A Son for the Texas Cowboy

by Sinclair Jayne

  “Ma’am…” Axel had pushed his Stetson back on his forehead.

  “Don’t ma’am me,” Minna had snapped, feistier at one hundred and two than she had been when Axel had been a child. And she’d been terrifying then. “Be there. It’s like you’re holing up out here, and I don’t like it. You’re the oldest Wolf. You need to settle down and start breeding the next generation.”

  What, am I a longhorn?

  “Set an example for your brothers,” Minna had carried on. “Wolfs have been in Last Stand for well over one hundred and fifty years. It’s your duty to ensure the survival of the line.”

  Axel had been tempted to answer her with a salute, even as heat had crawled up his neck. Minna had mentioned breeding, as if he were a prized bull. The woman had no shame. “I have two brothers, ma’am. They can enjoy the honor of building the family legacy.”

  “Big ranches require a big family. Get busy. Your brothers will fall in line.”

  Minna’s grandson, the editor of the town’s newspaper, hadn’t bothered to hide his smirk.

  Trapped.

  All three of them had known it. Minna had looked especially innocent. He’d capitulated. “I’ll be pleased to attend your birthday celebration, ma’am.”

  Bested by Minna again. It wasn’t his first rodeo with her, and wouldn’t likely be his last. So far, Minna had the wins all in her column.

  So here he was at the community celebration in one of Last Stand’s finest restaurants, the Carriage House, dressed up in his cowboy best and feeling all kinds of awkward.

  His brother August should be here. He’d always enjoyed the social dance, but no, he was across the street, busy with his new enterprise. A tasting room. For wine. Three years ago, when August had turned twenty-five and inherited his part of the ranch, he’d chosen to start planting a vineyard.

  A vineyard.

  Axel still couldn’t believe it. His family had always been cattle ranchers. Always.

  And now Riverbend had a Wolf who was a vintner. As if his brother’s brewery and beer pubs and last he’d heard a boutique distillery—whatever the hell that was—that lay scattered across the northwest were not enough to taunt the alcoholic sap running through their family tree.

  Axel was tempted to stroll across the street, collar his irrepressible brother and drag him back to the party. To hell with the to-do list August had waved in his face, grumbling that he had one week before the Bluebonnet Festival to have his tasting room up and running.

  In Axel’s opinion, the last thing the town needed was a tasting room. It was bad enough the Hill Country was littered with them. Tourists descended year-round now, clogging the roads in their shiny SUVs as they stopped to take pictures of ‘the spectacular views,’ while whining about farm equipment and cattle drives blocking the roads and slowing traffic, honking their horns when forced to stop for cattle crossings and congesting the town’s historic main street. Once he’d even been pointed out as an example of a real cowboy, as if Last Stand was an amusement park. Recently, he’d been asked if he could pose for a selfie with a visiting retiree from New Jersey who’d been celebrating a birthday.

  August had laughed himself silly. The episode had given Axel yet another reason to avoid town.

  And now he watched darkly as the crew August had hired hung up the custom-designed sign outside his tasting room. It had been made by some famous metal artist based in Marietta, Montana. Verflucht. The word was scrawled in some font that managed to look ancient, stark and a little threatening, all at once. The metal was distressed, dark and rusted, the letters laser cut and backlit.

  Axel frowned. Cursed. Of course, August would choose to play up that part of the family history. All the tragic accidental deaths of wives and children, as well as a number of suicides, had sparked spectral stories about the wailing dead wandering along Fury Creek or through the large oak stand that divided the two largest hills on the property.

  Axel didn’t believe in ghosts, but he sure felt the burden of responsibility for the ranch and his family. And their legacy felt like a yoke around his shoulders.

  August, on the other hand, thought the tales had ‘marketing possibilities.’ His brother had always like to have his fun.

  Axel dreaded the thought of the family name being associated with a winery and tasting room. What was next? Axel wouldn’t be surprised if August sold tickets to elaborate dinner parties, followed by torchlight tours of the ranch’s ‘haunted’ sites—Hangman’s Barn, Ghost Hill, Haunted Oak Hallow, and Phantom Fury Creek. That would suit August’s sense of irreverent humor. He took nothing seriously, especially the college education Axel had sacrificed so much for him to have.

  August hadn’t finished his degree in chemical engineering and instead, had started brewing beer in his freshman dorm room, which he’d expanded to include several varieties and a string of brew pubs in the Northwest, along with five historic hotels and event spaces. Anders, his other brother, had ignored the college fund Axel had set up and left for the rodeo straight out of high school, jumping up to the AEBR before he was twenty.

  Axel felt the invisible fingers of time, distance and differences pulling them apart. And he’d promised their mother—promised her, as a fourteen-year-old boy having to instantly become a man—that he would take care of his siblings. Raise them to be good men. Keep the Wolfs together. Not let them become estranged, like so many others over the generations.

  Axel hadn’t done a bang-up job, but neither of his parents had stuck around long enough to do it themselves, or have the right to complain about his many failures.

  “Axel, stop scowling. You look like an old-time gunslinger, about to face his nemesis at high noon in one of those spaghetti westerns,” Minna said. Escorted by Shane Highwater, she stopped in front of him on her way to the outdoor patio where many of her guests were already congregated. Her sharp eyes missed nothing, and he found himself unconsciously standing straighter. She made him feel twelve years old again.

  “Happy birthday, Minna. You are looking well,” he said dutifully.

  Shane Highwater, the police chief, barely stifled a laugh.

  It was one more reminder of why Axel avoided social gatherings.

  “I feel well, Axel. I have one of the handsomest men in Last Stand on my arm, and I’m chatting with another.”

  Shane gallantly snagged three glasses of champagne from a waiter, handed one to Minna and another to Axel. He kept the third.

  “A toast to you, Minna,” Axel said, not really wanting the champagne.

  “To your health and happiness,” Shane added.

  Axel cautiously swallowed a little of the effervescent golden liquid. The bubbles teased his nose and tickled his throat. He choked.

  Shane laughed, the smug bastard, and didn’t even take a sip.

  “You can take the cowboy out of the barn but…” Shane trailed off with a glint in his eye.

  Minna patted his arm. “Seriously, Axel, you need to work less. Ranch chores will always be there.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Axel said in a clipped voice, hoping Shane took the hint and led Minna outside to her guests, who judging from the merriment he could hear on the patio, were enjoying themselves, while he fought the urge to glance at his watch to see when he could politely leave.

  “Life is meant to be lived. Come into town more. Find a nice girl. Take her dancing. Settle down. Have some kids. You’re wasting your youth.”

  Axel shifted uncomfortably. Not this again. He’d been building the ranch up. It was stronger and more economically viable than it ever had been. His father had let it backslide into dangerous territory, but thanks to Axel bustin’ his butt, he and his family were now more than comfortable. And there were still a lot of things Axel wanted to do with the ranch. He wasn’t hiding away from anything. He was busy.

  Shane finally shot him a sympathetic look. Axel seized the moment.

  “Good to see you looking so well, Minna.” Axel tipped his hat. “And I’m happy to share your day with y
ou. You must want to get to your other guests.”

  He was seconds from lunging toward the closest escape route—the large open window behind the gift table—where he’d just placed her birthday card along with other offerings of cards, floral bouquets and some cheerful gift bags exploding with colorful tissue paper.

  “Let’s join the others on the patio,” Shane suggested.

  Minna shot Axel one last look, and then smiled up at Shane as he led her out to the restaurant’s decorated patio, where many of Minna’s guests munched on the Carriage House’s renowned appetizers and tossed back glasses of champagne, as well as pink, white and red wine. Axel spotted stacked cases of Verflucht in the corner.

  So August hadn’t completely blown Minna off.

  “Do you think August will make it?” Dr. Graham McBride, a doctor at the local hospital, asked, intercepting him. They’d gone to school together and Axel, still riled up from his encounter with Minna, relaxed a little…though he still wanted to ditch the champagne.

  “He’s been busy,” Axel answered, nodding to the building across the street. “He and his crew have been working flat out to get his tasting—” he knew his lips twisted at the word; it sounded as pretentious as it felt “—room up and running before next week’s Bluebonnet Festival.”

  “Still trying to impress his big brother?” Graham smiled.

  Axel blew out a hard breath at that thought. August had been marching to the beat of his own drum and ignoring any family expectations since he’d emerged from his mother’s womb. Axel still remembered the day August was born. His mother had sat him down and explained the sacred duty of being an older brother.

  It was something else he’d failed at. Just as he’d failed his mother. And his father.

  “Enjoy!” Graham slapped him on the back before he, too, walked out to the patio. The early spring day was too perfect to miss.

  Some of the champagne sloshed on the back of Axel’s hand.

  For a moment, the sunlight streaming through the window caught the light gold of the effervescent liquid as it swished in the flute he held. The bubbles danced and winked, and Axel remembered the first time he’d tried champagne with her—Cruz Lopez. Even thinking of her name still hurt…which was dumb, considering how much time had passed.

  Eight years ago, he’d won All-Around Cowboy at the Last Stand Rodeo, and Cruz, the barrel racer he’d wanted for nearly two years, but had put in the friend zone because of her age, had waylaid him outside his trailer with a smile. She’d popped the cork on a bottle of champagne and let the chilled golden bubbles trickle between the slightly swelling golden tanned valley of her breasts, which were temptingly exposed by the barely snapped red satin competition shirt she wore.

  “Want a taste?” she’d offered.

  He’d wanted so much more.

  Too much, apparently.

  He snapped back to the present. Thinking of Cruz still made him ache with regret. He’d been an idiot thinking they could make it work. She’d had big plans that had not included him. Medical school. While he—nearly four years older—had finally punched his ticket for the AEBR. He’d hoped to compete for four or five years before heading home to Last Stand to work full time at the ranch. Cruz was looking at eight years of school and residency ahead of her. And after that, she’d hoped to work at a big city hospital.

  Still, Axel had been so confident they could make it work. Cruz had made him dream of more than the rodeo and the ranch.

  He’d become arrogant thinking he could defy the odds, buck the family history of tragedy.

  It was ironic as hell, really. He’d never thought he’d marry. Definitely never have kids. Cruz had kicked his fears and reservations far, far down the field and he’d started to think about an alternate future—one with her and a family in it. Then she’d walked.

  He’d had no warning.

  And now here he was, looking at the only relationship he’d ever had that had been more than a few casual hookups, in the rearview mirror. And once again, he was a confirmed bachelor. There’d be no wife, no children for him.

  He was fine with that.

  But he hated that he still thought about her. Hell, he still missed her. She’d made him laugh, and have fun. Not just be mired in work and duty. He hoped she was happy. He imagined she’d completed medical school and was well on her way to becoming a doctor. Perhaps she’d found a man who would love and cherish her and who didn’t come with the kind of baggage he had.

  He wanted that for her, but the thought of her with someone else still made him a little sick. Stupid.

  Conversation swirled around him. People laughed and greeted each other. He didn’t feel like a part of it, and yet, he knew pretty much everyone here. Had he always been like this? He couldn’t remember. Axel thought about drinking the champagne. Or ditching it on a tray. This celebration would be easier if he went and dragged August away from his tasting room for a while. August was more social. More civilized.

  And it seemed like every year, Axel became less so.

  Maybe Minna was right. He needed to get out more. Be a bit more like August and laugh in fate’s face.

  Axel turned, intending to go out on the patio and at least make an effort when he heard a screech of brakes, the scrape of metal and rubber, and then something that sounded like an explosion. He couldn’t imagine what had happened, even though he saw a blue truck on its back, the wheels still spinning. And then he saw a flame, just as a small white tour bus swerved and careened through the front of August’s tasting room.

  No. God no. Not August this time.

  Chapter Two

  Texas was one big state, Cruz Lopez thought with satisfaction, cranking the country music just a little bit louder, since Diego was reading something on her phone and wearing earbuds. After a childhood of living on ranches in Wyoming, Montana, Colorado and Texas and attending first a nursing program and then a physician’s assistant program in Denver, she was finally getting back to the state she loved above all others.

  Little Big Town’s “Better Man” came on and Cruz, who loved to sing, couldn’t help grimacing as a certain cowboy swaggered into mind. If there was a better man out there, she sure hadn’t met him. Not that she’d had the time to. But even though she’d been slammed for the past six and a half years with school and work and mothering, she was lonely. And trying to ignore that fact of life was wearing thin.

  She resisted changing the station, even though her mood dipped.

  She should be fired up. She was back in Texas. She’d be moving—temporarily—into the backyard studio apartment of her best friend, Shell, and her new husband and little boy, Ryan. And she had secured the month-long, possibly six-week locums position as physician assistant with a general surgery group in Last Stand.

  That last bit was still the problem.

  The familiar little bubble of panic rose in her throat at the thought of a certain cowboy who lived in Last Stand. THE cowboy. The man who still eclipsed all others. He’d been perfect. Well, except that he hadn’t seen himself ever settling down.

  So, she’d done the right thing and cut him loose, instead of following him around on tour, giving up her dreams and hoping he’d change his mind. That would have been a disaster for them both.

  She tried to have Shell’s confidence that she wouldn’t even see him again. And if she did, she’d be polite, casually friendly, she promised herself. She wasn’t even the same person she’d been back then. Now, she was an adult, a single mother and a professional.

  Maybe Axel was married.

  Maybe he’d have a dad bod.

  Or receding hair.

  Her breath caught in her throat. She didn’t know which was worse—the thought of Axel married, or a decrease in his hotness factor.

  The last part was impossible to imagine. The last time she’d seen Axel Wolf, he’d hopped off the back of a bull with a mind-boggling score of ninety-one, which had won him a buckle and a serious chunk of change. He’d hurtled the fence, probably expe
cting to find her, but instead she’d run to the restroom to try to pull herself together and find the courage to do what she’d known she had to do.

  At age twenty-four, he’d been in his prime. Tall for a bull rider—well over six foot—with honed muscles and a fluid, rolling gait that made her mouth water and tummy quiver every time he walked toward her.

  “Stop thinking about him,” Cruz told herself, hitting the steering wheel for emphasis.

  “Stop thinking about who?” Diego pulled out one of his earbuds.

  She’d said that out loud. God, now she was losing her mind, a few months before her twenty-eighth birthday. Perfect.

  “Excited to see the town?” she asked. Shell, Rand and Ryan wouldn’t be there yet—they were taking a honeymoon before he started his job. But the studio was ready for them. Shell had texted that her few pieces of furniture and the boxes she hadn’t put in storage had already arrived.

  “Yup. Almost there,” Diego said. “Do you think we’ll see a cowboy?”

  “No.”

  She was determined to push all thoughts of cowboys out of her very active brain. “I doubt they are standing on the side of the road like a tourist attraction.”

  Diego laughed. She loved that about him. His quick sense of humor.

  “We might see a cowboy. They ride the range,” Diego informed her. “There’s a lot of range out here.”

  Cruz looked at the rolling hills. The grasses and scrub were still green, with oaks and some jacaranda trees liberally dotting the hills. The bluebonnets formed a rolling carpet of purple blue. Beautiful.

  It was wild to think that someone owned all this land.

  Maybe even Axel. She had no idea where Riverbend Ranch was, but she knew it was about twenty minutes outside of Last Stand and that it was one of the largest in the Hill Country. When they’d been dating, she’d always hoped he’d take her for a visit. He hadn’t. More proof that she’d done the right thing by clinging to her goals instead of her cowboy.

  “I want to see a cowboy doing cowboy stuff.”