Cowgirl Bride

“The ranch is going to be my new base of operations,” he told her.

“You’ll practice law from there?” she asked.

“No. I’ll have an office in town. But I am going to be involved with the ranch as well. The buildings are in good shape, but the herd needs work. I want to start a breeding program. That’s why I’m here.”

Sierra shrugged. “I don’t know what’s for sale. You’ll have to talk to the boss about that. I’m just one of the hired hands.”

“I know. Don’t you ever want more than that?”

Her gaze turned icy again. “No one here is interested in your opinion of my life.” She glanced at Rory and closed her mouth. He knew that if his son hadn’t been standing there, listening to everything being said, she would have had a lot more to tell him.

“You’re good, Sierra. You’ve lived on ranches, you understand what has to be done. I’m not here to buy livestock. I need a foreman. I’d like to offer you that job.”

Something flickered in her hazel eyes. A flash of longing maybe—or was it regret? He couldn’t tell. Then the light faded and her lips curved into a bitter smile. “Gee, thanks. That would really be a move up for me. I’m a fair judge of livestock, but I’ve never been much of a judge when it came to men. Still, even those of us who are slow learners eventually catch on. Thanks, Dylan, but I’ll pass.”

“I know what you’re thinking but it’s not true,” he said quickly. “There were extenuating circumstances. There’s a lot you don’t know.”

“I know enough.” She raised her chin in a proud gesture he remembered so well. Deep in his chest, his heart tightened painfully. He would sell his soul to go back in time to change what had happened—but that wasn’t an option. And she didn’t know enough. But this wasn’t the time to convince her of that.

“Dad says you’re a barrel racer,” Rory said and grinned. “That you’re pretty good—for a girl.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I went from being a superhero to just a girl in the space of ten minutes. Talk about fickle. I wonder where you get that trait from.”

“What’s fickle?” Rory asked.

Dylan ignored Sierra’s dig and answered his son. “Fickle means not being able to make up your mind about someone. Liking them and then not liking them.”

“I like you,” Rory said instantly to Sierra. “I think you’re great. Dad promised that I could learn how to ride, but I haven’t started lessons yet. Can you teach me?”

“Me?” Sierra shook her head. “Look, kid, I’ve got a lot of responsibilities around the ranch and not a whole lot of free time. I…”

Rory’s slight body seemed to shrink. His shoulders fell forward and his mouth drooped at the corners. “Yeah. Okay. You’re too busy. I understand.”

Dylan silently cursed his ex-wife. The woman had never worked a day in her life. She’d had a live-in housekeeper and a nanny, and she’d still managed to make her son believe she was too busy to deal with him. Rory had learned early on that his mother considered him a burden. Dylan continued to work hard to make the boy feel special and wanted, but he knew that nothing he would ever do could make up for the maternal rejection. The boy had translated that into an expectation of rejection from all women.

“I’ll teach you,” Dylan said and was rewarded with a slight smile.

“Really?”

He nodded. “Assuming I remember how. It’s been a long time since I’ve been on a horse. I guess we can fall on our rears together.”

Rory laughed at the thought.

Sierra rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. You were never much of a horseman, Dylan. You’ll hurt yourself and do Lord knows what to your son.” She glanced at Rory. “All right, pip-squeak, I’ll teach you to ride. But there’s more to it than just taking a wild gallop. You’re going to have to take care of your horse. That means feeding it and cleaning up after it. If you think a dog makes a mess in the backyard, wait until you see what a horse can do.”

Rory grinned broadly. “I promise to do everything you say.”

“You’re going to, whether you promise or not. I’m a tough teacher, but you’ll learn.”

“When can we start?” Rory asked.

Sierra nodded to her arm. “Give me a couple of days to heal. I’ll be in touch.” Before Rory could ask, she crouched down so they were eye to eye. “I promise,” she told the boy. “I won’t forget.”

Rory flung his arms around her. Sierra didn’t respond to the impulsive hug and when the child released her, she stood up and cleared her throat.

“About the foreman job,” Dylan began.

Sierra didn’t bother saying goodbye. She spun on her heel and headed for the barn. He stared after her for a long moment, wondering how long it was going to take to convince her that he wasn’t one of the bad guys. What would happen if he couldn’t?

“Is Sierra mad at you?” Rory asked.

“Not exactly,” he answered, then ruffled the boy’s hair. “So you’d rather she taught you to ride than your old man?”

“Yeah!” Rory grinned. “She’s cool.”

“That she is.” He took his keys from his jeans pocket and handed them to his son. “Let’s go.”

Rory raced to the truck and carefully unlocked the passenger’s door. Dylan followed more slowly, wondering what his next move should be. He could give Sierra a few days to get used to the idea of him being back in her life. After all, he had the advantage—she was going to be coming to his ranch to teach his son to ride. There were possibilities in that.

“Lost, McLaine?” a low male voice asked.

He turned toward the sound and squinted into the sunlight. The man moved out of the shadow of the barn and as he did, memories put a name to the face. Kirk Conroy—Sierra’s older brother.

“Or are you just checking to see how the other half lives?” Conroy said, his tone as unwelcoming as his expression.

“Neither.” Dylan glanced at the truck and saw Rory sitting on the front seat. He held a couple of plastic action figures in his hands and was obviously oblivious to Kirk’s presence. “I wanted to talk to Sierra.”

“She doesn’t have anything to say to you.”

“You don’t know that.”

Conroy moved a few steps closer, his posture challenging. They were about the same size. Talk about an even contest, Dylan thought, standing his ground.

“She didn’t need you all those years ago, and she doesn’t need you now.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Kirk’s eyes darkened. “Because I held her while she cried after you ran off and married Claire. You didn’t stay around long enough to watch her heart break, but I did.”

Dylan hated that he’d hurt her. That wasn’t supposed to have happened. “There are things she didn’t understand. I tried to explain…” His voice trailed off. Even to his own ears, his excuse sounded lame. At the time the right course had been so clear. In a choice between honor and love, he’d done what he’d thought was right. Now—Now he could only look back and wonder.

“But she never answered your letters, did she?” Conroy said with grim satisfaction.

His success in the courtroom was often based on a feeling in his gut. He’d learned to pay attention to what his body was trying to tell him. At this moment, it was practically screaming a question. So he asked it. “How did you know I sent her letters?”

Kirk shifted uncomfortably. It wasn’t much, but it was all Dylan needed. Several missing pieces clicked into place. He hadn’t believed it when she’d never written him back. Despite what he’d done, they’d loved each other. He thought he’d been a fool for caring about her when she’d responded with silence. That wasn’t it at all.

“She never got my letters,” he said, knowing it was true. “You had no right to keep them from her.”