A Real Cowboy Never Walks Away (Wyoming Rebels Book 4)

by Stephanie Rowe

  Bridgette's feet pounded on the stairs as she raced back down toward them.

  "Bridgette would be happy if you came," Lissa said, her voice almost strangled.

  Something inside him tightened at the thought that her vibrant daughter wanted him along...but he knew it wasn't enough. No matter how engaging he found Bridgette, there was no chance he would go unless Lissa wanted him there. "But would you?"

  For a long moment, she didn't answer, and he felt that darkness began to descend upon him again—

  And then she nodded. "Come with us, Travis."

  Light seemed to leap through him, and he grinned. "Okay." He didn't hesitate for even a split second, grabbing at the offer before she could retract it.

  She smiled then, a wide, giddy smile that seemed to light up the entire kitchen. Bridgette leapt into the room, waving a stack of notebooks. "I got 'em all! We can go through them and see what you like. You're coming to the picnic, right?"

  He grinned. "Yeah, I am."

  "Then we need more sandwiches. I bet you eat a lot, don't you? You're huge."

  He laughed as Bridgette grabbed an entire loaf of bread and shoved it into the basket he was still holding. "I don't need twenty sandwiches, Bridgette—"

  She spun toward him. "Call me Bridge. All my friends do. 'Kay?"

  All my friends do. He couldn't believe this little family. All Bridgette wanted from him was a nickname and to bring her poetry to life. All Martha wanted was for him to come to Sunday dinner with his brothers. And Lissa...all she wanted from him was...what? Honesty? Kindness? Food prep? A kiss? Protection from Rand?

  So basic. So real. So doable.

  He realized suddenly that he'd missed out on a lot more in his life than he'd ever realized.

  Excitement and anticipation raced through him, and he was suddenly more excited about the afternoon than he could remember being in a very long time. He grinned, set the basket down, and grabbed some cold cuts. "Who likes mayo?"

  Who likes mayo. Seriously. He would never had thought those were words he'd utter. They were so ordinary. So common. So awesome.

  Chapter 17

  Upon arrival at the field where the picnic was happening, Travis paused at the edge of the sidewalk, grimacing at the sight of so many people streaming across the field with chairs, blankets, and baskets. There were kids shouting. Parents laughing. Teenage girls giggling with teenage boys. Some pop artist he had vaguely heard of was crooning some high-energy song, and the makeshift stage at the end of the field was half the size of what he was used to playing on. Lissa, Martha, and Bridgette were already blending with the crowd, scrambling to find the perfect spot, but he couldn't make himself follow.

  This event had happened every year of his life, and he'd never been here. If he'd come as a kid, the cops would have been watching him, ready to give him the boot the second he so much as blinked the wrong way. Today, no one had noticed him as Travis Turner, because he was wearing his battered clothes and hat from his Rogue Valley days, and his sunglasses hid his eyes. Right now, he was Travis Stockton, a guy who had never been allowed to set foot in a family event like this, even as a little kid.

  Even as he stood there, he saw a local deputy eyeing him. He was standing with two other uniforms who had their backs to Travis. Swearing, Travis stood taller, grimacing as the officer said something to the other uniforms. One of them turned around, but before Travis could tense, the sheriff broke out into a grin and strode toward him. "Damn, Travis, it's good to see you. I've been looking for you all week! Why the hell didn't I know you were Travis Turner?"

  Travis relaxed as soon as he heard the man's voice. Dane Wilson. The only kid in the entire town of Rogue Valley who had actually called himself a friend of the Stocktons, mostly because Dane had been as fucked up as they were. His home life had been shit, and he'd spent more time sleeping in the fields than he did in a house. He'd been loyal as hell, though, which was why he was the one person the Stockton boys had considered a friend. And now, the man was the top dog in the town, after growing up being as much of an outlaw as Travis had been. He'd done good. Real good.

  Travis grinned. "Damn, man. I forgot you were the sheriff now. You damn near gave me a heart attack, looking at me like that."

  Laughing at their shared childhood aversion to law enforcement, Dane pulled Travis into a bear hug and thudded on his back. "Becoming sheriff was the only way to keep you guys from getting arrested. I'm the only person in the entire state who knows you guys don't suck."

  Travis grinned as Dane released him. "How'd you figure out I was Travis Turner?"

  Dane tipped his hat back, his mirrored sunglasses hiding the eyes that always saw so much more than they were supposed to see. "You got posters all over town, T-Man. I bailed you out of enough scrapes when we were kids to recognize your mug anywhere, especially when it's plastered over the entire south side of the Five and Dime. You singing today?"

  "Yeah, a couple songs. I go on at four." Travis hadn't seen Dane since the night they'd all converged on Chase's ranch almost a year ago to save Mira from a bastard that had been every bit as bad as their old man. Not everyone had survived the encounter, and Dane had showed up as sheriff to do his job. Before that, he hadn't seen Dane since he'd left town. "What's going on these days? You married?"

  "Hell, no." Dane laughed. "I'm as likely to get married as you are. Got no room for women in my life. Too busy with work anyway." He thudded Travis on the shoulder. "You going to the Keller's on Sunday? I snagged an invite from Martha for this weekend. Those things are hard to come by." Someone shouted for him, and he glanced over his shoulder. "Gotta run. See you Sunday, right?"

  Before Travis could answer, Dane strode away, shouting at a couple kids who appeared to be attempting to climb the light tower. Travis grinned, watching as Dane ordered them down. If he'd come here as a teenager, that probably would have been him, causing trouble and hunted by the sheriff.

  "Travis?" Lissa appeared at his side, sliding her hand through his. "Come on. We found a spot."

  He grinned at her, no longer feeling quite as tense. The sheriff was his former partner in crime, and his legacy was still causing trouble. Suddenly, he didn't feel quite as uncomfortable as he had before. "Great."

  She smiled back at him. "You look happy. It's nice to see."

  "Happy?" That wasn't a word he'd ever used to describe himself, but yeah, he felt at peace right now. "That's cause I've got the hottest chick in town on my arm. What's not to be happy about?"

  Her cheeks turned an adorable pink, but her smile widened. "You're such a flirt."

  "Only with you, sweetheart. Only with you." Unable to stop himself, he pulled her against him and kissed her. Not a chaste kiss, either. A kiss just long enough and intimate enough to make sure that anyone who saw them knew that they were together. He was just getting into it when a heavy hand settled on his shoulder. He broke the kiss and looked up, startled to see his own damned brother grinning at him. "Chase," he acknowledged, reluctantly releasing Lissa. "What are you doing here?"

  "Picnicking." Chase had a shit-eating grin on his face as he tipped his hat to Lissa. "Good to see you, Lissa."

  "Hi, Chase." She grinned at his brother with such genuine warmth that Travis understood why she'd decided to let him into her kitchen once she'd learned he was a Stockton. "We have a place down front if you want to join us. Martha and Bridgette are holding it."

  Travis grimaced at the idea of hanging out with Chase and his family, but Chase didn't hesitate. "Sounds great. We'll definitely join you."

  Before Travis had a chance to escape, Chase's wife, Mira walked up, holding their baby. "Travis! It's so good to see you!"

  He couldn't keep the grin off his face then. He liked Mira, and he admired the hell out of her. She looked happy, beaming, and he was glad. She'd had a rough go of it before she'd met his brother. He had complete faith in her, on every level, which was rare for him, and she'd proven herself worthy of his acceptance. She was good stock, and he was glad sh
e was the one Chase had given up bachelorhood for. "Nice to see you, too." He instinctively hugged her, careful not to crush the sleeping baby. "You look good."

  "You don't." Mira cocked her head. "Do you take care of yourself even a little bit?"

  His smile faded. "I eat. I sleep. I work out."

  "Well, you're doing something wrong." She eyed him, but it wasn't with judgment. It was with kindness, and he shifted uncomfortably.

  "Travis, man. Didn't know you were coming." Steen walked up, his arm around a woman Travis hadn't met before. She was lean and lanky, and she looked far more sophisticated than his brother ever had a prayer of being, but, like Mira, she looked damned happy. "This is my wife, Erin. Erin, this is my brother, Travis. Erin's one of the best equine surgeons in America."

  "Yeah, I heard. Great to have you on board at the ranch." There had been plans for a triple wedding with three couples, but life had complicated things, and each of his brothers had tied the knot on their own, without any fanfare, which was great for Travis. He would have showed for a fancy affair, but he was glad he hadn't had to.

  "You're glad to have me on board?" Erin raised her brows at his welcome. "You make it sound like I'm an employee. You do realize I married your brother, right?" Her voice was gentle, teasing a bit, and he grinned.

  "Yeah, I do. Sorry. Should I call you Sis, then?"

  She laughed, a happy, cheerful laugh that made Steen grin like a freaking teenage boy who'd just landed the hottest chick in the county. "If any of the Stocktons could manage to call me 'Sis,' I'd be super impressed," she said. "Erin is fine. You coming to the Keller's on Sunday?"

  Travis grimaced. "I don't know—"

  He hadn't even finished trying to evade the invite when Zane walked up, carrying a young boy around five. Another boy, maybe around fourteen, was walking beside him, helping a woman carry a large cooler. He studied her, realizing it must be Zane's wife, Taylor. She was blond, fit, and well dressed, but at the same time, she looked like she fit in, though he knew she was a former business exec of some kind. Both boys had skin dark enough that it was apparent that there was no way Zane and Taylor were the biological parents, but the visible connection between the four of them left no doubt that they were a family, and a tight-as-hell one at that.

  It didn't surprise him. The Stocktons had never bought into the fact that blood ties meant good parents, and he knew enough about the boys' difficult childhood to believe that Zane would have given his all to keep them from having the same childhood that he and his brothers had had.

  Zane was an antisocial bastard at times, but he was as intolerant of bullies as the rest of them, and fought his ass off for the underdog, every time, even to the point of assuming the role of dad, when he'd sworn for his whole life that he had nothing to offer kids.

  "Travis!" Zane grinned at him, looking so freaking happy that Travis wasn't even sure it was his own moody, loner of a brother. "Good to see you." He jerked Travis into yet another hug, and they did the round of introductions to Taylor, and their two sons, who he introduced as Luke and Toby Stockton. When he said their last name, both kids stood up taller, pride shining in their eyes, pride to be Stocktons. The boys had had a rough go of it, but Zane and Taylor had somehow created a tight family from four broken parts.

  Who the hell would have thought that being a Stockton was the solution to a shitty life? But for the four of them, he could tell it was.

  Travis reluctantly let himself be swept up in the small group as they followed Lissa through the crowds toward their "perfect" spot, frowning as he watched his brothers laughing and chatting, as if they had developed some kind of social skills and appreciation since he'd last seen them. This wasn't the life they'd grown up with. They weren't social. They didn't do family picnics. They sure as hell didn't do kids and wives and shit like that.

  But they were now, at least three of them. Where were the brothers he knew? As they walked, Travis slowed down, easing away from them, putting a little distance between them—

  Lissa suddenly appeared beside him, ducking under his arm and forcing him to put his arm around her shoulders. "They won't bite, you know."

  "I know."

  "Do you?" She peered up at him, her brow furrowed. "It's not contagious, you know. Just because they loved a woman enough to marry her doesn't mean you're going to be sucked into it as well. Just enjoy the afternoon. When was the last time you hung out with your brothers like this?"

  "Like this? Never."

  Her face softened. "I never had the chance to do this kind of thing either," she said. "I didn't have this growing up, but that's why I moved here, so that Bridgette could have that." She pointed ahead, and he saw Bridgette sitting next to Toby and Luke, her animated gestures indicating that she was explaining to them how the afternoon would unfold. The boys looked awkward and tense, but they were listening to Bridgette with rapt attention, clearly trying to figure out what was going on and how to handle it.

  Bridgette was as welcoming to them as she'd been to Travis. "She has a gift," he mused.

  "I know." Lissa smiled, her face soft and tender as she watched her daughter. "She always reaches out to the person who feels like an outsider. She has an instinct for it. She's always been like that. She's very sensitive and caring."

  Travis tightened his arm around her. "Like her mama. You did good with her, Lissa. She's extremely blessed to have you for her mother."

  Lissa smiled up at him. "You mean that, don't you?"

  "I know what shitty parents are like, so yeah, I know how lucky she is to have you." They reached the edge of the blanket he'd brought from the café, which was now surrounded by four other blankets, five coolers, three picnic baskets, and a lot of Stocktons. Martha was there, along with Gary Keller, the man who'd guided Travis through a lot of shit as a kid. He nodded at the gray-haired cowboy. "Gary."

  Gary pulled him in for a hug. "Great to see you, kid. You need to come home more often."

  "Home?" Travis looked around at the chaos around him. Was this his home? It wasn't. It was unfamiliar. It was full of people he didn't know at all, barely remembered, or hadn't seen in a long time.

  "Come on." Lissa sat down, tugging him down beside her.

  Travis reluctantly sat down next to her, but the moment he did, Bridgette plopped herself down on his lap and set the pile of notebooks in his hand. "Can we start now?"

  He relaxed. Music he understood. And something about Bridgette's unabashed warmth made him feel like he wasn't some scarred, ugly beast. "Yeah, we can do it." He opened the first notebook. "Is there any poem you like best that you want to start with?"

  She leaned into his arm, her chin resting on his bicep as she peered at the page. "Yeah...there's this one...hang on..."

  While she flipped through the pages, Travis glanced up at Lissa. She was watching them, a small smile playing at the corner of her mouth. The unguarded expression on her face was so soft, so happy, and so loving that he felt like his entire world shifted. He'd never seen that expression on anyone's face before, and he'd never, ever imagined anyone would look at him like that, as if he were the light that made the sun shine every single day. But she was, because of the simple fact he was sitting with her daughter, helping her make music.

  "Oh, this one!" Bridgette patted his arm, drawing his attention off Lissa and back to her notebook. Lissa scooted closer, leaning against him to read over his shoulder, reminiscing about each poem with her daughter, remembering why she'd written it.

  Travis took a deep breath, viscerally aware of the little girl on his lap, and her mom leaning against his arm. He was trapped between them, held down by invisible threads that kept him pinned where he was as effectively as if he'd planted his ass in cement.

  The threads weren't coming from them. They were coming from him, wrapping around each of them, holding them tight. He didn't want to stand up. He didn't want to shake them off and find his space. He wanted to stay right where he was, working with the two of them to create the first song he'd c
ared about in a very long time.

  He grinned, feeling deeply content as he bent his head next to theirs, reading over the words together as they looked for the right poem. As he read over Bridgette's words, he knew that turning her words into music was the most important song he'd ever write.

  He wasn't going to let her down.

  "This one." Bridgette pointed to a short poem printed neatly in fine-tipped blue marker. "It's about my mom's pies, and how they make everyone want to smile and dance."

  He grinned, glancing at Lissa, who was smiling. "They are good, aren't they?"

  "The best. This is it. The one I want." Bridgette looked up at him. "It's okay to have a song about pies, right?"

  "You bet. Let's see." He scanned the words, humming under his breath as he played with the notes, experimenting with different approaches. Lissa and Bridgette listened seriously, stopping him and offering suggestions, some of which were surprisingly insightful. He hadn't thought about creating simply for the sake of creating in a long time, but sitting there with them, was amazing. His fingers itched for his guitar, which he hadn't bothered to bring. His manager would have his equipment backstage, but he wanted his old one, the one from his days on the ranch, the one that was battered and still had some white paint on the side.

  He heard guitar music, and he looked up, searching the crowd. He saw a teenage boy nearby, quietly playing, not paying any attention to the singer struggling through the notes on the stage. The kid was wearing battered cowboy boots, ripped jeans, and an old, paint-splattered tee shirt. Travis had a feeling the grunge look wasn't for show, but because this was the best the kid had to wear...kind of like how he'd once been.

  He pulled off his sunglasses and tipped back his hat. "Hey."

  The kid looked up, and his eyes widened in silent shock, his fingers freezing on the strings as he gaped at Travis.

  Travis grinned at the look of shocked recognition on the kid's face. For the first time in a long time, he didn't mind being recognized. This kid was the kind of kid he'd wanted to find, to reach. "Can I borrow your guitar for a minute? I'm writing a song for my friend Bridge here." He paused. "Could use your help too, if you want to join us?"