“I’m Gerri,” she said and didn’t stop to ask permission before she gathered Glo into a hug. Glo grinned at Kelsey over her shoulder, waggling her eyebrows.
Kelsey submitted to a hug, too, and then Tate’s explanation of their band and how they lived through the attack in Texas.
“I’ve been watching the news on that. Terrible, terrible. I’m so glad you’re all putting it behind you.”
Or, trying.
“Let’s get your stuff. We have plenty of room.”
Tate turned into a porter and retrieved their packed duffel bags, bringing them into the house.
Kelsey stood inside for a long moment, drinking in the polished logs, the stacked stone fireplace, the beautiful kitchen, the round table with the leather chairs, the overstuffed leather sofas, and most of all, the view.
The view. In the backyard, the land stretched out across emerald pastures, then fell into a valley rimmed with dark green fir. A river ran a silver finger through the hills, winding lazily to a small town in the distance.
She was on the Ponderosa, from Bonanza fame. Her father’s favorite show and she’d been plunked into the middle.
She’d met Hoss, the thug, aka Tate. And of course, Knox would be handsome Adam Cartwright. All she needed was a Little Joe.
“I’ll put you girls upstairs in Ruby Jane and Coco’s room.”
Gerri led them up a wide staircase, then along a balcony to a room with twin beds with curved leather headboards, dressed in western blankets, thick white comforters, and enough pillows to bury herself under, head to toe. Watercolors of white columbine and purple irises hung over each bed, and sheer linen curtains framed the windows.
The room was airy, warm, and embracive, and she barely refrained from leaping onto one of the beds and climbing under the covers.
Except, of course, for the sleeping part.
“Will this work?”
“I just might stay forever,” Glo said.
Gerri laughed as Tate put the duffel bags on the floor.
Kelsey walked to the window. Stared out at the barn.
“I’m going to make elevenses in a bit here. Make yourself at home, wander around. I think there might be a couple baby goats to find.”
What was it with the Marshalls and baby goats? But after Gerri and Tate left, after Glo collapsed on the bed feigning tears of joy, Kelsey followed her inner nudge and headed outside.
To the barn.
The smaller side door hung open, and she stepped inside. The soaring rafters smelled of hay and fresh straw, of horseflesh and dirt, and she wrapped her arms around herself.
A goat mewed at her, and sure enough, baby goats scampered around in the pen, skin and bones, their hides rough. She rubbed one between its not-yet-horns.
She stepped back and spied a massive Brahma bull staring at her, a chew of hay in its mouth. Dark eyes raked over her, and she remembered Hot Pete’s cool gaze. He was probably bucking off cowboys somewhere in Texas.
On the other side of the barn, the four pens were empty, the straw matted, used and soiled with cow pies.
A moan, something big and in distress at the far end of the barn drew her, and she followed the sound. Stopped as she watched a man, dressed in a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, a grimy gimme cap, and a pair of long plastic gloves, gripping the hooves of what looked like a baby calf emerging from its mother’s body.
The mother lay on her side, grunting, her massive body heaving.
“C’mon, Daisy, work with me,” he said.
The voice was soft, gentle, and solid, and she’d recognize it anywhere. I told you, I’m going to get you out of this.
Knox.
Kelsey didn’t breathe a word as she watched the calf emerge slowly, its red face with a white stripe wrapped in sheer, sticky caul. The body fell onto the thick fluffy straw, and Knox began to massage it, clearing the sack from its head.
A long pink tongue curled around his hand. He laughed, and the deep resonance of it, like the jagged beauty of the mountains, filled Kelsey to her bones.
Thank you for being safe.
“Good job, Daisy,” he said as the cow got up suddenly, moved around to lick her baby. The calf’s dark red coat was thick with spit and mucus, but it looked up, its ears velvety and pink as they stuck out around its face, big brown eyes blinking against the ministrations.
The sight of it drew Kelsey forward, and she crouched at the edge of the pen, watching, a strange cotton in her chest.
Silence from the man standing behind the calf until he too, crouched inside the pen. Put his now ungloved hand on the railing. Gripped it, not unlike he’d gripped her arm to keep her from falling.
“Did you know cows have feelings?” His voice hardly betrayed a hint of surprise, a casual Montana drawl that settled her racing heart. “I had a mama cow once follow her calf down the road a half mile after we weaned it and separated it into another pasture. She bellowed for hours until my brother Ford couldn’t take it anymore and put them back together.”
He followed with a low chuckle.
And just like that, she’d always belonged here, at the ranch, always known this man, always felt safe.
She leaned into it, desperately needing to hold on. “My dad had a cow named Harriet that had an amazing memory. She would chase me out of the field whenever I took a shortcut through it.”
“You lived on a farm?”
She nodded, looked up at him. He had the same warm, blue-green eyes that she remembered, and now she found herself wishing— “I’m sorry I didn’t—”
His hand touched hers. “What’s important is that you’re okay. And here.” He scratched behind Daisy’s ears. “Welcome to my home.”
She reached through the bars and put her hand on the velvety, stout ear of the calf and said the only thing that made sense since she’d left Texas. “I’m glad to be here.”
“Don’t get me wrong, bro. I’m glad the Belles are here, but what is going on?”
Knox had followed Tate into the pantry, just off the kitchen, his voice cut low as he blocked his brother from escaping the tiny walk-in closet where Tate had chased his late-night stomach growl in search of chips, or rather—yeah, a couple of their mother’s homemade cookies.
Tate stuck a chocolate chip cookie into his mouth. “Whaddya mean?”
“Kelsey. She looks pretty rough. Dark circles under her eyes. And what in the world are you doing with her?” And he didn’t mean for it to sound harsh, or even full of blame, but hello, one minute Knox was sending his brother on a search and rescue mission, the next he was telling him that Kelsey didn’t want to have anything to do with him.
Then he shows up with her two weeks later? In their tour bus?
For a second, as she’d walked into the barn, stopped at the stall and watched him birth Daisy’s calf, he’d thought he might be hallucinating.
But no. Yes, thank You, God, he still possessed all his faculties. And apparently the Almighty was still in the miracle business too, because in his wildest dreams, Knox turned and saw Kelsey standing in his barn, her long brown hair down around her shoulders, smiling at him, her eyes free of fear.
She could stay for the rest of her life if she wanted. But still, he couldn’t quite figure out how she’d ended up here, the beautiful realization of all his hopes.
“I’m their bodyguard.” Tate finished his cookie, grabbed a bag of pretzels.
“Right. And I’m Prince William—”
“No, seriously, Your Highness.” Tate shouldered past Knox and headed into the kitchen. The late hour pressed into the windows, the night velvety and sweet, the stars hanging overhead so close they could eavesdrop. Tate grabbed a glass and filled it with ice from the pull-out ice box in the fridge. “There are things you don’t know.”
“Then give me a sit-rep.”
Tate filled his glass with water from the sink. Turned, one hip against the counter. He’d apparently dug into his old clothes and pulled out an orange Geraldine Bulls T-shirt. Again, two size
s too small. “I can’t.”
Knox considered him a moment then, “Yeah, actually, you can. Why does Kelsey look like she hasn’t slept in weeks?”
“Because she hasn’t.” Tate reached for the pretzel bag, pulled out a couple knots. “She’s a zombie since we left Texas. Nearly had a breakdown onstage—”
“What—?”
“Total meltdown during the rehearsal for their new finale. Had to bring in—get this—country singer Benjamin King.”
“Benjamin King?”
“Nice guy. He’s the one who suggested I get her out of the limelight for a while. Said she could have PTSD.”
That made sense.
“So, she’s not sleeping. What else?”
Tate dropped the pretzel in his mouth, crunched, shook his head. “Takes these little midnight strolls around the bus, but otherwise stays in her bunk.”
“You’re sleeping in the bus?”
“Where else am I going to sleep—the luggage compartment?”
Knox said nothing, but he couldn’t help but glance upstairs to Ruby Jane and Coco’s room, where Kelsey and her bandmate—Glo?—now slept. Shoot, he wasn’t jealous, was he?
He schooled his voice. “Okay. So she needed to get away. And you thought of here?”
Tate lifted a shoulder. “Seemed like the right place.”
Except that Kelsey had said she didn’t want to see Knox. Not that he was complaining, but, okay. He could work with this.
“Stick around for Ma’s birthday, okay?”
“That’s sorta the plan.”
Knox nodded. Opened the fridge to grab the container of orange juice. Reached for a glass in the cupboard.
“Did Daisy give birth to a bull today?”
“Yeah,” Knox said, pouring a cup. “Out of one of Hot Pete’s straws.”
“Think he’ll be a bucker?”
“Counting on it,” Knox said. “Goodnight, Tate.” He left his brother there and headed into the den off the great room, the former family room before the addition. Now, it had turned into a place to put his stockinged feet on the worn coffee table, settle back into the ancient leather sofa, and watch football. Or, this time of year, hockey.
Knox picked up the remote and scanned the channels. Maybe he could catch a Blue Ox game, watch his brother Wyatt catch pucks between the goalposts.
Knox had left at least three messages for his superstar brother but hadn’t yet gotten a return call. He’d left the same message for Ruby Jane and emailed Ford, hoping he wasn’t aboard a ship in the Middle East or wherever Team 2 deployed.
As for Reuben, yeah, he was just starting his preseason training for a hot wildfire season up north in Ember, but his big brother had been the first to text his RSVP. With his fiancée—cute, petite redhead pilot Gilly Priest.
Knox just might be able to keep his spur-of-the-moment, impossible promise to his mother.
He found a Canucks versus Blue Ox game and forgave his brother a little when he saw the score. Oh, that was rough—3-0, third period.
Knox settled back with his orange juice and tried not to think about Kelsey, unable to sleep. Kelsey, the way she looked as she’d crouched in front of Daisy today, something forlorn and rattled on her face.
He’d wanted to reach out and save her all over again.
It had taken him a couple hours to clean up the birthing pen, then he’d driven his pickup into the back field to see if any more cows might be birthing. His hired man, Lemuel, had pulled a few of the near-to-delivery mamas back to the barn, and was watching them, but Knox didn’t want any animal forgotten and in distress.
The sun had hung high, the day beautiful and warm, the snow glinting off Black Mountain to the east, the Garnet Range ahead of him. He loved this pocket of land where he could see all the way down into the valley, to the little town of Geraldine.
He didn’t really want to leave the ranch. Probably.
But Knox had fought a spark of heat when he came in later, grimy, sweaty, tired, and found Tate lounging on the leather couch, playing a hand of rummy with the other bandmate, Glo.
And Kelsey in the kitchen with their mother, helping with the cookies.
Someone had to run the place.
He’d showered, changed, and come down for dinner.
Kelsey was painfully quiet, picking at her mashed potatoes. She retired right after the cookies and ice-cream portion of the night.
Oh, how he hoped she was sleeping.
“Hey.”
The voice made him look over and, shoot, nope. Kelsey stood in the doorway, dressed in her yoga pants and a pink Belles Are Made for Singing shirt. Her dark hair was down, freshly washed, with darker strands still wet amidst the drier tousles.
She didn’t wear any makeup, which made her look about twenty-one, and came in and sat on the recliner. “What are you watching?”
“Hockey. My brother Wyatt plays goalie. For the Blue Ox, the guys in blue.”
“Seriously?” She leaned forward, hands between her knees, watching the screen. “It looks like…oh, they’re losing.”
“Yeah. But they don’t have a terrible record this year. They lost one of their players to injury—Max Sharpe—and that has left a big hole in their offense. But they have good coaching, and usually Wyatt is on his game. Not sure what’s going on with him.”
“So you have a superstar brother. Cool.”
Knox lifted a shoulder. Refrained from saying something that sounded small, like, Actually they’re all superstars. While I stay home and play midwife.
But he had birthed a bull today. With Hot Pete’s face.
Hopefully, with the late bull’s genes for bucking, too.
She leaned back in the recliner. “I have to admit, when I saw this place…I can see why you don’t want to leave it.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to leave it. I really…I can’t.”
He wasn’t sure why he said that, because given the choice…except he hadn’t been given a choice. He didn’t have the option to hit the road with an all-girl band and play bodyguard-slash-plaything. Not when people were counting on him to keep a legacy alive.
“You can’t?”
“When my father died, I was the only one he’d trained to run it. My big brother, Reuben, had left a few years earlier to be a smokejumper, and Tate was also gone. Wyatt was on his way to the juniors, so that left Ford, but he had this dream of being a SEAL—”
“You have a brother who is a Navy SEAL? And another one who is a smokejumper?”
He supposed this conversation was inevitable. “Yes.”
“And Tate is a bodyguard.”
“I wouldn’t exactly call him—”
“Oh, trust me. He’s bossy and shadowy and knows what he’s doing. He has Kevin Costner written all over him.”
“Kevin Costner?”
“That old movie, with Whitney Houston? He’s her bodyguard and falls for her?”
And that might be the last thing Knox wanted to hear. Because yes, Kelsey would be so very easy to fall for, with her sweet smile, those beautiful pale blue eyes. He drew in a breath. “Tate does know his way around a brawl, that’s for sure.”
“We haven’t had any of those, but…” She sighed. “He did rescue me when I sort of…” She met his eyes. “I freaked out onstage, and everybody is completely overreacting. They canceled our shows, and Tate and Carter practically coerced Dix and Glo to mutiny. They refused to go onstage with me until I started feeling like myself again, but …I’m best onstage.”
He liked her with this much passion. It reminded him of the woman he’d watched singing under the spotlight. “You are pretty amazing onstage.”
She smiled, tucked her hair behind her ear.
“But you’re also pretty amazing offstage.”
She looked away, as if his words hurt.
Shoot. “Maybe Tate’s right. Maybe you just need a few days off. Get your feet back under you.” He went out on a limb. “I’m a safe guy, remember? And this is a safe place
.”
She smiled. “I remember.”
He let the memory linger between them, a view from a Ferris wheel.
“Your barn reminds me of the farm where I grew up in Minnesota. Dad was a dairy farmer.”
“Hence your love for cheese curds.”
She laughed. “Yeah. I really missed the farm after…” Her face turned solemn. “My parents were murdered in New York City when I was fourteen.”
He stilled but didn’t move his gaze from her face.
She, however, looked down at her hands. “You’re the second Marshall I’ve told that to.”
He tried to ignore the spur inside him. Nice. So Tate knew more about her than he did. But he said nothing, just nodded.
“I don’t know why, but the explosion has sort of brought all of it back to the surface.”
“The loss of your parents?”
She looked up at him. “And the fact that now I’ve nearly been killed twice. Randomly.”
He frowned.
She wrapped her arms around her legs drawn up on the chair. “I was with my parents when they were murdered. We had gone to New York City for my birthday to see The Lion King on Broadway and decided to take a walk through Central Park after the show. They came out of nowhere. Just—one minute we’re walking under a bridge, the next a thug has his arms around my mother and is demanding money from my dad.” She looked out the window. “He would have given them anything, but then my mom broke free and took off. The guy pushed her, and she slammed into a rock on the path and just…” She sighed. “Anyway, my dad jumped one of them and told me to run. All I remember is my dad shouting at me, hands grabbing me, then the horror of listening to the fight—fists on bone, him swearing and grunting and shouting my name as they beat him.”
“They?”
She let out a shaky breath. “Three men. But there was a leader—a man named Vince Russell. They were all caught, and no one could determine who was the actual murderer, but one of the other gang members testified against him so he got twenty years. He only served twelve.”
“That’s not enough.”
“I agree.” She leaned back against the chair. “Especially since they beat me and left me for dead.”
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