A Cowboy Returns
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.
4
REAGAN PULLED UP in front of the southern corrals at the Covington place. Several trucks were parked at the bunkhouses, but she didn’t see Ty’s or Cade’s anywhere. She had expected she’d beat Ty to the Bar C, but she’d thought Cade would be around. As serious as things were likely to get, she couldn’t imagine the brothers would be too far out of pocket.
Grabbing the backpack she carried her paperwork and iPad in, she slid out of the truck. Brisket leaped down and trotted along beside her, eyes glued to her hands, as she strode toward the main bunkhouse. Chances were someone there would know where Cade had run off to.
“Can I help you?”
She stumbled to a stop. Numb, her hands hung at her sides. Her feet wouldn’t move no matter what she silently shouted at them.
“I asked if I could help you.”
She might have shaken her head. Could have been she was just shaking. She had no idea.
“Hey. I’m talking to you.”
That dark chocolate voice wound around her chest and tightened, and her heart suddenly didn’t have enough room to hammer so wildly. She wondered if it would break free of her ribs or just break. Are there even enough pieces left?
Brisket pressed up against her legs as he looked over his shoulder.
“That dog... Reagan?”
Steeling herself, hands fisting, she turned with incrementally small steps. “Yeah?”
“Why didn’t you answer me?” he asked, exasperation woven through the question.
She shrugged as she mentally reached for her pride. “I figured I’d weigh the odds of you assaulting me again if I turned around. But with Brisket out of the truck this time, I’m feeling lucky.”
He smiled slowly. “Feeling lucky, huh? I didn’t think married women were supposed to cop to that with another man.”
Ice lodged in her chest and her vision wavered through unexpected tears even as a fierce blush stole up her neck and across her cheeks. “Go to hell, Esquire. It’s right back the way you came, so you shouldn’t have trouble finding your way.”
The smile faded. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you earlier.”
His apology caught her off guard. Picking up her pack, she called Brisket to her as she started toward the bunkhouse again. “Stick with the insults. They go with the suit better than apologies.”
“I didn’t know you were married.” His irritation escalated with every word. “And stop calling me Esquire.”
She didn’t really want to be petty, fought not to smile. And lost. Pausing, she glanced over her shoulder. The smile morphed from snarky to humorless when their eyes met. “But it fits you so well. There’s the attorney thing, but there’s also the fact you’re out here—” she looked him over just as she had earlier, head to toe “—apparently rolling around in cow shit while wearing designer duds I bet were featured in your namesake’s magazine. Esquire, it is.”
“I don’t remember you being so bitter,” he said, absently brushing at his clothes.
“And I don’t remember you being so worried about how you looked or what people thought,” she volleyed.
Something wounded passed through his gaze. “Then you weren’t paying attention.”
The breeze shifted. Eli’s cologne carried across the air, teasing her with its rich, crisp scent. She drew a breath, intent on offering him a creative suggestion on what to do with his cuff links, but the words hung in her throat. Beneath the cologne was the familiar scent that was all him—midnight and dark promises and sensual heat.
She remembered the taste of his skin on her tongue, the half promise of heaven, half threat of heartache. The feel of his body wrapped around her. But the sound of his voice? That was all too real. It hadn’t changed, not with age and time or education. Not any more than the brutal, irrational desire she still harbored for him, desire she’d warred against so long...and lost every battle.
Uncomfortable with the way the conversation was devolving and scared he’d want to talk about the kiss, she faced him and put up her hands. “Enough, okay? Enough.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Fine. What are you doing out here?”
“I’m the Bar C’s vet.”
“And?” he asked, rolling his hand in a get-on-with-it gesture.
She hesitated. “If neither Cade nor Ty said anything about this, I’m not sure I should be discussing it with you.”
“I own one-third of this ranch, Reagan.”
“On paper, yes.” Shifting from foot to foot, she let her gaze wander, let it rest anywhere but on him. “But by operational standards, I believe you’d be considered an owner in absentia.”
“And how would you know the appropriate legal term?” His voice was lethally soft.
She finally met his gaze. “That’s between you and your brothers, Esquire.”
“So they called me home to officially shut me out?”
“If that’s what you think, what I said earlier about your intelligence in business is wrong. You’re dumb as dirt in that arena, as well,” she snapped. “How many ways do you have to hear that they need you, Eli, because I’m running out of ways to say it.” She sighed in the face of his silence. “Ty either called you home or he didn’t. He either asked for your help or he didn’t. But consider this, Eli. How often does a proud man go to his knees and plead for help from the one man least likely to give it?”
His visible flinch was followed by a wince as he touched his split lip. “Yeah, well, I don’t think Ty and Cade are seeing eye to eye on what they ‘need’ from me at the moment.”
Reagan stared at him long and hard, noting the split lip, the bruise beginning to blossom on one cheekbone, and the ripped buttons on his shirt. “Cade do that to you?”
Obviously watching her for a reaction, he blinked slowly. “What would you say if I told you I ran into Luke and he called me out on kissing you?”
Every ounce of blood left her face. Spots danced in her vision. She moved in slow motion, closing the distance between them and watching detachedly as her fist connected with his unbruised cheek. Observed his chin whip to the side with absolute indifference.
“What the hell!” Eli bit out, spitting fresh blood.
“You don’t talk about Luke. Never again.”
“I mention his name and you hit me?” The demand hung between them.
She met his angry stare, her own eyes flat. “Luke was killed three years ago.”
Eli’s mouth worked silently before he managed a gruff response. “Oh, shit. Reagan, I—” He reached for her, but she waved him off.
“Don’t.” She spun away and moved stiffly toward the nearest bunkhouse. Her voice hollow in her ears, she called back to him. “Tell Ty I’m taking a few men and heading out to pasture twenty-one.”
She battled against the urge to turn back to Eli, to lose herself in the comfort of his arms and the heat of his touch like she had all those years ago. The moment she’d recognized him in Tucumcari, she’d known with perverse certainty that nothing had changed. Eli had left her, broken her heart and left it an empty muscle, but his brand was still there, clear as day. She craved the sound of his voice, wanted his body against hers again and had the strongest...need to lose herself in him one more time.
But with Luke’s death hanging between them, it seemed as if it would be the ultimate betrayal of the man’s legacy. Luke had deserved better than she’d afforded him in life, and she hadn’t been able to give it. She’d damn sure try to do a better job after his death, no matter what her heart wanted.
* * *
EVERYTHING IN ELI had rebelled at Reagan’s admission. He crossed his arms tighter over his chest to hide its shaking and leaned against her truck.
She’d stared at him with that achingly familiar face, those stunning green eyes, her lean body backlit by the late-summer sunshine, and he’d realized she was as familiar as the landscape—and just as foreign.
Everything he believed about her had shifted when he’d discovered she was married. She’d stood up in front of God and everyone and committed her life. To someone else. But he’d said it himself—it had been fourteen years. Expecting her to wait when he’d given her no hope had been a kid’s dream. No more.
Yet, here he stood with every belief he had regarding Reagan changing all over again. He wanted to ask how Luke had died, but the words stalled deep in his chest. Death wasn’t so uncommon out here, but communities were small enough that losing one of their own was like losing a family member. And Luke had definitely been one of the community, their charmed favorite who’d never done anything wrong. Hell, he’d even got the girl.
Guilt swamped Eli at his disrespectful thoughts and he shoved off the truck.
“I’ve got to get my stuff inside,” he said to her retreating form. The urge to run, fast, hard, far, to push every physical limit he had, to go and go until he collapsed made his skin twitch and his muscles tighten even as his breath came shorter. He needed to get away from here. From her. He waited until he was sure his legs wouldn’t give out and then started for the house.
“Fair enough. I need to get the herds sorted as soon as possible. Tell Ty I’ll have the walkie-talkies.”
Eli stopped but couldn’t bring himself to face her. Instead, he focused on keeping his voice steady. “What’s going on, Dr. Matthews?”
Her breath might have hitched, but it could’ve been wishful thinking on his part.
She cleared her throat. “Ty really didn’t mention anything to you?”
“Apparently there are a lot of things Ty didn’t mention to me.”
He tipped his chin to his chest, ignoring the emotional hole rapidly unraveling in his chest. All of this—hurt, anger, regret...sweet heaven, the regret—was brought on by the simple sound of her voice, husky and made for whispers in the dark. “If it can wait, I’ll just get the news from him.” Cowardly, maybe, but too much had happened since he landed in Tucumcari, and he was pretty damn sure he’d reached his breaking point.
She hesitated. “I’m pretty sure it can’t wait.”
“That bad?”
“Yeah. I’m afraid it is.”
Closing his eyes, he gave her profile, just enough that she’d know she had his attention.
“Look, Eli, there’s not an easy way to say this. The Bar C is facing quarantine.”
Muscles across his shoulders tightened. “Pardon me?”
“You guys may have contracted Shipping Fever on a broad scale.”
“Shipping Fever?”
“Bovine Respiratory Disease—temp over 104, nasal discharge, dull eyes, diarrhea, stumbling about, muscle wasting. You’ve been gone more than a decade, Eli, but I’m sure you remember how the disease appears and what it can do to a ranch, or even a region, if it’s not contained.”
He blew out a hard breath, ignoring the barb. “How’d the Bar C herds come down with it? It’s the wrong time of year for Shipping Fever. All the stocker cattle should have arrived months ago.”
She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “The ranch recently bought some new replacement heifers of its own. Then there are the late stockers taken on. With the drought and prices high as they are, the ranchers who do have grass can feed through the winter and demand premiums. It’s messed up the delivery schedules as stockers and feed yards vie for the best growing environment for their steers.” She chewed on her bottom lip for a second and then continued. “Everything that came onto the Bar C had health papers—I checked them all—but logic says the disease somehow originated in the new heifers. If it originated with Bar C’s stocker cattle, that’s one thing. If it’s because of the ranch’s new stock...”
She didn’t finish, but Eli didn’t need her to. If the Bar C’s own cattle had infected those they’d been contracted to put weight on through the year, the liability would destroy the ranch. The ranch would be quarantined. The cows that didn’t die wouldn’t do well this year. That meant low revenue. Worst-case scenario would be a huge die-off that would force the ranch to compensate the brokers and owners for the casualties. That would permanently shutter the Covington operation.
He gave a single nod. “I’ll tell Ty where you’ll be. Four-wheelers or horseback?”
“Horseback. I want to keep from spooking the herd any more than necessary. I’ll take one of Cade’s horses. We’ll trailer them as far as we can to save time, and we’ll ride on from there.”
Eli nodded and she walked away without another word.
He grabbed his travel bag and then took the porch steps two at a time. Pausing at the door, hand resting on the iron doorknob, he hesitated. Then he depressed the lever, the door swung in and nostalgia claimed him, reeling him across the threshold like the catch of the day.
The inside of the house still smelled like lumber, wood smoke and leather. Wide-planked floors were scuffed and marked by age and heavy use. His old man’s recliner still sat in the corner as if waiting on Max himself to pull up a seat at the end of the day. Curtains his mother had made still framed the window, threadbare with time. A pellet stove had replaced the archaic potbellied beast in the stone fireplace. Leather sofas and club chairs were scattered around the room in a haphazard way that announced “bachelor pad” as efficiently as did the abandoned boots near the door and the boxers on the coffee table.
Eli wove through the room and down the hallway to the stairs. Taking a deep breath, he opened the basement door. These he took one at a time. The air was cooler with a bite of dampness to it. He used to love it, especially in July’s heat. Breathing faster, he crossed the family room and stopped outside a familiar wooden door. Twice he reached for the handle only to stop. It was stupid, really. Nothing on the other side of the door changed anything about who he was now.
He traced his fingers over the rough-hewn pine door. How many nights had he spent in this basement? How many nights had he sworn that he’d find his way out of a life that had never fit him no matter how he twisted or stretched it as he tried to fill his old man’s expectations? How many times had he imagined how fulfilling it would be to make it on his own and force his dad to be proud of him? The answer was the same for every question: too many.
On a sigh, he shoved off the casing and stood. One silent twist of the doorknob and the door swung open without a sound. His past crashed into him. Shallow shelves held trophies from FFA and 4-H and high school sports. Laminated newspaper clippings were tacked to a small corkboard exactly as he’d left them. His bed was made. That was different. Looking closer, he realized the room was clean. No dust, no cobwebs, nothing out of place. He was suddenly nineteen all over again and awkward with it. All of the familiar, unwelcome insecurities were still there, waiting, still unresolved after all these years.
Crossing the threshold, his heart stopped. There, on his nightstand, was his favorite picture of his mother. She smiled out at him. Even though her dark hair had been burnished by sunlight in the picture, time had faded the effect. Still, he could remember the way she appeared. The love on her face still radiated from the photo, though. In spades. The years had passed, indifferent to his family’s grief at the loss of her, but not even time could change how much Eli’d loved her. Nothing could.
He traced the face in the photo and imagined he could still hear her puttering around upstairs. “I miss her, too.”
Eli dropped the picture and the glass frame shattered. “I—” He glanced at the picture and back to the door, where a large man filled the doorway. “Tyson?”
“I don’t remember her as well as you and Cade, but it was still hard to lose her.”
His youngest brother was now definitely not the littlest. He was a couple of inches taller than Eli’s own six feet two inches and clearly comfortable in his skin as he moved into the room. “Grown a bit since you last saw me.”
Backing up, Eli stepped on the broken glass and winced at the sound.
Tyson paused, his brows winging down. “What the hell happened to your face? You look like someone dragged your ass down the runway. You do know you’re supposed to stay inside the plane until it comes to a complete stop at the gate, right?” He snorted. “And here I figured you were the debonair, well-traveled brother.” Stepping across the small room, he wrapped Eli in a rib-cracking hug. “It’s so good to see you, man.”
Eli wasn’t sure what he’d expected from his little brother, but given the brutal reception he’d gotten from everyone else, it definitely wasn’t this.
He wanted to hug Ty back. He wanted to put distance between them. He wanted someone to shock his heart back into a normal rhythm.
Instead, for just a second, he reveled in a brother’s love.
* * *
REAGAN AND THREE of the ranch hands trailered their rides as far northeast as they could go on the Bar C. Unloading at the gate to the last pasture on the place, she tossed walkie-talkies to each man and left one in the truck in case Ty or Cade showed up and needed to contact them. Mounting one of Ty’s geldings, she adjusted her stirrups and checked her saddlebags. Everything was there, from medical supplies and antibiotics to a pistol for animals that were suffering and beyond help.
Coiling her rope and securing it to her saddle, she whistled for Brisket and headed for the gate. The dog slipped in close, trotting along to keep up.
The men followed in a tight group. Jake Peterson, the most seasoned of the men and another childhood friend of hers, moved up beside her. “How far out do you think the cows’ll be?”
She glanced at the midafternoon sun. “I’m hoping we find them in the front half of this pasture. If not, it’ll mean getting a chopper out here to push them toward us, and that’s not cost effective. It’ll also stress them out more than they already are. We’ll save it as a last resort.” Leaning forward, she tightened her saddle’s cinch without stopping her horse. “Regardless, we’ve got to do whatever it takes to get this contained, Jake.”