by Liz Isaacson
A smile bloomed on his face as he reached for Bennett Patterson’s hand. “Hey, Ben.” They shook hands briefly and Wyatt pulled the other man into a quick hug. “How was your New Year?”
“Oh, you know,” Bennett said, sighing.
Wyatt did know, because Bennett was struggling with a lot of the same things Wyatt was. Loneliness. Wondering if the reality he lived in was all he was going to get in his life. Not being satisfied with that. Wanting more. Wanting a wife and family.
“Yeah,” he said. “Where are you today?”
“Beau and I are riding out to the north cabin. We won’t be back until the weekend.”
“So I guess you can’t do lunch today.” Wyatt grinned at his friend.
“We’ll let you buy on Saturday,” Bennett said with a smile as he glanced up at Wyatt’s hat. “And hey, thanks for the cowboy hat. My brothers were so jealous.”
“You’re welcome,” Wyatt said easily. “If they want, I can get them—”
“Oh, no,” Bennett said. “You’re not getting everyone in my family one of your hats. This is my only claim to fame, Wyatt.”
“Oh, jeez,” Wyatt said, pushing his hat forward. “I’m not famous.”
“You totally are, in the right circles.” Bennett started walking as Wyatt did. “I mean, look at that woman.” He lowered his voice and kept his head turned away from the woman working with the two thoroughbreds in the front circle. “She hasn’t taken her eyes from you since you got out of your truck.”
“You didn’t even see me get out of my truck.” Wyatt watched the woman—her name was Tara Baylor—and she did seem to glance over at him and Bennett a lot.
“But she did.” Bennett chuckled. “She totally thinks you’re famous.”
“Okay,” Wyatt said with plenty of warning in his voice. “That’s enough from you. Go out to the north cabin and work up your appetite for fajitas on Saturday.”
Bennett laughed, and Wyatt smiled as he turned and headed toward the ranch. “I’ll tell Beau.”
“Sounds good.” Wyatt touched the brim of his cowboy hat and faced the entrance barn to Bowman Breeds. The first time he’d come here, he’d been impressed by the professional atmosphere of the breeding stables. Brynn Bowman had a passion for horses that included making sure their health remained the number one priority.
She sold the horses she raised and trained to cowboys and cowgirls for competition in the rodeo, and her bull riding husband, Ethan had moved over from his work on the ranch to his wife’s operation. He trained horses for bronc riding, and they’d both been thrilled to take on Wyatt to train roping horses and calves, for that matter.
Wyatt had competed in a lot of rodeo events, including the bull riding that had won him millions. He liked bronc riding too, but neither of those could feasibly be done with his back. So the last few years of his career had been dedicated to roping, both calf roping and team roping, and he loved the feel of a length in his hand, the wind kicking up the dust as they got the animals set in the gates.
He could practically taste the energy from a crowd, and a keen sense of missing wound through him as he thought about his days in the rodeo.
“Hi, Wyatt,” Tara said, and Wyatt switched his attention to her.
He put a smile on his face. “Morning, ma’am.” He wasn’t so blind that he didn’t see her soften and sigh, but he didn’t want to go out with Tara. Ever since he’d moved to Three Rivers and Seven Sons Ranch, the only woman he wanted was Marcy Payne.
He lifted his hand in a wave and ducked into the barn that served as the administration and front offices of Bowman Breeds. A woman named Jenn ran the front desk, and she barely glanced at Wyatt as he stepped behind the desk to get out his timecard.
“My brother loved his hat,” Jenn said. “You made me a real hero.”
Wyatt chuckled, because he was tired of being told thank you for the cowboy hats. The NPRA and Wiseman Western Wear had given him whatever he’d asked for, and Wyatt had sent in a request for three hundred cowboy hats. He’d given one to everyone he knew, for them, their brothers, their fathers, whoever. And he still had twenty-five of them stored in the attic at the homestead.
“I’m glad,” he said to Jenn. He tucked his timecard back into its pouch and added, “I guess I’m out in the gates today.”
“I’ll let Brynn know,” she said. “Oh, wait. I have a note here for you.”
“A note?”
“Yeah, I guess Squire dropped it off for Jeremiah.”
Wyatt’s hopes crashed to the earth, and he couldn’t believe he’d actually thought it might be from Marcy. She’d never called Bowman’s Breeds and left him a note before, because she had his cell phone number.
“Thanks.” He took the card with Jeremiah’s name on it and left through the back door. Fences ran along both sides, creating a sort of alleyway to the next barn. Then the horse stables beyond that. There were breeding pens, and a maternity wing at Bowman’s Breeds, as well as a stud sector that Wyatt hardly ever visited.
And then pastures and training facilities as far as the eye could see. Brynn and Ethan had started small and expanded the operation as they had time, help, and money. The first week Wyatt had worked here, he’d offered to donate to their operation monetarily, as he’d just been so impressed with it.
So many training and breeding facilities didn’t even treat the animals properly, and it warmed Wyatt’s soul to find one that did. If he could help their cause, he would.
Brynn had initially declined his offer, but over the past year, she’d been working on buying more land from the ranch so they could put in more cattle training grounds. Most people didn’t know or even consider how much the rodeo relied on livestock. And that livestock needed to be raised and trained with respect, and then honored when they performed—just like Wyatt was.
He hadn’t been to work since he’d found Marcy in her father’s living room, and he expected to find a mountain of tasks to be completed. Other cowboys tended to his horses and cattle while he was away, but no one took care of his animals the way he did.
The morning passed as he cleaned stalls and troughs and gave his cows and horses special treats. “Yeah, I missed you guys,” he said, giving an extra butterscotch candy to Maleficent, a pure black horse who would win championships for her rider one day. She was tall and broad, and Wyatt had been training her to do calf roping and steer wrestling. She never balked, and she could hold the rope no matter how badly he’d thrown it.
The scent of hamburgers filled the air, and he looked east, where the main homestead on the ranch sat. Squire and Kelly Ackerman lived there, and Wyatt had eaten at their table, along with dozens of other cowboys and cowgirls, dozens of times over the past twelve months. And it seemed like today, he could again.
With everyone clean and fed and happy in their stalls, Wyatt washed his hands and joined a couple of other cowboys as they walked over to the homestead. He laughed and talked, but they were just motions he went through. He didn’t feel like he was part of the festivities, because he still had so much turmoil inside him.
Didn’t these people know there had been a funeral yesterday? Did they know his back had started to ache, and that if he sat down, he might not be able to get back up?
Everyone had problems, he knew that. His phone buzzed in his back pocket, and he couldn’t help getting his hopes up. He ignored the device, though, and went to stand at the end of the table where Ethan Greene sat with his wife, Brynn, and their two boys—both of whom were wearing Wyatt’s hats.
“Wyatt!” one of them said.
“Hey, Josiah,” he said. “Hey, Bosses.”
“Wyatt.” Brynn stood up and drew him into a hug. He couldn’t lie and say that didn’t feel nice. He did feel like he belonged to Brynn and Ethan, and that was something, he supposed. Ethan stood and clapped Wyatt on the shoulder as he hugged him too.
“How’s Marcy?” Ethan asked, going right for the jugular.
Thankfully, before Wyatt had to answer, Wi
ll, their other son, said, “You shoulda seen me ridin’ this horse, Wyatt. He was wild, and I kept ‘im right against the rail.”
Wyatt chuckled and looked at the boy, who was probably only eight or nine years old. “Yeah? What’s his name?”
“Haven’t named ‘im yet,” the boy drawled. “Daddy says we have to wait and see his personality.”
“Smart.” Wyatt exchanged a glance with Ethan, who was grinning and seemed so proud of his son.
To keep the emotion from choking him, Wyatt took a bite of his hamburger while Ethan started to talk about the phone call he’d gotten that morning.
“We have buyers coming this whole week,” he said. “You’ll be in, Wyatt?”
“Every day,” he said.
“How’s your back?” Brynn asked.
“Fine, ma’am.” Wyatt didn’t want to talk about his back. When he’d first told Ethan and Brynn about his surgery, they’d said he could have as long as he needed to recover. And he’d taken it. He had no problem texting them when he woke up in the morning if he couldn’t make it to the ranch.
“Now that everyone is getting back to training, they want horses,” Ethan said. “And I told them we’ve had Wyatt Walker with us for a year, training up roping horses.”
Wyatt smiled and popped a couple of chips in his mouth, sure he wouldn’t have to respond to that. What was he supposed to say anyway?
“I set up a demo tomorrow at ten,” Ethan said. “Does that work?”
“Yep.” Wyatt took another bite of his burger.
“The horses will be ready?”
Wyatt looked at Ethan and nodded, still chewing.
“The calves?”
“Yes.” He looked at Brynn. “Does he not know what yep means? I said I’d be here and that the demo at ten would work.”
Brynn started giggling, but Ethan’s eyes sharpened. “Wyatt, I’ve been bragging you up. You’ll ride, right?”
“Yes,” he said with as much enunciation as he could. “I’ll demo the horses and the calves. I’ll be in the saddle.” He realized all at once what was really going on. “Oh, no. You’ve invited more than just potential buyers, haven’t you?”
“Ethan,” Brynn said sharply, and it sounded like this was news to her too.
“Just a couple of people,” Ethan said. “Babe, if we want Bowman’s Breeds to be the premier breeding stable and livestock provider, we need some press coverage.”
“Press coverage,” she repeated as if she didn’t know what the words meant. But Wyatt did, and he’d need to press his jeans tonight and buy a new shirt on the way home too. He’d probably need to do some wrist exercises, as he hadn’t done his signature cowboy hat wave in a while.
He was tired just thinking about performing for the cameras again. He’d spent so much of his life doing it, and he needed more time to gather his chi together. “You should’ve told me weeks ago,” he said. “I know stuff like this doesn’t happen with one phone call.”
“You were dealing with a lot,” Ethan said. “I wasn’t even sure you’d be back.”
“So what were you going to do if he wasn’t?” Brynn asked in a somewhat shrill voice.
“It doesn’t matter,” Ethan said. “He’s back, and the horses and calves are ready.” He grinned around at everyone, his sons included.
Wyatt didn’t return the smile and finished his hamburger instead, taking way too big of a bite. But he needed to be done with lunch so he could get back to the training grounds and make sure his animals really were ready for tomorrow’s demo.
As he saddled Maleficent, he told her about the people coming to see her tomorrow. “And you have to do real good,” he said. “Even if you don’t want to leave me.” He didn’t want her to get bought and go with someone else, but she deserved to show the world what she could do.
And besides, Wyatt was used to the good things in his life ending. At least that was what he told himself.
By the time he finished with the horses and calves, bought a new shirt for the demo, and made it back to Seven Sons, he remembered to check his phone. Marcy had not called or texted, and he wondered if he should count her as one of the good things in his life he didn’t have anymore.
“You’d probably be happier,” he muttered, though his heartbeat started thrashing against his ribs, protesting that they would most definitely not be happier without Marcy in their lives.
As if summoned by his pounding heart, his phone rang, and her name sat on the screen.
Chapter Four
Marcy had thought she could make it through today without crying.
She’d been wrong.
But these tears were not tears of sadness, loss, or misery. Oh, no. These tears were borne from anger. Pure, unadulterated fury.
And why wasn’t Wyatt answering? He’d said she could call about anything, and she had a doozy.
“Miss Payne?” a man behind her asked, and she held up one hand in a universal sign of I need a moment, please.
She’d already asked for a few minutes to make a phone call and get some air. Catch her breath. She couldn’t actually remember what she’d said to the estate lawyer.
“Hey,” Wyatt finally said, his voice a little breathless. Maybe she’d interrupted him. “What’s goin’ on, sugar?”
“Wyatt,” she said, something about his voice calming her. But she didn’t’ want to be calmed right now. Well, she did, but only so he wouldn’t hear the tears in her voice.
“Yes,” he said. “This is Wyatt Walker, at your service, ma’am.” He really drawled out the words in that cowboy Texas drawl that would’ve made Marcy laugh a year ago.
Today, it still made her smile.
“I have something I need to talk to you about,” she said. “Are you home already?”
“Just pulled up.”
Marcy lifted her hand to her mouth and bit her thumbnail. She hadn’t chewed her nails since she was a teenager and was learning how to fly airplanes. They’d made her nervous at first, thus the nail-chewing.
And what she had to talk to Wyatt about was as equally as unsettling as learning to fly an airplane when she was fourteen years old.
“Are you going to spit it out, Marce? Or am I supposed to guess?” He chuckled, sobering quickly. “Are you in trouble? Do you need me to come get you somewhere?”
“Yes,” she blurted out. “I’m in trouble, and I need you to come get me.”
“I’m on my way.” She could actually hear his truck’s engine roar as he stepped on the accelerator. “Tell me where.”
Oh, how she loved that he could and would come whenever she called. He’d always been so good to her in that regard, and she once again wondered what about her was special to him.
“I’m downtown,” she said. “The law offices of Marlow and Brandow.”
“Law offices? Marcy, maybe you should tell me what’s going on.”
She turned around and found the shadowy figure of Nick Marlow lurking just inside the doors. He’d handled her father’s estate, and he’d started going through all of the paperwork to get things sorted out.
She’d had four messages from him before she’d landed for her first refueling, and she’d called him back only to arrange their late-afternoon meeting. At least she’d finished her dusting for the day before the bomb had been dropped on her.
“Nick Marlow is my father’s estate planner,” she said. “He’s been going through the initial will and stuff.”
“Okay.” Wyatt dragged the word out, clearly not getting it. And why would he? Marcy had sat in the meeting, and she still didn’t understand.
In fact, Mr. Marlow had explained it four times, and then leaned toward her and said, “Miss Payne, what it means is you have to be married in order to inherit the crop-dusting business.”
She’d started hyperventilating at that point, claimed she needed a minute to get some air, and fled the room.
She couldn’t tell him this over the phone. Why he’d been the one she’d first thought of to call, she
wasn’t sure. She should’ve called Bryan, or one of her cousins.
But she’d called Wyatt.
“I’m on my way,” he said. “You’re okay to wait?”
She eyed Mr. Marlow through the glass. “I’ll be here.” She hung up, something in the back of her mind telling her that she’d called him, because she hoped he could offer a solution to her brand-new, colossal-sized problem.
She knew the solution—a proposal. And the only man in Marcy’s life was Wyatt Walker.
This is so stupid, she thought as she went to open the door.
It was locked, which surprised her, and Mr. Marlow had to open it. “We’re closed now, Miss Payne.”
She shivered in the January evening. The sun had set while she’d been on the phone with Wyatt, and a new brand of helplessness filled her. “Don’t I need to come in and sign something?”
He held the door open for her. “There’s nothing for you to sign today.”
“Even so I can list the house for sale?”
“Well, that’s true. You can sign the release papers on the personal property and assets.”
“I can email them to Bryan to get his signature.” She stepped inside, out of the wind. “He’s in the middle of a big case in D.C., and I’ll be handling everything.” The weight of the world rested on her shoulders, and it felt so heavy. Somehow, she could still walk, and she followed Mr. Marlow down the hall to the conference room she’d run from twenty minutes ago.
“As soon as he signs,” Mr. Marlow said. “You can do whatever you need to with the personal assets. The house. The belongings. The land. All of that.”
Marcy pursed her lips, everything in her drawing tight. “And the business…to get that, I have to be married.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Payne,” he said, and his expression actually looked sorrowful. “I did try to tell him that was an antiquated thing, and that he would regret it.”
“Well, he’s dead now, so how could he regret it?” Marcy snapped. She immediately regretted the words, and she sighed.
Mr. Marlow didn’t react at all. He probably had angry clients yelling at him all the time. “And you should know he did that for the business ten years ago. I think he hoped it would encourage you to get out of the cockpit and into the dating scene.”
