Cowboy's Pride (Welcome to Covendale Book 1) (3 page)

“Oh, you’re right. I think I remember.” She stared at the photo, at Tommy’s snarling face. She’d never seen anyone look so angry. Her mind worked at the faint memory of an argument in the background. Harsh male voices, the impatient snorts of horses. And hadn’t she looked over, like anyone would?

She had. There’d been three men, one wearing a Fair staff shirt, confronting a black-clad cowboy leading two horses. She couldn’t make out any of their faces, but she’d seen one of them shake a fist at the cowboy. He’d batted it away, sending what looked like a bunch of cash flying. Seemed they were making him an offer he had no problem refusing. She remembered thinking he was probably from out of town—the locals around here preferred to deal with their own, and didn’t exactly play fair with outsiders. It wasn’t a practice she condoned.

“Well, this one’s out.” She put the picture of angry Tommy aside. Next was the two of them again, both actually looking at the camera and smiling. Tommy’s expression was still a little strained, but it was hard to notice without the context of the previous picture. “How about this?” she said, handing the photo to her mom.

When she got a look at picture beneath it, her heart stopped. Marnie’s camera had caught the money-flinging cowboy looking their way—and even from a distance, his face was familiar. Not to mention ten times more furious than Tommy could ever get.

“Cam,” she whispered. It shouldn’t have surprised her that Cam and his explosive temper had caused a shouting match, but the clear bad blood between him and Tommy was unexpected. She’d thought they were friends. They had been in high school, anyway.

“Cam Thatcher?” Her mother scooted in for a peek at the photo. “Will you look at that. You were head-over-heels in love with him for quite a while, weren’t you?”

“Something like that,” she said flatly.

“I haven’t seen him in years. His mother either, come to think of it. Not since the funeral.” A troubled expression flashed across Marnie’s face. “Well, Amanda Thatcher never was big on coming into town. I suppose she’s still holed up at the ranch.”

“Yeah,” Sydney muttered. “Uh, Mom…I think I’m going to lie down for a while. I’m pretty tired, and it’s going to be a long night.”

“Oh, honey.” Marnie hugged her. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk?”

“Maybe later. Besides, if I don’t call Luka soon, she’ll send out a search party.” She smiled and stood, carefully avoiding another look at the picture. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Any time.”

With a parting wave, Sydney headed upstairs. After six years of avoiding even the thought of a certain caustic cowboy, this much Cam in one day was overkill. Things would look better after a nap.

They had to—because she wasn’t going to let him bring her down again.

* * * *

The sound of an approaching car grated on Cam’s last nerve. He’d gotten used to people leaving him alone out here, which made two visitors in one day practically a circus. If it was Sydney Davis again, maybe he’d tell her where she could shove the damned carriage—which he should’ve done in the first place.

When he stormed around to the front of the house and recognized the car, he almost wished it was Sydney. At least he only hated her.

He waited until two men climbed out of the sleek gray sedan. “The answer’s still no, Lowell,” he called. “And you’re still trespassing.”

“Oh, I didn’t come with a new offer.” Boyd Lowell, the biggest snake of a real estate developer in three counties, started toward him with his boy Tommy right behind. Cam’s hands clenched into fists. It took all his restraint not to swing at the smug little bastard, especially after Sydney’s revelation. “Just the old one,” Boyd went on. “Thought I’d give you one last chance to turn a profit. You know, what with the foreclosure and all.”

Cam let out a bitter laugh. “Can’t you come up with a better lie than that?”

“Why bother, when the truth is so much easier?” Boyd grinned, flashing white teeth and good-ol’-boy condescension as the sound of yet another engine swelled from the drive. “I do believe your mail’s here, Thatcher. Might be you have to sign for something.”

Eyes narrowed, Cam watched as an ancient blue Bel Air with a yellow bubble light and a U.S. MAIL placard on the side lurched its way up behind Lowell’s sedan and stopped. The mailbox for the ranch was mounted at the gates, so the carrier never had occasion to come down to the house. Unless there really was a certified letter.

The car’s heavy door swung open, and a compact and unsmiling old woman clambered out. Enola Frasier had been delivering the mail in Covendale five days a week since sometime around the dawn of humanity. She’d outlasted five postmaster generals, dozens of weekend and fill-in carriers, and three Bel Airs—her vehicle of choice. The fourth one showed signs of checking out before Enola, too.

Eventually she extracted a clipboard and an envelope plastered with green stickers. She paid no attention to the Lowells and headed straight for Cam, holding the envelope out like a sword—or a disease. She barely looked up from her clipboard. “Need your autograph for this one, young Thatcher,” she said. “It’s from the bank, in case you’re wondering.”

“I wasn’t.” Cam made no move to touch the thing. “What happens if I don’t sign?”

At that, Enola raised a stern postal-official glare. “Well, I suppose I’ll take it right back with me,” she said. “But in all my years, I’ve only had one person refuse to sign for a certified letter. That was old Ned Harding, back in ’81.” She leaned a bit closer. “Let me tell you, it didn’t end well for him.”

“Why? Did the post office police come after him?”

“Process servers,” Enola said in ominous tones, glancing around like there might be some hiding in the bushes. “They’re a nasty bunch. Not at all official. Why, they’ve never even taken the civil service test.”

Despite being mad enough to spit fire, Cam almost laughed. No one could accuse Enola of not taking her job seriously. “All right,” he said. “I’ll sign.”

“Good choice. Here, and here.”

He scrawled his name in the two places she pointed out, and waited while she tore the stiff green card off the envelope. This time he took it when she held it out. “Have a nice day, young Thatcher,” she said, and turned back to her car.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Real nice.”

The letter felt heavy in his hands, and he didn’t want to open it. He knew with dull certainty that Boyd must’ve struck a deal with his buddies at the bank—the same people who’d grudgingly worked out a payment plan with Cam eight months ago, to pay off the back property taxes he owed. It hadn’t been easy with the ranch floundering, but he’d made every single payment on time.

And this grinning son of a bitch had somehow negated all that work, because some rich client of his wanted to turn the Leaning T into a golf course.

Boyd nodded sharply. “Aren’t you going to read your mail, boy?”

“Get out of here,” he growled, shoving the letter in a back pocket. “This is my property.”

“Not for long.”

The soft, mocking statement came from Tommy. Cam whirled on him and flashed a cold smile. “Don’t you have a wedding to plan for?”

The shock on Tommy’s face almost made up for the pain it cost him to say that. “That’s not your business, farm boy,” he said. “I don’t know what you heard, but you’d better mind your own. You got that?”

Cam took a step forward, and laughed when Tommy flinched back. “What’s wrong, Tommy?” he said. “Afraid you’re going to have another accident? Wouldn’t want your pretty face messed up for your own wedding.”

“That’s enough,” Boyd said darkly. “Thatcher, my offer stands until Monday. You can take it and clear out with a profit, or you can end up with nothing and get cleared out anyway.” He jerked his head toward the car, and Tommy went without a word. “You know where to find me. Don’t be stupid, boy—I’m your only choice.”

Cam stood his ground while Boyd stalked to the sedan and drove away, spinning up clouds of dust to punctuate the exit. When the Lowell brigade was gone, he yanked the damned envelope out and tore it open.

Two things jumped out at him. Foreclosure Notice…and $14,712. That impossibly huge figure was what it’d take to keep the ranch—and he had five days to come up with it. Until the end of business on Monday. Might as well demand that he swim across the Atlantic Ocean and be back in time for supper.

He crumpled the letter and threw it across the yard, wishing it was Tommy Lowell’s cowardly neck. Maybe he couldn’t win. But one way or another, they weren’t taking him without a fight.

He just wished he knew who to swing at first.

Chapter 3

Before tonight, Sydney had been to the Covendale Speedway exactly once in her life. Her parents had dragged her to a country music festival that she’d actually ended up enjoying. The place had been packed then, with full parking lots and rows of cars lining the fields beyond the racetrack, huge crowds of people, and vendors everywhere hawking food, beer, t-shirts, and random toys and novelties.

This time the crowds were smaller, but somehow more boisterous. She’d insisted on driving herself and meeting Tommy here, in case she hated it and needed to make an excuse to leave. Now she wondered if she’d even be able to find him.

She spent a few minutes scanning the vast parking lot under the last light of the sun. There were plenty of tailgate parties going, and the scents of cooking burgers and chicken mingled with the prevailing overall atmosphere of beer. Music blared from more than one radio through open windows. A few people wandered around selling Jell-o shots in Dixie cups. She recognized several faces, but none of them belonged to Tommy or Luka.

Just as she was deciding whether to head for the main gate and hope one of them randomly walked by, someone shouted her name. She followed the sound and spotted Luka waving wildly from the front of the row, where she stood with a guy in a blue jumpsuit and a helmet under one arm that had to be her cousin. Relieved, she waved back and headed that way.

“Syd, my love.” Luka bear-hugged her when she reached them. “You remember my little cousin Chad, right?”

Sydney looked at the younger, extremely built man next to Luka, who had a good four inches on both of them. “Oh my God,” she said. “You were like twelve years old last time I saw you. What happened?”

“I got bigger.” Chad grinned at her. “Hey, Sydney. You look great.”

“Thanks. You, too.”

“It’s his first race,” Luka said, and nudged him. “Means he’s going to win. Beginner’s luck, you know.”

Chad coughed. “Yeah, I’m not so sure about that,” he said. “I’ll be happy with top five. Ellis thinks I won’t even make that, but—”

“Foster!” someone shouted, and Chad flinched. Sydney glanced over to see a bear of a man with shaggy brown hair and an eye patch, standing across the drive and glaring their way. “Move your ass,” the man growled. “That car isn’t going to check itself.”

“And that’d be Ellis. Gotta run, ladies.” He winked, then turned and trotted off toward the bear.

“Good luck!” Luka called after him.

Sydney raised an eyebrow. “You going to let that guy talk to your cousin like that?”

“Ellis is hard on everybody. It’s part of his charm.” Luka threw an arm around her and sighed. “Speaking of cranky men,” she said. “I hear somebody had a run-in with the town hermit today.”

Sydney groaned. “How did you know?”

“I’m psychic.”

“Seriously, Luka.”

“Fine. Make me reveal all my secrets.” She rolled her eyes dramatically, but then she smiled. “Gramps was sitting out at Kenny’s garage with the other old-timers when you drove by and turned onto Old Hickory. There’s only one place down that road.”

“Maybe I was just going for a drive.”

“Uh-huh,” Luka said slowly. “They were still there when you drove back. Gramps said you looked like somebody ran you through a wringer and hung you out to dry.”

She bit her lip. This was not helping her forget—and if the regulars at Kenny’s had seen her, sooner or later the whole town would know she’d been there. Probably sooner. “Okay,” she finally said. “So I went out to the ranch. I wanted the carriage for the wedding.”

“And you saw him.”

“Unfortunately.”

“You might have mentioned. You know I’d have gone with you.”

Reproach laced her voice, and Sydney felt instant guilt. Luka had been her best friend since the first grade. They’d always had each other’s backs—in fact, Luka had landed herself three days’ detention with her outburst at the prom incident. She knew better than anyone how much Cam had really hurt her.

“I’m sorry,” she finally said. “I should’ve told you.” Her voice shook, and she realized with a start that she was crying a little. She swiped furiously at the tears. She was so done crying over him. “He did it again,” she said. “Laughed at me, when I asked about the carriage.”

“That son of a bitch,” Luka seethed. “I swear to God, I’m gonna break his balls.”

She managed a smile. “I’m not sure he has any.”

“Have you looked?”

“No!” The question shocked a laugh out of her, and she took a deep, calming breath. “The carriage is ruined,” she said. “He showed it to me.”

“Honestly, I’m not surprised.” Luka’s mouth flattened. “I mean, Mr. Thatcher used to do holiday rides in the park, and all the parades, plus the county fair. But I don’t think that carriage has been off the ranch since…well, you know.”

“Yeah. But here’s the weird thing.” Sydney frowned, remembering the blaze in Cam’s eyes when he made the deal—and she accepted it. “He said he’d fix it up and let me use it for free. If I promised never to go out to his place again.”

“And you believed him?”

She paused for a long moment. “I guess I do.”

“Well, now I know for sure that getting married scrambles your brains.” Luka smirked and shook her head. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Syd.”

“Not really.”

“There’s a surprise.”

Sydney laughed, but it didn’t ease the dread forming in the pit of her stomach. She really didn’t know what she was doing. Not just with Cam, but with her life in general. She was moving to New York—a different place, but also a whole new world from here—with a man she was only pretty sure she loved. And if she was making a huge mistake…well, it was a little too late to back out now.