He was afraid they were making a mistake. That she was making a mistake being with him.
Today's ride had him questioning himself, too. He'd been pitiful. He'd stayed on the bull's back for all of four seconds and, when he'd been thrown, he'd landed badly on his left knee. He didn't think anything was busted, just bruised. He rarely went out with the other cowboys, but tonight, he'd accepted an offer to go to a nearby bar. He'd kept it to one beer, but a friend flirting with the waitress had spilled a drink that soaked Callum's shirt and jeans. He'd changed T-shirts, but the smell of alcohol remained with him.
It was late, he was tired and beat up. And he kept seesawing on what he was going to say to Iris when he saw her.
He loved her so much, he couldn't see straight.
And that was dangerous. Didn't he know it? He'd loved his mother with the same deep affection, and she'd left in the middle of the night. His dad had been cruel and a drunk to boot. He'd been thrown in jail after a bar fight when Callum was in middle school. He'd apparently ticked off the wrong person in the slammer, because he'd been killed in a fight among the inmates. Which had left Callum stuck in the foster system. Where he'd learned that anything he wanted got taken away.
Only Iris had stuck. She'd spent summers on her uncle Joe's ranch with her older sister and had befriended him even though he'd rebuffed her at every step.
He loved her so much, he couldn't imagine going on without her.
Earlier today, he and Iris had agreed to meet in their special place, under the big oak on one corner of her uncle Joe's ranch. There was no real reason for the secrecy of their plans other than her dad would be furious when they got married at the county courthouse tomorrow. If they went through with it. Maybe...maybe putting it off was the best thing.
His headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating empty fields on both sides of the gravel road. It wasn't far now. Through his open window, the sweet smell of growing wheat and cool air from the nearby creek rushed into the truck, knocking his Stetson back on his head until he mashed it down.
Both anticipation and dread roiled in his stomach.
What was the right thing here? When they'd daydreamed about their future together, she'd talked about working in New York City with a ballet company. He'd thought he was indulging her when he'd agreed that they would find a way to get her there after they were married.
But last weekend, seeing her on stage...
She had an amazing talent, one that he believed could put her on stage in New York or even Europe.
How was he supposed to support Iris's dreams when his plans would barely keep them afloat financially?
For a year, since she'd turned seventeen, he'd lived off of this dream of marrying her and starting their life together. But seeing her dance had rocked the foundations of his plans. She deserved a chance to get to New York. And he wasn't sure he could give it to her, not like they'd planned.
From out of nowhere, a huge dark shape separated from the darkness and barreled toward him, right in his path.
He stomped the brakes and yanked the wheel. The truck swerved, but there was no avoiding the collision with the horse.
Chapter One
Her past stared her in the face in the form of pixels on paper.
Iris Tatum went weak-kneed as she took in the local weekly newspaper, which had been folded to the sports page and left on the nook table in her kitchen. A prominent ad showed a smiling cowboy leaning against a huge combine tractor, one leg bent at the knee in a relaxed pose, his lips quirked in a smile that promised secrets.
Once upon a time, she'd known those secrets.
The bagel crumbs on the counter and dirty knife in the sink spoke of her older sister, Jilly's, presence, though the house was quiet now. Had her sister left the paper open to this particular page on purpose? Surely Jilly wouldn't be so cruel, even after all the times Iris had forced her to choke down the meds she needed.
Iris's finger traced over the Stetson atop the cowboy's head before she realized what she was doing and flipped the newspaper face-down on the table, removing him from her sight.
Why hadn't Jilly thrown it away? Better question: why didn't she?
She needed coffee. The piquant scent drew her through the morning sunlight streaming through the window above the sink and straight for the coffee maker.
She was shivering, just from seeing her high school boyfriend's photo.
Her reaction irked her. She was over him. Completely. It had been five years since he'd disappeared from her life without a word.
But she almost sloshed coffee over the rim of her mug, and her spoon clinked noisily against the sugar bowl. She had to get herself under control.
If she were a little bit undone, at least no one was here to witness it. She clung to the counter with both hands, leaning forward and breathing noisily through her mouth.
It was only because she'd never gotten closure. That was it.
She let go of the counter and bent in half, reaching behind her calves and tucking her head to her knees in a stretch. She exhaled as evenly as she could, imagining that she expelled the negative feelings with the breath. Straightening up, she stood at the window, looking out over the spread Uncle Joe had left her and Jilly. The wheat was aging nicely, thanks to the spring rains. Cattle dotted the furthest field, and the faded red barn stood sentinel.
Three years had passed without her uncle, and the grief had faded, as had the urges to check over her shoulder in case he walked through the door.
After spending all her teenage summers here and then her senior year of high school, she'd learned the rhythm and seasons of ranch life. Now the ranch had become home.
And Callum Stewart being back in town threatened to upset the delicate balance she'd managed to rebuild after Jilly's diagnosis and continuing battle.
Was he back?
She quit pretending that she wasn't dying to know and plunked herself and her coffee mug down at the nook table. She flipped the newspaper so that the cowboy's photo was back in view. A sip of coffee left an aftertaste of bitterness.
Why was a long-departed bull rider featured in an ad for a local custom harvester?
She let her eyes follow the lean, rangy lines of his picture. He looked good, but then when hadn't he? She'd been flustered by that smile the first time they'd met, but it was seeing his vulnerability over the next summer that had made her fall in love with him.
But she wasn't that girl any more. That girl had grown up. Moved on.
She saw the headline on the same page, Local Bull Rider Returns to His Roots. What?
The article gave sparse details about him partnering with a local custom harvester. No dates were mentioned, but the article clearly stated he was moving back to Redbud Trails. It didn't make sense.
Back when they'd made plans to run away together, he'd vowed that once he got out, he would never come back to Redbud Trails. He'd wanted to leave his past—and all the people in town who wouldn't let him forget it—behind. Including her father.
She'd been so in love with him, she would've gone anywhere with him.
Until he'd left without her, abandoning her without a word.
She'd tried to contact him, obtaining his phone number at a hotel where he'd been staying near one of the out-of-state venues, but he'd hung up on her. He'd well and truly left her behind.
What would make him come back? Why now?
The doorbell rang. With Jilly already out for the morning, there was no one in the house but Iris and her Boston Terrier, Rowdy, who, at twenty pounds, wasn't much of a guard dog. His toenails clicked on the wood floors as he followed her to the front door.
If Jilly had left the newspaper article as a warning that Iris's past had come calling, it wasn't warning enough.
She opened the door to find a dark-haired cowboy on the doorstep.
#
Iris.
The name slipped from his lips like a prayer.
The smell of earth baking in the early summer sun
filled his nostrils as his breath stuck in his chest.
Seeing her unexpectedly, he felt like he was right on the edge of taking a nasty spill from a two-thousand-pound bull. That moment of anticipation, fear, weightlessness.
What was she doing here?
He hadn't meant to speak aloud—again—but she answered him anyway.
"I live here."
His world tipped a little more, like he'd left the bull's back and was flying through midair.
She what?
She looked the same, and yet, different. Her blonde hair was cut chin-length and highlighted the structure of her cheekbones. She wore a blouse and flowing, knee-length skirt. The cowboy boots on her feet surprised him. The coldness in her eyes did not.
She was supposed to be in New York City, dancing professional ballet. It was the only reason he'd dared to come here, to her uncle's place. He was two chances past his last one, looking for a nanny for his boys for the summer. Joe Tucker knew everyone in town and had been Callum's last resort.
Questions swam through his mind, spinning slowly as if swimming through molasses. Why was she living here? Why not at her dad's place in town? What had changed her plans?
But none of it was his place to ask. He swallowed back his curiosity and glanced over his shoulder to his truck, a ten-year-old red Ford. No heads popping up, no windshield wipers going or horn honking. The boys were staying put, for now. Surprise.
He had to remember why he'd come, even if this conversation was more painful than he could've expected.
He took off his hat and ran one hand through the curls matted to his head. "Is your uncle at home? I was hoping to talk to him."
Iris's shoulders dropped slightly, her lips pinching. "Uncle Joe had a heart attack three years ago. He passed away."
The stiffness didn't surprise him. He deserved it if she hated him.
Then her words registered and hurt sliced through him. Joe was...gone?
Agitation made him shift his feet as grief bloomed in his chest cavity, filling up every corner. Chimes blew from a corner of the covered porch, and a cow lowed in the distance, the familiar sounds and familiar landscape intensifying his despair.
Joe had been a mentor and friend when Callum hadn't had anyone else.
"I'm sorry to hear that. Real sorry." The floorboards of the porch creaked under his weight as he shifted again.
Something of his despair must've shown on his face, because her expression softened slightly before she firmed her lips into a pinched white line.
Almost grudgingly, she asked, "What did you need? Uncle Joe ran his own harvest."
Curiosity flared. He couldn't help it. She'd heard he was back in town, knew about his partnership with Buck. Was she running the ranch now?
But his curiosity and her circumstances didn't change what he'd come here for. "No. No, I needed..." Nothing she could give. There was no way he was asking Iris to watch his boys. Hadn't he hurt her enough five years ago?
"I've got to go."
He jammed his hat on his head and doffed it at her before he spun on the heel of his boot and stalked to his truck.
The door creaked when he opened it and he had to shove aside some fast food wrappers before he could buckle his seatbelt. He hadn't cleaned his truck out yet after the drive up from Texas.
Goosebumps ran up his arms. He'd left the A/C on, expecting it would be a short visit, even though he'd hoped differently, but the frosty air that blasted him in the face offered no relief from the heat and grief that stayed with him as he settled behind the steering wheel.
A glance in the backseat showed why the boys hadn't been causing trouble. The triplets were out cold in their booster seats, their little booted feet hanging limply. It had been a long couple of weeks, packing up their lives in Texas to move here.
There had been a lost stuffed bear two nights ago, a midnight low-grade fever, and later bedtimes than their normal schedule as they settled in.
One last glance at the farmhouse, and he swallowed back the old wishes and dreams, swallowed back the hurt of seeing Iris again after all this time and the grief at the sudden loss—even though she'd said it had happened three years ago—of the man who had changed his life.
He had to think about the boys. They were the reason he'd come back to this town he'd never wanted to see again.
He'd find a nanny. He had to. Their future depended on it.
And he refused to screw things up for them. He would give the boys everything he'd never had.
#
Iris watched through the window as the red pickup pulled a three-point turn in the gravel drive and headed toward the two-lane state road in a cloud of dust.
Then she allowed her shaky legs to fold and sat with her back to the wall. Rowdy sniffed her face, then licked her chin.
Callum Stewart.
Seeing him again had shaken her more than she wanted to admit. She was still trembling all over, short of breath. His dark hair and fathomless clear blue eyes were the same as she remembered, but the breadth of his shoulders had seemed wider beneath the faded T-shirt.
"At least it's over," she whispered, pressing her shaking hands to her eyes. At least their first time to see each other since he'd left had been in a private setting and not in town. In a small place like Redbud Trails, if they met in public and there were a scene, gossip would spread faster than wildfire during a drought.
And the gossipy townsfolk didn't know everything. Five years ago, she and Callum hadn't made a secret of their romance, but the town didn't know about the ring buried in a shoebox in the back of her closet.
Even Jilly only knew parts of it.
And that was a good thing. If her nosy sister or the town got wind of how deeply her heart had been broken back then, things could get mighty uncomfortable.
She'd thought to never see him again. How would she face him around town, at the grocery store, in church?
His ignorance of her uncle's passing and his obvious grief had brought her own sense of loss back to the forefront. It had seemed more poignant seeing the corresponding loss in his eyes.
How in the world was she going to pretend indifference around him? Then another terrible thought snuck in.
What if he had a girlfriend? Or worse, a wife? Her stomach roiled.
She was over him. It didn't matter if he was with someone, did it?
But his presence here threatened the careful world she'd crafted, managing the ranch and caring for Jilly.
She had to be over him.
She just had to.
Chapter Two
For a week, Iris let the red truck's presence around town derail her plans. If she saw it in the grocery store parking lot, she drove on past. Post office? She could run that errand later. She'd even missed her Thursday-evening book club meeting because it had been parked at the library.
Things came to a head on the eighth day after she'd faced Callum on her front porch.
After picking up a salt lick and some glucosamine tablets for Jilly's favorite mare, that now suffered from arthritis, she was on her way to pick up lunch for Jilly at the local cafe—a rare treat because of Jilly's dietary needs. Walking past the town square, there was nowhere to hide when Callum's red truck came tooling down Main Street.
She had already ducked beneath an awning of one of the downtown dry cleaners to dodge a burst of rain from the summer shower, and she strongly considered bolting down the street to slip into the library, but not this time. She couldn't hide from him forever. She hiked her chin and prepared for the worst.
Hopefully he was driving through town and not stopping.
The training she'd received to become a paramedic had her assessing road conditions and noticing how the street glistened with moisture. Surprisingly, he drove the twenty-five-mile-an hour-speed limit, something she remembered he'd complained about often as a teenage boy. His window was open, and when he passed her, he lifted one hand from the steering wheel in a casual wave.
Her hands were full w
ith the feed store bags, but she forced herself to nod a greeting—mostly because Mrs. Timmon was peering out the library's front window up ahead and would know something was up if Iris hadn't.
With a prickling awareness on the back of her neck, Iris couldn't help but follow the truck's progress down the street. Redbud Trails was a one-stoplight town, and he had a green light. A few moments, and he would be gone.
But then as she watched in horror, a tricked out newer model version with too-big wheels ran through the stoplight—speeding—and crashed into Callum's truck.
Time seemed to slow as she heard the squeal of brakes. She saw the front end of Callum's truck crush beneath the larger black one, and then it spun out. The momentum of the black truck pushed Callum's over the curb. It crashed through the window of the historical building that housed the Town Hall and the Police Department.
There was a moment of stillness and the echo of tinkling glass, where she drew a rain-soaked breath that sawed against the inside of her throat. Callum!
And then the black truck backed up with a screech of metal and drove off with another squeal of tires. She squinted, trying to see a tag, but only got a blur of white and the bright metallic bumper.
Her adrenaline spiked, her training kicked in and focused her movements. She dropped the ranch goods and bolted toward the wrecked red truck. She dug through her purse until her nerveless fingers wrapped around her cell phone. She mashed the number for dispatch and connected as she ran across the four-way intersection. Looking both ways, there wasn't another car in sight. The black truck was already gone.
Callum's window was still down, and she got a glimpse of blood tracking down his face from a cut at his hairline.
The phone connection clicked on. "Dispatch."
"Andi? It's Iris. There's been an accident at Main Street and Elm."
She forced herself to push aside the choking fear and allowed her training to take over. Head, back, internal injuries. In an accident like this, those were the main worry areas.
Kiss the Cowboy Page 19
