Genuine Cowboy

Sean shook his head. “Sorry, kid, I have work to do.”.

He strode past the horses, stepped into his office and closed the door behind him. Had there been a bolt, he’d have locked it. The idea of owning his own quarter horse farm sounded better by the day, and he probably had enough money saved to pull it off if he still took on a few private clients who owned problem horses.

He tossed his hat to the top of a stack of unopened cardboard boxes and plopped onto the worn chair behind the metal desk. Remembering the letter, he pulled it from his pocket and dropped it into the top drawer to be answered later—with a very succinct “no.”.

Forging a relationship with a father he hadn’t seen since the day the man received a life sentence for murdering his mother didn’t hold a lot of appeal for Sean. Release on a technicality didn’t wash away the man’s sins.

The door to Sean’s office squeaked open. He groaned. When he finally looked up, Sasha’s jacket was dangling from a crooked finger. Her chest was bare, her firm breasts pointing at him as if daring him to resist temptation.

He took a deep breath—and the dare. “Put your jacket on, Sasha. You’re too smart, too pretty and way too young to be playing this stupid game. Don’t devalue what you are inside by throwing yourself at me or anyone else.”.

She leaned against the rough-hewn doorframe. “Look at me, Sean. You’ll see I’m old enough.”.

Sean stood and grabbed his Stetson. When he reached the door, he picked up Sasha at the waist to move her out of his way. The crazy kid threw her legs around him and pressed her bare breasts against his chest.

He heard footsteps and cringed as he looked up to find Laci Cahill staring at him. The old adage “If looks could kill” had never seemed more apt.

Laci propped her hands on her hips. “Well, this explains a lot.”.

“This is not what it looks like,” he assured Sasha’s mother.

Laci’s irate glare made it clear that she didn’t believe him.

Thankfully, Sasha had dismounted his hips at her mother’s appearance and was pulling on her jacket at a speed that he’d previously only seen her exhibit when texting messages on her touch-screen cell phone.

Laci stepped inside the office. “Go to your room, Sasha.”.

Sasha scooted past him without a glance.

“Why bother with the old mare when you have the filly?” Laci snapped.

“I’m here to train horses, Laci. That’s all, and I definitely didn’t initiate that scene you just walked in on.”.

“Do you expect me to believe that?”.

“I can’t control what you believe, but I’m telling you the truth.”.

“Stay away from my daughter, Sean. If I ever catch the two of you in another compromising position, I’ll not only see that Ted fires you, but that you never work as a trainer again. Do I make myself clear?”.

“Crystal clear.”.

In fact, a lot of things were clear right now, mainly that he couldn’t work in this type of strained environment. “I’ll pack my things and be off the Cahill property by noon.”.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”.

“You don’t have to worry about watching me every second or firing me. I quit.”.

Laci grabbed his arm. “That’s not necessary. I know how Sasha is. This isn’t the first time she’s pulled something like this.”.

Talk about changing horses in midstream. A minute ago, Sean was to blame for everything. Now it was Sasha. A man could get dizzy trying to keep up.

“I’ll leave Ted the names of a couple of guys he might want to interview for my job,” Sean said. Older men who hopefully wouldn’t be subjected to seduction at every turn. “And don’t worry, I’ll leave you and Sasha out of my explanation for leaving on such short notice.”.

“You’re making a mistake, Sean. There’s not a trainer in the state who wouldn’t salivate at the thought of going to work for Ted Cahill.”.

“And now one lucky applicant will get to drool all over his work shirt.” Sean tipped his hat and walked away. Amazing, how a man could start out a day with great expectations, only to have it blow up in his face.

Sean went back to the desk and pulled his brother’s letter from the drawer. Dylan’s written words weighed heavy on his mind as he retrieved his worn jacket and walked back to his small cabin to gather his things. Maybe a trip to the Texas Hill Country wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

It would be good to see Dylan again and finally meet his brother’s new wife—before Dylan’s dreams of idyllic marriage evolved into reality.

Or maybe that kind of luckless romance was reserved for Sean.

Chapter Three

Troy Ledger turned off the TV and walked back to his small kitchen, taking his half-empty plate with him. He’d just caught the tail end of the six o’clock news, and that had been enough to kill his appetite.

Orson Bastion had escaped from the pen and taken out a guard in the process. Talk about a brutal reminder of his prison life. Impulsively, his hand moved to the scar on his cheek.

His thoughts moved to Eve Worthington. The news of Bastion’s escape had to be frightening for her. If he had her phone number he’d call her. But best that he didn’t have it. For all he knew, she’d left the area by now.

Troy washed his plate, rinsed it and stood it in the drainer. He reached for the skillet he’d used to fry a slice of ham for his sandwich and immersed it in the hot, soapy water. The old dishwasher needed replacing, but there wasn’t much need for a fancy machine when a man lived alone.

His son, Dylan, and Dylan’s new wife, Collette, had moved out of the old family house and into their starter ranch house two weeks earlier. They needed their privacy. They were only a good horse ride away, but Troy missed them a lot more than he was willing to admit.

Troy and Dylan had built the newlyweds’ house themselves, with lots of suggestions from Collette. She was quite a woman, even reminded him of Helene a little. Not that he needed a reminder of Helene. She was seldom far from his mind and never out of his heart. Never had been. Never would be.

But the last few months of working with his son on the house and the ranch they were getting up and running again had meant more to Troy than Dylan could possibly realize. Seventeen years in prison had robbed Troy of much of his five sons’ childhood and all of their adolescence. They’d grown from boys to men without him. Dylan was the only one of the five who’d shown any interest in having Troy back in his life. He prayed that would change one day, but he couldn’t count on it.

Troy finished the dishes and dried his hands. It was only six in the evening, but he was exhausted. Working from sunup to sundown did that for a man. Fatigue didn’t bother him. The prospect of spending another night alone in the rambling old house did.

He could handle the days, but alone at night, memories of Helene haunted his mind. He could hear her laughter, sweet and melodic, filling the house as she interacted with their rambunctious sons.

He could smell her fragrance, like a bouquet from the garden she’d pampered like one of their children. He could see her on Sunday morning, her dark, shiny hair dancing about her shoulders, leading them all to church whether they liked it or not.

But the most devastating memories came when he crawled into the bed he’d once shared with Helene. It had taken him weeks to even enter the master bedroom, had taken weeks more before he could bear sleeping in the bed.

Even now, three months later, he couldn’t stretch out between the sheets without his arms literally aching to wrap around her and feel her warm, loving body cuddled against his. Some nights the pain was all but unbearable.

He leaned against the sink as the memories swelled inside him. The gentle ache in his chest erupted into heated stabs that threatened to slice his heart into pieces.

The images swirling in his head darkened as the nightmare he’d lived over and over for almost two decades took front and center: Helene’s body in a pool of blood, faceup, her head against the hearth, her beautiful locks of hair matted with crimson.

The pain became blinding and this time much too physical. Troy clutched his chest as he stumbled backward, falling against the scarred wooden table. Each beat of his heart was agony.

Then reality checked in. This was more than grief. He was having a coronary attack.

There was a knock at the door as he tried to drag himself to the phone. The door was unlocked, as it usually was on the ranch. He waited, hoping it was Dylan. But there was no reason to think his son would return tonight.