Redeemed by the Cowgirl (Mills & Boon Desire)

by Silver James

  Once in the Range Rover and headed north on I-35, Roxie broke the silence. “Can I ask how long it’ll take to get to this ranch?”

  “Since you just asked, I suppose you can.”

  She huffed a breath and rolled her eyes. “Are you one of those grammar Nazis?”

  “Only where you’re concerned.” He cut his eyes in her direction to judge her reaction.

  “Gee, don’t I feel special. So, how long?”

  “To get to the Crown B? About thirty minutes.”

  “Oh.” She shifted in her seat. “Is there like...a restroom there?” She cleared her throat and added by way of explanation, “I drank a lot of coffee this morning.”

  He smirked. “Well, we’ve had indoor plumbing for at least a year or so.”

  Roxie slapped at his arm. “Do not make me laugh.”

  “I can pull over and you can find a tree.”

  “Hardy-har-har. I’m not Harley. I’ll wait, thank you very much.”

  Harley, upon hearing his name, pawed at Cash’s shoulder and whined before looking wistfully at the window.

  “Fine.” Cash hit the button to lower the window just far enough for the dog to stick his head out, muttering, “Idiot mutt.”

  Harley, in doggy heaven, nosed into the wind, his ears streaming behind him, along with long ribbons of slime. Cash made a mental note to wash the Rover before the toxic stuff dried and ruined the custom paint job.

  Cash should not enjoy sparring with this woman as much as he did. And he should not be working so hard to hide his smiles, because he hadn’t smiled this much in months—years, if he were being honest with himself.

  Leaning forward, Roxie fiddled with the sound system. She punched through his preset radio stations, apparently dissatisfied with his choices. Admittedly, he had mainly news and sports talk channels programmed, but he also had a few music stations. When she started twisting the knob, he preempted her and pressed the steering wheel controls for the sound system. A moment later, his cousin’s voice crooned a ballad.

  “Who is that?” Roxie stared intently at the dashboard as if she could divine the identity from the dials.

  “Deacon—”

  “Tate!” She all but bounced in her seat. Cash should have been used to women reacting this way but it still stung a little. “I love Deacon Tate and the Sons of Nashville. I don’t recognize this song, though.”

  “It hasn’t been released yet.”

  “How did you—”

  “We run security for Deke’s tours, and he’s my cousin.”

  “He’s...of course he is. Duh. I remember when Senator Barron announced he was running for president. Deacon played for the crowd.”

  Roxie settled back into her seat and studied him, her expression serious. “Your family is...wow. You guys really are red-dirt royalty.”

  He resisted the urge to shrug. Cash hated the term but it was just one more thing to deal with for the privilege of wearing the Barron name. In his business, low-profile was better—a difficult proposition given his identical twin’s history of appearing weekly on supermarket tabloid front pages.

  Exiting the interstate, Cash navigated the country roads to reach the massive rock-and-iron entrance to the Crown B. He followed the meandering drive toward the cluster of homes, ranch buildings and the big house that was the center of the Barron family.

  “Oh...wow,” Roxie sighed at her first glimpse of the ranch house. “It’s gorgeous.”

  Cash eased on the brake and the Rover rolled to a stop. He looked at the place, trying to see it through fresh eyes.

  Roxie continued to gush. “It’s...it’s like a movie set. A fantasy. This is where you grew up? Oh my gosh, how lucky you and your brothers were to live here!”

  Except they hadn’t and they weren’t. This house had been remodeled, added on, partially rebuilt as it evolved from the functional original ranch house built by his great-grandfather just after the Oklahoma Land Run in 1889. Alice, Cash’s dad’s first wife and mother of Cash’s three oldest brothers, had loved the ranch and remodeled it. Upon her death, Cyrus had moved his sons to a house in Nichols Hills, an exclusive suburb of Oklahoma City.

  Cash remembered that house the most, and the touches his mother had tried to add before her death. Then it had been Big John and Miz Beth who looked after the house, the ranch and the Barron brothers. As they got older, the ranch had been the place that became home because that’s where Big John and Miz Beth lived.

  He glanced at Roxie and almost told her that there were no fantasies in that house, no magic in growing up there, but he’d be lying—at least a little bit. He remembered the summer skinny-dips in the cool, spring-fed lake. Fishing on the river. Riding the ranch. Hunting in the fall. The older boys always included the two “stragglers.” And they all circled the family wagon whenever Cyrus brought a new stepmother or mistress home.

  Shaking off thoughts of his brothers and his father, he drove toward the house again. He was the outsider now and he needed to remember that. It was his job to protect the others, whether they wanted it or not.

  Cash kept going rather than pull into the circle drive at the house. He recognized the Ford Explorer parked near the door. Jolie, Cord’s wife, was here, which probably meant that his nephew, CJ, was around. The last thing he wanted was for Roxanne to meet any of his sisters-in-law.

  He stopped at the ranch’s office building. Roxie was unbuckled and out of the Rover before he could kill the engine. She ran-walked to the door and ducked inside. Harley, sensing a chance to escape, vaulted into the front seat and followed her.

  Dusty, the Crown B’s ranch dog, charged off the porch, barking wildly. Great. The last thing he needed was a dogfight. Harley let out a rumbling Woof! Dusty skidded to a halt, almost somersaulting in his haste to stop.

  Harley was about twice Dusty’s size and Dusty was a big dog—a combination of breeds ranging from sheltie to rottweiler with a bunch of others in the mix. The two critters sniffed each other cautiously, tails stiff but wagging. Then in the mysterious ways of dogs, they became best buds and charged off to explore and mark bushes.

  Ranch manager Kaden Waite, and Manuel Sanchez, the ranch’s stockman, were waiting in the office when Cash walked in. He glanced around. Both men pointed toward the hall that led to a break room and the bathroom. Roxie hadn’t been kidding.

  A curvy Latina emerged from the hall, grinned and threw her arms around him. “Yo, Cash. Long time no see.”

  He couldn’t help but smile at the woman while Manuel scowled at him. Manuel had worked on the Crown B for as long as Cash could remember, and the cowboy had raised his family in one of the houses on the property. His oldest daughters, Rosalie and Selena, had taught Cash and his twin, Chase, to French kiss during a particularly steamy game of spin the bottle played up in the hayloft of the big barn.

  They’d been caught by Big John. He and his brother had been thirteen. Selena had been the same age and Rosalie two years older. They were lucky Big John found them instead of Manuel. All four of them had been grounded and at the end of the semester, the girls had been transferred to a Catholic school.

  Rosalie was now a pediatric nurse practitioner married to a firefighter. Selena had stayed on the ranch, married one of her father’s cowboys and now worked for Kade as the ranch secretary. The girls were the closest things to sisters the Barron brothers had.

  “How’s it going, Leenie? Your cowboy still being sweet to you?”

  She threw back her head and laughed. “You know it, hijo!” Selena glanced toward the hall. “You been holdin’ out on me?”

  “What?” It took Cash a minute to figure out she was referring to Roxie. “Ah. No. Business.”

  “Whatever.” Selena didn’t sound at all convinced but when her father growled, she backed up, still grinning. “Funny business if you ask me.” She waved at her father and her boss. “Yeah, yeah. I’m working.”

  Kade laughed and patted Manuel on the shoulder before his expression sobered. “We have a probl
em, Cash.”

  “So you said.” He gazed at the man who might or might not be his half brother. “Explain it to me in detail.”

  It was Manuel who spoke. “I went out to the north pasture at dawn. We always have a few early calves drop. I found the fence cut. Tracks. They had horses. Took the herd through to the road. Cattle hauler, from the tire tracks I found in the mud.”

  Cash cut to the bottom line. “How many did we lose?”

  “Close to a hundred. All prime heifers ready to calve.”

  Looking at Kade, Cash waited for the real bottom line. The ranch manager rubbed his hand through his long hair. “Given they were all first years? We’re looking at close to seven hundred thousand dollars.”

  His old man was going to have a cow—figuratively and literally. Cash pulled out his cell, punched in numbers and typed out a text.

  “What did you do, Manuel? Step by step.”

  “I took the Gator out. It has heat. I’m too old for cold mornings on a horse. The herd was scattered. They shouldn’t have been. I checked the fence, found the cut. I followed the tracks. I called the sheriff. I called Kade. He called you. And here we are.” The older man looked uncertain for a moment. “Should I have called you first, Mr. Cashion?”

  Cash shook his head and he, too, clapped Manuel on the shoulder. “Just Cash, Manuel, and you did exactly right. The sheriff’s office will get the word out to check all cattle haulers.” Dan West had been Oklahoma Highway Patrol before an accident cut his career short. Now he was the newly elected sheriff of Logan County and Cash had the man’s cell on speed dial, which he was currently keying in.

  “Been waiting for your call,” an amused voice answered.

  “Seven hundred thousand, Dan.”

  “Ouch. We put out APBs statewide. Without a description, beyond red mud on the tires and a load of pregnant heifers, we don’t have much to go on.”

  Cash muttered a few words under his breath. “They were slick. I’d bet they have paperwork that looks all nice and legal. I have my team on it. Those cows carry the Crown B brand. Every sale barn within a thousand miles has been put on alert.”

  The sheriff’s laughter rolled from the speaker. “Then why did you drag me out of bed on a Saturday morning?”

  “Misery loves company. I owe you a beer. Thanks, man.”

  “We’ll stay on top of things, Cash. And yes, you owe me a beer and a burger.”

  Ending the call, Cash looked up to find Kade and Manuel looking at something behind him. Roxanne. He pivoted and sucked in a breath at the excitement etched on her face.

  “Cattle rustlers? Really?” She was all but bouncing up on the tips of her boots. “Are we going to saddle up and go after them? I love riding horses.”

  Kade smothered a snicker and Manuel cleared his throat. Selena shot Cash a look and mouthed, “Seriously?”

  He gave in to the urge and shrugged. “No horses. We’ll take the Gator.”

  “What about Harley?” Roxanne looked around the room.

  “What about Harley?”

  She waved her hands, her face paling. “Where is Harley? Oh, no. Did you leave him in the car? No, no, no. That’s bad. He eats leather seats. I can’t afford to replace your seats.”

  “Breathe, Roxanne. He’s not in the car. He got out when you did.”

  “Got out? Got out!” Her voice rose almost to a screech. “He’s a city dog. He doesn’t know anything about the country. About cows or horses or...or...”

  “He’s with Dusty. He’s fine.”

  Color came back into her cheeks and she breathed deeply several times. Cash did his best to ignore the obvious amusement shared by the room’s other occupants.

  The office phone buzzed and Selena snagged it before the end of the first ring.

  “Crown B Ranch... Miz Beth?... What?... Calm down, Miz Beth, I can’t understand—” Selena clapped her hand over her mouth but laughter still escaped. She managed to say, “Cash is here. Talk to him.”

  Cash grabbed the phone. “Miz Beth?... What?... I... Miz... Fine. We’ll come up.”

  Four people were totally focused on him. “Big John fished Harley out of the pool, but he’d left the back door open.”

  Roxanne sank onto the nearest chair. “Oh...no.” She gazed up at Cash. “Harley’s a Newfoundland. A water dog. And his coat...the outer layer...it sort of sheds water unless he’s submerged. And when he gets out, he...shakes. A lot.”

  Well, hell. Cash’s chin hit his chest and he rubbed the back of his neck, chasing the knot of tension forming there. Miz Beth was furious. Could this day get any worse?

  Eight

  Roxanne could still hear the guffaws from the three people in the ranch office. When she’d burst in the door, the two men and one woman had looked up in surprise and she’d asked for the restroom. The woman had pointed and she’d sprinted. She knew better than to drink that much coffee before a road trip. But in her defense, she hadn’t known there would be a road trip.

  Or that Cash would just let Harley run wild. Because the Newf loved water. And could find it faster than an ant could find a picnic. But she hadn’t mentioned that to him. Still, what sort of idiot would let a dog out of a car in strange territory and just leave him? Only this wasn’t strange territory to Cash and, wait, he’d mentioned someone named Dusty. Had Harley jumped in after this Dusty person had fallen in the pool? The Newfie had a tendency to do that, whether the swimmer needed saving or not. It was instinct.

  “Who’s Dusty?”

  “What?”

  Cash seemed distracted and she looked around in time to realize they weren’t taking the main drive to the house. He was driving up a gravel road that was little more than a path and headed toward the back of the house.

  “Dusty. You said Harley was with Dusty. Is he one of your cowboys or something?”

  He cut his eyes her direction. “Or something.”

  Roxie arched a brow and widened her eyes to indicate she was waiting for the rest of his answer.

  “Dusty is our ranch dog.”

  “A...dog?” Cash had to be the biggest idiot in the world. Who let two strange dogs run off together? To a pool? And some woman named Miz Beth was on the warpath because Harley had gotten out of the pool and run into the house. The main house that was probably as luxurious as everything else the Barrons owned. If she wouldn’t strangle herself with the shoulder harness, she’d thunk her head on the dash.

  “You’ve never owned a dog before, have you.” She’d meant that to be a question but her sarcastic tone turned it into a statement.

  He pulled up before a series of garage doors and parked. “Save the lecture, Red. You have to get in line.”

  Cash exited the Rover before she could snap her jaw shut. She jumped out and followed him through a wooden gate set in a stone wall and across a landscaped patio with an outdoor kitchen and large pool. She had no time to stop and admire the view as she watched Cash’s broad shoulders disappear through a door into the house. She trotted after him and walked into pandemonium.

  “That...that beast ate my roast!” An older woman held a rolling pin in one hand and a metal spatula in the other. The front of her apron was soaked and Roxie could see splatters on the cabinets, stainless steel appliances and the tall man standing off to the side. A little boy stood in front of Harley and a large black-and-white dog almost as big as the Newf.

  “He didn’t mean to, Miz Beth.”

  The woman shook the spatula at the child. “Don’t you be taking up for that monster, CJ, and get away from him. He’s foamin’ at the mouth. Probably has rabies.”

  She pushed past Cash to defend her dog. “No, he doesn’t. He’s a Newfoundland. They...drool. And if he had rabies he wouldn’t be dripping all over your kitchen because he’d be afraid of water.”

  The woman eyed her with hostility. “And who are you?”

  “She’s with me, Miz Beth.” Cash stepped toward them.

  The woman turned to glare at him. “Well, that just figures. You
owe me a roast and a clean kitchen, Cash Barron.” She thrust the kitchen utensils into his hands, shed her apron and waggled a finger at the older man. “Don’t you laugh, John Sanders.”

  “Honey, I just can’t help myself. You do make a picture standing there mad as a wet hen.”

  “That’s because I am wet, you big galoot. What kind of dog jumps into water in the middle of winter?”

  “A Newfoundland bred for water rescue in the North Atlantic,” Roxie murmured under her breath.

  Miz Beth whirled around to glare at Roxie before returning her attention to the dogs and the little boy. “You get them dogs out of my kitchen, Cordell Joseph. Now scat!”

  The kid didn’t stick around to argue. He grabbed the black-and-white dog’s collar and tried to drag him out. The dog didn’t move. Cash whistled, one sharp note.

  “Out. Both of you.” Cash pointed to the open door. The dogs made a dash for it with the boy hard on their heels.

  Roxie was about to ask Miz Beth where the cleaning supplies were kept when the other woman advanced on Cash, stabbing her finger against his chest, eyes narrowed.

  “And you, Cashion Matthew Barron. This is all your fault.”

  * * *

  Cash backed up a step so Miz Beth couldn’t grab his ear. That had been her MO when he was a kid—first the finger and then the ear pinch. Which hurt. A lot. He was settling in to let her tirade run its course when Roxanne waded into the middle of the fray.

  “This isn’t Cash’s fault. Well, not all of it, anyway. Harley is my dog and I insisted we bring him so he could have a day in the country, only I didn’t know it would include a pool and a mangy ranch dog—”

  “Hey now, Dusty isn’t—” Big John began a defense of the ranch mascot but Roxie rolled right over the top of him.

  “And who leaves gates and doors open? You all might live out in the middle of nowhere but there are wild animals out here. What’s to keep a herd of coyotes from wandering in and moseying right through that door and stealing your roast?”