Nevada Cowboy Dad

“No.” For the first time she fixed her gaze fully on his. “It’s wonderful. I feel like...like I’m home.”

The direct impact of her emerald eyes hit him with far more force than was right. A memory of the tiny urchin she’d been, crouched in the old oak tree in the meadow, came streaming into his consciousness. At fifteen, he’d been more concerned with his horses, his friends and the sassy neighbor girl than the mousy kid his new stepmother had brought to the ranch.

Up in the oak, Lucy had been crying; Rusty had seen the tear tracks on her pale cheeks. He’d tried to coax her down, but she’d shaken her head.

So he’d climbed.

Since he’d already learned she spoke in nothing but monosyllables, he didn’t question her. They merely sat together, a fifteen-year-old boy and a ten-year-old girl, watching the sun cast swaths of amber and gold over the cottonwoods in the meadow. They probably clung to that big branch together for an hour, wordless, until darkness transformed the sun’s golden streaks to cobalt and then to black.

When the first stars winked into existence she let him help her down. He put her behind his saddle and rode with her to the house. On the ground, she’d looked up at him with those incredible eyes and he’d seen her chin tremble. He’d smiled at her and tousled her hair. She’d given him a shy, tremulous smile in return. It was the first and only expression of happiness he’d ever seen in her, a spark of joy in an otherwise wan countenance.

Now Rusty shook his head, impatient again, but this time with himself. He had no time for reminiscing.

“Come to the house,” he said more abruptly than he’d meant to. “Fritzy can make coffee.” Fritzy—the family’s always-smiling housekeeper—had been with the Sheffields for twenty years.

He called out, and a youth appeared from the barn to take his horse. Down at the branding chutes, men were working cattle, roping them one by one and applying the hot Lazy S brand. Turning back to Lucy, he asked, “You want to stay the night, don’t you? I expect it’s too far to drive back. Got any luggage?”

Taking careful steps in her heeled shoes, she came out from her hiding place and opened the trunk. “Yes, it’s here.”

Bending down, she went to grasp her tweed suitcase when he quickly reached out, saying, “I’ll get it,” and bumped her shoulder.

She gasped—a startled big-eyed doe.

Rusty frowned, wondering what had gotten into her. Why was she so skittish? After all, he was the one with the right to be nervous, not her. She was going to get what she wanted. He would be the loser.

Still, he didn’t like the way she flinched from him, as if he’d done something wrong or was contemplating it. The idea offended him; he’d never harmed a woman in his life or even wanted to.

He must have scowled because she mumbled, “Sorry.”

“No apology needed.” Shaking his head, he hefted her large suitcase from the trunk.

“Thank you,” she said in a voice so low it was nearly a whisper. Her slim fingers curled beneath her chin now, her eyes lowered to screen her expression. But the flash of what he’d seen there disturbed him. Rusty didn’t know what turns her life had taken, but one thing was certain. Lucy Donovan hid many secrets.

Lucy trailed Rusty Sheffield into the house, berating herself for jumping like a frightened rabbit when he’d only wanted to help her carry the suitcase.

But she didn’t like men who took over a situation like they’d been voted boss. She was uncomfortable around aggressive, overtly masculine men.

Somehow she hadn’t been prepared for the incredibly handsome, overwhelming maleness Rusty exuded. Formerly auburn, his hair had darkened nearly to brown. At least, she thought so from what she could see of it under his hat. No longer a gawky youth, the man had grown to over six feet tall. Beneath his yoked Western shirt his chest was brawny, his arms, revealed by his rolled-up sleeves, were thick with muscle. His thighs were powerful, his waist narrow. He even smelled good, like fresh-turned earth and high-mountain winds.

Oh, she noticed everything about him, cataloged the changes that maturation had wrought. And it seemed to Lucy that everything about him was too much. He was too big, too observant, too handsome, too... well, manly.

Rusty Sheffield made her edgy.

She wished she were completely composed, a woman with confidence and style and sophistication. But miserably she knew she’d never done anything meaningful in her life. The counselor she’d seen had told her that confidence was developed when someone worked hard at a task or skill and became proficient at it. She had recommended Lucy learn a profession, or go to college and earn a degree, perhaps start a business.

Coward that she was, she’d done nothing of the kind.

Still, she did have one goal. A goal that for once she intended to reach.

If only she weren’t so anxious.

“This way,” Rusty instructed, preceding her through the front door of the wood-sided house. The screen frame banged behind her in exactly the same way it had fifteen years ago. She smiled.

Inside, the house had experienced few changes, as well. The old davenport with its cabbage-rose print still reigned as the centerpiece of the large living area. It was flanked by antique tea carts with Tiffany lamps and faced by several oversized leather chairs. Gray river rock lovingly laid fifty years before formed the fireplace with its mantel, which held a collection of figurines. Against the wall a hall tree held coiled lariats, and at the bottom, neat rows of cowboy boots lined up like soldiers waiting to be called to service.

In the kitchen across the hallway, Lucy heard someone stirring, probably Fritzy. The smell of freshly baked bread wafted to her.

More pleased than she could say, Lucy sighed, but Rusty set her suitcase down and walked straight through to the small office his father had formerly occupied. She guessed the room was Rusty’s now.

“Sit down.” He pointed to a striped seat opposite, throwing himself into a castered chair to regard her levelly across the desktop. Behind him bookshelves rose to the ceiling, and the file cabinet beside his desk had papers overflowing the drawers. The room gave her the impression of ordered chaos. He said, “I want to get this over with as soon as possible.”

She lowered herself into the striped chair, but found she couldn’t relax enough to rest her spine against its back.

“Over the telephone, you said you had money,” he began bluntly, and she forced herself not to wince. “What is it you want, exactly?”

Lucy drew a deep, deep breath. If ever she needed courage, it was now. Please, she prayed to the Powers Above, please let my dream come true. Lacing her fingers together in her lap, she plunged in. “As you know, I’ve heard about the death of your brothers. The news traveled fast. I’m so sorry. The accident was a terrible tragedy.”

Stone-faced, he gave only a curt nod.

The head-on collision between his brother Landon’s pickup and an eighteen-wheeler had made sad, local headlines. A freak accident, both Landon and his other brother, Tom, had died instantly, as had the other driver. Folks said the resulting fiery explosion had echoed for miles. Investigating authorities never discovered what made Landon’s truck cross the center divider. Authorities guessed he’d been reaching for one of his ever-present cigarettes. Or possibly stretching down to the cell phone kept on the floor between the two seats.

Lucy hadn’t met Tom or Landon. The boys were away during her short stay at the ranch. But she knew they’d been well liked.

“As a result, you now hold full title to the Lazy S, right?” She glanced around the room. “I don’t suppose you ever expected to, with two older brothers who would have had first claim here.”

He hesitated. “No.”

“Rusty, I told you when I called I have money, and it’s true. My life hasn’t been terribly...eventful,” she said, awkward yet determined to get through this, “but I did get married.”

She saw his eyebrows arch, though she didn’t blame him for his surprise. She wasn’t any great catch. At least that’s what Kenneth had always enjoyed saying.

“Well, a year ago, my husband passed away—” she forced herself to stare Rusty straight in the eyes “—leaving me a wealthy widow.”

His gaze drifted away and his expression became thoughtful. Rubbing his chin, he said, “I see.”

Probably not. He probably saw only what he wanted to, but she needed to press on. With uncharacteristic boldness, she blurted, “I want to purchase the Lazy S.”

“Purchase it?” He stared at her. “The whole place?” His pitying glance raked her. “I thought maybe you just wanted to lease a couple of acres, maybe run a few horses or build a cabin. The Lazy S comprises several thousand acres of prime grazing land. We have water rights to the creek, twelve hundred head of mother cows and as many calves, a hundred and fifty horses and dozens of blooded bulls. The property alone is worth a small fortune.”

Casually he tossed out a figure, let it hover in the air between them like an alien spacecraft.

Lucy did not blink.

He studied her face. After a moment, disbelief gave way to dawning awareness. “You’ve got that much?”

Again, she merely kept her gaze steady and waited for him to draw his own conclusions. The spacecraft vanished, left only the trailing vapor of Rusty’s incredulity.

Taking off his hat, he stabbed stiff fingers through his thick hair. It was brown, as she’d thought, the deep rich color of brewed coffee. After a moment he let out a long, slow breath. She could feel his shock and sense his struggle to assimilate her changed status in life.