He’s Just The Hired Help…
What kind of cockeyed Pollyanna is Colin Cade working for? Her porch is rotting, her “guest cabin” is cheerless and her land and livestock have only a geriatric cowboy to care for them. Yet Hannah Shaw is positive she can turn her ranch into a successful B and B—and that Colin’s the man to make it happen.
But Colin can’t stick around. He lives with the loss of his family by avoiding the memories, and the way he feels around Hannah and her young son is like a knife to the heart. Trouble is, he’s better at ignoring his own pain than someone else’s, and bright, cheerful Hannah has a heart as haunted as his own. She deserves to be happy—but could she really be with him?
Hannah wasn’t surprised when Colin turned in early for the night.
With his brother sleeping in the room next to him, there had been no chance he’d invite Hannah into his bed. Still, logic didn’t stop her from lying awake long past midnight on the slim hope that he might knock against her bedroom door. His scent lingered on her sheets and the memories of what they’d done in this very bed earlier in the day tormented her.
It would be easy to blame Justin for his inconvenient timing, but with or without his showing up, the end result was going to be the same. She would lose Colin. He’d never made any secret that he wasn’t the kind of guy to stick around in one place. He’d always planned to leave for his brother’s wedding and that job afterward on a cattle drive. Although she’d enjoyed hearing Justin’s anecdotes about wedding plans, each one reminded her that the big day was rapidly approaching.
Her time with Colin was almost at an end.
She blinked rapidly, trying to catch her tears on her lashes. It didn’t count as crying over the cowboy if the tears didn’t actually make it to her cheeks.
Find a bright side, her inner voice urged. Like…the ranch was in far better shape than it had been before Colin had come.
But what about me? What shape would her heart be in once he’d gone?.
Dear Reader,
Isn’t it frustrating—even heartbreaking—when bad things happen to good people? Over the years, I’ve witnessed a few friends stagger through hard times, seemingly plagued by one tragedy after another. But they’ve inspired me with their resilience and spirit, weathering numerous difficulties and rediscovering joy.
Colin Cade is a man who has experienced a great deal of difficulty and loss—his parents’ deaths when he was young and, more recently, the deaths of his wife and child in a car accident. For months afterward, all that held him together was the support of his two siblings. But his sister is now busy with her newborn daughter, and his brother is engaged and neck-deep in wedding plans. They’re moving forward with their lives, and Colin decides to move on, too. He does odd jobs on ranches, never staying in one place for long, never getting attached.
Until he meets young widow Hannah Shaw and her four-year-old son. Working alongside Hannah at the Silver Linings Ranch changes Colin’s perspective, reminding him that loss doesn’t have to define a person. But even as he heals, he questions whether he’s brave enough to love again.
Colin and Hannah were one of my favorite couples to write, and I hope that you find their story as poignant and uplifting as I do. Please drop by on Facebook (AuthorTanyaMichaels) or Twitter (@TanyaMichaels) and let me know!
Best wishes,
Tanya
HER COWBOY HERO
Tanya Michaels
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
New York Times bestselling author and three-time RITA® Award nominee Tanya Michaels writes about what she knows—community, family and lasting love! Her books, praised for their poignancy and humor, have received honors such as a Booksellers’ Best Bet Award, a Maggie Award of Excellence and multiple readers’ choice awards. She was also a 2010 RT Book Reviews nominee for Career Achievement in Category Romance. Tanya is an active member of Romance Writers of America and a frequent public speaker, presenting workshops to educate and encourage aspiring writers. She lives outside Atlanta with her very supportive husband, two highly imaginative children and a household of quirky pets, including a cat who thinks she’s a dog and a bichon frise who thinks she’s the center of the universe.
Books by Tanya Michaels
HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE
1170—TROUBLE IN TENNESSEE
1185—THE PERFECT TREE
“Tanner and Baum”
1203—AN UNLIKELY MOMMY
1225—A DAD FOR HER TWINS
1235—MISTLETOE BABY*
1255—MISTLETOE CINDERELLA*
1270—MISTLETOE MOMMY*
1279—MISTLETOE HERO*
1311—THE BEST MAN IN TEXAS
1321—TEXAS BABY
1343—HIS VALENTINE SURPRISE
1368—A MOTHER’S HOMECOMING
1388—CLAIMED BY A COWBOY**
1399—TAMED BY A TEXAN**
1419—RESCUED BY A RANGER**
1438—MY COWBOY VALENTINE
“Hill Country Cupid”
1463—HER SECRET, HIS BABY***
1479—SECOND CHANCE CHRISTMAS***
*4 Seasons in Mistletoe
**Hill Country Heroes
***The Colorado Cades
This is dedicated to everyone who emailed and posted online after reading the first Colorado Cades book to say they couldn’t wait for Colin’s story!
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Epilogue
Excerpt
Chapter One
For Colin Cade, one of the chief selling points of his motorcycle had been solitude. He preferred being alone, making it a conscious choice rather than a tragic circumstance, but that meant a lot of time in his own head. Unfortunately, not even the Harley could outrun his thoughts. Or his anger.
How the hell had he—a man who’d lived like a monk for the better part of two years—been fired for “sexual misconduct”?
Raising younger siblings had taught him patience the hard way, but right now his temper was providing uncharacteristic daydreams of shaking Delia McCoy’s shoulders until her professionally whitened teeth rattled. She’d had no business showing up naked in his bed. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that his former employer’s wife didn’t even want an affair. There had been plenty of other men working the ranch who would have taken advantage of her adulterous offer. So why target the guy who’d never once returned her flirtatious smiles? Was it possible she only wanted to shock Sean McCoy into paying more attention to her? Ranches took a lot of work, and Delia had complained to anyone who would listen that her husband neglected her.
Maybe she had cause to be bitter, but that sure didn’t give her the right to screw up Colin’s life.
He was supposed to have stayed on at the McCoy place for another month. The McCoys were crossbreeding Angus and Hereford cows, and Colin, the former owner of a large-animal vet practice, had been hired to help deliver calves and see them off to a healthy start. His job would have included routine disease prevention and facilitating adoption
for the expected twin sets and any heifers that lost their babies. His next contract—helping move two herds to the high country for summer grazing—was all lined up, but the cattle drive was nearly six weeks away, after his brother’s wedding.
What was he supposed to do in the meantime?
An old trail guide acquaintance had given him a possible lead, but he had sounded skeptical about it. “There’s a lady in the northwest, not far from where I hired on, who’s been looking for help. The Widow Shaw. None of the qualified ranch hands will waste time working for her, because her place is going belly-up any day now. Everyone knows it ’cept her. Frail little thing is clearly addled. Bakes the best rum cake I’ve ever had in my life, though.”
Despite his friend’s warning, Colin thought the job sounded promising enough to head for Bingham Pass and call on the Widow Shaw.
After his last two jobs—which had included the naked Mrs. McCoy and, prior to that, a moony-eyed teenage daughter of a foreman in Routt County—an elderly, absentminded woman who liked to bake sounded perfect. Colin wouldn’t stay long, but while he was there, he’d do what he could to get her back on her feet. And if that proved impossible...well, life sucked sometimes.
Who knew that better than him?
* * *
INHALING DEEPLY, HANNAH SHAW took stock of her situation. The early evening sky was starting to darken sooner than it should, and she had a flat tire on a stretch of road where cell service was nonexistent. How was it possible that astronauts could tweet from space, but there were still places in modern Colorado where a woman couldn’t get bars on her phone?
Bright side, Hannah. Find the bright side. After four years, her mantra was automatic. She tried every day to keep the vow she’d made in that hospital bed, to live with courageous optimism. Of course, that vow was currently being challenged by unyielding loan officers and the countless maintenance issues she’d inherited along with the Shaw family ranch. But she hadn’t survived this long by whining or embracing negativity.
The silver lining here was that Evan was spending the night at her friend Annette’s house instead of watching with worried eyes from his booster seat. Also, Hannah had successfully changed a flat tire once before, so there was no reason to think she couldn’t do it again. If the problem had been, say, her carburetor, she’d really be screwed.
“I got this,” she muttered, flipping on her hazard lights. She wished she’d been able to move the truck farther off the road, but there wasn’t exactly a reliable shoulder on these winding curves. She shrugged out of the lightweight blazer she’d borrowed from Annette. Beneath it, Hannah wore a white blouse that strained at the buttons down her chest, a premotherhood relic from the back of her closet. It was one of the few items in her wardrobe professional enough for a bank meeting, and the neatly buttoned jacket had camouflaged the imperfect fit.
As she twisted her long black hair up in an elastic band, she tried not to dwell on the banker’s condescending expression. She’d once again been told that maybe after she made significant improvements on the ranch, demonstrating that it was a solid investment, she could reapply. How was she supposed to make “significant” improvements without funds? She’d planned to rename the spread the Silver Linings Ranch, but it might be more accurate to call it The Catch-22. She’d received money after Michael’s death, of course, but a good chunk of that was in savings for Evan. Despite her careful planning—and the money she’d set aside to hire competent help—she had underestimated how much work the ranch would need before she could realize her plans.
One thing at a time. Fix the tire now, save the ranch tomorrow.
She climbed down from the cab and went to the back of the truck, where the tools and spare tire were kept under a cover that could be worth more than the vehicle. Note to self: maybe you should start keeping spare work clothes in the bed of the truck. While she wouldn’t necessarily mourn the ruination of the tight blouse, getting on the ground to change the tire was going to be murder on her pretty navy skirt.
A rumble of thunder echoed off the surrounding mountains, confirming Hannah’s suspicions about the prematurely dark sky. Rain hadn’t been in the forecast until tomorrow, but spring storms could move fast. Which meant she had better move fast, too.
Hurrying, she found a couple of good-size rocks on the side of the road to place in front of the tires. She was reluctant to completely trust the pickup’s emergency brake. The air seemed to crackle with expectancy, and wind whipped around her, chilling her skin. She’d only ever changed the tire on a car, and there had been a notch where the jack belonged. The truck did not have one. She was feeling around, trying to determine the correct place for the jack so she didn’t crack anything on the undercarriage, when the sky opened. Fat drops pelted her with enough force to sting.
But on the bright side, after a couple of years of drought, ranchers like her really needed the rain.
* * *
THE SHOWER HAD moved in fast, catching Colin by surprise. He’d anticipated getting into town before the rain started. He was scanning the side of the road for possible shelter when he rounded the curve and saw a stopped truck.
A woman knelt by a tire in the path of traffic. Not that there were any cars in sight, but lives could be taken in an instant. Stifling unwelcome memories—the call from the hospital, the twisted wreckage—he steered his motorcycle off the road and lifted his helmet.
“Need a hand?” he called over the rain.
The woman stood and he realized that, while she didn’t even reach his shoulder, she wasn’t tiny everywhere. She looked like the generously endowed winner of a wet T-shirt contest. A blouse that had probably once been white but was now translucent was plastered to an equally see-through lace bra. He abruptly glanced away but not before catching a glimpse of dark, puckered nipples.
In one motion, he ripped off his leather jacket and shoved it toward her. “Here.”
“Thanks.” Cheeks flushed with color, she accepted the coat, her hazel eyes not quite meeting his.
Watching her put on his clothing felt uncomfortably intimate, and he found himself annoyed with her for being here, in his path. “Don’t you have some kind of road service you could call?”
“Even if I did, there’s no reception here. But I’m not incapable of—”
“Wait in the cab,” he ordered. “No sense in both of us getting drenched.”
Her posture went rigid, and she drew herself up to her full—what, five feet? But she didn’t argue. “Far be it from me to look a gift Samaritan in the mouth.” Once inside, she rolled down the window. Literally. The truck had one of the manual window cranks that had been replaced with electric buttons in most modern vehicles. She seemed to be supervising his work.
“This truck is ancient,” he said. “God knows why you’re driving it when the kinder thing would be to shoot it and put it out of its misery.”
“It’s not that bad,” she retorted. Was that indignation or worry in her tone? “It just needs a little TLC.”
He grunted, focusing on getting the tire changed. Stomping on the wrench to loosen the lug nut felt good. He was in the mood to kick something’s ass. By the time he had the spare in place, the rain had shifted to a heavy drizzle. Ominous black clouds rolled closer. The storm might be taking a coffee break, but it hadn’t quit.
“That spare’s not going to get you far,” he warned. “It’s in lousy shape. Kind of like the rest of this heap.” His disdain encompassed the replacement door that was a different color from the body of the truck and a side mirror that looked loose.
She met his contempt with a half smile. “On the bright side, getting the flat gave me a chance to rest the engine and let the radiator cool down. Don’t worry, my ranch is only a few miles away. In fact, you should come with me. Wait out the storm. Judging from those clouds, we’re in for a lot worse.”
Although he rec
ognized the logic in her words, the invitation irked him. “Lady, I could be a serial killer. You don’t invite strangers home with you.”
“Not normally, no.” Her hazel eyes darkened, her expression somber. “If it helps, I was taught self-defense by a marine and I’m a lot tougher than I look.”
A sizzle of lightning struck close enough to make both of them start.
“You shouldn’t be riding that motorcycle in this,” she scolded. For a split second, she reminded him of his sister, Arden. Not all women were so at ease bossing around grown men who towered over them. He wondered if Hazel Eyes had brothers. If they worked on that ranch she’d mentioned, it could explain why she wasn’t worried about bringing a total stranger home with her.
“Come on,” she prompted, impatience creeping into her tone as more lightning flashed. “I have enough problems without picking up my morning paper and seeing that you got fried to the asphalt.”
He didn’t realize he was going to agree until the words left his mouth. “Lead the way.” He hadn’t been there the day a car accident had shattered his world, hadn’t been able to do a damn thing to help. He found he couldn’t abandon this woman until she and her rattling joke of a truck were out of the rain.
Mounting his bike, he shook his head at the unexpected turn of events. Hazel was not the first woman who’d invited him back to her place. But it was the first time in two years that he’d accepted.
* * *
COLIN WAS TOO occupied with the diminishing visibility and handling his bike on the dirt road to study his surroundings. He had a general impression of going through a gated entrance; farther ahead were much larger structures, likely the main house and a barn or stable. But the truck stopped at a narrow, one-story building.
The woman parked in the mud, gesturing out her window that he should go around and park beneath the covered carport, where the motorcycle would be out of the worst of the elements. She joined him under the carport a moment later, her hand tucked inside the purse she wore over her shoulder. He wondered if she had pepper spray or a Taser in there. She’d sounded serious when she mentioned the self-defense lessons.
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Her Cowboy Hero (The Colorado Cades) Page 1
