One Hot Cowboy (5 page)

or nowhere, but feel the wind pulling at his

face.

“You don’t know that,” Rory pointed

out. “You ever ask her what she wanted?”

“She was your friend, not mine.” Cabe’s

fingers tightened on the grips as he

mounted up.

“Only because every time the two of you

were sharing space, you were busy listing

off all the things she’d done wrong.”

“Not every time,” he said defensively.

“And you can’t tell me that the three of you

weren’t up to your eyes in trouble

whenever I looked.”

“It made you look,” Rory said calmly.

“You were busy whipping the ranch back

into shape and don’t think I didn’t

appreciate that. Seth and I, we were never

worried about having a roof over our

heads, but the ranch kept you damned busy.

You were all work, work, work and no

play.”

“Someone had to be responsible,” he

growled.

Rory glanced over at him. “And you’re

real good at it. Seth, he gets all over the

place on the rodeo circuit. Hell, he’s still

raising Cain. He can’t ever sit still for

more than a week or two at a time. He

knows that, eventually, he’s going to have

to change something, but he’s not sure how

or why—but he
does
know that you’ll

always be right here, waiting for him when

he’s ready.”

Cabe felt that same surge of love for his

brother that he’d felt since his five year-

old self had tiptoed into the nursery to

sneak a peek at the family’s newest

member. He wasn’t sure what his brother

was getting at, but he was doing his

damnedest to listen. “What does that have

to do with Rose?”

Rory shrugged. “Maybe, nothing. But

she had things hard in L.A. and she always

worried that she was screwing things up

here in Lonesome.”

“She spent every minute of every day

looking for trouble,” Cabe snarled. “That’s

not worrying too much, Rory.”

“Sometimes it’s easier to get the

screwing up over and out of the way,”

Rory pointed out calmly. “If the worst has

already happened, there’s not as much left

to worry about.”

Cabe stared back at Rory. “That’s

ridiculous,” he said finally. “Auntie Dee

loved Rose. This was—is—her home. She

had nothing to worry about.”

“Try telling her that. You think she

knows about the reverse mortgage?” Rory

tossed the question out there.

“You want to play twenty questions

now?” An image of Rose’s face last night

at the swimming hole was burned into his

memory. Excitement and passion had lit

her up from within when she’d talked

about Auntie Dee’s house and her plans for

the place. Just how many times had she

gone over those plans in her head? And

why? And would a check be enough to buy

her a different dream?

It didn’t matter.

He needed those water rights. Hell, he

already
owned
them. He just had to claim

them.

“No,” Cabe bit out. He fired up the ATV

and got the quad pointed back toward the

closest road. Another day he would have

ridden out to the drill site, because on

horseback it was easier to feel that

connection between the ranch and himself.

There just wasn’t as much room for

thinking when he took the ATV out, which

was why he’d done so today. He’d already

thought this thing to death.

“She doesn’t have a clue,” he said

grimly, and he started following Seth on

back to the ranch house. The raw power of

the ATV motor matched his mood, the

primal vibration devouring the sound of

Rory’s curses.

“Rose won’t like it,” Rory warned. Dust

puffed up in small clouds as he took the

lead. “She’s always had a thing for that

crazy little house.”

Yeah.
Cabe tugged the Stetson down

farther as the ATV crested a lazy roll of

field. There was no surprise there. He’d

been ranching all his life, had watched

good men be forced to give up the land

their families had held for generations

because they couldn’t make the note and

couldn’t force a living out of their place. In

her own way, Rose Jordan had looked

every bit as passionate as those men.

But she’d only spent a handful of years

living in Lonesome, and she’d run, first

chance she’d gotten. Had she even thought

about what it would take to keep up a

property? This wasn’t a game, and she

couldn’t just come on back and play house.

He didn’t like what he was going to do, but

not doing it wasn’t an option.

She might not want anything from him,

even though part of him ached to learn

every sweet inch of her, but she was going

to take that damned check.

This time, when she took off, she’d have

what she needed to start over.

He’d make damn sure of it.

The Honda Civic rattled up Lonesome’s

main—and only—street, making it clear

that the car was only going this far because

Rose had insisted. Since Lonesome wasn’t

exactly sporting a Motel 6, Rose had spent

the night sleeping on the Honda’s backseat,

parked in Auntie Dee’s driveway. She’d

considered breaking a window and getting

into the house, but then she’d just have to

fix the window with money she didn’t

have.

She could wait one more night to get

into her house.

Fortunately, parking was never an issue

in Lonesome. There were more than

enough spots for cars, although horses

were a different story. Picking her place,

she parked the car and got out. When she’d

consulted the trunk of the car earlier,

looking for something clean to wear, she’d

settled on a purple chiffon sundress that

floated above her knees in a tease of airy

fabric—make-you-look clothes.

She wasn’t stupid, and she’d take every

advantage she could get in this meeting.

“I know what I want,” she told herself,

loudly slamming the Honda’s door so no

one could hear her talking to herself.

“Different” didn’t sell well in Lonesome.

She’d learned that the hard way, too. “I’m

keeping that house.”

Sure, the cowboys decorating the

outside of the bar-and-grill looked plenty

sexy, but she knew better. Everyone here

knew
everyone else, and not just on a first-

name basis or a hi-how-are-ya exchange.

No, the residents of Lonesome knew who

your parents were, where you’d been born.

From first word and first tooth right on up

to and including first date and firstborn,

Lonesome didn’t keep secrets. Didn’t need

to. Lonesome’s families were born here,

died here, and pretty much did all their

living either on the surrounding ranches or

on Lonesome’s handful of streets.

Which didn’t leave a whole lot of room

for a girl like her. An outsider.

The label the town’s gossips had put on

her was
trouble
.

That label wasn’t wrong.

She’d come out to Lonesome as part of a

program to get kids out of inner-city Los

Angeles and away from the tough

neighborhoods where they’d grown up.

Her foster parents had shoveled her onto

the bus that promised to drive her five

hundred miles north, away from city

conveniences—and city noise, pollution,

heat, and general gang-banging violence—

to Northern California and ranch country.

Matter of fact, she hadn’t wanted to leave

Los Angeles. Why would she? But she’d

gotten onto the bus because a ten-year-old

girl didn’t have too many choices, and she

was smart enough to realize, even then, that

there were worse destinies than a summer

spent in Lonesome.

Some of the kids riding the bus couldn’t

wait for the doors to open up and spit them

out into rural nowhere. Those kids talked

about horseback riding and swimming and

county fairs, but those were just words as

far as she was concerned. She knew all

about words. Those other kids, the ones

who’d been there before and were going

back for seconds or thirds, acted like

they’d found themselves some new

families out there in the sticks. Whatever

family she’d been born with hadn’t

bothered to stick around for her. She’d

wound up in the foster-care system

because that was what Los Angeles County

did with kids who couldn’t produce a

parent. A borrowed roof still beat sleeping

in the streets or the back of a car.

Lonesome wasn’t going to give her a new

family. She knew that.

But when she’d gotten off that bus, she’d

met Auntie Dee. By the end of the summer,

she’d known she wasn’t ever getting back

onto the bus. She’d stayed. The good

residents of Lonesome might not have been

sure about her, but Auntie Dee had been.

She’d had eight good years with Auntie

Dee before she’d finally packed her bags

and left. This time, for college and a

degree in architecture. She hadn’t been

back

much—and
that
was intentional,

because she’d been avoiding Cabe

Dawson even though he, of course, had no

clue how she felt—but she’d convinced

Auntie Dee to make the bus ride down to

LA, and she’d shown her the city. She

should have come back. She shouldn’t

have let Cabe’s rejection hurt her so badly.

Of course, truth was, Cabe probably

would have looked her square in the eye,

given her a happy meet-and-greet, and

offered her a cold longneck. She was a

friend of his brothers, and Cabe Dawson

valued his family. It was just one of the

many fine qualities he had. He thought her

attempt to kiss him was just a game, just

another attempt to push his buttons hard.

All of which made her want to plant her

brand-new cowboy boot in the middle of

his equally fine ass and shove.

Cabe had welcomed her to Lonesome,

invited her to hang out with his brothers.

Hell, she’d
been
one of the boys. Sort of.

She’d

spent

summer

after

summer

following the Dawson brothers around

from one piece of mischief to the next,

Cabe dogging their heels disapprovingly

the whole time. He’d never looked at her

and seen a girl. Or a potential girlfriend.

And by the time they’d been halfway

through high school, she’d wanted him to

look at her. She’d made just one move.

Once. One attempt to kiss Cabe Dawson

and make him see her as someone more

than his brothers’ friend.

He’d been standing by that truck of his

that day, looking serious and focused as he

examined a fledgling olive tree. She

wasn’t sure why he’d added olives to the

ranch but Cabe always had a vision and a

plan, so there was probably a damned

smart reason for that move. The ranch

looked good these days and, God knew, the

economy had done a number on too many

of her former neighbors. Auntie Dee had

complained about how tight times were

getting more than once.

Cabe had got that, got the ranch.

What he hadn’t got was
her
.

“Cabe—” She killed the motor on the

ATV and coasted to a stop next to him.

“Not now, Rose,” he grunted.

“This is important,” she insisted.

The look on his face said the olive tree

was important, too, but he turned that

dark gaze on her and the usual butterflies

kicked up in her stomach. God, he was

something else. All big and remote and so

very, very disciplined. She’d never seen

him out of control. Not once. He knew

exactly what to do and when and how to

do it.

He was perfect.

Her gaze dropped to the broad

shoulders beneath the sweat-dampened T-

shirt. That part of him was perfect, too.

The delicious curl of heat, low in her