A Cowboy Summer (Harlequin Super Romance)

by Salonen, Debra

  “Is it wise to leave everything in the hands of novices?”

  Anne looked at the papers her stepfather had handed her. “At least hold back your savings.”

  The old man sighed. “You and Will are my only heirs. If you run the place into the ground, then you get less when I die. If you decide to sell it off while I’m away, then I won’t have nothin’ to worry about when I get back.”

  “Don’t worry, Gramps, we won’t let the place fall apart.” Will reached across the space between their chairs to take the papers from Anne’s numb fingers. “The Silver Rose will be here when you return.”

  Anne wished she shared her new partner’s confidence. She could hire staff, revamp the Web page, update the reservation system and handle the guests once they started arriving. But could she manage all that plus keep her daughter safe, hold on to her real job and prevent her head from exploding?

  Possibly, but what was she going to do about the crush she still had on Will Cavanaugh?

  Dear Reader,

  I love books about second chances. The choices we make when we graduate from high school often take us down roads we might not have chosen given the corrective lenses of hindsight and age. Reunions make for wonderful catalysts. There’s a class reunion in this book, but the real magnet drawing my hero and heroine home is honor and obligation. My hero’s grandfather has a journey to make and he can’t do that without help. My heroine needs to heal, too, and the best way is by reconnecting with her mother…and her first love.

  I hope you’ll enjoy this story about life, love, bull riders and tomato worms. It takes place on an imaginary guest ranch in western Nevada—right down the road from a real place, The Reindeer Lodge, where host Gary Schmidt had many a story to tell about life on Mount Rose Highway. Thanks, Gary. I’d also like to thank Everett Erickson for walking me through the ups and downs of professional bull riding. No pun intended. (Well, maybe a small one.) Ev, you’ve got heart. It’s always a joy seeing someone living his dream. Thanks, too, to his mother, Mary Jane, for helping me understand the complex schedules and amazing dedication these young athletes give to their sport. During the course of my research, I came to admire both the riders and the bulls in this extreme test of strength, timing and balance.

  For teaching me what it’s like to live with asthma, I want to extend a special thanks to Erin Bass and her mother, Mary—two extremely cool ladies.

  To find out “What’s Cookin’ at the Silver Rose,” visit my Web site at www.debrasalonen.com for recipes mentioned in this book, or write to me at P.O. Box 322, Cathey’s Valley, CA 95306, to have one mailed to you. Thanks to all my readers for your valued support and kind letters and e-mails.

  Happy reading,

  Debra Salonen

  A Cowboy Summer

  Debra Salonen

  To Mae and Malte Mae—the cycle of life goes on

  CONTENTS

  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 ONE

  THE ONE-PIECE? Or the bikini?

  Anne Fraser knelt before the bottom drawer of her dresser like a novitiate at prayer. Her hand wavered between two disparate clumps of fabric. One sober, practical—useful for the occasional on-site inspection of a World Hospitality Corporation hotel pool. The other a sexy scrap of bright colors purchased at a time when tempting the man in her life took precedence over checking the chlorine levels of a WHC property.

  She snatched the black one-piece suit from its spot and tossed it over her shoulder, hoping it would land near the open suitcase on the bed. “I don’t even know if the Silver Rose has a pool,” she muttered, opening a second drawer. “It didn’t when I lived there.”

  But a lot could change in fourteen years. Lord knows she had.

  She stared, unseeing, at the neatly folded summer clothes. Three months in Nevada. Was she out of her mind?

  Her boss, Roger McFinney, had asked the same thing less than an hour earlier when he’d accosted Anne in her office. Even though her request for family leave had been approved by the head of personnel, Roger hadn’t been pleased. “Am I expected to hold this door open for you for three months while you trot off to the wilds of Nevada to fulfill some tenuous stepdaughter obligation?”

  In his early sixties, Roger looked fifteen years younger. Some in the office attributed this to his vampire heritage. But he’d been Anne’s mentor for five years and was the reason she had a shot at an executive-level job.

  “Anne,” he’d said, softening as much as Roger ever softened, “your mother is dead. Surely whatever guilt you feel for not spending more time with her at the end isn’t worth the job of a lifetime.”

  Anne’s mother, Esther, had passed away in February, and not a night went by that Anne didn’t think about her with regret. So when A. J. Cavanaugh, Anne’s stepfather, called to ask for her help this summer, Anne couldn’t say no—especially when Zoey added a little emotional arm-twisting. “Please, Mommy,” her eight-year-old daughter had begged. “Grandpa needs us. And you promised I’d get to visit the ranch when I was older. I’ll be nine in July, you know.”

  Anne knew. And Esther’s death had driven home one immutable fact: life was fleeting. Zoey was growing up too fast, and Anne was missing out. Maybe that was the true reason she’d agreed to this trip. All Anne knew for certain was that her motivation didn’t stem from any love for Nevada. The eighteen months she’d spent there in high school had been eighteen too many in her book. Esther had come to love the sage scrub and fir-covered landscape of the high desert, but Anne didn’t share those feelings.

  Anne quickly selected an assortment of shorts, jeans and tops then turned her attention to her lingerie drawer. Two sports bras. Three regular. Maybe the push-up… Her hand hovered over the satin fabric. Why bother taking it? She didn’t have an answer but added it to the pile. A 34–B didn’t take up much space.

  She chose two sets of pajamas. One summer-weight cotton, one flannel. Late May on the eastern slope of the Sierra Nevada mountain range offered variable weather as she recalled. The snow had probably been gone for a month, but mornings could be chilly.

  The historic Silver Rose Guest Ranch was a unique anachronism—a working ranch existing within a stone’s throw of a burgeoning population. Thirty minutes from Reno, the Silver Rose was a juicy prospect for developers. Given the economic realities of ranching, A.J. had been forced to sell off several parcels close to the highway in the mid-1970s. He might have sold out completely if he hadn’t met Esther. She’d talked him into opening the ranch to guests not long after Anne moved out.

  Anne’s brief sojourn at the Silver Rose had ended with her graduation from high school. She’d returned several times over the years, but never for a prolonged stay. The Silver Rose was her mother’s domain—a shadowy memory that still had the power to haunt Anne’s dreams and fill her with a sense of failure.

  She let out a sigh and turned on one heel, her bare foot making a squeaky sound on the gleaming hardwood floor. Wood provided a fiber-free surface that was easier to keep clean. Dust, pollen, pet hair, smoke and mold were her daughter’s enemies. Once Zoey stepped outside, her fragile lungs and easily compromised bronchia were subject to forces beyond Anne’s control. But behind the door of their apartment, Anne was as vigilant as possible. “A clean-freak,” Anne once heard Maria, her housekeepe
r/nanny, tell someone on the phone.

  Anne didn’t care what the woman thought as long as she followed Anne’s rules: no smelly cleaning products, aerosol cans, perfumes or scented lotions. Maria also had to pass an emergency-response course and learn CPR before entering Anne’s employ.

  How Anne would create an asthma-friendly environment in an eighty-year-old ranch house with barns, a riding arena and a forest just beyond the main compound was anybody’s guess. But she was hoping the altitude and clean air would offset any indoor hazards. She’d already shipped their spare ozone purifier for Zoey’s room. At worst, the little girl would be housebound, but Anne prayed it wouldn’t come to that. Zoey had her heart set on learning how to ride a horse this summer. A prospect that didn’t thrill Anne in the least.

  Anne had consulted all three of Zoey’s doctors, and each was optimistic about the positive benefits of the move. One had even gone so far as to suggest that simply having Anne around more would lessen Zoey’s stress level and reduce the frequency of her attacks.

  Just what I need, Anne had thought at the time, another helping of guilt. No single mother who worked for a living needed to be told that her absence was stressful to her child—especially an asthmatic child.

  And the past six months had been more chaotic than usual—for both Anne and Zoey. Just before Christmas, an opening in the top tier of WHC management had been announced. Roger had assured Anne the job was hers if she wanted it. The position represented the brass ring Anne had been striving for for years. When she called her mother with the good news, Anne learned that Esther was at the clinic in Reno for some “stomach trouble.” Three weeks later, A.J. called to say the problem had been diagnosed as pancreatic cancer and the prognosis was bad.

  Anne had immediately headed west. Alone. The winter months had already taken a toll on Zoey, who seemed to catch every germ in public school. To everyone’s regret, the little girl wasn’t well enough to accompany Anne on either of her two trips to Nevada—one to visit her mother in the hospital and the other to say goodbye just hours before Esther passed away.

  Now, Anne was going back again. With Zoey. For the entire summer.

  Three thousand miles from our respiratory professionals, Anne thought, a germ of fear replicating with abandon in her belly.

  As she folded the clothing with practiced ease, she recalled the conversation that had produced this unwelcome bit of penance. When A.J. had called three weeks earlier, Anne had been touched that he’d turned to her. “I need you, Annie girl.” He was the only person in the world who called her Annie.

  At the time, she’d been prepared to drop everything and fly to Nevada for a few days to help him over this hurdle of grief. She was still hurting, too. The speed of Esther’s demise hadn’t given anyone time to prepare.

  But A.J.’s call wasn’t about solace. He wanted—no, he demanded—three months of her life. “I promised your mother I’d take her home when the time came,” he’d explained. “I need you to hold down the fort while I’m gone. Some of our guests have been coming for ten years or better. This isn’t going to be easy for them.”

  Them? Anne had wanted to cry. What about me? There’s no way in the world I can fill Mom’s shoes.

  Rather than admit that the thought of trying to take her mother’s place terrified her, Anne argued that it was unfeasible to expect a person to request a three-month leave of absence from her job. Her life.

  “I heard about something called ‘family leave,’” A.J. had said. “An employer can’t deny it, if the employee has time coming. You’ve been with that company since college, Annie. Who’s more deserving than you?”

  “But…”

  Whatever argument she’d planned to use disappeared when he said, “I’m just asking you to handle the guest part of the operation. Will’s coming home to take care of the ranch.”

  When she failed to comment on that astonishing revelation, he added, “For more years than I care to admit, I promised Esther a leisurely trip to the East Coast.” His voice took on a gruff edge. “Stop and go when we wanted. See the sights. Visit old friends.”

  Anne vaguely remembered hearing her mother talk about such a trip.

  “Esther made a list of people and places she wanted to see. Mapped the whole route. I kept putting her off.” He swallowed the quaver in his voice. “Can’t put it off no more, Annie. It’s time for reckoning.”

  After a tiny pause, he added, “I helped you out when you wanted to go to that fancy college. And later on, too—after you and the mister broke up. Now, I need your help.”

  What could she say? He was right. A.J. and her mother had been there for her anytime she asked. And how had she repaid their kindness? By keeping too busy to visit regularly. By sending e-mails instead of making phone calls.

  But his timing couldn’t have been worse. “Is there any chance you could make it later in the summer?” she asked, thinking that maybe once she had her promotion in the bag she could swing some time off.

  “No, dang it,” he barked with unusual volume. A.J. was by nature a quiet, soft-spoken man with a gentle but resolute style. Her mother had often said that once A. J. Cavanaugh made up his mind, it would take an act of Congress to change it. “This is how Esther wanted it. Can I count on you?”

  Anne’s answer had been the only one possible. “Of course, A.J. I will be happy to help out.” Her mother would have seen right through her fake cheer. A.J. probably did, too, but he graciously offered to meet her plane as soon as she let him know the time of arrival.

  “Mommy, can I take my PlayStation?”

  Anne looked over her left shoulder. Zoey stood in the doorway. Three foot eight inches tall, ethereally thin, with wispy, blond hair and emerald eyes that looked huge given the pale aubergine hollows under them and regal cheekbones. Zoey Elizabeth Fraser was an enchanting mix of princess, tomboy and scholar. Anne could no more pigeonhole her daughter’s character than she could harness a butterfly. Despite being hampered by a fragile bronchial system that betrayed her when her emotions were running high, Zoey was bold and adventurous.

  “Yes, love, you may bring anything and everything that will help you feel at home. Books. Puzzles. Videos. Grandpa assured me they have two computers, so put in your favorite games. I can’t guarantee how speedy his are, but I’ll have my laptop in case they’re dinosaurs.”

  Zoey made a face. “You’re not going to work for him while we’re there, are you?”

  Him. Roger had become Zoey’s bogeyman—the person responsible for every ruined dinner, missed bath and too-short bedtime story.

  “Not unless it means losing my job.”

  “You mean your pr’motion?”

  Anne ignored the contentious tone. “Yes.”

  Zoey’s forehead wrinkled in a way that reminded Anne of A.J.—although biologically that was impossible, since Anne and A.J. were related by marriage, not blood. “If you get it, would we have to move? Again?”

  The tone applied to the last word said it all. Since they’d already covered this territory more than once, Anne walked to her closet without replying.

  She opened the mirrored doors. Ninety percent of her wardrobe was business suits. “Let’s see,” she said. “What do I need? Jacket? Yes. Cardigan? Absolutely. Raincoat? I can’t remember if it rains there in the summer.” In truth, Anne didn’t recall much about her Nevada experience. She’d spent most of the time indoors behind a book.

  She’d moved to the Silver Rose during Christmas vacation of her junior year of high school—a tough time to expect to fit in, even for someone outgoing. Her natural shyness and Maine accent had labeled her “different.” She made a few acquaintances, but no close friends.

  In addition to the unhappy school experience, Anne’s home life was difficult. She felt left out of her mother and A.J.’s newly wedded bliss and slightly resentful for her father’s sake, even though he’d been dead for five years. Then, to make matters worse, she’d developed a ridiculous crush on Will, her stepfather’s grands
on.

  Will Cavanaugh. Rodeo darling. Sexy cowboy sought after by every cool girl in school. And while he bore absolutely no biological connection to her whatsoever, Anne couldn’t shake the idea that their being together would seem slightly incestuous.

  She made every effort to hide her feelings, but apparently Will guessed that she was attracted to him—or perhaps he just assumed she was, since every other girl in school adored him. A few weeks before his graduation ceremony, they’d bumped into each other on the front porch. Where he’d been headed, she could only guess, but he seemed in no hurry to leave. They shared a soda and a few laughs. Then, to her surprise, they talked.

  Hungry for closeness, needing a friend, she opened her heart to him. And he opened his to her. A friendly hug led to a kiss. Her first.

  A kiss that ignited a fire deep in her soul. But it was the last they ever shared. His momentary look of wonder changed to one of mortification. A moment later, he mumbled something about needing to pick up Judy—the girl he’d supposedly broken up with a few days earlier.

  Anne accepted his excuse at face value. He kissed her and then ran back to his buxom blond cheerleader. Anne was crushed but not completely surprised. Men left. She’d learned that lesson when her father died.

  “Mo-o-om.”

  Uh-oh, the three-syllable version of the word. Anne looked over her shoulder. “Pardon? Oh, you asked about a move. Yes, hon, if I get the job, I’m sure there’ll be a transfer involved. Possibly to the Pacific Northwest.” Mold capital of the world no doubt, she thought, trying not to frown.

  “I don’t want to move anymore, Mommy. Couldn’t we just stay in Nevada? Please, Mommy.” Her daughter’s tone was so plaintive it almost broke Anne’s heart. For someone so sick, Zoey hardly ever whined. But this particular broken-record complaint about their itinerant lifestyle had been cropping up for over a year.