A Singing River Press Publication
First published in the United States of America in 2015 by Singing River Press
Interior Formatted by write.DREAM.repeat
© Hope Whitley 2015. All rights reserved.
Cowboys Are Forever is a work of fiction. All incidents and dialogue, and all characters are products of the author’s imagination. Any similarities to any person, living or dead, is merely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
“I’m going to cocoon.” Marielle Stevens gazed across the small table of the trendy bistro to meet the uncomprehending look of her best friend.
“You’re going to what?” Samantha asked, arrested in the act of spearing a forkful of salad.
“Cocoon,” Marielle repeated calmly. “I’m going to move to Wyoming and get back to basics. Bake my own bread, raise vegetables, make quilts, tend my flocks of … whatever.” She shrugged and waved an elegantly manicured hand in a vague, airy gesture. “Adios, New York.”
Samantha was incredulous. “But, Mari, you’re a city girl. You’ve lived in the Big Apple all of your life. You’re used to crowds and bright lights. I’ll bet there’s not even a Starbuck out there in the wilds of Wyoming, “she said. “You know how you love Starbucks, Mari. Think about it. That would just be one thing you’d be giving up. There’s no Bloomingdale’s out there, either. You’d be lost without Bloomie’s, you know you would.”
Marielle laughed. “I’ll miss all those things, Sam, but my mind is made up.” She leaned back in her chair and pushed her half-empty plate away. “I think it’s just meant to be. In the past two weeks, I’ve been downsized out of a job, dumped by my boyfriend, and my rent-controlled apartment has been sold, so I’ll lose that, too, when my lease is up next month.” She grinned wryly. “Then I get a letter from an attorney telling me that I’ve inherited my great-uncle Dan’s ranch in Wolf Pass, Wyoming. It’s a sign, I tell you. Fate. The tea leaves have spoken and said ‘Go west, young woman.’” Marielle nodded decisively. “So, I’m going.”
Samantha shook her head dubiously. “But what are you going to do there, besides spin and weave and all that earth mother stuff? I hate to sound crassly materialistic, but what are you going to use for money in your cocoon?”
“I’ve thought about that, too, and I have a plan,” Marielle told her. “I’ll draw. I’ve spent years marketing children’s books and I know the sort of illustrations they’re looking for. As a matter of fact, I’ve already contacted some authors. Several of them like my portfolio and promised to give my work serious consideration. I think I can do it, Sam, and this is a good time to find out. Besides”-she smiled at her long-time confidante-“I’m not totally destitute. I received a year’s severance pay and I’ve made a few investments, saved a little … enough to get by on for awhile, anyway.”
Samantha looked skeptical, but resigned. “Well, okay,” she said. “But be careful out there. The closest you’ve been to the great outdoors is Central Park. Wolf Pass, hmmm? I hope there aren’t really any wolves!”
Marielle arched a delicate eyebrow. “Well, if there are, they can’t be any worse than the two-legged kind roaming around New York.” They both laughed and turned their attention to the toothsome confections being offered on a dessert tray by a handsome young waiter
Sighing wearily, Marielle brought the Jeep to a shuddering stop by the side of the narrow road and looked again at the map clipped to the visor.
She was lost. Exactly which of the many turns she’d made since leaving Cheyenne had been the wrong one, she didn’t know. All she knew was that she was exhausted from a bone-jarring ride of at least an hour over this miserable excuse for a road. And her head hurt from concentrating on driving to keep from plummeting off the side of this mountain on one of the hairpin curves. She wished with all her heart she’d skipped that cup of coffee at the last place she’d stop to ask directions-before she left civilization and ended up out here in the middle of nowhere where there weren’t any rest rooms.
Worst of all, the sun had slipped below the horizon and it would soon be dark. She stared at the map, trying to figure out where she was and how best to proceed, then crumpled it into a ball in disgust and tossed it onto the floorboard. Her shoulders and neck ached with strain and tension from the nerve-wracking drive. She stretched as best she could, confined by the steering wheel, then decided to get out for a minute and try to loosen her protesting muscles before going on. Climbing out, she shut the door of the rugged little Jeep and patted it fondly. The layer handling Uncle Dan’s Affairs had advised her to buy a four-wheel-drive vehicle, saying that she’d need it where she was going. Truer words were never spoken, she decided, grateful for the advice.
It was beautiful up here, Marielle realized, ambling across the road to peer down into a wooded canyon. Remote and lonely, the landscape had a wild, untamed, rugged beauty. Looking down, she could see a winding stream at the bottom, glinting like quick-silver in the rays of the setting sun. Throwing her arms wide in one last, luxurious stretch, she started back to the Jeep.
Marielle cast a worried eye on the sun, which had slipped even lower on the horizon during her short break. Beautiful and scenic though it all was, she really didn’t want to be lost up here in these mountains after dark. Her brows knit in thought. There had to be a house up here somewhere to ask directions, she reassured herself. She’d just find it. And soon, she hoped.
Suddenly, tires squealed and brakes screeched loudly. Her vision barely had time to register the large object that bore down on her, so close that she felt the whoosh of air as it hurtled past. Marielle watched with horror as it careened to a stop, mere inches from the steep drop-off. For one heart-stopping second she’d been sure that it was going over the edge.
It was a pickup truck, she saw now. As she watched shaken, a man emerged from the cab and slammed the door. He started toward her, shouting angrily. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” He reached her in a few long strides and grabbing her arm in a hard grip, propelled her from the center of the pavement over to her Jeep.
Marielle looked up into his face. He was furious. His dark eyes were flashing and his mouth was set in a thin line of displeasure.
“I’m lost. I, uh, got out to sort of stretch my legs for a minute and then….” She faltered.
“And then you damned near got run over!” he finished for her. He did a swift appraisal, taking in her designer T-shirt, khaki shorts, elegantly understated makeup and jewelry. “I don’t know where you’ve blown in from, lady. But out here-pedestrians don’t have the right of way!”
Marielle felt her face flush hotly under his scrutiny. “I’m sorry, okay? But I really am lost. Would you happen to know where Dan Steven’s place is and if you do know, would you point me in the right directions, please?”
His eyes narrowed. “Dan Steven’s ranch? That’s what you’re looking for?”
“Yes and yes,” she replied. “Do you know where it is?”
“That’s where I was going,” he said curtly. “You can follow me.” He spun on his heel and headed for the truck, then stopped in midstride and turned back to Marielle, a slow smile spreading across his mouth. “By the way,” he drawled, looking her up and down in a decidedly suggestive manner, “from where I’m standing, your legs don’t look like they need stretching. They’re fine the way they are.”
Marielle stood staring after him for a moment as he climbed back into his truck, then got into the Jeep and pulled out behind him, wondering why he was on his way to Uncle Dan’s ranch. Even angry, t
he man was a hunk. She didn’t recall ever meeting anyone with eyes exactly the color of his—the color of deep, dark bittersweet chocolate. The rest of him wasn’t bad either, she mused, thinking of his wide shoulders and lean yet muscular build. In fact, if the rest of the men in this area looked anything like him she’d be hard-pressed to keep her mind on what she’d come up here to accomplish.
After negotiating several tricky curves, she saw the truck in front of her slow and followed as it turned down a narrow dirt road by a weathered sign that read Double D Ranch. She remember the sign from her visit here as a child, many years ago. This was it, then, the driveway to the house. Thank Goodness! Marielle breathed a sigh of relief, and felt her battered morale climb upwards a notch. She hadn’t been quite as lost as she’d thought. In fact, if she’d kept on going, instead of pulling over to look at the map again—she’d have seen the sign and been her by now. Which she would’ve preferred to nearly getting run over and having a fairly unpleasant confrontation with … whoever-he-was … her neighbor.
He reached the house and parked. Marielle followed suit, parked the Jeep and got out, staring around in consternation. This wasn’t the neatly maintained homestead that she remembered from her youth. Then, the little frame house had been a pristine white and flowers had bloomed all around the picket fence that enclosed the yard. Now it had a derelict look. Even in the fading light, Marielle could see that the paint was blistered and peeling, the shutters hung askew; and the picket fence leaned drunkenly, its gate hanging on rusty hinges. The pretty yard she recalled was bare in patches and overgrown in others, like a moth-eaten fur coat. It was devoid of flowers except for a few tangled climbing roses that clung stubbornly to the dilapidated fence and scrambled up the crooked newel posts of the front porch. Her heart sank.
She became aware that the man had walked over to stand beside her. He gave her a knowing look.
“Pretty sad, huh? Old Dan was in bad health for the last few years and couldn’t keep the place up. We’ve all pitched in, helped him with his livestock, things like that. But he was a proud old coot. He wouldn’t let anybody do much to help him.”
Struggling to hide the dismay she felt, Marielle answered him calmly. “It’s okay. I don’t see anything that a few coats of paint and some elbow grease can’t fix.” She’d be darned if she’d give this arrogant stranger the satisfaction of knowing how upset she really was at the condition of the place.
He gaped at her for a second. “You don’t mean that you’re actually going to try and live here?”
“I’m not going to try and live here—” She began.
“I didn’t think so,” he interrupted, and laughed shortly. “You’d have to be crazy to even consider it. My name’s Trey Masterson and I’m guessing you’re Dan’s niece from New York. I own the spread next to this one. I’m prepared to offer you a decent price for the place because I want the land.” He frowned. “Old Dan’s lawyer was supposed to tell you that. It would have saved you a trip out here.”
“He did mention an offer,” Marielle replied, “From a Peter J. Masterson.” She quirked an eyebrow at him inquiringly.
“The third,” he said. “Peter James Masterson III. That’s me—Trey.”
Marielle faced him squarely. “Mr. Masterson … Trey, you misunderstood me. I wasn’t going to try and live here—I’m going to live here. That’s why I told Uncle Dan’s lawyer to refuse your offer and why I’m refusing it now.”
He stared at her, disbelieve etched on his features. “Lady, you can’t live here—”
“I most certainly can live here,” Marielle broke in.
“It’s my property. And by the way, my name is Marielle Stevens—not ‘lady’. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve had a long day and I want to get my things in the house. Thanks for bringing me here.” She started down the path to the front porch, calling out a dismissive “good night” on the way.
Stepping gingerly over the sagging boards of the front porch, she reached the door. The attorney had told her that if a key existed, he didn’t know its whereabouts. Apparently everyone was on the honor system up here. She turned the knob and pushed, and the door swung inward, creaking.
A tiny moan escaped her lips as she surveyed they room before her. Like the outside, this was not what she remembered. When she’d been here that long-ago summer, this room had possessed a homespun coziness. She recalled comfortable chintz furniture, ruffled curtains at the windows and braided rugs scarred around on gleaming, wide-planked floors.
Now the room looked anything but cozy. In the dim light that filtered through the tattered remnants hanging over the windows, she could see that the couch and chair were covered with what looked like horse blankets. Magazines, newspapers and related materials were stacked haphazardly on every available surface, including the scuffed and dusty floor. She noticed several empty bottles strewn around. Leather items of various sorts hung from nails on the walls, along with miscellaneous ropes, chains, and other items that Marielle was unable to identify. Nearly giddy with fatigue and shock, she wondered hysterically if her great-uncle had been in to S & M. This place was a warehouse of goodies for anyone devoted to bondage and kinky sex! She giggled weakly.
At a noise behind her, she spun around to find Trey standing behind her, smirking.
“Home sweet home,” he commented sardonically. “I’m glad you’ve got a sense of humor. You’ll need one, if you try to stick with your crazy idea to stay here.” He gestured to a long-necked bottle with an inch or so of amber-colored liquor in it. “Dan drank.” His tone was loaded with meaning.
“Is the whole place like this?” she asked him, dreading the answer.
“Yes, ma’am, it is. Like this—or worse. To be fair about it, Dan Kept the place up pretty well, even with his drinking, until his health started to decline a couple of years ago. Then it started to go downhill fast. He was in the hospital and then a nursing home for several months before he died. So nobody was here to maintain it at all except for a few of us seeing to the basic upkeep. But”-he shook his head ruefully—” by that time it was pretty far gone.”
“I … I had no idea,” Marielle said slowly, feeling a sense of guilt at her ignorance about her great-uncle. “His letters were always cheerful and upbeat.”
“You can’t blame yourself for not knowing,” Trey said. “Dan was a very private person.”
She sank down on the couch and coughed when dust puffed up around her. “What about his stock?” she inquired. “Mr. Greely … the lawyer, told me that Uncle Dan raised sheep.”
“That’s true. He did. His animals are grazing with mine.” He looked at her appraisingly. “I’m sure you don’t understand this, but there’s a lot more involved than just turning them out to graze. They have to be inoculated against diseases, treated for parasites, assisted with lambing, sheared, sipped … It was easier for me to tend them on my place along with my own, rather than try and send my help over here to take care of them. I’ll make you a fair offer on the sheep, too.”
“I understand more than you’re giving me credit for,” she told him, beginning to feel irritated at his condescending tone. “I realize that there’s more to it than simply letting them eat grass. But I don’t think that it’s anything I can’t handle.” Actually, she’d gone to the library and given herself a crash course in sheep farming before leaving New York. But she wasn’t about to tell him that. “Thanks for taking care of the sheep. But they aren’t for sale. I plan on—”
“You have got to be out of your ever-loving mind!” he bellowed. “I can’t imagine why you’d even think that you want to live out here and try to put this ranch back on its feet.” He glared at her. She noticed a muscle twitching in his jaw. “But whatever misguided notions you might have … you can’t do it! Dan talked to us a little bit about you, his only surviving relative. He was proud of your important job in the city, told us how you went to art gallery openings and all the Broadway plays. You wouldn’t last a week out here in these mountains. It’
s impossible.”
Marielle rose from the couch, trying to control her indignation. Who did he think he was? She faced him squarely. “Listen,” she began. “Get this straight. I … am … going … to … live … here. I am going to do my level best to get this ranch operating again. It’s not very big, according to the survey and description the attorney sent me. I’ll admit that I don’t know much about it, but I can learn. Besides, I’m sure that I can hire someone to help me, someone who does know what needs to be done and how to do it. And”—she took a deep, steadying breath—” I’d appreciate it if you’d quit calling me crazy just because you don’t agree with my decision to stay.”
He stared at her for a long moment before answering. “Okay. I’m sorry. I won’t say you’re crazy anymore. But I’ll tell you what I will say when you come begging me to take this place off your hands. I’ll say I told you so.” He shook his head and removed the wide-brimmed Stetson he wore, and then raked his fingers through his hair before replacing the hat. “Now—”
“Now,” Marielle interrupted. “I’m tired and I and to get some rest.”
“But—”
“No more discussion, please.” She crossed to the open front door and stood by it, indicating her desire for him to leave. “I’ll see you later, I’m sure. Good night.”
He stood where he was, and opened his mouth to speak.
“Please, just go,” Marielle repeated wearily.
He nodded slowly, and then started for the open door. When he reached the threshold, he turned to her, “But—”
Marielle let out an exasperated sigh. “For heaven’s sake, go away. No doubt there are probably all kinds of important things I need to know about. But I’m just not up to it tonight.” She felt desperately tired. In fact, she was swaying with weariness. She had to get a few things in from the Jeep, wash up, and lie down. And oh, yeah, she thought, find the bathroom—soon.
With a shrug, Trey turned back around and left. Marielle watched his truck disappear down the drive, and then went outside to begin unpacking the Jeep. Just a few things, she told herself—clean linens, toiletries, the box of groceries she’d picked up in Cheyenne and the all-important coffeemaker. She got everything she needed inside the house and set it all down in the living room. Now where was that bathroom? She remembered it being at the back of the little house, probably an add-on, she realized now. Switching on a lamp, she was relieved to see that the electricity was working.
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