”