True-Blue Cowboy

by Sara Richardson

  Kenna stared at her in disbelief. “I…didn’t know.”

  “Not many people here do,” Everly admitted. “I’ve always been too ashamed to talk about it.” And yet somehow, she’d been able to tell Mateo…

  “It’s humiliating.” Kenna dabbed at her eyes and looked down at the counter. “The worst part is that I still love him.” Her lips trembled. “I don’t want to, but that’s the truth. He lied to me. He hurt people. And I still want him to walk through the door and pick up his boys like he always did.”

  “You’re not a bad person for loving someone.” Everly unpacked the box of meals and carefully placed each one in the freezer before coming back to the island. “His bad choices won’t destroy you.” Andrew’s hadn’t destroyed her. “Trust me. I’m speaking from experience.” Since leaving San Francisco, Everly had risen into a stronger, truer version of herself. And now, even though it would hurt to leave the farm, she could do it again. She could rise stronger and truer. She could still love. Maybe even more so because of what she’d been through.

  Kenna didn’t look convinced. “I have no idea what I’m going to do.”

  “It’ll take time, but you’re going to heal. I can promise you that.” She squeezed the woman’s hand. “In the meantime, you’re going to pick yourself up and keep going. Day by day, figuring it out along the way.” That’s what she would do, too. Just like she had three years ago.

  At first when she’d moved to Topaz Falls, she’d felt so alone. But then she’d met Jessa and Darla and Naomi and Cassidy, and she’d realized there was another life for her. People would love her again and she would love them. There was pain but also glimpses of light—and life—everywhere if you cared to notice them. “Whatever you do, don’t give up on feeling things.” She had for a while, and in numbing herself to the pain, she’d also overlooked the beauty. “Let yourself feel the sadness, but feel the joy, too.” Everly had found it on the farm—nestled in the shadows of the mountains, hidden in the lush, wildflower-dappled meadows.

  She glanced at the refrigerator and smiled at the silly pictures of Jake and Benny. “Those boys of yours bring so much joy.”

  Nodding, Kenna pressed her fist against her lips while more tears slipped down her cheeks.

  “Joy will be enough.” It would sustain her, give her hope for the future. Just like it would for Everly.

  Chapter Thirteen

  He never should’ve gone to Everly’s house that morning. Mateo pulled up in front of the ski lodge and parked near the grand entrance, but he couldn’t seem to make himself get out of the damn truck.

  His gut hadn’t stopped churning since he’d asked Everly if she’d found a place yet. She’d brushed him off, but devastation had shown up in her eyes, in her swift movements, in the way she avoided looking at him. It was as if she knew she was too fragile to face him, so she hadn’t.

  Then there was the whole meal delivery thing. Everly was spending her day distributing comfort food like some kind of culinary angel, and he was spending his day meeting with Blake Wilder to negotiate the terms of their lucrative partnership. If that didn’t highlight the differences between them, he didn’t know what did.

  There were so many reasons he didn’t belong anywhere near Everly. And yet when he kissed her, none of them seemed to matter. In those moments when he’d held her close, losing himself in the warmth of her lips, he’d felt…connected. Anchored. With any other woman, he could take kissing or leave it, but with Everly…well, he’d take it as much as he could get it if the circumstances were different.

  Circumstances weren’t different, though. The damage was already done. She hated him, and things were better that way. They could both move on and figure out what was next. For him, it would be the condo development. A new source of income to make sure he could take care of his family the way he needed to.

  Mateo got out of the truck and strode along the cobblestone sidewalk that led to the lodge’s main entrance. It was a relatively new facility, built like a castle, all stone and steeply pitched rooflines against the backdrop of the ski hill. Double glass doors parted when he stepped in front of them, leading him into a reception area that resembled that of a swanky hotel.

  No going back now.

  “Good afternoon.” The receptionist behind the desk greeted him with one of those smiles they likely taught in Hospitality 101. “How can I help you?”

  “I’m here to meet with Blake.” Or Mr. Wilder? Hell, he didn’t know. He had no experience negotiating business deals.

  “Oh, of course.” The receptionist’s face brightened. “Mateo Torres. I’m a big fan.” Most women around this town were. Though he suspected that had more to do with his single status than with his bronc-riding abilities.

  “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?” A roll in the hay, her flirtatious little smirk seemed to ask.

  “Nah, I’m fine.” And not nearly as charming as all of these women fantasized him to be. Just ask Everly.

  “Okay then. You can head through that door on your right and Mr. Wilder’s office is the last one at the end of the hall.” The woman pushed some button that must’ve unlocked the door.

  “Thanks,” Mateo called as he went through.

  Blake waited for him at the end of the hallway. “Torres.” He offered a firm, take-no-prisoners handshake. “I’m glad you’re here. My investors are fully on board. They’re anxious to get it hashed out.”

  “So am I.” The faster they worked out the details, the less time he’d have to second-guess his decision.

  “Why don’t you come on in and have a seat?” Blake led the way into an office that appeared to have the same square footage as Everly’s entire house. One corner had the typical office setup, with a large desk and bookshelves, while the other had a massive conference table with seating for sixteen. In the middle of the room, plush couches were clustered around a stone fireplace that had somehow been built into the glass wall that looked out on the slopes.

  “Wow.” Mateo couldn’t take his eyes off the view.

  “We upgraded our offices last spring,” Blake said. “Business is good, Mateo. Really good. And it will only get better with more development. Trust me, there’s never been a better time to partner with Wilder Enterprises.”

  Ha. Mateo didn’t trust him. Not at all. That’s why he wouldn’t sign until he’d had a lawyer look over every word of the contract. “I’ve heard things have picked up around here.” He knew they were planning to open a new terrain park for the upcoming season, which would draw more snowboarders. “But I have some questions.”

  “Sure.” Blake went to a refrigerator and pulled out two bottled waters. “I can promise you right now I’ll have all the answers.” He handed Mateo a water and gestured for him to take a seat in a leather chair by the fireplace.

  Of course he’d have all the answers. If he didn’t, he’d likely pull them out of his ass. “First, I’m curious why the ownership percentage went down from the last time we talked.” Mateo unzipped his backpack and pulled out the informal proposal Blake had emailed, opening to page four. “Originally, we discussed twenty percent and now it’s down to ten.”

  “Right,” Blake said as though he’d anticipated Mateo’s concern. “We’ve decided to add more investors so we can add more amenities. Things like a rec center for our patrons, some restaurants, and a couple of outdoor gathering places where we can host concerts in the summer and special events in the winter.”

  More opportunities for year-round income. Sounded good to him. “So you’re trying to spread out the upfront development costs more.”

  “Exactly. We’ll bring in ten investors instead of five, and then we’ll have some room to dream bigger.”

  Mateo was trying—really trying—to dream bigger, but that damn guilt kept right on churning. “And there’s no room for the farm? Even if we scaled it back?” He had to ask one more time. For his own conscience.

  “I thought we already talked about this.” Funny how Blake could go from
mellow to irritated jackass in the span of one question.

  Mateo could speak jackass. “This is someone’s life we’re talking about. Someone’s home. So, if there’s any way to figure it out, I have to consider it.” She’d done so much work on the place. And she had all of those animals…

  Blake sat forward in the leather chair, a certain audacity in his posture. “There’s no room for the farm. Period.” The man shook his head like he couldn’t believe Mateo cared. “It’s a dump. You know that, right? You keep that place going and you’ll be throwing money into a sinking ship.”

  Yeah, he knew. He’d already racked up the list of the pricey repairs in his head. “Point taken.” He turned to the next page in the proposal. “What about the zoning—”

  His phone rang from his back pocket. “Hang on. Sorry.” He dug it out and checked the screen. Gutierrez. Finally. Two days ago, he’d put in a call to his old friend back in Chihuahua to see if he could find out anything about Andres. “I have to take this.” He shot to his feet. “Probably best if I go outside.” Blake didn’t need to know he had a delinquent brother. No one needed to know.

  “Sure thing.” Blake stood, too, and walked him to the door. “I have a meeting to prep for anyway. Just come on back whenever you’re done.”

  Mateo gave him a nod and ducked out of the office to answer the phone before he lost the call. “Hey, Miguel.”

  “Yeah. Listen, Torres, I finally have some news.”

  “Give me a second.” He trucked down the hallway past the receptionist’s desk and stepped outside. “Okay. Did you find anything? Location? Phone number?” Anything that would get him in touch with his brother so he could tell him to stay the hell away from the family?

  “It’s not good,” Gutierrez warned. “I wish I had a better report.”

  “I wasn’t expecting it to be good.” His brother was part of a fucking cartel. “I don’t care about the details. I just need to know where he is.”

  “I talked to a few guys who’ve worked undercover.” The man spoke in a low voice, as if he didn’t want anyone else to hear. “Andres was an informant.”

  An informant. Mateo steadied a hand against the truck. “Like…for the cops?” That couldn’t be right.

  “He spent years working his way up and got in with the cartel’s top leadership. But according to my source, your brother must’ve had a change of heart. A couple of our guys turned him a year ago and he fed us information.”

  Everything the man was saying was in the past tense. Mateo’s mouth went bone dry. “He’s not an informant anymore?”

  “They found out he was ratting on them, Mateo. They executed him two months ago.”

  The news hit him in the backs of the knees. He grabbed the edge of the pickup to steady himself. This was the one thing he hadn’t prepared himself to hear. Because he couldn’t imagine it. Couldn’t imagine that Andres was dead. A sharp-edged grief sliced through him. That’s why he’d written their mother a letter. He’d known he would die.

  “I’m sorry,” Miguel said. “I know it’s not what you were hoping to hear. But in the end, you can be proud that he did what was right.”

  No. Mateo tipped his head back, staring at the cloudy sky. He couldn’t be anything. Not proud or sad or even angry. He was too numb. Andres was dead. The brother who’d been like a father to him. The brother who had abandoned him. He was gone. Really gone now.

  Before Gutierrez had said those words, Mateo hadn’t even realized he’d been holding on to hope. Hope that he might see his brother again. That maybe there could be reconciliation, forgiveness. He squeezed his eyes shut. “Is there any way to…get his body?” His throat tightened around the words. “So we can give him a proper burial?” So his family could have the closure they deserved.

  “No.” There was a pause, as though Gutierrez was trying to figure out the best way to give him more bad news. “Another informant told us about Andres, but those guys make sure the body is never found.”

  Nausea washed over him, pricking his face with sweat. “Right. Okay.” He tried not to picture what those last moments had been like for his brother. What they’d done to him. He’d heard things about the cartels, about how they tortured and killed…

  “Do you want me to tell your family?” his old friend asked solemnly.

  “No.” That responsibility rested solely on his shoulders. “I’ll take care of it. Thank you, Miguel.” He disconnected the call and sank to the curb, hunching over with his head between his knees. Pain pounded in his chest. Maybe it was the heartbreak he’d never let himself accept. Jesus, Andres. Why’d he waste his life like that? Why’d he waste a perfectly good life? Anger dulled the grief.

  Mateo stood up and dusted off his jeans. He had to tell his mom. In person. But he couldn’t leave now. He had to train. Couldn’t back out of his upcoming competition. Couldn’t or wouldn’t? The truth was, he couldn’t face going home, or the memories that he’d left behind. So he’d bring his mom here, and give her the opportunity to grieve away from the home where she’d raised—and loved—Andres.

  Right now, he had to get back to the meeting with Blake. Later he might grieve. He might go back to Everly’s so he could go down to the cellar and find the picture of Andres. But now he had to focus on the next thing. Look forward instead of back. That had always been his salvation.

  * * *

  Evening happened to be Everly’s favorite time of day on the farm, especially in the fall. When the sun started to sink beyond Topaz Mountain, the day’s chaos would soften in a gentle quiet made even more enchanting by the golden aspen leaves that dangled from scarred white branches and the clusters of fiery-red scrub oak that dotted the hills. Shadows crept slowly down the mountainside, bringing with them a chill that would bite at the tip of her nose.

  And, oh God, the sky… It still shocked her even though she admired it every evening. The colors swirled above her head—reds, oranges, and pinks fusing with the fading blue. In the mountains, the sky seemed so much closer, like Heaven was breathing down, not nearly as far away as everyone thought.

  Since this place would soon no longer be hers, she took her time with the evening rounds, soaking up the serenity, the beauty, so she could take the memory of it with her.

  “Come on, Walter and Henrietta.” Everly leisurely coaxed the ducks along with vegetable peels she’d brought home from the café. The two of them waddled behind her, quacking out pleas and stretching their necks in pursuit of the special treats, but she kept them out of reach until the ducks were safely stashed in the coop with the hens. “There you go.” She tossed the scraps into the far corner and hurried to lock the door before Walter got any fancy ideas about a jailbreak. None of the animals loved being caged up at night, but, as she’d tried explaining to them on numerous occasions, spending the night in the coop was better than being devoured by a hungry predator.

  On her way to the goat pens, she practiced the mindfulness breathing technique that the book club had read about in last month’s selection. The scent of dried leaves and cold air and hints of animal manure charged through her senses before coming to sit heavily in her lungs. It was perfection. Out here among the mountains and the trees and the animals, she felt an overwhelming sense of belonging.

  “Matilda, Honey, Wormwood, Trunchbull.” She called each of the goats by name. The monikers fit the goats’ personalities perfectly. Matilda came trotting right over, always friendly and spry, albeit a bit mischievous. Honey ambled along behind Matilda, never far from her side. Those two were by far Everly’s favorites, so easygoing and even affectionate sometimes. Well, as affectionate as a goat could be, anyway. After frolicking past her, Tilda and Honey went right into the small stable as though they were ready to call it a night.

  Then there were Trunchbull and Wormwood, still grazing lazily on the opposite side of the pen as though they hadn’t heard her. Stubborn, haughty, ill-mannered goats. Those two knew how to ruin a good sunset. “Don’t make me get out the leads.” Everly eased
toward them. “You know very well when I come out here that means it’s time for bed.”

  Trunchbull eyed her as she approached, and then let out a disgruntled bleat when she got too close. As usual, Wormwood mimicked his boss.

  “Go on now.” Everly waved her arms, ushering them in the direction of the stable. “It’s bedtime, you ingrates.” They obeyed, but took their sweet time with it, pausing every couple of steps to munch on whatever they could get their teeth on—remnants of hay and thistle growing alongside the fence. As if they didn’t have enough time to eat during the day.

  Everly followed behind them, muttering and sighing until finally they marched their hairy little butts into the stable where they belonged. “You two are worse than toddlers,” she informed them as she knelt to set the padlock. “Did you see how nice Tilda and Honey went in? Why can’t you be more like—?”

  An eerie feeling fell over her. A disturbance in the air. The second she stopped talking, everything else went suddenly quiet, too. The swallows that had been noisily scouting for worms nearby. The squirrels that had been chattering. Even the squawking from the chicken coop had hushed. Everly slowly straightened, still facing the stable. An unsteady tremor worked through her legs before spreading over her chest and then prickling up her neck. Something was watching her.

  Inch by inch, she turned around, her eyes scanning the empty pens, the garden plots, the thick stand of scrub oak on the hill.

  A flash of movement drew her gaze to the gate on the other side of the goat pens. Something was there. In the bushes.

  God, let it be a rabbit. Or maybe a fox. Something small and furry and cute. But she’d seen both of those creatures during her walks on the farm, and none of them had managed to suck the air out of the atmosphere, silencing even the natural world.