He’d reach out, and they’d reluctantly answer—eventually.
He was a screwup where family was concerned.
But she’d gotten him thinking. And when he thought of the future—being back settled on the ranch—she was always by his side. So, yes, he’d bought a ring. A testament to his faith in her and to their combined abilities to handle the hardships fate would capriciously toss at them.
He dragged another deep breath into his lungs, cleared his mind and gave the nod. The slide of metal launched him into the arena and his future.
The ride was a thrill. It wasn’t textbook in that the bull changed directions straight out of the chute and Axel found himself nearly parallel to the back even as the bull then dropped forward and spun. But his left hand stayed high, his thighs tight, and he even got in a couple of spurs. He saw the buzzer light but couldn’t hear the bell over the roar of the crowd. He hopped off, and jumped the fence expecting to see Cruz.
She wasn’t there.
She wasn’t in the reserved family section either.
And she wasn’t waiting when he got his check and buckle.
His puzzlement turned to concern.
He checked his phone.
Nothing.
He didn’t find her until he was carrying his gear toward his truck. She wore jeans and a tank top—not the dress he’d bought her and left in the trailer for her when she arrived.
She didn’t smile or run to him like she usually did. Her jet-black hair tumbled down her back. She fiddled with a hunk of it, straightened her shoulders and marched toward him.
“What’s up?” He stopped. Usually he’d drop his ropes and his duffel so that he could hold her. Kiss her. But she didn’t look like she wanted that right now, although he had no idea why. He hadn’t seen her since she’d gone to the AEBR orientation and welcome weekend with him three weeks ago.
Her normally bronzed skin looked pale, and she looked thinner, her high cheekbones a little hollow.
“I want to break up.”
*
“You should move to Last Stand, too.” Shell Martin, soon to be Shell Lindal, held up her glass of wine as if to toast her best friend. Her engagement ring—a beautiful one-carat solitaire with two sapphires ‘to match her eyes,’ her fiancé had said when he’d presented it on bended knee a few months ago—winked in the light of their apartment kitchen.
“What? No!” Cruz Lopez choked on the sip of champagne that had inadvertently turned into a gulp. She felt the bubbles threaten to come out her nose.
Fabulous.
She scrunched her face. Of course Shell, her roommate for the past six and a half years, when they’d both become single moms, had timed her comment perfectly.
“Why not? Rand just got a job in accounting at the hospital there. I went with him to his final interview to look for a house to rent until we find something we love to buy. The town is cute. I got a job as an OB nurse, and HR said they usually have positions open. Rural hospitals have a harder time finding staff—even physician assistants.” She said the last two words in a dramatic voice and clinked her glass with Cruz’s again. “Come to Last Stand, please.”
Cruz flipped her fishtail braid over her shoulder and made a rude noise in the back of her throat. “He’s in Last Stand.”
Shell may never have been a champion barrel racer on the Texas college circuit like Cruz, but she knew who ‘he’ was. She also knew which buttons to push.
“So what? He’s a cowboy, out ridin’ the range, tippin’ his Stetson to sagebrush, and lassoing stray steers,” she said in her best Texas twang, making Cruz laugh. All Shell knew about cowboys and horses came from the big screen. Although, now that Cruz thought about it, there weren’t too many rom-coms with horses in them. Or cowboys.
Thank God.
“You’re finishing your last rotation for your PA program in early March, and you’ve been looking for PA jobs on the job board. Why not Texas? You always wanted to go back. You said you loved the two years you went to high school there, then college. You told me you finally felt like you had a home in Texas.”
True. But then Axel Wolf had crashed into her world with the power of a champion bull, and she still hadn’t recovered. Not that she’d admit that, even to her best friend.
Cruz played with the stem of her wineglass.
“Yes, I loved Texas, especially the Hill Country,” she admitted.
But Last Stand?
That was just begging fate to take another swipe at her.
Axel’s family ranch was in Last Stand. She’d forced herself not to stalk him online, not to ever check out the AEBR stats, but still, she’d learned that in his second year on the AEBR tour, he’d quit before the finals with no public explanation—walked away when he was one of the top earners that year and third going into the finals.
She’d felt crushed, almost betrayed. He’d wanted time to ride bulls before going home to work the ranch that had been in his family for generations, and she’d given it to him. He’d said he didn’t want to settle down or start a family because life on the road was too hard. He’d been so dedicated to his craft, keeping himself in top physical condition… Axel wasn’t a quitter. What had gone wrong?
Not my business.
But Axel still felt like her business. She’d been so deeply in love with him that she’d come close to abandoning her plans for medical school so she could travel with him and then work the ranch with him, building the family she’d always wanted. Breaking up with him had been the hardest, most painful thing she’d ever done. And her tall, dark, sinfully sexy and handsome cowboy still haunted her dreams with disturbing regularity.
So Last Stand? Too risky.
Shell must have read her reactions on her face. “What are the chances you’d run into him? He doesn’t work at the hospital. And you don’t hang out in bars.”
Neither had Axel, except to dance with her. Or cheer her on during karaoke nights, which he’d hated except when she’d been singing.
“You’d likely live in town. You have Diego. Your paths would never cross. And as a bonus—a huge bonus—” she grinned and made a face “—you’d have me and Rand.” Her voice softened, and Cruz felt a pang of envy. Her bestie was happy. She had been since Rand had come into her life six months ago. After three months, he’d proposed and Shell had, through tears of joy, accepted. Rand loved Shell, and he loved her little boy, Ryan, who was the same age as Diego.
Cruz was thrilled for Shell. She really was. But she hated the envy. It was beneath her. But in nearly seven years, she’d not felt one tenth of what she’d felt for Axel for any man. She still knew she’d made the right decision for both of them, although with Diego coming into her life and Axel quitting the tour after such a short time, she sometimes wondered.
But she was being stupid. She and Diego represented everything he’d said he didn’t want.
She’d left Axel so that both of them would be free to pursue their dreams. Who knew that, only months later, her life would become unrecognizable? And what would Axel have done then, if she hadn’t broken up with him first?
Dumped her fast.
And that would have killed her. But then, maybe she could have hated him instead of having all these regrets and what ifs.
She tried to shake off thoughts of Axel, but Shell had opened a can of worms.
Had she thrown away her only chance at happiness? A chance for the family—adoring husband, children, house filled with love—that she’d always dreamed of?
No. She squared her shoulders. She would find love. She’d just been too busy to date, with a young son, a demanding job and continuing her education to become a surgical physician’s assistant. But she was almost done with school, and should soon be able to make some changes. She’d get a full-time job, gain more financial stability, spend more time with Diego and then maybe, she’d work on her personal life.
“I’ve been checking the job boards for you, too,” Shell admitted without an ounce of shame. “There’s
a temporary job—a locums job for a PA with a surgical group at Jameson Hospital in Last Stand. You should apply. If you get it, Diego would still have his bestie, Ryan. And I’d still have you,” Shell continued. “And you’d have us. Win-win.”
“I can’t imagine any scenario where running into Axel again would be a win for me,” she said, her tone dark.
Shell tilted her head, her golden waves cascading down her shoulders making her look a little like a mermaid. Her face was a blend of sympathy and calculation.
“He was your one.”
That statement had Cruz jumping off the barstool in their apartment.
“No, of course he wasn’t. I was a teenager when I met him and…” She waved her hand, as if that would clear the idea from the room. “We were friends and then well, yeah more.” So much more. A memory of long drugging kisses in his truck rose up in her mind. They would stumble out, still kissing, hands tugging at clothes, and Axel would pull a large, thick blanket out to spread on the ground… She blinked, almost surprised to find herself back in her cramped but affordable Denver apartment.
“I broke up with him,” Cruz said, reminding herself more than Shell.
“So, there’s no reason you can’t move to Last Stand and apply for the locums job. It’s only for two months. And if a permanent position doesn’t open up, then you can look in San Antonio or Austin. Please say yes.”
“Shell…” Cruz was exasperated with her friend. It seemed now that Shell was hearing wedding bells, she wanted to make sure everyone else did, too.
“We even found a short-term rental house that has a small studio behind it. You can rent it until a permanent job comes through. That way, we can still share after-school childcare.”
“Shell, I don’t think…”
“Perfect.” Shell smiled at her and clapped her hands. “I’m so excited. And don’t even worry about that cowboy. There’s a million of them in Texas. And if it’s meant to be, well then—” she sang the last part “—that cowboy is meant to be.”
“That’s not even from a real song,” Cruz objected.
“It is now. My song.”
Shell, often her karaoke partner in crime, always had to have the last word, especially when she sang it.
*
Axel Wolf hated parties. He hated them more when he had to attend. But no one said no to Minna Herdmann, Last Stand’s matriarch. They especially didn’t say no if their presence was specifically requested.
“Stop hiding away on Riverbend Ranch,” she’d told him one afternoon late last week, after her grandson had driven her to the sprawling cattle ranch. Minna stopped driving some time ago, but she never seemed to have trouble getting where she wanted to go.
“You’re acting like a monk. And you and I, as well as the entire town, know the Wolf men would never pass muster as monks.” She’d laughed then, and her eyes had twinkled, taking a little of the sting out of her words.
Axel had ignored the dig. Compared to what some people in town had said about his family over the years, it was a mild one. And true. Still, his innate need for privacy had him inwardly wishing she’d say her piece and leave, although Minna was one of the few Last Stand residents who called Riverbend by its proper name. Decades ago residents had gotten creative and started calling his ranch—one of the largest and oldest in the area—Ghost Hill, for a variety of reasons, including the tragic fates of so many members of the Wolf clan, stories of ‘strange and spooky happenings,’ vivid retellings of ‘sightings,’ that seemed to grow in spectacular and lurid detail. All of it was likely fueled by a healthy dose of envy.
Riverbend Ranch was massive, even by Texas standards. And financially healthy. It also had a river that ran through it, along with two offshoot creeks that had helped the Wolf family avoid many of the devastating impacts of the droughts the area had suffered over the past century and a half.
Axel hated the name Ghost Hill. It reminded him of his many losses. Equally, he despised gossip. But he was a cowboy, so he knew how to ignore things he couldn’t control.
“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 belie
ve 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.
A Bride for the Texas Cowboy Page 21