Читать книгу Nevada Cowboy Dad - Dorsey Kelley - Страница 9

Chapter One

She was coming back. And she was bringing her money with her.

That was all Rusty Sheffield allowed himself to think about as he waited on horseback for the sleek sports car to make its way up the gravel drive of the Lazy S Ranch. The expensive engine almost purred, he thought broodingly, as out of place on the Nevada cattle ranch as antlers on a sheepdog.

Impatient and frustrated, Rusty yanked off his hat and slapped at a clump of dried mud on his thigh. Dust rose from both his hat and his worn jeans, making thin clouds in the chill air. Damn, he hated what he was about to do, hated the reason for this meeting with Lucy Donovan.

Still, every time he reviewed the ranch’s dismal finances the truth was a fist slamming agonizingly into his gut. He resettled his hat, but there was no denying it—he was getting desperate.

Lifting the reins, he urged his sorrel gelding out the corral and toward the gravelled area where Lucy had parked her car and was now emerging.

“Welcome back.” He touched his Stetson and forced out the courtesy. “It’s been a long time.”

Lucy lingered in the embrace of her car’s door, blinking nervously as if she needed shielding. She was small, her chin-length hair straight and plain, with ebony strands that now blew in the slight breeze.

She’s awful damn pretty. The errant thought came to Rusty out of nowhere, as did images he hadn’t replayed in years. He remembered big, frightened green eyes that seemed to see everything, and ragged-cut hair, dark and tattered as old black silk. He remembered her forlorn expression.

He didn’t remember pretty.

“Oh, I didn’t see you there,” she said, and twisted to face him.

Her hands clutched the car’s streamlined window frame and he noticed she wore a severe gray suit with heels. Her body was slim, with every curve a man liked to see. Little Lucy had become a woman.

“Uh,” she said, “it has been a long time. Fifteen years since I’ve been here.”

“Since the divorce,” Rusty said, dismounting. “Our parents must have had the shortest marriage on record.” Six months, to be exact, Rusty remembered silently, before Lucy’s mother decided she didn’t like country living—and didn’t like the rancher with whom she’d exchanged vows. She’d packed up her car, her annoying little lap dog and Lucy.

“How is your mother?” he asked. Best to get the formalities over with.

“Living abroad,” she answered curtly. “Remarried. A shipping magnate this time, I think.”

“You don’t talk to her much, then?”

She shrugged, but under her calm, he could feel her emotions. Lucy and her mom weren’t cut from the same cloth; he knew that from way back.

Not that it mattered to him. None of his business.

He saw her glance over the sprawling two-story house, the white-painted outbuildings of barns, sheds and bunkhouse. His gaze followed hers, seeing what she saw, and he winced. How evident was the peeling paint? How obvious the overgrown weeds, the half-broken fence posts?

“It’s the same,” she whispered, though her words drifted to him on the cold breeze. “Nothing’s changed. Nothing.”

“That bad, huh?” His jaw clenched.

“No.” For the first time she fixed her gaze fully on his. “It’s wonderful. I feel like...like I’m home.”

The direct impact of her emerald eyes hit him with far more force than was right. A memory of the tiny urchin she’d been, crouched in the old oak tree in the meadow, came streaming into his consciousness. At fifteen, he’d been more concerned with his horses, his friends and the sassy neighbor girl than the mousy kid his new stepmother had brought to the ranch.

Up in the oak, Lucy had been crying; Rusty had seen the tear tracks on her pale cheeks. He’d tried to coax her down, but she’d shaken her head.

So he’d climbed.

Since he’d already learned she spoke in nothing but monosyllables, he didn’t question her. They merely sat together, a fifteen-year-old boy and a ten-year-old girl, watching the sun cast swaths of amber and gold over the cottonwoods in the meadow. They probably clung to that big branch together for an hour, wordless, until darkness transformed the sun’s golden streaks to cobalt and then to black.

When the first stars winked into existence she let him help her down. He put her behind his saddle and rode with her to the house. On the ground, she’d looked up at him with those incredible eyes and he’d seen her chin tremble. He’d smiled at her and tousled her hair. She’d given him a shy, tremulous smile in return. It was the first and only expression of happiness he’d ever seen in her, a spark of joy in an otherwise wan countenance.

Now Rusty shook his head, impatient again, but this time with himself. He had no time for reminiscing.

“Come to the house,” he said more abruptly than he’d meant to. “Fritzy can make coffee.” Fritzy—the family’s always-smiling housekeeper—had been with the Sheffields for twenty years.

He called out, and a youth appeared from the barn to take his horse. Down at the branding chutes, men were working cattle, roping them one by one and applying the hot Lazy S brand. Turning back to Lucy, he asked, “You want to stay the night, don’t you? I expect it’s too far to drive back. Got any luggage?”

Taking careful steps in her heeled shoes, she came out from her hiding place and opened the trunk. “Yes, it’s here.”

Bending down, she went to grasp her tweed suitcase when he quickly reached out, saying, “I’ll get it,” and bumped her shoulder.

She gasped—a startled big-eyed doe.

Rusty frowned, wondering what had gotten into her. Why was she so skittish? After all, he was the one with the right to be nervous, not her. She was going to get what she wanted. He would be the loser.

Still, he didn’t like the way she flinched from him, as if he’d done something wrong or was contemplating it. The idea offended him; he’d never harmed a woman in his life or even wanted to.

He must have scowled because she mumbled, “Sorry.”

“No apology needed.” Shaking his head, he hefted her large suitcase from the trunk.

“Thank you,” she said in a voice so low it was nearly a whisper. Her slim fingers curled beneath her chin now, her eyes lowered to screen her expression. But the flash of what he’d seen there disturbed him. Rusty didn’t know what turns her life had taken, but one thing was certain. Lucy Donovan hid many secrets.

Lucy trailed Rusty Sheffield into the house, berating herself for jumping like a frightened rabbit when he’d only wanted to help her carry the suitcase.

But she didn’t like men who took over a situation like they’d been voted boss. She was uncomfortable around aggressive, overtly masculine men.

Somehow she hadn’t been prepared for the incredibly handsome, overwhelming maleness Rusty exuded. Formerly auburn, his hair had darkened nearly to brown. At least, she thought so from what she could see of it under his hat. No longer a gawky youth, the man had grown to over six feet tall. Beneath his yoked Western shirt his chest was brawny, his arms, revealed by his rolled-up sleeves, were thick with muscle. His thighs were powerful, his waist narrow. He even smelled good, like fresh-turned earth and high-mountain winds.

Oh, she noticed everything about him, cataloged the changes that maturation had wrought. And it seemed to Lucy that everything about him was too much. He was too big, too observant, too handsome, too... well, manly.

Rusty Sheffield made her edgy.

She wished she were completely composed, a woman with confidence and style and sophistication. But miserably she knew she’d never done anything meaningful in her life. The counselor she’d seen had told her that confidence was developed when someone worked hard at a task or skill and became proficient at it. She had recommended Lucy learn a profession, or go to college and earn a degree, perhaps start a business.

Coward that she was, she’d done nothing of the kind.

Still, she did have one goal. A goal that for once she intended to reach.

If only she weren’t so anxious.

“This way,” Rusty instructed, preceding her through the front door of the wood-sided house. The screen frame banged behind her in exactly the same way it had fifteen years ago. She smiled.

Inside, the house had experienced few changes, as well. The old davenport with its cabbage-rose print still reigned as the centerpiece of the large living area. It was flanked by antique tea carts with Tiffany lamps and faced by several oversized leather chairs. Gray river rock lovingly laid fifty years before formed the fireplace with its mantel, which held a collection of figurines. Against the wall a hall tree held coiled lariats, and at the bottom, neat rows of cowboy boots lined up like soldiers waiting to be called to service.

In the kitchen across the hallway, Lucy heard someone stirring, probably Fritzy. The smell of freshly baked bread wafted to her.

More pleased than she could say, Lucy sighed, but Rusty set her suitcase down and walked straight through to the small office his father had formerly occupied. She guessed the room was Rusty’s now.

“Sit down.” He pointed to a striped seat opposite, throwing himself into a castered chair to regard her levelly across the desktop. Behind him bookshelves rose to the ceiling, and the file cabinet beside his desk had papers overflowing the drawers. The room gave her the impression of ordered chaos. He said, “I want to get this over with as soon as possible.”

She lowered herself into the striped chair, but found she couldn’t relax enough to rest her spine against its back.

“Over the telephone, you said you had money,” he began bluntly, and she forced herself not to wince. “What is it you want, exactly?”

Lucy drew a deep, deep breath. If ever she needed courage, it was now. Please, she prayed to the Powers Above, please let my dream come true. Lacing her fingers together in her lap, she plunged in. “As you know, I’ve heard about the death of your brothers. The news traveled fast. I’m so sorry. The accident was a terrible tragedy.”

Stone-faced, he gave only a curt nod.

The head-on collision between his brother Landon’s pickup and an eighteen-wheeler had made sad, local headlines. A freak accident, both Landon and his other brother, Tom, had died instantly, as had the other driver. Folks said the resulting fiery explosion had echoed for miles. Investigating authorities never discovered what made Landon’s truck cross the center divider. Authorities guessed he’d been reaching for one of his ever-present cigarettes. Or possibly stretching down to the cell phone kept on the floor between the two seats.

Lucy hadn’t met Tom or Landon. The boys were away during her short stay at the ranch. But she knew they’d been well liked.

“As a result, you now hold full title to the Lazy S, right?” She glanced around the room. “I don’t suppose you ever expected to, with two older brothers who would have had first claim here.”

He hesitated. “No.”

“Rusty, I told you when I called I have money, and it’s true. My life hasn’t been terribly...eventful,” she said, awkward yet determined to get through this, “but I did get married.”

She saw his eyebrows arch, though she didn’t blame him for his surprise. She wasn’t any great catch. At least that’s what Kenneth had always enjoyed saying.

“Well, a year ago, my husband passed away—” she forced herself to stare Rusty straight in the eyes “—leaving me a wealthy widow.”

His gaze drifted away and his expression became thoughtful. Rubbing his chin, he said, “I see.”

Probably not. He probably saw only what he wanted to, but she needed to press on. With uncharacteristic boldness, she blurted, “I want to purchase the Lazy S.”

“Purchase it?” He stared at her. “The whole place?” His pitying glance raked her. “I thought maybe you just wanted to lease a couple of acres, maybe run a few horses or build a cabin. The Lazy S comprises several thousand acres of prime grazing land. We have water rights to the creek, twelve hundred head of mother cows and as many calves, a hundred and fifty horses and dozens of blooded bulls. The property alone is worth a small fortune.”

Casually he tossed out a figure, let it hover in the air between them like an alien spacecraft.

Lucy did not blink.

He studied her face. After a moment, disbelief gave way to dawning awareness. “You’ve got that much?”

Again, she merely kept her gaze steady and waited for him to draw his own conclusions. The spacecraft vanished, left only the trailing vapor of Rusty’s incredulity.

Taking off his hat, he stabbed stiff fingers through his thick hair. It was brown, as she’d thought, the deep rich color of brewed coffee. After a moment he let out a long, slow breath. She could feel his shock and sense his struggle to assimilate her changed status in life.

Lounging back in his chair, he stacked his booted feet atop a low file cabinet. “Well, that’s something. Lucy, I guess you’ve done all right for yourself.”

“It wasn’t me,” she corrected him quickly. “I didn’t do anything to earn it. It was my husband’s—his commercial real estate business.”

“But it’s yours now.”

“Yes.” She shifted uncomfortably. “But I didn’t—that is—” She caught herself. It was not part of her plan to explain every single thing to him. She cleared her throat. “Well, will you sell?”

Dropping his boots to the wooden floor with a thud, he got abruptly to his feet. He snatched up his hat, jammed it on his head and pulled it low across his eyes. With his big palms splayed over the desk, he leaned toward her. “Not if you had ten million, Lucy. Not twenty. Maybe from your rich sugar daddy you learned you can buy most things. But not everything. Not the Lazy S.” Straightening, he took swift strides away from her. “Thanks for coming. You probably won’t want to spend the night after all. It was...interesting seeing you again.”

“Wait,” she cried. Now she’d gone and done it. She’d insulted his masculine pride. “I didn’t mean to offend you.” But he was already pacing through the living room toward the front door. Hurrying after him, she caught her foot on a table leg and stumbled, nearly falling. He didn’t turn.

“Rusty,” she said, “I’m not trying to put you out of your family home.”

At the front door Rusty kept walking. “Sure sounds like it.”

Outside, afternoon sunlight momentarily blinded her, though the bright rays offered no warmth. Cold fall air bit at her exposed throat, numbed her fingers. “No...you don’t understand.” He was halfway to the barn. “Stop, Rusty, please,” she said again. “There’s more. I don’t want you to leave the ranch. I want you to stay on.”

In the shadows of the great barn, he slowed. He turned to face her, hands on hips. “Beg pardon?”

Reaching him, she knew she was wringing her hands but was powerless to stop. “I know about your financial troubles, Rusty. I know that before their deaths your brothers heavily mortgaged this place. Your law career in San Francisco was successful and you’ve made a good living, but it’s not enough to put the ranch in the black.”

His face hardened. “How do you know all that?”

Apologetically she said, “I’ve got my own lawyers. You know they can find out anything.”

With a snort he pivoted and disappeared into the barn.

She followed. Coming out of direct sunlight, she found it dark inside, and for a moment could hardly see. The air was cooler and full of the smell of alfalfa hay and animals. She wrapped her arms about her middle and suppressed a shiver. Long banks of stalls with horses inside, a tack room that held halters and bridles and work saddles and a grooming area took up the big barn.

She found him pulling on heavy work gloves and standing beside stacks of baled hay. “I’ll pay whatever price you ask, Rusty. I need the ranch. I... I need you.”

At this last he paused and gave her a slow up-anddown perusal. “For what, Lucy?” he asked in a dangerously quiet voice. “What do you need me for?”

Groping for courage, she deliberately stiffened her spine. “To manage the property, of course. To direct employees, make business decisions, buy livestock—I don’t know. For all of what’s needed. I...I don’t know the first thing about running a cattle ranch.”

He glanced derisively at her sling-backed pumps. “No kidding.”

Shivers began to tremble through her. She couldn’t back down now; he had to be made to understand. “I don’t know much about ranching, Rusty. But I do know one thing. The time I spent here was the best of my life. I need this place.” She gestured around. “It sounds crazy, but...I need that big old friendly ranch house. I need the smell of horses, hot from a run. I need familiar people around me. I...need the oak tree in the meadow.”

As he looked into her eyes she wondered if he understood her. She wondered if he remembered their aftemoon in the tree together—that day so long ago when she’d been weeping because her mother had declared that she found horses boring and cattle smelly. She was getting a divorce as soon as she could hunt down an attorney. She was bored, bored, bored—not least of all with her husband, Howard Sheffield, the “unsophisticated, countrified bumpkin” she had married in a temporary fit of Las Vegas-inspired insanity.

“We’ll be leaving the Lazy S,” Lucy’s mother had announced to her, “first thing in the morning!”

The memory sprang alive in Lucy’s mind, of her heartache and then of seeking solace high up in the tree, its shielding branches her only comfort. The scene was so tangible in her mind she fancied she could almost reach out and touch that sunset’s glorious golden colors. Almost touch the kind boy Rusty Sheffield had been.

She had to keep going forward, stop reliving the past. “I-I’ve got an idea, Rusty, of what we might do here. We could bring in people who want a taste of country life—stressed-out people from the city. They could put on jeans and ride and help move cattle.” As a child she had gained so much here; was it any wonder she wished others to experience the same happiness? “I figure they could stay for a week or two,” she went on with growing enthusiasm, “enjoy this marvelous place. See what it’s like to—”

“A dude ranch?” He cut through her ardent stream with a disbelieving guffaw. “You mean to turn the Lazy S into a greenhorn hotel?”

“Well, call it what you will.” She shrugged, trying not to be put off by his discouraging tone. Once she could fully explain, fully define the entire scope of her vision, he would comprehend everything. “I’ve put a lot of thought into this, worked out the details in my mind. I realize the notion is new to you, Rusty, and you need time to digest everything, but it could be like a...a health ranch. We could put in a swimming pool, have yoga classes—”

“No half-dressed yogi is gonna run around here spouting New-Age manure.” His expression closed her off like the slamming of a door. “We don’t need any damn pool, either. We’re simple folk. If we get hot, we just jump in the creek.” Features stiff, he collected a pair of hay hooks and thrust them into a thick bale. For a disturbing instant she had the crazy notion he’d like to use the hay hooks on her.

To heft the heavy bale into a wheelbarrow, he braced his feet. “I don’t know how I’ll get out from under this financial mess, but I won’t sell the Lazy S. And it won’t ever become a dude ranch.”

But why not? she wondered, blinking at him.

Recognizing a brick wall when she slammed into one, Lucy felt fingers of despair reaching into her heart like tendrils of mist before an ominous fog. Her attorneys had been so sure Rusty would jump at the chance to avoid certain bankruptcy that she had counted on his agreement. And the lawyers, the accountants and the bank officials had all concurred: without her, he would go bankrupt.

Staring sightlessly at her hands, she supposed she could wait for the foreclosure and simply buy the property from the bank. But that wasn’t how she wanted it. She wanted the Lazy S and Rusty. If only as a business partner.

Deep inside her soul, a silent bell of loneliness and pain began its familiar, dismal peal. All her life, she’d quit everything she’d started, given in when she should have fought back, accepted “no” when she should have demanded “yes.” The lonely, pealing toll grew in her mind until she could almost feel its grim vibrations.

Not this time. She crushed the defeating voice inside. This time I’ll stand firm. She swore to it.

“You’re part of the deal,” she whispered to his back, her throat tight and aching. “Don’t you see? You complete everything.”

His biceps straining, Rusty lifted the bale into the wheelbarrow and rolled it to the bank of stalls, broke it open and methodically tossed six-inch thick flakes into feeder bins. In the end stall, a hungry buckskin mare whinnied. Rusty didn’t look up at Lucy. “What sort of man was he?”

She blinked. “Who?”

“Your husband, Lucy. Was he good to you?”

The unexpected question blindsided her. She couldn’t think of a thing to say.

“That’s not too personal a question to ask, is it? Was your husband—what was his name?”

“Kenneth.”

“Kenneth, then.” He tossed a chunky flake into the next stall. “Was Kenneth a man who treated his woman well? Were you happy with him?”

“I...I don’t, that is—” She licked her lips, took a deep breath and tried again. “Kenneth had many fine qualities.”

The narrow-eyed glance he shot over his shoulder sliced straight through her like a shard of broken glass. When they were younger, most of the time he’d barely noticed her. But on the infrequent occasions when he had, she well recalled his piercing, perceptive eyes. Always he’d appeared able to read her innermost thoughts.

Lucy swallowed and forced her mind back to business. “The ranch, Rusty. If you won’t let me help, how can you keep it? Who else could you turn to?”

As he faced her, finished with the afternoon feeding, she saw that his skin was drawn taut over his cheekbones; his brown eyes took on a hard glitter. Tension radiated from every line in his body, and she felt his frustration beating at her in waves. Jerkily he stripped off his gloves.

For a moment he stared at the ground. It was a strangely dejected look for such a confident, strong man. She wondered at it. At last he raised his head.

“Sell you half,” he ground out.

“What?” Lucy stared at him dumbly.

“I’ll sell you half interest. God knows it’s the last thing I want. I thought I could raise capital selling you a few acres. But you want it all, don’t you?” His eyes narrowed. “And you’re right. There’s little choice. The bank’s gonna take it if I don’t act. I can’t believe it, but you’re my best—and only—option.”

Wisely she refrained from telling him she knew this.

“I get full control over the running of the ranch,” he demanded. “You’ll be a partner, but mostly in name and on paper.”

Pulse beating wildly, she said, “What about my idea—opening the ranch to others?” She didn’t dare use the term he found so derisive.

“We’ll work that out,” he evaded. “And no promises. Meantime, the property will be appraised, and you’ll invest exactly half the amount right back here.”

“Certainly,” she said.

“And you understand that I have final say in everything pertaining to ranch business, at least for this year?”

“Sure, but—”

“One more thing. If I can raise the same amount you’re investing, I have the right to buy you out. Agreed?”

Lucy faltered. That wasn’t what she wanted at all. When he got enough money he’d simply throw her off the ranch?

He continued staring at her in his hard-eyed way.

The capital she’d agreed to invest was quite a healthy sum. Would he be able to raise it...ever? It seemed unlikely. Besides, if he could, by then he’d have gotten to know her better, maybe even grown fond of her. By then, perhaps she’d have carved out a place for herself on the Lazy S. It seemed an unlikely event.

“You get a year,” she said, thinking fast.

He looked stunned. “What?”

“If you can raise the money in one year’s time, I’ll agree to it.” Behind her back, she twisted her chilled fingers together, hoping against hope he’d settle on this. “And, I get my dude ranch. On that point you have to agree.” There, she’d said it.

Rusty’s mouth flattened. He squeezed his eyes shut and muttered a word she pretended not to hear. “Fine,” he spat out. “A year it is. And in running things here, you won’t interfere?”

“No.” A welling joy rose in her chest like champagne bubbles. She wanted to shout her delight to the world. She wanted to sing. She wanted to rush to Rusty and throw her arms around him.

“My word’s as good as a contract,” he informed her coolly, and instead of the hug she would prefer, he proffered a broad palm.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling tremulously. Enclosing his hand in both her own, she shook it warmly. “Thank you.”

What the hell had he done, Rusty asked himself an hour later as he walked to the corrals. Just what? The situation was impossible. Had he really agreed to sell his former stepsister half the ranch? And how were they supposed to live—together in the big house—a bachelor and a young widow woman?

Fighting down resentment, he watched her walk to her zippy, completely impractical sports car and retrieve a purse and a shoulder bag. Her body beneath the plain gray suit was compact, her derriere firm. Though not large, her breasts appeared well rounded.

Rummaging in the back seat, Lucy bent at the waist. The action hiked her skirt up several inches above her knees and presented him with a view of slim, smooth-skinned thighs. Outlined by the gray fabric, her rump curved sweetly: taut, yet rounded just right. He wondered how she’d look without the ugly suit. An image of a nude Lucy reclining on the navy sheets of his bed instantly flooded his mind. He found it alarmingly arousing.

Grimacing, he turned to go check on the automatic waterers. Great. Alone together in the house with an all-grown-up Lucy, and him already picturing her firm body unclothed and splayed on his bed like a centerfold.

It was crazy. He didn’t even like her. At least, he disliked what she’d forced him to do. Hated it, actually. His hands fisted.

Fortunately Fritzy was staying in the house and not in her cottage. She seemed happy living there; he didn’t think she’d mind staying on.

He entered his gelding’s stall and went to the waterer in back. The horse raised its head a brief moment from its dinner, chewing. Its dark eyes asked ancient questions.

What did Lucy want, really? Not for a minute did he believe that business about her needing the damn house and horsey smells. It was odd, though, the way she’d shied away earlier when he’d only bumped her arm. And how evasive she’d been when he asked about her husband.

Somehow he’d get the cash to buy her out. He’d work night and day, save everything. There were many ways other than raising cattle to make money on a ranch, especially one with the rich resources of the Lazy S. Ways his brothers hadn’t even begun to explore. He would tap them all.

Her ludicrous proposal of turning the ranch into a vacation spot rankled. He vowed that the public hordes would come trampling onto the Lazy S only over his dead, decomposing body. A years-old scene came vividly to his mind: his father addressing him and his brothers, each word ringing with clarity.

“We must keep the land pure,” Howard Sheffield had exhorted his three almost-grown sons. “I won’t be around forever, and the ranch’ll pass to you, just as it did to me and my brother from our daddy.”

The three teenagers sat at attention in their father’s office and listened solemnly.

“You boys have to carry on the family tradition. It’ll be hard, I know, to resist commercialism, and this new business of catering to city slickers so many of our friends have succumbed to. It brings in money, but, by God, there’s got to be other ways.”

To Rusty’s seventeen-year-old eyes, his father suddenly looked old—Howard’s sun-roughened skin was splotched with benign cancers, his eyes rheumy. For Rusty it was a small shock, yet it came abruptly. His father was the burly, iron-willed constant on the ranch, the immortal bulwark for them all against a cruel world.

However, in that instant Rusty knew the first glimmerings of maturing youth: his father wouldn’t always be there to solve problems, to repair their mistakes made from inexperience. Someday, maybe soon, he’d have to grow up, take on full adult responsibilities.

“Dad,” he said, anxious and uncomfortable with his thoughts, “don’t worry. We’re not gonna let a bunch of strangers overrun the ranch.”

Howard fixed his youngest with a particularly penetrating stare. “See that you don’t. Jim Curlan’d give ten years off his life if he could get rid of his sideline. So’d old Harley Jacobson down at the Flying J. They need the money, I can understand that. God knows there’s more lean years than fat ones running a ranch. But as a result their spreads have been spoiled. All those damned idiots from the city playing cowboy, ruining good horses, getting underfoot, pistol-shootin’ at anything that flies by.” He snorted, then paused to look thoughtfully at each of his sons.

“Now, boys, promise me you’ll never sell out. Keep the Lazy S as it’s always been. In the family. Swear it.”

The memory receded on Howard’s binding dictum and the grave vow Rusty and his brothers had made. The fact that the other two had passed away now, leaving only Rusty to uphold the promise was entirely irrelevant. He’d given his word, and failure was unacceptable.

At the end of this year he would exercise the clause he’d write into his contract with Lucy. She would be gone. It would just take time, he knew that. From the training in his former career as a contracts attorney working for major corporate accounts, he would have no trouble wording their agreement into cast-iron legal language. Every clause would be phrased to favor him—and not Lucy Donovan.

The gelding moved to nuzzle his shoulder. The waterer was working fine. Absently he rubbed the horse’s withers. Something was wrong in Lucy’s life. Something...

Again the image of her jerking away from him came back and suddenly he knew. Thinking of it, he closed his eyes and wondered how he hadn’t realized it before.

Lucy had come to the Lazy S to heal.

He hadn’t told her everything. Wait until she found out that the ranch she’d just purchased half interest in came with an added bonus. Suddenly he grinned. What would she say when he presented her with a pinkskinned, milk-swilling, diaper-wetting, loudly squalling six-month-old baby?