Tempting the Cowboy (19 page)

No more mistrust, no more second-guessing. He was awake now, eyes wide open. He kissed Maeve before racing from the room, grabbed his cell, and dialed Jaxon’s number.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Rylan took a long drink from her water bottle to soothe the ache in her throat. She wasn’t going to cry, dammit. Her brother’s brief phone call to announce the arrival of his daughter, Kathu Rachel VanZecht, added a sweet layer to the knots of emotions pumping though her. That he and Trey had honored her daughter’s memory by using Rachel’s name for their own was more than she could even comprehend. Their father was hopping a plane to Australia tonight to go meet his new granddaughter, and Rylan wished she could join him. As it was, the trip from Missoula to Milwaukee was going to be rough with the amount of pain she was in. No way could she sit on a plane for twenty hours.

She gave Jaxon a wan smile, glad the ranch hand had offered to take her to the airport. He’d taken a phone call himself while she was talking to her brother, and now that they were both off, an awkward silence ensued. He didn’t attempt conversation, and she was grateful. Anything he said right now would probably result in her breaking down in tears. They weren’t even halfway to Missoula yet, and she didn’t want to spend the rest of the drive like a sobbing idiot. She’d do that after he dropped her off at the airport.

Jaxon eyeballed her, and she gave a small smile, mentally willing him to keep quiet.
Don’t bring up Cole. Don’t bring up Cole.

Cole. It hurt so much to leave him, but it hurt more to think about facing him. She couldn’t bear the disappointment and pain she’d caused, and she didn’t want to see that blank look in his eyes that he’d had at the hospital. Jaxon slowed down a little as she glanced out the window and watched where the skyline rippled as mountains undulated up and down. The scenery was bittersweet. Paint River had given her warmth a thousand times stronger than the cold of her pain had been. Rylan glanced at her hands—they were calloused. She’d never been one to have soft hands, but they looked different to her somehow now. In a short span of time, her hands had worked harder than they ever had, they had held and tended a child she’d come to love, and done all the necessary tasks of managing a family and a home. They’d traced a man’s body and held him tight in passion. They’d wiped away blood and tears.

These weren’t the restless hands of the judge’s wife. They didn’t hold a gun anymore, but they held memories. Everything she’d touched had touched her in return. Wasn’t that the point? Setting foot on the ranch had given her the first full breaths of life she’d experienced in months. She’d let her fears rest by loving, by accepting, by standing up for herself, and by letting go. Now, she was waking to the possibilities for her future. In return for taking that leap, the universe had given her Cole and Birdie.

The truck rocked and stuttered a little. Jaxon eased it over to the side, limping along. He frowned and finally stopped.

“Huh. Something’s up,” he said as he unbuckled his seat belt. “I’m going to check it out.” He popped the hood and slipped out of the truck. A seesawing ache nagged her side every time she tried to take a deep breath, but it still wasn’t worse than the agony she felt over Birdie.

Birdie had danced and skipped right into her personal space and made herself at home. Five-year-olds in tutus did not always do what they were told, like holding the chicken coop gate closed and staying put. Five-year-olds had accidents like falling out of bed, and sometimes worse.

Jaxon’s form came and went as he fiddled under the truck’s hood. Rylan focused on his movements while her brain processed, for the millionth time, the fact that Birdie may well have found another way to try to find Cole. It didn’t take away the responsibility she assumed for what happened, but it did hit home the fact that sometimes accidents happen.

Jax came around and leaned into the open driver’s door. His violet eyes narrowed as he pushed back his hat and glanced around. “Ah, truck’s broken down.” He cleared his throat and moved away before she could ask what was wrong.

“What?” She pressed her head against her window while a wave of pain rippled through her side. Figures the truck would break down. On a long stretch of road that cut between mountain and plain without another ranch or house in sight.

Jaxon was on the phone, his head down, a foot kicking gravel on the edge of the road. After fifteen minutes of watching him fiddle around, she needed air. Rylan cracked open the door, gripping the frame tightly as she turned and slid her legs out. The simple movements hurt her ribs so bad, stars turned to fireworks behind her clenched eyes, blocking her senses beyond anything but agony. Something warm slid over her chilled fingers where they gripped the doorframe. The familiar feel and texture of the touch would have brought her to her knees if she’d been standing.

“Looks like you need a ride, sweetheart…again.”

She couldn’t open her eyes as the whiskey voice spiraled around her. She was afraid of what she’d see looking back at her. Cole’s hands cupped her shoulders as he knelt down to where she sat on the edge of the seat.

“How can I apologize?”

His broken voice lifted the sob from her throat. Rylan looked into eyes mirroring her tears. Her hands shook. “Cole, how can
I
ever,
ever
apologize to you?”

“Come home.” His shoulders jerked like he was going to embrace her, but he held back. Instead, his long fingers kneaded her shoulders while the rugged lines of his face turned pleading. “Love me, and Birdie, enough to come home.”

Rylan exhaled, then groaned in response to the pain. Cole touched her face, his muscles tensing. She wanted to cry, to let the pressure out before her chest exploded. She gasped a breath and reached for him. Cole leaned in, gripping her under the chin, and kissed her lightly, almost as though he was afraid of hurting her.

“I do love you,” she whispered against his lips.

Thick with emotion, his voice wavered. “I love you too, sweetheart.” He embraced her lightly, and it was enough. It was perfection. Cole mumbled something, nuzzled her hair and trailed his lips across her temple to her cheek and hovered over her lips. He swept a tear from her lips with his thumb before placing a tender kiss there.

“The truck’s not really broken down, is it?” Rylan asked with a suspicious grin.

He paused and kissed her neck. “Ah, no.” Then his lips touched her jaw, the corner of her mouth.

She pinched his biceps with playful anger. “Cole Haywood!” He chuckled lightly against her lips before pulling her in deep.

“Just keep kissing me, sweetheart. Just keep kissing me.”

Epilogue

The horse pranced as Cole maneuvered him beneath the Wishing Tree. Rylan clenched Cole’s soft, warm shirt in her fingers, her knuckles pressed against his firm sides. The movement of the horse didn’t hurt her ribs as much as she’d anticipated. Though she still had healing to do, the threat of a little pain wasn’t enough to keep her from taking this moment alone with Cole.

Birdie had come home last week after two weeks in the hospital. She had to wear a protective helmet to prevent further injury until her brain had time to heal. That she’d come away otherwise unscathed was a blessing Rylan focused on to help salve her guilt over what happened. Cole had been amazing, splitting his time between caring for Birdie and caring for her. He took a break from overseeing every detail of the ranch to do so, handing off some responsibility to Tucker and Jaxon to help with the load. They talked, a lot. About the ranch, about the future, about silly things, and it was perfect. He decided to take little steps with Livy, introducing her slowly to Birdie until Birdie was old enough to decide how much she wanted Livy in her life.

Despite the change and constant worry over Birdie, Cole was more relaxed than Rylan had ever seen him, taking all the time he had to spend with them both. Knitting them together like the family she’d come to see them as.

Cole stretched up in the stirrups. “Here it is.” He reached high in the branch. “You know, I owe you an apology.”

Rylan hugged him as firmly as her muscles would allow. “Oh, really?”

Cole turned his head to look at her. “For a lot of things, actually.” She touched his back and kissed his neck.

“But to start, I’m sorry for telling you wishes were stupid.” Cole threw a leg over the saddle horn and jumped down. Rylan looked at him with a questioning smile while he turned away and fiddled with something. When he turned back, his face was serious with the slightest hint of amusement.

“You know, I hear Paint River has an opening for something you’re very well qualified for.”

She smiled, intrigued by the intensity in his eyes. “Yeah? What’s that?”

Her brain refused to process anything beyond the love in his eyes, the love that held her so completely. He took her left hand. Rylan’s jaw dropped when he slipped a beautiful gold ring with a ruby center on her finger.

He gave her the most intensely loving look of her life. “Being my wife.” Rylan slipped off the horse into his arms. “I don’t deserve it, Rylan, but I’m hoping you will see the best in me. You
are
the best of me. I don’t want to be a replacement in your life, but an addition. An extension of the new life you’re making.”

An extension is exactly what she had in mind. There could never be a replacement for Rachel or the life she’d had before. Those memories would never be erased, but she’d learned to manage the pain. Cole and Birdie, this place, were everything she needed to fully let life happen again.

His finger traced softly along her spine. “Oh, Mr. Haywood, I believe you’re coming on to me.”

He kissed her senseless. “You’re damn right I am.”

Acknowledgments

It’s really amazing how many people were involved in bringing this book to life. Behind these words is a supportive network of people who were just as excited (maybe more so) to see Cole and Rylan in publication. To my children, Jared, Hannah, and Andie, and husband, Matt, thanks for understanding the time it takes to bring a book together and for supporting me in my dream. There really are no words to properly thank you. I hope this shows you that you’re never too old to chase, and catch, a childhood dream.

To the Mistresses of Rocking in Corners, thank you! Tamara, Tristina, Carrie, Angela, Heather, and Amber, you cheered me on the whole way from the minute I said, “What if you got off the bus in the wrong town?” and a story took shape. You’re the best critique partners a girl can have, and I’m blessed that you chose me to be part of your group! To my beta readers and the WrAHM group, double thanks for your support (huge thanks to Gennifer Albin for forming such a fabulous group of women writers). I’m still humbled that my agent, Nalini, and editors, Danielle and Guillian, saw enough of what they liked in this story to take it on and make it better. Thanks, ladies! I’m so proud to be part of the Entangled family, and I hope this is just one of many books to come.

About the Author

Elizabeth Otto grew up in a Wisconsin town the size of a postage stamp where riding your horse to the grocery store and skinny dipping after school were perfectly acceptable. No surprise that she writes about small communities and country boys. She’s the author of paranormal, and hot, emotional, contemporary romance, and has no guilt over frequently making her readers cry. When not writing, she works full time as a Emergency Medical Technician for a rural ambulance service. Elizabeth lives with her very own country boy and their three children in, shockingly, a small Midwestern town.

Keep reading for a special look at the next book in

the Paint River Ranch series...

One Night with a Cowboy

by

Elizabeth Otto

Chapter One

She was five minus two seconds from throwing up. Grabbing the sides of the whirling carnival-ride seat, Sophie Miller squeezed her eyes tight and dipped her head. How she let her eight-year-old nephew Ethan talk her into getting on this ride, she had no idea. A pile of puke in his lap was about to be the reward for his insistence.

Surrounded by tinny music, colorful flashing lights and the smell of heavenly fried food, Sophie had been glad they’d come to the street carnival. She loved the noise and the smells and the crowd. It was the perfect way to spend her first night back in Montana in six months, giving her the opportunity to catch up with her sister, Carla, and Ethan, while relieving a little of the stress that had plagued her for the past several months.

And then Ethan had talked her into getting on the Scrambler, and suddenly the carnival wasn’t so fun.

A hard lump burned in her throat, and Sophie crossed her hands over her mouth to hold back the nausea. Just when she thought she might lose it, the Scrambler began to slow down. The milling crowd swirled and faded below her only to reappear again as their cart went round and round a little more slowly each time.

She tried to focus, hoping it would keep her lunch firmly in her stomach. A tall, broad-shouldered cowboy in a white hat and light blue shirt stood out from the mass of people around them. The snippet of his face she could see as the cart whirled around became clearer on the next rotation when he looked up at her. A strong, square face and eyes that seemed to grab right a hold of her even in such a brief moment, and a long body with narrow hips making a drool-worthy contrast to his shoulders, was the most her brain could register before she swung around and lost sight of him again.

Mmm nice.

Since people-watching seemed to be helping her nausea, she was more than willing to keep eyeballing the cowboy. There he was once, twice, three times as she went around and around. Living in the city as long as she had, Sophie had no real experience with country boys, and this cowboy’s rugged hotness reminded her she really needed to make up for that. A one-nighter with a guy like him to remind her of the pleasures of life? Yes, please. Sophie admonished the thought with a grin and an eye roll. That was the last thing she had time for right now, but as the thought skipped away, she realized her fear had, momentarily, lessened.

She found him in the crowd again, and then, as his image faded away once more, the ride stopped. Sophie’s brain jostled inside her skull as she closed her eyes to try and find equilibrium.

“Coming, Aunt Sophie?” Ethan grabbed her fingers as he opened the cart door and jumped down.

She paused as the metal ride jiggled under the weight of its disembarking riders. Her entire world seemed unbalanced as the dizziness took hold, sort of like her life had been in general lately. The phone call she’d gotten from Carla three days ago, saying that their mother’s health was declining had rocked Sophie more than losing her job four months ago had. While the deathtrap was definitely testing her resolve, Sophie knew this was one problem she could overcome.

Too bad standing right now seemed detrimental to her health and possibly everyone around her if her stomach let loose. She glanced around, looking for her hot-cowboy focal point, but he was gone. Disappointment shot through her. She’d hoped to catch a closer look on the ground, but no such luck.

With a determined frown, she stepped down and sighed to feel the solid ground beneath her feet. A group of kids raced past her to climb into the death machine next, and Sophie let out an amused breath. Twenty-nine and she still hadn’t conquered motion sickness. The fact that she hadn’t actually thrown up on Ethan, though, made her feel like maybe she finally was.

Take that, stomach! She mentally high-fived herself and unsteadily followed Ethan through the crowd. Ethan pulled her hand and urged her to walk faster. Sophie pulled back to rein him in a little—faster wasn’t going to happen.

“There’s my mom.” He called out for her and waved to catch her attention. Sophie squinted, Ethan’s slight form suddenly fuzzy like a blotchy oil painting. Sounds rushed her ears, lights from the overhead poles suddenly blinding. A cramp stabbed through her gut, making her dizzy. Six years of riding in the back of a speeding, bumping ambulance as a metro Paramedic, and she couldn’t handle one silly carnival ride? There was something seriously wrong with that little twist of irony.

Sophie could make out her sister’s form, and groaned, recognizing her sister’s trademark impatience despite the distance between them. Carla waited near the mini donut truck, one hand on her hip.

Sophie gave Ethan a half-hearted wave. “Go ahead. Tell your mom I’ll catch up. I just need to…” Ethan took off for his mom before she could finish. He knew better than to keep Carla waiting. Smart boy. Judging by Carla’s stance, Sophie considered motion sickness a good trade for a few minutes away from her controlling sister. There was a reason she and Carla lived 1300 miles apart, and the few hours they’d been reunited reminded Sophie why. Cats and dogs had nothing on their sisterly relationship.

A twisting knot of pain made her middle clench. Sophie closed her eyes and took a deep breath, mindful of the people walking around her. She moved to the side where the crowd was thin, her foot catching on something hard and unyielding. Her body tilted backward, once again thrust into a quick motion that sent her brain into a tailspin. Firm hands caught under her arms just before her butt hit the ground.

Instead of the dirt-meet-posterior slam she was expecting, she was lowered down gently. Her left hand instinctively reached out, grabbing onto the nearest object for support. Denim. Warm, soft, well-worn denim. Before she could register any more, a haze of stars exploded behind her eyes.

A deep chuckle and silky voice floated down as she lay back on the ground.

“I’m used to women throwing themselves at me, but this was a little fast, don’t you think?”

This was turning into a helluva good day. Tucker Haywood flipped a toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. When his client wanted to meet here to let his kids run around while he and Tucker talked business, Tucker had initially resisted. It was a carnival—loud and crowded. Everything he hated. He’d rather stay at home at Paint River Ranch and hold the meeting in his office. But if going to the carnival meant selling a horse, he’d relent and collect a big, fat check for his trouble.

Now he had a beer in one hand and a pretty woman at his feet.

Go figure.

He’d noticed her on the ride, even chuckled at the horror on her face while the boy sitting next to her clapped and whooped as the contraption flew by. Tucker had almost walked away but then he noticed her eyes latching onto him. Not just once but each time the ride went ’round. Something about the stubborn, albeit nauseated, expression on her face made him hang around until she got off the ride. He wasn’t looking for a woman tonight, but it had been a while since he’d had a little female company, even if it was just a drink and a laugh.

Noticing how green she looked just now, Tucker figured he’d be lucky to get that far. A white tube-top dress clung to full breasts and a narrow waist, the hem stopping just above toned legs with golden skin that shone in the overhead light. A yellow string peeking out beneath the fabric to tie around her neck promised a rocking bikini underneath. Light freckles dotted a straight nose and heart-shaped face he could picture cupping between his hands. She was pretty, even with her eyes clenched tight and her full lips pinched white. It might be worth possibly getting puked on to find out a little more—especially if there was a bikini involved.

Tucker hunkered down next to her on one knee. “Hey, I was just kidding. You all right?”

She grimaced. “I’m dying.”

Tucker grinned. “You’re not dying.” He nudged her arm with his hand. The ride next to them dotted her hair and dress with bright polka dots of multi-colored lights. “Can I help you up?”

Her arm moved slightly to show snappy blue eyes with long black lashes. Her eyes widened. “Are you crazy? I’m dying here!” Warmth spread through him when her eyes locked with his. A twinkle of good humor flashed behind the misery in her gaze, and the left side of her mouth tugged up in what might have been a smile trying to bloom.

He tipped his hat back and shrugged. “It was just a ride.”

She pulled her arm away from her face and pushed up on her elbows. Color seeped back into her skin. Thank goodness. But just when he thought she was on her way to recovery, a sudden frown clenched her face and she lay back down.

“That ride is the devil. I need some Zofran.” She flipped off the six-armed, silver Scrambler that swirled and zinged in a tangled mess of chairs and bodies. Tucker chuckled at the unexpected gesture. Dimples curved beautifully in her cheeks when she managed a small smile. He wanted to see more of her spunk and was tempted to rib her a little extra just to see it rile up.

“Hear that?” He tilted his head toward the ride where shrieks and giggles rang out. “I think those four year olds are laughing at you.”

She groaned with a furious twist to her pretty lips. Well, look at that little hellcat, Tucker thought with an appreciative flutter in his belly. Yep, there it was. She riled up real nice, and dang if he didn’t like the fire in her eyes.

“See how well you do in the hot seat, cowboy.” She flicked her eyes toward the ride. “Go on.”

Tucker reached a hand out and to his surprise, she took it. Her fingers were soft and warm, and she trembled as he carefully guided her up. His thumb swept the back of her knuckles, her skin silky, her nails daintily curved with white tips. Not the hands of a ranching woman, that’s for sure.

“I’m smart enough not to get on a ride like that,” he teased with a wink, watching her closely.

She pulled her hand away with a cock of her head, and smoothed the front of her dress. “Meaning?” she challenged, swallowing hard and picking grass from her shoulder-length hair. He noticed her hair was two-toned, the ends a few shades lighter than the rest, like they’d been dipped in light blond paint. He swept his gaze over the length of her, drinking in the bracelets dangling on her right wrist, the bright red polish on her toes, and the shiny little blue purse slung over her shoulder. Everything about her screamed city girl. Tourist, most likely. She was the complete opposite of the women he was usually attracted to, but it was there. Attraction—pure and insistent.

He flicked his toothpick. City girl or not, she had his attention. All of it.

He smiled wide. “Meaning, I’m smarter than you, apparently.”

Her arms crossed. “Are you smart enough to get lost before I punch your wise-ass mouth?” Humor lit her face and chased away the previous sourness.

Tucker raised his eyebrows. He liked spirited things for the most part: hard-to-handle horses, ornery cows, and the unpredictable Montana weather. It made life interesting and kept his restlessness in check. But spirited women? No, thanks. He preferred them soft and supple, easy to manage and easy to leave. But something about the sparks this fireball was setting off made his brain do a three-sixty. He never was one to back down from a challenge.

“Honey, anything you want to do with my mouth is fine by me,” he drawled, giving her a sly smile.

She gave him a long, hard look before a slow smile made sexy dimples appear. He wanted to smooth his fingers along her face but he wasn’t about to set off even more of that dynamite inside her. Not yet. There’d be a million and one ways to set off fireworks with a woman like her. Tucker bit down on the toothpick and reined in the thoughts making his blood hot. Something in the crowd caught her attention—a woman with a young boy stopped across the crowd and gave a wave. She gave an encouraging wave back, in the kind of way that said she’d catch up later. Interesting.

Turning back to him, her eyes darkened in the moment right before she broke eye contact. Her gaze roved over his chest and down his middle, pausing at his thighs before flicking back up to his face. Tucker heated under the intensity of her appraisal—not realizing he’d been holding his breath until his chest started to ache.

The woman couldn’t handle a carnival ride but had no qualms giving him a blatant once-over. He was used to women looking his way—never had trouble finding a little company when the inclination arose. In the past few months, the female attention he usually craved left him unsatisfied and uninterested. Until right now. Damn, he’d been holed up at the ranch too long, and this silky, curvy, hot-tempered beauty had his interest by the balls, and then some.

“How about I buy you another drink?” she offered, tilting her head toward his beer. “That should keep your mouth busy for a while.” She smoothed one hand over the back of her hair.

Oh, yeah. Coming to the carnival was definitely a good call.

Tucker put a hand to the small of her back. Sweet warmth met his fingers, driving him to draw his hand up the fabric of her dress to the bare skin of her shoulder blade. He paused for a fraction of a second to see if she’d shy away from his touch. She didn’t.

Tucker leaned close to her ear. The curve of her neck was delicate and beautiful, her skin radiating heat mixed with notes of sugar and vanilla.

His voice dipped low. “And when that’s gone? Then what?” he asked as he steered her away from the ride.

She leaned toward him, as if pulled by his touch or his voice—maybe, hopefully, both. A soft rise of goose bumps lit along her back, followed by a gentle shudder. The smile on her lips promised everything he told himself he wanted to avoid. No more one-night stands. No more messy, near-miss relationships. He was alone for a reason, though the sultry sapphire her eyes had become made him forget exactly why.

She leaned against his shoulder, the heat of her breath seeping through the fabric of his shirt and giving him a hard internal tremble. Her arm went around his waist, her fingers gently kneading his shirt and driving home what he wanted.

Her. Under him.

She smiled sweetly, gripping his shirt hard. “Don’t worry, cowboy. I’m sure we’ll think of something.”