Throwing back the covers, Coop hit the shower. He’d squandered too much of his rodeo earnings on a truck, and on beer and women. Coop let the water sluice over his body until it ran cold. He was sure his dad wouldn’t be any happier with him at the moment than Sully was. Matt Drummond had been a peacemaker. Not liking the direction of his thoughts, Coop slapped off the faucets, dried quickly and dressed.
The late-June sky was streaked purple, red and orange when he threw his duffel bag into the pickup’s cab and made his way out of Laredo to the McHenry spread. Summer heat would soon shimmer off the asphalt highway.
Bob McHenry was a big, bald, tobacco-chewing guy, who spat twice before telling Cooper he was darned sorry, but he’d already hired a horse trainer.
Coop thanked him and returned to his pickup after asking if he could water his horses at Bob’s nearby trough. The whole spread was a nice, well-kept ranch, staked out by white tri-rail fences. Coop was disappointed he’d shown up too late. He would’ve liked working here, he thought.
“Hey, champ.” A gnarled cowboy with a booming voice called out as Cooper watered his horses. He glanced around and spotted a bowlegged man pulling off his gloves after he climbed over the fence.
“Bob McHenry gave me permission,” Coop said, thinking the cowboy was worried that he was up to no good.
Instead, the guy stuck out a hand. “Rafer James. You rode against my brother Lowell twice at the Mesquite rodeo. Beat him by seconds both times.”
“Sure, I know Lowell. How is he? I quit the circuit myself after last season, but I don’t recall seeing Lowell at the finals.”
“He met a gal from Montana, got married and then drew a bad hoss in an off-circuit rodeo. Crushed his hip against the chute. It never healed right. His wife wanted him to give up rodeoing, anyway. Her dad retired, so they took over running his feed store up near Bozeman.”
Coop pursed his lips as Rafer asked him what he was doing in Laredo. “I saw the ad Bob placed for a horse trainer. He said he already hired someone, so I’ll get on up the road and see if anyone needs a hand for summer haying, or maybe moving cows to a summer range.”
The other man stuffed a stick of chewing gum in his mouth. “Things are tight in this part of the country, what with the bad economy and all. I’ve heard of a widow with a little kid, a daughter, who lives outside Carrizo Springs. She can’t afford to pay scale, so she doesn’t keep a hand for long. Seems she’s barely hanging on since her husband died in a drunken brawl that ended in gunplay. Something else. The guys say she’s a looker.” The man nudged Coop’s arm. “Up to now she’s sent away any cowboy with ideas of getting into her bed. But, Champ, with your reputation on the circuit attracting buckle bunnies, I’ll bet you can score. Unless the low wage drives you off.”
Not sure he liked that picture of himself, Coop gathered his horses. “Isn’t helping women in distress the unwritten code of the west?” he snapped.
“Whoa, there. I guess you think all those wins puts you up on a pedestal. I meant no offense to the widow. I’m only passing along rumors. Take the tip or leave it, I gotta get back to seeding a field.”
The cowboy hobbled off. Deep down his jab reminded Coop too much of Sully’s accusations, which made it rankle all the more. Perhaps guys like Rafer thought it was cool to have rodeo groupies always hanging around. It wasn’t all that great. Coop liked women, and had no doubt taken advantage of some who were available on the circuit. But the past couple of years that lifestyle had gotten old.
Which was one reason Coop didn’t immediately strike out for Carrizo Springs. Meandering in that direction, because it was how the single-lane highway ran, he stopped at every ranch he passed to see if anyone was hiring.
At two of those places the owners also mentioned the widow. Coop wasn’t sure he wanted to get tangled up with a needy woman. He liked women who were successful in their own right.
One other thing about the network of drifter cowboys, news traveled quickly and efficiently. At a ranch near Artesia Wells, a ranch hand who’d recently been looking for work along the I-35 corridor told Coop the Triple D up near Hondo wanted to hire a part-time ranch manager. Just from now until Christmas.
Coop felt guilty. Not enough to backtrack and go home, but enough to take a more direct route to Carrizo Springs. The widow remained his ace in the hole, so to speak.
Then, luckily, he was able to hire on temporarily at a ranch outside Asherton. For three days he helped with branding, filling in for a cowboy who’d sprained his rope-throwing wrist. Branding was a hot, dirty, smelly business, but it earned Cooper some ready cash and a chance to shoot the breeze each evening with likeminded men, although most of this crew were Hispanic and only a few spoke English. The plus was that none of them seemed to have heard of Coop’s rodeo achievements. Or if they had, they didn’t put it together with the scruffy drifter who’d landed in their midst. And they sure didn’t connect him to the well-known Triple D Ranch.
The first night after Coop had taken his turn in the shower and shaved, the youngest crew member joked that Coop looked too pretty to throw steers out of a chute and hold them down for branding. Coop just laughed. An older man, Alonzo, took out a harmonica as they sat watching the sun set, so Coop went to his pickup and got a guitar he used to play on the circuit to ease his nerves. For two evenings all the guys enjoyed playing universally popular tunes often used to quiet restless herds being driven to market. At the close of day three, Coop’s tenure on this ranch ended. He felt bad saying adios to his new friends. Also, he didn’t like this way of grabbing a few days of work here and there. He’d prefer a steady job.
Several miles out of Carrizo Springs he pulled into a lay-by and sat there for the longest time, reconsidering whether or not to go home—supposing home was still the Triple D. He needed to decide if he wanted it to be.
It was nine miles to Carrizo Springs according to his GPS. He could drive straight through the town, and take highway 83 to Uvalde. Then at the junction it would be a straight shot to Hondo and back to the Triple D. Jud Rayburn had told him that the house where he’d grown up sat empty. Sully and Blythe had built a new home on the vast acreage, nearer to Blythe’s clinic.
Continuing to waffle about whether he was ready to let Sully become his boss, Coop left the lay-by. He stopped in Carrizo Springs for fuel, and for a bite to eat at a barbecue restaurant whose good smell enticed him from the gas station. It was a homey place, where the older waitress was friendly. She quickly spotted Coop for a stranger in town.
In the course of serving up mouthwatering ribs, she wormed out of him that he was an out-of-work cowboy. The waitress—Janey, according to her uniform tag—refilled the cola Coop drained. “Kinda close to summer for spreads around here to be hiring,” she said. “But there’s a woman ranch owner near here who’s down on her luck. She has a young child. She could use a jack-of-all-trades.” Janey looked Coop over. “I guess you’ve got enough muscle, and calluses on your hands, to fit that bill. That is, if you don’t have monkey business on your mind.”
“Monkey business, how?” Coop asked, as if he didn’t know what she meant.
“She doesn’t put up with any hanky-panky.”
“Gotcha,” Coop responded, but he rolled his eyes as he bit into a fat, juicy rib. He polished off his meal, paid the check and left Janey a good tip. At his pickup, he decided there was still enough daylight to take a run past the no-hanky-panky widow’s ranch. Just for a look-see, he told himself.
Her ranch wasn’t large enough to have a name, but Janey had provided decent directions. Coop saw the house first. In the fading sunlight it looked more than weathered. The clapboard was in need of paint. The porch ran downhill. Coop guessed a section under one end had rotted out. The barn appeared to be in even worse condition if that was possible. Round water troughs, half-buried in the ground, lacked water. Thirsty cattle milled around.
Coop slammed on his brakes. Several head of cattle had strayed through a broken section of wire fencing. In the di
stance he saw a skinny woman—a blonde, he thought—who had a small child hanging on to her jacket, attempting to shoo the animals back into the now-open enclosure.
“Hold on,” Coop yelled after he set his brake and rolled down one window. “I’ll come give you a hand.”
The woman’s head jerked around in surprise, as if she hadn’t heard his engine and had no idea anyone was on the road.
Cooper swept up the straw cowboy hat he wore when working out in the sun, and leaped down from the cab. He began turning the closest cattle back into the would-be enclosure.
The two of them eventually made headway. She from one side of the road, he from the other. At last the final stubborn steer in the group of maybe two dozen crossed over the squashed wire. Facing the woman, who stood closer to him now, Coop dragged his shirtsleeve across his brow to blot sweat he’d worked up. When he opened his eyes and took in the slender woman who’d yanked off her hat to fan her face, shock traveled from his suddenly tight jaw straight to his toes.
Though a great deal thinner, and her sky-blue eyes far more lackluster than when he’d last seen her, the much-talked-about widow was none other than Cooper’s first love, Willow Courtland. Willow, who’d married his archenemy. Well, maybe calling Tate Walker his archenemy went a little far. But it had certainly been no secret around Hondo that Coop and Tate were bitter rivals. In school. In sports. And most assuredly for the affections of the woman staring at him now with total, abject shock on her face. Shock that mirrored the gut-twisting impact Cooper felt. Mouth dry, he couldn’t speak.
Chapter Two
Willow Walker tried to blink away her shock. Tried to blink away what surely had to be an illusion. Thoughts of Cooper Drummond had filled her head so often since he went off to rodeo, she’d undergone a flash of hope, soon coupled with disbelief, and yes— vulnerability. She didn’t want him to see her like this. Stringy hair. Grubby from chasing stupid steers. Down on her luck. Was she really close enough to reach out and touch the man she’d loved for more than half her life, the man she’d sent away and sworn to give up?
Neither of them spoke a word, adding to the surreal atmosphere. Willow couldn’t have made a comment now if her life depended on it. There was a lump the size of Texas stuck in her throat. Suddenly she felt a tug on her limp hand, and Willow glanced down, cupping a sweaty palm reassuringly around her daughter’s curly hair.
Tension continued to sing through the air as the cattle lowed and jostled one another for a spot circling the nearly empty, buried water barrel. Coop walked over to inspect it, and hung his hat on one of the surviving fence posts. Good sense screamed at him to hop back in his pickup and drive on down the road, code of the west be damned. He couldn’t help the anger bubbling up inside him. He had five years of needing to vent his spleen at Willow bottled up.
Standing stiffly, allowing his gaze to slide over her from head to toe, what slammed Cooper in the chest was seeing her so thin, with an ever-growing wariness in dull blue eyes that used to sparkle all the time.
Something else tugged at his conscience. The skittish child hiding behind Willow. Tate Walker’s kid. Coop’s stomach tumbled and spun. He found it harder to swallow. He gritted his teeth to hold on to the old memories that told how long he’d nursed a broken heart thanks to this woman. The longer he stood silently clenching and unclenching his hands, the more Coop realized that his feelings for Willow weren’t as dead as he’d like them to be. His earlier assessment of her home, her barn, her ranch and her appearance left him with a sharp concern for her well-being—a nagging worry about her immediate predicament. She was a widow.
Finding his voice, he said in a rush, “Look, I heard via the grapevine that you’re in a bind here and could use some help. I didn’t know it was you, Willow. But for old times’ sake, I can lend a hand for a few days.”
Choking on her embarrassment—because in the back of her mind Willow thought Coop had come in search of her—she managed to shake her head. The love she’d once had for Cooper Drummond fled, to be replaced by panic. He shouldn’t be here. She didn’t want him witnessing the depths to which she’d sunk. Scraping back her hair, she finally stammered, “I’m fine. I don’t know why anyone would say I need help. I’m fine. Fine,” she reiterated more loudly, but dropped her hand to hide its shaking. “What are you doing here, anyway, Cooper? Why aren’t you off at some rodeo?”
Her questions battered his unsteady senses. Willow was nowhere near as receptive to his offer as she ought to be, given the state of her ranch.
Avoiding eye contact with him, she scooped up her daughter and backed away.
The move gave Coop a clearer look at the child, age three or so, he’d guess. A small-boned, delicate, brown-haired girl with huge hazel eyes. In spite of her darker coloring, Cooper saw more of a young Willow in her daughter than he saw of his old nemesis, Tate Walker. But Tate was represented, too, in those hazel eyes.
Wilting under his scrutiny, Willow backed up farther.
Coop noticed right away how nervous she seemed, as if she was afraid of him. That made him reel. Surely Willow couldn’t think he’d ever hurt her or any kid! Or that he’d held a grudge because of the callous way she dumped him. Still, Coop had to glance off into the distance to relax the tension cramping his jaw.
Once he felt at ease, he returned to her questions. “Willow, I’ve got eyes. Even if I hadn’t heard at ranches along the route that you could use an all-around hand, this broken fence is plainly in need of muscle.” He managed a halfhearted smile and playfully flexed an arm. Pride kept him from admitting that he’d left the rodeo. After all, their whole blow-up had been centered around his need to prove he could win big riding broncs, and her displeasure with that. “I’m just passing through,” he said. “But I can spare some time to help you catch up on a few chores around this place.”
“Just passing through on your way to the next rodeo?” she retorted.
With his fingers curling into his thighs, Cooper debated continuing to withhold information about his personal life that was really none of her business.
But what the hell, he decided in the next breath. A lot of years had rolled by since their split. “I guess you could say I got smart. I sure got tired of being dumped on my butt. The rodeo’s out of my system. For the past six months or so, I’ve hired on to work at various ranches. Chasing strays. Branding. Helping with roundup.” He raised one shoulder negligently.
A small frown appeared on Willow’s face. “Pardon me for sounding nosy, but why are you signing on with various ranches? Why aren’t you home working at the Triple D?”
Shifting away from her cool eyes, which pinned him down and made him flush guiltily, Coop grabbed his hat and settled it firmly on his head. Jiggling the post to see how solid it was, he blew out a sigh. “You probably don’t know, since you moved away from Hondo, but Sullivan and I had a falling-out. You could call it a major disagreement. Many of them.”
“Hmm. I see. That explains why you got this far down south, I suppose. However, none of it changes the fact that I really can’t afford your services, Cooper.” Now Willow drew in a huge breath and let it out in a heavy sigh.
“How do you fill your water barrels?” he asked. “You’ve got a passel of thirsty cows.”
“I used to fill this one with a hose, but it split in a few spots, and most of the water leaks out between here and the well house. There’s a pond on the property. I try to drive the cattle there twice a day. The silly things prefer to bolt through the fence to get to the stream across the road and down the hill. I’m lucky it’s not a well-traveled highway.”
“Maybe I can repair the hose temporarily with duct tape. I have a roll in my pickup. Unless you have couplings in the barn, the type to splice a hose.”
She shook her head. “Don’t trouble yourself. I tried duct tape, but the hose split in other spots. The sun will set soon, Coop. I’m not sure where you’re heading next, but there are a number of fair-size cattle spreads up around Crystal City. You might
find work that pays decent wages.”
“Let’s not discuss money. I can afford to donate a few days to an old friend.”
Rallying momentarily, Willow grimaced and said, “Careful who you’re calling old, Cooper Drummond. I’m a whole year younger than you, remember?” She expected him to laugh, but he studied her acutely and remained sober.
“I must look a sight,” she mumbled, pausing to bury her blushing face in her silent daughter’s shoulder. “I… It’s getting late. I’ve been outside working all day.”
“You look tired,” Coop said diplomatically, really thinking she seemed tense and frazzled.
Willow flung out a hand. “Obviously you heard about Tate’s death on your travels. This ranch isn’t big by any stretch of the imagination. But I can’t seem to keep up with everything that needs doing. Six months ago I decided to sell and listed with a Realtor in town. There’s only been one lookie-loo and no takers. I haven’t actually done a detailed count of my herd, but I believe I own about two hundred Angus steers. If I can figure out how to get them to market, that’ll cut my workload a lot.”
Coop surveyed the milling cattle. “You need to fatten them up if you hope to make any money off them at summer market. It’s time to start adding corn to the grass they’re still finding to graze on.” He purposely didn’t remark on her husband’s death. Still, Willow’s eyes seemed a bit vague to Cooper.
Bending, he reset a couple of metal posts the steers had pushed down. He jammed the tips into the soil with nothing more than brute force, then manhandled the wire fencing back on to hooks that lined the posts. Breathing hard, he said, “That’ll only hold until the next adventurous cow bumps against it.” He waved toward his color-coordinated truck and trailer. “I’m hauling two of my cutting horses. Why don’t I saddle and bridle one, and drive these escape artists over to your pond? After that I can figure out what else is a priority around here.”
The Maverick Returns Page 2