Second Hope Cowboy
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Authors: Rhonda Lee Carver
Second Hope Cowboy
2014 Rhonda Lee Carver
Copyright © 2014 by Rhonda Lee Carver
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States
Published by Rhonda Lee Carver
Cover Art by Samantha Holt
Second Hope Cowboy
Book 7, Second Chance Series
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidences are a fabrication of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, establishments, events, or locales is coincidental.
Dedication:
To all of my writer friends who keep me on the right path. And to an awesome Street Team.
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
Tucker Bailey leaned his chair back on two legs, propped his boots on the top rail and cracked the lid off the cold beer.
He was glad to be here.
His cabin had seen better days and needed a lot of work, but it was his and that suited him just fine. At least it had running water. Surrounded by acres of wooded land and rough roads, it didn’t appeal to everyone, but sometimes a man just needed to get away.
It was possible the peace he found here would disappear in the near future. Newer cabins were being built in the area—jetsetters who thought they’d invite their friends out into the wilderness to play hunting games or those who wanted to get away from the fast pace of civilization. Most realized soon enough that living this far from the city, away from fancy coffee shops and the mall, didn’t fit well with their need for instant gratification.
He started to take a drink, but paused as headlights appeared at the crest of the hill. His gut tightened.
No one ever came to the cabin. And he didn’t want company.
On occasion, some folks got lost and used his narrow lane as a turnaround. Once they spotted the no trespassing sign wound in rusty barbed wire, they didn’t take a chance on what they’d find further ahead. The middle of nowhere scared some people—that made him happy.
His grip tightened on the bottle and he held his breath, watching the lights.
“Shit!”
The vehicle continued up the lane.
He didn’t like having his privacy invaded. It’d been a good three days—no distractions, no bother—until now. Tucker came to his home-away-from-home, drank a couple of beers, did some fishing and was feeling as good as new.
‘New’ was probably overshooting the truth a touch. Getting over his regret would take more than catching a few fish and a beer buzz.
He’d felt a slip in his protective wall when he’d opened the newspaper and found the engagement announcement for Hope Bailey and some rich doctor with a name that Tucker couldn’t even pronounce. His suspicion that his ex was moving on had been confirmed.
A few months ago, he’d started working the land at Brooke Creek with his pal, Deckland, and Tucker enjoyed the strenuous labor. Then it all changed when he started feeling like the weight of the world rested on his chest—the weight of a broken past. Once he started to think of his future, the small room in the hand quarters seemed to close in on him, beckoning him to get a grip on the loose threads of his life. He’d packed a bag in the middle of the night and headed to the only place where solace welcomed him like a warm hug.
The car lights were getting closer.
Who dared disturb his peace and quiet? A jilted cowboy deserved some time to figure out his life.
His mind reeled. There were only two other people besides him who’d ever been to the cabin.
His brother Cash knew better than to come up unannounced.
The other was—
damn!
A knot developed in his throat.
He dropped his feet, the chair came down hard and his beer spilled on his lap, seeping through the material of his jeans. The sudden cold shriveled his jewels. “Fuck!”
The sound of tires on gravel drawing nearer made him forget the shrinkage.
No way would Hope come all of this way. They’d divorced. She’d moved on, the proof had been the engagement picture in the paper. He’d never forget her smiling face, her twinkling eyes in print—a knife to his back. She wasn’t welcome here. This place was all he had left of his past life.
His gut flip-flopped.
Memories flooded him. They’d lived here at the cabin for the first year of their marriage, happy and contented, but as they started thinking about expanding their family they knew they needed more room for pitter-pattering of small feet. Together, they’d bought Havens Ranch.
The car came to a stop along the edge of the grass and the engine died—just as his existence had years ago. The driver’s door swung open and the security light popped on, his breathing stilled.
The bottle slipped from his hand, fell to the wooden planks and the remaining contents puddled around his boots.
He didn’t give a damn.
Pushing his hat back on his forehead, he stared dumbfounded as his past came toward him.
“Thought I’d find you here.”
The sweet, sexy voice still affected him. His shirt shrunk. His cock grew, recovering from the beer shower. “Damn!” He gulped air and his stomach twisted. Clearing his throat, he hoped his voice worked—other parts worked pretty good. “And now that you’ve found me, you can turn around, get into your car and drive back where you came from.”
She continued forward and the dim light from the lamp illuminated her like a ray of sunshine. He was feeling the result of seeing her and it was having a hallucinating effect on his brain. Her big blue eyes looked like sapphire glass, surrounded by thick, dark lashes that brushed her cheeks. Her pert nose had a scattering of faint freckles that she’d always hated but he loved, and her lips were perfectly shaped—the color of the pink roses his momma used to grow in her flower garden. He realized most of this was from memory alone.
She tucked a strand of her silky white blonde hair behind her ear and his nerve endings twitched to awareness.
Damn treacherous body!
“If you’d answered your phone when I called, I wouldn’t have had to come all the way up on this hill to find you. I nearly drove straight into a sinkhole.” Her hands planted on her hips and she looked down the pert slope of her nose at him. He’d gotten that look enough to know she was rattled. The roads out here had always made her nervous.
“It’s not my fault you drive around in a car that’s smaller than a pothole.” They’d had this conversation once or twice. He told her more times than he could count that she needed a solid SUV, but the tree-hugger that she was, she couldn’t settle with driving something she thought used too much gas.
“Someone has to care about the footprint humans leave. I’m just making up for people like you who drive around in an ecological murderer.” She sniffed and stabbed her finger toward his truck.
He shook his head, not even allowing her to spur him into an argument about his truck especially now that he no longer cared what she thought. “I’d say sorry, but I’m not feeling it. And you know I don’t have cell service here. That’s the whole point of being on a secluded spot in the middle of the woods. For peace and quiet from
people
.” He hoped she got the hidden meaning.
Her gaze narrowed and her lips thinned. Yeah, she got his point.
“Some excuse, but it doesn’t work. The pretty woman at Brooke Creek Ranch, I think she said her name was Elsa, told me you’d left three days ago. She also said you took off without saying a word. I called Cash and he had no clue where you were either. Are you trying to frighten people?”
“My business, not yours.” Sure, he realized he sounded like a pouting high schooler, but remembering how she’d walked out on their marriage, without any explanation, made him physically unable to think.
“I’ve called at least ten times and then I started getting some recording—”
“That your calls were blocked.” He raked his hand down his jaw. “I told my phone provider I was being stalked.”
Her gasp shattered the air. “Well, you left me no choice but to hunt you down.”
“We’re divorced, and don’t you have a new life these days? I hope you didn’t drive all of the way out here to tell me you’re getting hitched. If so, you wasted your time because I already know. And darlin’, the man looks old enough to be your father.” Her brows scrunched. “Yeah, I can read. Nice engagement picture. I might have been played a fool, but that doesn’t mean I’m stupid,” he snarled.
“Blaise isn’t old enough to be my father,” she huffed. He lifted one brow. “You’re just trying to get a rise out of me. Blaise is a gentleman, kind, warm and young at heart. Unlike some grumpy men I know.”
“Young at heart…hmm. Is that what you tell yourself to ease the fear?”
“What fear?”
“That he could have a heart attack while you’re stroking his…ego.” He shook his head. “Can he handle you?” He dropped his gaze over her white top and skinny jeans, intentionally pausing at the apex of her thighs. The ache behind his zipper turned to throbbing.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She gave her hair a toss over one shoulder. “And no, telling you about the engagement to Blaise isn’t the reason why I came here.”
“Blaise? What sort of name is that?” Tucker scoffed.
“I’m not discussing him with you. We need to talk about other things. Hopefully this can be quick and painless. Can we go inside? The mosquitos are surrounding me like vultures.” She waved her hands through the air. He just stared and she sighed. “Is that a no?”
“Bingo.”
She shrugged. “Okay, if you’re not going to be hospitable and invite me in for a cup of coffee or even a glass of water, I guess I’ll take one of these. My mouth is dry and my nerves have reached a breaking point.” She stepped up onto the porch, grabbed a beer from the cooler and twisted the lid.
“It’s not right to take a man’s last beer.” He might need that cold one later. He took off his hat and laid it on the chair next to him.
“Oh, sorry. Am I interrupting your party?”
“Yes.”
“Shoot.” She swept past him, her heels clicking on the wooden porch, much like the beeps of warning blaring in his head.
“You’re going the wrong direction, sweetheart. Your car’s that way.” He gave a quick nod.
“Not until you and I discuss something important.” She leaned a shoulder against a splintered beam and crossed her ankles.
Anger raged through Tucker. She had no right to be here—and she didn’t care that she was trespassing.
He was worn out and seeing Hope again jarred him worse than the dirt bath off the horse last week. His bones still smarted from the hit and he couldn’t move as fast as he liked, or he’d run now. His body aches were a reminder he’d be hitting forty in a few years and he was no longer that untroubled man who could recover as fast as he did in his twenties and early thirties.
All he wanted was to go inside the cabin, crawl into bed and forget that Hope had ever shown up. But she had different plans for him.
How dare she show her face around after she’d crawled from their bed and slithered out like a worm leaving its hole. Disgust filtered through him. She was getting cozy with her beer and had downed half already.