The Cowboy's Homecoming Surprise

by Jennifer Hoopes

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Find your Bliss with these great releases… Back in the Rancher’s Arms

  His Outback Nanny

  Three River Ranch

  Four Weddings and a Fling

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 by Jennifer Hoopes. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  2614 South Timberline Road

  Suite 105, PMB 159

  Fort Collins, CO 80525

  Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

  Bliss is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC. For more information on our titles, visit http://www.entangledpublishing.com/category/bliss

  Edited by Alycia Tornetta

  Cover design by Bree Archer

  Cover art from iStock

  ISBN 978-1-64063-499-2

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition April 2018

  To Lee: Your friendship means the world to me. Thank you for being a travel partner on this crazy writing journey.

  Chapter One

  “Em, I’m not sure this was a good idea.”

  Peyton Brooks glanced around the bar, tugging her T-shirt down with a frown. It was sex on a stick masquerading as Friday night dancing. Women in tight jeans or daisy dukes, tank tops curving around their ample bosoms. Men in jeans molding to their asses while shirts caressed defined biceps. Good lord, was everyone in Fly Creek in rutting season?

  “Nonsense, Peyton. This was a fantastic idea. When’s the last time you were out on a Friday night?”

  “I’m out every Friday night.” Just not exactly how Emily meant…

  Emily looked at her and sighed. “Okay, when’s the last time you were out on a Friday night that didn’t involve your daughter and the ice cream parlor or a campfire at Sky Lake?”

  Peyton pursed her lips, and Emily smiled in triumph. She wasn’t going to answer her best friend, because the truth was, she hadn’t been out on a Friday night alone in years. Not since—

  She cut the thought off quickly. Thinking of him only brought heartache.

  Taking a swig of beer, Peyton let her eyes sweep the room again. She knew some of the furtive glances and conversations were about her. Everyone in Fly Creek knew her. They also knew her story. She was fine with that. And she was fine with them talking about her appearance tonight. Emily had talked her into it, and although uneasy about being in the middle of a meat market, she was grateful, too. If she hadn’t come out, she would be home alone for the first time in forever, having dropped Mel off at camp that morning. And that seemed like the harder of the two things to conquer.

  “Do you want to dance?”

  Peyton looked at the dance floor. Several familiar faces were lining up for a group dance. Dan Rigby, the head ranch hand at Sky Lake and her good friend, slid in beside Becky Jane, the local vet, and waved a hand. Glancing back at Emily, Peyton took a deep breath, then smiled and hopped off the stool. Her friend followed and together they stepped onto the wood floor.

  Two dances in, and Peyton’s body was loose, and a smile was permanently attached to her face. She was surrounded by her town, her people. Other than by her daughter’s side, there was no place she would rather be.

  “I’m thinking I was right. This was a great idea,” Emily shouted.

  They were hiding in the back, giggling their way through the steps when suddenly a ripple of silence filtered across the room. The music stopped and like a wave, the rows of heads in front of Peyton and Emily all turned toward the entrance.

  She followed their gazes to the tall, imposing man standing with his hands in his pockets. It can’t be… She let out a string of curses and her knees started to buckle.

  “Who’s that?” Emily asked, looking back just in time to catch Peyton as she made her slow descent to the floor. She knew what Emily saw. All six foot three of sinfully handsome swagger. But the truth was he was Lucifer on the outside and the inside. A devil who cared about nobody but himself. Who would use and discard every woman who crossed his path.

  “Peyton? What’s wrong? Should I get help?”

  Peyton managed to straighten with Emily’s support and she tugged her friend to the far wall and the pub tables lined against it. Dropping onto a stool, she steadfastly avoided looking at the front door. The silence was still pervasive, but she caught the hushed tones. “Ryder Marks is back.”

  She scratched a fingernail on the pitted table and a sliver of wood pierced her skin. Good. Pain was good. She knew how to handle and focus on pain. What she didn’t know how to do or handle was the man standing in the door. Making his grand entrance. One infinitely more loud and showcasey than the exit he made ten years ago.

  “Why is everyone looking at you?”

  Peyton peeked through lowered lashes and, yes, blatant gazes were bouncing between her and him. The curse of living in the same town your whole life was your history was written in the town manual. The one stored in everyone’s memories that could be recalled at a moment’s notice.

  Oh God.

  She swallowed and whispered, “Is he looking at me?”

  Emily glanced over and back, shaking her head. “No, he’s at the bar being slapped on the back and offered drinks. A circle of women are hovering just around the perimeter.” She snorted. “God, it’s like a hero’s welcome.”

  “Ryder Marks is no hero,” Peyton said, unable to contain the contempt and fury she’d held bottled up over the years.

  Emily’s eyes widened. Her friend tilted her head, scanning Peyton’s face over and over until the eureka moment hit. “Oh my God. That’s Mel’s father?”

  Peyton could only nod. She needed to get out of there. Out before Ryder saw her. Before he could corner her and before the town told him her biggest secret. One they all knew, although no one had ever come right out and asked. Thank God she’d dropped Mel off at camp this morning. Maybe Ryder would be in and out of town before her daughter—their daughter—got home on Friday.

  Her daughter’s father.

  Peyton shook her head. He wasn’t a father. Hell, he was barely a damn sperm donor. And she was fine with that. Really. She ignored the small wave of guilt that seemed to surface every time she thought of him. The one that reminded her that he didn’t even know he was a father.

  Not for lack of her trying, though…

  She’d wanted to tell him, but Ryder hadn’t wanted to be found. He’d left and done a mighty good job of staying hidden.

  By the time he’d reached out to his family in the form of one quick, and severely lacking in details, letter, Mel was four months old. Even then, if she or his mother had wanted to, they couldn’t have told him. There was no return address. All
they knew was that he was in Alaska and he was fine.

  A loud cheer erupted, and Peyton looked through lowered lashes to see everyone around the bar taking a shot.

  Emily snorted. “My gosh, they’re practically worshiping him.”

  Peyton clenched her fists. She didn’t need Ryder to come in and explode her and Mel’s safe nest only to ride away once again and avoid all the repercussions. And he would leave. There was no doubt about that. In ten years, he’d never been home. A man like that would never take responsibility and put down roots.

  But that didn’t mean she could keep Mel a secret. The part of her that had raised Mel on her own argued he had lost the right to know when he disappeared. But the sensible part? The part that morally knew right from wrong knew she would have to come clean.

  But she didn’t have to wipe that slate tonight.

  “Peyton?”

  “I need to get out of here. I don’t… I can’t talk to him. Not yet, at least.” How exactly to escape without him seeing her, she wasn’t sure. Half the town was ping-ponging glances between them and it wouldn’t take long for him to notice. She ducked down, hiding behind people as best she could to make her way toward the exit. Her back screamed in protest, and she made a vow to attend more of the yoga classes Em taught on the side. Only if she managed to cross the dance floor unnoticed.

  Almost there…

  Then she’d be able to breathe. And think. She just needed some more time before she faced Ryder. Time to get everything in order and come up with a plan. Plans were her strength. Keeping her eyes on the door, she quickened her step, practically feeling the cold air she’d find on the other side.

  Just a bit farther…

  …

  Ryder Marks let the “welcome homes” and “how ya beens” wash over him. He’d spent the last ten years in Alaska, working in logging and then building his own company, and yet nothing seemed to have changed while he was away. Fly Creek was still one big bowl of love. Love that felt like a smothering blanket growing up but now warmed him like it was intended to. He shook hands, clapped backs, and answered the barrage of questions all while steadily keeping an eye on the blonde who was attempting to sneak across the dance floor. His body had recognized Peyton was in the vicinity the minute the door to the Wooden Nickel shut behind him. She hadn’t changed much, but even if she had, that visceral pull that held them like glue at nineteen still arced between them.

  The way she was trying to hide as she moved through the crowd seemed to imply she would prefer to blend in with the wood paneling than acknowledge his presence. And he didn’t blame her. He’d left her with no explanation. No letter or phone call. All he’d known was after a blowup fight with his father, he’d had to go and make something of himself; something separate from being Mitchum Marks’s worthless son. He didn’t think he could explain that need to her.

  He should have contacted her, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He hadn’t counted on the pain of being away from her, and he’d been afraid that one plea from her, one catch in her voice, and he would hightail it right back to Fly Creek. And once he set his mind to leaving, he needed to see it through.

  “How long you staying for?”

  Ryder looked at the waitress, Candy, as she placed a cold Corona in front of him. It was a valid question. “For a while. I’m expanding my business here.” He kept the details about his company and his now part ownership of Sky Lake to himself. There would be a time and place for that announcement.

  His statement released several more questions, but as they washed over him, he noted that Peyton was almost at the door, another woman walking beside her, doing her best to block his view of his ex. His mind raced. Peyton Brooks was the last woman on earth who needed protection from anything. She was a ballbuster of the best kind. Or she had been. It wasn’t like her to run away, especially not from him. If she were angry at him, she would let him know. Or she would have before he left. Had something happened to change the spine of steel he’d loved so much about her? That he’d envied, in a way.

  Ryder answered vaguely about his business, but his eyes refused to leave the two women now across from him.

  He muttered an “excuse me” as his feet carried him toward her. He fell in behind them and just as Peyton’s hand reached for the handle, he touched her shoulder.

  “Hello, Peyton.”

  She froze, the tension in her shoulder practically pushing his fingers away. His hand dropped and the brunette next to her turned around and placed herself between him and Peyton. Ryder looked at her and smiled, but the frosty glare she responded with had him taking a step back.

  Every eye in the bar was on the scene they presented, and he rolled his shoulders to throw off the weight of their stares. He had no idea what the good people of Fly Creek were throwing his way. Yes, he’d left, but, God, it had been years. Peyton had a life now. She’d moved on, he was sure, and she certainly didn’t need some willowy brunette fighting her battles. Right?

  Peyton turned, her gaze meeting his. A flash of hurt swam across the green depths, quickly drowned by a hard, unflinching stare.

  “Ryder.”

  His name sounded like a horse nugget stuck on the bottom of her boot. Suddenly he wanted to be anywhere but standing knee deep in something he didn’t understand. He swallowed hard. “You look good.”

  The brunette took a step closer. “Of course she looks good. Why wouldn’t she?”

  Ryder caught the swift grin that spilled over Peyton’s face before she resumed her you’re-dirt-on-the-bottom-of-my-shoe demeanor.

  “You look well. The years away from Fly Creek haven’t seemed to affect you much.”

  He ducked his head and ran his hand along the back of his neck. She was still angry—even after all this time. Why?

  He wanted to tell her that the last ten years had affected him more than anyone could know. That he was now the man he knew he could be when he left. The man she deserved back then. Would she care?

  He laughed. Of course she wouldn’t. Just look at her, all beautiful and blonde and pissed as hell.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t think I was being funny.”

  Both women looked at him, arms crossed, stances combative.

  Time to escape. “I was laughing at myself. I’m sorry I stopped you. I just wanted to say hi. I thought…”

  Candy slid by them and Peyton plucked a tumbler of whiskey off her tray. Ryder didn’t have time to react before the cool liquid hit his face. His eyes stung, even as the drops slid down his throat and soaked into his T-shirt. He lifted the edge and wiped his eyes as best he could. Blinking a few times, he met Peyton’s smug look. She stepped closer and leaned around him, placing the tumbler on the bar behind them. Yep, still angry as hell.

  As she moved back, she brushed her lips against his ear. “You and your thoughts can go to hell.”

  Chapter Two

  The headlights of Peyton’s car swept across the forest of trees lining the road. Emily drove because Peyton’s emotions simmered so close to the surface that focusing on anything, let alone the twists and turns of Wyoming back roads, would have been a Herculean effort. And as much as she lauded herself on her strength, tonight, Hercules she was not.

  Emily remained quiet throughout the drive, and Peyton was never more thankful for her intuitive friend than she was at this moment. There was a time not so long ago when their roles were reversed, and Peyton hadn’t been nearly as forgiving. Or silent.

  They broke free of the forest and several houses came into view, spread out on either side of the narrow road. Emily turned right into Peyton’s driveway and cut the engine. They sat in silence until Emily shifted in her seat.

  “I can stay or I can go. You tell me what you need. I’m not as good at this stuff as you are, but I want to be there for you.”

  Peyton turned and smiled. It was dark out, with just the smallest sliver of porch light making its way through the windshield. “You’re being there for me in every way I need right now, but
I think…I think I want to be alone tonight. How about tomorrow? Could we meet at the diner?”

  “First painting class is eleven, so I’ll need to be at the ranch by ten to set up. Is eight too early?”

  “Perfect.”

  Both women got out and met up at the trunk of Peyton’s car. Emily hugged her tight and whispered, “I’m just across the street. Call, text, flash the porch lights and I’ll be here.”

  Peyton swallowed back the lump in her throat and managed to nod. Emily crossed the street and headed for the log cabin diagonal from Peyton’s house. Her friend would find her husband inside and sleep in his arms tonight. Whereas Peyton? Well, she was going to wrap her arms around a bottle of something and try to drown all the emotions and feelings that had surfaced thanks to Ryder Marks’s grand homecoming.

  Peyton let herself into her house and shut the door, leaning back against it. No lights were on and only a sliver from the porch filtered into the living room. It was still. Eerily so. It hadn’t been this quiet since she and Mel moved in five years ago.

  Thinking of Mel brought about a smile. She wondered what her vivacious daughter was up to tonight at camp. This was the longest they’d been apart, and Peyton already couldn’t wait for her to be back home. Of course, Ryder’s return had changed everything Mel would be coming home to. Her smile quickly dissolved as dizziness threatened to make her already weak legs give out.

  She would have to tell him. But how? She doubted Google had a list of instructions on how to break the news to someone that they’re a father.

  Maybe his mother, Shelby, already had?

  Peyton shook her head. No, if she had, Ryder would have said something to her tonight. Something much less flattering than “you look good.”

  Instead, he’d acted like a long-lost friend who’d popped in, and she should be happy about it. That in the time he’d been gone, she should have gotten over him walking out on her. On them.

  Another woman might have been able to, but Ryder had left something behind with Peyton.

  Sure, they’d been young, and who knew what the future would have held. But she’d loved him, and she’d thought he’d loved her. You didn’t walk away from someone you loved. Not without explanation. Without warning. And you certainly didn’t stay away for ten years.