A COWBOY'S SECRET

by Anne McAllister

  They also talked about boys.

  About J.D.

  Kristen was the only one Lydia had told about the day she'd watched J.D. at the ranch. She was the only one who knew that thinking about J.D. made Lydia's palms damp and her mouth dry. She was the one who had listened to Lydia talk about his incredible blue eyes and his lady-killer grin. She was the only one to whom Lydia had dared to say the words J.D. and naked in the same sentence.

  As in, "I wonder what he, um … looks like … um, n-naked."

  Even now Lydia could remember the way her cheeks had burned and how she'd felt as if she were going to have an asthma attack just getting the words out of her mouth.

  Kristen had giggled. Then, "Memorable," she'd guessed, though what either of them knew about naked men in those days was pretty negligible. Kristen at least had that baby brother. Lydia had only seen pictures.

  She doubted they held a candle to J.D. Holt, and she said so.

  "A candle?" Kristen had looked at her wide-eyed, then put her hand over her mouth to stifle the giggles. They'd both turned bright red.

  Lydia had made it a point to remedy that gap in her education when she was old enough. It hadn't been particularly memorable. It had certainly never erased the fantasies of J.D. that seemed by now permanently engraved in her mind.

  But it wasn't just the fantasy of him naked that had teased her over the years. Though visions of the physical J.D. Holt was a tempting proposition, her fantasies had ranged more widely than the bedroom.

  She'd fantasized about riding horseback with him, rounding up calves with him, eating supper with him, walking down the aisle with him. She didn't just want to make love with him; she wanted to make babies with him. She wanted to name them with him and raise them with him, and live forever on the Double H Ranch.

  She would never have J.D.

  Guys like J.D. Holt had no time – or interest – in girls like her.

  But selfish or not, guilt-ridden or not, at least she had the ranch.

  "Minus the stable and corrals," Kristen said as they ate together at Bette's Burgers, Murray's hottest lunch spot, the following afternoon. It was a working lunch. Kristen, now the assistant county attorney, wanted to discuss J.D.'s case.

  "Yes. Well, you shouldn't be talking to me about it. I'm not on the case anymore," Lydia replied.

  "But it's your ranch. And we have to find out your feelings."

  Lydia had no intention of talking about her feelings. "Treat it like you would any other case.

  Kristen nodded, blonde hair bobbing. "We will. We're going to prosecute to the fullest extent of the law."

  Lydia's eyes widened at the vehemence in Kristen's tone. "Oh, now. I don't think… He was upset," she said quickly.

  "Upset? He mowed down an entire building because he was upset? Have you seen that stack of firewood?" She shook her head. "You should hope we nail his ass to the wall."

  "He didn't read the letter. He didn't know Trey had offered him the ranch. And the stable was his. He built it." Which was the same lame argument J.D. had given her.

  "And that excuses it?" Kristen didn't buy it any more than she had.

  "He made a mistake."

  "I don't know why you're finding excuses for him." Kristen said sternly. "It's your place he wrecked. You ought to be out for blood. Or money at least. Unless—" she paused with a forkful of potato salad hanging midair as she eyed Lydia speculatively "—you're still hung up on him."

  "I am not hung up on him!"

  But Kristen was studying her burning cheeks. "You are!"

  "I'm not. Well, it's just… I'm not drooling over him." Lydia defended herself as best she could when it was obvious Kristen knew her well enough not to buy the bluff. "He's just … still seriously gorgeous," she muttered. "It doesn't mean I'm interested!"

  "He's gorgeous, all right," Kristen took another bite of her hamburger, chewed and swallowed, then propped her elbows on the table and regard Lydia closely. "Do you still, like … think about him? Naked?"

  It was as if they were teenagers all over again.

  "No!" Lydia took another large mouthful of potato salad and was dimly aware that she hadn't quite finished the last one and might possibly choke to death here and now. Mostly, though, she was aware of Kristen's unswerving, unblinking, prosecutor's gaze. "Not … often," she mumbled guiltily when at last she'd swallowed enough to speak.

  Kristen grinned. "I'll bet he's even more memorable all grown-up."

  "Well, we'll never know."

  Kristen sighed. "More's the pity." She paused, and her voice dropped. "Do you still want him, Lydie? I figured you might. You've got the Double H," Kristen pointed out. "And you used to want to share it with him."

  "I was a kid," Lydia protested. "I wanted a ranch, I was dreaming, that's all."

  "You used to dream about being a lawyer, too," Kristen pointed out. "And you are one."

  "I dreamed about being a cowboy, too," Lydia said dryly. "You can't have all your dreams, Kris. You know that."

  "But if you could," Kristen insisted, "would you have J.D.?"

  Would she? Really?

  "To have and to hold, you mean?"

  Kristen nodded earnestly. "For better or worse. Forever and ever."

  Lydia tried to imagine life with J.D. Holt as an adult.

  She remembered his disdain. Nothing much had changed – except she'd grown up. The ranch, yes.

  The man? No. She couldn't imagine that.

  * * *

  His Honor, Judge George Winthrop Hamilton looked over the tops of his half glasses at the miscreant before him and said in his gravelly voice, "It seems quite straightforward to me. Mr. Holt. Which part of the agreement didn't you understand?"

  "The whole damn – er, darn thing! Your Honor," J.D. tacked on belatedly. "It don't – doesn't – make a damn – darn – bit of sense!"

  "Your attorney thinks it does," the judge pointed out mildly. "He thinks you're incredibly lucky."

  "To be forced to go back to work for that bas – son of a gun – who fired me?"

  "I believe," Judge Hamilton said mildly, "that you punched Mr. Phillips in the mouth. Under the circumstances I think you should count yourself lucky that he's willing to change his mind and have you back."

  J.D. scowled. "Only because he needs me to work his new horses."

  "For whatever reason," the judge went on implacably, "you will work for him for a period of six months in whatever capacity he chooses, to fulfill the terms of this probation. If you do so – without further assaults on his person – Mr. Phillips has graciously agreed that the charge be dropped."

  "Don't do me any favors," J.D. muttered.

  Judge Hamilton straightened in his chair and looked down the table at J.D. "We could, on the other hand, toss you in the clink and throw away the key," he said flatly. "An alternative that seems more and more appealing."

  "But it wouldn't accomplish much in the way of rehabilitation, Your Honor," Kristen Brooks said quickly. J.D.'s own lawyer, Mose Brannan, in whose competence he was having less faith by the minute, nodded his head. J.D. didn't know if Mose had been in Lydia's blasted letter or not. He was the only other lawyer in town and eighty if he was a day.

  Now J.D. scowled at them both.

  "You should consider yourself lucky, Mr. Holt," the judge said. He ticked them off on his fingers. "Second-degree assault. Causing a catastrophe—"

  "Catastro—" J.D. practically jumped out of his chair.

  Mose hauled him down. He was surprisingly strong for an eighty-year-old man. "It's a legal term."

  "Catastrophe," the judge repeated. "Third degree criminal mischief. Quite an eventful evening, I'd say. And considering your prior record…"

  J.D. didn't need any reminders. He'd been a hell-raiser as a kid.

  Judge Hamilton tapped his fingers on the desk.

  J.D. shrugged his shoulders.

  "So you will work for Mr. Phillips, and you will remain at the Double H until you have satisfactorily repaired
the damage to the property Mr. Phillips sold to Ms. Cochrane."

  "I built those corrals. I built the stable!"

  "On Mr. Phillips's land."

  "But—"

  "Past record, Mr. Holt," the judge reminded him. J.D. subsided into silence, grinding his teeth. "If you do so to Mr. Phillips's and Ms. Cochrane's, and the court's, satisfaction – and if a year passes with no further incidents – those charges will not be filed and your record will be squeaky clean again – almost. Is that clear, Mr. Holt?" Dark, judgmental eyes fixed on him from between the half glasses and the beetle brows.

  Unfortunately there was only one answer.

  "It's clear," J.D. said. "But she ain't going to want me living there."

  The judge turned to Mose. "Are you sure she will want him there?"

  Mose looked at Kristen Brooks as if she had all the answers. She probably did, J.D. thought sourly. And Mose would probably even agree to the color of the rope they were going to use to hang him!

  "Ms. Cochrane is a compassionate person, your honor," Kristen said firmly. "I have spoken to her. She understands the need to give a criminal the chance to redeem himself."

  J.D. choked.

  Kristen nailed him with a long, hard look that said, One word and she'd yank the whole thing and he'd be doing five-to-ten in Deer Lodge instead.

  "As I was saying, your honor," Kristen went on, as long as Mr. Holt makes an effort to rehabilitate himself," she said to the judge, "I know Ms. Cochrane will be pleased to cope."

  * * *

  "You said what?"

  "I said you'd cope. With having J.D. underfoot all day, living at the ranch, making amends, atoning for his criminal behavior." Kristen grinned. She blew on the back of her knuckles, then polished the imaginary gold medal on her chest.

  "Omigod, Kristen! How could you?" Lydia was gasping like a beached whale and staring up at her friend, disbelieving that even Kristen had done anything so outlandish. But besides the business about him rebuilding the corrals and the stable, there was the other issue. "And he's staying at the ranch?"

  "Where else? That way he'll have time to get the work on the stable and corrals done. And so he'll be there with you," Kristen said pointedly, "when you move in."

  "When I move in." Lydia's courtroom voice seemed to have deserted her. She felt an odd lack of air. Kristen expected her to move in with J.D.?

  "You own the ranch," Kristen reminded her. "I expect you intended to move in."

  "After he moved out. The first of September, I thought. That's what I told him."

  "The first of September it is, then," Kristen said. "But I don't think he'll be out by then."

  "Then I'll stay in my apartment a little longer."

  "Lydie, the whole idea is for him to be there when you're there!"

  "That's your idea. Not mine."

  "And an excellent idea it is, too. You'll get to know each other, fall in love with each other…"

  "J.D. Holt is not going to fall in love with me. He probably hates me! I stole his ranch!"

  "You bought Trey Phillips's ranch."

  "Same thing. It won't work."

  "Why not?"

  "Because … because…" But Lydia couldn't explain that living with J.D. in her fantasies was one thing, but having to live with him day after day and be treated not to the love and care of her fantasy cowboy, but to the sardonic smile and dismissive shrug, the "Not on your life, sweetheart," she'd already heard once, thank you very much, was not at all appealing.

  "I just … can't."

  "If you're worried about your reputation—"

  "I'm not. I just … I can't. Trust me on this, Kristen." Lydia looked up beseechingly. "Thanks, but … no thanks."

  Kristen stared at her, waited for her to change her mind. When she didn't, Kristen huffed. "Well, fine. Be that way. But you still have to go out there. You still have to supervise the repairs. They have to be up to your standards. You have to inspect and approve."

  "Of course." She could go out there. Look at the paint job, the mended corral fences, the new glass in the windows. Smile perfunctorily. Nod her head. She breathed deeply. "Yes," she said firmly. Her fantasies could stand that.

  "Starting tonight."

  "What! Why tonight?"

  "It's part of the agreement."

  "Me being there is part of the agreement?" Lydia was aghast all over again.

  Kristen nodded. "You supervising. And you signing off on what's been done every day."

  "Every day? Signing off? I thought it was 'Now and then.'"

  "Well, the every day bit was Hamilton's idea. You know how it is." Kristen tried not to smile. "He agreed that J.D. needed supervision. And who better than you?"

  Lydia wanted to wring Kristen's neck. She wanted to tear her own hair. "Nothing's going to come of this."

  "Maybe. Maybe not."

  "Not. It's crazy. It's a crazy sentence."

  "It's an appropriate sentence. You were right, what you said."

  "What I said?"

  "That it was a crime of passion. A mistake. A big one, and one J.D. needs to deal with – whatever the reason for it – but not something I wanted to send him up the river for. And neither did the judge. So if he does this – if he goes back and keeps working at Trey's for six months without decking him again or otherwise making mincemeat out of him—" Kristen rolled her eyes and shook her head despairingly "—and if he stays at the Double H and replaces the corrals and the stable, to your satisfaction, then he's home free. All forgiven. All forgotten. No charges will be filed."

  Lydia shook her head. "I can't believe he agreed to it."

  "What choice did he have? The law has a long memory, sweetie. You get in a fight these days, it follows you around forever. You get in five or six fights and you've got a reputation. We live in the age of computers. So does J.D. Holt, as much as be might wish he didn't. He had to agree or he was looking at jail."

  "But—"

  "Lydie, you're a lawyer. You know the laws!"

  Yes, Lydia knew the laws. But she also knew Kristen, knew the soft heart that lay beneath her tough exterior.

  "You wouldn't have sent him up the river…"

  Kristen lifted her shoulders slightly and smiled. "But J.D. doesn't know that."

  * * *

  "Holt."

  The single gruff use of his name, like the approaching footsteps that had preceded them, was not unexpected.

  J.D. had been waiting for the confrontation with Trey since he'd arrived at the Phillips ranch when the sun was barely up.

  Now he turned from the black gelding he'd been saddling to look at the old man who stood like a gunslinger in the doorway to the barn. For a long moment they just looked at each other. J.D. wouldn't speak. He had nothing to say.

  Trey did. "You didn't even read it?" His voice was quiet, but the tone was harsh. There was no doubt about what he meant.

  J.D.'s jaw tightened. "No."

  After Lydia had told him about it, he'd looked for it.

  He'd found the letter amid the stack of mail that accumulated until Gus came home and did something with it or J.D. got tired of looking at it and threw it out. He'd opened it and had tried deciphering it. It was three pages long, handwritten.

  It obviously said more than "I'm giving you the ranch." But beyond a few words, J.D. could read none of it. He'd stared at it, furious all over again with both Trey and himself. Then he'd crumpled it up and flung it in the trash.

  "I didn't read it," he said stubbornly again, and dared Trey Phillips to make something out of it.

  He sure as hell wasn't going to ask what it said.

  Hell would freeze over first.

  Hell would freeze over before he apologized for punching Trey, too, even though he knew it was expected.

  Certainly Kristen Brooks expected it. She'd grabbed him by the arm yesterday in the judge's chambers. "You sort this out, J.D.," she'd said as they were leaving. It was a command, not a request.

  He hadn't replied. There
was nothing he could say. Nothing he would ever say.

  He'd shown up, as commanded. He'd do his job for six months because that was what the agreement required.

  But he wouldn't apologize. Ever.

  He turned away to cinch up the saddle on the horse he'd been training.

  "What're you doin'?" Trey demanded now.

  "What's it look like?"

  The horses were the only reason he was glad to be back. Trey had bought them from a rancher near Choteau, and J.D. worked with them whenever his foreman's duties permitted. He was good at the rest of his job, but the horses were his true love, the one thing he'd regretted leaving.

  He'd worked the black every day before he'd left. Now the gelding had gotten skittish. "Nobody ridden him since I left?" be asked.

  "Left?" Trey spat the word. "You quit!"

  J.D.'s spine stiffened at the accusation. But he thought of Deer Lodge and the judge and counted to ten, then said, "And now I'm back."

  The horse nickered and edged sideways, sensing the tension between them. "Shh," J.D. murmured, rubbing a hand on the horse's neck. "S' all right, boy. Just be cool, feller."

  "No one has ridden him," Trey said. "And you won't be, either."

  J.D. looked around. "Huh?"

  "A feller quits around here, he don't just walk right in and take up where he left off," Trey said sharply. "You quit, you start at the bottom."

  J.D.'s hand stilled. "What the hell's that mean?"

  "I don't cotton to quitters—" Trey gave the word a sharp twist. "I sure as hell don't give 'em cushy jobs workin' with horses."

  J.D. swallowed half a dozen retorts. "Cushy?" He took another deep breath. "You wanted me to train 'em."

  "Wanted. Past tense. Now I got other work for you."

  J.D.'s eyes narrowed. "What other work?"

  "What you're suited to. You come back to work for me, so be it. But as far as I'm concerned, Mr. Holt, you're the lowest of the low. And the only thing you're gonna be doin' with that horse – any horse – is muckin' out after him. So grab a shovel and get to work! And when you've finished with the barn, we'll find something else for you to do." Trey gave him a sardonic smile. "Welcome back."