by Holt,Debra
What’d you expect? You had your chance, and you blew it. Less than twenty-four hours before he was to slip a gold band on her left hand and make her his forever, he had walked away. No—I ran away. Exactly like the coward I am. He could finally own up to that fact. Back then though, he had mistaken it for wanderlust, for the cowboy spirit in him. The pull of the open road, the lights of the rodeo arena, the burst of heart-stopping adrenaline that came from sitting atop several hundred pounds of thrashing horseflesh, the best eight seconds of a bronc rider’s life—all these had lured him away. And like the dumb kid he’d been, he’d believed all that could take Macy’s place. Maybe it had, but not for long. Nothing had. But he’d denied the emptiness until a horrible tragedy brought it to light. And then thoughts of Macy would not stay buried. She’d been there in the shadows, seemingly watching and waiting … in his waking moments and in his dreams. He had to return.
The realization hadn’t been long in coming at all, really. Six months of thrills had only left an empty spot in his chest that no amount of money or titles or belt buckles could ease. He should have wised up and returned to the best thing that had ever happened to him. But no, he let his pride stand in the way. And Macy wasn’t all he’d left behind. He’d needed to prove to his family that he had what it took to make a name for himself on his own, without trading on the Cartwright reputation or bank account. Deep inside, he’d believed that he would never amount to much if he didn’t take the leap and find out if he had what it took to do all that … on his own. Only then could he look his family in the eye as his own man and be worthy of being a husband to Macy. So he’d set off to prove something to everyone. And he’d done it in spades.
Yet, it hadn’t been enough to ease the habitual ache or fill the void inside. Seeing Macy in front of him after ten long years, he fully understood why. His chest had been empty because his heart was not there. He’d searched for something that was under his nose all along; it had been right within his grasp … and he’d let it slip away. He had tossed Macy and her love for him away as easily as a person tossed an empty can out of an open window and kept going down the road. It made him ashamed and sick to his stomach that he had done such a thing to someone who had never hurt him in her life. She’d given him her heart, wholly and without reservation, trusting him to handle it with care. And he had crushed it under his boots. Perhaps it would give her great pleasure to know that he hated himself far more than she ever could.
While he was being so truthful, Trace had to own up to the fact that, beyond returning to Cartwright’s Crossing, building a home, and putting a plan for his own rodeo stock business into operation, something else drove him day and night. It was the dream that had grown with fierce determination, each mile that carried him toward home again. The dream still included Macy. In his dream, she would find it in her own heart to forgive him. Then he would place that gold band on her finger, where it should have been all along. She would give him the chance to be the husband he wanted to be and could be now.
The plain fact was that his life would never be whole until he could reclaim the one woman who held everything he was in the palm of her hand. Would she ever trust him again? Could she? Was he wanting too much? Or would she crush his heart without a thought for him, the same way he had done hers?
“I see you made it back in one piece.”
The observation brought Trace’s attention to the man who stood in the doorway. His brother, Travis, older by five years, was the iron fist that ran the Cartwright ranch and everything on it. Only thirty-six, he acted far older at times, but that’s what happens when life interferes. Thrust into the roles of parent and ranch manager at age twenty-one when an accident claimed the lives of both parents and a younger sibling, Travis had no choice but to become the responsible adult. Many had doubted he’d be able to pull it off, but he had.
Trace had been sixteen and Annie fourteen when their world had changed. If he admitted the truth, Trace had always wanted his big brother’s approval and respect. He might have gone about it wrong with his rebellious teen ways and his visions of being a rodeo cowboy. Graduating early, he’d hit the rodeo road full time as soon as he could. He should have helped Travis out more after their father died, but he hadn’t. Smiles from his brother were rare, and Trace admitted he’d drawn a fair share of frowns over the years … many of which he had elicited deliberately, just to rile his sibling. Regret surfaced over some of the things he had chosen to do. That was another fence he hoped to mend with his return.
“Why wouldn’t I make it back in one piece? Delivering horses from point A to point B isn’t difficult,” Trace replied, opening the refrigerator and taking out containers of leftover fried chicken and potato salad from last night’s dinner. “You eat lunch already?” he asked, shutting the door with a hip and setting the food on the table in front of the kitchen window. Travis leaned against an opposite counter, finishing a chilled bottle of water. His clothes already showed sweat stains from the heated work of the morning, and a layer of fine dust coated the work boots. If Mrs. Kelso, their cook and housekeeper, were not enjoying a day off, she would never have allowed him to stand on her shiny floor in such a state.
“That wasn’t the dangerous part of the job. I don’t imagine you received too warm a reception at the Donovan place.”
Trace kept his eyes on his task, placing a couple pieces of chicken and some potato salad onto a clean plate. “There was definitely an early chill in the air.”
“I’m surprised you weren’t met at the front gate with a double-barreled shotgun. Macy’s a crackerjack shot. She wouldn’t have missed. It would probably have been ruled justifiable homicide, too.”
Trace laid a fork beside his plate and sat down. His hands joined in a fist over the food; his emerald glare met a mirrored gaze. “Is there a point to this conversation?”
Travis took another gulp of water, delaying his reply. “Yeah. You should leave the woman alone if you really want to do her a favor. You did enough damage the first time around. Let her be while you’re here. Plenty of other females in this county will be more than happy to party with a rodeo star. And there won’t be pieces of a broken heart for the rest of us to pick up after you leave again.”
Trace eyed his brother before he replied, his voice edged with exasperation. “I have about had my fill of people trying to get me on the road again. What do I have to do to get it through everyone’s thick skulls that I’m not leaving? And what do you mean? What picking up did you do?”
“Are you kidding? You left Macy Donovan sitting on the steps of that church, clutching her wedding dress in one hand and your pathetic goodbye in the other, all the while sobbing so hard that my dress shirt was drenched in nothing flat. I’ve never seen such a pitiful sight. If Annie hadn’t talked me out of it, I would have tracked you down and given you a good horsewhipping myself. But Macy needed us, and between Annie and me, we got her back to her grandmother’s and sat listening to her cry the rest of her heart out in her room. I don’t plan to go through that mess again. And dealing with the townspeople in the months after that? Macy stayed hidden at the ranch as much as possible, but some of us still walked the streets of this town and took the looks that should have been directed at you. So the next time you decide to leave—and my bet is that you will—just remember, the rest of us call this home, and this is where we live. You’ll take responsibility for your own actions from here on out, or I will do some horsewhipping this time.” A swift motion launched the water bottle toward the garbage can, but it didn’t quite make its mark, landing with a clatter on the floor instead. Travis didn’t stop to pick it up. The back door slammed behind him.
Guess he needed some fresh air someplace else.
Trace fought hard to control his temper, even as he acknowledged that most of what Travis had said was the truth. His leaving had affected more than just himself and Macy … he’d not really come face to face with that fact until his return. It wasn’t too pretty, now that he did examine it. S
omething else to add to the list of things to atone for. I knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but I sure could use some extra patience, Lord. Don’t desert me now.
So his older brother had cleaned up yet another of his messes. Trace didn’t care for how that made him feel. Only this wasn’t anything like soothing an irate farmer when Trace and a couple of friends had “appropriated” some watermelons one night. Or when he’d run the ranch tractor into a pond because he hadn’t been looking where he should, instead flirting with a couple of girls in a passing convertible. Or the time Travis had to talk Sheriff Weir into releasing Trace from jail when he and Ray Patterson had been pulled over after leaving a local ice house with a six-pack in the car … obtained with a fake ID.
Those might have been minor incidents along the path of a boy growing up, but there had been more than a few. And Travis already had his hands full with grown-up responsibilities, not to mention raising their sister also. Trace shook his head, remembering all the grief he had heaped on his brother. His chest constricted tightly, and he fought hard to breathe as he replayed Travis’s description of finding Macy on the steps of the church. He wished his brother had come after him, had given him that whipping. There was a lot to make up for, to a lot of people. He had no idea how he was going to do it or even if he could. But he was staying in Cartwright’s Crossing, and he would spend the rest of his life trying.
He stood abruptly, scraped his half-eaten lunch into the trash, tossed Travis’s water bottle in as well, and left the house.
Chapter 3
“That’s going to be quite a place once we get it built,” Jason Wyatt commented as he rolled up the blueprints for the two-story home he and Trace had just finished reviewing.
“It’ll be a home to last a few generations. We’ve got a good crew that’s already begun, and your firm is meeting all the timelines ahead of schedule, so I’m very pleased.” Trace shook the man’s hand as they walked to the front door of the office.
“That’s always good to hear. You know, I can’t help notice it’s a big place for one person. You might be a bit lonely rambling around in it.”
The man was fishing for information. Trace had quickly gotten wise to the fact this was typical of conversations around town. But he’d learned to sidestep with the best of them. He flashed a friendly grin along with his reply. “Maybe I should get a dog to keep me company then. We’ll see you soon. Have a good one.”
Trace stepped out of the architect’s office as a deputy sheriff’s car with lights and sirens blaring went flying south to the farm-to-market road leading toward the ranch. He climbed behind the wheel of his truck, watching as an ambulance, also in emergency mode, followed the deputy out of town. Trace pulled his truck out of the parking lot and headed in the same direction. The flashing lights of the vehicles disappeared a few minutes later as the road began to wind through canyons and over hills. Cresting the top of the third hill, Trace’s heart pitched against his ribs when the lights reappeared in the distance as they turned off onto a private road … the one leading to Macy’s ranch. Something was wrong. Please God, not Macy. The plea came instantly to his mind. Travis had told him only Jeb and sometimes one other hand worked the horses with Macy during the day. What if some fool horse she was working with had done something? He floored the gas pedal, speed limit forgotten.
Loose gravel went flying toward the first corral as he brought his truck to a quick stop behind the patrol car. In the opening to the enclosure, ambulance crew members and the deputy gathered around someone prone on the ground. Trace swung out of the truck and covered the distance in nothing flat. His blood pumped through his body faster than a scared rabbit outrunning a coyote.
“Is it Macy? What happened? Why aren’t you doing something to…” His voice trailed off as he came to a halt beside the others. Jeb Smith pushed himself into a half-sitting position, a look of pure irritation on his face.
“Is the whole blasted town coming out here? Might as well sell tickets then. Someone better call Clairee before she hears it from the gossip hotline,” Jeb ground out, stopping on a wince of pain as the paramedics moved to secure him on the stretcher.
“Calm down, Jeb, I just spoke with her.”
Trace’s gaze flew to the barn door as Macy emerged, shoving her phone into her pocket. For a brief second, her eyes met his, and Trace felt a flash of something electric pass through him. An instant relief calmed the mountain of fear within.
“Clairee will meet us at the hospital,” Macy informed Jeb as she bent to retrieve his hat from the dust. “I told you to wait and let me be here when you put that horse through his paces the first time.”
“I don’t need a sassy gal telling me how to handle a horse. I’ve been handling horses since long before you were even born. The horse had nothing to do with what happened. It’s indigestion from that fried catfish last night.” The man bit off anything else he might have said as he was lifted into the back of the ambulance. “If you’d let me catch my breath, I could walk to my truck and drive myself home. Don’t need all this confounded fuss. Ambulances are for emergencies.”
Macy stepped to the back of the vehicle, lines of concern marring her forehead. “Give these guys a break, Jeb. Let them do their jobs. I’ll put up the horse and then be right behind you.”
The EMT swung the double doors closed, cutting off Jeb’s reply. The two emergency vehicles pulled out of the drive, leaving Macy and Trace behind.
“You go on to the hospital, and I’ll take care of the horse for you.”
Macy whirled to face him. “This isn’t Cartwright land. You don’t give orders around here. And why are you even here to begin with?”
“I saw the ambulance turning into the ranch and followed it here. I wasn’t giving orders.” He had to fight hard to keep his voice under control. This woman could get under his skin quicker than anyone else ever had. “I was offering to help out. I know you want to be at the hospital with Jeb and Clairee as soon as possible.” He should have stopped there, but he didn’t. “We can stand here and argue and waste more time, or you can take this offer of neighborly kindness and get a move on. You should be there for Clairee.”
Macy opened her mouth to respond but then closed it. Her eyes flashed an icy blue glint, and Trace waited for her scathing words, but none came. “Just … put him up, and I’ll handle the rest when I get back.” She headed toward her truck.
He watched as she opened the door. Not able to resist goading her further, he added, “You’re welcome.”
If the glare she sent his way could have ignited, he’d have burst into flames. It was clear she had nothing further to say to him. She slammed the door and threw the truck into gear. Its tires kicked up a cloud of dust as she left him behind.
The sound of Macy’s boots on the polished tiles of the hospital corridors echoed around her. Her nose wrinkled at the antiseptic smell. The last time she’d been here was when Trace had been carried in after being kicked in the gut by a horse at the Founders’ Day rodeo. She had rushed down the hall, tears blurring her vision, until she saw Travis and then found Trace arguing with the doctor from his gurney. The stubborn fool wanted to be released immediately. He had another rodeo event the next night. She had rushed into his arms, and he had laughed off her concern. Macy pushed the memory far away as she rounded the corner and saw Clairee standing in the hallway. She would not shed a tear over Trace Cartwright if a horse wanted to kick him again. She’d applaud the horse.
“Oh, Macy,” the older woman said, seeing her approach and giving her a smile that was meant to reassure but fell a little short. The two women met in an embrace. “You didn’t need to rush in here. You know Jeb is as tough as an old piece of rawhide.”
“I know he’s tough, but I wanted to be here with you. Has the doctor told you anything yet?” She moved the woman toward one of the chairs in the small waiting alcove across from the emergency room. They sank down on the cushions, eyes on the doors as an occasional nurse exited.
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��No, they’re still checking him over. The nurse told me he came out of the ambulance as cantankerous as usual. I told them to knock him out. Of course, they would have to give him enough medicine to put down a Kentucky mule.”
Macy grinned. Clairee always looked for the humor in things, and this time was no exception. However, Macy wasn’t fooled. She saw the underlying worry in the gray eyes as they watched the doors, and her attempts to distract Clairee with small talk over the next half hour eventually fell into silence. Jeb wasn’t as spry as he used to be … neither of them were. They’d been married almost fifty years—in fact, they’d be celebrating the event in less than a month with a formal ceremony. Macy had known the pair all her life. She had no idea what she would have done without them, especially Jeb, after her grandmother died. He was her right hand around the ranch.
Doc Fuller came through the double doors, and both women rose. Macy linked arms with Clairee. The doctor approached, slowly shaking his head.
“That man is an ornery old coot.”
“You just now figured that out?” Clairee quipped. “If that’s your diagnosis, we won’t be paying for something the rest of the town already knows.”
“How you manage to put up with him, I have no idea. We should nominate you for sainthood.”
“Amen to that.” Macy had to agree, a bubble of relief beginning to surface inside her. Surely, they wouldn’t be standing around in the hall exchanging jokes and pleasantries if Jeb was in danger.
