Promise from a Cowboy

The fact that he hadn’t shown up as expected should not have surprised and disappointed her.

Yet it had.

She knew most everyone in the world had given up on her brother. But she couldn’t. Maybe it was because they were twins and shared a special bond? But no—she and Hunter had never been especially close. How could they be when she’d always felt more like his mother than his sister?

She shifted in her seat, and now, instead of her own reflection in the mirror, she could see B.J. He had turned around to look at her. For a second their eyes met. Then he shook his head and resumed walking away.

She’d known he was registered at the Wild Rogue, too, when she’d made her plans. Maybe all along it had been him she’d wanted to see...?

“Could I really be that stupid?” She jerked the truck into gear and started to drive. It was a long way back to Coffee Creek and she had only two days of vacation left.

* * *

B.J. DIDN’T GO for the steak dinner he’d been craving. Instead, he sat in his truck and thought. He had a lot on his mind.

His brother Brock, how much he missed him and what a loss his death had been for the family ranch.

The dead guy in the loft—if Savannah was right, he now had a name and a family that was mourning his death, the way all of them were mourning Brock.

And Savannah.

She’d made him angry tonight, but their conversation had also woken up a longing deep inside him. Something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

He didn’t understand why, after so many years, she could still make him feel this way.

Another half hour went by before he realized what he needed to do. He hitched his trailer to his truck then wheeled up to a drive-through, where he ordered a burger, fries and a large coffee. While he waited for the food, he left a message for his mother and his sister, letting them know that he’d decided to head back to Coffee Creek.

They’d be surprised, to say the least. He was booked for two more rodeos this month and Coffee Creek was definitely not part of the plan.

But his plan had just changed.

He was going home.

It was time.

* * *

TWO DAYS LATER, Savannah pulled into the acreage where she and her family had lived since they’d first moved to Coffee Creek when she was fifteen. It was a run-down, twenty-acre parcel of land with several rusty cars that her father had planned to fix up and sell, as well as an old log home in desperate need of staining and a new roof.

Once, there’d been piles of trash everywhere, too, but over the years she’d carted most of it away, either for recycling or to the dump.

She hadn’t had time to do any landscaping, though, and no money, either. For the past few years her paychecks had been divided between the monthly fees for the care home and her sister’s college. Thank goodness Regan had qualified for almost a full scholarship or the ends of her paychecks never would have met.

When people asked Savannah about the stress of being a sheriff, she never told them the truth. Her family caused her a hell of a lot more anxiety than her job.

For as long as she could remember, it had been this way.

She parked her SUV and went inside, trying not to notice the cracked lino in the kitchen and the dull walls. A coat of paint would make all the difference.

Maybe that was how she should have spent her week off work. At least then she’d have had something to show for her efforts.

A picture on the fridge showed her mother and father during happier times—Regan was sentimental and liked keeping such things. That was back before children had been on the scene and her father had been gainfully employed at his father’s oil and gas company in Dallas.

Drinking and gambling—once only occasional dalliances—had become a way of life for her dad after her grandfather died. He’d quit his oil and gas job, sure he could live off his inheritance for the rest of his life. But by the time they moved to Coffee Creek he’d squandered almost all of his investments. He’d had just enough left to buy this small acreage outside town. The idea had been to open a bed-and-breakfast.

What a laugh.

The endeavor had never gone beyond a few scribbles on a notepad.

While her mother didn’t drink or gamble, she had her own way of coping with her husband’s foibles and that was by withdrawing into her own little world—a pretty garden and her late-night movies were all Francine Moody ever seemed to care about.

Then when Savannah was sixteen her father passed away from a diseased liver. She’d already been providing most of the care for her brother and sister. But at that point she started taking care of her mother, too.

Savannah popped a frozen pasta entrée into the microwave, then gobbled it down between sips of water. She knew she should head to town and visit her mother.

But she was feeling a pull to a different place, and since there were still several hours left to the long June day, she decided to give in to it.

Rather than get back in her truck, she decided to ride the Harley that Hunter had almost finished fixing up the last time he was home.

She’d taken it to the shop to get it road-worthy, and then bought herself a leather coat and helmet. She’d always wanted a horse—something most of her neighbors took for granted—but horses were expensive to keep and the motorcycle was a close second. She enjoyed taking it out for a spin now and then.

Thirty-five minutes later, she turned the bike off the road onto a dirt boundary access lane that divided Maddie Turner’s Silver Creek Ranch from Olive Lambert’s Coffee Creek property.

The two sisters had long been estranged—for reasons even B.J. had claimed not to understand.

For about a mile Savannah drove on a track that was almost overgrown until she came to the creek that divided the Lamberts’ property from the Turners’.

The barn sat on the Turner side of the boundary, in the middle of nowhere. Once used for branding, it was now listing to one side. Most of the wood was charred from the fire, but the rain from the storm that night had saved it from being completely destroyed.

She nudged her boot under the kickstand, then left her bike parked beside an old ponderosa pine. Wading through grass that was almost waist-high in places, she heard rustling from the willows growing close to the creek.

And then she heard the distinctive sound of a horse snorting. She moved closer to the trees, to make sure.

And there he was—a handsome black gelding, all tacked up for riding and tethered to a tree near the water. “Hey, gorgeous. Where’s your owner?”

She scanned one side of the creek then the other, before turning to inspect the barn. Just then a cowboy dressed in faded jeans and a blue shirt stepped out into the sunlight.

“Well, Sheriff. Two times in one week makes for some kind of record, doesn’t it?”

She felt her heart give a leap. What the hell was B. J. Lambert doing back in Coffee Creek?

Chapter Three

B.J. had been a rodeo cowboy for almost as many years as he’d spent growing up in Coffee Creek. He’d met a lot of women in those eighteen years. None of them had ever meant to him what Savannah Moody had.

Was it because she’d been his first girl? He’d fallen for her the moment she stepped into the classroom, already beautiful at age fifteen in an unstudied, slightly exotic way that made her stand out from the crowd. Lots of the girls in Coffee Creek were blondes or toffee-colored brunettes, while Savannah’s hair was thick, wild and nearly black.

Her eyes, smoky and dark, had a mysterious, watchful quality, and her smooth olive skin and generous, full lips sent a sultry invitation that belied her cautious nature.