No Getting Over A Cowboy

“Now you know why I need to be at the Widows’ House. I’ve always loved Z.T.’s old place. Always felt a peace and calm there, and I’m hoping it’ll help. I need to heal. I need to get better.”

Crud. How was she supposed to say no to that? And she was about to give in. Then, she remembered Garrett and knew this would be just another thorn in his side.

“I’ll get back to you,” she told Meredith, and Nicky ended the call before the woman could launch into another tear-filled argument. One that Meredith would almost certainly win this time.

Nicky groaned and put away her phone. Her quest for peace and healing was turning into a huge poop pile. And now she needed to sign that report for Clay. Which meant she’d have to read all about the dead man. Hopefully there wouldn’t be any photos of the body to accompany the report.

She stood, checked on Garrett again. Frowned again. Lady had leaned in even closer. Garrett wasn’t leaning, though. He glanced at the office window and met Nicky’s gaze. He shot her a glare, and that was her cue to get out there and rescue him from Lady. And no, it didn’t have anything to do with Nicky being jealous. She just wanted to minimize the crud that Garrett was having to face because they were all there.

Nicky grabbed her purse and was on the way out the door when she heard the footsteps, and she hoped this wasn’t another widow in search of sanctuary. If so, she’d have to turn her away. She looked in the hall to do just that. But it wasn’t a widow. Heck, it wasn’t even a woman.

It was Roman.

He came toward her, several widows trailing behind him. Not showing him the way obviously. Because he knew the way in his own home. No, she recognized the signs. They were starstruck or rather Roman-struck as she used to call it. He definitely had that effect on most women. Not her, though. Nicky had never had a thing for bad boys, and Roman was very, very bad.

“Nicky,” Roman greeted. As greetings went, it wasn’t exactly warm and fuzzy. “I’ve come here to evict you.”

CHAPTER SEVEN (#uae2c159f-6e9b-5cff-a007-ef738a91a632)

NICKY DRAGGED IN a long breath, one that she was certain she would need for the argument she was about to have with Roman. Obviously, his brother had gotten to him and convinced Roman to oust them. For a moment Nicky considered letting him do just that with no argument whatsoever from her, but then she remembered there were actually women who needed the Widows’ House.

Including her.

“Roman, please, don’t kick us off the ranch.” Nicky figured she was going to have to say a lot more than that to convince him.

He shrugged. “Okay.”

Nicky took another long breath, but that’s because she was confused. The confusion didn’t clear up any when Roman took some keys from his pocket and dangled them in front of her.

“A friend lent me his RV.” He took her hand, put the keys in her palm. “It sleeps six so that means you won’t have to spend the night on Garrett’s desk again. I’ve also told Mom to put someone in my old room. Sophie insists someone use hers, too. That’ll mean fewer women will have to double and triple up. But the RV is for you. Consider that my version of an eviction.”

She hadn’t intended to kiss him but Nicky did. The kiss was purely chaste and on his cheek, but one of the gawking widows sighed.

“Thank you,” she whispered to him. “But how’d you know I’d slept on his desk?”

“I got it from the horse’s mouth when he called me about some ranching business. At least he said it was ranching business, but really Garrett just wanted to vent.”

Of course, he did. She would vent if everyone else weren’t doing the same thing. In fact, this had turned into a vent-a-thon where all the complaints were becoming white noise.

“I swear, we’ll clear out of here as soon as I can manage it,” Nicky assured him.

He shrugged again in that lazy way that most mortal men couldn’t have managed. “My brother’s going through some stuff.”

That was a nice way of saying Garrett’s life had taken a nosedive. “I knew about some of it,” she said. “But if I’d had the big picture, I would have just bitten the bullet and sent all the widows away.”

“Big picture?” he repeated. “You mean his baby?”

She nodded. “I only just found out about it. He must think about her every time he looks at my little girl.”

“He thinks about her even when your daughter’s not here. Nothing you can do about that. Nothing any of us can do,” he added in a mumble. Roman tipped his head to the purse she’d looped over her shoulder. “Going somewhere?”

“Clay’s office to sign a report.” She followed his gaze to the window where he’d spotted Garrett and Lady. “But I can stay if you want to catch up.”

“No. I should see Garrett.” He checked his watch. “I’ll wait, though, about twenty or thirty minutes. I enjoy seeing him sweat a little.”

Nicky had another look at Garrett, too. “Maybe he’s not sweating. He could be interested in her.”

Roman responded with a sound that could have meant anything.

At that exact moment, Garrett shot her another glare, and he must have also spotted Roman because he said something to Lady and started for the house. That was Nicky’s cue to leave. She said goodbye to Roman, goodbye, too, to the trail of widows gawking at him.

Nicky made a quick call to Gina to let her know that she’d be gone for a while, and she headed out the front door. Her SUV was actually parked in the back, but this way she could avoid Garrett. Thankfully, she avoided not only him but anyone else who might have stopped her along the way.

She got in her SUV, letting the quiet wash over her. Ironic that this was the most peace she’d found in the past twenty-four hours. Too bad it would have to end with that report.

The drive to town was a blast from the past. She’d done this trip many times, first on her bike and then in the run-down Toyota she’d managed to afford by working summers and weekends at the grocery store. There’d been no real reason for her to make the drive since the Granger Ranch wasn’t on the way to anything. It was just something she’d done, all the while thinking about how it would feel to be normal like the Grangers.

She passed Clay’s house and then Vita Banchini’s, the oddball fortune-teller who sometimes put curses on people. Vita definitely fell outside the normal range.

And, of course, Nicky saw the old house where she’d been raised.

It didn’t sit right on the road, but since there were no trees in front of it, it was impossible to miss. She slowed, not intending to stop but stopping anyway. Maybe this was a moth-to-a-flame kind of thing, but she also wondered if it was time to confront a demon or two.

The place was vacant and apparently had been for years. Her parents had once owned it and then lost it in foreclosure just a few weeks before her high school graduation. It hadn’t exactly felt like much of a loss at the time.

Still didn’t.

The Penningtons had bought the place from the bank after that and had used it as rental property. That probably hadn’t been a successful venture because Wrangler’s Creek didn’t have a big renters’ market, but she hadn’t been around to know for sure. In fact, she’d spent the next seven years of her life working her way through college and trying to forget this place ever existed.

In hindsight, that need to forget had been the reason she’d avoided any and all updates on the town and especially the Grangers. After what’d happened with Garrett, the memories had rolled together into one giant, smothering ball of hurt and misery. But all of that had happened seventeen years ago. A lifetime. Maybe it was lifetime enough for this place to have lost its hold over her.

She parked next to the yard that was more weeds than grass. There were no signs of her mother’s rosebushes and flowerbeds, and Nicky wondered if the weeds had claimed them or if someone had taken mercy on them and replanted them at a more hospitable place. She hoped it was the latter.

Something good had to have come out of here.

The screen door on the front was hanging on one hinge, and the July breeze caught it, causing it to make a creaking sound as it swayed. Definitely not welcoming, but she just kept on walking up the steps. Nicky only made it to the second of five steps before she had to stop. She couldn’t make her feet, or her mind, go any farther.

Even though she was still a good two yards away from the front door, she caught the scent of the place. She got an instant slam of dust, mustiness and other smells she didn’t want to identify.

She’d thought there couldn’t be a place grimier than Z.T.’s house, but Nicky had been wrong about that. From what she could see, there was plenty of dust here. Dead leaves and other debris, too. The paint on the walls was blistered and peeling. The wood floors, pocked with nicks and gouges. Nothing the way it had been when she’d lived here. She and her mother had at least kept the place clean.

But clean places sometimes held a dirty secret. This one certainly did.

The memories came. Not as some old, watery images that she couldn’t blink away, either. No. She wasn’t that lucky. These were crystal clear.

Memories of her father and his drunken rages.

Memories of him coming home from whatever job he hadn’t been fired from yet. Staggering through the door, his body slumped because he was too drunk to stand upright. It always put a knot in her gut to know that he’d driven home that way from some bar.