A COWBOY'S SECRET

by Anne McAllister

  Share the ranch with her!

  Oh, yeah. Sure.

  Go riding with her when she felt like it. Teach her to work with Dancer when she wanted him to. Then sit back and watch while she brought home more suitable men.

  No blinkin' way!

  He was back in the field again, hacking at the weeds again. It suited his frame of mind, to attack them viciously, to curse his lack of suitability. To want a woman he could never have.

  And all of a sudden a furious voice behind him said, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

  He turned to see Rance striding across the field toward him

  It was the first time he'd seen Rance since his wedding. The first time they'd faced each other since he'd punched the old man in the mouth.

  And while the two of them might often have agreed that Trey deserved it – and more – J.D. wasn't sure how Rance would feel about him actually having done it.

  Now he straightened up and braced himself, just in case Rance decided to return the favor.

  Skinny, who'd driven down with Rance in the pickup, must have had a similar thought because he came scurrying after, looking nervous.

  Rance slapped his hands on his hips. "We've got five hundred bales of hay to store, eight hundred cows to move, miles of fence to check, and you're makin' mud pies in a ditch?"

  Like it was his idea. J.D. gritted his teeth. "Not my fault."

  "Whose…" He didn't finish the sentence. His jaw snapped shut.

  J.D. turned back to the dam. "Ask your old man."

  "My old man has you playin' in the dirt?" Rance gaped.

  "Yep."

  Rance's breath whistled through his teeth. He continued to stare for a long moment, obviously poleaxed. Then he said slowly, "You really pissed him off, didn't you?"

  "The feeling was mutual."

  "Evidently." Rance rocked back and forth on his boot heels, considering. "Well, all I can say is, the two of you are damn-fool stupid. Neither one of you has the sense God gave a goat. Come on. Get in the truck. We've got work to do."

  "But, Rance, Trey said—" Skinny began nervously.

  "Trey isn't runnin' this show," Rance said flatly. "I am. When he had his heart attack, I came home to take over, remember? We don't need you making mud pies, J.D." His tone was firm. "I'll talk to the old man." He turned and started toward the truck.

  "Don't do me any favors!" J.D. called after him. He didn't need Rance going to bat for him.

  "I'm not doin' you any favors," Rance said over his shoulder. "I'd like to bang your heads together, the two of you. There's work to be done, and you idiots are busy playing games with each other."

  Stung, J.D. took one last whack with the hoe, then, shouldering it, followed Rance toward the truck.

  Nervously Skinny followed. The three of them sat in silence, shoulder to shoulder, all the way back to the ranch house. Skinny seemed to be holding his breath the whole way. Only when he got out, did he speak. "Trouble," he muttered under his breath as he got out of the truck. "That's what's gonna come of this. Trouble."

  And when his prediction was punctuated by the bang of the screen door, he jumped. "Tol' ya," he muttered.

  From the driver's seat, Rance swung slowly down onto the ground. J.D. got out, too. He stopped beside the truck and stood his ground as Trey came striding toward them across the yard.

  His lip curled. His gaze met J.D.'s. "Been complaining, have you?"

  "Dad." Rance's voice was low and hard.

  J.D. gritted his teeth. "You know better than that."

  Trey shook his head. "I don't understand you," he grumbled.

  "Nobody's askin' you to."

  There was a second's silence. Then Trey exploded. "You really are a pigheaded, stubborn, son of a—"

  "Don't say it!" J.D. came within a hair's breadth of grabbing Trey by the front of his shirt. Instead his fingers curled into fists as he bit out, "Don't say a word about my mother, old man!"

  Their gazes locked.

  Trey's mouth pressed into a thin. line. For long seconds no words passed between them. J.D. could hear Skinny's teeth chattering, could hear the harsh intake of Rance's breath. He didn't pay them any mind.

  This didn't have to do with anyone but him and Trey. Still they glared. Then, slowly Trey's mouth curved into the faintest hint of a smile. "Son of a buck," he finished, his voice almost mild. He looked away across the yard.

  Skinny let out an expansive sigh.

  "What the hell is goin' on?" Rance demanded.

  But neither J.D. nor Trey replied. Neither moved. J.D.'s fists stayed clenched. His eyes stayed on Trey.

  Finally the old man's eyes moved. He brought his gaze back to meet J.D.'s squarely. "Your mother was a fine woman."

  J.D. nodded curtly. "Yes. She was."

  He wanted Trey to be the one to look away first. But he didn't. The old man's hard blue gaze was steady and unwavering. It bored into J.D.'s, searching, questioning, probing.

  J.D. didn't want any probing.

  He didn't want Trey trying to "understand" him.

  He wanted to look away, to avoid the old man's scrutiny. But he wouldn't.

  He would stand here forever if he had to.

  Finally it was the old man who blinked. He sighed, looking suddenly weary and, for the first time, almost old.

  "Skinny, put that hoe away," he said. Then he spoke to J.D. "Go saddle up. We've got work to do."

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  « ^ »

  And just like that, he was in the fold again.

  Making decisions again. Sending men off to do jobs again. Leading the way. Acting like the foreman.

  Of course, Trey never said J.D. was the foreman. Trey never said anything to him at all – except to make some abrupt comment on a bit of business or tell him what needed to be done.

  But J.D. knew what was expected. Skinny began deferring to him. No more was said about daily lists of donkey work to keep him busy and annoyed.

  J.D. supposed he ought to be glad. It wasn't quite the rapport they'd had before Lydia had bought the ranch, but he could live with it.

  Trouble was, he wouldn't be around to.

  He wasn't staying. Couldn't.

  Not after his six months were up, anyway.

  He'd thought six months of Trey was going to be hard to take. It was nothing compared to six months of Lydia.

  For entirely different reasons.

  Who'd have thought it? He and Lydia Cochrane?

  There was no "he and Lydia," he reminded himself. It was no more than wishful thinking. What his dad had always called, "wantin' to live in cherry pie heaven."

  J.D. was well and truly cured of that. He knew that for him, at least, cherry pies were few and far between.

  And under the circumstances, moving on was better than having to live next door to a cherry pie he couldn't touch.

  He reckoned he could keep his hands off until the six months were up.

  But having her there every night, smiling at him, talking to him, riding with him, cooking for him, didn't make it easy.

  "Hey," Rance interrupted his reverie. They were moving cattle down off the summer range, it was a glorious day, bright and breezy, with high, scattered clouds. A day that would make any man glad to be a cowboy. "Ellie and the kids are comin' today. They want to see you. Especially Josh. Can you stay for dinner?"

  "Dinner?" J.D. hesitated. He was almighty tempted. It would be good to see Ellie and the kids again. And it would be one less evening he'd have to spend with Lydia. But… "At Trey's?"

  "Oh, for God's sake," Rance said, disgusted. "What the hell is the matter with you two? We could put you at one end of the table and him at the other. It's one meal, J.D., it wouldn't kill either of you."

  It might, J.D. thought wearily. He shook his head. "He wouldn't want me. And I don't want to be there. No disrespect to Ellie. And you." He saw Rance open his mouth to argue and kept right on talking so Rance couldn't. "Just let it be, Rance. Don't push it.
It won't work. Not for either of us."

  "Why? What the hell happened? Ellie and I get married, he and Sandra take the kids to California. Everything is hunky-dory – or at least as hunky-dory as it ever is between you and Trey – and the next thing I know, he's back and we're peeling him up off the floor and you're in jail." His eyes searched J.D.'s for answers.

  J.D. shook his head. "We never got along. You know that."

  "You bickered. You ragged on each other. But you got along," Rance contradicted. "You kept him honest. He respects you."

  J.D. snorted.

  "He does," Rance insisted.

  But J.D. couldn't quite get his mind around that. And even if it was in some small sense true, Trey wouldn't – not if he knew the real reason J.D. hadn't read the letter!

  "Tell everybody I'll see 'em before you guys go back home, but I can't come to dinner. Sorry. I got things to do. I'm teachin' Lydia to work with her horse."

  "We'll come watch."

  "The hell you will."

  "Why not? Josh has been yammering about showing you what he's done with Spirit. We can kill two birds with one stone. Sunday okay?"

  "Lydia won't want—"

  "Sure she will. She'll be delighted. She loves the kids. I'll talk to Lydia."

  Exactly what J.D. was afraid of.

  * * *

  Lydia could hardly wait.

  For once on Sunday she was awake before LeRoy's carhappy cousins started banging on metal in the shop next door. Every Sunday since she'd moved in two years ago, she'd been treated to what she'd come to think of as the "steel fender music" as LeRoy's cousins used his shop to work on their hot rods.

  The trouble with getting up so early was that she had to restrain herself from heading out to the ranch the minute she got out of bed.

  She managed to keep herself occupied until almost noon with laundry, housecleaning, bill paying and brownie and cherry pie baking – her contribution to the meal, she'd told Rance.

  But finally she could wait no longer. After all, it was her ranch, she reasoned. Why should she stay away? She locked up her apartment and went down the stairs to her car.

  A wolf whistle from LeRoy's garage made her turn her head. Sharky, a brash blond version of LeRoy, was ogling her. When she looked over, he grinned and lifted his cutting torch in salute. "Hey, sweetheart, bringin' us dessert?"

  Another cousin, older and but no wiser, looked around and looked her up and down, too. His gaze was frankly assessing, and when be was done he said loudly, "She is dessert, knucklehead."

  Then they grinned at each other and at her.

  Lydia rolled her eyes and shook her head. Then she gave them a jaunty little wave and bent to put the pie and brownies in her car.

  She knew they were probably assessing her rear end. She wondered if J.D. ever did. It embarrassed her to think so, but in all honesty she'd assessed his.

  It had been, um, very nice. And she'd found herself wondering, just as she had as a teenager, what it would look like naked.

  Not something she should be thinking about if she was going to keep her mind focused on G-rated thoughts with Rance and Ellie's family there today!

  The early-autumn air was crisp this morning. She drove with the windows down, and the breeze loosened her long hair from the knot in which she had pinned it as she drove out the highway toward the ranch.

  She'd made the trip so often now that she felt she could do it blindfolded. But no matter how often she did it, the view before her, of the early snowfall that dusted the peaks and the march of pines up the sides of the mountains, never got old. On the other hand, it seemed forever fresh and inviting. Exhilarating.

  Even more exhilarating was the sight that greeted her when she came over the rise.

  J.D., shirtless, his Wranglers riding low on his hips, stood on a ladder while he framed the door to the stable.

  So much for G-rated.

  Lydia took her foot off the gas and allowed the car to coast down the hill toward the ranch house, taking her time – all the time she could, just to look. And wallow.

  "You're as bad as Sharky," she reproved herself.

  But with a lot more reason, her appreciative female self responded.

  If J.D. heard the car, he didn't turn around. He continued to concentrate on his work.

  Lydia concentrated on J.D. – on the bunch and flex of muscles in his broad, tanned shoulders and back as he hammered in a nail, on the slight bow of his denim-clad legs, at the sweat-dampened, short dark hair that brushed the nape of his neck.

  He had a beautiful neck. Lydia wondered what it would be like to kiss him there.

  And she whistled, too, just like Sharky. But hers was for herself alone and was the whistle of indrawn breath.

  She wished she could be like Letty. That she could get out of the car and flirt and charm and tease.

  But she'd never been able to tease. Not sexually. She would never charm. She didn't know how to flirt. She wasn't Letty.

  He likes you, anyway, she told herself. You wouldn't want to get him if you had to put on an act to do it, would you?

  Of course not!

  Well, maybe…

  "Oh, stop," she muttered to herself aloud.

  She shut off the engine and got out of the car. "Hi! Good afternoon!"

  J.D.'s head turned. She hoped for a smile. But all she got was a "Yeah." And then he went back to hammering.

  He hadn't been thrilled yesterday when she'd told him that Rance and Ellie were coming. She'd been surprised.

  "I thought you liked Rance," she'd said.

  "I do!"

  "Then it's Ellie and the kids you don't want?"

  He'd scowled. "I like 'em all. I just… Never mind." He'd brushed past her, stalked out to start work on the stable. She'd let him go, unsure what the problem was. She'd merely hoped he would come around.

  Later, when he was going into town to pick up some lumber, she'd come running after him and held out a list. "It's just a few things for the cookout tomorrow," she'd said. "I thought you could stop at the store."

  "No."

  She blinked. Then her eyes had widened with surprise – and shock. "No?"

  He scowled and shrugged. "You want this stable done, I don't have time to be your errand boy."

  "It's not exactly like I'm making you an 'errand boy,'" she said irritably. "I only asked. Fine. I'll get them later." She turned and went into the house.

  An hour later he'd called her from town. "What was on that list? I've got a little time to kill while they're cutting me the boards. I reckoned I could do that shopping for you."

  Nonplussed, Lydia had read him the list.

  She'd hoped that his changing his mind about the groceries meant he'd changed his mind and was happy Rance and his family were going to come.

  Obviously he hadn't.

  But when she got to the porch, she got a surprise.

  The man who didn't want to be bothered, had unearthed a barbecue grill. It was battered and old and clearly the worse for wear. But it was scrubbed and the grill was clean and it was sitting by the back door.

  When she went in she discovered he'd done more preparations. On the kitchen table stood a stack of dinner plates and a heap of silverware.

  Lydia looked at it, then out at him, still hammering, still sweating, still utterly gorgeous and incomprehensible.

  J.D. Holt, what goes on in that stubborn head of yours?

  * * *

  He did his bit to help before they got there.

  That way, he reasoned, he wouldn't have to bother being sociable when they did. He wasn't much for entertaining. Never had been. Gus was the party animal, not him.

  Not that Rance and Ellie and the kids constituted a party. They were more like … well, family. Besides Gus, the closest thing to family that he had.

  And he did like them all – just like he'd told Lydia he did.

  Most people who didn't know better envied Rance Phillips. J.D. never had. He'd seen Rance grow up. He'd seen the
pressure Trey Phillips had put on his son. Rance, to J.D.'s way of thinking, had coped damned well with it.

  Other people had been aghast when Rance had thumbed his nose at his father's edicts about where to go to college, what to do with his life. J.D. had cheered him on. And even though, in the long run, Rance had ended up doing pretty much all the things his father had hoped for – and far better than he would have if Trey had been running things – he'd done them on his own terms.

  Now J.D. envied him.

  For having made a success of his life his own way.

  And for Ellie.

  J.D. liked Ellie. She was the perfect wife for Rance – the one woman in the world he would know loved him for himself and not his money or his power or his station in life.

  Ellie loved Rance. Always had. J.D. had seen it in her expression the minute he'd laid eyes on her.

  She also had great kids.

  At the wedding reception, Carrie, her littlest, just turned five, had followed J.D. around like a fresh-hatched duck. Her brothers had done their share of tagging after him, too. He'd done mental arithmetic with Caleb and had rescued a nest of field mice with Daniel.

  But the one J.D. felt closest to – the one who won his heart – was Josh. Josh, the oldest – the son Rance hadn't known he had – took life every bit as seriously as J.D. He was steadfast, strong and deeply loyal. A boy after J.D.'s heart.

  A boy after Trey's heart, too. Once Trey had seen Josh, he'd tried to move heaven and earth to get Rance and Ellie together. And had almost ruined things, sticking his oar in where none was wanted – or needed.

  Josh wouldn't have it easy being the heir.

  The first time J.D. had met him, no one said the boy was Rance's. Back then he'd just been Josh O'Connor, the son of Ellie and her deceased husband, Spike. Trey had brought him home for a visit – to show him some horses.

  At least that was the official story.

  It had been clear something else was going on the minute Josh had got out of Trey's truck.

  "Take a look around! Just take a look!" Trey had been strutting like a rooster. Preening. Proud enough to pop his buttons.

  "Josh here's going to be a horseman," he'd told J.D. proudly. "He's got the makings of a damn good hand."

  "Is that so?" J.D. had said mildly, doubting it.