The Maverick Returns

by Roz Denny Fox

  “Ouch. I bet that’s tough for my macho brother.”

  “No as bad as you’d think,” she said, hugging Coop before she climbed into the SUV. “Remember, Sully’s a marshmallow inside. He loves Gray with every bit of that squishy heart. And he loves you.” She pushed the starter and the engine revved.

  Coop looked thoughtful as he slapped the flat of his hand on her vehicle. “I have a colt to break before we melt in the heat today, but I promise you, Blythe, I’ll talk to Willow soon. The decision will be up to her,” he said, tugging at his ear. “One thing I am sure of, I’m not going to leave her. And if we come to the Triple D, I won’t stand to have Sully causing her pain or distress. She told me he wasn’t nice to her the last time they met. He blamed her for not stopping me from going off. As if she had some power over me that he lacked.”

  “Family dynamics are complicated. Sully says stuff without thinking sometimes. But he needs you. He’s become a workaholic.”

  “Doesn’t he know that’s what killed our dad at such a young age?” Coop asked.

  “Bless you for realizing that.” Sliding out of the seat, Blythe rose on her toes and hugged Coop again. “If I’m pushing you to come home, it’s because I want my husband around long enough to grow old with me. I want us both there to play with our grandchildren.”

  Coop slowly reached up and loosened Blythe’s arms. He carried her hands to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Have you made Sully get a checkup? His heart’s okay, isn’t it?” Coop stared sharply at Blythe.

  “It’s not your fault, Coop, so don’t blame yourself, but Sully saw the doctor in Hondo shortly after the last argument you two had. His blood pressure was sky-high. Doc Metzger put him on blood-pressure pills. Sully seems calmer now. And I’ve talked him into hiring a part-time manager. He’s not family, though. I don’t know if you’re aware that your dad put a lot of pressure on Sully to look after the Triple D—and you.”

  Coop’s chest felt tight. “High blood pressure is what caused Dad’s heart attack. Tell Sully he’d better watch it.” Coop let Blythe slide into the driver’s seat, then jammed his hands in his back pockets to keep them still as she urged him once more to come home for the holidays. He watched her until she drove out of sight.

  She had a point. Coop needed to go home, even if it was only a short visit to square things with Sully. Maybe Blythe didn’t intend to hurt him with her message, but it left him feeling raw. He should’ve gone inside to discuss everything with Willow right away, but he had a lot to mull over first. She didn’t have any warm feelings toward his brother. What would he do if she refused to go with him to the Triple D?

  It would be best to sweat out the tug-of-war that seemed to be splitting his skull in two. If he went back to the Triple D for good, he’d want to work with horses again and let Sully handle the cattle. At least the Triple D was big enough to hold the six of them. Earlier Willow had expressed a preference for staying here; perhaps he should’ve allowed Blythe to get the ball rolling with her. A little voice in his head called him a coward—the last thing he wanted to be in Willow’s eyes.

  Chapter Eleven

  Willow wanted to start painting the trim on the house, but she didn’t want to go outside while Cooper was entertaining his latest groupie. She certainly didn’t want to appear nosy. But she was hurt and curious, so she peeked around the curtains more than once. It was like rotten icing on the cake that she chose to look out just as the red-haired woman was saying goodbye. Bad enough that Coop had greeted her enthusiastically with a big hug, but as the redhead prepared to leave, she climbed into her car—only to jump back out and wrap Coop in an embrace that seemed to go on forever. And then he kissed her hand. No matter how many times Willow told herself not to be upset, she was. The SUV backed out and took off down the road, but Coop watched it go. Was that a new spring in his step as he finally turned to walk away? How dumb had she been to let him in her house last night? Or worse, welcome him into her bed.

  Well, technically not her bed. He’d made an issue of not using the bed where she’d slept with her husband. That should have told her something. But after their incredible night, didn’t Coop owe her—what? Respect? Darn right he did. Tate never respected her and she needed that from Cooper. She also needed to respect herself. The next time Coop Drummond waltzed up to her door, he’d find it shut tight—same as her heart.

  Not wanting him to catch her at the window where he could accuse her of spying, she hurried to the back of the house. She made Lily’s bed and straightened her room. As she passed her own bedroom, the sight of her bed, which hadn’t been slept in, was a stark reminder of the hours she’d spent in Coop’s arms. Small aches were magnified, reminding her of the way she’d rolled around on the living-room floor with him for half the night. They’d spent the other half together on a too-narrow sofa.

  But what did their night of fantastic sex mean to Cooper? Apparently not as much as it meant to her, she thought, straining to hear him come back inside. Surely he’d pop in to pick up something to take for lunch. Despite insisting that she didn’t want to see him again, she kept listening for him. She told herself to act blasé. Let him bring up his visitor. Let him explain all those hugs.

  Minutes ticked by. There was nothing left for Willow to straighten in the house, and still Cooper hadn’t come back.

  Although she refused to give in to more tears, they weren’t far from the surface. At last, deciding to see what was going on, Willow looped her hair up under the baseball cap she wore for painting and stepped onto the porch.

  Standing at the railing, she saw Coop ride out on the sorrel gelding named Rusty. He didn’t glance back. He seemed relaxed in the saddle, like he didn’t have a care in the world. No, the cares were all hers, she thought bitterly.

  What really broke her heart was to watch Lilybelle get up from where she sat in her usual spot on the porch, stretching out an arm toward the disappearing rider. Not one to show much—if any—emotion, Lily wiggled her fingers the way she’d taken to doing when she wanted Coop to pick her up. Her expression as she turned to her mother was one of bewilderment. He’d made so much progress with Lily. And now, after canoodling with his morning visitor, it was plain he didn’t give a damn about that or anything else.

  How could she have been so gullible? “I think it’s a good thing I didn’t call the realty office and cancel the sell order on our ranch, honeybee.” Willow walked over to where Lily had again plopped down with her rabbit.

  Kneeling, Willow touched her child’s shoulder. “Say, Bye-bye, Coop.’ We won’t see him again until suppertime. If then.” Rising, Willow couldn’t admit how suddenly she felt a pang at the thought that perhaps they wouldn’t ever see him. She tried to shake off her concern; after all, it was only yesterday she’d tried to send him away. She hadn’t convinced him to go, but maybe his visitor had.

  Willow brought Lily a handful of animal crackers and then hauled the paint supplies out of the shed where she’d stored them prior to the storm. She couldn’t seem to shake her feeling of unease.

  There was probably still some electricity in the air from last night’s fast-moving disturbance. She couldn’t blame Coop for everything. Her jumpiness might be nothing more than anxiety over climbing to the top rung of the ladder to paint the fascia at the ends of the house.

  She started at the highest point, where it would be possible to see Coop in the upper pasture. How pathetic was that, she thought, grimacing as she opened the can of steel-blue paint. She spotted the sorrel’s broomstick tail where the horse had been staked out in a patch of grass, but Coop was nowhere to be seen.

  The blue trim looked great against the gray siding. Coop sure pegged the color right. Once finished, it’d definitely make the house more attractive.

  Willow’s stomach dipped again. So, did she want to sell? All the absurd planning she and Cooper had done over breakfast, when she’d coaxed him to stay here with her and Lily, boiled down to nothing of substance. It was better to mov
e on. But was it better for Lilybelle, who’d responded to Coop? Hadn’t Willow warned him not to set himself up in that role? He could play fast and loose with her heart and she’d recover because she’d been hurt worse. But Lily was vulnerable. She didn’t deserve Cooper’s careless behavior.

  Willow took angry swipes at the board in both directions as far as she could reach. Then she climbed down and moved the ladder, repeating the process around the back and the opposite side of the house, all the while keeping a close eye on Lily.

  She stopped for lunch, fixing meat loaf sandwiches for the two of them. Out of habit, she made extra for Coop. He didn’t show up to eat it, so she bagged his and put it in the fridge.

  Willow silently hoped he got a bellyache from skipping his midday meal.

  Around three o’clock she finished painting, stamped the lid back on the paint can and returned her supplies to the shed. She was washing paint off her arms with the hose when a vehicle pulled into her driveway. Willow turned off the water and checked on her daughter’s whereabouts. When she glanced back at the driveway, she was surprised to see the same maroon SUV that had twice driven past the house the day she and Coop argued by the fence. She hastily dried her hands on her shirttail, then fetched Lily, who’d begun rocking nervously.

  Willow was further surprised to see a second vehicle pull in and park behind the SUV. A county sheriff’s vehicle. Taking Lily’s hand in her now-sweating one, Willow descended the porch steps. Nerves fluttered in her belly.

  Had the driver of the SUV been speeding and randomly chosen her driveway to pull off the road? If so, he’d pulled in pretty far.

  The door of the SUV popped open and out came Willow’s former father-in-law. Stifling a gasp, Willow held Lily back.

  Bart Walker was big and gruff, and smelled heavily of cigar smoke. The one time he’d visited at the start of her marriage, he’d acted as if she didn’t exist. And he’d barely tolerated her presence at Tate’s funeral.

  Lily picked up on her mother’s unrest and wrapped one arm around Willow’s leg, where she clung. Feeling defensive, Willow swung her daughter up to straddle her hip.

  Her brain foggy, Willow didn’t fully comprehend what was happening when the sheriff approached, introduced himself as Sheriff Richards, and forced a paper into her free hand, saying, “Mrs. Walker, your deceased husband’s father has filed eviction papers on this property. I need you to go inside and pack up your belongings. Do you have friends in Carrizo Springs to bunk with until you make other arrangements?”

  The gray-haired sheriff had doffed his hat. He stood in front of Willow, turning it around and around in his weathered hands.

  Unable to fully digest his words, Willow merely blinked at him until Bart Walker slammed his car door. Chewing on a stubby cigar, he stomped over to her. He stared at Coop’s pickup and horse trailer before demanding in a gravelly voice, “Where’d you get the fancy rig? You didn’t have anything like that when I came to bury my son.”

  That shook Willow out of her stupor. She feared this man and she wasn’t about to let him know a former neighbor of his, someone who had always been at odds with his son, was on the ranch. “The rig belongs to my current hired hand. He’s out on the property. What does this mean, Bart?” She shook the paper.

  Walker moved the cigar to the other side of his mouth. “I heard at the feed store that you’re vaccinating and branding. Maybe I’ll have your hired hand do some chores for me. Good thing the iron you ordered was the Bar W. The cattle and all of this belongs to me.” He waved an encompassing arm.

  Despite the hot sun beating down, Willow shivered. Dredging up her nerve, she said, “Those are my cattle. Tate sold most of the stock you bought the year we got married. I developed a small herd over the past few years.”

  “The hell you say. I happen to know you sold ranch property to buy calves.” He stabbed a finger toward the upper range. “I figure we’re square, though, because you paid my loan interest over the past year.”

  Willow felt her world slipping out from under her feet, and all she could do was clutch Lily tighter. Why hadn’t the bank mortgage officer notified her. He probably assumed she and Bart had an arrangement since she was his daughter-in-law.

  Sheriff Richards stepped between her and Bart. “He has papers to show he cosigned loans on the property,” the sheriff said gently. “Mr. Walker came to town last week. He paid off the bank, so everything belongs to him now except your personal belongings.”

  “That’s nothing,” Willow mumbled. “I came here with one suitcase full of jeans and T-shirts. But…Lilybelle was born here,” she said. “As Tate’s daughter, isn’t she entitled to something? Sheriff, we hardly ever go to town. This is our home.” Willow hated to beg anything of Tate’s dad, but she would for her child.

  “So, are you saying you have nowhere else to go?” the sheriff asked sympathetically.

  Willow didn’t answer. She did have that small stash of money hidden away, but she hadn’t counted it in a long time, and she had no idea if there was enough for a hotel room or bus tickets.

  “Mr. Walker, surely you can afford to grub stake the missus and her daughter. We are talking about your grandchild,” the older man said pointedly.

  Bart spit out the stubby cigar and ground it into the earth with his shiny boot heel. Extracting another from a silver case he carried in his shirt pocket, he rolled it around his tongue, then lit it, snuffing the match between his thumb and forefinger. “I might be able to spare a hundred bucks,” he said, puffing away. “But I’m gonna tell you, Sheriff. Tate wasn’t positive the kid was his. He told me this little slut slept around.”

  Willow’s mouth flew open. “What? That’s a lie!”

  The sheriff stopped her from further objections. “I need to get back to the office. I’d appreciate it if you went in and gathered your things quickly, Mrs. Walker. You two can sort this out later in a court of law.”

  “Fine,” she said grimly. “On second thought, I don’t want so much as a dime from him.” She marched inside with as much dignity as she could muster considering her knees felt like water.

  Fury carried her through packing two battered suitcases she pulled from the closet in Lily’s room. Alternating between praying Coop would stay away until she left, and wishing he’d ride in and wipe the smirk off Bart Walker’s face, Willow folded clothing into each case. She also packed the book on autism, which Coop had returned, Lily’s baby album, the coloring books and crayons Coop had bought and a few storybooks Lily loved. Regretfully, there wasn’t room for the colored blocks, so she left them along with the radio Coop had given her. That hurt, too. She gave it a lingering touch, then left the room.

  Setting the suitcases in the hall, Willow ducked into the bathroom and counted out the cash in her tampon box. Just under two hundred dollars. Her heart sank as she stuffed the bills into her pocket, then put the box in her overstuffed suitcase. She probably shouldn’t have gotten up on her high horse and refused the money Bart might have forked over. But who knew what kind of strings would be attached? If he ever grew a heart and reconsidered the loss of his only grandchild, she’d just as soon not give him any reason to sue for access.

  Willow knew that the sheriff, who seemed to dislike being Bart’s messenger boy, was anxious to leave, but she decided he could wait a few more minutes. Zipping into the kitchen, she cut some apples and cheddar cheese and bagged them for snacks. She took the sandwich she’d made for Cooper, and added graham crackers and string cheese for Lily—a light supper on the bus. Now, away from the man who’d uprooted her life, Willow was able to think more clearly. Unless the Greyhound buses passing through Carrizo Springs had changed from the route she’d memorized during Tate’s worst binges, they had just enough time to catch the bus headed for San Antonio.

  Willow considered scribbling a note to Coop, but figured Bart would destroy any note she left. She didn’t doubt that he’d do everything in his power to cause Coop trouble. There were so many problems with leaving this way;
at the same time, there was no reason she should fight to stay, she thought, recalling Coop’s morning rendezvous with the redhead.

  Sheriff Richards was waiting patiently on the porch. He relieved Willow of the suitcases. “If I were you, I’d hang on to that eviction notice.” He covered a cough. “In case down the line you decide to make a case for part of the property for your daughter,” he added quietly.

  Willow dabbed her eyes. Determined not to shed any tears, she mumbled, “Thank you,” and checked that the folded papers were still in her back pocket. But what chance would she ever have of launching a lawsuit against a powerful man like Bart Walker, who could afford a bevy of expensive lawyers?

  The sheriff stowed her bags in the front passenger seat and assisted her and Lily into the back. “Sorry about the cage,” he said. “But county rules say anybody I transport has to sit in back,” he said.

  She buckled in, then slumped down as far as possible in the seat. “It does make me feel as if I’m a criminal being hauled off to jail,” she said.

  The sheriff’s eyes were on his rearview mirror. “Uh, hold on a minute,” he said. “Mr. Walker is flagging us down. Maybe he’s had a change of heart.”

  Bart hiked down the hill toward the car. Huffing from exertion, he leaned into the sheriff’s rolled-down window and addressed Willow. “That rig—the Dodge Ram and matching horse trailer—they look too pricey for a hired hand. Do you swear it’s not an outfit Tate bought? He told me he cleaned up at the gaming tables, but after checking out the barn and shed, and figuring how much dough I sent over the years, I’m coming up short. Way short.”