Читать книгу A Cowboy Returns - Kelli Ireland - Страница 12

3

ELI MADE THE 120-mile drive to the Clayton County courthouse in average time considering his rental car was powered by little more than a two-stroke lawn-mower engine.

His first order of business was to determine whether or not anything had been filed on his old man’s behalf or—worse—against the estate. Nothing showed up, so he went through the rest of the probate process.

Privately, he was grateful for the mundane tasks. They kept his mind busy, kept him from thinking too much. He made the appropriate inquiries at the courthouse and filed the required documents as the estate’s representative. Then he’d gone to the newspaper to arrange for the mandatory ads to run in the classifieds. That done, he started for the ranch.

Less than ten miles from the courthouse, he was the only car on the highway. No surprise. The locals would consider traffic heavy if they passed a dozen cars. He was as far from Austin’s bumper-to-bumper lifestyle as he could get. Considering the clown car and his surreal surroundings, it was as if he’d been fired from civilization’s cannon into the wilds of wide-open space. Every instinct he had screamed the landing was going to suck. Bad.

The memory of Reagan—her summertime smell, her cinnamon taste, her feminine strength, her lean body—had haunted him all morning.

She’d always been at the heart of the community. It made sense, then, that she’d married the community’s son.

Everyone loved Luke. He was the kind who stopped to help a stranded motorist and not only fixed their car but topped off their gas and gave them food and a fresh set of directions before sending them on their way. Always neighborly, he’d be the first to volunteer for day work during shipping season. He’d be the last to leave. As a kid, every son had been compared to Luke—his dad had told him several times he would have preferred Luke as a son over him any day. Even Reagan’s mother had expressed her opinion, pushing her daughter toward Saint Luke—and away from Eli. She must have been overjoyed when Reagan married the right man.

Eli would put money on it the guy had evolved to the ultimate cowboy, the type of man every boy wanted to grow up to be. He and Eli had always been casual friends, but at the moment? Eli hated every damn cell in the man’s body.

Rolling the car window down, he breathed in the dry air. New Mexico’s unpopulated roads and wide-open spaces never failed to press their beauty on him without apology—right before they reminded him how insignificant he was.

He’d never been able to accomplish enough to stand out as his own man, always living in his father’s shadow. Never Elijah Covington, but always Max Covington’s boy. And even in that, the only thing that set him apart was that he was the eldest of the three. His greatest distinction was that he’d been his dad’s biggest disappointment. Never quite country enough, never quite smart enough, never quite proud enough of his name, just...never quite enough.

The only one who’d ever made him feel he was more, could be more, had been Reagan.

Seeing her today had shaken him. Hard. She’d been more beautiful than he remembered, those moss green eyes set in a deceptively feminine face. Most people just saw a pretty girl who’d make a good rancher’s wife. He’d always known there was far more to her than that. It had terrified him they’d both end up doing exactly what the community expected of them—him taking over his father’s ranching operation, and her staying on in the little town because she loved her man.

She had stayed, but not for reasons he’d ever understood.

Emotions whipped through him as unchecked as spring winds, tearing up certain pieces of his life and battering others until he was a mess of overlapping memories. When he finally reached the right road, Eli pointed the little car across the first of eleven cattle guard and started through the sand hills. It was a different world out here, yet nothing had changed. He could find his way through this alien landscape with his eyes closed.

Rounding a corner, he rolled to a stop. Cows blocked the road, completely unconcerned with either him or his cartoon car. Waving his arm out the window and shouting, pair after pair of huge brown eyes lifted to blink at him. He honked and snorted at the almost comical beep that made him think of circus cars that dumped out twenty clowns in the ring.

“I am not getting out of this car,” he shouted at them. Laying on the horn, he whistled and eased into the mass of bodies. Slowly, the herd began to move off.

Eli tunneled his fingers through his hair and fought the urge to turn the car around. He could get to Amarillo and catch a flight back to Austin tonight, be in his own bed by midnight and back in the office first thing tomorrow morning. And if it weren’t for the fact Tyson had asked for help, he would have done just that.

Damn it.

His youngest brother had never asked him for anything. Ever. The realization yoked him with heavy guilt. He’d do this for Ty and leave.

And what about Cade? his conscience whispered.

Oh, Cade had asked him for something once, had asked for the one thing he couldn’t give. He’d never forgiven Eli for saying no, either.

Eli whispered dire threats to the little car as it struggled up the final hill. It peaked and the world opened up. From the Sangre de Cristo mountain range to the west, the uninterrupted northern horizon and the plains to the east, open range spread before him with regal silence. His breath caught and his chest ached.

This would always be his place, his heritage and his home. But it seemed as foreign to him as another country, as if a passport should be required to visit his past. He was nothing more than a visitor and an unwelcome one, at that. Trying to ignore the undeniable beauty of the land and the way it called to him, soft and familiar, he put the car in gear, starting forward again. The car rattled over the washboard road. A bolt fell out from under the dash and clunked against the passenger floorboard as Eli’s teeth clattered together.

A dust trail caught his eye. Somebody was tearing through the sand hills. If Eli’d had a four-wheel drive, he would’ve ducked down a side road to avoid being seen. In this thing? He’d be dooming himself to walking, and it was way too far to the ranch to run the risk. Instead, he eased forward at the same time he rolled his window up. It would be easy enough to stay focused on the road and ignore whoever passed him. Might be the smartest thing to do, too.

He gained momentum heading down the hill, the little car bucking over the rutted road. A pickup truck roared by. Eli didn’t look up. Instead, he leaned on the accelerator, jaw tight, wheel strangled in a death grip. Habit had him flipping a hand up in absent greeting. Brake lights lit up the rearview mirror as the truck fishtailed to a stop.

Curiosity got the better of Eli. He slowed as he watched the driver’s side door swing open. The driver jumped down, boots stirring up small puffs of dust as he stormed toward the slowing car. Tall and clearly furious, the man yanked his hat off and tossed it aside without a care. Long legs ate up the distance between them. Lips thinned and eyes hardened the closer the guy came.

Eli let the car drift to a stop even as his stomach went into free fall. His mouth was so dry he couldn’t have share-cropped the space without subsidized water rights. Slipping the car into Park, he couldn’t make himself stop staring until the man was so close Eli could only see his torso in the little mirror.

Eli reached for the door handle.

The man beat him to it, yanking the door open. “Get out.”

Eli’s jaw set. “Out of the car or out of town?”

“Car first, town second.” The low voice was so raw it sounded like it had been dragged over sharp gravel.

His hands ached with the urge to clench into tight fists. “That’s not your call.”

Work-roughened hands reached into the car.

Shoving the man away, Eli lunged to stand. “What’s your—” A meaty fist connected with his jaw, whipping his head to the side. Stars exploded in his vision. Shaking his head, he rounded on the man, considering him through narrowed eyes. “What the he—” A short jab split his lip. “That’s. It.”

Eli threw himself into the fight. Grunting as the other man’s fist connected with his ribs, he spun and kicked out. He connected with a hip, forcing the bastard off him.

The man regained his balance and, chest heaving, charged Eli.

They went down in a heap, arms swinging and legs kicking as they pummeled each other for all they were worth. A hard shot to Eli’s temple made him see double. The guy grabbed him by the front of his oxford and twisted so he knelt over Eli, fist raised.

Eli set his jaw. He wouldn’t fight anymore. Not like this.

“You sorry son of a bitch,” the man gasped. “All these years. You been gone all these years. Why now?”

Eli swallowed hard. “It’s good to see you, too, brother.”

Cade Covington shoved off Eli, panting. “Can’t say the same.”

Seemed karma was determined to put the screws to him by dumping every ounce of history in his lap all at once.

Excellent.

Eli dabbed his split lip with his shirttail. “You still hit like a freaking truck.”

“You used to be faster.” Cade shook out his fist. “What’re you doing here, Eli?”

Cade’s tone was cold and Eli glanced at his brother. “Ty didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Cade asked, the words flat.

“He asked me to come home and probate the estate.”

His brother cursed, low and harsh.

“I’ll take that as a no.” Eli leaned against the little clown car and, one at a time, emptied his shoes of sand.

Cade turned away, his voice carrying on the wind. “I’ve got this covered. We don’t need your brand of help.”

The words hit Eli harder than any of Cade’s blows. He watched his younger brother, the middle of the three of them, retrieve his hat and head for his truck, his gait as long and sure as ever.

“I’ll see this through,” Eli called after him.

Cade shook his head, slapping his hat against his thigh as he paused beside his idling truck. “Why bother? You don’t want to be here, and we don’t want you. So just...go on. Get back to Austin and do whatever it is you do down there.”

Eli clenched his jaw so tight his molars ached. His nostrils flared on each exhale. “I have a client roster that proves I finish what I start.”

Cade settled his hat on his head and glanced over his shoulder. “A client roster, huh?” He shook his head and grinned sardonically. “And how many of those clients have you stuck by through the years, Eli? How many have you seen through the hard times because it was the right thing to do?” When Eli didn’t answer, Cade shook his head, grin fading. “They pay you to stick. You don’t do it because it’s the right thing, and that makes all the difference.”

“I’ve never walked out on my professional responsibilities,” Eli snapped.

“Then I can honestly say I wish we’d been professional associates instead of brothers.” Slamming the driver’s door behind him, Cade shifted the truck into Drive and took off.

Hurt and anger warred for dominance, an internal battle that bloodied Eli with every volley. Who the hell does Cade think he is?

The idea that he could leave this whole mess to someone else crossed his mind again. He could send a check to cover the attorney’s fees, let it be someone else’s headache. Epic temptation that it was, it would only reinforce Cade’s opinion that he didn’t care about his family.

Eli glared down the empty dirt road. He might be a lot of things, but a quitter? No. His leaving had been about survival and what was best for everyone. If Cade didn’t get that?

“Screw him.” Folding himself gingerly into the car, he winced as it gained speed and resumed rattling over the dirt road. Each jarring bump hammered every new bruise. By the time Eli reached Highway 102, he was pretty sure at least two fillings were loose.

He had no idea how he would manage staying at the ranch with Cade and Ty, but there wasn’t a decent hotel within a hundred miles. What there was would be historic—thereby archaic—and that translated to dial-up internet if he was lucky, rotary phones and curious proprietors. The ranch would at least have a rudimentary office. His brothers might not appreciate his presence, but one-third of the house was his, and he intended to put it to use before deeding it to them jointly. Breaking all ties with this place was long past due.

Eli buzzed by the ranch’s main gate. The black iron arch over the gate had the ranch’s name centered at the top arch, the family name below. Their individual brands were showcased on either side of the ranch name. His, the E-bar C, was to the right.

The battered mailbox stood weather-beaten and worn as ever. The red flag hung broken and listless, the ever-present breeze swinging it back and forth sporadically. Behind the mailbox stood the metal road sign—Road to Perdition.

He’d helped weld and post it with his old man’s help. He’d been...what? Eleven? Twelve? The irony had been lost on him at the time. Now? Now it just seemed prophetic. His mother had died two years later and cemented his understanding of perdition. Spiritual ruin. Utter destruction. Hell.

He passed under the sign and onto Covington land.

Tension built in knots across his shoulders, spreading down each side of his spine the farther down the road he went. Long-suppressed memories were close enough to the surface to shove into his consciousness. They dragged him through an entire lifetime of highs and lows that he’d lived in the measly nineteen years he’d been here. So much to remember. So much he wanted to forget. Too much to survive all over again. Shutting his thoughts out, he took in the landscape.

The range looked good. The pastures had benefited from heavier-than-usual summer rains, the black grama grass already heading out. To the west, the mountains rose in a wild spray of desert colors. Fences were tight. Windmills spun in lazy circles, pumping water in a slow but predictable push-pause, push-pause cadence. Yet for all that, something was wrong. It took him a minute to figure it out, but when he did, he felt like an idiot.

As pretty as everything appeared, the pastures were empty.

The ground around the stock tanks should have been soupy from cows stomping through the overflow. Not so.

Grass shouldn’t be thickening along livestock trails. It was.

The roads shouldn’t have been clear of cow pies and other evidence of a herd. They were.

This wasn’t the picture of a working ranch but rather an idyllic snapshot of grasslands. Postcard perfect.

His brows drew together. It was the end of the stocker/grower season. His brothers should be getting ready to ship the contracted stocker steers to the feed yards, yet there was no evidence of activity. Anywhere. Following the road toward the main house, his confusion increased when he found the fields closest to the place empty. That should’ve been where his brothers were holding the cattle and where the work was happening.

Trying to sort out what might have gone wrong, he suddenly recalled Ty’s email. His little brother had asked him to handle the estate’s “issues.” Eli had assumed his brother meant the difficulty of probating such a physically large estate without a will or, at the very least, without a sufficient will.

Then there was Reagan. She’d accused him of not being here to help his brothers.

Looking around as he pulled up to the main house, the inactivity made his skin tighten. The “issues” his youngest brother had mentioned were clearly going to be larger, much larger, than Eli had assumed.

He parked in the main house’s half-circle drive. His childhood home hadn’t changed at all, from the silver tin roof to the stone walls to the aged, wavy glass of the picture windows. The sense of familiarity sans family left him empty. Steeling himself, he stepped out of the car.

The first thing to strike him was the smell. Someone had cut hay, and recently. The rich, clean smell tickled his nose. Below that hovered the subtle, distinct aroma of ammonia that was inherent to large animals. The barn door squeaked as the breeze curled around the corner of the building to shove the door to and fro. And the sky—man, the sky was so much bigger and bluer than he remembered.

All of that he could break down and compartmentalize by sense. It was the massive quiet that demanded recognition, though, calling forward all those memories he’d been fighting to suppress. They echoed endlessly through the aching hollow of his chest.

Pocketing his keys, he dropped his bag and headed for the barn.

Somewhere nearby, a mule brayed.

Eli grinned. Before he’d left, Ty had been bottle-feeding a little jack. The thing had followed the kid around like a damn dog.

Not a kid anymore. Ty would have grown up while Eli was away. He wondered if Ty was half as big as his feet and awkwardness had forecast he’d be. A dull burn settled in his belly when he realized he might not recognize his little brother after so long.

Rubbing his abs, Eli slipped into the dim barn.

The smells of leather and horse sweat joined the mix, dragging his past forward. He’d lived out here as a kid. It had been the one place he’d been entirely comfortable, with the cowhands and the horses. Leaning into the tack room, he was surprised to see a few extra saddles. The ranch must’ve taken on more hands, but for what? With the empty fields, he couldn’t imagine there would be enough work to justify the number of saddles on pegs or money to pay them.

Several horses stuck their heads over their stall doors and peered at him, curious.

He ran a hand around the base of his skull and pulled. A cloak of unease settled around him. It had to be coming here, to the ranch. Back home.

A diesel engine rumbled into the yard and saved him from that particular train of thought. Avoiding that sentimental bullshit was beyond necessary. As it was, his life was far too close to turning into a country song full of loss and longing. Eli didn’t have room for those emotions.

And with Reagan married, he’d never chance that road again.