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The Maverick Returns
Roz Denny Fox


She once loved a cowboy… When Tate Walker was killed in a barroom brawl, he left his widow with a small rundown ranch in south Texas and a daughter he falsely claimed wasn’t his. Willow had accepted Tate’s proposal because Cooper Drummond, the love of her life, refused to put aside his rodeo plans, despite her fears for his safety. A year later, a cowboy appears out of nowhere, looking for work.He’d heard about a widow who could use some help. To Willow’s shock, it’s Cooper Drummond. And to Coop’s shock, the widow is his one-time fiancée, now the mother of a little girl who’s been diagnosed with a troubling condition.She still loves that cowboy… And that cowboy’s never forgotten her. Can the two of them—the three of them—become a family? Can Coop love her daughter as his own?










She Once Loved A Cowboy...

When Tate Walker was killed in a barroom brawl, he left his widow with a small run-down ranch in south Texas and a daughter he falsely claimed wasn’t his. Willow had accepted Tate’s proposal because Cooper Drummond, the love of her life, refused to put aside his rodeo plans, despite her fears for his safety.

A year later, a cowboy appears out of nowhere, looking for work. He’d heard about a widow who could use some help. To Willow’s shock, it’s Cooper Drummond. And to Coop’s shock, the widow is his onetime fiancée, now the mother of a little girl who’s been diagnosed with a troubling condition.

She Still Loves That Cowboy...

And that cowboy’s never forgotten her. Can the two of them—the three of them—become a family? Can Coop love her daughter as his own?


Coop saw the house first

In the fading sunlight it looked more than weathered. The clapboard was badly in need of paint and the barn appeared to be in even worse condition. He also saw that several head of cattle had strayed through a broken section of wire fencing.

He slammed on his brakes. In the distance he noticed a skinny woman, a blonde, who had a small child hanging on to her jacket, attempting to shoo the animals back.

“Hold on,” Coop yelled after he set his brake and rolled down one window. “I’ll come give you a hand.”

The woman’s head jerked around in surprise, as if she hadn’t heard his engine and had no idea anyone was on the road.

Cooper swept up the straw cowboy hat he wore when working out in the sun and leaped down from the cab. He began turning the closest cattle back into the would-be enclosure.

At last the final stubborn rangy steer in the group of two dozen or so crossed over the squashed wire. Facing the woman, who stood closer to him now, Coop dragged his shirtsleeve across his brow. When he opened his eyes, shock traveled from his suddenly tight jaw straight to his toes.

Though a great deal thinner, and her sky-blue eyes far more lackluster than when he’d last seen her, the much-talked-about widow was none other than Cooper’s first love, Willow Courtland. Willow, who’d married his arch enemy, Tate Walker.


Dear Reader,

I’ve often considered writing a story in which either the hero or heroine has a child with autism. I discovered how difficult such a story is to write. I have a grandson on the autism spectrum and I’ve learned that it’s a disorder with so many variables it’s impossible to fit them all into one fictional child.

The reality for the parent of an autistic child is that finding appropriate programs can be a problem—although there are more available now than there once were. Still, if you’re from a rural area as my heroine is, the task can seem insurmountable. And if, like Willow, you’re also trying to run a ranch and raise a child on your own, life is—to put it mildly—not easy.

That’s why I searched for a hero like Cooper Drummond. A man who, while not without his faults, has a heart big enough to love a woman out of his past and her autistic child.

I hope you enjoy Willow, Lilybelle and Cooper’s story. I love hearing from all my readers. You can contact me by email at rdfox@cox.net.

Or by letter at Roz Denny Fox, 7739 E. Broadway Blvd #101, Tucson, AZ 85710-3941.

Sincerely,

Roz




The Maverick Returns

Roz Denny Fox







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Roz saw her first book, Red Hot Pepper, published by Harlequin Books in February 1990. She's written for several Harlequin series, as well as online serials and special projects. Besides being a writer, Roz has worked as a medical secretary and as an administrative assistant in both an elementary school and a community college. Part of her love for writing came from moving around with her husband during his tenure in the Marine Corps and as a telephone engineer. The richness of settings and the diversity of friendships she experienced continue to make their way into her stories. Roz enjoys corresponding with readers either via email, rdfox@cox.net, or by mail (7739 E. Broadway Blvd #101, Tucson, AZ 85710-3941). You can also check her website www.Korynna.com/RozFox.


This book is for Paula Eykelhof, who has supported and encouraged me in my writing for as long as I’ve been dreaming up stories. Also Cooper and Willow’s story is for Kathleen Scheibling, who found a place in American Romance for one more good-looking, lovable Texas cowboy.


Contents

Chapter One (#ua085ca15-6166-5503-b6e0-0cb38de432a0)

Chapter Two (#u63706bbe-63be-54ca-88ab-a102128d7946)

Chapter Three (#u218cdacd-a2bd-57a5-87c7-233b3a090cc1)

Chapter Four (#ude8b4009-c057-5b5b-bb66-75798e8f84fe)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One

It was Saturday night, and Cooper Drummond, five-time national bronc-riding champion, sat in a Hondo, Texas, bar, nursing his second beer. The barmaid flirted with him, as did rodeo fans who were trying to get his attention. They eventually gave up and turned to someone else when Coop didn’t flirt back. He had a lot on his mind. It had begun to bother him that he had very little to show for five years of earning good money on the circuit. He owned a top-of-the-line Dodge Ram and a color-coordinated two-horse trailer. He had a suitcase full of flashy buckles, more than one man would ever wear. He’d lost count of his broken bones. Thank heaven they’d all healed. With luck he wouldn’t have any more, now that—six months ago—he’d quit rodeo. He’d been working for Jud Rayburn on the Rocking R Ranch because he didn’t want to go home to the Tripe D, which his older brother ran with an iron fist—just like he tried to run Coop’s life. Tonight ought to be a typical Saturday night off from chasing rogue steers through dusty, cactus-littered arroyos. As a rule Coop would hit town with a group of other cowboys, and they all partied hard and two-stepped the night away with hangers-on from the rodeo days. But tonight, for some reason, his interest in dancing had disappeared. Some of his pals were playing pool in an adjacent room, but he wasn’t moved to take part in that either.

On the jukebox, Reba belted out a song called “The Bridge You Burn.” Her words, wrapped in upbeat music, bounced off the rafters and left Coop thinking about how many bridges he’d burned. A lot of them, for sure.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder, interrupting Coop’s self-analysis. He turned on the bar stool, expecting to see one of the guys from the Rocking R. He didn’t expect to see his older brother, Sullivan. Nor was Coop in any mood to have Sully pull out the adjacent stool and plant his butt there. The brothers had been at odds over almost everything since their dad died and Sully had nominated himself to fill his shoes.

Coop lifted his long-neck bottle and took a deep draw. “What brings you slumming tonight, big brother?”

“You. Why in hell are you working for the Rocking R instead of at home on the Triple D where you belong?”

“It hasn’t been the Triple D since Dad died,” Coop shot back. “You’ve made it the Single D.”

“You want the brand changed to the Double D? It hasn’t been double anything since you took off to prove something—hell if I know what. You rode every ornery bronc in the southwest when you could’ve raised the most profitable herd of quarter horses in Texas. You thought being a rodeo bum was better than doing everyday ranch chores, yet you’re working for Jud like a common drifter.”

“I sold my stock except for two geldings, and two geldings don’t make for good breeding, now do they? And Jud Rayburn treats me like a man—like I have a brain. He doesn’t play lord and master like you do. But I’m leaving Jud’s place and heading south. I read about a rancher advertising for a horse trainer down there.”

“Really? Well, that makes this easier.” Coop’s brother pulled a sheaf of papers from the inside pocket of his corduroy jacket. “I’ve run the ranch alone for five years. I want you to sign Dad’s third of the ranch over to my son, Gray.” He unfolded the legal document and produced a gold pen that he held out to Cooper.

“Do you think this will force me to come back? Forget it! Gray’s only six years old!” Coop set down his beer with a thwack.

“You were ten and I was fifteen when Mom died and Dad deeded us each a third of Drummond Ranch and renamed it the Triple D.”

“Then we got equal parts of Dad’s share when he died. So what?”

“After you graduated from college and got a harebrained notion to run off to the rodeo, I’ve pulled your share of the workload, along with Dad’s and mine.”

“That’s why I went off to rodeo, Sully. You put yourself in Dad’s boots. I didn’t like you ordering me around then, and I don’t need it now.” Coop grabbed the papers, ripped them in half and let the pieces drift to floor. Then, in a fit of long-brewing frustration, he hauled back and socked his brother in the jaw. Jamming on his hat, Coop stalked out, stiff-arming his way through the swinging door. He leaped into his pickup and roared out of the parking space without glancing back.

* * *

SULLY EXITED THE BAR, wiggling his jaw. His flinty gaze swept the area before his angry eyes fell on his pretty, red-haired wife, who waited for him near their car. She touched his face lightly and murmured, “Ouch. I can see that didn’t go well. Shall we hike over to the diner and get some ice for your jaw, Sullivan?”

“I’m through with him, Blythe. He tore up the contract. I know, I know, you warned me against coming here. But I’m done, I tell you. Coop can’t be a silent partner in the Triple D forever. I’m going to see our lawyer about voiding Coop’s entire inheritance.”

“Don’t, Sully.” Blythe gripped his arm. “Coop is family, and we have too little family left between us,” she said, her eyes filled with sorrow. “Give it more time, then try again. Coop’s young. He took your dad’s death really hard. You know he thought Matt hung the stars and the moon.” She sounded earnest. “Business at my clinic has picked up. You said stock sales were up, too. We’re okay. Please, Sully. He’s your only sibling, and Gray’s only uncle. Please give Coop time to come around.”

Sullivan, who’d loved Blythe since the day he met her in college, gave his jaw a last test before he sighed and kissed her. “Coop’s not all that young. He’s twenty-seven. Past time he grew up. What he needs is a good woman,” Sully grumbled. “Yeah, he took Dad’s death hard, but it’s the way Willow Courtland dumped him that sent him off in a huff. She could’ve stopped him.”

Blythe Drummond shook her head. “I don’t suppose we’ll ever know what really caused their breakup. Coop might have gotten over it if she hadn’t married Tate Walker. That was like pouring salt in an open wound.”

Sully yanked open the passenger car door and waited for Blythe to get in. “Yeah, but I say good riddance to Tate and to her. I wish Bart Walker would sell his ranch and leave. I can’t prove he cut out some of my newborn calves and branded them with the Bar W, but I know there was bad blood between Dad and him over calf-rustling. All the Walkers are shady, to say the least.”

Blythe swung her legs into the car. “Sully, you work too hard. And you worry too much about the Triple D, and about Cooper.” She raised one hand. “No, no tirade. I don’t care how much you gripe, I know you want Coop to come home. Why not hire someone to help you part-time for a few months? Coop’s left the circuit for good. Give him until the holidays to work this out. Have you ever met a cowboy who doesn’t get homesick at Christmas? If Coop doesn’t wander home by then, we’ll hunt him up and extend one last olive branch. Okay?” She smoothed a hand down Sully’s rigid arm.

He blew out a breath. “If Coop comes home, we’ll see if I feel inclined to give him a pass for the way he hit me. He had no call. And if I extend any olive branch, he’ll have to show up at the Triple D to collect it.”

* * *

STEAMED THAT SULLY had shown up at the bar unexpectedly, adding to his already disgruntled mood, Coop weighed his options on the drive back to the Rocking R. He had some money left from what he’d earned working for Jud. And some savings from when he sold the herd he’d built up before attending Texas A&M. It was while he was in college that he’d developed a hankering to rodeo. But if his dad hadn’t keeled over from a heart attack, and if Sully, who was five years older, hadn’t taken it upon himself to run everything on the ranch, including him, things might have panned out differently. Maybe he wouldn’t have fought with Willow. But then again… Ah, hell! Coop jammed in a CD and cranked up the sound. He hadn’t thought about Willow in weeks. It didn’t help now that Lady Antebellum filled the cab with “Need You Now.”

He popped the disk out midsong and shoved in another that was better suited to his current mood. George Strait singing “All My Exes Live In Texas.”

Coop didn’t have any idea if Willow still lived in Texas. All ties were cut when she’d married Tate-the-jerk-Walker. His friends—and enemies—knew better than to mention either of their names to Coop. But it still hurt that she’d married that blowhard over him. They’d both vied for her attention from the day Willow’s folks moved to Hondo when she was in the sixth grade. She knew how tough his dad’s death had been on him. And she knew he hated the way Sully took charge of the ranch and ordered him around. Still, she’d chose that bad time to give him an ultimatum. Rodeo or her.

Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, Coop felt the old gnawing emptiness well up again. Yes, her dad had been left wheelchair-bound from bull-riding. But she wouldn’t listen when Coop explained that bull-riding was far more dangerous than busting broncs, something he’d done for easily half his life.

The song ended and George started crooning a mellower tune.

All of that was ancient history. Sully had already settled down, happily marrying Blythe Thompson, who’d become a veterinarian. Now they had a son. Coop hated to think that part of his attitude toward Sully was jealousy. But he would’ve married Willow, and they would’ve had a kid or two by now. Crap, he never should’ve come back to Hondo. It would be best if he packed up and left tonight, he decided. Like he told Sully, he had other options.

Coop had made up his mind by the time he reached the Rocking R. He went looking for Jud Rayburn. “Your roundup’s winding down, Jud. I’ve decided to mosey down south. According to an ad in the newest Horse Trader, there’s a rancher down near Laredo who is looking for a horse trainer. Everyone knows I’d rather work with horses than with cattle.”

“I hate to lose you, Coop. Rest assured I’ll give you a great reference. But surely you aren’t leaving Hondo for good? I know Sully hopes you’ll return to the Triple D.”

Coop shook his head. “I doubt Sully still feels that way, Jud. He and I just had a run-in at Homer’s bar.” Coop flexed his right hand. “Sully’s got a rock-hard jaw and I guess you could say I have an equally hard head. This wasn’t our first argument.”

“That’s too bad, son. Matt would’ve wanted you boys to share the running of a ranch he loved. When your mom died, and Matt had to bury her, you and Sully were all that kept him sane. Kept him working and building up the ranch so that one day you boys would raise your families on the Triple D.”

Swallowing a hard lump that came into his throat, Coop said, “Yeah, well, that’s working out for Sullivan and Blythe. Me, I’m not ready to let one woman tie me down.”

Jud Rayburn cocked a shaggy eyebrow as he peeled off several twenties from a money clip and handed the bills to Coop. “There’s a lot to be said for crawling into bed with the same woman every night, son. A woman who knows your weaknesses, but who only sees your strengths. When you land in Laredo, phone me with your address so if I haven’t paid you enough, I can send you a check after the Rocking R accountant tallies your time sheets.”

“This more than makes us square, Jud. Anyway, I don’t want to make it easy for Sully to run me to ground.” Coop shook hands with the rancher who’d been his dad’s best friend. Crossing to the corral, he cut his two cow ponies out of the remuda, loaded them into his trailer and left.

Coop drove until midnight, then booked into a motel outside Laredo. He didn’t sleep well. He was plagued all night by dreams of losing his mom when he was ten, then repeating the loss with his dad when he was in college. Coop had idolized Matthew Drummond. Tossing and turning, he punched his pillow into a ball. He wasn’t ready or willing to admit how much like their father Sully had become. A quiet solid man’s man. A good husband and dad, by all accounts. A hard worker. A pillar of the community.

Throwing back the covers, Coop hit the shower. He’d squandered too much of his rodeo earnings on a truck, and on beer and women. Coop let the water sluice over his body until it ran cold. He was sure his dad wouldn’t be any happier with him at the moment than Sully was. Matt Drummond had been a peacemaker. Not liking the direction of his thoughts, Coop slapped off the faucets, dried quickly and dressed.

The late-June sky was streaked purple, red and orange when he threw his duffel bag into the pickup’s cab and made his way out of Laredo to the McHenry spread. Summer heat would soon shimmer off the asphalt highway.

Bob McHenry was a big, bald, tobacco-chewing guy, who spat twice before telling Cooper he was darned sorry, but he’d already hired a horse trainer.

Coop thanked him and returned to his pickup after asking if he could water his horses at Bob’s nearby trough. The whole spread was a nice, well-kept ranch, staked out by white tri-rail fences. Coop was disappointed he’d shown up too late. He would’ve liked working here, he thought.

“Hey, champ.” A gnarled cowboy with a booming voice called out as Cooper watered his horses. He glanced around and spotted a bowlegged man pulling off his gloves after he climbed over the fence.

“Bob McHenry gave me permission,” Coop said, thinking the cowboy was worried that he was up to no good.

Instead, the guy stuck out a hand. “Rafer James. You rode against my brother Lowell twice at the Mesquite rodeo. Beat him by seconds both times.”

“Sure, I know Lowell. How is he? I quit the circuit myself after last season, but I don’t recall seeing Lowell at the finals.”

“He met a gal from Montana, got married and then drew a bad hoss in an off-circuit rodeo. Crushed his hip against the chute. It never healed right. His wife wanted him to give up rodeoing, anyway. Her dad retired, so they took over running his feed store up near Bozeman.”

Coop pursed his lips as Rafer asked him what he was doing in Laredo. “I saw the ad Bob placed for a horse trainer. He said he already hired someone, so I’ll get on up the road and see if anyone needs a hand for summer haying, or maybe moving cows to a summer range.”

The other man stuffed a stick of chewing gum in his mouth. “Things are tight in this part of the country, what with the bad economy and all. I’ve heard of a widow with a little kid, a daughter, who lives outside Carrizo Springs. She can’t afford to pay scale, so she doesn’t keep a hand for long. Seems she’s barely hanging on since her husband died in a drunken brawl that ended in gunplay. Something else. The guys say she’s a looker.” The man nudged Coop’s arm. “Up to now she’s sent away any cowboy with ideas of getting into her bed. But, Champ, with your reputation on the circuit attracting buckle bunnies, I’ll bet you can score. Unless the low wage drives you off.”

Not sure he liked that picture of himself, Coop gathered his horses. “Isn’t helping women in distress the unwritten code of the west?” he snapped.

“Whoa, there. I guess you think all those wins puts you up on a pedestal. I meant no offense to the widow. I’m only passing along rumors. Take the tip or leave it, I gotta get back to seeding a field.”

The cowboy hobbled off. Deep down his jab reminded Coop too much of Sully’s accusations, which made it rankle all the more. Perhaps guys like Rafer thought it was cool to have rodeo groupies always hanging around. It wasn’t all that great. Coop liked women, and had no doubt taken advantage of some who were available on the circuit. But the past couple of years that lifestyle had gotten old.

Which was one reason Coop didn’t immediately strike out for Carrizo Springs. Meandering in that direction, because it was how the single-lane highway ran, he stopped at every ranch he passed to see if anyone was hiring.

At two of those places the owners also mentioned the widow. Coop wasn’t sure he wanted to get tangled up with a needy woman. He liked women who were successful in their own right.

One other thing about the network of drifter cowboys, news traveled quickly and efficiently. At a ranch near Artesia Wells, a ranch hand who’d recently been looking for work along the I-35 corridor told Coop the Triple D up near Hondo wanted to hire a part-time ranch manager. Just from now until Christmas.

Coop felt guilty. Not enough to backtrack and go home, but enough to take a more direct route to Carrizo Springs. The widow remained his ace in the hole, so to speak.

Then, luckily, he was able to hire on temporarily at a ranch outside Asherton. For three days he helped with branding, filling in for a cowboy who’d sprained his rope-throwing wrist. Branding was a hot, dirty, smelly business, but it earned Cooper some ready cash and a chance to shoot the breeze each evening with likeminded men, although most of this crew were Hispanic and only a few spoke English. The plus was that none of them seemed to have heard of Coop’s rodeo achievements. Or if they had, they didn’t put it together with the scruffy drifter who’d landed in their midst. And they sure didn’t connect him to the well-known Triple D Ranch.

The first night after Coop had taken his turn in the shower and shaved, the youngest crew member joked that Coop looked too pretty to throw steers out of a chute and hold them down for branding. Coop just laughed. An older man, Alonzo, took out a harmonica as they sat watching the sun set, so Coop went to his pickup and got a guitar he used to play on the circuit to ease his nerves. For two evenings all the guys enjoyed playing universally popular tunes often used to quiet restless herds being driven to market. At the close of day three, Coop’s tenure on this ranch ended. He felt bad saying adios to his new friends. Also, he didn’t like this way of grabbing a few days of work here and there. He’d prefer a steady job.

Several miles out of Carrizo Springs he pulled into a lay-by and sat there for the longest time, reconsidering whether or not to go home—supposing home was still the Triple D. He needed to decide if he wanted it to be.

It was nine miles to Carrizo Springs according to his GPS. He could drive straight through the town, and take highway 83 to Uvalde. Then at the junction it would be a straight shot to Hondo and back to the Triple D. Jud Rayburn had told him that the house where he’d grown up sat empty. Sully and Blythe had built a new home on the vast acreage, nearer to Blythe’s clinic.

Continuing to waffle about whether he was ready to let Sully become his boss, Coop left the lay-by. He stopped in Carrizo Springs for fuel, and for a bite to eat at a barbecue restaurant whose good smell enticed him from the gas station. It was a homey place, where the older waitress was friendly. She quickly spotted Coop for a stranger in town.

In the course of serving up mouthwatering ribs, she wormed out of him that he was an out-of-work cowboy. The waitress—Janey, according to her uniform tag—refilled the cola Coop drained. “Kinda close to summer for spreads around here to be hiring,” she said. “But there’s a woman ranch owner near here who’s down on her luck. She has a young child. She could use a jack-of-all-trades.” Janey looked Coop over. “I guess you’ve got enough muscle, and calluses on your hands, to fit that bill. That is, if you don’t have monkey business on your mind.”

“Monkey business, how?” Coop asked, as if he didn’t know what she meant.

“She doesn’t put up with any hanky-panky.”

“Gotcha,” Coop responded, but he rolled his eyes as he bit into a fat, juicy rib. He polished off his meal, paid the check and left Janey a good tip. At his pickup, he decided there was still enough daylight to take a run past the no-hanky-panky widow’s ranch. Just for a look-see, he told himself.

Her ranch wasn’t large enough to have a name, but Janey had provided decent directions. Coop saw the house first. In the fading sunlight it looked more than weathered. The clapboard was in need of paint. The porch ran downhill. Coop guessed a section under one end had rotted out. The barn appeared to be in even worse condition if that was possible. Round water troughs, half-buried in the ground, lacked water. Thirsty cattle milled around.

Coop slammed on his brakes. Several head of cattle had strayed through a broken section of wire fencing. In the distance he saw a skinny woman—a blonde, he thought—who had a small child hanging on to her jacket, attempting to shoo the animals back into the now-open enclosure.

“Hold on,” Coop yelled after he set his brake and rolled down one window. “I’ll come give you a hand.”

The woman’s head jerked around in surprise, as if she hadn’t heard his engine and had no idea anyone was on the road.

Cooper swept up the straw cowboy hat he wore when working out in the sun, and leaped down from the cab. He began turning the closest cattle back into the would-be enclosure.

The two of them eventually made headway. She from one side of the road, he from the other. At last the final stubborn steer in the group of maybe two dozen crossed over the squashed wire. Facing the woman, who stood closer to him now, Coop dragged his shirtsleeve across his brow to blot sweat he’d worked up. When he opened his eyes and took in the slender woman who’d yanked off her hat to fan her face, shock traveled from his suddenly tight jaw straight to his toes.

Though a great deal thinner, and her sky-blue eyes far more lackluster than when he’d last seen her, the much-talked-about widow was none other than Cooper’s first love, Willow Courtland. Willow, who’d married his archenemy. Well, maybe calling Tate Walker his archenemy went a little far. But it had certainly been no secret around Hondo that Coop and Tate were bitter rivals. In school. In sports. And most assuredly for the affections of the woman staring at him now with total, abject shock on her face. Shock that mirrored the gut-twisting impact Cooper felt. Mouth dry, he couldn’t speak.


Chapter Two

Willow Walker tried to blink away her shock. Tried to blink away what surely had to be an illusion. Thoughts of Cooper Drummond had filled her head so often since he went off to rodeo, she’d undergone a flash of hope, soon coupled with disbelief, and yes— vulnerability. She didn’t want him to see her like this. Stringy hair. Grubby from chasing stupid steers. Down on her luck. Was she really close enough to reach out and touch the man she’d loved for more than half her life, the man she’d sent away and sworn to give up?

Neither of them spoke a word, adding to the surreal atmosphere. Willow couldn’t have made a comment now if her life depended on it. There was a lump the size of Texas stuck in her throat. Suddenly she felt a tug on her limp hand, and Willow glanced down, cupping a sweaty palm reassuringly around her daughter’s curly hair.

Tension continued to sing through the air as the cattle lowed and jostled one another for a spot circling the nearly empty, buried water barrel. Coop walked over to inspect it, and hung his hat on one of the surviving fence posts. Good sense screamed at him to hop back in his pickup and drive on down the road, code of the west be damned. He couldn’t help the anger bubbling up inside him. He had five years of needing to vent his spleen at Willow bottled up.

Standing stiffly, allowing his gaze to slide over her from head to toe, what slammed Cooper in the chest was seeing her so thin, with an ever-growing wariness in dull blue eyes that used to sparkle all the time.

Something else tugged at his conscience. The skittish child hiding behind Willow. Tate Walker’s kid. Coop’s stomach tumbled and spun. He found it harder to swallow. He gritted his teeth to hold on to the old memories that told how long he’d nursed a broken heart thanks to this woman. The longer he stood silently clenching and unclenching his hands, the more Coop realized that his feelings for Willow weren’t as dead as he’d like them to be. His earlier assessment of her home, her barn, her ranch and her appearance left him with a sharp concern for her well-being—a nagging worry about her immediate predicament. She was a widow.

Finding his voice, he said in a rush, “Look, I heard via the grapevine that you’re in a bind here and could use some help. I didn’t know it was you, Willow. But for old times’ sake, I can lend a hand for a few days.”

Choking on her embarrassment—because in the back of her mind Willow thought Coop had come in search of her—she managed to shake her head. The love she’d once had for Cooper Drummond fled, to be replaced by panic. He shouldn’t be here. She didn’t want him witnessing the depths to which she’d sunk. Scraping back her hair, she finally stammered, “I’m fine. I don’t know why anyone would say I need help. I’m fine. Fine,” she reiterated more loudly, but dropped her hand to hide its shaking. “What are you doing here, anyway, Cooper? Why aren’t you off at some rodeo?”

Her questions battered his unsteady senses. Willow was nowhere near as receptive to his offer as she ought to be, given the state of her ranch.

Avoiding eye contact with him, she scooped up her daughter and backed away.

The move gave Coop a clearer look at the child, age three or so, he’d guess. A small-boned, delicate, brown-haired girl with huge hazel eyes. In spite of her darker coloring, Cooper saw more of a young Willow in her daughter than he saw of his old nemesis, Tate Walker. But Tate was represented, too, in those hazel eyes.

Wilting under his scrutiny, Willow backed up farther.

Coop noticed right away how nervous she seemed, as if she was afraid of him. That made him reel. Surely Willow couldn’t think he’d ever hurt her or any kid! Or that he’d held a grudge because of the callous way she dumped him. Still, Coop had to glance off into the distance to relax the tension cramping his jaw.

Once he felt at ease, he returned to her questions. “Willow, I’ve got eyes. Even if I hadn’t heard at ranches along the route that you could use an all-around hand, this broken fence is plainly in need of muscle.” He managed a halfhearted smile and playfully flexed an arm. Pride kept him from admitting that he’d left the rodeo. After all, their whole blow-up had been centered around his need to prove he could win big riding broncs, and her displeasure with that. “I’m just passing through,” he said. “But I can spare some time to help you catch up on a few chores around this place.”

“Just passing through on your way to the next rodeo?” she retorted.

With his fingers curling into his thighs, Cooper debated continuing to withhold information about his personal life that was really none of her business.

But what the hell, he decided in the next breath. A lot of years had rolled by since their split. “I guess you could say I got smart. I sure got tired of being dumped on my butt. The rodeo’s out of my system. For the past six months or so, I’ve hired on to work at various ranches. Chasing strays. Branding. Helping with roundup.” He raised one shoulder negligently.

A small frown appeared on Willow’s face. “Pardon me for sounding nosy, but why are you signing on with various ranches? Why aren’t you home working at the Triple D?”

Shifting away from her cool eyes, which pinned him down and made him flush guiltily, Coop grabbed his hat and settled it firmly on his head. Jiggling the post to see how solid it was, he blew out a sigh. “You probably don’t know, since you moved away from Hondo, but Sullivan and I had a falling-out. You could call it a major disagreement. Many of them.”

“Hmm. I see. That explains why you got this far down south, I suppose. However, none of it changes the fact that I really can’t afford your services, Cooper.” Now Willow drew in a huge breath and let it out in a heavy sigh.

“How do you fill your water barrels?” he asked. “You’ve got a passel of thirsty cows.”

“I used to fill this one with a hose, but it split in a few spots, and most of the water leaks out between here and the well house. There’s a pond on the property. I try to drive the cattle there twice a day. The silly things prefer to bolt through the fence to get to the stream across the road and down the hill. I’m lucky it’s not a well-traveled highway.”

“Maybe I can repair the hose temporarily with duct tape. I have a roll in my pickup. Unless you have couplings in the barn, the type to splice a hose.”

She shook her head. “Don’t trouble yourself. I tried duct tape, but the hose split in other spots. The sun will set soon, Coop. I’m not sure where you’re heading next, but there are a number of fair-size cattle spreads up around Crystal City. You might find work that pays decent wages.”

“Let’s not discuss money. I can afford to donate a few days to an old friend.”

Rallying momentarily, Willow grimaced and said, “Careful who you’re calling old, Cooper Drummond. I’m a whole year younger than you, remember?” She expected him to laugh, but he studied her acutely and remained sober.

“I must look a sight,” she mumbled, pausing to bury her blushing face in her silent daughter’s shoulder. “I… It’s getting late. I’ve been outside working all day.”

“You look tired,” Coop said diplomatically, really thinking she seemed tense and frazzled.

Willow flung out a hand. “Obviously you heard about Tate’s death on your travels. This ranch isn’t big by any stretch of the imagination. But I can’t seem to keep up with everything that needs doing. Six months ago I decided to sell and listed with a Realtor in town. There’s only been one lookie-loo and no takers. I haven’t actually done a detailed count of my herd, but I believe I own about two hundred Angus steers. If I can figure out how to get them to market, that’ll cut my workload a lot.”

Coop surveyed the milling cattle. “You need to fatten them up if you hope to make any money off them at summer market. It’s time to start adding corn to the grass they’re still finding to graze on.” He purposely didn’t remark on her husband’s death. Still, Willow’s eyes seemed a bit vague to Cooper.

Bending, he reset a couple of metal posts the steers had pushed down. He jammed the tips into the soil with nothing more than brute force, then manhandled the wire fencing back on to hooks that lined the posts. Breathing hard, he said, “That’ll only hold until the next adventurous cow bumps against it.” He waved toward his color-coordinated truck and trailer. “I’m hauling two of my cutting horses. Why don’t I saddle and bridle one, and drive these escape artists over to your pond? After that I can figure out what else is a priority around here.”

She was quiet for so long, Coop spun back around to see Willow frown before she jerked her chin a couple of times in a reluctant nod.

“The pond’s about a quarter of a mile straight back and up over a hill behind the barn,” she said warily, as if she distrusted his real reason for making the offer.

Baffled by her hesitation, Coop eventually realized he could probably blame Tate’s dislike of him for her wariness. After all, Tate had five years to fill her head with lies about him. Cooper felt a stab of sadness for what might have been. A stab of sadness for what he’d let go. He fought against a deeper ache, because while everyone up in the valley knew there never was any love lost between him and Tate, they all knew how both of them had fallen head over heels for Willow Courtland. She had no reason to ever doubt the trueness of a heart Coop always wore on his sleeve. But she’d unwittingly played into his and Tate’s battle from junior high until after they’d gone to college at Texas A&M.

Instead of saying anything more, Coop backed his surefooted quarter horse Legend out of the trailer, then retrieved the sorrel he called Rusty. He led Rusty to a shade tree surrounded by patchy grass and looped his lead rope over a branch. About to comment on how cool it was beneath the old oak, Coop was surprised to discover that Willow had left and returned to the house. The screen door still quivered behind her.

He shook his head to clear it of memories reaching back to college days, when he and Willow had first made love, and then forward to the time he assumed he’d won the rivalry with Tate. It still galled him to think how easily Tate had stepped into his place when he’d taken off to rodeo. Tate had lost no time filling the void of Coop’s absence, and as a result, Tate had walked away with the top prize. She was the woman Cooper had fully expected to spend his life with—the woman he’d expected to have his children.

That kind of reminiscing held only negative implications and no positives. Jaw locked, he tossed a well-worn saddle on Legend, slid on a bridle and climbed aboard the horse. Coop swept off his hat and with a satisfying cowboy yell of “Hiya hi hi!” he sent Willow’s renegade steers trotting off in the direction of the pond.

* * *

WILLOW STOOD BY the living-room window, careful to stay in the shadows where Coop couldn’t possibly see her, and admired the efficiency with which he rounded up and drove the cattle out of her front yard. She should’ve kept the horse that Tate’s dad had given him when they moved to this ranch. But in the year since Tate’s death, she’d had to let go of several items and animals, whose sale became necessary for their daily survival. Her daughter, Lillybelle, needed expensive care that wasn’t readily available here.

Would it be so horrible if she accepted Cooper’s offer to help out with some of the harder chores around the ranch? So what if he learned how big a mess Tate had left her in? Darn, but she tried so hard to keep up, to hold her head high, and not let on how dire her straits were. It shocked her when Cooper said folks had gossiped about her. She couldn’t tell if he already knew Tate had died when she brought it up. Of course, the part-timers she’d hired probably had talked about her after they left. She’d backed a few of them off with an old unloaded shotgun, which she hated, although it served its purpose—deterring amorous cowboys on the prowl. Heaven only knew what hairy stories they told about her around the campfire. Some of the cowboys hadn’t wanted to take no for an answer.

And therein lay the problem with letting Cooper Drummond stay a few days. The concern might not come from him—he’d always been a gentleman. It would more likely come from her, and the risk that she’d reveal how often he’d wormed his way into her thoughts over the years. Perhaps because of that, Willow had mistakenly assumed he’d come to find her. But why would he?

If she did let him handle a few chores, the same rules that she set for all her hired help would have to apply to him, as well. No fraternization with the lady of the ranch. Zero. Nada. Zippo. Even as she voiced the words aloud, her heart gave a little jolt, and she tried to ward off memories of how comforted she’d always felt in Coop’s strong arms. As a boy who grew up tossing around hay bales and wrestling down steers for branding, he’d always had muscles. But now that he was a man, Willow could only imagine how years of keeping thousand-pound-plus bucking horses in check had honed Coop’s upper body.

Shuddering, she thrust aside that particular image.

She led Lily to the kitchen table, and boosted her up on a wooden box tied to a chair. Willow retrieved a box of graham crackers, relishing the flash of delight in her child’s eyes. She was less happy to see that the box was almost empty. So were her other cupboards, and her bank balance was severely strained. If Coop decided to stick around, he’d need to be fed. Working men, as she knew from having fed a few ranch hands of late, expected hearty meals. She scrimped, but she couldn’t cut back when it came to feeding her daughter or the workers. She’d come to resent the way Tate had spent so much money on booze, gambling and women in town. He’d stopped working on the ranch, and as a result, he’d gone to flab. She’d have left if he hadn’t sworn he’d have Lily taken away from her. That had scared her into staying.

Coop’s arrival brought to the fore so many regrets that Willow had repeatedly told herself should remain buried with Tate. As her mother had pointed out, she’d made the choice to marry him. Made her bed, so to speak, and now needed to tough it out. Lie in it and cry in it, alone all her livelong nights.

* * *

OUT ON THE RANGE, Coop rode along the flimsy fence and noted several spots in need of reinforcement. There were two fields that should be ripe with summer hay, but which had been trampled by a herd that was probably too big for the acres Willow had.

Climbing off Legend, he inspected some winter grass chewed down to the roots. It was a field where summer rye should have been reseeded. Straightening, Coop squinted into the sun as he let a handful of soil filter through his fingers and watched it blow off in the wind. He tried to gauge if Willow had the resources to save her herd long enough to fatten them up and truck them to the nearest stockyard. Maybe yes. Maybe no.

All the ranchers he’d visited in the south of Texas had complained about the extended drought. Perhaps Willow figured it was a waste money to replant fields that might not produce. Except she had the pond. Near as Coop could tell, it was partially fed by the stream she’d mentioned, but there also had to be underground artesian springs for the pond to be so full of sweet water—a lifeline for the cattle she did have.

The whole place seemed awfully run-down considering that Tate had only died a year ago. On the other hand, who was he to judge? Coop chided himself. He had let Sully struggle alone to keep the Triple D afloat. Willow was alone too—and she had a child.

If coming here and stumbling upon her again did nothing else, it made Coop realize that when he finished helping Willow, it was time he go home. How far in the future that would be depended on how much assistance Willow was willing to let him provide.

She’d posted the ranch for sale. She probably didn’t want to sink too much money into a ranch she didn’t intend to hang on to. Even a small investment would increase her chances for attracting a buyer, but it’d been patently obvious that money was an issue with her. Unless her problem was with hiring him. Coop had to accept that Willow may not have harbored the same warm feelings he’d recently rediscovered. Feelings that, for him, had lain dormant. They’d had some good times back in the old days, he thought. Well, not that old, as Willow had pointed out. So, her humorous side wasn’t totally gone.

* * *

WILLOW NEEDED TO clean Lilybelle after the graham crackers ended up all over her face and shirt. “Come on, girly. Shower time for us.”

She took a few extra minutes to wash and blow-dry her own hair, all the while insisting she wasn’t trying to improve her looks for Cooper.

“Don’t we look pretty,” she exclaimed, holding her daughter up to the dresser mirror as she brushed out the girl’s nut-brown curls, loving the way they fell in perfect ringlets around her pixie face. Willow’s own hair was straight as a stick and was so unremarkable she usually pulled it back in a ponytail.

As Lilybelle watched without expression, Willow blew raspberries against her three-year-old’s neck, hoping for a spontaneous giggle or any sort of reaction. All the girl did was push her mother’s face away. She grabbed the tattered plush rabbit she’d had since infancy and ran from the room. Willow heard the screen door slam. Would she ever break through Lily’s barriers?

Willow shut her eyes for a moment, then dragged both her hands down her cheeks. They never used to look this sunken. Foregoing lipstick or blush which she hadn’t used in so long she’d forgotten where she’d stashed the containers, Willow gave another twist to the rubber band holding her ponytail. Beauty products wouldn’t help her run the ranch, so why bother? Exiting the room, she tracked after her daughter, although Willow knew exactly where she’d find her. On the porch, in her favorite corner.

She had no more than stepped out the door herself, still barefoot, when she saw Cooper trotting his big gelding right up to the steps. He vaulted out of the saddle and landed mere inches away from her. Flushing, Willow leaped backward and bumped into the wall.

“Sorry,” Coop said, sounding breathless. “I got so caught up in surveying your land, I was afraid it’d be dark before I had a chance to try and repair the hose and fill the water tanks—wow, you smell good,” he said. “Like sugar cookies.”

“Vanilla,” she corrected, sidling farther away. “It’s my shampoo.”

Coop wrinkled his nose. “I don’t blame you for shying away from me. I’ve been out in the sun for hours. I should have stopped for a dip in your pond.”

“You probably still can. It stays light longer now that summer’s here. What’s the verdict on other projects after the hose?” she asked.

“I don’t have to tell you the whole place is in poor shape.” Removing his hat, Coop raked a hand through his sweat-damp hair, standing the almost-black locks on end. “A good, all-around cowhand could improve this place immensely, you want someone who can paint, do fence repair, fatten cattle and maybe break the wild colt I spotted in your high pasture—which by the way needs new seed in the worst way. It’d take about three to four weeks, but it’s all stuff that’ll attract prospective buyers much faster.”

“Three to four weeks?” Willow gasped and clutched a hand to her throat. “Out of the question. I simply can’t afford that. I need to sell fast, though. Or failing that, get the steers to market. I’m tempted to do that and let the ranch go back to the bank.”

“Then what will you do, Willow? Go live with your mom? I know your dad passed away the year I left town. I was scheduled for a rodeo at the time,” he mumbled, adding belated condolences.

“At least Dad’s no longer suffering. And, no, I can’t move in with Mom. She’s remarried. To a man she met through friends. They live in East Texas, in the Piney Woods. Working two jobs for as long as she did, while taking care of Dad, she deserves to kick back and be happy without me underfoot.”

“Seems to me that you did more caregiving than she did. But, hey, this ranch won’t be half the work once it’s spruced up. If you don’t have anyplace to go…” He tugged an ear, letting his sentence trail.

“I’d have to raise something to make the ranch pay, Cooper,” she said. “But I can’t. I don’t have money for seed. And the bottom line is I need a job that’ll allow me to spend more time with Lilybelle. We need to move to a city with access to services for special-needs children,” she said, her eyes straying to the child rocking herself where she crouched in one corner of the porch.

“My daughter is autistic,” Willow revealed quietly. Cooper could see her lips tremble visibly even though she looked away.


Chapter Three

Coop’s mind jolted, then went into free fall as he tried to process what Willow had just said. Would telling her he was sorry sound too trivial? Man, he hurt for her. Hurt also for the shy child who looked perfect, though petite for her age. Some part of that initial jolt came from hearing the child’s name. Lilybelle. It was a name Willow had talked about when she and Cooper were serious. What she’d wanted to name their daughter if they ever had one. Lily for Coop’s mother, and Belle for Willow’s.

Coop was quite sure Willow named her daughter without informing Tate of the name’s origins. Tate had no doubt left it up to her, as his own parents had separated in a bitter divorce before Willow moved to Hondo. But Coop let all of those issues pass without comment. Instead, he focused on the child’s condition.

“Lord, Willow, it must be extra-difficult for you, knowing how hard it was to care for your dad all those years,” he managed, his sympathetic gaze resting on the child. “I noticed she was shy with strangers, but I figured it was because you were protective of her, since you live way out of town and have no close neighbors.”

“About the work that needs doing around here,” Willow said, crossing her arms and getting back to business. “I can afford to pay you for two days’ labor. The fence is probably the most important. I thought maybe you could set some of the posts deeper?”

Coop shifted his attention back to Willow. “With our history, I can’t in good conscience charge you a dime.”

She stiffened. It was plain at the outset that she intended to refuse. Coop wasn’t surprised when she said, “I pay my way. I don’t need your charity.”

“Okay.” He held up his hands. “I won’t argue with you. I’ve got the time. You need a few things done. Pay me for fixing the fence. Then we’ll see about doing the rest for room and board.”

A wide range of emotions flitted across Willow’s face before her too-thin shoulders sagged. “I’ll agree to those terms provided you’re okay with mine. You’ll bunk in the barn, and I’ll set breakfast and a sack lunch out on the porch. And the same with supper. If you want the night meal hot, be here to pick it up by seven. I have a hard-and-fast rule that no ranch hands are allowed inside my home. Ever.”

“So I heard,” Coop drawled, mentally kicking himself for not going with his first impulse of hightailing it out of there the moment he discovered who the widow was. It irked him that there was no trust between them, despite the fact that they’d once shared every intimacy. He wondered when she’d grown so hard and closed off. Granted, her life had never been a cakewalk, what with having an invalid father, and a mother who was never at home because she worked two jobs. But, hell, they’d been lovers, and now she was leery of letting him step inside her ramshackle house. Telling himself the sooner he blew through the chores and left her place, the better, Coop slapped his hat against his leg, bounded down the steps and scooped up the reins.

“Tonight’s supper will be macaroni and cheese,” Willow called. “We have that a lot because it’s Lilybelle’s favorite. I’ll set out a covered plate in about an hour.”

He gave a curt nod, then led his horse, Legend, away. He found it hard to be curt. Willow talked big, but she looked defenseless, standing there hunched, one bare foot tucked beneath the other. Willow and her delicate child, who’d stared at Coop out of big, wounded eyes.

In the barn, he asked himself again what he was getting into as he jerkily unsaddled his horse, but he shook off the thought, and set to work shoveling out two stalls for his animals. The barn was a mess he’d wait until morning to fully deal with.

He decided to sleep out under the stars that night, where it smelled better. And speaking of smelling better… He dragged the partially repaired hose behind the barn and did his best to fix up a makeshift shower, glad there wasn’t anyone around to see him hop around or hear him curse the icy water. At least the shocking cold neutralized his lingering anger over Willow’s standoffishness.

The shower made him late to pick up his dinner. It was nearly eight o’clock, but he was hungry enough to scarf down the congealed cheesy macaroni, and be thankful for it. The vegetable—zucchini—was less appetizing, but it helped fill the hole in his stomach. After he finished, he rinsed his plate and left it where he’d found it.

In the morning, he saw Willow and Lilybelle crossing the field that flanked the house. They disappeared over a rise, making no effort to contact him. No big surprise there.

Coop scavenged through the toolshed that sat adjacent to the barn, searching for what he’d need to mend the fences and shovel out the barn. He was astounded that the shed and tack room were both devoid of any of the tools one would expect to find on a ranch.

* * *

NOT CATCHING WILLOW at the house or elsewhere on the property for two days, Coop made do with the hammers, pliers and crowbar he carried in his pickup.

Like clockwork, his meals appeared on the porch outside the door. They proved to be as meager as the grain boxes Willow should have filled to begin fattening her steers for market. Coop didn’t want to track her down and complain about the lack of anything resembling meat in any of his meals when it was clear that times were tough. Breakfast was usually pancakes, lunch was peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and supper, a noodle dish with tomato sauce or white gravy.

Cooper was fed up by day three. By then it was readily apparent that Willow intended to pull out all the stops to avoid him, or send him away completely. At breakfast she’d set out an envelope with two days’ pay in it and a note thanking him for his help. With that, he fired up his pickup and headed into town to hunt up a good restaurant and a feed store. He left the envelope full of cash where it was.

Not caring that it was barely ten o’clock in the morning, Coop went into a busy local café and ordered a steak with all the trimmings. Satisfied, he paid and gave the waitress a good tip. “Can you direct me to the closest feed store?” Coop asked her.

“Hank Jordan’s is the only feed store serving our area,” she said, drawing him a rough map on a napkin.

Coop arrived at the feed store to find Hank himself behind the counter.

“I’m doing some work for Willow Walker,” Coop said. “I need twenty sacks of grain, two hundred-foot hoses and rye seed for a couple of fifty-acre fields. I assume Mrs. Walker runs a tab for essentials?”

“You assume wrong,” Hank said, peering at Coop over a pair of wire-rimmed half-glasses. “You the latest of her part-timers? Last two guys came in and bought mash for their horses. Don’t see much of the widow. Now, her husband was a piece of work. Had an excessive taste for gambling and booze, but he never seemed short of money. The missus rarely came to town, but when she did, she paid cash.”

Coop frowned. “I’m actually an old friend of Mrs. Walkers. I haven’t seen her since before she married Tate, but her ranch is a little the worse for wear, and I want to help her out.”

“If you ask me, she shoulda left that no-good husband of hers a long time ago, but she stuck it out. You know how people in small towns talk. Well, I’ve heard from more than one source that while she was pregnant, she was seen with bruises. My wife, who sometimes cashiers here, said she noticed, and asked, but was told they came from working cattle. No one bought that story. And no one held any liking for her man, who bragged that his dad, supposedly a wealthy rancher up north, bought him this ranch and stocked it with prime steers. If you and the widow go back a ways, you probably know more about the family than I do. One thing I thought was odd—after the big brawl where Walker was accidentally shot, his father swooped into town, claimed his son’s body, and took him elsewhere to be buried. I figured he hasn’t been providing for Mrs. Walker ’cause she’s been selling furniture and tools for grocery money and to replenish her kettle ever since the funeral. I hope you’re what you say—a friend—and it don’t make things worse for her that I’m telling tales out of school.”

“No, no,” Coop stammered. “I appreciate the information. I’ll pay for the stuff I ordered. While you’re at it, if there’s room in my pickup out there to add six bales of hay, pile it on.”

After his pickup was loaded, Coop backtracked to the area’s big-box store, which sold a little of everything. He was frustrated to think that, given their history, Willow hadn’t come clean with him about her true circumstances.

Forty minutes later, he came out with enough bags of groceries to fill the passenger side of his Ram. He fumed all the way back to Willow’s ranch, telling himself it was no wonder she looked as skinny as the branches on the tree for which she was named.

On pulling into the driveway, he saw that her front door was open, except for the screen. Coop jumped out and quickly unloaded the many bags of groceries, transferring them to the porch. When he finished, he knocked loudly on the screen door casing, making a racket that brought Willow running.

“Cooper, what on earth?” She wiped her hands on a dish towel and unlatched the screen. “I thought you’d taken off without the pay I set out for you, but then I realized you’d left your horses and trailer behind. What’s all this?” She swept a hand over the sacks of groceries, bending to pull Lilybelle back when she wriggled through the narrow opening.

Coop stood there holding two more large sacks. Pushing open the screen with one foot, he thrust them into Willow’s arms. “I went to the feed store and tried to put a few items on your tab. Imagine my surprise,” he said tightly, “when the owner said you don’t run a tab, and only buy supplies when you have the cash. Seeing as how you’ve been feeding me the equivalent of rice and beans all week, I suggest it’s time you were candid with me about what’s really going on here.” He didn’t mean to sound gruff but couldn’t help it. He grabbed up two of the heavier boxes and steamrolled into the house, stomping on into the kitchen ahead of her.

Coop let her stew silently while he brought in the remaining groceries. “Well,” he said, opening the almost-empty fridge to shove in three gallons of milk and a variety of other perishables. “Start spilling your guts.”

Willow braced her hands on the grocery-covered countertop. Appearing anxious, she sputtered and ended by saying defensively, “I never lied to you, Cooper. Everything I said was the truth. I told you Tate died last year, but I assumed you already knew. I admitted the ranch is too much work. And I do have it listed for sale. But what’s to be gained by airing Tate’s and my dirty laundry to you, of all people?”

“Why me of all people?” Coop asked, barely pausing as he opened cupboard doors and filled the shelves with cereal, bread, rice and various staples.

“Because of…oh, just because,” she said, throwing up her hands. “Like you’ve never made a mistake in your life.”

He laughed. “According to my brother I’ve made plenty. I sold my quarter horses, and I pissed away almost all of what I earned on the rodeo circuit.”

“But you didn’t—you don’t—have a family to support. It’s different for you, Coop,” she said, her lips in a tight line.

“Tell me how.” He merely stared at her, waiting.

Willow sank down on a kitchen chair and laced her hands together in front of her. Faking interest in her fingernails, she whispered, “With what you’ve been privy to these past few days, I’m reasonably sure you’ve guessed that while Tate liked being seen as a ranch owner, he disliked the work required to actually run a ranch.”

“And…he lost valuable ranch profits playing poker?”

Willow opened her clasped hands to let Lilybelle climb onto her lap. Heaving a sigh, she mumbled into her daughter’s hair, “Yes. Tate fancied himself a gambler. The truth is, he lost far more than he ever won. Money was always tight.”

“Did you do all the work around here so he could gamble?”

She shook her head. “The bulk of what I’ve done was after his death. Before, his dad bought into Tate’s lies about hardships. Rustlers. Sick cattle. Endless droughts. Bart got into the habit of sending a check the first of every month.”

“He didn’t come to evaluate things for himself?”

“No. Bart doesn’t deal well with women. He didn’t want Tate to marry me. They spoke on the phone…when his son was sober. Tate’s other weakness was booze. The last two years, he drank a lot. I made sure I beat him to the mailbox so I could bank Bart’s checks and pay Lily’s doctor bills, pay for her tests and buy food before Tate emptied our account. I don’t think he knew how much his dad sent, or that I forged his name on the checks to deposit them.” She lowered her eyes to avoid Coop’s laser stare, and reluctantly gave up the last bit of information. “It’s been harder since Tate’s death. Bart quit sending money.”

“What did he expect you to do? How did he expect you to clothe and feed his grandchild?”

“Bart ignores the fact that Lily and I exist. His wife ran off, so he thinks the worst of all women. And Tate lied to him a lot.”

“Bart’s a jerk. He can afford to help you.”

“Yes, well, I applied for Aid for Families with Dependent Children, and for food stamps,” she said. “But because I had the ranch and still owned cattle, we didn’t qualify—not even for farm subsidy because I wasn’t growing crops to sell. But we got by,” she said, squaring her shoulders.

“Right,” Coop said huffily. “Selling the tools necessary for a working ranch. And furniture out of your house, I hear,” he said, taking a brisk survey of the kitchen before stepping over to the doorway to check the living room. “And as if that wasn’t bad enough, I heard he hit you.”

“Great! So the town busybodies shared every crappy detail of my life. Well, I didn’t ask you to ride in here on a white charger and save us, Cooper Drummond. We aren’t your problem,” she said coolly. “I put out two days’ wages for you. So now you can take off. If you give me an address when you land at your next job, I’ll send you repayment money for the groceries. I don’t want you concerning yourself with us any longer.”

“Bull! That was a nice little speech, Willow. Do you by any chance remember what you said to me right before I went to rodeo?”

She rolled her eyes. “Can it be repeated in front of a child?” She moved to place her hands over her daughter’s ears. “I probably said a lot of mean things, Cooper. I didn’t want you to go. I felt…cut adrift, and I couldn’t understand why you’d choose to go off and ride in rodeos.”

“You never asked me to stay. What you said as I left, was that I was the most stubborn, pigheaded guy you’d ever had the misfortune to meet.”

“I didn’t want to…hold you back,” she persisted. Then, noticing he’d pulled a large box of graham crackers out of a sack, she met his eyes. “Graham crackers? How did you know they’re Lily’s favorite snack? We’d run out of them,” she added, biting her lip.

“I had no idea, Willow. I figured all kids like them.” For the first time since barging into her house, Coop felt self-conscious. “Hey, I bought Miss Lilybelle something else. I almost forgot.” He snapped his fingers. “If you think it’s okay for her to have these.” He pulled out a cloth bag tied closed with a drawstring. “Blocks,” he said. “They’re big, bright colorful ones. You can use them to teach her numbers and letters.” He tumbled several blocks onto the table.

“Oh, Coop.” Willow choked up, unable to manage anything else for a moment. She drew her chair closer to the table and started to hand a block to Lilybelle, then saw that the child had beaten her to it, grabbing one in each hand. In the blink of an eye, Lily sorted and stacked all the blocks lying on the table by color.

“Look at that, will you?” Coop grinned as he dumped out the rest of them.

“I’m amazed.” Willow gaped at the girl. “I hadn’t tried blocks. I… Coop, thank you. I’ve been really rude to you and you’re nothing but nice to me.”

“I want to stay here and finish some of the other things on your to-do list. Don’t make a big deal out of it, Willow. I saw the blocks while I was out and thought of the kid. I bought the groceries because I’d like to eat something besides the same old pasta disguised in a variety of thin sauces.”

Willow stood Lily on her feet, then rose to glare at Coop. “Those meals weren’t that bad. And my sauces aren’t thin.”

“But you are. So I rest my case.”

Willow tossed her head. “Back when you took off for the rodeo, did I also tell you that you’re the bossiest person I’d ever met?”

“Not that I recall. I think I’m very reasonable.”

“Bossy! I’m not going to be your short-order cook, Coop. But since you were so kind as to fill my fridge and cupboards, pray tell me what your heart desires for your evening meal,” she said saucily.

He rolled his eyes. “I didn’t buy this stuff to make your life more difficult, Willow. You choose something out of what I bought. But please, put a little meat in whatever you fix.” He headed for the door, then stopped. “Uh, you haven’t become a vegetarian, have you? The way I remember it, you used to make a tasty pot roast. Oh, and burgers. Nice, fat ones.” He gathered up the empty grocery sacks and carried them to the screen door. Calling back over his shoulder, he said, “And meat loaf. You made a damn fine meat loaf, Willow.”

Willow wasn’t quick enough with a retort, though he probably wouldn’t have heard, anyway, as the screen door banged shut in his wake. She leaned a shoulder against the edge of the kitchen doorway. For several minutes she did nothing. It wasn’t until she shook herself alert that she realized she’d been smiling. Something she hadn’t done much of over the past several years. It felt unfamiliar. But good, too, she thought as she turned and saw that Lily had stacked the blocks in neat rows, not only by color, but with the letters all facing the refrigerator. Willow’s heart nearly burst with hope and pride and gratitude to Coop. Lord, he was a good man.

So, why did she want him to leave? Why did she feel such guilt over his landing on her doorstep? She had plenty of answers, but she needed to keep them to herself. Anything else would be unfair to the man she’d pushed out of her life five years ago.


Chapter Four

The back of Cooper’s pickup still needed to be unloaded. Feeling he’d made some headway in dealing with Willow, Coop whistled a decent rendition of Jimmy Buffett’s “Margaritaville.” It was a catchy tune he liked to pick out on his guitar—which was stashed behind the Ram’s backseat. Maybe he’d take it up to the porch tonight and play a little after supper. Willow and Lilybelle might like that.

While he was at the big-box store, he’d cruised through the book and magazine department, and spotted a health magazine containing a couple of articles on autism. He’d skimmed one to see if it’d give him any insight into Willow’s daughter. One article, written by a parent of an autistic boy, mentioned that he responded positively to piano tunes. The kid was quite a bit older than Lily; he owned a CD player and an iPod, on which his parents downloaded music for him. Coop bought the magazine, since he wanted to do more than just skim both articles. The other one was written by a neurologist, and it looked informative. He was trying to understand more about the illness. Or was it called a condition? A disorder? He wasn’t even sure what to call it. Not that Willow would welcome him sticking his nose into her family business. She used to be so open and talkative. Now she kept anything personal to herself. He’d had to drag the story on Tate out of her, even though it was common knowledge in town.

Thinking about Tate ruined Coop’s mood. Physical labor was the best for flushing any thoughts of that jerk right out of his mind.

He unloaded the hay bales, breaking a couple open and spreading them around the stalls in the barn where he’d stabled his horses. He filled a third one, where he’d bed down now that the old barn smelled better. Fresher.

Too bad he didn’t have access to a tractor so he could haul the feed sacks out to the feed troughs. Hoisting one up onto his shoulder and jogging it over to where the majority of the steers milled about, it occurred to him that when he’d finished this chore he might be too tired to eat. The work took him until late afternoon. The thought of having to repeat this every day until Willow’s cattle fattened up was almost enough to make him rethink staying around. No wonder Willow looked like a toothpick if she was the one who hauled hay to her herd. He had to hand it to her. She had grit.

Back at the pickup, he dusted off and eyed the sacks of seed he’d bought to resow the two main fields for fall. Was it even worth doing? A closer inspection of what passed for an irrigation system was discouraging. All the sprinkler heads were rusted or corroded, and a few were missing. And the job of spreading the seed, which—given the size of her fields—ought to take a matter of hours, would probably take days, thanks to the absence of a tractor and spreader. He’d seen a hand-broadcaster in the barn. Standing with his forearms draped on the side of the pickup bed, he recalled all the up-to-date equipment owned by the Triple D. Coop calculated the unlikelihood of Sully’s lending him a tractor, plow, spreader and harrow for a few days. Plus he’d need one of the Triple D’s flatbed trucks and trailers to bring it down here from Hondo. About a hundred miles each way. He slapped his hat against his thigh and snorted in disgust. It was a pipe dream. He’d have to apologize for socking Sullivan, if not actually grovel for leaving their ranch in the lurch for five years. Groveling didn’t come easy to him. And that punch to Sully’s jaw had been a long time coming.

Coop squinted into the waning sun. He wasn’t ready to swallow his pride and kiss Sully’s boots yet. It’d take more than a few days of backbreaking work to get him in that frame of mind.

He stacked the bags of seed outside the barn, rinsed out the bed of his truck, then took the hose around back, where he washed off the day’s grime and sweat. He had only two more clean sets of clothes in his duffel. He should have taken his laundry to town when he went. He’d seen Willow hanging their clothes on a line out back, so she must not own a dryer. He’d hunt up a Laundromat in the next day or so.

The smell of the evening meal wafting down to the barn reached Coop half an hour prior to the time Willow had told him his meals would be waiting for him. He knew before he tucked in his shirt, pulled on his boots and retrieved his guitar for the trek to the house that she was fixing her signature meat loaf… .

Coop had shared enough of the meals Willow had fixed for her father to identify the aroma. He’d hung out after school sometimes, talking rodeo with her dad. She almost never came to his house. They were three men living alone and her mom didn’t think it was proper.

Coop’s mouth was watering long before he bounded up the steps of Willow’s porch.

She was just setting out the covered plate on an orange crate next to the door.

“Oh, Cooper, here you are. I saw you packing a lot of feed out to the cattle. I was worried you’d be late and would have to eat reheated supper. Hey, let me bring out a chair so you can take a load off while you eat. You must be exhausted from everything you did today. Those feed sacks weigh a ton. It’s why I haven’t tried to fatten up the steers.”

Coop propped his guitar case against the porch railing. “The thought of a good meal brought me running, Willow. I’ve been tortured by the smell of your meat loaf from about the time it went into your oven. Tantalized is a better word,” he added quickly, catching the look of dismay that crossed her face.

“Here I figured I’d surprise you… .”

Coop picked up the plate and removed the cover. “It looks as delicious as I remember. And fresh peas in their pods. And cornbread. You exceeded my wildest expectations, Willow.”

She chuckled, and he noticed a dimple he remembered well, one he hadn’t seen since his arrival. All too fast, though, she blushed and retreated into the house.

“Wait,” he called, unable to stop himself. “Why don’t you bring out plates for you and Lily, too? We’ll call it a picnic.”

Willow didn’t respond immediately and Coop couldn’t see through the screen into the darkened house. But then she cracked it open and said, “Lily’s already eaten. She only likes a few foods right now.” Willow glanced away. “That’s part of her disorder. Some forms of autism have an obsessive component. For instance, she’ll like one food, one shirt, one pair of pajamas, and it’s a battle to get her to change. Today she dug in the dirt the whole time I weeded what’s left of my garden. That tired her out, so she ate, had her bath and crashed early. But I, um, suppose I can eat out here.” She glanced back when Coop said nothing. “Why the frown? Was the invitation only for the two of us?”

“What? Oh, no. It’s just that I brought my guitar with me tonight. I read something in a magazine about a boy with autism responding well to music. Not that I’m a great guitarist,” he pointed out. “And I know next to nothing about autism.”

“I wish I knew more. Every expert, every doctor and every therapist has a different theory,” she said. “But you used to be good enough on the guitar to play in that band during college. And, Coop, it’s thoughtful of you to think of Lily. She loves the blocks you bought. But I’d really like to hear you play for a while tonight.”

“Great, but please hurry and dish up your food. I can’t wait to dive into this while it’s hot.”

“Dig in. Don’t wait for me.” Willow was quick, however. And even at that, Coop had sampled everything on his plate before she returned to take a seat two steps below him. “I intended to get you a chair, but you seem to be doing all right without it. Be careful leaning against that post, though. I noticed some of them are rotting at the base. From the weather, I guess.”

Turning, he inspected the one at his back. “Looks like two or three posts and part of the foundation will need to be replaced before we can paint the place. I didn’t pick up any paint this trip, but I can get new boards and paint next time. You’ll need to go to town with me to choose a color.”

“Cooper.” Willow paused and shook her head, a forkful of food halfway to her mouth. “What part of I don’t have the money to make all these repairs or to cover the stuff you’ve already bought don’t you understand? I thought we already had this discussion.”

“This is the best meal I’ve had in weeks,” he said, ignoring her. “Is there any more cornbread? No, don’t get up. I’ll help myself. Is it in the oven or on the back of the stove?”




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