Nothing But Cowboy Read online

  He never knew what to say when she got on this particular horse, so as usual he clammed up and said nothing. He’d tried for that romantic gold ring once, and it had been a disaster. And only at the end had he realized Anna, his ex, had expected him to tire of ranch life and come back with her to the city, just as he had expected she would grow to love ranch life and stay here with him. Neither was going to happen, and so that gold ring got melted into a shapeless nugget he kept on his dresser as a reminder to believe what people did, not what they said. And over time he’d settled into simply not letting what anybody outside the family or his closest friends said or did matter at all, at least not in a personal way. And it worked.

  He was, as his mother said, content.

  Happy, he told himself, was overrated.

  Chapter Two

  “Can I ask you something?”

  Keller glanced up from the fence post he was settling in place. Lucas wasn’t looking at him but was staring at the board he was holding as if he was afraid it might escape.

  “I thought we settled you can always ask,” he said.

  “Yeah, but this isn’t about chores or the ranch or anything like that.”

  Keller went very still. Something in the kid’s voice told him this was…important. Meaningful. At least he thought that’s what his gut was telling him. “Ask,” he said.

  “After your dad was killed…did you ever want to run away?”

  Damn. Important? Only the most important thing of all.

  “I did. More than anything.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Because I learned there’s no running away from that kind of pain. It’s inside you, and you carry it with you.”

  Lucas looked up then. And Keller realized he’d probably been avoiding looking at him because his eyes were a bit too shiny, like he’d been fighting tears. He’d been there, too. Wanting to be the man of the family at seventeen, but sometimes unable to hold back the liquid pain.

  “When does it stop?” Lucas asked, his voice breaking in the middle of the sentence.

  Keller turned to face the boy head-on. “You want the truth, or a pretty lie?”

  “The truth.”

  “It doesn’t stop. Ever.” The pair of brown eyes widened, as if no one had ever bluntly told him this truth before. Or maybe he’d just never asked the question before. “What it does, Lucas, is change. It gets to where instead of hitting you like a truck every time you think about it, it’s more like an occasional sideswipe. It’ll still knock you on your ass, but it won’t happen as often or last as long.”

  For a moment the boy just stared at him. Then he lowered his gaze once more. And in a voice barely above a whisper, so low Keller wasn’t sure if he was supposed to have heard it, he said, “I’m not as tough as you.”

  “There is a big difference between what happened to you and to me,” he said quietly. “When I said I learned I couldn’t run away from it? I didn’t just pick that out of the air, somebody taught me. Somebody who was carrying the same pain.”

  “Your mom.”

  “Yes. I still had her. Brothers to look out for. And a place to be. You didn’t.”

  Lucas was silent for a long moment. Keller just waited. If there was anything helping raise his brothers, especially the youngest two who had been only nine and thirteen when Dad had been KIA, had taught him, it was patience.

  “It’s really forever, isn’t it?” the boy finally said, and in his voice was all the heartbreak Keller knew had to be still roiling around inside him. “They’re really gone forever.”

  “A very wise woman once told me you never really understand what the word forever means until you lose someone you love.”

  “Your mom again?”

  “Actually, no, that was from a teacher I had once. The inimitable and intimidating Mrs. Valencia.”

  His eyes widened, but in an entirely different way than before. “I’ve heard of her.”

  “I think every school kid in Last Stand has heard of her,” Keller said with a wry smile.

  “What’s in—inim—that word mean?”

  “It means there’s only one like her.” He was breathing a little easier with the change of subject. Who’d have ever thought that the terror of Creekbend High School would be a welcome topic?

  “They said she’s really hard.”

  “She’s also really good. I used to read ahead to try and stump her, but I never could.”

  Fence repaired, they were almost back to the ranch house when Lucas spoke again. Rather gruffly. “Thanks. For telling me the truth.”

  “Even though it sucks?”

  “Yeah. Better than people who said I’d feel better soon, or it must have happened for a reason, or some other bullsh—”

  He stopped, giving Keller the side-eye. Keller’s mouth quirked. “Yeah. That, too. Usually spouted by people who have no clue.”

  “That’s them,” Lucas agreed.

  “They mean well,” Keller said, remembering the days when he knew if he heard “He’s in a better place now” one more time he would have sent the person speaking to that so-called better place. “But I swear, sometimes I wished they’d just shut up and say nothing rather than that…crap.”

  And that got him the best smile of the day. He’d count that as a win.

  *

  It was a full table that Sunday night. As usual they all contributed to the meal on this day of rest for their mother. Even Chance, who had picked up dessert from Char-Pie in town. Keller was grilling the steaks, a matter of careful timing for everyone’s preferences, Rylan sautéing up his family favorite mix of peppers and potatoes, while Cody, just back from Dallas, explained to Lucas that he always did the garlic bread because he was the only one who got the amount of garlic just right.

  “The rest them are cowards,” he said with a grin at the boy. “They always stop short.”

  Lucas paused working on the salad he’d been assigned—and had accepted without complaint, Keller noted—and considered that for a moment. “Did you ever go too far?”

  Cody laughed. “I did. That’s how you learn, right?” Then he looked at Keller. “I like this kid. Let’s keep him.”

  Keller saw the boy’s cheeks flush and he suddenly was intently focused on chopping up that onion. But Keller didn’t think it was the onion that had caused his eyes to gleam with moisture once more.

  Let’s keep him.

  His earlier thought about permanency came back to him. Again. He’d gone into this thinking it would only be temporary, until they found him a permanent adoptive home. Even when Lark had warned him it was harder to place kids at his age, he’d figured somebody would want a basically problem-free kid, one who hadn’t ended up in the system because he was always in trouble or in a horrible family situation.

  No, Lucas had been beloved by his parents and as stable as a thirteen-year-old boy could be. Until his world had been ripped apart. Only then had he, understandably to Keller’s mind, acted out. And taken off from the group home they’d temporarily put him in.

  He’d stayed on the run for two months. Until the morning Keller had found him hiding behind the chicken coop, hungrily devouring a couple of raw eggs. Not the safest approach, but Keller had taken one look at the boy’s scrawny build and protruding ribs and figured desperation explained a lot.

  “What’s your name?” he’d asked.

  “Lucas.”

  “Lucas what?” Silence. “I wouldn’t make a habit of eating eggs raw. We’ve never had a problem here, but somebody else might not be as careful.” A shrug. So Keller had shrugged back. “Okay. Don’t say you weren’t warned if you end up in the hospital.” The boy had gone still. And Keller had taken a guess and added, “Which would likely mean you getting shipped right back to wherever you’re running away from.”

  The kid had moved at that. Quickly. Wiped his hands on filthy jeans and stood. Keller guessed he was maybe five feet tall, but he didn’t have to guess that he was a lot skinnier than he’d once been
, the rope knotted through his belt loops and still barely holding up the jeans told him that. Still, he was defiant.

  “Going to have me arrested?”

  That was when Keller had seen the look in the boy’s dark eyes. The same look he’d seen in his own so many times. Not just fear, but the look of someone whose foundation of life has been destroyed. And before he even thought about it, before he realized what he was going to say, the words had come out.

  “Only if you don’t come up to the house and have a real meal.”

  Lucas hadn’t believed him.

  “Suit yourself,” he’d said as if it didn’t matter. “But you’ll miss out on my mom’s enchiladas, and even leftover they’re amazing.” He heard the growl of the boy’s stomach from three feet away. He laughed, again going on instinct. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s shut that poor thing up.”

  He’d turned and headed for the house, not at all sure if the kid would follow, or take the chance and run.

  He’d followed. And everybody’s life had changed.

  He’d had to put it to a family vote, of course, before pursuing the crazy idea that had come to him. He knew how Mom would vote, and she did; she would never turn away a kid in need.

  “A man’s gotta do,” was all Chance had said. But then he wasn’t much on talk anyway.

  “Want to help save another one, huh?” Rylan had asked.

  “Another?”

  “Besides us,” he said, gesturing at his brothers.

  “That was Mom,” he’d protested.

  “Who couldn’t have done it if you hadn’t stepped up,” his mother put in.

  That left Cody, who had just grinned and said, “Meaning I wouldn’t be the kid around here anymore? I’m all for it.”

  And then Mom had suggested contacting Lark, and the ball had begun rolling. He’d never expected—

  “Lucas, do you want to do something for the date next week?”

  Keller snapped back to the present. He hadn’t been expecting that. And Mom had waited, Keller noted, until the boy had finished his dessert, the prime pecan pie Chance had brought home.

  The clang as the kid’s fork hit his plate echoed around the suddenly quiet table. His mother went on in that utterly calm voice that had soothed many a childhood upset.

  “We used to go out to the cemetery and say hello to the boys’ father every year,” she said. “If you want, we could head over to Kerrville and do the same for your folks.”

  Lucas stared at his plate as if the few remaining crumbs held the answer to every question ever asked. “What good would that do? They’re dead. They won’t know.”

  “But you would,” she said quietly.

  He looked up at her then. “You said you used to.”

  “Yes.” She smiled, and Keller thought there was no more loving smile in the world than his mother’s. She explained what he’d thought about earlier. “Now we go on his birthday. To celebrate that we had the great luck to have him at all.”

  “But we had to go a lot of times to let the pain out first,” Keller said.

  “Because it hurts so much,” an unusually serious Cody contributed.

  “More than any physical pain,” Rylan said.

  And then, to all their surprise, Chance chimed in, gruffly. “Bottle it up, it’ll poison you.”

  Lucas looked from one to the other, finally ending up back at Mom. He looked down again. And slowly, he nodded.

  “Then we’ll go.” She glanced around the table. “All of us. Next Saturday.”

  Uh-oh. Keller was sure his brothers hadn’t planned on that. But that was definitely the “Mom’s orders” voice, and he knew none of them would cross it. Whatever they’d had on their agenda for that day just got changed.

  He heard the sound of a vehicle outside. A couple of the hands had gone in to the saloon, to get in a last bit of Sunday celebration before Monday morning. They were back kind of early, though. They—

  The knock on the front door nearly made him jump. If it was one of the hands, they would have come to the back door. But there had been no sound of the vehicle continuing around to the bunkhouse.

  He stood up and headed out through the living room to the front door. The door was solid oak, installed by his father on the rotation home that had resulted in Cody. Although Keller hadn’t put that together until much later, since he’d only been seven at the time. He reached out and touched the door with his fingertips, as he always did before pulling it open.

  He stood there, stock-still and staring. The first thing he registered was how small the woman was, about Mom’s height. But that was blasted out of his mind when he looked at her eyes, which were a color too amazing to be called simply gold. They looked like a glowing piece of amber he’d seen once. The next thing was her hair. Long, falling in waves, but oddly a very pale, almost white blond tipped with maybe half a foot of dark, almost black ends. His brow furrowed; wasn’t it usually the other way around? Dark roots as bleached blond grew out? Must be one of those trendy city things. Whatever it was, he didn’t care for it.

  The rest hit him in a rush. The delicate features, upturned nose, and nicely, temptingly full—whoa—mouth.

  She was also dressed in designer jeans that hugged every lovely curve, what looked like a very expensive silky top, and a pair of shiny boots that had never even seen a horse, let alone horse manure. But next to the boots was a backpack she’d set on the porch, one that looked as if it had seen much better days.

  He lifted his gaze back to the bicolored hair. He couldn’t seem to stop himself and drawled, “Honey, I think you took a seriously wrong turn. You’re in Texas Hill Country, not New York City.”

  She stiffened. And her chin came up. “I know exactly where I am. And don’t call me honey unless you mean it.”

  He blinked. For a moment he forgot to answer, because her voice, low and silky smooth—just a bit too silky—caused a very strange sensation somewhere in his midsection.

  “Who,” he belatedly asked, “are you?”

  “I’m Sydney Brock. I’m here for Lucas.”

  Chapter Three

  Why was the man just staring at her? Sydney made herself hold his gaze; she’d stared down tougher men than this. Maybe. If there were any. Damn, he was big. Tall. Broad. Solid. The archetypal male, wide-shouldered and narrow-hipped. And wearing jeans and a snug T-shirt that only emphasized it.

  Damned cowboys. Why did they have to be so…so…much?

  “This is the Rafferty place, isn’t it?” she finally said. “The guy at the feed store, Mr. Diaz, gave the ride share driver directions. And,” she added pointedly, since she didn’t like the way this man was looking at her so suspiciously, “verified that you have Lucas here.”

  “Son?”

  It was a woman’s voice, from back inside the house. “It’s okay, Mom,” the big man said. “It’ll just be a minute.”

  Mom? Her tension eased a little. How bad could he be if his mother still lived with him? Or maybe it was the other way around. She’d read some brochures and done some research on her way here, and realized that many ranches were still family operations, just as she’d often seen in her travels. And he was allowed to call her Mom. Which signaled a normal kind of family. Unlike her own.

  She found that oddly comforting even as she felt the old, familiar ache of longing. And perhaps stupidly, she found the presence of the porch swing a few feet away also comforting.

  Then he stepped outside. And closed the door behind him. Her pulse kicked up a notch.

  “So much for all this Southern hospitality I kept hearing about,” she muttered.

  “You ran smack into a wall of protect the family,” he said, still in that drawl that should have sounded stereotypical but instead sounded…perfect. And wall? Oh, yeah. That fit. He was solid as a wall.

  It took her a moment to recover. “Protect? From me? I don’t even know your family.”

  “Apparently you know one of them.”

  The drawl had vanished, and th
e entire tenor of the thing shifted. Because his voice had gone hard, uncompromising. You know one of them. He meant Lucas. He had to mean Lucas.

  Protect the family.

  And he considered Lucas one of that family. And was reacting accordingly, like a guardian wolf or something.

  She had no words for the feeling that hit her then. One of relief, gratitude, and wonder that of all the places Lucas could have landed, he’d ended up here, with someone who would stand up for him. In that way, he’d already had more than she’d ever had.

  She took a deep breath. “I think we maybe got off on the wrong foot here,” she said.

  “I’m not sure there’s a right foot here,” he retorted.

  He was still staring at her. She’d never seen eyes quite that shade of green before, somewhere between a spring meadow and an emerald. And how unfair was it that he had the thickest, longest eyelashes ever, when she had to resort to half a tube of mascara to get that effect?

  “What are you after?” he asked bluntly.

  “Do we have to do this out here on the porch?”

  He nodded toward the swing. “Take a load off, if you’re tired.”

  She sighed. She’d had this all worked out in her head, how it would go. She’d introduce herself to Lucas’s foster family, and they’d be glad about it, Lucas would be delighted, and everybody would live happily ever after.

  This was not going anything like she’d pictured. But then, why would it when she had no experience at all with the kind of family she had imagined building with a boy she’d never even met?

  It had been a long trip, she actually was tired, and she needed a moment to think. So she did as he had—no doubt not seriously—suggested and walked over to the porch swing and sat. He followed, not sitting but turning to face her, leaning against the porch railing.

  With that luscious backside. Damn cowboys for that, too; they did things for a pair of jeans no one else in the world did.