How to Wrangle a Cowboy (9 page)

She blinked, squeezed her eyes shut, and took a deep, shuddering breath. Shane could feel steel walls going up around his heart, could hear doors clanging shut, bolts being thrown, all in a protective panic.

Don’t cry. Please don’t cry. If you cry, I might touch you. If I touch you, I might like it.

I know I’ll like it. I remember…

He made a pointless perusal of the darkening distance while he waited for her to collect herself. She sniffed a couple times, blinked hard, and looked up at the sky.

What to say. What to do. How to act.

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Moon’s pretty tonight.”

She nodded and flushed, looking away, and he wondered if she was remembering another night. Another time they’d met, under that same benevolent moon, a night when he’d been so undone by the sight of her tears that he’d made the biggest mistake of his life.

No, it had been more than tears that night. It took more than that to make him go after another man’s woman, even if the man in question was as obnoxious as Rodger with a
D
.

It had been sorrow. Misery. Complete and utter despair.

Apparently, she’d escaped her misguided marriage. There was no ring on her finger. But she couldn’t have been free for long, because surely she’d have come back. Not for him—despite the electric shimmer he’d felt in her kiss, she’d been genuinely outraged by his clumsy overtures, and furious with herself for responding. He’d regretted his part in that disaster through a thousand sleepless nights.

But why didn’t she come back for Bud? Had Shane’s clumsy advances been the reason she lost the chance to reconcile with her granddad?

He ought to make it up to her somehow. Maybe this was a second chance, or maybe it was just one of those mockeries life sent his way now and then, to remind him of his many flaws.

“It’s been a long time.” Her voice was soft, but she might as well have shouted. Either way, she broke his reverie and slammed him back into the present.

A long time since what? Since I kissed you? Since I touched you? Since I drove you away?

“Sure has.” He scraped a toe across the worn boards of the porch, drawing a perfectly straight line between them, but it didn’t help. He’d thought of her so often. Wondered about her. He had to ask.

“Are you okay? Your husband, is he—”

She answered too quickly, as if she wanted to spit the news out and be done with it. “We divorced,” she said. “But I’m fine. Really. Just fine.”

“Good.”

She looked right, then left, as if desperate for escape, and took a tentative step backward.

“I’d better go.”

She was right. If she didn’t go, he was going to close the distance between them and see if she still tasted like coffee and sugar, if her skin was still smooth as suede. If she’d still shiver when he touched her. If her kiss still held that same electricity.

Opening the screen door, she paused, putting a finger to her lips and looking up at him so sweetly he wanted to take her in his arms right then, right there, and damn the consequences.

“I almost forgot,” she said.

“I didn’t,” he answered without thinking. “I never forgot.”

“I almost forgot about the
kitten
,” she said.

Hell. He’d blown it again. She’d probably forgotten all about that night behind the barn, which meant he’d given away far more than he’d intended.

“Her name is Haycat, and she belongs to Cody now,” she continued.

“What?” The shift in subject matter was so complete, he couldn’t make sense of her words.

She spoke slowly, as if he were a child, but with a little lilt that told him she was enjoying his confusion. “I gave the kitten to Cody. He looked like he needed a friend.”

She stepped inside, and he followed to tell her that he didn’t like cats, didn’t want a cat, and she couldn’t just give his son pets without asking him first. To tell her that his son was fine, and had all the friends he needed. But she trotted up the steps before he could speak, and Cody met him at the door, grinning as he held up a kitten for his father’s inspection.

The critter was all bones and looked like it needed a friend a lot more than Cody did. But there was a brightness to Cody’s smile Shane hadn’t seen before.

“Look, Dad,” he said. “Miss Ward gave me a kitten. She said it’s from Uncle Bud, but I think it was her idea.”

Shane smothered a groan. “I think it was too. You be sure and thank her, okay?”

“Okay.”

Great. So now he had a damn cat.

Lindsey Ward was already turning everything upside down.

Chapter 11

On Monday morning, Lindsey accompanied her grandmother to the offices of Alvarez & Daughter.

She hadn’t been to Wynott in five years, but the town hadn’t changed much. Located at a Y where two narrow state highways met, it was a jumble of antiquated buildings, some of which were boarded up and tumbling down, while others were neatly maintained with petunias blooming in hanging pots on gingerbread-laced porches. There were a few businesses, including the lawyer’s office, the Red Dawg bar, a hardware store, and Phoenix House, the home for foster children that had once housed Shane Lockhart and his brothers; fortunately, it was now under the new and infinitely better management of Ridge’s wife, Sierra. There was also a sculptor’s studio guarded by metal monstrosities welded from rusted farm implements, and an off-brand mini-mart that catered mostly to tourists and truckers.

Despite the early hour, the streets were lined with parked pickups and ancient sedans, the practical cars of country folk. A steady stream of old cowboys, young ranch hands, and grizzled ranchers entered the lawyer’s office through an anteroom, where they were welcomed by the daughter noted in the firm’s name. John Alvarez had passed most of his practice to his daughter, Adriana, but having known Bud for decades, he’d wanted to perform this last service for his old friend.

The office had been transformed into a sort of theater for the occasion. Folding chairs sat in neat rows facing an imposing wooden desk, where the lawyer sat in dignified silence. Behind him was a wall of books, most bound in leather, all dusty from disuse.

Lindsey chose a seat at the back of the office for herself and Grace. If Lockhart turned out to be the big beneficiary of her grandfather’s will, she wanted to be able to watch his reaction. She wanted to watch the stranger too, the one who looked like Bud. He was bound to show up, and she wanted to keep an eye on him.

Of course, all this was probably unnecessary. She had no doubt Bud would leave the ranch to Grace, except for a few well-deserved bequests for the men who’d helped him build it. She’d figure out what was going on with Lockhart, and make sure her grandmother was safe and cared for by someone she could trust. Then she could get back to Charleston and resume her busy life.

She’d come back often, of course, now that she knew she was welcome. At that thought, a familiar ache of regret started up behind her breastbone.

If only…

If only she’d listened to her grandfather and sent Rodger packing. If only she’d visited sooner. If only she’d held on to the common sense she’d been born with and not let Rodger’s moneyed elegance go to her head. She’d believed his polished manners and stark, modern home were what she was supposed to want, so she’d suppressed her love of the simple, the rustic, and the homely.

Thank God she’d escaped. Breathing deep, she savored the scent of the law office, with its mix of pipe tobacco, old leather books, and furniture polish. The cowboys, with their worn hats pressed to their chests, carried more scents into the room: cheap aftershave, horse, and hardworking man. Every one of them seemed genuinely sorrowful, a high compliment to their late boss, her grandfather.

But where was Lockhart? And where was the anti-Bud?

The folding chairs were all occupied, and the lawyer was clearing his throat to begin when Lockhart finally arrived, with Cody in tow. Edging through the standing-room-only crowd, he made his way to the back of the room and leaned against the wall.

Dang it.
Now Lindsey wouldn’t be able to watch him. Worse yet,
he
could watch
her
. She couldn’t decide if those dark eyes looked right through her or just through her clothes, but she could feel the heat of his gaze at the back of her neck, where her neat updo was degenerating into dangling tendrils that tickled her skin.

“Good morning.”

The room hushed the moment the lawyer spoke.

“We’re here today to read the last will and testament of William Abbot Ward. I’ll thank you to keep silent. You can air your comments and reactions when the reading is complete.”

Just then, the anti-Bud edged into the room. Dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, he stood by the door as if he wanted to make his escape with whatever spoils he’d been left before anyone could catch him.

Dang it again
. Lindsey was in the middle of a row, and there was no way she could get to the stranger without being rude. But she was dying to know who he was, and it was obvious he planned to skedaddle as soon as the reading was done.

The lawyer nudged his reading glasses down to the tip of his nose and rattled a sheaf of papers.

“This document is dated just one week ago, so there should be no doubt this was Mr. Ward’s intention for the disposition of his estate at this time.”

That got Lindsey’s mind buzzing like a bee in clover. Why would he have changed it just a week ago? Had Lockhart talked him into something? Had Bud been conned just before he’d been thrown from that horse to his death? Or did the change have to do with the appearance of his mysterious look-alike?

The lawyer commenced reading, spouting the legal jargon that seemed to be required on occasions like these. Lindsey noted the part that said her grandfather was of sound mind. Surely John Alvarez, one of his oldest friends, wouldn’t have let him swear to that if it wasn’t true.

She started to feel a little better but then came a burning sensation at the back of her neck. She did her best to ignore it, but it prickled and tickled until she couldn’t help turning.

It was the foreman, of course, staring her down. She met his gaze with her own, tilting her chin up to show him that he had no effect on her. No effect at all.

But the truth was, his gaze sent a rush of heat rippling down her spine. She couldn’t decide if it was a flush of embarrassment or the warmth of sexual anticipation—but she told herself she had nothing to anticipate, and certainly nothing to be embarrassed about.

Nothing at all.

Well…she had responded that night. To be honest, she’d clung to him like a limpet, practically absorbing him in her need to be loved by someone honest and real.

While the lawyer listed a string of bequests Bud had left for his cowboys, she remembered the green scent of hay and the damp, lush air of dusk. She felt Lockhart’s big workingman hands tilting her chin, stroking her shoulders, cupping her breasts, and remembered the brief flurry of sensation as her own hands grappled and clung. It had been a moment of insanity, lasting no more than a minute.

She shook her head to erase the memory and concentrated on the lawyer’s words. Bud had left his men horses and tack, fancy spurs and bridles, hackamores and saddles, along with sums ranging from a few thousand dollars to ten, twenty, even forty thousand.

The largest bequest was for Lockhart. It was more than generous, but it wasn’t excessive for a man who’d served him so long. Bud had set up a college trust for his little boy too, and ordered that the foreman must be kept on for at least one year at his current salary.

Shoot. She’d hoped this would be the last she’d see of him.

So why was her body thrilling again, reviewing their single encounter in spite of her strict orders to herself to push that memory far, far away?

She glanced back quickly, subtly, just to see how he’d taken his good fortune. He seemed respectfully attentive, but just before she looked away, his gaze slid sideways and caught her looking. She expected a triumphant grin, or maybe a defensive smirk. Instead, he met her gaze with a dark stare that seemed to look deep inside her, reading her thoughts and echoing her remembrance of that moment of madness. All her soft places warmed as if he’d touched her, stroked her, even kissed her.

This wouldn’t do. She needed to know for certain that her grandmother was provided for, but wills were complicated, and the lawyer was reading every blasted word. Wherefore, why-fore, wah-wah…

Finally, he said something about how Grace should be allowed to live at the Lazy Q for as long as she liked.

Well, of course Grace would stay at the ranch. She’d need some sort of care when she got a little older, but Lindsey was hoping Bud’s estate would pay for help, and if the medical bills got out of hand, Lindsey would help all she could.

The lawyer had sunk lower and lower in his chair as he read, weighed down by the hefty legalese of the will, but suddenly he paused and straightened in his chair. The meat of the will must be coming up. Pausing, the lawyer scanned the room with his rheumy eyes, looking up and down the aisles as if searching for someone. His gaze swept past Lindsey, then returned and settled directly on her. He read the next words as if he was speaking to her alone.

“The remainder of the estate, to include the acreage now known as the Lazy Q Ranch, along with all real property and accoutrements, shall belong to my granddaughter, Lindsey Ward.”

Lindsey felt her face heat, and the buzz of conversation in the room seemed to overwhelm the lawyer’s voice as if a herd of angry bees was swarming through the room. There were more words, kind words, but she couldn’t hear them over the rushing in her ears. She felt suddenly hot, much too hot, and the room seemed to fade away.

She put her head down, resting it on one hand and praying, praying she wouldn’t faint.

Her grandfather had left her the ranch. The whole ranch.

Why?

And what the heck were accoutrements?

Her grandmother, stirred, wafting the scent of powder and perfume toward Lindsey and bringing on a bout of nostalgia so strong she felt dizzy again.