Once Cade swung the butt bar aside and clipped on a lead rope, Pride calmed. Tossing his head, swishing his tail, he pranced down the ramp with the hot feline grace of a flamenco dancer.
The horse had belonged to Cade’s ex, but she’d lost interest in riding like she’d lost interest in her other expensive hobbies, which had included fine wine, ballroom dancing, and sleeping with men who weren’t her husband. Amber Lynn had left a mess in her wake, but he could almost forgive her, since she’d left him Pride. The horse was responsive as a finely tuned sports car, and working with him was a challenge Cade enjoyed.
What if Amber Lynn’s daddy thought Pride still belonged to him?
Cade released the horse into the pasture and slammed the gate, letting the chain clang against the metal rails. Spooked, the horse pitched along the fence like a demon-driven rocking horse, then rocketed over a hill, out of sight and hopefully out of everybody’s mind.
Returning to the shed, Cade strode through the tall grass and peered into the Caddie. Candy wrappers and fast-food containers littered the floor, and a bottle of wine sat on the passenger seat, cork askew.
Amber Lynn.
Sure as claw marks on a tree trunk spelled bear, junk food and expensive booze spelled Amber Lynn Lyle.
Crossing the parched lawn, he jogged up the porch steps and flung the door open, letting it bang against the wall. Boogy skulked in from the kitchen, staggering sideways like a sorry-ass drunk, his jowly face eloquent with doggie remorse.
“Aw, Boogy.” Cade bent to rub the dog’s ears. They stood up like satellite dishes, swiveling toward whatever Boogy was looking for—which was sometimes Cade but usually bacon.
A ripple of tension ran down the dog’s back.
“She’s here, huh? You’re scared,” Cade whispered. “It’s okay. Me, too.”
Sliding to the floor, Boogy rolled over, gazing up with adoring eyes as his tongue flopped out the side of his mouth. Cade had been looking for a cow dog when Boogy had turned up homeless. He’d fallen for the sturdy, smiley critter and told himself any dog could learn to herd cows. Unfortunately, he’d been wrong. Boogy couldn’t grasp the difference between herding and chasing, so the folks at the Vee Bar asked Cade to leave him home.
A faint squeaking sound came from the kitchen. Standing slowly, Cade peered around the doorframe.
Amber Lynn Lyle, formerly Amber Lynn Walker, crouched in one of the battered captain’s chairs at Cade’s kitchen table. Her feet rested on the rungs, and she’d thrust her hands between her knees like she was cold. Dark hair hung knotted and limp around her hunched shoulders, obscuring her face.
Cade stilled, chilled to the bone. His ex had broken their vows so hard and cleaned out his bank account so thoroughly, he’d assumed she was gone for good. There was nothing left on the ranch but him, and she’d made it clear he wasn’t what she wanted.
Yet here she was, looking almost as sorry as poor old Boogy. Her pose was calculated to inspire pity; with Amber Lynn, every move had a message, and every position was a pose. There was always an equation behind those green eyes, and the answer was always Amber Lynn Lyle.
He knew, sure as he knew his own name, that her timing was another calculation. Gossip spread across the county fast as wildfire in a high wind, and everybody knew Jess Bailey was coming home.
So here came Amber Lynn, staking her claim like an old dog peeing on a tree.
“Amber Lynn?”
She shivered dramatically.
He glanced up at the cabinet over the refrigerator. Hadn’t that bottle of Jim Beam just called his name? Maybe he should offer his ex-wife a shot, pour one for himself. Calm things down.
But no. It was whiskey that had led him to Amber Lynn and sobriety that had set him free.
“What are you doing here?” He pulled out a side chair and straddled the seat, resting his forearms on the back. “You wanted to get married; I married you. You wanted me to pay off your bills; I hocked my ranch to pay ’em. Then you wanted Drew Covington, and I gave you a divorce.” He splayed his empty hands. “What’s left?”
“I’m s-sorry.” She hiccupped, then dropped her voice to a whisper. “Drew was a mistake.”
“So was I. Or so you said.” He hated to be harsh, but hey, at least he was talking to her. He’d much rather take her upstairs and throw her out a second-story window. “How is your boyfriend, anyway?”
“Drew? He’s not my boyfriend. Not anymore.” With a dramatic sniff, she tossed her hair aside, revealing a nasty black eye. The skin around it looked like a stormy sunset, purple with streaks of red.
“Drew did that to you?”
She nodded.
Cade couldn’t believe it. Drew had been a jerk, but he’d been a civilized jerk. In their only confrontation, he’d been scared as a skinny second grader facing the school bully. Cade had waved him away, told him to go on and take her. But if he’d known the man would hit her…
This is your fault. You should’ve seen he was a hitter. Not like you never knew one, right?
For once, Tom Walker’s voice made sense. Poor Amber Lynn.
But as pity clouded his brain, his ex-wife bit her lip and looked away, as if something outside the window had caught her eye.
The woman was as transparent as a toddler. Cade leaned a little closer.
“Seriously? Drew?”
Squeezing out a tear, she shook her head. “No.” She shot him a sulky glare, as if the lie was his fault. “Not Drew. It was another guy.”
“Jeez, Amber Lynn. It’s serious stuff, accusing a man of something like that.”
“Well, it was Drew’s fault.” Her voice rose to a whine. “He locked me out of his house, and I didn’t have anywhere to go. I knew this other guy liked me, so I went to his place, and then—he hit me.”
There was something missing from that story. His ex blinked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Aren’t you going to ask who it was?”
“I don’t fight your battles anymore. I stopped that when you started sleeping around.”
“I had to do something. You never paid any attention to me.” She pointed toward the barn the way another woman might point at a bar or a strip club. “You were always out there with the horses, and I was always alone.”
He’d heard this song before. She’d demand his attention, then leave in a huff just when he made time for her. Usually, she’d gone shopping for revenge, spending what little money he had. When that ran out, she’d forged his name on credit applications and spent money he didn’t have. When he’d been forced to take on extra work to pay the bills, she’d hurled herself into storms of weeping—because he never spent time with her.
“Cut it out, Amber Lynn. We’ve been over this.”
“All right.” With a final sniff, she straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath, and blew her nose with a honk that would have impressed a Canadian goose. She was trying, at least, and that was all it took to make him feel pity again.
She couldn’t help who she was. Her folks had given in to every tantrum instead of taking the time to teach her right from wrong. Now, she survived the only way she knew how—by manipulating people.
“I’m s-s-sorry, Cade.”
With one more comical goose honk, she dissolved into tears, crying so hard, he was afraid she’d pull a muscle.
Wait. Did sobbing require muscles?
He had no idea. He’d never cried like that in his life. Not when his dad smacked him around, not even when cancer took his mother. The only time he’d cried had been when Jess left, but even that hadn’t been an all-out, shoulder-heaving show like this.
“I had such a bad night.” She hiccupped, then burped, and he smothered a smile. “I s-s-slept in the c-c-car.”
She blinked her sorry sheep eyes, clueless that the burp had made him feel closer to her than any of her womanly wiles.
�
��I have n-nowhere to go.” The blinking turned to all-out lash fluttering. “Can I stay here? Just tonight?”
Boogy whined and crawled under the table.
“Why can’t you stay with your dad?” Cade asked.
Amber Lynn slumped like a puppet whose strings had snapped. “That would be the first place that jerk would look. Besides, Daddy won’t even talk to me because I left you. He said you’re a g-good and decent man.”
“Yeah, right. Last I knew, I was a low-class, redneck, white-trash bum who’d forced his precious daughter to live in a hovel. I believe that’s a direct quote.”
“He knows better now. You’re a good man. You are.” She choked on another burp and hiccupped. “My own daddy disowned me, ’cause I’m nothing but a tramp.”
“You’re not a tramp, Amber Lynn. You’re just confused.”
“I am confused.” The storm cleared as suddenly as it had begun, and Amber Lynn smiled. With her face all pink from crying, she looked pretty as a prize piglet at the fair—except for that eye. “I need to get a good night’s sleep and figure things out. Can I stay here? Please?”
“Why don’t you get a hotel room?”
“I l-l-left my purse back at—back where…” She pointed toward her black eye, then pushed her chair back. “You’re right, though. I should go back and get it.” She sighed. “I don’t think he’ll hit me again.”
Cade felt his resistance waning, then thought of the Cadillac parked behind the shed. It had to be her father’s car, and if Jasper Lyle would loan her the car, why wouldn’t he give her a place to stay?
Cade was pretty sure she was lying. Matter of fact, he was sure of it, because her lips were moving.
“I’m sorry, but no,” he said. “You can’t stay.”
The sniffling started up again. He raised a hand, palm out, as if it could hold back her tears. “I need to go out. You can rest a little. Take a nap and maybe a shower, okay? But then you have to go.”
She opened her mouth, no doubt to ask where he was going, but Cade wasn’t about to tell her. She’d throw herself on the floor and pitch a fit if she knew he was helping out at the Diamond Jack and hoping to see Jess Bailey.
“You can use my soap, okay? Shampoo, too. But be gone before I get home, around sundown, okay?” He answered for her. “Okay. Come on, Boogy.”
When they reached the truck, Boogy jumped up into the shotgun seat while Cade gripped the wheel, his head spinning. Had he been firm enough? Would Amber Lynn be gone when he got back?
Probably not. When Amber Lynn wanted something, she was stubborn as a rusty gate. But he couldn’t deal with her right now. He’d made a promise to Heck Bailey—one that just might put him in place to welcome Jess back home where she belonged.
Turning to Boogy, he rubbed the dog’s flat head. “You’re a good dog, but you’re useless, you know? I ought to replace you with a Rottweiler.”
Boogy panted and grinned, oblivious to the threat, his mind on the wonders of truck riding.
“I’m not any better, though. We’re both softies at heart, and you know what?”
The dog perked up, as if Cade had said “ball” or “play.”
“It’s going to get us in trouble, Boogy. All kinds of trouble.”
Cowboy Summer
On sale now!
Acknowledgments
How do I thank thee? Let me count the ways.
Actually, I should count the people! I’ve needed a lot of love and encouragement through the writing of this book, and I’ve been lucky enough to get it from the best friends and family anyone could ask for, as well as publishing professionals who are a joy to work with.
First of all, the Joanne Kennedy Books Facebook page has taken on a life of its own this year. I love sharing my life on the wild edge of Wyoming, with all its mountain lions and bears, wildflowers and waterfalls, big skies and stunning landscapes. I also post about my dogs and cats, who feel quite famous thanks to their many fans. It’s a positive place to be, thanks to the many Facebook friends from all over the country who have become real and very dear friends. Kristine Anderson, Murlene Crowley, Karen Hackett, Kay Mills, Paula Neel, Mary Warschun, and so many others have been my inspiration. Knowing they’re out there waiting for the next book keeps my fingers tapping the keyboard, and I look forward to their comments every day. I used to want to go to England or Chile or France, but now my dream trip is to pack up the dogs in the RV and go visit all my far-flung Facebook friends!
I especially want to thank Kathy Everingim of Cheyenne for naming Bruce, Riley’s dog. Bruce is based on my big dog Jesse, who didn’t want his real name used; he’s shy and was worried about being mobbed by female stalker dogs. Bruce is a perfect name for a lovable but very protective pooch.
I have a lot of old and very dear friends who have had my back for years. Amanda Cabot and Mary Gillgannon are like sisters to me, while the Cheyenne contingent—including Jaren Artery, Mike Bleakley, Lori Brand, Wendy Soto, and Kate Wright—is always supportive even when I’m not around. Jeannette and Neil Gallagher are always there to offer tea and sympathy all the way from Maine, and my good friend Jeanette Daly is my role model for living in this wild place forever with courage and independence.
Then there’s my family. I was lucky enough to marry a man with terrific kids I love and admire. Scott and Aminda, Alycia and Ryan and their kids, and Jackie and Brian are all successful, hardworking, and best of all kind. We also have a new baby in the family. I can’t wait to watch Alan grow up!
Last but not least, I really don’t know how my husband, Scrape McCauley, manages to live with me every day without losing his mind. His patience and support have been incredible this past year, and he’s always there to help me through the plot twists in real life as well as fiction. He is still the reason I write romance novels.
Joanne Kennedy
Stillwater Sanctuary
Colorado
September 22, 2019
About the Author
Joanne Kennedy is the RITA-nominated author of ten contemporary western romance novels, including Cowboy Trouble, Tall, Dark and Cowboy, and Cowboy Tough. The first book in her Decker Ranch trilogy, How to Handle a Cowboy, was named one of Booklist’s Best Romances of the Decade. She lives in a secret mountain hideout on the Wyoming border with too many pets and a retired fighter pilot. The pets are relatively well-behaved.
Joanne loves to hear from readers and can be reached through her website, joannekennedybooks.com.
Also by Joanne Kennedy
Cowboy Trouble
One Fine Cowboy
Cowboy Fever
Tall, Dark and Cowboy
Cowboy Crazy
Cowboy Tough
Cowboys of Decker Ranch
How to Handle a Cowboy
How to Kiss a Cowboy
How to Wrangle a Cowboy
Blue Sky Cowboys
Cowboy Summer
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