by Dana Mentink
Keegan chuckled. “Okay, then we’ll go with plan B.” He tapped another message into his phone, got up, grabbed the shotgun and headed for the door.
“That’s my gun. Where do you think you’re going?” her grandfather demanded.
“To my truck.”
“Why?”
“Because if you’re not going to the hospital, we’re gonna bring a doctor to you, and since that’s gonna take a while, I figured it’s a good time for a late dinner. I’m starved.”
Tracy blinked. “You’re going to get dinner? Right now?”
His grin teased her nerves into a flutter. “It’s in my truck, along with a generator, because there’s no reason to eat a fine meal like Mama’s pot roast sitting in the dark. You eat with your eyes first, you know. Mama packed some bean salad and bread for the vegetarian types.” He pulled back the edge of the curtain and peered out. “I’m certain the bad guy’s gone, but just in case, lock the door behind me again.” He wiggled his eyebrows in comic fashion. “When I come back, I’ll knock and give you the secret password.”
She giggled. “What exactly is that?”
“We’ll think of something, Pockets,” he said, giving her an elaborate wink and handing her the shotgun.
She watched him go and dutifully locked the door behind him. Turning, she found her grandfather staring at her.
“He’s trouble, and you’ve had enough of that to last a lifetime.”
She fussed with the blanket she’d placed over him. “He’s just a friend.”
“A friend who’s using you to get back at his kin. Or maybe for the excitement. He’s an adrenaline junkie, I’m guessing. I’ve met plenty of those kinds of guys. Never any good.”
“Like I said, he’s just a friend.”
His tone grew gentler. “Tracy, you don’t need friends like that, the kind who are gonna disappoint you and let you down.”
And how profoundly her friends had, when it became public knowledge in their small town that her father had gone to jail for assault. Her mother had practically turned into a recluse at that point, shielding Tracy’s five-year-old sister, Lily, as best she could.
Tracy was another matter. At age seventeen she’d had to face the judgment of her high school peers, and she’d thought she’d die of mortification. Then when he’d been released and she’d made the choice to go live with him as a high school senior, people she’d thought were her friends—the few she’d managed to hold on to—disappeared. It was as if her father had a contagious disease and no one wanted to risk contamination from being near his daughter. That was when she’d learned to be alone, quiet, invisible.
Grandpa sought her hand and pressed her fingers to his rough cheek. “I don’t want to see you get hurt anymore, Tracy, and Keegan Thorn has heartbreak written all over him. Trust your old grandpa on this, Honeybunch.”
She kissed him. “I do, Grandpa.”
“Then send him on his way after dinner. I can protect us, and we’ve got the cops involved now.”
“He just wants to help me.”
“No, he wants to help himself. Send him away, Tracy.”
“I will,” she found herself saying, but she wondered why she felt a pain deep inside when she did.
Keegan Thorn has heartbreak written all over him.
And Tracy did not intend to let him have the chance to prove her grandfather right, no matter what her heart said about it.
FOURTEEN
Shannon and Jack arrived just after midnight, right after Barrett and Owen finished their check and reported in. Keegan thought Shannon looked tired from her emergency room duties, but she was as efficient as ever, hugging Keegan and shaking Tracy’s hand. She cheerfully but assertively pushed Stew’s objections aside and examined his ankle in spite of his protests.
“I’m going to surmise it’s not broken, but that’s just a shot in the dark. An X-ray would be the most prudent course of action, but I’m used to stubborn cowboy types refusing proper medical attention.” That earned her a smile from both Stew and Jack.
Stew straightened on the sofa and puffed up a bit. “Messed myself up a lot worse wrangling sheep in my time.”
“I’m sure you have. Stay off of it and do an ice regimen for the next few days.” She offered him a pair of crutches and handed Tracy a supply of reusable ice packs.
Shannon stifled a yawn.
Tracy grasped her arm. “Thank you, for coming all this way. I know you must be exhausted with your residency and the wedding plans and such.”
Shannon flipped back her curtain of dark hair. “Oh, I can never get enough time with Jack, so I was happy to drive up here to your place.” She paused and spoke softly. “I understand you had a head injury among other things. Any headaches? Blurred vision?”
“Just some mild headaches. Nothing serious.”
“Memories coming back?”
“Snippets is all, in no particular order.” Tracy huffed out a breath. “So frustrating.”
“Brains heal slowly.” Shannon patted her arm. “All you can do is be patient.”
Not easy when the bad guys are circling like wolves, Keegan thought.
She looked at Keegan. “How about you, tough guy? Shoulder healing okay?”
Keegan flexed like a bodybuilder. “You may call me the Iron Cowboy.”
They all laughed, Shannon loudest of all. “Right. I’ll try to remember that.”
Jack looped an arm around her. “Gotta get this doc home for some sleep. She’s got a dress fitting and then it’s back to the hospital until just before the wedding.” He kissed the side of her cheek and suddenly the in-charge doctor was a giggling little girl again, pressing her cheek to Jack’s.
Keegan’s eyes drifted to Tracy and he thought again that she was possibly the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. Physically pretty, yes, but something about her calm spirit, her ability to be both quiet and courageous at the same time, also drew him to her. He wanted her close, not for the fun and adventures he usually enjoyed with other women, but because of the way his spirit eased when she was next to him. She brought him joy, but joy did not last as long as the pain of betrayal. Keegan knew he wasn’t cut from good partner material, and he didn’t want to break Tracy’s heart.
But still the longing remained inside him, reverberating low and sonorous like rolling thunder.
He realized he was staring, shook away the cloudy thoughts and walked Shannon and Jack to the door.
“Ready for Cyclone?” Jack asked.
Keegan nodded. Jack opened the door and whistled. In a moment, a black-and-white border collie bounded in, tail wagging. He immediately sniffed everything he could get to before stopping to greet each person.
“Who’s this?” Tracy said, bending to fondle his ears.
“Cyclone’s the best herding dog in the county,” Keegan said. He noticed Grandpa Stew leaned over to get a look. “He’s also got ears like a bat. Great protection dog.”
“Don’t need any dog,” Grandpa Stew said, but there wasn’t much fire behind the words as the dog went over to give him a sniff. Keegan thought he detected a quirk on Grandpa Stew’s mouth that might have passed for the seed of a smile.
“Just for a few days, maybe,” Tracy said.
Keegan shrugged casually. “Sure. Until things settle down. Jack brought plenty of food for him, and he’ll be sniffing every square inch of your property come dawn. Dog’s built for adventure.”
Shannon stifled another yawn and Jack led her toward the door.
“Coming home soon?” Jack asked.
“I’m bunking here,” Keegan announced. As he’d expected, Grandpa Stew bristled, but Keegan held up a hand. “I’m fine on the couch, or I can sleep in the truck, but I’m not leaving you two alone up here tonight, not until I get a look at the locks in the daylight and I’m sure you’re secure.”
&nbs
p; Grandpa Stew grumbled until Tracy knelt next to him. “He’s right, Grandpa.”
The man continued to voice his discontent, but his volume diminished until he grabbed the crutches and, with Tracy’s help, hobbled to his room. Cyclone trotted after him, and the old man did not shoo him away. Keegan had gotten the generator up and running, so the cabin was now lit, and the two continued their cautious way along.
“If you need anything—” Jack started.
“We won’t.” Keegan urged them to the door. “Go take your fiancée home before Mama comes looking for you both.”
“Good night, Keegan,” Shannon said. “I mean, Iron Cowboy.”
With a sigh, Jack followed her out, and Keegan locked the door behind them.
Tracy returned. “Cyclone decided to bunk with Grandpa. Amazing.”
“He likes old rancher types. He’s probably hoping there will be livestock to wrangle tomorrow. It’s his life’s work to wrangle cows, but if there aren’t any around, he’ll settle for people. I think he’s decided to keep tabs on your grandpa.”
Tracy frowned. “I appreciate the extra pair of eyes on him. With everything that’s going on, I haven’t paid enough attention to the Silver Spurs Horse Show. The opening ceremony is tomorrow, right?”
Keegan nodded, grimacing as he pictured his father beaming at the crowds, welcoming them as if he were the president, rather than the mayor of a small California town.
She continued, arms wrapped around herself. “As much as I’d rather never set foot in the Mother Lode again, I need to take another look at Flight before the auction bidding starts on Wednesday and the crowds arrive for the weekend events.”
“I’ll go with you, right after we visit the minis.”
“Keegan...”
“Hey, we’re transporting six horses down tomorrow from the Gold Bar and my cutting competition is Friday night, so we’ll be all over that place anyway.”
She was quiet, mulling over how to keep him away, he figured. Apparently his strange desire to have her close did not work in reverse. She preferred being alone and she’d said as much.
He yawned widely. “Time for some shut-eye.” He turned to lie down on the couch.
“No need for that. You can have your own space, if you don’t mind the clutter.”
She showed him to a tiny room just past her own and the one Grandpa Stew occupied. The generator enabled her to turn on a ceramic lamp, which revealed boxes stacked neatly along the wall, waiting to be unpacked. There was a cot with a sleeping bag still rolled up on top.
“Not exactly fancy.”
“Plenty fancy enough for me. Thanks.” The lamplight wreathed her in pale ivory and caught flecks of gold in her hair, the sweet curve of her lower lip caught between her teeth.
“Um, well, shout if you need anything,” she said, knocking over a small box as she turned, sending a scatter of beads across the floor. She got on all fours to retrieve them as he chased after some that rolled away.
He handed her his finds. “Making some jewelry?”
She nodded. “Bracelets for my mom and sister. Christmas presents.”
“Nice.”
Her eyes were wide, filled with some strong emotion.
“Talk to me, Pockets,” he said softly.
“It’s nothing.”
“Not nothing.”
“They probably won’t see me so I can deliver them. My mom...well, she hasn’t forgiven me for choosing to live with my dad after he got out of prison, and she’s kept my sister away from me, too. I’ve missed so many big moments in her life. I can’t believe she’s in high school. Sometimes she’ll text me.” Her cheeks flushed. “It’s dumb, but I print all the texts and glue them in a journal. I guess it’s my way of pretending that we have a relationship of some sort.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, touching her arm.
She offered a shaky smile. “It’s okay. I just keep trying. I’ll always keep trying.”
One tear trickled down her cheek and she caught it with the back of her hand as if embarrassed to let it fall.
He was mesmerized.
What kind of courage did that take? To forgive and even patiently pursue people who had wronged you grievously? He found it was a chore to pull in a full breath, searching for a joke, a glib remark to lighten the mood, and finding none at all. “That’s... You’re pretty amazing.”
She blinked. “Me? No. Not me.”
“Yes, you.” And then somehow he’d taken her by the shoulders and pulled her into the circle of his embrace, her silky hair tickling his neck, his arms containing the softness of her slender body, feeling a rush of comfort he knew he was not entitled to.
“Thank you,” she whispered against his chest. “I mean, for what you did tonight. I’m sorry my grandpa is so rough on you.”
“He’s right. I’ve been a troublemaker for most of my life. Lately, though...” His eyes found hers as he tipped her chin up. “I wonder if it isn’t better to be more like you—quiet, settled.” He could not help himself as he stroked a finger along her cheek. Her breath quickened but she did not move away, so he pressed a kiss to her temple, kept his lips there, feeling the softness and the strength of her. It made him long for something, something altogether different from the fun and adventure he’d sought from his past relationships. Whatever it was, the feeling hovered there, formless, nebulous, overwhelming. As he lowered his mouth to find hers, she stepped back.
“Well, um, good night.” She almost sprinted from the room.
He sighed. Smooth, Keeg. Tracy’s scared to be close to you, and Grandpa Stew would like to shoot you. Seems like you’ve muddled things up enough for one night, huh?
Finding the camping cot in the corner of the room, he unfurled the sleeping bag, kicked off his boots and lay down, listening to the noises of the night.
* * *
Tracy was startled the next morning to awaken to the smell of coffee. She jerked upright, and it took her a moment to put together the warm, comforting aroma with the flood of terror from the night before. Grandpa shooting...an intruder...the way her lungs still burned from the gas that had almost killed her at the café. Then she remembered that Keegan was on the premises, and her cheeks warmed thinking of the way he’d touched her, kissed her.
After a couple of fortifying breaths, she pulled on jeans, a warm T-shirt and fuzzy socks, then padded into the kitchen past her grandpa’s closed door.
Keegan was staring out the kitchen window over the rim of a steaming coffee mug, the thumb of his free hand hooked in the pocket of his faded jeans. His cowboy hat lay on the table. Startled from his reverie, he smiled and poured her a cup of coffee.
“Couldn’t find sugar.”
“Black’s fine,” she said. “You didn’t have to make coffee.”
“I’m the first one up at the ranch every day. It’s my self-appointed job, plus I can sneak a slice of bread and jam before anyone else cracks an eyeball.”
She laughed. “I have bread we can toast.”
He grinned like he’d just earned a rodeo ribbon. “Mama packed some of her apricot jam with the dinner provisions. She’s giving away jars of it as Christmas gifts.” He fell quiet as she toasted the bread. “Tracy, my brother is on his way up. Should be here any minute.”
“Which brother?”
His tone was brittle. “The cop.”
Nerves jangled as she handed him a slice of toast. “For what reason?”
“Wanted to tell us something, and he wouldn’t cough it up over the phone. Certainly not to me, anyway. Said he couldn’t get through to your phone. It’s probably nothing. He just likes to be the big-deal cop and flash his badge around.”
“You said last night he’s a good cop.”
“I guess he is, but I don’t know where his loyalty lies—to his job or to his kin.”
“But he�
��s your kin, Keegan,” she said quietly.
“Purely an accident of DNA.”
“DNA is a pretty strong connection.”
He shrugged. “We share only my father’s genes, the part of me I wish I didn’t have.”
“Well, I’m glad you have Larraby in you.”
He jerked a look at her.
“I wouldn’t want you to be anything else but who you are.”
He paused a beat. “My father is a deadbeat dad, a womanizer.” There was poison in the words.
“And my dad was a convicted felon.” Her eyes did not waver from his. “Good and bad and ugly mixed together all up inside me, but I’m more than my genes. I’m the choices I make.” She cocked her head at him. “You are, too.”
“I know I’m not like my dad.”
“You work really hard so others know it, too, but you don’t have to spend so much energy.” She was talking too much, but the thoughts just flowed out as if his caress the night before had transferred some of his recklessness to her. “You’re kind, loyal, funny, and you know God. That’s enough.”
Speechless, blue eyes wide as if she’d told him something scandalous, the glib mask he always sported dropped away. She saw the yearning there of a young boy, desperate for love, crying out for acceptance. He was the master of the joke and the smile and the caper to hide what lingered deep down below.
Slowly she put her hand over his.
He stared at the connection as if he’d never seen his own fingers before. Then his gaze traveled, blue and wondering, until it met hers.
She smiled, hoping to coax one from him.
The knock on the door made him bolt from the chair, leaving her to wonder what his response to her boldness would have been.
Probably a joke and a quick retreat. Better you hadn’t said it at all.
He let John in, just as her grandfather hobbled into the kitchen on his crutches with Cyclone glued to his side.
“Dog snores,” her grandfather said, easing into a chair.
“So do you,” Tracy said, kissing him on the cheek. She patted the dog and offered water and kibble before letting him outside.