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Beau: Cowboy Protector
Marin Thomas
The Heart Of The Matter Beau Adams should be focused on getting himself and Midnight, the Harts' prized stallion, to the National Finals Rodeo, but he can’t stop thinking about the feisty Sierra Byrne. They have an electric connection, and Beau hopes it's the beginning of something more.As much as Sierra wants to be with Beau, anything long-term is out of the question. A recently diagnosed eye disease will soon leave her blind, and she can’t ask a rising rodeo star like Beau to take on that responsibility.Though she tries to pretend their tryst was just another item on her bucket list, Sierra’s true feelings run a lot deeper. Will she let her affliction steal not only her sight, but her dreams of happiness, as well?


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The Heart Of The Matter
Beau Adams can’t stop thinking about Sierra Byrne. Her feisty spirit and ample curves dominate his thoughts, while he should be focused on getting himself and Midnight, the Harts’ prized stallion, to the National Finals Rodeo. When Beau and Sierra’s electric connection finally leads to a steamy night together, Beau hopes it’s the beginning of something more.
As much as Sierra wants to be with Beau, anything long-term is out of the question. A recently diagnosed eye disease will soon leave her blind, and she can’t ask a rising rodeo star like Beau to take on that responsibility. Though she tries to pretend their tryst was just another item on her bucket list, Sierra’s true feelings run a lot deeper. Will she let her affliction steal not only her sight, but her dreams of happiness, as well?
“You look…hot.” His gaze traveled the length of her body.
The compliment sent a rush of pleasure through her. “Thank you.”
“You know what that dress says, don’t you?”
Sierra couldn’t think straight—not with the heady scent of Beau’s cologne swirling around her head. “Wh-what does it say?”
“Kiss me,” he whispered.
They hadn’t sat down to eat and already Beau was making a move on her.
Go ahead. Sierra had fantasized about kissing Beau for months. Did it matter if he kissed her at the beginning of the date instead of at the end? Sierra made a feeble attempt to take the high road. “My aunt’s sitting a few feet behind the door.”
Beau’s gaze zeroed in on Sierra’s mouth. “I’m a quiet kisser.”
Short of breath, she whispered, “Prove it.”
Dear Reader,
If you love rodeo, family drama and sexy, headstrong cowboys then Harts of the Rodeo is the series for you! In Beau: Cowboy Protector, you’ll meet Beau Adams, whose recent falling out with his twin brother has made him more determined than ever to win a national championship in bull riding. Rodeo aside, Beau is feeling a little left out of the holy-matrimony club—his brother and cousins have all married and are starting families of their own. Then Beau finally catches the eye of Sierra Byrne and believes a trip down the aisle might be in his future, but Sierra has other plans that don’t include Beau. After receiving a sober medical diagnosis, Sierra is determined to live life to the fullest before her condition prevents her from participating in the activities she’s always dreamed of doing. Now it’s up to Beau to convince Sierra that “marrying Beau” should be on her list.
Next month look for Tomas: Cowboy Homecoming, the final book in the series, by Linda Warren.
And finally, I’d like to give a shout-out to the talented authors in this continuity: Cathy McDavid, C.J. Carmichael, Roz Denny Fox, Shelley Galloway and Linda Warren. Keeping track of all the details in each book wasn’t easy and I shudder to think of the hundreds of emails that passed between us as we plotted our stories, but we persevered and brought this series to life, even managing a few good laughs along the way. Thanks, ladies, for making this experience so much fun!
Marin
About the Author
MARIN THOMAS grew up in Janesville, Wisconsin. She left the Midwest to attend college in Tucson, Arizona, where she earned a B.A. in radio-TV. Following graduation she married her college sweetheart in a five-minute ceremony at the historic Little Chapel of the West in Las Vegas, Nevada. Over the years she and her family have lived in seven different states, but they’ve now come full circle and returned to Arizona, where the rugged desert and breathtaking sunsets provide plenty of inspiration for Marin’s cowboy books.



Beau: Cowboy Protector
Marin Thomas




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To my grandmother Dorothy West… Grandma, you blazed your own path through life—rather than becoming a hairdresser like your mother and sisters you became a bookkeeper. And you raised several eyebrows when you set your sights on the lead trumpet player in a popular dance band. Socializing was a huge part of your life and I know you’re up in Heaven dancing your toes off and swigging down Manhattans while listening to Grandpa Bud’s band. Thank you for being such a wonderful grandmother to me, Brett and Amy and a patient, loving great-grandmother to Desirée, Thomas, Michael, Tylesha and Marin. You will be forever in our hearts.
Contents
Chapter One (#u73f67429-afe1-5082-be50-424ca66496a9)
Chapter Two (#u100c3574-9743-56da-9ecf-c9d7db6c96d2)
Chapter Three (#u03666b5c-b684-50b1-98b0-ac16b00aa4f8)
Chapter Four (#uc9b3506d-30af-5754-b970-c7b7201ed126)
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)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Teaser Chapter (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
“Where’s your better half?” Bull rider Rusty McLean stopped next to Beau Adams in the cowboy-ready area of the Sweetwater Events Complex in Rock Springs. “Duke was makin’ a run at the National Finals Rodeo this year, then he slipped off the radar. He get injured?”
Beau wished an injury had sidelined his twin from today’s rodeo—he was the only Adams competing this first weekend in October. He’d hauled Thunder Ranch bucking bulls, Bushwhacker and Back Bender, to the competition by himself. Duke, aka deputy sheriff had remained at home protecting the good citizens of Roundup while the Thunder Ranch hands had taken a string of bucking horses to a rodeo in Cody, Wyoming. Beau’s father was off doing who knows what with his new lady friend.
“My brother quit,” Beau said. In July, Duke had blindsided him when he retired from rodeo, leaving Beau to carry on the Adams’ bull-riding legacy. He’d flipped out, angry that his brother had walked away from a possible world title when Beau had sacrificed so much for him. Beau had spent his childhood defending his twin when bullies had teased Duke about his stuttering. Standing up for his brother had carried into their teen years and when they’d reached adulthood, it had become second nature for Beau to make sure that Duke remained in the rodeo limelight.
“You’re joking,” McLean said. “Duke was ranked in the top ten in the country at the beginning of the summer.”
“No joke, McLean. Duke’s done with rodeo.” Once Beau’s anger had cooled, he’d realized Duke had never asked him for any concessions, which made Beau wonder why he’d allowed his brother to beat him in bull riding all these years. He had no one to blame but himself for the tight spot he was in—not enough rodeos left in the season to earn the necessary points to make it to Vegas. Regardless, Beau was determined to salvage what was left of the year by winning a handful of smaller rodeos leading up to the Badlands Bull Bash and Cowboy Stampede in South Dakota the weekend before Thanksgiving. A first-place win would show rodeo fans that Beau Adams was a serious contender for next year’s title.
“You’re pullin’ my leg, Adams.” McLean stuffed a pinch of tobacco between his lower lip and gum. “Duke wouldn’t throw away his points ’less’n he had a good reason.”
The sooner the truth got out, the sooner Beau’s competitors would forget his brother and take notice of him. “Duke’s been bit by the love bug.” At McLean’s puzzled expression Beau clarified. “He got married.”
“The hell you say. I didn’t know he had a girlfriend.”
“It happened fast.” Crazy fast. So fast Beau’s head still spun. Of all women to go and fall in love with, Duke had picked Angie Barrington, a single mom with a grudge against rodeo. She ran an animal rescue ranch outside their hometown of Roundup, Montana, and a few of her boarders happened to include horses injured in rodeos. Much to Beau’s chagrin, Duke had traded in a trip to the NFR for a ring and instant fatherhood.
You’re jealous. Hell, maybe he was. There must be a bug in the water back home, because Duke and all but one of Beau’s cousins had married in whirlwind romances reminiscent of Hollywood movies. It irked him that Duke was all in love and Beau had yet to catch the eye of Sierra Byrne, a woman he’d been flirting with since spring.
“Too bad about Duke. His loss is my gain,” McLean said.
“Don’t get cocky.” Beau grinned. “You gotta beat me to win that buckle.” Buckle aside, Beau wanted to take home the prize money—three thousand dollars. Not a fortune by any means, but with the tough economy, the cash would help pay a few ranch bills.
“Adams.” McLean snorted. “You ought to know better than anyone that Bushwhacker’s the best bull here. All I gotta do is make it to eight on him and the buckle’s mine.”
The braggart was right—Bushwhacker was the top-rated bull at the rodeo. At five, he was a year older than Back Bender, but both were money bulls. So far this season, Bushwhacker had thrown every cowboy who’d ridden him and only one rider had made it to the buzzer on Back Bender. “The odds aren’t in your favor, McLean.”
“Ladies and gentlemen.” The rodeo announcer put an end to the cowboy banter. “As was broadcast earlier, due to one of our stock contractors encountering a flat tire, the rodeo committee has switched the order of events. Bull riding will take place next, followed by our final event of the day—the bareback competition.”
The crowd booed its displeasure, but quieted when the announcer continued his spiel. “You’re about to witness some of the toughest and bravest men alive....”
Beau blocked out the booming voice and studied his draw—Gorgeous Gus. His new best friend was a veteran bull with a reputation for charging anything on two legs. Beau adjusted his protective vest and put on his face mask. He hated wearing the gear, but if he intended to win a title he’d sacrifice his vanity to remain healthy and injury-free. He climbed the chute rails and straddled the two-thousand-pound tiger-striped brindle Brahma-Hereford mix.
“Folks, I gotta say this next bull makes me nervous. Gorgeous Gus hails from the Henderson Ranch in Round Rock, Texas. Gus has already put three cowboys out of commission this season.”
Music blared from the sound system but Beau kept his gaze averted from the JumboTron. He didn’t care to watch as it replayed Jacob Montgomery’s attempt to ride Gorgeous Gus in Denver this past July. Gus had thrown Montgomery and then, before the cowboy had gotten to his feet, the bull had gored his leg. A few seconds later the collective gasp that rippled through the stands sent chills down Beau’s spine.
“Goin’ head-to-horns with Gorgeous Gus is Beau Adams from Roundup, Montana. This is the first match-up between cowboy and bull.”
Beau closed his eyes and envisioned Gus’s exit out of the chute, but Sierra Byrne popped into his mind, interrupting his concentration.
“You ready, Adams?” the gateman asked.
“Not yet.” Beau shook his head in an attempt to dislodge Sierra’s blue eyes and flaming red hair from his memory. That he’d allowed the owner of the Number 1 Diner to mess with his focus didn’t bode well for the next eight seconds. He flexed his fingers and worked the leather bull rope around his hand, fusing it to Gus’s hide.
Breathe…in…out…in…out.... The blood pounded through his veins like roaring river rapids after the spring snowmelt in the Bull Mountains.
I’m the best.
No one can beat me.
Win.
He repeated the new mantra in his head—different from his previous pep talks when he’d taken a backseat to his brother’s performances. Since Duke’s retirement Beau had won several rodeos, but the bulls hadn’t been rank bulls—not like the notorious Gorgeous Gus. A bead of sweat slid down Beau’s temple. In a few seconds, he’d know if he’d been blowing hot air when he’d sparred with McLean. Satisfied with his grip, he crouched low and forced the muscles around the base of his spine to relax, then he signaled the gateman.
Gus exploded from the chute, twisting right as he kicked his back legs out. Beau survived the buck and Gus allowed him half a second to regain his balance before a series of kicks thrust Beau forward and he almost kissed the bull’s horns. Beau ignored the burning fire spreading through his muscles as he squeezed his thighs against the animal’s girth.
The dance went on…twist, stomp, kick. Twist, stomp, kick. Gus spun left then right in quick succession, almost ripping Beau’s shoulder from its socket. Sheer determination and fear of being trampled kept him from flying off. The buzzer sounded and the bullfighters waved their hands in an attempt to catch Gus’s attention.
Taking advantage of the distraction, Beau launched himself into the air. He hit the ground hard, the oxygen in his lungs bursting from his mouth like a six-pack belch. He didn’t check on Gus—a one-second glance might mean the difference between making it to the rails…or not.
Ignoring the sharp twinge in his left ankle, Beau rolled to his feet and sprinted for safety. The mask on his helmet obscured the barrier, making it difficult to judge the distance. When his boot hit the bottom rung, a hand crossed his line of vision and a hard yank helped him over the top of the gate just as Gus rammed his head into the rails, the impact rattling the metal.
“Holy smokes! What a ride by Beau Adams!”
Applause thundered through the arena, and the ear-piercing racket of boots stomping on metal bleachers brought a smile to Beau’s face as he removed his mask.
“Eighty-six is the score to beat!” The JumboTron replayed the bull ride.
“Congratulations, Beau.”
Beau spun at the sound of the familiar voice. His cousin, Tuf Hart, stood a foot away, the corner of his mouth lifting in a cautious smile. “Tuf!” Beau clasped his cousin’s hand and pulled him close for a chest bump and a stiff one-armed hug.
Tuf looked tired. Worn out. Maybe even a little beaten down. He’d left the Marines and returned to the States almost two years ago but had kept his distance from the family. Beau knew for a fact that his cousins Ace and Colt were upset with their baby brother for not returning to the ranch. Beau snagged Tuf’s shirtsleeve and pulled him away from the chutes.
“Do you know how worried the family is about you?”
His cousin’s gaze dropped to the tips of his boots.
“Fine. I won’t pry. Just tell me you’re okay.”
“I’m getting there.”
What the hell kind of answer was that? “Where’ve you been all this time?”
“I’d rather not say.”
The youngest Hart had missed all the family weddings and good news. He bet Tuf hadn’t heard that Ace and Flynn’s first child was due around Thanksgiving or that Tuf’s sister, Dinah, had married Austin Wright and they were expecting a baby next summer.
“Man, you gotta know your mom misses you.”
Tuf removed his hat and shoved his fingers through his short brown hair. “I’ll be in touch soon.”
The twenty-eight-year-old standing before Beau was a stranger, not the cousin he remembered. “You don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?”
“Aunt Sarah—”
“I can’t talk right now.” Tuf made a move to pass, but Beau blocked his path.
Didn’t Tuf care that his mother had suffered an angina attack this past May and that the ranch had hit upon tough times? As a member of the family, Tuf should have known his mother had been forced to take Thunder Ranch in a new direction. Aunt Sarah had sold off most of the cattle, leased a sizable chunk of grazing land and had secured a hefty bank loan that Ace had cosigned.
“Call your mom and let her hear your voice.”
The muscle along Tuf’s jaw pulsed but he held his tongue.
Had something happened to his cousin in Afghanistan? The Tuf Beau had grown up with would never have shut out his family.
“Tell my mom I’m in Maryland and that I’m okay.” His cousin walked off and joined the other bareback riders preparing for their event.
What was so important in Maryland that it prevented his cousin from returning to Thunder Ranch? Beau figured if Tuf had traveled this far west to compete in a rodeo he must be homesick. Hopefully, Tuf would come to his senses soon and haul his backside to Montana before Aunt Sarah dragged him home by his ear. Forgetting about his cousin, Beau focused on the Thunder Ranch bulls, eager to view their performances and he didn’t want to miss Bushwhacker tossing McLean on his head.
“Next up is Pete Davis from Simpleton, North Dakota, riding Back Bender from the Thunder Ranch outside Roundup, Montana.” The crowd applauded. “Back Bender’s a young bull but he’s got energy and lots of gas. This bull goes all-out for eight seconds and then some.”
The announcer summed up Back Bender pretty well. The bull never ran out of kick—it was as if electricity flowed through the animal’s veins instead of blood. When the gate opened, Back Bender erupted from the chute with a fierce kick before turning into a tight spin, then coming out of it with a double kick, which sent Davis flying at the three-second mark.
The bullfighters rushed in, but Back Bender continued to kick and the fans cheered in appreciation. Beau shook his head in wonder. The dang animal loved to buck.
“Like I said, folks, Back Bender’s tough to ride and his brother, Bushwhacker is nastier. Turn your attention to chute number three for the final bull ride of the day.”
Beau scaled the rails for a better view of the brown-and-red bull. Bushwhacker kicked the chute, warning those around him that he meant business.
“Bushwhacker also hails from Thunder Ranch and this bull loves to ambush cowboys. He lulls a rider into thinking he’ll make it to eight then tosses him into the dirt. Bushwhacker is undefeated this season. Let’s see if Rusty McLean from Spokane, Washington, can outsmart this bull.”
McLean adjusted the bull rope, his movements jerky and uneven. The boastful cowboy was nervous—he should be. He had a fifty-fifty chance of being the star of the day or going home the biggest loser.
C’mon, Bushwhacker. Show everyone why you’re the best.
McLean signaled the gateman and Bushwhacker exploded into the arena. The bull’s first buck was brutal—his signature move. He kicked both back legs out while twisting his hindquarters. Too bad for McLean. Bushwhacker’s raw power unseated him, and the cowboy catapulted over the bull’s head. McLean stumbled to his feet as the bullfighters intercepted Bushwhacker and escorted him from the arena. Staggering into the cowboy-ready area, McLean flung his bull rope and cussed.
“Better luck next time,” Beau taunted.
The cowboy spit at the ground and stomped off.
“Beau Adams from Roundup, Montana, is the winner of today’s bull-riding competition. Congratulations, Adams!”
Excited he’d taken first place, Beau collected his gear and the winning check, then found a seat in the stands to watch Tuf compete.
“Ladies and gentlemen, our final event of the day is the bareback competition. Those of you who don’t know…a bareback horse is leaner, quicker and more agile than a saddle bronc. Bareback riding is rough, explosive, and the cowboys will tell ya that this event is the most physically demanding in rodeo.” The crowd heckled the announcer, several fans shouting that bull riders were the toughest cowboys in the sport.
“Sit tight folks, you’ll see what I’m talkin’ about.”
The announcer was right—a bareback cowboy’s arm, neck and spine took a brutal beating and Beau worried about Tuf. If his cousin was just returning to competition, then he might not be in the best physical shape and the ride could end in disaster.
“First out of the gate is Tuf Hart, another cowboy from Roundup, Montana.”
While Tuf settled onto the bronc and fiddled with his grip, the announcer continued. “Hart’s gonna try to tame Cool Moon, a three-year-old gelding from the Circle T Ranch in New Mexico. Cool Moon is a spinner, folks.”
Seconds later, the chute opened and Cool Moon went to work. The bronc twirled in tight, quick circles while bucking his back legs almost past vertical, the movement defying logic.
Hold on, Tuf. Hold on.
The moment Beau voiced the thought in his head, Tuf flew off Cool Moon. As soon as he hit the dirt, he got to his feet quickly. Beau watched him shuffle to the rails—no limp. His cousin hadn’t won but more importantly he’d escaped injury.
After the final bareback rider competed, Beau made his way to the stock pens. Bushwhacker and Back Bender had rested for over an hour and it was time to load them into the trailer. First, he wanted to wish his cousin well and tell him to hurry home. He weaved through the maze of cowboys and rodeo fans, stopping once to autograph a program for a kid. Finally, he made it to the cowboy-ready area. “Hey, McLean,” Beau called.
“Don’t rub it in, Adams.”
No need. Bushwhacker had had the final word. “Have you seen my cousin?”
“He left after his ride.”
Miffed that Tuf hadn’t cared enough to say goodbye, Beau sprinted to the parking lot then stopped. He didn’t even know what vehicle Tuf drove. Disgusted, he retrieved the Thunder Ranch truck and livestock trailer.
With the help of two rodeo workers, Beau loaded Bushwhacker and Back Bender into the trailer. When he pulled out of the Sweetwater Events Complex, he drove north, intent on arriving home by the ten-thirty news. He made a pit stop for gas outside Rock Springs then purchased a large coffee and a Big Mac from the McDonald’s restaurant inside the station. Back in his truck he popped three ibuprofen tablets to help with the swelling in his ankle—already his boot felt tight.
Once he merged onto the highway, he found a country-western station on the radio and settled in for the long drive. Less than five minutes passed before his thoughts turned to Sierra Byrne.
Physically, she was the opposite of the women he’d dated in the past. In heels, Sierra might reach five-seven. Full-figured—not slim or willowy—and red hair. He usually went for blondes.
Ah, but her eyes…Sierra’s eyes had stopped Beau in his tracks the first time he’d gotten up the nerve to begin a conversation with her. Bright blue with a paler blue ring near the pupil. He’d locked gazes with her, mesmerized by the way the blue had brightened when she’d smiled.
And her hair… Sierra wore her hair in a springy bob that ended an inch below her jaw, and her bangs skimmed the corner of her right eye, lending her a playful, sexy look.
Her cuteness aside, there was something stirring…vulnerable in Sierra’s gaze that tugged at him. If only he could get her to agree to a date with him. He’d first asked her out this past June…then in July…then in August…September. Each time she’d made up a lame excuse about the diner keeping her too busy.
She was proving to be a challenge, but Beau wasn’t one to back down when the going got tough. Sierra might have rebuffed his advances, but she wasn’t as clever at hiding her attraction to him. A few weeks ago, she’d run into the edge of a table at the diner and he’d rescued a plate of food from her hand. Their bodies had collided, her lush breasts bumping his arm. Everyone in the booth had heard her quiet gasp, but only Beau’s ears had caught the sexy purr that had followed.
Worrying about his love life wouldn’t get him home any faster. He switched the radio station to a sports talk show and forgot about his crush on Sierra.
Five hours later, as Beau approached Roundup, he noticed a vehicle parked on the side of the road. His truck’s headlights shone through the car’s rear window, illuminating a silhouette in the driver’s seat. He turned on the truck’s flashers then pulled onto the shoulder behind the car. When he approached the vehicle, the driver’s side window lowered several inches.
What the hell?
“Hello, Beau,” Sierra said.
Well…well…well… This surely was his lucky day.
Chapter Two
Drat!
Sierra had the worst luck—go figure Beau Adams would end up rescuing her from her own stupidity.
Beau had set his sights on her early this spring when he’d begun eating at the diner on a regular basis. She found the handsome bull rider’s attention flattering and would have jumped at the chance to date him, but circumstances beyond her control had forced her to keep him at arm’s length.
“Engine trouble?” Beau’s gaze drifted to her lips. The man had the most annoying habit of watching her mouth when they engaged in conversation.
“I’m not sure what the problem is,” she said, ignoring her rising body temperature. There wasn’t a thing wrong with her RAV4, except for the dent in the rear fender from a run-in with a minivan in the parking lot of the diner.
Sierra’s sight had left her marooned on the side of the road.
He swept his hat from his head and ran his fingers through his hair. Beau’s brown locks always looked in need of a trim, but it was his dark brown eyes and chiseled jaw that made her heart pound a little faster.
“I bet I can figure out what’s wrong,” he said.
Typical cowboy—believing he could repair anything and everything. Too bad Beau couldn’t fix her eyes.
“How long have you been sitting here?”
Hours. “A short while.” No way was she confessing that she couldn’t see well enough to drive at night.
If not for a freeway wreck on the outskirts of Billings, she would have made it home, but ten miles from town dusk had turned to darkness. With few vehicles traveling the road, Sierra had decreased her speed and continued driving, but her confidence had been shattered when she’d crossed the center line and almost collided with another car. The near miss scared years off her life and she’d pulled onto the shoulder, resigned to wait until daybreak to drive into Roundup.
She’d phoned her aunt, who’d been visiting her since July, and had informed her that she planned to spend the night with a friend. Silence had followed Sierra’s announcement. Everyone in town was aware of Beau’s frequent visits to the diner and Jordan probably wondered if Sierra’s friend happened to be Beau.
She appreciated that her aunt hadn’t pried—after all, Sierra was thirty-one, old enough to have a sleepover with a man. In truth, she’d love to get to know Beau better, but life wasn’t fair. Too bad he’d happened along tonight. She’d been certain she’d get out of this mess without anyone the wiser.
“Pop the hood,” he said.
“There’s no need. I called Davidson Towing. Stan is out on another call but should be here in a little while.” Maybe if she distracted Beau, he’d forget about checking the engine. “Returning from a rodeo?”
“Yep. Hauled a couple of Thunder Ranch bulls down to Rock Springs, Wyoming.”
“Did you compete?”
He rested an arm along the top of the car. “Sure did, and I won.” His cocky grin warmed her better than her down parka.
“Congratulations.” The diner’s patrons kept Sierra up to date on their hometown cowboys’ accomplishments. Since she’d moved to Roundup five years ago, most of the gossip about the Adams twins focused on Duke’s rodeo successes. Lately, Beau was getting his turn in the spotlight.
“Wanna see my buckle?”
She swallowed a laugh. “Sure.” He removed the piece of silver from his coat pocket and passed it through the open window. “It’s beautiful.”
“There’s no need for you to freeze. Stan’ll tow your car to his garage and square the bill with you in the morning.” Beau reached for the door handle.
“No!” Sierra cringed. She hadn’t meant to shout. For a girl who’d lived most of her life in Chicago, small towns were both a blessing and a curse. She handed Beau the buckle. “I appreciate the offer, but I’d prefer to wait with my car.”
Instead of backing away he poked his head through the window, his hair brushing the side of her face. A whiff of faded cologne—sandalwood and musk—swirled beneath her nose. “Just checking to make sure there’s no serial killer in the backseat holding you hostage.”
Oh, brother.
“If you’re determined to wait for Stan, then sit in my truck. I’ve got the heat going and I’ll share the coffee I bought at the rest stop.”
“Thanks, but you should get your bulls back to the ranch.” C’mon, Beau. Give up and go home.
“I don’t like the idea of you waiting out here all alone.”
“This is Roundup, Montana. Nothing’s going to happen to me.”
“You’re forgetting the break-ins this past summer. This area is no Mayberry, U.S.A.”
Sierra regretted her flippant remark. Although Roundup had been and would continue to be a safe place to live and raise a family, a rash of thefts in the ranching community had put people on edge for a while. Even Beau had been victimized when one of his custom-made saddles had been stolen and sold at a truck stop miles away.
“I’ll be fine. Besides, your cousin caught those thieves.” She switched on the interior light and pointed to her winter coat. “And I’m plenty warm.” A flat tire during her first winter in Big Sky country had taught Sierra to keep a heavy jacket in her vehicle year-round. Unlike Chicago, car trouble in rural Montana could mean waiting an entire day for help to arrive and the state’s weather was anything but predictable—sixty degrees one hour, a blizzard the next.
“How long did you say you’ve been waiting for Stan?”
“Twenty minutes maybe.” When had she become such an accomplished liar?
Beau walked to the front of the car and placed his hand on the hood.
Busted. She’d been parked for over three hours—surely the engine was stone cold. “Thanks again for stopping to check on me,” she called out the window, hoping he’d take the hint and leave.
“You’re sure you don’t want a ride to the diner?”
“Positive.”
“Okay. Take care.” He retreated to his truck where he took his dang tootin’ time pulling back onto the road. As soon as the livestock trailer disappeared around the bend in the road, Sierra breathed a sigh of relief.
Then the tears fell.
Ah, Beau. Darn the man for being…nice. Handsome. Sexy.
Over a year ago, Sierra had become aware of the subtle changes in her eyesight, but she’d steadfastly ignored the signs and had gone about life as usual. Her resolve to pretend her vision was fine had grown stronger after each encounter with Beau. Then her aunt had arrived unannounced—thanks to the busybodies who’d informed her of Sierra’s recent mishaps around town—determined to persuade Sierra to schedule an appointment with an ophthalmologist. Sadly, she didn’t need an examination to tell her that she’d inherited the gene for the eye disease that had led to her aunt’s blindness.
Why couldn’t Beau have paid attention to her when she’d first arrived in Roundup years ago? Darn life for being unfair. Sierra rested her head on the back of the seat. Maybe she’d see—ha, ha, ha—things in a different light come morning.
Morning arrived at 6:25 a.m., when a semi truck whizzed by her car and woke her. She wiggled her cold toes and fingers until the feeling returned to the numb digits. If she hurried, she’d have time to mix a batch of biscuits before the diner doors opened for breakfast at seven.
She snapped on her seat belt then checked the rearview mirror. Oh. My. God. Beau’s pickup, minus the livestock trailer, sat a hundred yards behind her. Embarrassed and humiliated that he’d caught her red-handed in a lie, she shoved the key into the ignition and the SUV engine fired to life. After checking for cars in both directions she hit the gas. The back tires spewed gravel as she pulled onto the highway. Keeping a death grip on the steering wheel she glanced at the side mirror—Beau remained fast asleep, slouched against the driver’s-side window.
Don’t you dare cry.
Her eyesight was blurry in the mornings, and if she gave into the tears that threatened to fall she’d be forced to pull off the road again—and then what excuse would she give Beau?
* * *
BEAU WOKE IN time to catch the taillights of Sierra’s SUV driving off. The least she could have done was thank him for watching over her through the night.
Sierra mystified him. After finding her stranded on the side of the road he’d been puzzled by her insistence that he not wait with her for a tow. Then, when he’d placed his hand on the hood of the car and discovered the engine was cold, his suspicions had grown. For the life of him he couldn’t figure out what she’d been up to, but she’d made it clear she didn’t want his help, so he’d moseyed along. When he’d reached Roundup, he’d driven past Davidson Towing. Stan’s tow truck had sat parked in the lot, the lights turned off in the service garage.
For a split second, Beau had wondered if Sierra had intended to rendezvous with a man, but he’d nixed that idea. Before he’d begun his campaign to convince her to go out on a date with him he’d asked his cousin Dinah, the town’s sheriff, to find out if Sierra was involved with another man. According to Dinah’s sources Sierra wasn’t. Boyfriend or not, Beau hadn’t been about to leave Sierra alone in the dark.
He’d delivered Bushwhacker and Back Bender to Thunder Ranch, then had hollered at his father through the door that he was meeting up with friends at the Open Range Saloon. Alibi taken care of, he’d high-tailed it back to the highway.
When he’d passed her SUV, the truck’s headlights had shown her asleep in the front seat. Alone. Relieved he’d been wrong about a clandestine meeting, he’d parked behind the car, resigned to wait until morning for answers. Those answers were right now fleeing down the highway.
Although tempted to stalk Sierra until she offered an explanation for the crazy stunt she’d pulled last night, he started his truck and turned onto the county road that bypassed Roundup and brought him to the back side of Thunder Ranch, where the Adams men were in charge of the bucking bulls and the cattle that grazed this section of the property. He pulled up to the small house his father had raised him and his brother in after their mother had died in a car accident thirty years ago. He shut off the engine then tapped a finger against the steering wheel. Was he coming on too strong with Sierra?
When he’d first begun pursuing her, his brother had pointed out that folks might mistake his actions as those of a man on the rebound. He’d discarded Duke’s words. Beau and his former girlfriend Melanie had given their long-distance relationship a shot but they’d grown apart months before their official breakup last December. Now that Duke and all their cousins, except Tuf, had married, Beau was feeling left out of the holy-matrimony club. He wanted for himself the same happiness his brother and cousins had found with their significant others, and something about Sierra made Beau believe she could be the one.
He hopped out of the truck and used the side door to enter the house. He found his father sitting at the kitchen table, eating donuts—usually by this time in the morning he was checking the water tanks and feed bins in the bull pasture. Beau hung his sheepskin jacket on the hook by the door. “Skipping your oatmeal and English muffin today?”
“Jordan sent the donuts home with me last night. Leftovers from the diner.”
Jordan Peterson was Sierra’s aunt and his father’s…friend…girlfriend? The moment Jordan had stepped off the bus with her seeing-eye dog in July, his father had been hot on her heels. Beau had no idea where the older couple’s relationship was headed, but he was ticked off that his father spent most of his time with Jordan and neglected his responsibilities around the ranch.
“When did you get in last night?” Had his father been home when Beau had dropped off the bulls?
“’Round midnight.”
Guess not.
“Since we’re keeping tabs on each other’s whereabouts....” His father nodded at Beau’s jacket. “Where’d you hang your hat last night?”
Admitting that he’d slept in the cab of his truck would raise more questions than Beau cared to answer. Besides, he doubted Sierra wanted her aunt or the good folks of Roundup to learn she’d spent the night on the side of the road.
Rather than lie, Beau changed the subject. “Did you eat supper at the Number 1 yesterday?”
“Only an emergency would keep me from missing the Saturday special.”
Beef potpie baked in a homemade crust. Beau had memorized the daily specials when he’d begun his campaign to woo Sierra.
His father carried his coffee cup to the sink. “Sierra phoned Jordan and said she wouldn’t be back in town until morning, so I helped close up the diner last night.”
Sierra had covered all her bases—clever girl—but why?
“Speaking of Sierra…Jordan tells me that you’ve been dropping by the diner every day.”
Beau never talked about his personal life with his father and didn’t feel comfortable now. “Do you have a problem with that?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. I want you to keep away from Sierra.”
Beau’s hackles rose. He and his father had never been close, and up until now his dad had kept his nose out of Beau’s affairs. Why all of a sudden did he care if Beau had his sights set on Sierra? “I’m a grown man. I don’t need your permission to date a woman.”
“You don’t have time for a relationship right now.”
“And you do?” Beau asked.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You and Jordan are becoming awfully tight.” Beau and his father exchanged glowers.
“Instead of chasing after Sierra, you should focus on mending fences with your brother. There’s a lot of work around here and if you’re squabbling with each other things don’t get done.”
Afraid he’d say something he shouldn’t, Beau helped himself to the last donut on the plate and poured a cup of coffee.
“You talk to your brother lately?” his father asked.
“No. Why?”
“Duke said you’ve been giving him the cold shoulder since he quit rodeo.”
Not exactly true. Beau was still talking to Duke—he just didn’t go out of his way to do so. After their blow-up this past summer, he’d had a few superficial conversations with his brother, but they’d steered clear of discussing rodeo. Beau accepted most of the blame for having kept his distance from Duke—he needed time to come to grips with all the changes in his brother’s life.
“You hurt Duke’s pride when you told him you’d never given your best effort in the arena all these years.”
Where did his father get off lecturing Beau? If the old man had shown a scrap of concern or compassion over Duke’s childhood stuttering, or defended Duke from bullies, Beau wouldn’t have felt compelled to do the job, which had naturally led Beau to allowing Duke the limelight to build his self-esteem.
“I never told you that you had to be second best,” his father said.
“No, but you were oblivious to Duke’s struggles. Someone had to encourage him.”
“I wasn’t oblivious.” His father’s gaze shifted to the wall. “Figured if I ignored his stuttering, Duke would grow out of it faster.”
Part of Beau felt sorry for his father—raising twin boys without a wife would be a challenge for any man. Even so, had his father shown any compassion for Duke, Beau might not have overstepped his bounds with his brother.
“The only reason you want me to make nice with Duke is because you’ve been shirking your duties around here and you need your sons to pick up the slack.”
His father’s steely-eyed glare warned Beau he was treading on thin ice—time to change the subject. “A while back Duke said you were thinking about retiring.” He hoped the news wasn’t true.
“Been tossing around the idea.”
The timing couldn’t be worse—Beau adding rodeos to his schedule and Duke trying to balance family and his job as deputy sheriff. Then again, his father only considered what was best for him—never mind the rest of the family. “Why retire?”
“What do you mean, why? That’s what men do when they get old—they quit working.”
Joshua Adams was fifty-eight years old and although ranching took a toll on a man’s body, his father didn’t look or act as if he was ready to spend the rest of his life twiddling his thumbs.
“Does this urge for less work and more free time have anything to do with Earl McKinley leasing his land and moving to Billings?” Joshua Adams had punched cows for Earl’s father until Beau’s mother had died, then Aunt Sarah had talked her brother into moving closer to family and working for her husband at Thunder Ranch.
“I don’t care what Earl does,” his father said.
“Ever since Jordan arrived in town you haven’t cared about anything but spending time with her.”
“You got a problem with that?”
Maybe. “Aunt Sarah isn’t sure if she’s going to keep Midnight. If she sells the stallion then we may have to invest more in our bucking bulls and Asteroid needs a lot of attention.” Beau didn’t have time to deal with the young bull, but his father did.
“Midnight and Asteroid will be fine. You worry too much.”
And the old man didn’t worry enough.
“Whatever you decide about retirement, I hope you put it off another year.”
“Why’s that?”
“I’m making a run at an NFR title next year. I’ll be on the road a lot.”
“You think you can win that many rodeos?”
“I don’t think—I know I can.”
A horn blast sent Beau to the back door. “It’s Colt.” His cousin’s truck and horse trailer barreled up the drive. “Aunt Sarah’s with him.” Beau snatched his jacket from the hook and his father followed him outside.
“It’s Midnight,” Colt said as he rounded the hood of his Dodge.
The newest addition to the bucking-stock operation, The Midnight Express, was wreaking havoc at Thunder Ranch.
“Something the matter with Midnight, Sarah?” Beau’s father asked.
“He’s run off again. Gracie thinks one of her boys accidently left the latch on the stall door unhooked when they were helping her in the barn this morning.” Gracie was Midnight’s primary caretaker and no doubt in a state of panic over the valuable horse.
This past summer, Midnight had suffered a flesh wound from a run-in with barbed wire after he’d escaped his stall and had gone missing for over a month. Although the horse was fully healed, Ace had kept Midnight’s physical activity to a minimum, which didn’t include a ten-mile sprint across the ranch.
Beau’s father put his arm around his sister’s shoulder. “Don’t get yourself worked up. The stress isn’t good for your heart.”
“What about the paddocks?” Beau asked. “Maybe Midnight jumped a fence to get to one of the mares.”
“We checked. He’s running free somewhere on the property,” Colt said.
Beau shielded his eyes against the bright sunlight and searched the horizon.
“Help Colt look for Midnight, Beau. He can’t have gone far.” Joshua motioned toward the house. “There’s hot coffee in the kitchen, Sarah. I’ll be in after I check on the bulls.”
Once his father was out of earshot, Beau asked, “Does Ace know Midnight’s on the run?”
“Not yet. I was hoping to put the horse back in his stall before my brother got wind of it,” Colt said.
“We’ll find him.”
“You head north on the four-wheeler and I’ll meet you there with the trailer.” Colt handed Beau a walkie-talkie then hopped into his truck and took off.
Before Beau forgot, he fished his wallet from his back pocket and removed the cashier’s check for three thousand dollars. “I won yesterday.” He held the draft out to his aunt.
She didn’t take the money. “Congratulations.”
“C’mon, Aunt Sarah.” He waved the check. “It’ll help pay for some of the expense that went into searching for Midnight over the summer.”
The Midnight Express had cost Thunder Ranch a hefty $38,000, and when the stallion had gone AWOL the family had shelled out big bucks—money they could ill afford in this bad economy—to locate the horse. In the end, the dang stallion had been right under their noses at Buddy Wright’s neighboring ranch.
Reluctantly his aunt accepted the check. “Thank you, Beau.” She sighed. “I’m worried I made a mistake in believing Midnight could bring Thunder Ranch back from the brink.”
“Midnight’s not just any horse, Aunt Sarah. He’ll come through for us.” Midnight’s pedigree had been traced back to the infamous bucking horse, Five Minutes to Midnight, who lay buried at the National Cowboy Hall of Fame. If given half a chance, Beau believed the stallion could win another NFR title.
Beau opened his mouth to tell his aunt he’d run into Tuf at the rodeo but changed his mind. She was already upset over Midnight; mentioning Tuf might cause her heart to act up. “Keep the coffee hot, Aunt Sarah.” Beau kissed her cheek then jogged to the equipment shed where the ATVs were stored.
A minute later, he took off, the cold wind whipping his face as he wove through two miles of pine trees. When he cleared the forest, he spotted Midnight drinking at the stock pond. Beau stopped the four-wheeler and pulled out the walkie-talkie. “Midnight’s at the pond.”
“Be right there.”
The ATV’s rumbling engine caught Midnight’s attention. The coal-black stallion pawed the ground. In that moment, Beau felt he and Midnight were kindred spirits—both needed to prove they were the best, yet neither had competed in enough rodeos this season to make it to Vegas and show the world they were number one.
Colt arrived, leaving the truck parked several yards away. He grabbed a rope and joined Beau. “Is he spooked?”
“Nope.” Midnight was the cockiest horse Beau had ever been around.
“Since he came back from Buddy’s he’s been more difficult to handle,” Colt said.
“I’ve got an opinion, if you care to hear it.”
“Speak your mind.”
“Midnight’s jaunt across the ranch is his way of letting us know he’s feeling penned in and he’s ready for a challenge.”
“By challenge, you mean rodeo.”
“Midnight’s a competitor. Bucking’s in his blood. He’s not happy unless he’s throwing cowboys off his back.”
“You might be right. He’s probably feeling restless now that Fancy Gal’s expecting and wants nothing to do with him.”
No wonder the stallion was acting out of sorts—his companion mare was snubbing her nose at him. “Enter Midnight in the Badlands Bull Bash.” The one-day event had a purse of fifty thousand dollars.
“Ace would have my head if I took that horse anywhere without telling him,” Colt said. “A win, though, will increase Midnight’s stud fees.”
“Sure would.”
“I’ll talk to Ace.” Colt pointed to the stallion. “You ready?”
“Nothing I like better than a good chase.”
“Keep him penned in until I get close enough to throw a rope over his head.”
Midnight allowed Colt to get within fifty feet of him, then when Colt raised his roping arm, the stallion took off. Beau followed on the ATV, cutting Midnight off at the pass. The horse spun, then galloped in the opposite direction. Beau turned Midnight back toward Colt. The game went on for several minutes. Finally, Midnight exhausted himself and Colt threw the rope over the horse’s head.
“Nice work,” Colt said after Beau shut off the four-wheeler.
“Midnight could have escaped if he’d wanted to.”
“Yeah, I know.” Colt tugged on the rope and led the stallion to the truck, Midnight snorting hot steam into the brisk air.
Beau followed the pair and opened the trailer doors, then lowered the ramp. Midnight tossed his head and reared. Colt gave him plenty of rope, then waved his hand in front of the stallion’s nose. Midnight clomped up the ramp and into the trailer.
“Why are you the only one who can get that horse to load?”
Colt opened his fist to reveal a peppermint candy. “Don’t tell Ace my secret.” Midnight poked his head out the trailer window, and Colt gave the stallion his reward then latched the door. “Thanks for your help, Beau. I promised Leah we’d take the kids to an early-bird matinee. Now we won’t be late.”
Colt had seamlessly adjusted to married life and fatherhood, but Beau was curious. “When’s the family going to meet your son?” His cousin had confessed to the family that he’d fathered a child twelve years ago but had only recently made contact with the boy. Colt was also stepdad to Leah’s son and daughter.
“I’m not sure. I invited Evan to spend Thanksgiving at the ranch but I’m leaving it up to him to decide when he’s ready to meet the family.”
Speaking of family… “Hey, Colt.”
“Yeah?”
“I ran into Tuf in Rock Springs.”
“You didn’t tell my mom, did you?”
“No. I thought you and Ace should be the ones to tell her if you think she should know. I was worried the news might upset her.”
“Is he okay?”
“Hard to say. I asked when he was coming home, but he didn’t know.”
Colt stubbed the ground with the toe of his boot.
“I suggested he call your mom, but—” Beau shrugged.
“I’m not one to judge. I didn’t always uphold my share of responsibility around the ranch through the years, but I kept in touch with my mother. The least Tuf can do is call home once in a while.” Colt hopped into the front seat of the truck. “Thanks again for your help.”
“Sure thing. Enjoy the movies.”
After Colt departed, Beau stood in the cold, staring into the distance. Today was Sunday and he had a hankering for beef sirloin tip roast—Sunday special at the Number 1. He’d return to the house and help his father with ranch chores, then shower and head into town to do some more chasing…of the two-legged variety.
Chapter Three
Sierra climbed the steps of the hidden staircase inside the diner’s pantry and entered her living room. There were only two ways into the upstairs apartment—the staircase and the fire escape behind the building.
“It’s me, Aunt Jordan. I brought you a late lunch—baked potato soup and a roll.” She set the food on the kitchen table.
Her aunt’s seeing-eye dog, Molly, ventured from the guest bedroom first, followed by her owner. Sierra was amazed at how quickly Jordan had learned the layout of the apartment and could navigate the space without bumping into any furniture.
“Have you been a good girl, Molly?” Sierra scratched the yellow lab behind the ears. Jordan washed her hands at the sink then sat at the table and confidently familiarized herself with the items before her—take-out soup container, wheat roll inside a paper towel, butter dish, knife and spoon.
“This was nice of you, dear.” Her aunt buttered the roll. “What time did you get in this morning? I didn’t hear you.”
“Early.” Sierra disliked being evasive but she’d been on pins and needles, worried Beau would drop by the diner and demand an explanation for her bizarre behavior last night. She owed him the truth, but facing reality took more courage than she possessed at the moment.
Hoping to dissuade her aunt from prying into her whereabouts, Sierra asked, “What did you do last night?” Several of Jordan’s friends from high school lived in the area and often invited her out to eat or shop.
“Joshua helped Irene close the diner, then we watched a movie up here.”
“Watched…?” Her aunt possessed a wicked sense of humor regarding her blindness, but Sierra didn’t see a darn thing funny about having to live in the dark.
“Joshua watched. I listened.”
Since returning to Montana, Jordan had been spending a lot of time with her old boyfriend, which Sierra couldn’t be more pleased about. She’d love for her aunt to sell her condo in Florida and relocate to Roundup.
“This tastes similar to your mother’s recipe, but there’s something different…”
“Rosemary. I used it a lot in cooking school.” Sierra poured two glasses of iced tea and joined her aunt at the table.
“Your mother was so proud when you graduated from that famous Cordon Bleu program,” Aunt Jordan said.
“Mom always envied your talent for dancing.”
Jordan reached across the table and Sierra clasped her hand. “I wish your mother were still with us.”
“Me, too.” Sierra’s parents had died in a plane crash five years ago. A former Air Force pilot and captain for United Airlines, her father had survived near misses and engine malfunctions, yet it had been a summer thunderstorm that had brought down her parents’ twin-engine Cessna while flying to their cabin along Musselshell River.
“Do you have any regrets, moving from Chicago to Roundup?” Jordan asked.
“None.” After her parents’ funeral, Sierra had decided to use her inheritance to renovate the old newspaper building in town and turn it into a diner where she could put her catering recipes to good use.
“Your mother would have loved helping you run the diner.”
Sierra was sad that she hadn’t been able to share her business venture with her parents, but at least they’d been spared the agony of watching their only child face monumental, life-altering changes. Then again, Sierra would have appreciated their support when the going got tough…tougher…toughest. At least her aunt was by her side, and Sierra hoped she would remain so for a long time to come.
“Don’t feel you have to keep me company,” Jordan said. “I imagine it’s busy downstairs.”
“Irene has everything under control.” Sierra’s second in command ran the diner like a military mess hall. Even the two high school students Sierra employed toed the line when they worked with Irene. “Mind if I ask you a personal question, Aunt Jordan?”
“Not at all.” Her aunt’s smile erased ten years from her age.
“How serious were you and Joshua when you dated in high school?”
A wistful expression settled over her aunt’s face. “We were very much in love.”
“What happened?”
“I wanted to go to college and see the world, and Joshua was content to remain in Roundup.”
“Mom said she never regretted leaving town, but I think that’s because she and Dad spent their summers at the cabin. Do you wish you would have stayed closer to home?”
“No. I needed to spread my wings. I knew if I wanted a dancing career that I’d have to move to California.”
“Then you met Uncle Bob in Sacramento.”
“And Bob showed me the world through the military.”
Did her aunt realized how fortunate she’d been to be able to see all her dreams come true before her eye disease had caused her to go blind?
You’ve seen your dreams come true.
She’d become a chef and had opened her own business, honoring her great-grandfather who’d died in a flood at the Number 1 Mine outside Roundup. But what about her wanting to marry and have children? The odds of that wish coming true were a long shot.
“What happened to your dance career after you married Uncle Bob?”
“I cut back on my performances, then eventually quit when we decided to have children. I knew I’d have to put on weight before I became pregnant.” She paused. “In the end, my weight didn’t matter. I couldn’t get pregnant.”
“I’m sorry, Aunt Jordan.”
“I had just talked your uncle into agreeing to try in vitro fertilization when I noticed something wasn’t right with my eyes.”
“How old were you?” Sierra asked.
“Thirty-three.” Jordan sighed. “After the doctor confirmed that I’d eventually go blind, Bob insisted we stop trying to have children.” Her aunt waved a hand before her face. “Life goes on. Speaking of which, you need to make an appointment with an ophthalmologist.”
“I’ve got time.” Sierra wasn’t ready for an official diagnosis.
“Sandra—” Aunt Jordan’s high school friend “—was in the diner last week and said you walked right by her without saying hello.”
Since Jordan helped in the diner once in a while, the place had become a coffee klatch for her gossipy friends. “I wasn’t rude on purpose.”
“I didn’t think you were.”
“I’m sure I was distracted.” Sierra would rather believe that than admit she had trouble with her peripheral vision.
“You don’t have to be afraid.”
“I’m not afraid.” Sierra was scared—bone-chillingly terrified of going blind. “Are you sure you won’t miss spending the holidays with your friends in St. Petersburg?” Her aunt had rented her condo to a businessman until the end of the year.
“Is that a polite way of telling me I’m cramping your style?”
“Not at all.” It was Sierra’s way of conveying that she didn’t want her aunt to leave Roundup. Ever. Jordan had leaned on her husband as her eyesight had worsened through the years, but Sierra had no one to guide her down the frightening road ahead. “It’s just that Montana winters are long and cold.”
“I remember them, dear. I’m looking forward to snow for the holidays.”
“I’m sure it will be nice to spend Christmas with Joshua.” If her aunt and former boyfriend really hit it off, Jordan would have another reason to remain in Roundup.
“Thank you for reminding me that I need to make a Christmas list. I have no idea what Joshua would like.”
Sierra took her glass to the sink. “I’m sure he’ll be pleased with whatever you choose for him.” It was obvious that Joshua was crazy for Jordan—not a day went by that he didn’t visit her or call.
“I think I’ll read this afternoon,” Jordan said.
As much as Sierra loved her aunt and needed her encouragement, there were times when she grew weary of being impressed by the woman. Jordan had taught herself to read braille before she’d completely lost her eyesight. “Would Molly like a walk before I leave?”
“I’m sure she would, but she’ll have to wait until three.”
“I forgot about her schedule.” Molly was on a set timetable for eating, walks and bedtime. “Holler if you need anything, Aunt Jordan.”
“I won’t, dear.”
That was the truth. No one had been more surprised than Sierra when her aunt and Molly had ridden a Greyhound bus clear across the country by themselves. From the very first day in town, her aunt had demonstrated her independence. It didn’t take long to learn Jordan became perturbed when people did things for her without asking if she needed their help. Sierra was counting on her aunt to teach her how to be just as gutsy and courageous.
Sierra took the back stairs down to the diner. Sunday was her favorite day of the week. Roundup’s spiritual citizens attended morning church services at the various places of worship, and afterward many of them stopped by the diner for lunch. Folks were usually in a congenial mood after listening to God’s word, and her employees swore tips were better on Sundays than any other day of the week.
When Sierra entered the kitchen she found her waitresses sharing a piece of peach cobbler. “Taking a break?”
“Yeah. Mr. Humphrey finally left,” Amy said. “The old fart drives me crazy.” The teen snorted. “Who leaves a tip in nickels?”
That her waitress found Mr. Humphrey an odd duck amused Sierra. Amy possessed her share of interesting traits, such as short, dark hair with hot-pink bangs. Tattoos covered Amy’s right arm from wrist to shoulder, and she wore numerous silver rings in her ears and fake diamond studs pierced her nose and eyebrows.
“Mr. Humphrey is one of my faithful customers. Please be nice to him,” Sierra said.
“I always am,” Amy grumbled.
Amy was a nice girl, but she ran with a rough crowd and had gotten caught shoplifting twice this year. Dinah Hart-Wright, Roundup’s sheriff, had asked Sierra if she’d give Amy a job to help keep her out of trouble. The teen’s first few weeks at the diner had been a challenge, but Susie, an honor student at the high school and one year younger than Amy, had befriended the delinquent teen and shown her the ropes.
“When you girls finish your dessert, please clean off the mustard and ketchup bottles, then fill the salt and pepper shakers on the tables.”
“Sure. But Sierra,” Susie said. “I checked the storeroom this morning and we’re out of salt.”
“Okay, thanks for letting me know.” Sierra had taken inventory a week ago and hadn’t noticed they were low on salt. Had it been an oversight on her part or had she not seen that the salt canister had been missing from the shelf?
“Did you enjoy your visit with your friend?” Irene asked when Sierra joined her behind the lunch counter.
“What frien—” Sierra caught herself. “Um, yes. Thanks for closing up last night. I’m sorry it was such short notice.”
Irene waved her off. “We all need a little downtime. Speaking of which, Karla agreed to work the rest of my shift this afternoon.”
“Aren’t you feeling well?” Because Irene’s husband was a long-haul truck driver, she often worked more than an eight-hour day so she didn’t have to sit at home alone. Maybe the long hours were catching up with the fifty-year-old.
“Ed called. His run to Boise got canceled. He’s coming home tonight.”
“That’s great news. Be sure to fix a plate of food for each of you before clocking out.”
“Thanks, Sierra. The less time I spend in the kitchen the more time Ed and I can spend in the bedroom.” Irene winked. “I’ll finish getting the potatoes ready and put the pans of sirloin into the oven before I leave.” Irene returned to the kitchen, leaving Sierra alone in the diner.
The rumble of a truck engine caught her attention and she glanced out the front window. Beau’s red Dodge pulled into a parking spot across the street in front of Wright’s Western Wear and Tack. He got out of the truck and glanced over his shoulder. Sierra ducked behind the counter, hoping he hadn’t caught her spying. After counting to five, she stood. Beau strolled along the sidewalk, his cocky swagger tugging a quiet sigh from her. She loved the way he filled out his Wranglers.
Go talk to him.
She owed Beau an apology and a plausible explanation for why she’d spent the night in her car—as soon as she got up the courage.
* * *
“HEY, AUSTIN,” BEAU called out a greeting when he entered Wright’s. He’d driven into town to speak with Sierra but at the last minute had decided to check on his saddles.
“Heard you took first place in the bull-riding competition yesterday.” Boot heels clunked against the wood floor as Austin wove through the racks of clothing.
Beau shook hands with his cousin’s husband. “Word gets around quick in this town.” How long would it take for people to gossip about him and Sierra if he persuaded her to go on a date with him?
“Colt phoned Dinah a while ago. Good thing you two caught Midnight before he escaped the boundaries of the ranch.” Austin shook his head. “My wife doesn’t need the aggravation of working a second missing-horse case on that stallion.”
“Is Dinah’s pregnancy making her moody?”
“No comment.” Austin grinned. “Hey, before I forget.” He reached into his shirt pocket and removed a business card. “This guy’s interested in having you make him a saddle.”
“He didn’t like either of those?” Beau glanced at the saddles in the front window.
“He wants a cutting saddle with a shallower seat and a higher horn.” Austin motioned to the business card in Beau’s hand. “Jim Phillips is the new foreman at the Casey Beef Ranch south of Billings.”
“Did you give Phillips one of my cards?” Beau asked.
“Sure did. He said he’d call in a few days.”
Beau shoved Phillips’s contact information into the back pocket of his jeans. “How’s married life?” Heavy footfalls sounded overhead and both men looked up at the decorative tin ceiling.
“Married life is good. Real good.”
The bell on the door clanged and Ace Hart entered the store, wearing a scowl. Beau attempted to humor his cousin. “For a man who’s about to become a father, you don’t look too happy.” When the teasing remark failed to lighten Ace’s somber expression, Beau said, “Flynn’s feeling okay, isn’t she?”
“Aside from swollen ankles she’s fine, thanks for asking.”
“What’s the matter? You look pissed,” Austin said.
Ace stared pointedly at Beau. “Colt said you suggested Midnight compete in South Dakota next month.”
“A win there would increase his breeding value,” Beau said.
“I know better than anyone when Midnight’s fit to compete again.” Ace rubbed his brow.
Beau sympathized with the tough position his older cousin was in. Ace was under a lot of pressure to insure the family’s investment paid off. If the stallion got injured, had to be put down, or for some reason could not be bred, Ace could lose his livelihood. With a baby on the way, his cousin had to protect his interests.
“Are you saying Midnight can’t compete next month?” Beau asked.
“I haven’t made up my mind,” Ace said. “By the way, congrats on your win.”
Austin slapped Beau on the back. “You sure are lighting up the circuit since Duke quit.”
“Mind if I have a minute alone with Beau?” Ace asked.
“No problem. I’ll be in the storeroom.”
After Austin walked out of earshot, Ace spoke. “Colt mentioned you ran into Tuf in Wyoming.” The lines bracketing Ace’s mouth deepened. “Did he seem okay?”
“He said he’s working through some stuff.”
“Tuf needs to come home.”
For as long as Beau remembered, Ace had been the strong, confident one in the family. At times his cousin could be too rigid, too controlling, but there was no hiding the concern in the man’s eyes for his little brother. Ace cared deeply about his family and wanted Tuf home where he could be looked after.
The bell on the door clanged a second time. Sierra.
“Let me know if you run into Tuf again.”
“I will.”
Ace left, tipping his hat to Sierra on the way out.
Once the door shut behind Beau’s cousin, Sierra’s smile wilted.
“I was planning to stop by the diner after I talked with Austin,” Beau said, closing the gap between them.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” She grappled for the door handle.
“Wait.” Beau pried Sierra’s fingers from the knob but didn’t release her hand. “I finished my business with Austin. Walk with me?”
“Sure.”
He ushered Sierra outside then led her around the corner. Single-story homes lined the street and a small park sat in the middle of the block. “If you’re cold we can talk in the diner,” he said. The afternoon temperature was in the low forties, but there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.
“I’m fine. The sun feels good on my face.”
They strolled in silence, Beau holding Sierra’s hand. That she didn’t pull away stroked his ego. When they reached the park, he guided her to the lone bench near the swing set. “You don’t have to worry,” he said. “I won’t pressure you for an explanation about last night.”
“That’s generous, but…” She twirled a button on her coat then noticed her action and shoved her hand into a pocket. “How do you feel about your dad and my aunt dating?” she asked.
Amused by the delay tactic, he chuckled. Heck, no one was more surprised than Beau that his father was goo-goo eyes over Jordan Peterson.
“I’m serious, Beau. Are you okay with their relationship? Because I believe my aunt really cares for your father.”
He’d be a lot happier about the matchup if Jordan didn’t distract his father from his ranch chores, but Beau didn’t want to discuss the older couple. “They’re both adults. They don’t need anyone’s permission to date.” He opened his mouth to change the subject when a shout down the block drew his attention.
“Z-Zorro!” Duke’s stepson, Luke, chased Duke’s German shepherd. The dog sprinted, the leash flying in the air behind him. The seven-year-old was no match for Zorro and Beau made a dash for the sidewalk.
“Zorro, heel!” Beau extended his arm and the dog skidded to a stop, his legs becoming entangled with his leash. Luke caught up, his little chest heaving.
“Th-thanks, Uncle Beau.” Luke took the leash. “B-bad dog, Zorro.”
“Where’s your mom?” Normally Angie didn’t let her son out of her sight.
“T-talking with Dad in the jail. I was t-taking Zorro for a w-walk but—” Luke sucked in several breaths.
Pitying the kid’s miniature lungs Beau said, “Come with me. There’s someone who’d like to meet Zorro.” Beau steered Luke and the dog toward the park bench.
“Hi, Luke,” Sierra said. “I guess Zorro wanted a run, not a walk.”
Luke smiled. “He went after M-Molly.”
Sierra spoke to Beau. “My aunt takes her seeing-eye dog for a stroll around town in the afternoons.” She switched her attention to Luke. “Is Molly still with my aunt?”
“Yeah. M-Molly never runs off.”
Sierra rubbed Zorro’s head. “Poor boy…chasing after a lady who doesn’t want you.”
Beau cringed. He hoped Sierra’s comment hadn’t been meant for him.
“Luke! Luke, where are you?”
“Here!” Beau waved at his brother and Duke jogged toward the group.
“What happened?” Duke asked.
“Z-Zorro s-saw—”
“Slow down.” Duke laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“Zorro saw Molly and ran away.” Duke had a calming effect on his stepson and Luke stopped stuttering.
“Good thing Uncle Beau was here.” Duke glanced at Sierra and switched the subject. “Did you have car trouble yesterday?”
Face flushing Sierra mumbled, “Ahh…”
“Clive Benson thought he saw your car parked on the shoulder of the road outside town around eleven.”
“No,” Sierra answered, casting a quick glance at Beau.
He wasn’t spilling the beans about last night.
“Clive must have been seeing things, or had one too many beers at the Open Range Saloon,” Duke said.
The dog tugged on his leash. “Zorro wants to walk, Dad.”
Beau had yet to wrap his mind around his twin becoming a father and got a kick out of watching the father-son duo.
“See you later.” Duke walked off holding Luke’s hand and the dog leash.
“About last night—”
“Forget last night.” Suddenly Beau didn’t want to know the truth. “Will you have dinner with me tonight?”
“I have to close the diner.”
“We can eat a late meal. I’ll take you to Maria’s Mexican Café.”
Sierra wrinkled her nose. “Maria’s isn’t even authentic Mexican food.” She stood and Beau scrambled to his feet. “Come to the diner around eight-thirty. The least I can do is feed you a meal for the trouble I caused.”
“It’s not much of a date if only one person eats.”
“I’ll have dinner, too.”
“Okay, then, I’ll be there at eight-thirty.”
“If you run late—”
“I won’t.”
Sierra spun and walked briskly down the block. When she reached the corner she looked both ways then stepped onto the street. Car brakes squealed and for a split second Beau’s heart jumped into his throat. The driver lowered his window and shouted at Sierra before driving off, then she hurried across the street and disappeared into the diner.
Beau’s heart slid back into his chest. Dang, that woman had better pay attention to where she was going or she’d find herself in a world of hurt.
Maybe you distract Sierra.
Wouldn’t that be something.
Chapter Four
“There’s someone at the door, dear.” Jordan’s voice carried through the apartment.
Sierra glanced at her watch. Eight o’clock—Beau was on time. “I’ll be right out.” She’d snuck up to the apartment to change clothes for her date and had been studying her reflection in the bedroom mirror for the past five minutes. The black, short-sleeved knee-length dress flattered her full figure. The tight-fitting bosom showed off her feminine curves while the pleated skirt hid the extra few pounds she needed to lose.
Guilt pricked her for wearing a cocktail dress. She hoped to impress Beau but didn’t want him believing she was interested in dating, because anything long term with the handsome cowboy was out of the question. Keeping that in mind, Sierra intended to savor every moment of the evening.
After spritzing on perfume, she left the bedroom and waltzed past her aunt, who sat on the couch reading. Molly rested dutifully at her feet. When Sierra opened the door off the kitchen…wow.
Beau stood on the fire escape, holding a bouquet of daisies. He wore slacks and casual shoes—she couldn’t remember ever seeing him in anything but jeans and boots. Her gaze inched higher, taking in his button-down shirt and brown bomber jacket. Even in dress clothes, Beau’s chiseled looks screamed cowboy.
He held out the flowers. “The color reminds me of your eyes.”
The reference to her eyes triggered a mini heartache, but she ignored the pain and accepted the bouquet. “They’re lovely.” She waved Beau into the apartment, then searched through the cupboards for a vase.
“Who’s here, dear?”
“Sorry, Aunt Jordan. It’s Beau.”
“Hello, Mrs. Peterson.”
While Sierra arranged the flowers in a vase, Beau crossed the room and patted Molly on the head. “Heard my dad gave you a tour of the ranch a few days ago.”
“Driving around with Joshua brought back fond memories. Seems like only yesterday that your father and I snuck off to the fishing hole on the McKinley property.”
“I guess you’ve heard Earl McKinley leased his land to the Missoula Cattle Company.”
“Joshua mentioned that was the same corporation leasing acreage from Thunder Ranch.”
Her aunt’s knowledge of the Adams and Hart family business pleased Sierra. She doubted that Joshua would have shared the information if he hadn’t felt he could trust Jordan. For her aunt’s sake and Sierra’s, too, she hoped Joshua’s intentions were honorable. She worried that he might be caught up in reliving the past, then once the excitement wore off and he realized his former high school sweetheart was still blind, he’d end the relationship, leaving Jordan with a broken heart and a desire to return to Florida.
“I was wondering, Mrs. Peterson—”
“Call me Jordan, Beau.”
“Jordan. How far back do you and my dad go?”
“Your father pulled my pigtails in fifth grade, and from then on I was smitten.”
“So you two have known each other most of your lives,” Beau said.
“We went steady all through high school.”
“Why’d you break up?” Beau asked.
“I went off to college.”
Beau’s questions sounded more like an interrogation than benign chitchat and Sierra wondered if he had reservations about his father dating her aunt. Feeling the need to intervene, she said, “Aunt Jordan, Beau and I are having dinner downstairs.”
“That’s fine, dear, but I need to talk to you before you turn in for the night.”
“What about?”
“Scheduling an appointment with the ophthalmologist.”
Since her aunt’s arrival in town, not a day had passed that she hadn’t hounded Sierra about seeing an eye doctor. After a few weeks the nagging had gone in one ear and out the other. Sierra would make an appointment when she was good and ready and not a minute sooner. In any event, she had no intention of discussing the private matter in front of Beau. “I’ll handle it, Aunt Jordan.” She walked through the living room and stopped in front of a door that looked suspiciously like a closet. “We’ll use the back staircase.”
“Didn’t know this building had a secret passageway,” Beau said.
Sierra opened the door and switched on the sconces in the stairwell. Beau followed her, closing the door behind him. Before she’d descended two steps, he clutched her arm.
“You look…hot.” His gaze traveled the length of her body.
The compliment sent a rush of pleasure through her. “Thank you.”
“You know what that dress says, don’t you?”
Sierra couldn’t think straight—not with the heady scent of Beau’s cologne swirling around her head. “Wh…what does it say?”
“Kiss me,” he whispered.
They hadn’t sat down to eat and already Beau was making a move on her.
Go ahead. Sierra had fantasized about kissing Beau for months. Did it matter if he kissed her at the beginning of the date instead of at the end? Sierra made a feeble attempt to take the high road. “My aunt’s sitting a few feet behind the door.”
Beau’s gaze zeroed in on Sierra’s mouth. “I’m a quiet kisser.”
Short of breath, she whispered, “Prove it.”
His lips covered hers, then his hand settled on her hip, pulling her closer until her breasts bumped his leather jacket. Lord, the man could kiss. She followed Beau’s lead, relaxing in his arms, opening her mouth to his tongue. The kiss grew more urgent, his callused hand caressing her neck…his fingers sifting through her hair.
Sierra couldn’t recall the last time she’d been so thoroughly kissed and she gave herself over to the magic of the moment, memorizing Beau’s scent…his taste…the scratchy feel of his beard stubble…the intimate rumble reverberating through his chest.
The kiss ended abruptly, Beau resting his forehead against hers. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”
Me, too. “I think we should get off the stairs before one of us tumbles to the bottom.”
“Sorry.” Beau nuzzled her cheek then smoothed a hand over her hair. “I didn’t mean to come on so strong.”
Blushing, she descended the steps, which opened into the large pantry connected to the kitchen. When she entered the dark room Beau stopped her.
“Hold up.”
With only the swath of light streaking across the floor from the passageway, Sierra was unable to see much except the shadowy outline of Beau’s jaw. She waited for him to speak.
“I can’t help myself.” He clasped her face and his mouth inched forward.
Sierra raised her arms, intending to wrap them around his neck when the door on the other side of the pantry opened.
“Oops, sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt.” Karla Dickson, the waitress who’d taken over for Irene this evening, smiled sheepishly.
“Hi, Karla.” As if Beau hadn’t been caught red-handed with his fingers in the cookie jar, he released Sierra and stepped into the kitchen.
Karla turned away, leaving Sierra all but forgotten in the pantry. “Duke stopped in a few minutes ago looking for you.”
“I’ll call him later. How about those Panthers? Your husband’s team has a chance of winning the conference title this year.”
“Please, no football talk.” Karla groaned. “I hear enough about it at home.”
Sierra shut the pantry door and faced her employee. “Any problems after I left?”
“Not a one. The tables are cleaned off and supplies restocked. If you want, I’ll run the dishwasher and prepare the coffee machines for tomorrow.”
“No, thanks. I’ll take care of that after Beau and I have dinner. Thanks for finishing Irene’s shift today.” Sierra walked Karla out of the kitchen to the front door. By tomorrow morning, the Roundup grapevine would be buzzing with rumors of Beau and Sierra kissing in the pantry.
“I’ll see you on Tuesday for my regular shift,” Karla said.
“’Night.” Sierra locked up, then switched off the neon sign outside and returned to the kitchen where she found Beau at the stove with his finger in the gravy pot. “I’m the chef and I don’t stick my fingers in the food.”
“Your sirloin is one of my favorites.”
She fetched two plates and dished out one small serving and one cowboy-sized serving of food. “There’s wine in the pantry.” The diner didn’t have a liquor license, because Sierra didn’t want her patrons driving home inebriated, especially when many of them lived outside the town limits. However, she kept the pantry stocked with several bottles of wine for her recipes.
Beau returned with a merlot from Napa Valley—interesting that he’d selected her favorite. She covered the bistro table in the corner with a red-and-white-checked cloth, then added two wineglasses and silverware.
A second later a pop echoed through the kitchen when Beau opened the wine bottle. He filled the glasses, then held out Sierra’s chair after she brought their plates to the table. “Shall we dim the lights?” he asked.
As much as she yearned for a romantic atmosphere, Sierra worried she’d make a fool of herself if she could see only a few inches in front of her nose. “I’d prefer to keep the lights on. I like to see what I’m eating.”

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