“Me? Date?”
“Why not? Dad’s been gone a long time. And you’re still an attractive woman.”
He could tell that his last comment pleased her.
“Well. I must admit there is someone who has been paying me a little attention lately.”
B.J. thought he could guess who. “Straws Monahan, right?” The successful horseman had been widowed for almost as many years as Olive. “He was asking about you the other day.”
His mother started. “Straws?” She got up from her stool, closing the laptop. “Really, B.J. That’s the most ridiculous idea I’ve ever heard.”
As she walked out of the room, B.J. was left there wondering. If it wasn’t Straws, then who did his mother have her eye on?
* * *
SATURDAY SAVANNAH HAD a list of chores to do in town, beginning with a visit with her mother. She took Francine for a walk along the gravel path on the bank of Coffee Creek and listened while she prattled about characters and plotlines from her favorite movies. Francine’s only moment of lucidity came when she asked about her flower garden.
Foreseeing this question, Savannah had brought along an iPad with at least a dozen photos. The transformation in her mother was startling. “The heliopsis needs pinching back and the roses should be deadheaded and dusted for aphids. A little extra mulching material wouldn’t hurt, either. There’s a wood chipper in the shed. See if it still works.”
“Okay.” Savannah stared at her mother, amazed. “You must really miss gardening.”
Francine nodded.
“Would you like to come home this afternoon? You could help me with the deadheading and pinching back and show me how to use the mulcher.”
“Oh. I don’t know. The farm is a long way from here.”
Francine’s voice trailed off and she grew quiet, not responding to Savannah’s next few questions. By the time they had turned back for the home she’d started muttering to herself, and Savannah was forced to concede that her mother’s moment of clarity was over.
Once Francine had been settled in the dining room for morning coffee and snacks, Savannah headed to Molly’s Market to restock on frozen entrées, coffee and bread for her morning toast. Her grocery cart looked as if it belonged to a student, not a grown-up, Savannah thought ruefully.
Without Regan at home, it just didn’t seem worth the effort to prepare regular meals. Savannah sighed as she moved down the next aisle. She’d got through her errands faster than usual, and suddenly she realized why.
Most weeks when she shopped for her provisions she was stopped several times by citizens who wanted to tell her something or ask a question.
Today, however, despite the fact that the store was busy, no one had said a word to her.
Not even in the checkout line.
But they did look at her. She caught discreet glances and heard whispers, but when she turned, heads were averted and eye contact avoided.
Savannah’s face heated up as she realized the probable explanation. The news about the unknown traveler’s body being exhumed must be widely known by now. People would be talking about what had happened the night he was found—and remembering that her brother had been there. Maybe word had spread about B.J. kissing her in Monahan’s parking lot, too.
She’d sure given the town lots to gossip about.
Savannah pushed her cart forward and began unloading her groceries. Molly’s husband was at the till this morning. Usually Al was a bit of a jokester, but today he silently took her money and returned the change to her outstretched palm. Was it her imagination, or had he been extra careful not to come into contact with her skin?
Savannah struggled to hold her head high and keep her expression neutral as she carried her bags of groceries to the SUV. Her next stop, at the Cinnamon Stick for coffee, was much the same. She would swear the table of older women at the back corner were whispering about her. Even pretty little Dawn Dolan gave her a strange look before filling up her take-out mug.
As she crossed Main Street for her SUV, Savannah felt as if she was fifteen years old again, walking the length of the high school cafeteria, trying to pretend she didn’t hear the other kids gossiping about her drunken father and crazy mother.
At least back then she’d had the support of B.J. and his friends, who had stood by her and Hunter, scoffing and belittling those who wanted to put the new Moody kids in their place.
But today she was alone, and even though she was an adult, it hurt to see how quickly the community she’d thought she was an integral member of could turn against her.
In the SUV, doors and windows closed tight, engine running to provide air-conditioning against the day’s rising heat, she pulled out her phone and dialed B.J.
“Hey, Savannah.” He sounded as though he was in a good mood and happy to hear from her.
He wouldn’t be either soon.
“Have you been to town today?”
“Uh, sure.” He sounded taken aback by her curt tone.
“Where did you go?”
“I picked up an order from Ed’s, gassed up my truck and stopped for a coffee and cinnamon bun. Why?”
“How were you treated?”
“That’s a crazy question. Savannah, what’s going on?”
“Just answer me, please. The people in the stores, the other customers, passersby... Were they friendly? Did they talk to you?”
“Of course they talked to me. This is Coffee Creek.”
“More importantly, you’re Bob and Olive Lambert’s son.”
Family mattered in Coffee Creek. No matter how good a job she did, no one would ever forget where she’d come from. She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. She could feel the beginning of a headache coming on.
“What the hell do my parents have to do with it?”
“Never mind, B.J. You wouldn’t understand.”
She ended the call, powered off her phone and then drove out of town trying to pretend she didn’t care about any of this.
But it wasn’t true.
Without the support of her own town, she’d never get reelected.
As she was carrying her purchases in through the front door, a business card fell to the worn wood floor. Savannah set the bags down first then went back to retrieve it.
It was a calling card from the Realtor’s office in Lewistown. The same one that had contacted her earlier about possibly selling her property. Before her mother had moved into the care home, Francine had gone to the lawyer’s office and signed papers giving Savannah the right to act as her executor.
So the decision was all Savannah’s to make.
She stared at the card, thinking. She’d been considering selling to come up with the money for Regan to go to medical school. But maybe this was an opportunity for an even bigger change. She could sell their home and the land and move to a new community where she and her mom could make a fresh start. She’d set aside a fair share of the money for Hunter, as well. Maybe he could go back to school and learn a trade.
Something a little steadier than being a rodeo cowboy.
Another rodeo cowboy came to mind then. It didn’t matter how far she moved—she’d never forget B.J.
But she could try.
* * *
B.J. WAS UNDER NO ILLUSIONS. He knew Savannah didn’t want to see him. But he couldn’t stay away.
Besides, he was bored.
The whole damn family had plans this Sunday that didn’t involve him.
Cassidy had informed him in no uncertain terms that she and Farley had a quiet romantic evening planned. And Jackson had moved his belongings to Maddie Turner’s spread today and was spending the evening with her. B.J.’s mother was out at a meeting, planning for the construction of a historical site at the intersection of Highway 81 and Main Street.
And Corb, Laurel and Stephanie had gone to Highwood to visit Winnie Hays and her new baby.
Olive had cocked her head when she’d heard this news. So far she hadn’t been invited to see her new grandson. It was her own damn fault, of course. If she’d been nicer to Winnie in the beginning, things might have been different.
But Olive couldn’t see that. In her mind, her daughter-in-law was just being unreasonable by staying in Highwood and not returning to Coffee Creek.
B.J. wandered around the empty house, then went out on the deck to take in the view.
For the first time in many years he was home—and content to be here.
He’d done a lot of traveling in this country. If a town had a PRCA-sponsored rodeo, he’d probably been there. As a result he’d seen a lot of Mother Nature at her finest. He especially loved the mountains and red canyons of New Mexico, Utah and Wyoming.
But on an evening like this, when the sky was stretched out above him, snow-topped mountains lining the horizon and fields of grazing pastures and hay undulating in every direction, he couldn’t imagine any place in the world that had more to offer than Montana.
Something strange was happening to him.
He’d noticed it yesterday, when he was working in the barn with Farley.
A deep sense of belonging and contentment had washed over him. After so many years of traveling the circuit he had finally committed to one place, and it felt good.
Life wasn’t perfect on Coffee Creek Ranch. But it was home. Strange to think it had taken him so many years to realize it.
He’d spoken to Jackson just this morning about the final transition.
“You sure you’re doing the right thing? You know you’ll always be welcome to come back.”
“I won’t change my mind.” Jackson had clasped a hand to his shoulder. “I just hope you don’t feel you’ve been railroaded into settling on the family ranch?”
“I don’t.” B.J. would have said as much to make Jackson feel better. But the funny thing was—it was true.
And something else was crystal clear, too.
He and Savannah were soul mates.
He didn’t consider himself a romantic guy, and he certainly wasn’t touchy-feely with his emotions.
But there were no other words to explain the connection he felt to her.
And maybe she wanted space right now, but to him, being apart wasn’t the answer. They’d been apart eighteen years.
And he was done with that.
With a renewed sense of purpose, B.J. got into his truck and drove a mile past the turnoff to the town of Coffee Creek, then hung a right onto the graveled road that led to the Moodys’ acreage. Savannah’s SUV was parked in what he now recognized as its usual spot. He drove in behind it, leaving his keys in the ignition as he gathered his courage to face her again.
He was pretty sure she was going to ask him to leave.
And he didn’t think the bouquet of sweet peas he’d brought from his mother’s garden was going to change her mind.
But the flowers couldn’t hurt, right?
Since the evening was warm and there were still a few hours before dark, he’d expected to find her on the porch. But all he saw were the plastic-tray remains of a frozen dinner and an empty bottle of beer.
Good Lord, how did she survive on such a lousy diet? Even when he was on the road, he’d eaten better than she.
He knocked on the front door, and when there was no answer, wandered around to the back.
She’d done some handiwork since his last visit. The window frames were freshly painted. The screen door had been repaired.
It crossed his mind that he should go inside and make sure nothing bad had happened to her. Both the front and back doors were unlocked—he’d checked.
But he decided to try one more spot first.
Last time he’d been here, to tow away those old junk heaps, he’d mowed a bunch of the wild grass growing around the property. It looked as though Savannah had carried on with the job. Back of the house a larger swath of property had recently been cut. He followed the path of the mower and eventually found himself on the knoll looking over the valley.
And there she was. Sitting on the grass, in a pair of grass-stained shorts, looking out at her million-dollar view. On her white T-shirt were streaks of the blue paint she’d used on the window frames.
“You again.” Her tone was surprisingly mild.
“Yup.” The mower—probably out of gas by now—was in his path. He stepped around it, then went to sit beside her.
“I brought you some flowers. But they seem pretty insignificant compared to everything around us.”
She surprised him again by taking them out of his hands and inhaling the fragrance. “I love sweet peas.”
Score one for his side.
“I’m glad. I wasn’t sure what my reception would be like. I almost expected you to draw your weapon.”
“I might have. But it’s locked away in the house.”
* * *
DESPITE THE WARM EVENING, Savannah shivered. Would she always feel this secret thrill every time he sneaked up on her?
The attraction was about more than his dark-haired good looks and his tough, cowboy-fit body. Something sizzled between them as she looked into his dark gray eyes.
She drew up her knees and hugged them, resting her cheek so she was facing him. He was wearing a gray T-shirt that defined his broad shoulders and chest and the tapering thinness of his waist. Not a pound to spare on this rodeo cowboy.
“You’ve been busy.” He touched a grass stain on her shorts, then a botch of paint on the hem of her T-shirt. “Still fixing up the place?”
She sighed. “It’s what you do when you’re trying to sell.”
He blinked. “Has Regan been accepted to medical school, then?”
“Not yet. But I’m going to sell anyway. Move to another town. Start over.”
His body tensed and his eyes narrowed. “Is this about that strange conversation we had on the phone today?”
“Partly.”
“You better tell me exactly what happened.”
She’d been holding in the anger and hurt all weekend. Now it was a relief to be asked to spill it all out. “I went in to get groceries and a coffee at the Cinnamon Stick yesterday. No one would talk to me. They acted like I’d just arrived from another planet.”
“Seriously?”
“I’m sure the townspeople were already uneasy with June Savage nosing around and asking all her questions. Now that the body’s been exhumed, it’s getting more serious. Last election most people had forgotten about the old barn burning down. Now everyone is remembering—and wondering why they elected a sheriff whose brother may have had something to do with a young man’s death.”
“That’s crazy. People don’t think that way about you.”
He sounded sincere. But he hadn’t been there. “You wouldn’t say that if you had seen how I was treated yesterday.”
“I just wish I had.” He clenched his fists.
Savannah reached over to cover his hand with one of hers. “That isn’t the answer.”
He twisted his wrists and suddenly he was the one holding her hand. “And you think leaving town is?”
“I’m up for reelection next November, and I’d say my chances of a second term are next to zero. I don’t know if I can handle that.”
“You’re jumping to conclusions. One bad day isn’t going to undo all the years of good work you’ve given this county.”
“I wish I could believe that.” She didn’t think B.J. could understand what it was like for her, not when he came from a respectable, upstanding family like the Lamberts. His father had been one of Sheriff Smith’s best friends.
Her father had been an inmate more than
once, in Sheriff Smith’s detention cell.
“Even if you aren’t reelected, you could always get another job. I know we’d be glad to hire you at Coffee Creek Ranch.”
“I don’t have a clue about cattle or horses.”
“You could learn.”
She shook her head. He didn’t understand how wonderful it felt to walk the streets in her uniform, or to patrol the highways in her SUV, knowing she was someone people could look up to and respect. She’d never had that in her life before her career in law enforcement.
“It won’t come to that, anyway. You’ll be elected again because you’re a good sheriff. And a damn sexy one, besides.”
“You know all the smooth lines.”
“I only say them because they’re true.”
He touched her face, a soft stroke that made her feel cherished—a novel experience for her. Then he put his hand on her shoulder and pulled her next to him.
She leaned her weight against his chest, and he tightened his hold. She could feel him resting his face against the top of her head.
“Your hair smells like grass cuttings and fresh air...with a faint undertone of paint.”
“It’s my signature scent.”
He chuckled. Then tipped her chin upward so he could see her eyes. “We’ve got to stop fighting each other. We’re on the same side.”
Then he kissed her, softly and slowly. Tasting first her lips, then deepening the kiss and pulling her down to the earth, where their bodies tangled together.
After a long while, she drew away from him. “You keep tempting me. And I keep giving in. But I’m afraid it’s a mistake.”
“It isn’t. It can’t be.”
“But it won’t look right. The people in this town—”
“Don’t matter,” he said, finishing her sentence for her. “You think I care what Ed at the feed supply store or Molly at the market thinks about you? I damn well don’t. And you shouldn’t, either.”
She sighed, taking a finger and tracing the line of his jaw to the tip of his chin. “But I need Ed at the feed supply store and Molly at the market to vote for me.”
He groaned. “Do you really think they care who you’re sleeping with?”
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