Nothing But Cowboy Page 5

  She blinked. “The last stand? You mean there was actual fighting here?”

  “You thought we picked that name out of the air? You need to take a walk downtown, by the statue at the library, and stop by the saloon.”

  “I don’t drink much.”

  “Slater Highwater won’t mind. He likes giving newcomers the history. And it was where the fight was.”

  She blinked again. “Is he related to…the police chief?”

  “His brother.”

  “And he works…in a saloon?”

  “He calls it a historical monument.” Then he shifted the conversation. “Will you show up tomorrow? Work this out?”

  “I don’t know. It sounds pretty one-sided to me.”

  Frank shook his head. “Lark will have the boy’s best interests at heart, and she’s not afraid to stand up to Keller if she thinks those best interests lie with you.”

  “And the chief?”

  Frank smiled. “There’s one thing you can say about Shane Highwater, whatever the situation. He’ll do what he thinks is right, even if it ticks some people off.”

  “Including his friend Keller?”

  “Even him. So, are you coming, or should I call it off and tell them you refused?”

  She had to try, didn’t she? She eyed the older man warily. “Will you be there? Since you started this?”

  He shrugged. “I could be. Feel like you’ll need a referee?”

  “I feel like I need someone with an interest in keeping things calm,” she said dryly.

  To her surprise he laughed. “Good point. Don’t want anybody busting up the furniture.”

  “Why did you do this?” she asked, genuinely curious.

  “It’s the nature of a Texan to fix problems.”

  “And a Texas Ranger?”

  He didn’t even blink. “Exactly.”

  She let out a long breath. “All right. I’ll be here.”

  He nodded, and she had the feeling if he’d been wearing his hat—baseball or cowboy—he probably would have tipped it to her. She watched him go, and stood there pondering for a moment. Then decided to do exactly as he’d suggested. It was time to see what kind of place this Last Stand was.

  *

  “I’m afraid not. He’s in class right now.”

  Sydney nodded in understanding. “I don’t expect you to release him to me, I just want to speak with him.”

  “I’m sorry, that won’t be possible.” The woman didn’t look sorry in the slightest. Sydney sighed; it had been an impulse to come by the school hoping to at least see Lucas, but apparently it had been a useless one.

  “What if you stayed with us?” she suggested.

  “Ms. Brock,” said the older woman, who reminded Sydney of a teacher she’d had in Switzerland, stern and as unmovable as the mountains above them, “I’ll be honest. We were warned you might turn up here, and told not to let you see Lucas. We will do as asked unless the situation changes.”

  Warned? Warned, as if she were some nefarious felon or something? Maybe with evil intent toward the boy she only wanted to help, to give what he thought he no longer had—family?

  “Mr. Rafferty called you?”

  “Yes. And as he has legal custody of Lucas, he has the final word.”

  She grimaced. “I’m surprised he didn’t have his buddy the chief call.”

  “Chief Highwater?” The woman said the name with the greatest of respect. “Yes, they are friends. But neither of them is the type of man to cash in on that friendship. The chief would not step outside the bounds, and Keller Rafferty would never ask him to.”

  Well, consider me…schooled.

  She knew she was being watched as she gave up the perhaps not well thought out effort. She truly wasn’t doing well at this entire thing. Her mother would have told her this was the universe’s way of steering her off a wrong path. Her father would have told her this was the universe’s way of testing just how badly she wanted her goal. And that was the story of her life, two opposing forces. The only thing they truly agreed on was that staying too long in one place wasn’t for them.

  She walked on. She was beginning to realize she’d reacted to this discovery she had extended family out of pure emotion. Unlike her approach to her business, which was methodical planning, although leavened with gut instincts and the occasional whim, on this very personal thing she’d just…reacted. The closest thing she had to a real, solid plan was to do whatever it took.

  She looked at the tidy, pleasant school grounds as she walked. She’d never been to this kind of school, where children came, spent the day in classes, then went home in the afternoon. No, the second thing her parents did in any new place, after finding a roof for themselves, was to find a school and a local family that would take her in, short term. She hadn’t understood until the blowup that had ended what relationship they had that they resented her, and what they had to pay for her care, which limited their traveling. Which also explained those times when she’d not gone to school at all, so that they could indulge in the urge to see someplace that didn’t have such amenities.

  She walked back toward the main street of town. Decided to detour through the expansive park that took up an entire block. It was a pleasant, shady place, and at the moment there were only a few people there—an older couple sitting on a bench, and a couple under one of the spreading pecan trees with a small picnic basket.

  She spotted a tall statue of a man up ahead, in front of the building with the sign declaring it the Last Stand Public Library. The two-story stone building was impressive, and she studied the details as she walked.

  She reached the statue, glanced at the plaque below the figure, declaring him Asa Fuhrmann, hero of the actual last stand the town was named for. But then she was diverted when her gaze snagged on the spot where a chunk of the pedestal was missing, the jagged edges looking scorched. There was a smaller plaque commemorating an accident that had happened here. According to the brief legend, the statue was credited with stopping an out-of-control vehicle that could have killed dozens. As it was, two lives had been lost. And, the final line said, it would have been three if not for the heroic actions of…Police Chief Shane Highwater.

  Doesn’t that just figure? He’s not just Keller Rafferty’s friend, he’s a freaking hero.

  And now she was going to have to face not only that man, but also the man who’d taken in Lucas and given him a home. She was very glad Frank Buckley had agreed to stick around. She had the feeling she might need a mediator against what was probably going to be a united front.

  She looked around. Spotted a sign another block down that said Java Time, and thought a good, strong jolt of caffeine might be a wise idea before this meeting. Negotiating session. Peace conference. Whatever it was going to be.

  She went for a shot of espresso added, because she had the feeling anything with her on one side and both Keller Rafferty and Chief Shane Highwater on the other was going to be a bit lopsided.

  Chapter Eight

  Sydney took the fact that the driver of one of the few taxis in town happened to be in the coffee shop while she was, and she was able to engage her for a ride back to the B&B, as a good sign.

  The woman was a one-person chamber of commerce, extolling the virtues of Last Stand the entire trip. Figuring knowledge was a weapon Sydney asked her a few questions, and ended up with a gushing appraisal of both the men she was on her way to see. All three, actually, because the driver had some admiring words for Frank Buckley as well.

  She found that man out on the deck near the edge of Hickory Creek. From here she could see across to the other side, past the rocky edge of the stream to a board fence a few yards beyond. That was where the man had been looking, but now he glanced at the cup she held.

  “Fueling up?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she admitted. “I get the feeling I’ll need it.”

  “Neutral ground,” he reminded her.

  She remembered the cab driver. “I’m not sure anyplace in
this town is neutral ground if you’re going up against a Rafferty and a Highwater.”

  To his credit, the man didn’t try to deny it. He gave her a wide smile. “They do have a high standing in these parts. And they have about four backbones between ’em. But they’re also honest as the day is long, and always give others a fair break.”

  She gathered the extra backbones were a measurement of strength. Or maybe bravery. She’d believe either, actually, after meeting Rafferty and seeing what she’d seen about the chief. “Does that mean they’ll believe me?”

  “It means they’ll listen to you,” Buckley said.

  “Do you believe me?”

  He studied her for a moment. “My gut says yes, but I also know that Keller will need more than that. He cares about that boy, and he’ll do what needs to be done to protect him.”

  “When he gets here—”

  “He’s here now,” Buckley interrupted, gesturing back toward the creek.

  Brow furrowing, she looked. Saw nothing different. Then realized there was something, a horse and rider, approaching on the other side of the fence she’d noticed before. The horse gleamed in the sun, dark, but with an odd, almost blue cast to his coat. His rider wore a green shirt, jeans, and what looked like a straw cowboy hat. And sat the horse as if he were born to it.

  As Keller Rafferty probably had been.

  Even as she looked, the man put his heels to the horse and headed for the fence at a run.

  She blinked. “He’s not going to—”

  Before she could finish the question, it was happening. The horse visibly gathered itself and launched, and the pair sailed over the fence, which had to be over four feet high, with apparent ease. The animal showed no hesitation either at splashing into the water, and in mere moments they were across the creek and headed toward them.

  She swallowed. “Wow.”

  “That boy was born to ride. He’d have made it big in rodeo, if he hadn’t decided holding his family together after his father was killed was more important.”

  She tried to imagine Keller Rafferty as some rodeo cowboy, riding in to cheers and applause. It was all too easy.

  Sydney had never been a coward, a runner, but she suddenly felt the urge. Almost wished she’d never started this. But the memory of how she’d felt when she’d learned too late that she had had an aunt and uncle, and that they had a child she’d never known about, that she had been lied to her entire life about all of it, flooded back to prop her up.

  She watched, still feeling a little numb, as the horse and rider came toward them, stopping in a small grassy patch between the deck where they stood and the stream. He dismounted in one fluid, lithe motion that had her fascinated, just by the way he moved. Not to mention the way he was put together. She gave herself an inward shake. She needed all her wits about her for this, and losing them in contemplation of an admittedly very attractive man was not going to help.

  He slid the reins he’d been holding over the horse’s head and let them drop on the ground. Then he turned and started walking toward the steps up to the deck.

  Sydney’s brow furrowed. “Doesn’t he need to…tie up the horse?”

  Buckley chuckled. “That’s called ground tying. He won’t wander with those reins on the ground. Not a Rafferty-trained horse.”

  And then he was there, having taken the half-dozen steps in two strides. He walked toward them, and she found herself inanely wondering if all cowboys had that distance-eating way of walking. When he got close enough, she was struck by how vividly green his eyes seemed today, maybe because of the green shirt. Did he know that it turned his eyes into something you could drown in? Had he worn it as a distraction, knowing any breathing woman would look at those deep green eyes and—

  Do not start again.

  “Ms.…Brock,” he said, the pause intentional, she was certain, but at odds with the removal of his hat at the same time. He held it against him, crown out, as if it were habit. Perhaps it really was deeply ingrained, that habitual politeness to a lady she’d read about.

  “Mr. Rafferty,” she said formally, trying not to notice how he ran his fingers through his thick, dark hair.

  His voice changed entirely, taking on a note of respectfulness as he nodded at Mr. Buckley. “Frank.”

  “Keller,” the man acknowledged with a nod in turn. “The others are on their way.”

  “Good,” he said shortly. “You have coffee on?”

  “The big pot’s in the lobby,” Frank said with a half grin.

  Even though she’d noticed that the place had a coffee station in the lobby, she hadn’t thought of that when she’d bought her own. She had been, she admitted, more than a little distracted by how everything had gone sideways on her.

  When they got to the room Sydney guessed served as a private dining room, she was so restless—okay, nervous—she felt like pacing. But Keller Rafferty was in the way, standing beside the table. He’d set his hat down not on the table but on an adjacent chair, she noticed.

  Did he have to be so darn tall? She wasn’t used to feeling small, because she wasn’t next to the average male in many parts of the world. But next to this man she felt tiny.

  “You going to sit down?” she finally asked.

  “Not until you do, Sydney,” Frank explained.

  She blinked. Nearly gaped. He was here for a confrontation with her, but he was observing some code of…what, gentlemanly behavior?

  Before she could tangle herself too deeply in that thought, she heard the door to the room open and turned. A petite, pretty blonde woman came in, followed by a tall, powerful-looking man who was maybe even a bit taller than Keller. So maybe it was just Texas men. He was holding a straw cowboy hat the same way Keller had been, at least until he hung it on the rack just inside the door. She saw the glint of a gold wedding ring on his left hand as he did it, and wondered what kind of woman it would take to live with a man like this in the job he had.

  When he looked at her, Sydney had the distinct feeling she was being quickly and no doubt accurately assessed, because she had no doubt about who he was. The man looked every inch the hero he obviously was. She drew herself up, even though she was a bit shaky inwardly. She thought something shifted in his gaze, as if he’d somehow seen the effort she’d made.

  Frank made a quick introduction of her to Lark Leclair and Chief Shane Highwater. She realized then that she’d seen the woman before, when she’d arrived here at the Hickory Creek Inn. She’d been talking to the handyman, the man with the incredible voice she’d first heard as he’d sung while laying some fresh gravel in the parking area. And now she saw that the woman was carrying a stylish but practical leather bag that was very familiar.

  After they were all seated at the table, Frank told them he would be staying at her request, as a neutral party, unless someone had an objection. No one did, in fact they all smiled. Such was the respect the man obviously had around here. And she thought she understood; he hadn’t had to get involved in this, but he had anyway.

  To her surprise, however, it was the other woman who began it. “Frank told me the bare bones when he called,” she said, her voice a quiet, gentle, soothing thing. “Would you like to flesh it out for me?”

  This, at least, she was prepared for. She’d even sat down last night and written out what she needed to say. She’d spent a long time trying to guess at what they would ask. She hoped it would come out at least semicoherently.

  She drew in a deep breath, meeting the woman’s pretty, light green eyes, an entirely different shade than Keller’s dark green. She could talk to her, she thought. More easily than she could talk to the imposing man sitting beside her. And certainly more easily than she could talk to Keller Rafferty.

  “I’ve only found all this out recently, so it may be a little jumbled up,” she began. “I was told all my life—as, apparently, was Lucas—that I had no other family besides my parents. That any family was long dead. I grew up believing this.” She had to suck in a deep breath
before she could go on. “Then I saw my parents, and happened to overhear them discussing a news article they’d found online. About a fatal car accident near Kerrville, Texas. And what they were saying made no sense to me. I confronted them, and it all came out. That they had lied. I’d had—up until this accident in the news—an aunt and uncle.”

  She suppressed a shudder. To her surprise, Lark reached out and put a hand over hers on the table, as if to offer comfort. And she managed to go on.

  “When I forced the issue further, they admitted my uncle had been alive all this time. But that he and my father were estranged and had been since before I was born.”

  She risked a glance at Keller. He was staring at her, brow furrowed, as if he were having trouble believing. Was it her he doubted, or the story? She thought again of Frank’s words about him holding his family together after his father was killed. As apparently Chief Highwater had done as well. Perhaps they simply couldn’t conceive of that kind of self-centeredness. She felt wistful wondering what that must be like, to be part of a family unit like that.

  “So you didn’t know they even existed?” Lark asked. “Including Lucas?”

  She looked back at the blonde woman and nodded. “I only found out because that’s what I first overheard. They were speculating what would happen to the kid now. And…” She had to steady herself. “And hoping they couldn’t be forced to take him because he was technically their nephew.”

  She heard a smothered oath from Keller. The chief had gone rigidly still. Only Lark gave her a look of sad understanding, and Sydney guessed she had probably seen worse in her days with CPS.

  “That was right before they said—” She cut herself off. She couldn’t say it. She didn’t even like remembering it.

  “Said what?” Lark asked.

  “It’s not relevant to this,” she said. “The point is, until that moment I didn’t know my aunt and uncle had even existed, let alone Lucas.”