The Renegade Cowboy Returns

MS. SMITHERS WAS A TALL, large-boned woman who looked more like a woman who could tame lions than a peacock breeder. Chelsea could see why Jonas was a bit intimidated by her, not that he would ever say he was. For one thing, Ms. Smithers was almost Jonas’s height—and Gage’s. Both were tall men. Not only was Ms. Ellen Smithers tall, she was heavyset. She looked like a stern, no-nonsense person, and Chelsea found herself shrinking back slightly when the woman glared at her.

“You’re here about my peafowl?” Ellen asked.

“Yes. We are,” Chelsea said, noting that Gage seemed happy for her to lead. “We’re interested in purchasing a pair.”

She received a frown in return. “I mostly sell to zoos and other breeders. Not interested in selling to individuals usually.”

Chelsea offered her a smile. “We’re hoping you might make an exception.”

“The problem is,” Ms. Smithers said, “I don’t know if the birds get taken care of by people who don’t understand them. They’re beautiful animals. They have special needs. What do you know about peacocks?”

Chelsea gulped. Gage shrugged. “That they’re good watchdogs.”

“True.” Ellen nodded. “What else?”

“That we pay cash for them.” Gage pulled out his wallet. “And that peafowl can be noisy during breeding season. I’ll be building an appropriate pen with sprinklers and lots of shade.”

“Hot where you are, is it?” Ms. Smithers stared at him warily, one eye on his wallet. “Peafowl need lots of space, too. You got lots of space?”

“I’m from Hell’s Colony,” Gage said easily. Chelsea noticed he sidestepped saying that the birds would possibly be living on the despised ranch Jonas had purchased.

“And you?” the curious Ms. Smithers asked Chelsea. “You don’t sound like you’re from Texas.”

“I’m from Dublin.” Chelsea could tell by the look on her face that she wanted more information. “I’m in the States with my mum. She has some breathing issues, and the warmer, drier climate here is helpful.” Chelsea hoped that was enough to satisfy Ms. Smithers.

“Well, now.” Ellen nodded. “Come inside and have a bite while I ponder whether I have a pair of peafowl I want to sell.”

“We don’t—” Gage began, and Chelsea shot him a look.

“We’d appreciate that,” she said quickly, and he gave her a slight squeeze on the arm that she took to be appreciation as he followed the ladies inside. “Play along,” she whispered as Ellen led them into a small, bright kitchen that looked hardly big enough to contain her bulk. “Be nice.”

“I’m always Mr. Nice.”

Chelsea ignored that and sat at the table. Gage took the seat across from her.

“Looks like a storm is blowing in,” Ellen said. “These early summer storms are strong this year. We’ve had a couple of tornadoes.”

Chelsea took the glass of water she was offered. Gage did, too, watching her for cues. “I’ve never seen a tornado,” she said.

“Just hope you never do.” The breeder peered out one of the windows, worrying. “Yep, here comes the rain.”

Slashes of droplets suddenly hit the glass panes, loud in the small kitchen.

“Guess I should have had you move your truck into the barn,” Ellen told Gage. “That’s hail.”

Chelsea looked at him sympathetically. “It was too shiny-new, anyway.”

He didn’t look amused. “So, about the peacocks—”

“I don’t have any right now,” Ellen said. “I’ve got some old ones you wouldn’t want, and I’ve got some that are nesting, but—”

Chelsea thought Gage’s head was going to pop off his shoulders.

“You didn’t say you didn’t have any available when I called you,” he said.

“We’re so eager to see some,” Chelsea interjected, shooting a warning glance at him.

“You can see them. Of course, not now with this storm. The nesters are cozy in their pens right now. I don’t let my peafowl roam during nesting, you know.”

Chelsea had wondered why there were no peacocks roaming about when they’d driven into the red-fenced farm, heralded by a sign that read Smithers’ Peacock Farm and Honeymoon Cabin.

The lights went out suddenly, plunging the kitchen into darkness.

“Well, that’s that,” Ellen said cheerfully.

“What’s what?” Gage demanded.

“That’s the end of the juice.” She sounded so happy about the electricity going out. “Could be hours before it comes back on.”

“All right.” Gage rose, his patience at an end. He handed her a business card. “Why don’t you call me when you have a pair of peacocks you’d like us to look at buying.”

“I will.” She nodded. “You folks be careful pulling onto the main road. This rain’ll be making mud of the end of the drive. Can be tricky.” She smiled at Chelsea and lit some candles. “Of course, if you want to wait out the storm, you’re welcome to stay in my guesthouse. It’s two hundred dollars a night, and I don’t mind saying it’s kind of a honeymooner’s getaway. I’ve got about fifteen peacocks, and maybe in the night I’ll remember which of them is just right for sale. I do hate to part with any, but of course they’re prettiest now. They’ll lose their trains at the end of breeding season. I might find a pair if I have time to go over my records.”

Chelsea froze. She didn’t want to be in a honeymooner’s getaway with Gage. “We’re not in need of—”

“We’ll take it.” He tossed cash on the table to cover the cost of the room, and then an extra hundred to encourage her memory. “Maybe that’ll help you come up with a just-right pair for us, and cover your trouble for keeping us, Ms. Smithers.”

Her eyes glowed in the candlelight as she gazed at the money. “You’ll find food in the fridge. Best in the area. Everything in the Peacock Cabin is available for guests. Lots of towels, which you’ll need, because I don’t have a spare umbrella to offer you. You’ll need this flashlight to see your way over to the cabin. Once there, you’ll find candles and a torch on the entry table. As remote as we are, power outages are not unusual. Of course, you may not need the candles.” She smiled broadly, winking. “Please make yourself at home, and don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything.”

Gage leaned close to Chelsea as they got up to follow Ms. Smithers down a long hall. “Just a pair of birds with eyes on their tails.”

“Shh,” Chelsea said, trying not to giggle. She was nervous at the thought of staying in a “peacock cabin” with Gage. But it wasn’t bad nerves. More like shivers of destiny and creativity finally awakening—the thrill of the unknown and adventure. And when he put his hand on her back to help her outside to the cabin Ms. Smithers pointed at, Chelsea accepted his assistance along the mud-washed, cobbled sidewalk. He clasped her hand as they ran to the cabin surrounded by trees, rain hitting them as they went.

They stepped inside, and Chelsea gasped. “Wow. This is the Peacock Cabin.”

Gage whistled, closing the door behind them. “Little less rustic than I’m used to.”

“Me, too.” Chelsea took off her shoes, leaving them on the Saltillo tile floor near the door as she lit the candles on the entry table Ellen had mentioned. When candlelight threw flickering light around the room, she could see their digs for the night. The centerpiece, she noticed with some dismay, was a round honeymooners’ bed covered with an emerald-green satin spread, and positioned beneath a heavy crystal chandelier. She stepped closer with a candle, seeing peacock-feathered pillows piled abundantly at the top of the bed, the colors glistening almost erotically in the candlelight. A mirrored wall backed the bed, emphasizing the florid color scheme. Chelsea lit candles on the bedside tables, noting that every wall had a painting, which seemed to be delicate nudes in a Garden of Eden–type setting, each of which included—what else?—peacocks.

“Holy smokes,” Gage said. “I think the bed is motorized.”

“Why?” She stepped closer to see what he was looking at.

“I guess so it can turn.” He stared underneath the bed with a flashlight, checking out the contraption. “I wondered why it was set so high. When the juice, as Ellen called it, comes back on, we’ll check it out.”

“She certainly wants this cottage to contain everything a honeymooner needs,” Chelsea said, checking out a glass-topped table with a gold-rimmed tray. “I was going to help myself to some fruit juice, but I see these are juices of a different kind.”

Gage grinned as he glanced at the tray of varying fruit-flavored body oils. “Who would have thought Ms. Ellen had such a sensual side?”