Cowboy Summer Page 2

  As he pulled past the shed, he saw a black car parked by the pasture fence. Long and lean with a predatory sheen, it sure didn’t belong to any of his friends. Cowboys drove pickups, most of them rusty. A truck wasn’t supposed to be pretty, just functional, so when a paint job surrendered to Wyoming’s brutal climate, they slapped on some primer and kept going. But this vehicle was some fool’s pride and joy. Beneath the dust from the dirt road, it was waxed to a shine.

  Stepping out of the truck, Cade peered through the weeds at the car’s back end. When he saw the crest on the trunk, an eerie silence settled over the landscape, as if the birds and the breezes were holding their breath.

  Cadillac.

  His ex-wife drove a Caddy, but hers was an SUV—an Escalator, or something like that. This was a sedan, something her daddy would drive, and that couldn’t be good news. Amber Lynn’s daddy owned the bank in Wynott, and the bank in Wynott owned Cade’s ranch.

  He glanced around, unnerved by the silence. Where the hell was his dog? Boogy should be bouncing in the front window, barking his head off. The bandy-legged, brindled boxer cross was supposed to guard the house.

  He was probably hiding behind the sofa.

  Cade sighed. He didn’t need trouble right now. All day, he’d been looking forward to stopping by his neighbor’s place—casually, of course—to see if Heck Bailey needed a hand with anything.

  Like maybe his daughter.

  Jess Bailey had always been the first to climb the highest tree or ride a forbidden horse when they were kids. Her sexy, reckless courage had whirled like a tempest through Cade’s life, and her smooth-muscled cowgirl body, laughing blue eyes, and wild blond curls had filled his dreams, right up to the day she left him behind.

  Actually, that wasn’t true. She still filled his dreams.

  But she’d put much more than miles between them, following a star he couldn’t see from Walker Ranch—a star that told her a high-powered job in the city was worth more, somehow, than an honest country life.

  She was wrong, but a life without her hadn’t been worth a dime to Cade. Maybe he should have followed her. If his father had left him with anything to offer, he might have convinced her to stay.

  There you go again, blaming everything on me.

  Cade shook his head hard, but the voice droned on.

  I warned you it wouldn’t work out with the Bailey girl, but would you listen? Not a chance. And then you up and married that other bitch. Dumbass. You should have…

  A sudden clash of hooves on steel shocked the voice into silence. Jogging back to his horse trailer, Cade flung open the battered door to find his wild-eyed, tangle-maned gelding flailing toward a full-on mental breakdown.

  “Easy, Pride. Settle down.”

  He might as well tell the horse to turn a somersault. The only thing that calmed the nervy Arabian was work, the harder the better. They’d enjoyed a busy day chasing feral cows through the canyons and coulees of the neighboring Vee Bar ranch, but the ride home had set off a collection of twitches and itches the horse needed to shed with a little bucking, a lot of crow hopping, and a gallon of high-test attitude.

  Once Cade swung the butt bar aside and clipped on a lead rope, Pride calmed. Tossing his head, swishing his tail, he pranced down the ramp with the hot feline grace of a flamenco dancer.

  The horse had belonged to Cade’s ex, but she’d lost interest in riding like she’d lost interest in her other expensive hobbies, which had included fine wine, ballroom dancing, and sleeping with men who weren’t her husband. Amber Lynn had left a mess in her wake, but he could almost forgive her, since she’d left him Pride. The horse was responsive as a finely tuned sports car, and working with him was a challenge Cade enjoyed.

  What if Amber Lynn’s daddy thought Pride still belonged to him?

  Cade released the horse into the pasture and slammed the gate, letting the chain clang against the metal rails. Spooked, the horse pitched along the fence like a demon-driven rocking horse, then rocketed over a hill, out of sight and hopefully out of everybody’s mind.

  Returning to the shed, Cade strode through the tall grass and peered into the Caddie. Candy wrappers and fast-food containers littered the floor, and a bottle of wine sat on the passenger seat, cork askew.

  Amber Lynn.

  Sure as claw marks on a tree trunk spelled bear, junk food and expensive booze spelled Amber Lynn Lyle.

  Crossing the parched lawn, he jogged up the porch steps and flung the door open, letting it bang against the wall. Boogy skulked in from the kitchen, staggering sideways like a sorry-ass drunk, his jowly face eloquent with doggie remorse.

  “Aw, Boogy.” Cade bent to rub the dog’s ears. They stood up like satellite dishes, swiveling toward whatever Boogy was looking for—which was sometimes Cade but usually bacon.

  A ripple of tension ran down the dog’s back.

  “She’s here, huh? You’re scared,” Cade whispered. “It’s okay. Me, too.”

  Sliding to the floor, Boogy rolled over, gazing up with adoring eyes as his tongue flopped out the side of his mouth. Cade had been looking for a cow dog when Boogy had turned up homeless. He’d fallen for the sturdy, smiley critter and told himself any dog could learn to herd cows. Unfortunately, he’d been wrong. Boogy couldn’t grasp the difference between herding and chasing, so the folks at the Vee Bar asked Cade to leave him home.

  A faint squeaking sound came from the kitchen. Standing slowly, Cade peered around the doorframe.

  Amber Lynn Lyle, formerly Amber Lynn Walker, crouched in one of the battered captain’s chairs at Cade’s kitchen table. Her feet rested on the rungs, and she’d thrust her hands between her knees like she was cold. Dark hair hung knotted and limp around her hunched shoulders, obscuring her face.

  Cade stilled, chilled to the bone. His ex had broken their vows so hard and cleaned out his bank account so thoroughly, he’d assumed she was gone for good. There was nothing left on the ranch but him, and she’d made it clear he wasn’t what she wanted.

  Yet here she was, looking almost as sorry as poor old Boogy. Her pose was calculated to inspire pity; with Amber Lynn, every move had a message, and every position was a pose. There was always an equation behind those green eyes, and the answer was always Amber Lynn Lyle.

  He knew, sure as he knew his own name, that her timing was another calculation. Gossip spread across the county fast as wildfire in a high wind, and everybody knew Jess Bailey was coming home.

  So here came Amber Lynn, staking her claim like an old dog peeing on a tree.

  “Amber Lynn?”

  She shivered dramatically.

  He glanced up at the cabinet over the refrigerator. Hadn’t that bottle of Jim Beam just called his name? Maybe he should offer his ex-wife a shot, pour one for himself. Calm things down.

  But no. It was whiskey that had led him to Amber Lynn and sobriety that had set him free.

  “What are you doing here?” He pulled out a side chair and straddled the seat, resting his forearms on the back. “You wanted to get married; I married you. You wanted me to pay off your bills; I hocked my ranch to pay ’em. Then you wanted Drew Covington, and I gave you a divorce.” He splayed his empty hands. “What’s left?”

  “I’m s-sorry.” She hiccupped, then dropped her voice to a whisper. “Drew was a mistake.”

  “So was I. Or so you said.” He hated to be harsh, but hey, at least he was talking to her. He’d much rather take her upstairs and throw her out a second-story window. “How is your boyfriend, anyway?”

  “Drew? He’s not my boyfriend. Not anymore.” With a dramatic sniff, she tossed her hair aside, revealing a nasty black eye. The skin around it looked like a stormy sunset, purple with streaks of red.

  “Drew did that to you?”

  She nodded.

  Cade couldn’t believe it. Drew had been a jerk, but he’d been a civili
zed jerk. In their only confrontation, he’d been scared as a skinny second grader facing the school bully. Cade had waved him away, told him to go on and take her. But if he’d known the man would hit her…

  This is your fault. You should’ve seen he was a hitter. Not like you never knew one, right?

  For once, Tom Walker’s voice made sense. Poor Amber Lynn.

  But as pity clouded his brain, his ex-wife bit her lip and looked away, as if something outside the window had caught her eye.

  The woman was as transparent as a toddler. Cade leaned a little closer.

  “Seriously? Drew?”

  Squeezing out a tear, she shook her head. “No.” She shot him a sulky glare, as if the lie was his fault. “Not Drew. It was another guy.”

  “Jeez, Amber Lynn. It’s serious stuff, accusing a man of something like that.”

  “Well, it was Drew’s fault.” Her voice rose to a whine. “He locked me out of his house, and I didn’t have anywhere to go. I knew this other guy liked me, so I went to his place, and then—he hit me.”

  There was something missing from that story. His ex blinked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Aren’t you going to ask who it was?”

  “I don’t fight your battles anymore. I stopped that when you started sleeping around.”

  “I had to do something. You never paid any attention to me.” She pointed toward the barn the way another woman might point at a bar or a strip club. “You were always out there with the horses, and I was always alone.”

  He’d heard this song before. She’d demand his attention, then leave in a huff just when he made time for her. Usually, she’d gone shopping for revenge, spending what little money he had. When that ran out, she’d forged his name on credit applications and spent money he didn’t have. When he’d been forced to take on extra work to pay the bills, she’d hurled herself into storms of weeping—because he never spent time with her.

  “Cut it out, Amber Lynn. We’ve been over this.”

  “All right.” With a final sniff, she straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath, and blew her nose with a honk that would have impressed a Canadian goose. She was trying, at least, and that was all it took to make him feel pity again.

  She couldn’t help who she was. Her folks had given in to every tantrum instead of taking the time to teach her right from wrong. Now, she survived the only way she knew how—by manipulating people.

  “I’m s-s-sorry, Cade.”

  With one more comical goose honk, she dissolved into tears, crying so hard, he was afraid she’d pull a muscle.

  Wait. Did sobbing require muscles?

  He had no idea. He’d never cried like that in his life. Not when his dad smacked him around, not even when cancer took his mother. The only time he’d cried had been when Jess left, but even that hadn’t been an all-out, shoulder-heaving show like this.

  “I had such a bad night.” She hiccupped, then burped, and he smothered a smile. “I s-s-slept in the c-c-car.”

  She blinked her sorry sheep eyes, clueless that the burp had made him feel closer to her than any of her womanly wiles.

  “I have n-nowhere to go.” The blinking turned to all-out lash fluttering. “Can I stay here? Just tonight?”

  Boogy whined and crawled under the table.

  “Why can’t you stay with your dad?” Cade asked.

  Amber Lynn slumped like a puppet whose strings had snapped. “That would be the first place that jerk would look. Besides, Daddy won’t even talk to me because I left you. He said you’re a g-good and decent man.”

  “Yeah, right. Last I knew, I was a low-class, redneck, white-trash bum who’d forced his precious daughter to live in a hovel. I believe that’s a direct quote.”

  “He knows better now. You’re a good man. You are.” She choked on another burp and hiccupped. “My own daddy disowned me, ’cause I’m nothing but a tramp.”

  “You’re not a tramp, Amber Lynn. You’re just confused.”

  “I am confused.” The storm cleared as suddenly as it had begun, and Amber Lynn smiled. With her face all pink from crying, she looked pretty as a prize piglet at the fair—except for that eye. “I need to get a good night’s sleep and figure things out. Can I stay here? Please?”

  “Why don’t you get a hotel room?”

  “I l-l-left my purse back at—back where…” She pointed toward her black eye, then pushed her chair back. “You’re right, though. I should go back and get it.” She sighed. “I don’t think he’ll hit me again.”

  Cade felt his resistance waning, then thought of the Cadillac parked behind the shed. It had to be her father’s car, and if Jasper Lyle would loan her the car, why wouldn’t he give her a place to stay?

  Cade was pretty sure she was lying. Matter of fact, he was sure of it, because her lips were moving.

  “I’m sorry, but no,” he said. “You can’t stay.”

  The sniffling started up again. He raised a hand, palm out, as if it could hold back her tears. “I need to go out. You can rest a little. Take a nap and maybe a shower, okay? But then you have to go.”

  She opened her mouth, no doubt to ask where he was going, but Cade wasn’t about to tell her. She’d throw herself on the floor and pitch a fit if she knew he was helping out at the Diamond Jack and hoping to see Jess Bailey.

  “You can use my soap, okay? Shampoo, too. But be gone before I get home, around sundown, okay?” He answered for her. “Okay. Come on, Boogy.”

  When they reached the truck, Boogy jumped up into the shotgun seat while Cade gripped the wheel, his head spinning. Had he been firm enough? Would Amber Lynn be gone when he got back?

  Probably not. When Amber Lynn wanted something, she was stubborn as a rusty gate. But he couldn’t deal with her right now. He’d made a promise to Heck Bailey—one that just might put him in place to welcome Jess back home where she belonged.

  Turning to Boogy, he rubbed the dog’s flat head. “You’re a good dog, but you’re useless, you know? I ought to replace you with a Rottweiler.”

  Boogy panted and grinned, oblivious to the threat, his mind on the wonders of truck riding.

  “I’m not any better, though. We’re both softies at heart, and you know what?”

  The dog perked up, as if Cade had said “ball” or “play.”

  “It’s going to get us in trouble, Boogy. All kinds of trouble.”

  Chapter 3

  Jess rolled into the Diamond Jack with a smile on her face and a song in her heart. She had two weeks off. Her boss seemed to understand this was a family emergency, and she didn’t think he’d hold it against her when it came to the Hawaii position.

  She hoped not, because she wanted that job. She’d chosen a degree in hospitality hoping for a ticket to see the world, and now she had her chance. Birchwood Suites was expanding, and their more exotic locations were prizes her colleagues vied for in a fierce but unspoken competition—one Jess intended to win.

  Turning into the drive, she paused beside the familiar old ranch sign with its crudely painted, peeling jack of diamonds. Maybe she’d fix that up while she was here. She’d never had the heart to tell her brother the jack looked like he had a stomachache. And if they were selling the ranch…

  No.

  They wouldn’t sell the ranch. They couldn’t. Probably her dad was just tired; it was a lot to deal with on his own, and Molly wasn’t much help. In fact, Jess didn’t know why her stepmother didn’t just go back to her teaching job. There was no reason for her to hang around the ranch all day if she couldn’t do the work.

  Jess would cheer up her dad, pitch in with the chores, and everything would go back to normal. She’d just have to come home a little more often. And Griff—well, she hoped her brother made it back from whatever wild part of the world he’d been sent to in the endless fight against terror. He could help on the ranch or not. She didn’t
care. She just wanted him home.

  Pulling into the drive, she checked her phone. No calls from work, but she’d better check in. It would be impossible to tear herself away from family once she stepped inside.

  Her assistant answered the phone in two rings.

  “Birchwood Suites Denver. Your comfort is our business. How can I help you?”

  “Nice greeting, Treena! It’s Jess. How’s it going?”

  “Great. We had a little hiccup when that new maid didn’t show up, though. Mrs. Donnelly had a fit.”

  “You can’t be afraid of her,” Jess said. “You’re in charge, remember?”

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Treena said airily. “She doesn’t scare me, and now she knows it. We had a good conversation about people skills. I pointed out how much she cares about doing a great job and how that makes her too hard on the staff sometimes. She agreed to try to be more positive. I think it’ll really help.”

  Treena was right. If the head of housekeeping could just stop barking at the maids, everything would run a lot smoother. But Jess had had that conversation with Mrs. Donnelly a dozen times, and though the woman would improve for a day or two, her new attitude never lasted.

  Treena didn’t need to hear that, though.

  “Good job.” Jess put a smile in her voice. “Sounds like you handled the situation really well.”

  “I learned it all from you!” Treena could be a bit of a brownnoser, but that was part of the game. “How’s your vacation going?”

  Jess winced. “It’s not a vacation. It’s a family emergency.”

  “Right. Okay, well, have fun! I’ll call you if I need you.”

  Jess hung up the phone, feeling dismissed. She wondered if Treena was doing that on purpose or genuinely trying to be nice.

  There was no point in worrying. She was home now, amused as always by the house’s wild and whimsical architecture. It had begun as a simple homesteader’s cabin, but each generation of Baileys had added rooms in the style of their time, creating an architectural mishmash that ranged from rustic cabin to High Victorian. Mismatched windows were flanked by crooked shutters, the front porch leaned slightly to the left, and the roofline ranged from sober slopes to wild, winged gables. There was even a tower, which held a breakfast nook on the first floor and Jess’s bedroom on the second.