A Cowboy To Keep: A Contemporary Western Romance Collection

by Hebby Roman

  But now wasn’t the time to dwell on it.

  She patted the horse’s neck and leaned down low to whisper, “Let’s show them, Stormy. Just how fast you really are.”

  John Clay guided them to a white line, painted against the almost white clay, in front of the gate. He pointed to it and said, “This is what we use for our skittish racers until they get accustomed to the gate.” He glanced up at her and José. “I want them to do three hundred yards. José, you know the marker.”

  José brought Sheesa Diva up to the line in the dirt.

  “Leticia, it’s the fence posts down there, on opposite sides of the track, with their tops painted green.”

  She surveyed the track and realized for the first time, there were several fence posts, painted with different colors, opposite each other, marking off what must be the distances John Clay used for training his horses. A clever idea.

  She turned Stormy in a tight circle, bringing him to a halt in front of the line. Outside of the gate and lined up, the gelding appeared to know what he needed to do, and on the open track, his fears had melted away. But she could feel his flank quivering beneath her boots, as if he was as excited as she was.

  John Clay observed them, nodded, and dropped a red bandana.

  They were off!

  Sheesa Diva, obviously well-trained and knowing how to race, surged ahead. Leticia leaned up and forward in her stirrups, over her horse’s neck, urging him on with, “Go, Stormy, go.”

  The sorrel dug into the dirt and then it was as if he’d launched himself from a rocket. They were flying over the ground at a heart-shattering pace. Stormy caught up with Sheesa Diva. First nose to flank, then nose to withers, nose to neck, then nose to nose.

  The green-topped fence posts were only a few yards away. Somehow Stormy appeared to know what the goal was. She felt him gather himself and then he almost leaped out from under her, crossing the imaginary line a half-length ahead of Diva.

  Leticia thrust her right fist into the air. “Yes!”

  Gathering the reins tightly, she eased back on the gelding, pulling him in, down to a gallop, then a canter, and at last, a fast trot. They came to the end of the man-made track and turned around, headed back to John Clay, Rusty, and José, who’d already returned the mare to near the starting place and dismounted.

  John Clay reached up and caught her reins, proclaiming to Rusty, “I told you, he’s one hell of a fast horse.”

  He looked up at her, admiration shining in his eyes. “And you’re one hell of a rider.”

  * * *

  Leticia sat in an old-fashioned wooden swing, holding hands with John Clay and gazing at the sunset. It had been a long and eventful day and for this one moment in time, it was enough to just … be.

  After Rusty had left for College Station, John Clay had invited her to an early dinner. He’d let his cook go for the day, declaring the ranch cook wasn’t up to Maria’s standards, and he’d make dinner himself.

  He’d grilled two huge rib eye steaks, nuked a couple of potatoes and added a ready-made grocery store salad. The food had been good but definitely not in the class with Maria’s cooking.

  She suspected letting his cook go had been a ploy for him to get her alone. And he’d succeeded. Over dinner, they’d discussed Stormy and Diva. He’d shared some of his favorite times, racing his horses. She enjoyed being with him, enjoyed having a man pay attention to her again.

  Though, thoughts of them being intimate, in a real sense, despite or because of what had happened in her pasture, still made her uneasy.

  Not that she didn’t want him … but was she ready?

  She still thought about Eduardo every day. Even today, riding in the flat pancake, racing saddle, she’d been reminded of him. Everything reminded her of him. Was it fair to John Clay, if she still felt that way.

  Because he was right—when she shared herself—she’d lose her heart.

  And he’d never spoken of love or anything lasting, just his constant lusting for her even when he was married to Cathy. Which, technically, he still was. Another thing that bothered her.

  She glanced at the cozy arbor someone had planted around the old, peeling swing at the back of his deck. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble in this dry, arid land to make the honeysuckle and ivy grow. And she doubted it was John Clay.

  No, if she had to bet her bottom dollar, she’d say Cathy had planted the arbor, tended it, and then had abandoned it.

  She pulled her hand free. “It’s getting late. I need to start back to Del Rio.” She yawned, covered her mouth and stretched. “It’s been a long day. Getting up at three a.m. is rough.”

  “Please, stay the night,” he offered.

  “John Clay, we’ve been over this, I’m not ready.”

  He lifted his hand, palm out. “Hey, no pressure. I have a nice guest room, just like you do. And I hate to see you driving all the way back, pulling a horse trailer.”

  She lifted one shoulder. “Not a big deal. It will be empty this time, as Stormy is staying with you. At least I can stop in Del Rio for the night and not drive straight through to the ranch.”

  “I know, but I wish…” He hesitated and pulled on his ear lobe.

  “I’m not ready.”

  “Trust, again?”

  “That and other things.”

  “What other things?”

  “For one thing, I was wondering who planted this arbor? It’s pretty and green and not something you usually see in west Texas.”

  He ducked his head and muttered, “Cathy planted it.” He patted the swing. “I need to get one of the hands to paint this thing. I didn’t realize how badly it was peeling and—”

  “Cathy is one of those things.”

  He scrubbed his face with his hand. “Oh, I see. I’m not really available. But you went out with me to the Country Club, and everyone was cordial. We weren’t struck by a thunderbolt or anything.” He tried to grin, but the corners of his lips barely lifted.

  “It isn’t that and you know it.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “If I have to spell it out for you, then probably it’s best to leave it alone.”

  “Yeah, probably you’re right.” He watched the lowering sun. “When will I get to see you again?”

  “When do you want to see me again? I’m not saying no to us spending time together.”

  “Well, Cole and Austin will be here in a few days for their three-week stay, now school is out. I’d love for you to meet them.”

  She shook her head. “Not a good idea, the way things stand with us. I’d love to meet them, too, but I don’t think it’s fair to children to involve them in complicated adult relationships. Do you?”

  “Uh, when you put it that way, I guess not.”

  She patted his arm. “Remember what you told me about Camila? Enjoy your time with them because you only get to see them on occasion. Right?”

  “Yeah,” he said, the tone of his voice just-this-side-of-a-grumble. “You’re right.”

  “You know I am.” She rose. “See me to my truck?”

  “Sure, but when will we—”

  “What are you doing for July Fourth?”

  “I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

  “How about dinner at the Country Club and then we watch the fireworks over San Felipe Springs?”

  He grinned and then he frowned, drawing his eyebrows together in a grimace. “That’s so long from now.”

  “Won’t your grandchildren be back home by then?”

  “Yes.”

  She hooked her arm with his, pulling him toward her truck, parked in front of the ranch house. “Then consider it a date. But don’t be a stranger, either. Call me as often as you like.” She glanced up at him and smiled. “I want to know everything about Stormy’s training and how it goes.”

  Chapter Eight

  John Clay hoisted Austin onto his paint mare. With her black-brown-and-white markings, she was gaudy enough to please any youngster’s heart, and Au
stin had picked her when he was barely old enough to toddle around and the paint was just a foal. Then he’d gifted her with the awful name of “Spot,” and it had stuck.

  He handed Austin his lariat and said, “Okay, watch Cole and me, how we herd the sheep from the pasture, swinging our lariats and letting our horses bunch them together.”

  They didn’t do much herding on horseback these days. When he had to move large herds, he used a specially-designed helicopter, but he was bound and compelled to show his two grandsons each and every aspect of sheep ranching, even the old-fashioned ways of his forefathers.

  Swinging onto his horse, Alcalazar, he gathered the reins and unhooked his lariat, demonstrating what he wanted Austin to learn. He’d taught his older brother, Cole, a couple of years back and the boy had taken to it, as if it had been imprinted in his DNA.

  John Clay urged the flock of sheep forward and kept an eye on both of the boys, but his thoughts strayed to Leticia. He missed her. Even the long, nightly calls, after his grandsons had gone to bed, didn’t help the yearning he felt to be with her, every day and every night.

  But their talks were a consolation prize, he supposed. Their conversations covered a lot of ground from the mundane to the silly to the super serious. All the years they’d missed, being married to someone else, had been covered in detail. He knew more about Leticia and what her life had been like than he’d ever thought he wanted to know. But knowing her better had only served to intensify his feelings.

  The more she opened herself to him, the harder it was to be apart. Only another week until their pre-set, Fourth of July date, and as much as he loved his grandsons and waited patiently to have them all to himself on the ranch each summer, he missed Leticia with a deep-down yearning that was difficult to ignore.

  And then Cathy had called him last night, late, after he’d spoken to Leticia. She’d sounded a trifle drunk, which wasn’t like her. It had made him listen and take her seriously.

  She wanted to marry her Air Force Colonel, Donald Something. He could never remember the man’s last name. And this time, she vowed to fight him tooth-and-nail, no matter what it took, no matter how much money, no matter what happened to their consolidated ranches. She’d said she wasn’t getting any younger, and she didn’t want to wait any longer. That their lives were slipping through their hands.

  Her words had had a profound effect on him, keeping him up, most of the night. It had made him examine his life and where he was headed, other than his ranching and Quarter horse racing. Made him see his feelings for Leticia in a completely different light.

  He didn’t like women pressuring him. Had had a bellyful of it with both his wives. But Leticia was different, he realized, she’d never pressure him. Just wasn’t her style.

  And if he was thinking along those lines, did that mean his feelings for her had subtly shifted from desire to wanting to spend the rest of his life with her?

  Was he in love with her?

  Not that he should be surprised. She was the one-consuming passion of his life, since he was old enough to notice the opposite sex. But did that translate into happily-ever-after?

  Hell’s bells, he didn’t know. Women, except in the bedroom, were an enigma to him—a race apart. Though, he had to admit his late-night phone calls with Leticia had made him see her as a whole person, not just a … sex object.

  Good Lord, he hated that stupid term, “sex object.” Probably some misguided, mustached women’s libber had come up with it. But then what did he want from Leticia?

  A whole hell of a lot more—and being a two-time loser in the long-term department—was what scared him to death.

  He shook his head and returned to reality, kneeing his black stallion forward, calling out, “Austin, watch Cole and his horse, see how they bunch the sheep to push them through the gate. Swing your lariat, and get Spot to close in.” Not that poor Spot was much of a herding horse, but she was Austin’s mount and he loved the paint.

  They’d have to learn together.

  He wished what he needed to learn about male-female relationships was as simple.

  * * *

  “Poison!” Leticia shrieked. “Poison, are you sure?” She fisted one hand and stuck it into her mouth, gazing at Doc Leghorn, her vet from Eagle Pass.

  He’d just finished the onerous chore of pumping out Princess’ stomach, and the mare was lying down in the stall, her sides heaving.

  Then Leticia had another thought. “What about Majesty, her foal, he’s still nursing and if she’s been poisoned, then—”

  The vet gazed at the foal, christened “His Majesty’s Prince,” by her and Camila, a few weeks back, in keeping with his pedigree. Now, they called him Majesty for short.

  Doc Leghorn shook his head. “The colt seems fine to me. And now I’ve pumped her stomach, Princess seems to be recovering. I don’t think the poison had time to work its way through her system. Your trainer called me quick enough. But I’ll give the colt a blood test, just to be certain.”

  “Would you, please? I don’t want any surprises, and he’s young, not as tough as his mother.”

  “No problem.” The Doc rummaged in his leather briefcase and pulled out a syringe.

  “Oh, one other question, Doc. What kind of poison? I’m trying to rule out an accident or unsanitary conditions or…”

  He peered at some kind of chemical analysis set he’d brought with him and said, “Appears to be simple arsenic. Though, I need to take this back to the lab to be certain.” He looked at her. “You have a rat problem in your stables? Have you set out bait or—”

  “No, nothing like that…” She paused, remembering, “Uh, yeah, now that you mention it, six months back, we had rats in the tack room, chewing on the leather.” She glanced at Ramos.

  “But we only put traps with arsenic bait in the tack room, not the barn. Am I right, Señor Ramos.

  “That is correct.”

  “When did you remove the traps?” The Doc asked.

  “Over four months ago,” Ramos said.

  The Doc shook his head. “Have to get the lab results. But your mare should be fine.”

  Leticia patted Princess’ neck, relief rushing through her, knowing her prized charro mare was going to be okay.

  Then she turned to her horse trainer and said, “Señor Ramos, I can’t thank you enough for calling the vet immediately. If you hadn’t taken the initiative, since I wasn’t here, we might have lost Princess and her colt.”

  He inclined his head, but a deep frown marred his features. She wondered what he was concerned about. Or was he telling her the whole truth? Had he set out bait for rats in the barn recently and didn’t want to admit it?

  “I’m glad I did the right thing,” Ramos said. “When Princess was off her feed and then appeared to be unsteady on her feet, I didn’t want to take chances. Chuy gave me the vet’s number.”

  She was surprised Chuy hadn’t called himself, but then, he was a laid-back-kind of guy and maybe he’d thought Ramos had been panicking needlessly. She should talk to Chuy and get his take on it, though Ramos was specifically entrusted with the horses’ care.

  And then she had a thought. Just as a precaution she should call Jim Bob Ely, the Maverick County Sheriff, who she knew from working with him and his wife, Ruth, on various charities. It couldn’t hurt to get his professional opinion, and she knew Jim Bob would be more than willing to help.

  She pulled up his contact number and punched it, getting his administrative assistant. The assistant put her on hold for a few moments and then Jim Bob’s jovial voice came on the line, saying, “Leticia, so good to hear from you. How can I help?”

  “My prize charro mare has been poisoned, and I don’t know why or how. And there was another incident, a few weeks back. I just need—”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be there in a half hour and have a look around. Happy to help.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate it. See you in a few.”

  She clicked off, feeling like a washed-out-dish
rag. But relieved Jim Bob was coming.

  Wrapping her arms around her waist, she realized Jim Bob wasn’t enough, despite how professional and kind he might be. She needed John Clay. She couldn’t exactly remember when his grandsons were returning home. But it was only a few days until the Fourth.

  She needed him—right now.

  * * *

  Leticia sat on her porch, waiting for John Clay. When she’d called him, he’d been ready to leave for Houston to drive his grandsons home. She’d told him to go ahead, not wanting to interfere, despite her wishing he could come.

  God bless him, when he’d heard what had happened, he’d let his foreman, Bubba Baker, drive his grandchildren back to Houston. And he’d said he’d come as quickly as possible.

  Jim Bob had already come and gone. He didn’t find anything substantial, except for some oats in the open bin that appeared tainted. He’d taken away a sample, promising, like the vet, to have them tested. She’d told Ramos to throw out the entire bin of oats and replace them with a new, unopened bag of grain and padlock the bin.

  She’d done all she could and had to wait for the lab results. But deep down, she sensed something was very, very wrong. First the cut wire and now this. And just thinking about someone poisoning her oat bin was almost like a home invasion, leaving her feeling helpless and fearful.

  Why would someone want to harm her charro horses?

  Finally, John Clay’s massive black Dodge Ram pickup came into view and before he had time to cut the engine and open the door, she ran to him.

  He stepped down from the pickup, and she threw herself at him.

  He didn’t hesitate, gathering her in his arms. “Hey, I could get used to this.”

  She stifled a sob and buried herself in his starched aqua Polo shirt, inhaling the fresh, welcome smell of him.

  He patted her back and kissed the top of her head. “Let’s sit on the porch, and you can tell me about it.”

  She nodded and allowed him to guide her back to the porch. But before he sat beside her, he took the part of host. “Can I get you something, darling? A Coke or tea or some wine?”