A Cowboy and a Promise

by Pam Crooks

  “Ava, huh?” Brock grinned. “You say her name like you two are already friendly.”

  Beau grunted. “Hardly. She’s here to build that damn resort, remember?”

  His brother’s grin faded. “Yeah, that.”

  “She hit it off with Mom, though. Going to be a hell of a pair, those two.”

  Brock sighed and grasped the can of lubricant. “At least we have Dad on our side. And Jace.”

  Four Paxton men against two stubborn females. Would it be enough? “I’ll let you know what Nash says.”

  “Do that.”

  Beau headed toward the Big House until Brock called his name. He turned back.

  “Nothing like a beautiful woman to liven things up around here, eh?” Brock asked, a teasing glint in his eyes.

  Beau scowled. Resumed walking.

  “She’s a pain in the ass,” he said over his shoulder.

  And as much as he hated to admit it, he couldn’t wait to see her again.

  Chapter Four

  The sound of Ava’s running shoes pounding the dirt struck a staccato that was starkly different than she was accustomed to. Jogging on a country road didn’t compare to a track at the gym or a sidewalk at the park and definitely not a treadmill.

  But the more she ran, the more she liked running in the country. Blackstone Ranch country. Especially in the morning, when it was this peaceful. Secluded, like she was the only human being on earth. The isolation invigorated her, stole away all sense of time, and left her feeling like she could keep running and never stop.

  Until the faint crunch of tires behind her provided a stark reminder of just how alone she was. And vulnerable. Her thumb moved to the trigger of her Mace cartridge; she veered to the edge of the road to give the vehicle room to pass.

  The tires drew closer, and she tuned into the low hum of the engine. The vehicle showed no inclination of increasing its speed to drive past; clearly, the driver was following her at a predatory pace.

  Her heart rate accelerated. Maybe she should bolt off the road into the cactus and brush growing alongside. It’d be easier for her than the vehicle to dodge the maze of rocks and vegetation, and she’d have the advantage…

  She threw a wary glance over her shoulder, onto a red Ford pickup. Her alarm eased. Her steps slowed. The truck rolled up next to her, and, finally, she stopped.

  Beau braked, and she glared at him through the open passenger window. He looked relaxed in the driver’s seat, one wrist draped over the steering wheel, oblivious to the scare he’d given her.

  Not that she’d admit he had.

  He pulled off his sunglasses and tossed them onto the dash. Beneath the brim of his Stetson, his gray eyes centered on her. “You’re up early.”

  His voice, low and unhurried, ushered in a fantasy of what it’d be like to hear that sound in the morning. First thing, after she woke up, with muscled arms around her and a long, hard body pressed to hers…

  She swiped her arm across her sweaty forehead and wished she could swipe the fantasy away, too.

  “So are you,” she panted.

  “Knew you were a runner,” he murmured.

  “Oh? How?”

  His mouth softened; clearly, his thoughts were his own and they entertained him. “I could tell, that’s all.”

  “My vice.”

  “A good one. Used to run a lot when I was in the military.”

  “Which branch?” The question came out before she could stop it, her desire to know more about him getting the best of her.

  “Army. Special Forces.”

  Her brow lifted. “I’m impressed.”

  He would’ve trained harder than most anyone, in ways she couldn’t imagine, let alone come close to accomplishing. He’d endured physical hardships while learning to protect their country, and how could she be less than grateful to him for that?

  “Be smart about running alone out here,” he said. “Anything can happen.”

  She held up her Mace. “Got it covered.”

  He nodded once, slowly. “That’s a start.”

  Ava set her hands on her hips and glanced down the road, finding the tiny shape of her cottage in the distance, her Toyota parked in front. Her breathing had regulated. She was ready to run again, and time was ticking. “Look. Thanks for the advice, but I don’t need babysitting. Got to go. Can’t be late for the meeting with your mother.”

  “Get in. I’ll give you a ride.”

  She resumed her jog. Confine herself in the truck cab with a man who stirred her nerve endings into a tingling mess? “No, thanks.”

  “Your call.”

  The pickup rolled lazily alongside her. She could feel him watching her, but she kept running, her focus on putting one foot after the other so she wouldn’t focus on him.

  “You got something to say, Beau?” she finally demanded.

  “Talked to Nash last night.”

  “Who’s he?”

  “Our deputy in town. He did some checking on the kid who took your purse.”

  That got her attention. Whatever information Beau had must be important for him to seek her out this early in the morning.

  She glanced over at him. “And?”

  “There’s a veterans memorial park located a few blocks off the highway. The security camera picked up an old truck that was parked there. Footage showed two people inside, until a long-haired male wearing a black T-shirt and baggy pants got out and started walking toward the gas station. The driver, appearing to be male as well, stayed behind.” Beau fell silent for a long moment. “We both know what happened after that.”

  “Why be dropped off at the park?” she asked between breaths. “Why not just drive to the station?”

  “The million-dollar question.”

  Ava kept running. Strange deal, the driver not accompanying his passenger, hanging back while the kid got himself into trouble.

  “The males are brothers. Both live on a spread about twenty-five miles from here,” Beau added. “Nash ran the plates on the pickup. Seems the kid lied about his name. He’s actually Donnie Templeton. Seventeen years old. His brother is Will Templeton. Sons of Bud Templeton, a troublemaker around these parts.”

  “A troublemaker? How?”

  “Long story. I won’t bore you with the details.”

  Breathing hard, she slowed to a walk, her car within reach. She didn’t speak again until she was beside it; she inhaled, exhaled, gave herself time to breathe normally. The pickup rolled to a stop.

  “Here,” Beau said. “Take a drink.”

  His arm extended through the open window, he held out a water bottle with its contents half gone. Which meant he’d drank out of that bottle, and not a chance she was going to touch her lips to where his had been.

  “Thanks, but no thanks. Got plenty inside,” she said stiffly.

  A corner of his mouth quirked, as if he had trouble holding back a remark at her expense. “Suit yourself, but don’t drink the well water.”

  Did he know why she refused the water bottle? Did he think she was a prude? Was she that transparent?

  She knew how she must look—face flushed, hair pinned back and damp, a sheen of sweat covering her skin.

  She couldn’t look any worse.

  She straightened. “If Donnie’s dad is a troublemaker, maybe the kid lied to the deputy to keep him from making the connection. As in, assuming that if his dad’s trouble, Donnie might be, too.”

  “Would’ve been better if he’d just told the truth. He didn’t have a record. Nash let him go, but he’s going to do some more checking. Something doesn’t read right on those two.”

  “We’ll probably never see them again.”

  Beau grunted and glanced away. “Let’s hope.”

  “Meaning?”

  He leveled those gray eyes on her. “Meaning, keep the cabin door locked. Your car doors, too.”

  “I’m from the big city, remember?”

  “We don’t know where Donnie and his brother went. Nash couldn’t
get ahold of their father. Those kids could be anywhere, and that includes here on the ranch.”

  She shook her head. “They don’t know me, and I don’t know them. They’d have no reason to come looking for me.”

  “Donnie knows you had a wad of cash in your purse. Make sure the money’s in a safe place. Out of sight.”

  “Are you trying to scare me, Beau? Well, it’s not working.”

  “Just giving you the facts, ma’am,” he drawled.

  “If this is your version of sending me packing, that’s not going to work, either.” She glanced at the fitness tracker strapped to her wrist. “It’s late. I’ll have to hurry to meet your mother on time.” Ava stepped onto the porch. “Thank you for a most pleasant conversation.”

  He took his sunglasses from the dash and slid them on. “Don’t get too comfortable around here, Ava. Things are going to change real soon.”

  Yes, sirree, Ava mused, watching him drive away. Now that she was ready to get to work, things were going to change all right.

  And he was just going to have to get used to it.

  *

  Erin’s photos didn’t do the ghost town justice.

  Ava’s tour of the abandoned buildings was more fascinating than she expected. Ginny had been married to Duane for almost forty years, and during that time, she became quite the family historian, learning plenty of delicious tidbits relating to the demise of the little mining community once called Paxville.

  “They built this style of house because they were cheap, erected easily, and were relatively cool in the summer,” Ginny said as they stood in front of one structure barely twelve feet wide.

  “Shotgun houses,” Ava murmured, admiring the paint-chipped gingerbread trim that still remained along the porch. “A shotgun blast through the front door would fire through clear to the back door without hitting a thing.”

  “That’s right.” Ginny smiled beneath the wide brim of her straw hat. “The design is ingenious, isn’t it? Opening the windows allows the air to circulate and cool the house relatively quickly.”

  She smiled, too. “They will make perfect guesthouses, Ginny.” She surveyed the twenty or so structures scattered around her, each in various stages of disrepair. “Just the right size for a couple or a small family to stay in while enjoying the resort. We’ll have to add plumbing, of course, but with the kitchens in the back, that will be a cinch.”

  “A functioning kitchenette would be nice, wouldn’t it?”

  “It’s necessary. Restaurants in town are too far away. We want the guests to stay as long as they wish without the burden of having to drive somewhere to eat.”

  “Well, we don’t want them to have to cook every meal, either, unless they want to. After all, they’re on vacation. Which brings me to my next idea. Come this way, Ava.”

  Ginny headed down a weed-strewn path that would’ve been the town’s main street in its day. She made for a contrast of casual elegance in a desolate place with her flowing linen blouse, white summer jeans, and leather sandals.

  A class act all the way.

  Ava tried not to compare her own attire—jeans, T-shirt, steel-toed work boots. They were on the jobsite, after all, but even so, she hoped she passed muster for this woman. Disappointing her would be devastating.

  Ginny stopped in front of a stone building shaded by a large elm tree growing in the yard. “This was Duane’s grandfather’s house. He got rich mining out here, and he made sure everyone knew it. He was well-known for his extravagance. He made his home as fine as any in the city.”

  Ava drew closer and examined the exterior, noting its roughness but its stability, too. “Concrete blocks. Were they hauled in?”

  “No. They were made with sand from the banks of the lake.”

  “Well made, I might add.” She tilted her head back. “The roof needs repairing, though it’s in good shape, considering.”

  “Only the best for Rupert Paxton,” Ginny said drily. “Come inside.”

  Ava followed her through a doorway that had long since lost its door and entered the main room. The area was dim, surprisingly cool, and its sheer size drew her smile.

  She met Ginny’s glance. “You’re thinking of putting a restaurant in here, aren’t you?”

  “Do you think it could be done?”

  Her mind organized the process—remove the walls to open the space further, raise the ceiling height, add on to the back for a commercial-sized kitchen.

  “Absolutely,” she said. “I think your idea is perfect. We could keep it open year-round and make it a bar and grill, family-oriented but ideal for newlyweds, too. Or retired couples.”

  “Everyone!” Ginny laughed and drew Ava in for a quick hug. “We think so much alike. As much as I miss Erin not being here, I’m glad you are in her place.”

  Ava’s throat constricted. Ginny meant well, but her compliment merely reminded Ava how much she missed her friend, too.

  “Thank you,” she managed without her voice cracking.

  Ginny drew back with a glance to her watch. “Oh, dear. It’s getting late, and I have to feed Duane. I’m not usually gone this long, but I want to introduce you to Roger before I go. I know he’s here somewhere.”

  She headed out the doorway. Shifting focus to job details, Ava trailed behind, jotting notes on her touchscreen tablet and snapping several photos; she gave the place a brief once-over to commit her ideas to memory before hurrying outside to join Ginny.

  Ava found her in the yard with a scruffy-bearded, wiry man in a T-shirt and shorts, and Ava guessed he was Roger Mulligan. Since he was hired as the project’s general contractor, she had spoken to him numerous times on the phone before coming to the Blackstone Ranch, but she imagined him looking less, well, scruffy.

  “Well, now, this must be Ava Howell.” His gravelly voice carried a drawl. “Damn, ain’t you pretty!”

  He probably said the same thing to every female he met, and while some might take offense, she warmed to the words. She smiled and grasped his hand, noting the smattering of tattoos on his arms. He had to be in his fifties, with long, gray hair pulled back into a man bun.

  “So nice to put a face to a name,” she said. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

  “Likewise, ma’am. When y’all are ready, I’ll introduce you to the guys. After that, I got a pile of papers to go over with you.”

  “Let’s do it,” she said. She turned back to Ginny. “Will you make it home all right?”

  “Of course I will. You two go on.” Her attention seemed caught on a pickup in the distance. “Don’t mind me. I’ll talk to you soon, Ava.”

  Promising they would, Ava fell into step with Roger. He led her to a trailer with an awning stretched out on one end, shading a folding table topped with rolls of blueprints. His crew hovered nearby, two dozen men of all ages and skills, and as he made introductions, she did her best to remember each of their names. By the time he finished, her head was spinning.

  She tackled the blueprints next, using rocks to hold the curled edges down on the table, but though she tried her best to concentrate on the drawings and Roger’s discussion of them, the arrival of the pickup distracted her.

  This one was black with an emblem bearing the Blackstone Ranch name emblazoned on the door. The driver got out—a tall, broad-shouldered cowboy whose build was familiar and alarming and threw her heart into an uneven rhythm.

  She couldn’t keep from staring. The way he moved, graceful and easy, with purpose. He strode around the front hood, opened the passenger door, and spoke to Ginny, who met him coming.

  Ava couldn’t see his face, not clearly, but even as her breath quickened, logic set in. This cowboy’s hat was black, not fawn colored. No sunglasses. Cheeks roughened from morning stubble. Definitely not Beau, and her heart rate eased.

  Duane slid a leg out, then the other. Ginny unfolded his walker, and the cowboy took Duane’s arm, steadying him as he grasped the aluminum bars and balanced on both feet.

  “
That there is Brock Paxton,” Roger said. “Got a twin named Beau.”

  “I know,” she said, sharper than she intended. She took a moment to infuse normalcy into her voice and even managed a smile. “I’ve met Beau. Duane, too.”

  “Well, go on and add Brock to your list. You’ll like him. He’s as good as they come.”

  “From what I hear, he’s against this project.” Her smile tightened. “Just like his brother.”

  Roger chuckled knowingly. “Reckon that’s a problem both them boys need to take up with their mother. Jace with them. We’re just here doing our job, ain’t we?”

  “That’s right. We are.” As far as she was concerned, Brock and even Duane were outnumbered out here. They were in her territory now. “Yes, I’d like to meet Brock. In fact, I should. If you don’t mind…”

  “Go on. I ain’t going nowhere.”

  Ava stepped out from under the awning, smoothing her hair behind her ear and at the back of her neck. Not that it did much good. Her New York Giants baseball cap, a gift from Erin last summer, pretty much confined her short hair in one place, rendering it unfixable no matter what she did.

  She approached Ginny, walking at her husband’s side while Brock pulled a box from the back end of the pickup.

  “Slow down, Duane,” Ginny admonished. “The ground is rough. You’ll fall.”

  He didn’t seem to hear. He eyed Ava instead.

  “There she is,” he boomed, halting. “Ava from the big city.”

  “Hello, Duane. This is a surprise.”

  “Wanted to come out and see what kind of trouble you’re stirring up, that’s all.”

  And then he winked.

  She’d expected resistance from him, like his firstborn-twin son would’ve given her. That Duane appeared to have no such intent allowed her muscles to relax. “Just getting my ducks in a row. The crew is ready to get started as soon as I give the word.”

  He grunted and resumed pushing the walker toward a picnic table placed under a shady elm. “Well, we brought dinner. Might as well join us.”

  Her step faltered. Have dinner with them, like she was part of their family? Like Erin would be?