Three Cowboys

by Julie Miller

  Until now.

  She grabbed the comb and attacked her tangles, staring at herself in the mirror, yet seeing him, the schooled look on his face, his sharp gaze.

  She still dreamed about him sometimes.

  He wasn’t going to find out about that.

  She was a widow. A respectable widow, surrounded by dozens of ranch hands who sniffed after every skirt. She didn’t fraternize with the other employees, or the owners.

  And Morgan was... He was barely here at all. He would help his brothers with the search then he would leave. After all, leaving was what he did best. If she ever let herself fall for anyone again, it would be someone who’d make a great father for Cody, not an emotionally unavailable commando soldier.

  Chapter Two

  Entering the house was like stepping back in time. Morgan slowed in the entryway. Hell, his old hat still hung on the peg with the others. He couldn’t imagine why. Justice had never been the sentimental type.

  Garlands draped around the pegboard that held gloves and hats and even a pair of old spurs. Someone had decorated the side table below the pegboard with a holiday floral arrangement—all weirdly homey, as if a normal family lived here.

  He walked past it all, toward the voices coming from the living room. Stopped in the doorway. Took in the three men.

  Wyatt laughed at something, all grown-up. Man, that was weird. He looked a lot less nerdy than he used to, every inch a cowboy now.

  Virgil had put on some bulk. Mostly muscle. He had an I-mean-business look to him. He’d definitely hardened over the years, making his nickname, Bull, even more suitable.

  Their father had aged the most, seemed smaller somehow. Not quite as hard-edged as Morgan remembered. He was the first to notice the new arrival. He pushed away from the back window where he’d been standing.

  “Son.” He walked forward.

  Morgan dropped the bag at his feet and stayed where he was. “Justice.”

  The older man stopped. “Glad to have you home.”

  Bull got up, too, looking half happy, half annoyed. “What took you so long?”

  “I could tell you, but...” he deadpanned.

  Wyatt wasn’t as subdued as the other two. He strode right over, pumped his hand, pulled him into a brotherly hug, the works. “It’s been way too long.” Nothing but smiles and open acceptance on his face.

  “Any news since we’ve talked?” He’d called the ranch when he’d gotten off the plane in San Antonio. Wyatt had filled him in on the details. None of them good.

  “Nothing,” he said now.

  “I got a few things in progress,” Bull put in. “We should have her cell phone log soon. Something might pop there.”

  Justice bent to the small table by the sofa and scooped up a picture, handing it over. “That’s her.”

  Morgan grabbed the edge of the photograph. Brittany Means. God, she was young. His sister. Half sister. Whatever. Black hair, full lips. Not much McCabe about her. Maybe her gray eyes. Okay, she definitely had that.

  “Any reason the law is not handling this?”

  Justice’s back stiffened. “They’re handling it, but we’ll handle it better and quicker. McCabes take care of their own business.”

  He handed back the picture, then looked at Bull. “You shouldn’t have gone to Mexico without me.”

  The muscles around Bull’s jaw tightened. “You should have come home sooner.”

  “I’m here now. I’m going to work out a comprehensive plan of attack, and then we’re going to execute it to the letter.”

  A short Mexican guy in his twenties appeared in the doorway, probably the new cook, judging by his stained apron. Morgan wondered what had happened to the old cowboy he remembered, Hiram. He’d made campfire biscuits with bacon grease that made a man’s mouth water.

  “We’ll plan after dinner.” Justice moved forward. “Morgan is my oldest,” he said in the way of introduction. “Miguel helps out around the house.”

  What, not some young woman he could grab and get with, maybe produce another bastard? the mean, dark part inside Morgan wanted to ask. He slapped the old resentment back, and simply nodded. His grouchy mood wasn’t entirely Justice’s fault. “I’m going to pop upstairs and wash up.”

  He needed a little space.

  “Your old room is set up for you,” Wyatt said with an easy smile, looking as happy as a kid. “It’s good to have the family together.”

  Did Wyatt miss the old days? A vague sense of guilt touched Morgan. For the most part, he didn’t think too much about the old homestead. Fighting terrorists on a daily basis kept him pretty busy. Just the way he liked it.

  He picked up his duffel bag and walked away.

  Up the stairs, the pictures he remembered still hung in the same spot. The sight of his mother laughing into the sun cut into his heart. He didn’t slow. His mother’s memory and the pain was a weakness, and he didn’t allow weaknesses. Couldn’t afford them in his job.

  He stopped in front of his old room, looked to the end of the hallway, at the closet—another memory that would weaken him if he gave it half a chance. He wasn’t going to let that happen.

  Dakota... The sight of her in the yard had knocked the air from his lungs as hard as the vault had from the corral with her son. She was even more beautiful than the last time he’d seen her and... He shoved her picture out of his mind. He wasn’t going to go there. No way.

  He pushed into his room and glanced around, cataloguing the old and the new methodically. The room, too, seemed smaller than he remembered. Not much had changed here, either. The quilt his mother had made him covered the bed; the old lasso his grandfather had given him still hung on the wall.

  More memories bubbled up. He kept moving, refusing to let the past touch him. He dropped his bag and pulled out a clean shirt. He’d barely unbuttoned the one he had on when Wyatt strode in.

  “Need help unpacking, big brother?”

  He’d always followed him and Bull around, even when they’d been kids.

  “I’ll be down in a minute,” Morgan said, more brusquely than he’d meant. He needed a minute to adjust to being surrounded by them. Yesterday this time he’d been holed up in the Pashtun mountains, trying to save his best friend from bleeding out before their evac chopper showed up.

  But Ricky didn’t make it.

  He pushed that thought aside. Compartmentalization was the name of the game.

  The look on his face must have told Wyatt that he meant to be alone, because his little brother backed out the door. “Sure. I’ll see you downstairs.” Still smiling. Not a speck of offense taken.

  Part of Morgan envied that lightheartedness. He couldn’t remember ever having had that.

  He shrugged out of his shirt and dropped it in the corner, headed over to the bathroom, washed his face, ran his fingers through his short, commando-cut hair. He wasn’t back in his bedroom two minutes before someone was at the door again.

  “Ever heard of patience?” he snapped before turning around and finding himself face-to-face with Dakota.

  “Sorry.” She backed away.

  Her blond, shoulder-length hair was dry now and pulled into a ponytail. A dusting of freckles ran across her nose. She’d always hated those freckles. He’d loved them—used to kiss every single one. His gaze fell to her slightly crooked mouth he’d also kissed plenty of times.

  “I didn’t mean to bother you,” she said.

  His gaze slid lower on her body.

  Her plain T-shirt stretched across breasts he didn’t remember being quite that full. He could happily have looked at them for a good long time. He could happily have done a lot more than look.

  Instant attraction punched through him, just as it had out in the yard. Over the years, he had somehow convinced himself that he was done with her, that he no longer wanted her. Realizing that the opposite was true took a moment of adjustment. Some invisible force pulled him forward.

  Instead of giving in, he turned away and shrugged into his
fresh shirt. “What are you doing here?”

  “I wanted to thank you for saving Cody. You left so fast—”

  “I mean why are you living at the J-Bar-J?” Someone should have definitely told him about that.

  “Justice gave me housing with the job. He’s really nice. I’m very grateful.”

  There were so many things wrong with that, he didn’t know where to start. The words Justice, give and nice didn’t belong together. All the old man had ever given anyone was grief. “Job?”

  “I’m an accountant now.” She worried the side seam of her jeans with her slim fingers. “I do the taxes, payroll, pretty much everything that has to do with finance.”

  That, at least, made sense. Last time he’d seen her, she was studying finance in college on scholarship, over in San Antonio. Where she’d met Billy. He didn’t want to think about that. He didn’t want to think about a lot of things.

  Dakota on the ranch. Just what he didn’t need. “Does Billy-boy work here, too?” He couldn’t quite manage to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

  She shrunk back and folded her arms around herself, covering the enticing view of her breasts. “Billy passed away.”

  A long moment passed, bringing nothing but conflicting emotions, before he processed the words. “Sorry to hear that.”

  But was he, really? Last time he’d seen Billy, he’d wanted to kill the bastard. He hadn’t taken it well that Dakota had chosen to marry the man.

  He shook off whatever feelings were threatening to take hold of him. Whatever had happened, happened. He wasn’t going to stick around long enough for any of this to matter. He wasn’t here to rekindle anything with Dakota. He was a commando soldier, lone wolf and all that.

  * * *

  HE STOOD LIKE A FORTRESS before her. Of course, he’d always been emotionally distant. Which was mostly the reason why she’d chosen Billy, back when. She’d been young and silly and needed the same wild emotions, and affection, warmth, flowers and holding hands and the rest. Billy had been the great romantic.

  And Morgan the stoic one, his true feelings always hidden.

  He’d liked to keep things clean, and people—but most especially emotions—at arm’s length. She didn’t like it, yet she had always accepted it.

  But didn’t want to anymore, suddenly. He might not have changed much, but she had.

  He didn’t want emotions. He wanted to shove their shared past under the rug. Tough for him. She, for one, liked to address problems and deal with them. She was a little better prepared for him now than earlier.

  “Are you ever going to forgive me?” She wanted to clear the air between them, didn’t want everything to be all awkward when they went down to dinner, or for however long he’d be here.

  His face remained impassive. “There’s nothing to forgive.”

  Which meant, no.

  Her gaze dropped to his bandaged ribs. “Are you hurt?”

  He buttoned up his shirt. “I’m fine.”

  He’d always been way too proud for his own good. Another thing that hadn’t changed. He’d been a hard youth and he’d grown into an even harder man. Now that she had Cody, she understood the love a son needed. But back when the McCabe boys had still lived at home, Justice hadn’t been the most loving of fathers. He’d mellowed some with age.

  She felt bad for Morgan. But she didn’t feel bad enough to humor him and accept the walls he’d built. “You’re not ready to forgive me, and you’re in pain. I have some pills at the cabin—”

  “No.”

  She didn’t particularly like playing games so she drew a deep breath and went for it. “I’ve missed you.”

  He gave a slow blink.

  “You’ve missed me, too.” She was trying to help. “We were friends once, remember?”

  He shrugged. “A lot has happened since.”

  “You could give me a chance. We could be friends again.” She couldn’t handle anything beyond that, but she needed more than his cold distance. “And you should think about forgiving Justice, too. You should give your father a chance.”

  He scoffed.

  “People change.” Justice had been good to her, had saved her after Billy’s death, given her the job and the cabin to stay in. She wanted Morgan to be nice to him. If she could achieve that, she would be paying Justice back in some small way. “He’s a good guy. He’s great with Cody.”

  His eyes flashed, his lips twisting into a sneer. “You’re his new bed warmer, is that it? Living right across the yard. How convenient.”

  Anger flashed through her. Her palm was halfway to his cheek when he caught her wrist, holding it in an iron grip.

  And for a second she was horrified and embarrassed. She’d never hit anyone in her life. Had never meant to hit him, but— Nobody but Morgan McCabe could bend her out of shape this badly, this fast. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, tugging, hoping he’d release her.

  He didn’t. “No. I’m sorry,” he said, then yanked her into his arms and kissed her.

  Startled shock knocked the air out of her for a second. Then a million memories flooded her next, as she stood in his arms, surrounded by the familiar feel and scent of him. Instant sensory overload. A second longer and she was no longer sure who she was, what she wanted or even what decade they were in.

  His lips were punishing on hers. She didn’t care. Everything inside her responded to the unbridled hunger. Raw need tore through her.

  Her knees went weak and she leaned against him.

  If they could turn back time...

  But they couldn’t. And she wouldn’t. She had Cody, who was waiting with Justice and the others downstairs. That thought brought her out of her mental haze and she pulled away—not without reluctance.

  “This is not what I came for,” she said in a weak whisper.

  “Then what are you doing in my bedroom half-naked?”

  She glanced down at her jeans, confused for a second.

  He gave a startled laugh as he stepped back. “I haven’t seen too many women without a burka in the last couple of years. I can see your bra strap through your T-shirt.”

  She glanced down, more than embarrassed to realize that the T-shirt not only failed to hide the outline of her bra, but also revealed nipples that desire had drawn to sharp points. She crossed her arms, part of her flattered, part of her consternated over the fact that he found her desirable to the point of losing his iron control. Ditto, she thought. He affected her plenty. But she wouldn’t have admitted it for a million dollars. She grasped for something to distract the both of them.

  “Were you in Iraq?”

  He strode to the window and looked out. She knew the view from here: her cabin.

  “Afghanistan?”

  He didn’t respond, but he turned back to her. “How did Billy die?”

  A long moment passed before she gathered herself. “He was out with his friends.”

  While Morgan had always been principled and self-disciplined, Billy was all about fun. Which she had truly liked about him, at the beginning. Not until later did she realize that her husband sometimes chased fun to the point of being irresponsible and beyond.

  “I’d just told him I was pregnant. His buddies took him out to celebrate. Then they decided to do a little drag racing on the old county road.” She didn’t want to think about the crash.

  Billy left her with a boatload of debt and no health insurance. She had to come begging for a job at the ranch. She’d learned to appreciate responsibility and security in a hurry.

  “Bull and I have been out on that road a million times at night.” Morgan shook his head, then added, “Billy never saw his boy, then.”

  “He never saw as much as an ultrasound picture.” Her eyes burned suddenly. She missed Billy. She’d missed Morgan, too. She’d been such a child when she’d chosen between them. Nineteen. She hadn’t known anything about anything.

  “Anyway.” She half turned to leave. “I just wanted to thank you for grabbing Cody from those horses.
He’s getting so independent. I have to watch him like a hawk.”

  His shoulders relaxed at last, and the tight set of his mouth softened. He was almost the old Morgan. “You should have seen the trouble me and my brothers got into growing up.”

  “Don’t tell me. I might not sleep another night if I know what’s waiting for me.”

  A ghost of a smile played above his lips.

  She wanted to step back into his arms, wanted it so bad it scared her.

  “Welcome home, Morgan,” she said and hurried back downstairs, toward the safety of the kitchen.

  * * *

  MORGAN RAN OUT TO HIS car for his phone charger before joining the others in the kitchen, and saw Rusty Fisher who was heading toward Dakota’s place. The old guy was plenty rough around the edges, but Morgan had always liked him. They’d broken in a horse or two together back in the day.

  “She’s at the house for dinner,” he called out to the man who turned his way and watched him for a second before recognizing him.

  “Morgan. Good to see you home. Heard you were coming.” Rusty smoothed down his handlebar mustache. His shirt revealed a line of tattoos around his neck that had impressed Morgan plenty when he’d been younger. “I was just going to ask her about the kid. Heard he’d gotten under the horses earlier.”

  “Made it out fine.” He took the man’s hand as he strode closer for a shake. “Everything’s good with you, I hope?”

  Rusty shrugged. “Things are as good as you make ’em.”

  Plenty of truth in that.

  “It’s good that all you boys came back home,” the man said. “Family is important.”

  They could lift you up or smack you down, that was for sure, Morgan thought, but didn’t say it. “I better get back in. They’re waiting for me for dinner.”

  Dakota among them.

  He shouldn’t have kissed her.

  Mistake number one.

  And he hadn’t even unpacked his bag yet.

  He didn’t want her to start mattering to him again. He didn’t want to want her. But he did, and he always would, he realized now. He swore under his breath.