Cowboy Summer

by Joanne Kennedy

  “A businesswoman,” he repeated. “You sell yourself short, Amber Lynn. You shouldn’t have to depend on me or your dad or that asshole who hit you. You.” He jabbed a finger at her, earning a surprised gasp. “You should be the one in charge.”

  “I used to be.” She pouted. “I was with you.”

  He wiped his hand down his face. The day hadn’t even begun, and she’d exhausted him already. He was a fool to feel sorry for her; she’d taken everything he had.

  But maybe she’d had to. Despite her privileged upbringing, Amber Lynn didn’t have a damned thing of her own. That was her father’s fault, and if Cade had anything to say about it, Jasper Lyle was going to pay for neglecting his only child. Cade would hit the man where he lived—which had never been at home with his daughter. The man lived at the bank, where he could feed his bloated ego by bossing his employees around.

  Boss this, Jasper.

  “Listen.” Cade leaned against the counter beside Amber Lynn. “You said your dad had a job for me, right?”

  She nodded, staring at the floor. “But you don’t want it.”

  “Nope. I’d die in an office. You have to dress up and look nice, and you have to understand people and talk them into doing what you want.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing, for you. I’m awful at it, but you’d be great.”

  She gave him a rueful smile. “You are kind of hopeless.”

  “So tell him you want the job.”

  “Me?” Amber Lynn was still playing dumb, but he caught a spark of interest in her eyes.

  “Sure. You’d be good at it. Manipulating money’s a lot like manipulating men.”

  He thought he might have gone too far, but Amber Lynn looked thoughtful. “It probably is. But more direct.”

  “Right,” Cade said. “And, whoa, I can see you with a corner office, wearing high heels and a suit like one of those lady lawyers on TV.”

  “Like Princess Meghan. I would look good, wouldn’t I?”

  “You sure would. And everybody’d listen to you and do what you say. You’d be the boss. That’s what you were born to be.”

  “The boss.” She spoke the word lovingly, as if tasting it for the first time.

  He had a feeling a star had just been born.

  “You’re your father’s daughter. He owes you this chance. And then you’d have your own money. Mona would be so jealous.” He gave her a playful push. “Go pack your stuff. You don’t belong in a dump like this. Never did.”

  She scanned the room, frowning at the torn coverlet he’d tossed over the sofa, the three-legged coffee table propped up on a stack of horse training books, and Boogy, who’d drooled a puddle on the scarred wood floor.

  “You’re right. What was I thinking? I’m better than this. So much better.” To his horror, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you. I think you’re right. It’s just what I need—and I’ll look so good.”

  “All right, then.” He patted her back, feeling awkward but strangely touched. “Guess I’ll see you at the bank, right? You sure you don’t need help packing?”

  “No.” She blinked and gave him a trembling smile. “I can do it.”

  “That’s right,” he said, trying to sound hearty and encouraging. “You can do anything.”

  The coffee was ready, thank God. Filling his mug, he grabbed his plate and headed out the door, the greedy-eyed Boogy behind him.

  Climbing into his truck, he set the plate on the dashboard. Boogy hopped up to ride shotgun, and as they bounced down the drive, the dog watched the eggs jiggling and sliding around the plate with drooly determination. The whole mess made Cade feel a little nauseous, but Boogy’s pleading eyes made him feel downright mean.

  Cade grabbed one strip of bacon, leaving the rest for the dog.

  “Go ahead.”

  Boogy went all right, propping his paws on the dash and slurping up the greasy breakfast in seconds. He turned to give Cade a grateful doggy grin. A string of egg yolk dangled from his jowls, swinging with the motion of the truck.

  “You’d better not puke on my upholstery,” Cade said. Of course, his upholstery was Walmart seat covers he’d bought on clearance, decorated with pink butterflies. They might be improved by a little strategically placed vomit, but Cade was a sympathetic puker.

  Boogy slurped up the egg yolk string and burped. Cade felt himself go green.

  He felt even sicker as he reran his conversation with Amber Lynn in his head. Had she ever really said she was leaving? He should have made her call and set up a meeting with her dad right then and there. He needed to know for sure she’d be gone when he got home tonight.

  Because once he’d helped Jess with those calves, he’d be her hero, right? She’d be grateful, and maybe she’d come home with him. Maybe she’d kiss him while they stumbled in the door, shedding clothing as they went. Maybe they’d make love right on the sofa, where he’d left his blanket and pillow. Maybe…

  Maybe he’d better make sure Amber Lynn was good and gone before he risked having Jess anywhere near the house. Even if his ex talked her way into a job, it would take her a while to find an apartment. She could hardly live at the bank.

  But that wasn’t his problem. Anyway, with Heck in the hospital, the Bailey home would be empty most of the time. Jess’s bedroom was still decorated as it had been when she was a girl, all pink and frilly, with a canopy bed that had inspired all sorts of fantasies for Cade over the years, mostly about making love in an actual bed, like the married couple he hoped they’d be someday. Married sex might not be the most imaginative sexual fantasy in the world, but for Cade, it held more promise than any wilder dream.

  There would be no veils between them then. There’d be just him and Jess, the real Jess, his Jess, the one he’d loved for so long.

  Chapter 16

  Molly was at Heck’s bedside first thing the next morning. No matter what the doc said, she needed to see for herself that his chest was rising and falling and hear that familiar snore. Once she was satisfied, she slipped out of the room without waking him and headed for a public restroom.

  Glancing in the mirror, she gave herself a tentative smile. She still had dimples, and the delicate skin under her eyes was still smooth. Her eyes were bright, her skin clear, and her hair—well, her hair could use some work. Fluffing the fine brown curls, she thought about what the doctor had said.

  A man doesn’t want to look weak in front of his much-younger wife.

  It had been nice to hear she still looked young. She’d been through so much lately, she felt every bit as old as Heck. And she was starting to realize her husband was, indeed, an older man. She’d married him because she loved his sense of humor and his adventurous spirit, but those qualities were fading along with his heart. And now she wasn’t even allowed to spend the day with him.

  Don’t you have a job?

  She’d spent all night staring at the ceiling, wondering if she dared to take the doctor’s advice. By morning, she’d decided she would.

  Tugging her cell phone from her pocket, she brought up her contacts.

  David Burton. 555-6238.

  How many times had she longed to dial that number? Before she’d met Heck, David had been the man she turned to when life got complicated. Of course, Heck wouldn’t approve. Talking to David would be a betrayal in his eyes.

  Heck’s not here. And besides, it’s doctor’s orders.

  Dodging into a stall, she felt like a spy contacting her handler or a teenager calling her bad-boy crush.

  A tinny ring sounded in her ear.

  “Dave Burton.”

  Oh, he sounded so professional, so above it all. With Dave, she could be her old self—her best self.

  “Are you busy?” She injected a teasing tone into her voice, hoping he’d remember her.
r />   “Molly!”

  He recognized her voice! She let out her breath in one long, relieved whoosh.

  “Blow in my ear and I’ll follow you anywhere.” His voice was pitched low, in a humorously flirtatious tone.

  “Oh no.” She felt her heart flutter. Talking to him always made her so nervous. “I didn’t mean to—I didn’t…”

  “Just joking, Molly. It’s good to hear from you.” The flirty tone was gone, the professionalism returned, but he sounded wonderfully warm and sincere. “How have you been?”

  “Fine,” she said. “Mostly. But Heck had a heart attack, and he’s in the hospital. He has to have surgery.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  A long, uneasy silence followed. Maybe she shouldn’t have mentioned Heck.

  Finally, he spoke again. “We’ve missed you around here.”

  “I’ve missed you, too. And the children.” She sighed. “I’ve missed them terribly.”

  “You could come back.”

  “Really? You’d still want me?” This was what she’d been hoping for, and she hadn’t even had to ask.

  “Sure.” Again, his voice vibrated, low and—dared she say it?—sexy. “Come see me tomorrow.”

  “I can’t. How about Friday?”

  “That would work.”

  They laid down the details—time, place, and plans. She hoped so hard she could fit into Dave’s world again. She’d been a fool to leave.

  “Thank you,” she said. “For taking me back.”

  “No, thank you,” he said. “You made my day.”

  As she exited the restroom, she realized someone else was in the next stall. They probably thought she was crazy, talking on the phone from a toilet stall. Either that or they thought she really was a teenager calling her boyfriend.

  The thought made her giggle. Washing her hands, she appraised her looks again. She wasn’t vain, but she wondered if she should color her hair before Friday.

  Oh, pooh. It looked fine. She looked fine. There was a happy flush in her cheeks, and her eyes were bright. No wonder the doctor had said she was Heck’s “much-younger wife.”

  Trilling a few lines of a sappy love song, she danced out of the restroom and into the hall.

  * * *

  From her perch on the toilet, Jess lowered one foot to the floor, then the other.

  As soon as she’d realized it was Molly in the next stall, flirting on the phone with some stranger, she’d pulled her feet up and crouched on the toilet, hoping her stepmother hadn’t heard her come in.

  It was a good thing she’d decided to visit her dad this morning. Good thing she’d come to the restroom just then and learned the truth.

  Molly had married for money, just as Jess had suspected. And maybe, just maybe, she’d convinced her new husband to sell the ranch so she could claim half the proceeds before running off with Mystery Man. That would leave Jess’s father alone in the world, without his ranch or his new young wife.

  But Jess couldn’t tell him, for fear of causing heart attack number three.

  Cursing under her breath, she left the restroom and headed for home. She couldn’t face her father right now.

  It was a good thing she’d called that morning and talked to her boss at Birchwood. He’d been kind and understanding when she’d told him about Heck’s heart attack and agreed she should take family medical leave. She’d stammered a few words about her dedication to her job and how she wouldn’t stay in Wyoming if it wasn’t a matter of life and death. He didn’t really respond, and she felt the Hawaiian islands drifting away, the white sand slipping through her fingers.

  She’d taken a deep breath and told him straight out that she was concerned her leave would lose her a promotion. To her relief, he’d told her he was moved by her dedication to her dad. He hadn’t said right out that he was still considering her for the promotion, but he’d sounded very encouraging.

  She sighed. Her father needed her, so none of that mattered. For the moment, she needed to shift her priorities to the ranch and get those calves drenched. It would be tough on her own, but she couldn’t let the little buggers suffer.

  She thought again of Molly’s voice back in the restroom—her flirty tone, the things she’d said. Jess needed to doctor those calves tomorrow, but on Friday, she’d follow her stepmother and find out exactly what was going on. Her dad would never believe her unless she had proof.

  Once that happened, she had no idea what she’d do. Losing Molly would be a terrible blow, and he was already sick. How would she go back to work at all? How could she leave him behind?

  Chapter 17

  Jess mounted Buster and headed for the north pasture, wondering who would fail her next. Her stepmother was apparently cheating on her dad. Her dad, who’d been the single solid rock in her life, was fading fast.

  She couldn’t understand it. He’d been polite, he’d been kind, and he hadn’t cussed for a whole day, so either he was dying and aiming to make it to heaven, or he was so sick, he couldn’t be himself. What if she lost her dad and the Diamond Jack? The thought made a sob tighten her throat.

  And then there was Cade. A big part of her wanted to pick up right where they’d left off, but another, bigger part held her back.

  Hawaii. She could see it if she closed her eyes—the clean white sand, the white-capped waves, the seagulls soaring overhead. She pushed Cade into the picture, shirtless of course, racing with her into the waves. They were holding hands, laughing…

  But no. Cade never traveled. Staying with him meant staying here, giving up everything she’d worked for. And that would be plain dang stupid. Either Cade would have to change, or they were as doomed as Romeo and Juliet.

  As she reached the pasture where her runny-assed patients waited, she shoved her love life out of her mind and thought about the task at hand. She’d tell her dad the calves had all been medicated on her next trip to the hospital. He’d be so relieved, he’d cuss out a doctor, and all would be right with the world.

  All was not right, however, with her roping skills. Apparently, the success she’d enjoyed with her dad had been a textbook case of beginner’s luck. Today, her luck had changed, plus she’d pulled a muscle somewhere. By lunchtime, she could barely raise her hand above her shoulder, and her roping efforts were a series of very bad jokes.

  She found a perfect picnic spot—a flat rock under an old tree twisted by decades of endless wind—but Buster spotted a calf sprinting for a ravine and put on the gas before she could signal him to stop. Setting her heels, she sat back and pulled on the reins.

  The calf had plunged down the rocky slope into the underbrush that bordered a seasonal creek. It would be twice as hard to catch later, but her sore shoulder didn’t care about later. It cared about now and whether she’d be able to lift her sandwich to her mouth. Her arm ached, her butt had been paddled by the saddle, and her thighs burned like twin flames. The calf could wait. Letting Buster loose to graze, she rested against the tree and unpacked her food.

  Moments later, the sandwich hung limp in her hand, and her head lolled against the tree. The world flowed past her and away, all those uncaught calves receding into the distance as she sank into blessed sleep.

  A sharp sound jolted her awake. For a second, she wondered where she was, but then her thighs screamed out some two-part harmony, her shoulder joined in, and she remembered the scampering calves.

  Struggling to her feet, she squinted into the distance. The sun seemed awfully low in the sky. How long had she slept? And where was Buster? Putting her fingers to her lips, she whistled and waited.

  And waited.

  Her heart tripped, stumbled, and revved up to a nervous cha-cha beat. Buster always came to her whistle. Always.

  Maybe he was hurt. Maybe he’d followed that last calf into the ravine. He could have snagged his leg on a root, tripped over a rock, broken a
leg.

  Ten minutes and seven increasingly frantic whistles later, she edged over the rocks that guarded the deep slash in the earth. Picking her way down the slope, she set her feet with care. Cowboy boots were made for riding, not hiking, and the slick leather soles would become twin skateboards if she slipped.

  She was halfway down when a jay hoisted his jaunty tail and screeched out a warning. At the same moment, something smacked her ankle, hard.

  Jumping back, she lost her footing and slid, cussing wildly, downhill. Grabbing a sturdy branch, she skidded to a stop and glanced back just in time to catch the furtive glide of a rattler pouring bonelessly off a rock. Saluting her with a final shake of its God-given maracas, it disappeared into the grass.

  No. Surely her luck couldn’t be that bad. Clutching her ankle, she heard her father’s voice in her head.

  Folks rarely die from snakebite. But boy, can it make you sick.

  She needed to keep her cool. Panic only make the blood flow faster, helping the venom do its deadly work. Tugging off her boot, she found two small punctures in the leather, right where she’d felt the strike.

  She tried to remember first aid for snakebite as she tugged off her sweaty, stubborn sock. Number one—keep antivenom close. But it was too late for that. Her dad always made sure they had some in the fridge in the barn, but that wasn’t close enough.

  Number two—slash the punctures and suck out the blood. That was actually an old wives’ tale, but sometimes those old wives knew their stuff. Bending to examine her ankle, she searched for the wound. There were two faint bruises where the fangs had struck but no blood, no broken skin.

  No puncture, no poison.

  Relief flooded her brain so fast she thought she might faint, but she was far from safe. Her horse was still missing, and the weather had shifted while she’d slept. Thunderheads puffed behind the mountains, mirroring the worries stacked up on her mental horizon. Her horse. Her dad. Her cheating stepmother. This land, so soon to be lost forever. Plus she was halfway to the base of the ravine, where a heavy rain could cause a flash flood. And Buster, her Buster, might be trapped down there.