by Pam Crooks
“Tell the lady you’re sorry,” he ordered quietly.
The golden head lifted, his eyes slow to meet hers.
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
“Why did you take my purse?” She couldn’t stop herself from asking. “You knew it was wrong, didn’t you?”
He shrugged, dropping his head again. “I wanted money.”
A long breath slid out of her lungs, draining her annoyance. Of course he did. Didn’t everyone? Besides, who was she to judge? It wasn’t like she’d never stolen anything herself. Being fourteen and having a purse full of high-end department store makeup to impress the girls she hung around with had been more important at the time than finding a way to pay for it.
It’d been a tough lesson to learn, thanks to a strict punishment her foster mother handed out, along with warning Ava within an inch of her life not to do it again.
Which she hadn’t. Ever.
As far as she was concerned, the whole thing with this kid was done and over with. Hopefully, he learned his lesson, and for her part, she’d make darn sure she didn’t leave her purse in her unlocked car again.
But it seemed the tall cowboy wasn’t quite as forgiving.
“You want to press charges or anything?” he asked her.
She shook her head. “No.”
He grasped the kid’s arm and hefted him to his feet with cool ease. “Then c’mon, son. We’re going to pay a little visit to the deputy.”
Hadn’t she just said she wasn’t going to push the issue and that a trip to law enforcement wasn’t expected on her part?
“Wait.” She frowned. “Is that necessary?”
He paused. Those aviator sunglasses angled her way. “I think it is.”
“Just let it go. I have my money.” She forced a smile. “No harm, no foul, right?”
“Not sure how it is in New York, but that’s not the way we do things around here.”
A corner of his hard mouth lifted, and he touched a finger to the brim of his hat. He turned, taking the teen with him in a no-nonsense walk away from the gas station.
She didn’t move. Were all cowboys out here as arrogant as he was? He made it sound like being from the east was somehow inferior to this part of the country.
“You all right, ma’am?”
Ava dragged her stare off the cowboy. The twenty-something cashier, sporting a ponytail and no makeup, approached her.
“Yes, I’m fine. Thanks.” Ava pulled out the dollar bills from her back pocket. “Here you go. I haven’t paid you for the bottled water yet.”
The cashier dismissed her offer with a wave of her hand. “No, just take it. It’s the least I can do.”
“Oh, but I don’t expect—”
“We’re good folks here in Paxton Springs, ma’am. Don’t let what just happened make you think we’re not.” She nodded, her features gentling. “Beau is tough, but he’s fair, too. I’m guessing that kid won’t try to take anyone’s purse again, at least not around these parts where Beau might catch wind of it.” She paused, indicating Ava’s license plate with a small gesture. “Looks like you’re a long way from home. Wherever you’re going, you drive safe now, y’hear?”
She turned on her boot heel and went back into the gas mart. Ava opened her mouth to tell her she was headed out to the Blackstone Ranch, and she’d be in Paxton Springs for a while yet, and maybe they’d see each other again. Mostly, she wanted to ask way too many questions about the tall cowboy, but since it was really none of her business who he was now that he’d walked out of her life, she climbed back into her car, strapped on her seat belt, and started the engine.
Yet as much as she had to focus on her real purpose in coming to Paxton Springs, keeping her promise to Erin, her mind replayed everything that had transpired since she arrived, like a movie, in vivid Technicolor.
That big body, tanned from the sun, corded with muscle.
That low, smooth voice.
That simple touch to the hat brim.
Beau.
They had a difference of opinion, but that didn’t keep the heat from swirling through her belly all over again, fluttering her pulse, stirring every fiber of her femininity.
He made her ache.
She turned the air conditioning on full blast, put the car in gear, and drove back onto the highway.
Chapter Two
For the second time in less than an hour, Ava braked the Toyota, this time on a narrow road. A long ribbon of pale dirt bordered with oversized rocks and the occasional yucca plant stretched neatly in front of her, seeming to collide and disappear into the tall, rugged hills in the distance.
She leaned closer to her steering wheel, closer to the top edge of her windshield, and stared up at the wrought iron crossbar.
Blackstone Ranch.
Well, at least she was in the right place.
Desolate country out here. She guided the car forward again, over the cattle guard that rumbled her tires. Thank goodness Erin’s directions were precise. One wrong turn, and Ava could’ve ended up so deep in the boonies, she might never be found.
Her mouth softened. Okay, she was exaggerating, but Texas was big, even bigger than she imagined, and so different from the crowds and congestion of New York City, it was like she’d driven onto a different planet.
She rolled down her window and breathed in the warm air, catching a faint scent of manure but freshness, too. The scent of pine. She could feel this sprawling land’s peace, its power, as her car moseyed down the road. Its legacy, most of all. The legacy the Paxton family had honored for generations.
After a slight bend in the road, their home appeared—a handsome structure that must have given them great pride over the years.
She certainly had no such legacy with her own family. Could she do this project justice in Erin’s place? Would she be good enough? What if Mrs. Paxton didn’t like her?
Ava cut the engine and got out. The front door opened, and a silver-haired woman dressed in an airy tunic and strands of turquoise beads around her neck appeared. She carried herself with such grace and confidence, Ava knew immediately she was the matriarch of the family.
Ginny Paxton.
“You must be Ava Howell,” she said with a smile.
“I am.” Ava clasped her hand. Bracelets clinked on the woman’s thin wrist.
The smile faded. “Please accept my condolences on the loss of your friend. I was proud to have Erin as my niece. She was a fine young woman with such a bright future.”
It’d been three weeks since she died, but the sting of tears rose up as if it’d been just yesterday. “She was very dear to me, yes.”
“She was taken from us all much too soon.” Ginny shook her head and sighed. “I understand you had quite a long drive to get here. I hope the trip went well.”
“It did, thank you.” Ava had no intention of mentioning her purse had been stolen, of course. “You have a lovely place out here.”
“Thank you.” Her gaze shifted to somewhere over Ava’s shoulder, the land that went on for miles. A veil of sadness shadowed her features; in the next moment, it was gone. She met Ava’s glance again. “It means everything to us.” She took a step back and extended her hand toward the house. “Come in. I want you to meet my husband.”
Ava followed her inside to an open, rustic room that served as the living area. A broad-shouldered man with a full head of hair that showed no sign of balding reclined in a leather chair, his slippered feet raised comfortably. An aluminum walker with yellow tennis balls on the back legs was within easy reach.
Ginny took the remote and shut off the television; her husband used another to lower his recliner.
“Well, now, is this the young lady that came all the way from New York City to see us?” Ava found his booming drawl charming; he took her hand in a firm clasp. “Duane Paxton. Hope it’s all right if I don’t get up and greet you proper,” he said. “Had a stroke a few years back. The legs aren’t what they used to be.”
“That’s q
uite all right,” Ava said. Erin had mentioned the disability. “There’s no need, anyway.”
“Under different circumstances, my husband would be ramrodding the ghost town project himself,” Ginny said. “He’s one of those men who can do just about anything once he puts his mind to it.”
“Well now, Ginny,” he said, giving her a husbandly look of disagreement. “You know that under different circumstances, there’d be no ghost town project. I’ve never wanted to take it on.”
“Well, I have.” She leveled him with a pointed look. “And now I’m going to do it.”
“Do what?”
The low, deep voice lifted the tiny hairs on the back of Ava’s neck and sent her heart hammering. The front door closed with a firm latch, followed by the slow, easy tread of boot steps, and even before she turned around, she knew who it was.
The cowboy.
The tall, muscled, jeans-wearing, thief-catching, Stetson-sexy-low-over-his-eyes cowboy.
Beau.
She took a quick step back. He pulled off his sunglasses and slid them lazily into his shirt pocket, his gray-eyed gaze hooked so deep into hers, she felt like a carp on a fishing line.
“The ghost town project, of course,” Ginny said, sounding far away.
Ava’s brain clawed through a fog of confusion from why Beau was here, in this house, on this ranch, commanding her logic to lay out every puzzle piece, as if on a table, for her to comprehend.
Until she did.
He’d walked right in, after all, as easy as he pleased. Ginny and Duane accepted his presence without so much as a cursory lift of their brows.
He belonged here.
Somehow.
Beau halted in front of her, the line of his jaw hard, like stone.
“Didn’t like the looks of those New York plates as soon as I saw ’em,” he said. “Gave me a bad feeling about why you might be here.”
He wobbled her confidence. Threw her off guard. She hadn’t expected the words to sound hostile. Blunt, even, and borderline rude, as if he already knew the answer.
This Beau was so different than the gas-station Beau that he tilted her gravity and made her thoughts flounder.
Taking control of both, Ava lifted her chin. “I’m heading up the ghost town project, that’s why I’m here.”
The gray regard darkened, like a brewing thundercloud.
“Don’t tell me you’re Erin’s stand-in,” he said.
“Stand-in?”
Ginny frowned. “Beau.”
“I resent that terminology,” Ava added with a little huff.
His head angled toward Ginny. The thundercloud showed no sign of dissipating. “Since Erin has passed, I thought we were going to postpone the deal.”
“You thought wrong,” Ginny said with a tight smile. “I never agreed to anything of the sort.” She slid her attention back to Ava. If Beau intended to indulge in an argument, Ginny clearly was having none of it, at least not now, with Ava right here to witness.
“Ava, this is our son, Beau Paxton,” she said.
“We’ve met,” he said crisply.
“You have?” Ginny asked.
“In town.”
Ava drew herself up. “At the gas station.”
“Oh, I see.”
From the tone of Ginny’s voice, she didn’t really see at all, but she had the good manners not to give in to her curiosity just yet.
Ava thrust her hand toward Beau. Since he clearly disapproved of his mother’s plans for the ghost town project, Ava assured herself it had nothing to do with her. She was only here to fulfill her promise to Erin, who, in turn, had formed a commitment with his mother months ago, and that made Ava completely innocent.
“My name is Ava Howell,” she said, feeling better.
“Ava.” He growled her name, like a grouchy bear awakened too soon from hibernation, acting as if he resented even that small bit of civility.
Who did he think he was anyway? His hand engulfed hers, and if there was a part of her that thought his grasp would somehow reflect his testiness with her, she was instantly mistaken.
Any roughness she could feel had only to do with the calluses he’d earned from long days of hard work; if anything, he took her hand into his with a quiet strength that was surprisingly gentle. Respectful, even, if only because of her gender and her place here, with his parents, and that made her pause.
Beau Paxton certainly knew how to keep a girl guessing.
“We have three sons,” Ginny said, pride in her voice. “Beau is a twin with Brock. Their older brother is Jace. I’m sure you’ll meet them soon.”
“A twin?” Ava asked.
Lord, she’d have to contend with more Paxton cowboys, cut from the same cloth?
“I was born first,” Beau said and finally released her hand. Appearing to set aside their differences for the moment, he stuffed a thumb into the hip pocket of his Levi’s. “Guess that makes me special.”
Her fingers curled into a fist, instinctively keeping some of his warmth and gentleness pressed into her palm, but her brow arched. “You must have been born with your brother’s share of ego, then.”
Duane guffawed. “Atta girl, Ava.”
“There’s barely four minutes between you two boys, and that’s not enough time to make either of you more special than the other,” Ginny retorted. “You’re both wonderful sons, right along with Jace.”
“All three of our boys work the ranch,” Duane added. “None of them are married, and their mother’s mighty disappointed about that.”
“Duane.” Ginny shook her head in exasperation. “They’ve been back from Afghanistan less than a year. It’s going to take more time than that to find the right girl around here. There’s not many to choose from, you know.”
“We’ll figure it out, Mom,” Beau said.
Well. Now that was interesting. An ex-military cowboy. And how had a man like Beau Paxton escaped the eye of every eligible female in this part of Texas, even if there were only a few?
“Ava, I’m sure you’re worn out from your trip,” Ginny said. “I’ve got a cabin ready for you not far from the lake. Get a good night’s rest, and we’ll meet up in the morning. Say eight o’clock. How does that sound?”
“Perfect.” The sooner she could get away from Beau, the sooner she could breathe again. “I’ll be ready.”
“Beau, take her over, will you? Make sure she has all she needs,” his mother said.
His gaze settled on Ava and lingered a moment too long. “All right.”
She turned away and took her time telling his parents good-bye. If she ignored him, then she could ignore the unsettling effect he had on her, too. Yet she found herself completely aware of every sound he made, from striding across the room to opening the door, holding it for her until she was ready to leave.
His pickup sat in the drive next to her car. Red. The same red truck that had been at the gas station. A late model Ford F-150, spattered with dried mud, with all the size and power a man like Beau Paxton needed.
The vehicle dwarfed hers, made it look old and used and very economy, and she couldn’t get behind the wheel fast enough. She needed the familiarity of her little Toyota to steady her nerves and regain her composure.
“Follow me,” he said.
“What else would I do?” she retorted through the open window. “Expect you to follow me?”
His step faltered for the barest of seconds, as if her flippant response threw him off guard, but a faint smile appeared as he put on his sunglasses. A black Labrador loped toward him from the direction of the barn, and he turned to greet the dog, giving him a rough scratch behind the ears.
He opened the pickup door, and the dog leapt inside, settling himself in the passenger seat with ease. A big dog for a big man. The perfect pair for a big pickup.
Beau led her away from the house at low speed, giving her time to take in the barns, outbuildings, and the corrals with guardrail pens that could hold more head of livestock than she could
even guess. In the distance, a herd of cattle, too many to fathom—let alone count—covered the pastures like a blanket of cowhide. Before coming to Texas, Ava had learned the Paxton family’s rangeland went on for miles, and for someone like herself who’d never owned even a square foot of land, the immensity of theirs was staggering.
Once they left the main part of the ranch, the road led them into open, rocky terrain marked with an endless variety of vegetation, everything from wildflowers to prickly cactus to juniper and oaks. Wildlife, too, would live here, though there were none that she could see. Probably hanging out in shade somewhere, wisely escaping the heat.
Then, the one thing she looked forward to seeing most appeared. Blackstone Lake, shimmering beneath the sun and inviting anyone with the urge to dive right in. Farther down, its scattering of structures too far away to identify, was the ghost town.
Ava’s breath hitched. If only Erin were here now, experiencing her first glimpse of the lake and ghost town. Erin, not Ava, filled with excitement to start her project, fulfilling her dream and making a name for herself with her company and career.
Ava blinked fast. She must focus only on fulfilling her promise to her good friend; she had little time to dwell on a new round of grief. Beau had already pulled up in front of a small cabin built of weathered logs, and by the time she parked behind him, her composure was firmly back in place.
“Home sweet home,” he said, allowing his dog to jump out of the truck’s cab before shutting the door.
She got out, too, taking her purse with her, and studied the rustic split-log structure, hardly bigger than a cracker box. “How quaint.”
Beau drew closer. “It’s just a cabin, Ava. Basic at best. Don’t expect any frills.”
She met his gaze squarely. If only she could see past the aviator lenses and determine the mood in those gray eyes. “What makes you think I do?”
“Ever live in the country before?”
“Never,” she said.
“Not much like the city.”
“I know that.”
“Might be a novelty the first day or two, but the quiet isn’t for everyone. Neither are the mosquitoes, the heat, or the critters.” He strode past her to the back of her car. “Open your trunk.”
