A Cowboy Comes Home

by Barbara Dunlop

  “If he wanted to be free,” she offered reasonably, “he’d have left with you in the first place.”

  Caleb’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you want him back here so badly?”

  Mandy wasn’t sure how to answer the question. What she wanted was for Caleb and Reed to reconcile. She wanted the ranch to stay in the Terrell family for Reed’s children, for Sasha’s grandchildren. Reed had sacrificed ten years to protect his heritage. Caleb had no business pulling it out from under him.

  Caleb watched the last of the dozen pieces of paper disappear into the ranch house office fax machine. The machine emitted a series of beeps and buzzes that indicated the pages were successfully reaching the Lyndon real-estate office.

  “You did it, didn’t you?” Mandy’s accusing voice came from the office doorway. It was full dark, and the ranch yard lights outside the window mingled with the glow of the desk lamp and the stream of illumination from the upstairs hallway. Danielle had retired to the guest room half an hour ago. Caleb thought Mandy had already left.

  “The Terrell Cattle Company is officially for sale,” he replied, swiping the pages from the cache tray and straightening them into a neat pile.

  “You’re making a mistake,” said Mandy.

  “It’s my mistake to make.”

  She moved into the room. “Did you ever stop to wonder why he did it?”

  “Reed or Wilton?”

  “Your father.”

  Caleb nodded. “I did. For about thirty-six hours straight. I called Reed half a dozen times after I left my lawyer’s office that day. I thought he might have some answers. But he didn’t call back. And eventually his voice-mail box was full and I knew it was hopeless.”

  “Danielle’s office?”

  “Different lawyer.”

  “Oh.”

  Caleb set down the papers and turned to prop himself against the lip of the desk. “I guessed maybe Reed and the old man had a fight, and leaving me the ranch was Wilton’s revenge.”

  “They had about a thousand fights.”

  Caleb gave a cold chuckle. “Wilton fought with me, too. A guy couldn’t do anything right when it came to my old man. If you piled the manure to the right, he wanted it to the left. You used the plastic manure fork, you should have used the metal one. You started brushing from the front of the horse, you should have started from the back—” He stopped himself. Just talking about it made his stomach churn. How the hell Reed had put up with it for ten extra years was beyond Caleb. The guy deserved a medal.

  “My theory,” said Mandy, moving farther into the dimly lit room, “is that once you were gone, he forgot you were such a failure.” An ironic smile took the sting out of her words.

  “While Reed was still here to keep screwing up over and over again?”

  “Got a better theory?”

  “He found my corporation thanks to Google and decided I was worth a damn?” Even as he said the words, Caleb knew it was impossible. He’d spent the better part of his adult life warning himself not to look for his father’s approval. There was nothing down that road but bitter disappointment.

  Mandy perched herself on the inset, cushioned window seat. She was silhouetted now by the lights from the yard. “You have to know you are worth a damn.”

  “You’re too kind.”

  “Reed’s worth a damn, too.”

  “No argument from me.”

  She tucked her feet up onto the wide, bench seat, and he noticed she was wearing whimsical sky-blue-and-pale-pink, mottled socks. It surprised him. Made her seem softer somehow, more vulnerable.

  “I don’t understand why you’re in such a rush to sell,” she said.

  “That’s because you live in the Lyndon Valley and not in Chicago.”

  “Rash decisions are compulsory in Chicago?”

  He moved across the room and took the opposite end of the bench, angling his body toward her and bracing his back against the wall, deciding there was no reason not to give her an explanation. “I’ve had two weeks to think about it.”

  “Reed had ten years.”

  “In many ways, so did I.”

  Mandy shifted her position, smoothing her loose hair back from her face. His gaze hungrily followed her motion.

  “Did you ever wish you’d stayed?”

  He hesitated at the unsettling question, not sure how to answer. Back then, he’d second-guessed himself for months, even years, over leaving Reed. But it all came down to Wilton. “He killed my mother,” Caleb said softly. “I couldn’t reward him for that.”

  “She died of pneumonia.”

  “Because it was left untreated. Because she was terrified of telling him she was sick. Because he would have berated and belittled her for her weakness. Terrells are not weak.”

  “I never thought you were.”

  “I’m not,” he spat, before he realized it wasn’t Mandy he was angry with.

  She tossed back her hair. “Reed wasn’t weak. Yet, he stayed.”

  “He squared it in his head somehow.”

  Reed claimed he wanted to protect his mother’s heritage, since half the ranch had belonged to her family. Which, looking back, was obviously the reason Wilton had married her. The man was incapable of love.

  “She was twenty years younger than him,” Caleb remembered. “Did you know that?”

  “I knew she was younger. I didn’t know by how much. I remember thinking she was beautiful.” Mandy’s voice became introspective. “I remember wishing I could be that beautiful.”

  Caleb couldn’t hold back his opinion. “You are that beautiful.”

  Mandy laughed. “No, I’m not.” She held out her hands. “Calluses. I have calluses. Danielle has a perfect French manicure, and I have calluses.” She peered at her small hands. “I think there might even be dirt under my fingernails.”

  “Danielle has never had to clean tack.”

  “No kidding.”

  “I mean, she lives a completely different life than you do.”

  Mandy’s face twisted into a grimace. “She goes to parties and I shovel manure?”

  “Her world is all about image. Yours is all about practicality.”

  “I’m just a sturdy, little workhorse, aren’t I?”

  “Are you wallowing in self-pity, Mandy Jacobs?”

  She went silent, her glare speaking for her.

  Caleb moved inches closer, fighting a grin of amusement. “Are you by any chance jealous of Danielle?”

  Mandy tossed back her hair in defiance. “Jealous of a stunningly beautiful, elegant, intelligent, successful lawyer, who’s flying off to Rio—”

  “Sao Paulo,” Caleb corrected, enjoying the flash of emotion that appeared deep within Mandy’s green eyes.

  “They’re both in Brazil.”

  “It’s a big country. One’s a beach resort, the other’s full of skyscrapers, banks and boardrooms.” He fought the urge to reach out and touch her. “But I’d take you to Rio if that’s where you wanted to go.”

  She cocked her head sideways. “You’d take me to Rio?”

  “I would.” He dared stroke an index finger across the back of her hand. “We’d dress up, and go dancing at a real club and have blender drinks on the beach. You could even get a manicure if you’d like.”

  “Are you flirting with me?”

  He met her gaze full on. “Absolutely.”

  “You have women like Danielle in your life, and yet you’re flirting with me?”

  “I am.”

  “Why?”

  Caleb debated for a moment before answering. But then he reminded himself he was in Colorado. People were forthright around here. And he owed Mandy no less than she was giving him.

  “Because you’re real,” he told her. “You’re not some plastic package, constructed to appeal to a man’s anthropological triggers. When you laugh, it’s because you’re happy. When you argue, it’s because you have a point to make. And when your eyes smolder, it’s because you’re attracted to me, not because you’v
e spent days and weeks practicing the exact, right look to make a man think you’re interested in him.”

  “I’m not interested in you.”

  “But you are.” He smoothed a stray lock of her hair and tucked it behind one ear. “That’s what’s so amazing about you. Your body language doesn’t lie.”

  “And if my body language slaps you across the face?”

  “I hope it’ll be because I’ve done something to deserve it.” Because, then the slap would be worth it.

  “You’re impossible.” But her voice had gone bedroom husky. Her pupils were dilated, and her dark pink lips were softened, slightly parted.

  “It’s not me you’re fighting,” he told her.

  She didn’t answer. Her breathing grew deeper while a pink flush stained her cheeks.

  He moved the last couple of inches. Then he dared to bracket her face with his hands. Her skin was smooth, warm and soft against his palms. His pulse jumped, desire igniting a buzz deep in his belly.

  He bent his head forward, his lips parting in anticipation of her taste. He hadn’t even kissed her yet, and desire was turning his bloodstream into a tsunami.

  She sucked in a quick breath, her jade-green eyes fluttering closed.

  Caleb could tell stop signals from go signals, and this was definitely a go. Her head tilted sideways, as she leaned into his palm. He crossed the final inches, her sweet breath puffing against his face in the split second before his lips touched hers.

  Desire exploded in his chest. He’d meant it to be a gentle kiss, but raw passion pushed him forward.

  He’d known it would be good, guessed she would taste like ambrosia, but nothing had prepared him for the rush of raw lust that made his arms wrap around her and his entire body harden to steel.

  He opened his mouth, deepening the kiss. She whimpered in surrender, giving him access, her small tongue parrying with his, while his broad palm stroked its way from her waist to her hip, to the curve at the side of her breast.

  He shifted his body, pulling her into his lap, never breaking the kiss as her soft, pert behind settled against him. He raked the satin of her hair out of the way, his fingertips convulsing against her scalp. Her small hands clung to his shoulders, hanging on tight, while her rounded breasts pressed erotically against his chest.

  He wanted to rip off her clothes, push her back on the seat, or down on the floor, and ravage her body until neither of them could see straight. He knew he couldn’t do that, knew he was losing control, knew he had to drag them back to reality before their passion got completely out of control.

  But then her hot hands slid the length of his chest, and he put sanity on hold. She freed the buttons of his cotton shirt, her palms searing into his bare skin.

  His hand closed over her breast, feeling its weight through the fabric of her shirt and the lace of her bra. He kissed her harder, deeper, settling her more firmly on the heat of his need. Her kisses trailed to his chest, over his pecs, across one flat nipple, and he groaned in reaction.

  “We can’t,” he whispered harshly, even as he buried his face in her fragrant hair and prayed she’d keep going.

  She stilled, her breath cooling a damp spot on his bare skin.

  They were both silent for a long moment, while Caleb tried unsuccessfully to bring his emotions under control.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, lips grazing his skin.

  “Are you kidding me?” he breathed. He forced himself to draw back, tipping up her chin and gazing into her passion-clouded eyes. “I have never—”

  The cell phone in her jeans pocket buzzed, startling them both.

  “—ever,” he continued, trying to hold her gaze, reluctant to let the moment go.

  The cell phone buzzed again.

  “Fortuitous?” she asked, seeming to regain her equilibrium.

  “Not the word I would have used.” He sighed.

  She shifted off his lap, slipping her hand into her jeans pocket to retrieve the cell phone.

  “Abigail,” she announced while she pressed the talk button. “Hey, Abby.”

  Caleb couldn’t believe she could sound so normal. He sure wasn’t that capable of turning on a dime like that. Desire was still pulsing its way through his extremities. It was going to be long minutes before he would be able to do anything more than breathe.

  “When?” Mandy asked into the phone, her voice going guttural.

  Her gaze locked on to Caleb’s, fear shooting through her irises. “I don’t—”

  She swayed on her feet, and he instantly leaped to his, holding her steady.

  “Where?” she asked hoarsely, bracing herself by grasping his arm. “Yes. Of course.” She nodded reflexively. “Yes.”

  She was silent for another moment, her hand squeezing his arm in a vice grip. “Right now,” she told her sister. “I’ll be there. Bye.” Her tone was whispered as she lowered the phone.

  “What?” Caleb prompted, his stomach clenching hard. Something had obviously gone terribly wrong.

  “My dad,” she managed, blinking back twin pools of gathering tears. “They think it was a stroke.”

  “Is he…” Caleb couldn’t finish the sentence.

  “The medical airlift is on its way.”

  “How bad?”

  “Numbness, speech problems, confusion.” She broke away from Caleb’s hold. “I have to get home.”

  “I’ll drive you.”

  “No, I can—”

  “I’ll drive you.” There wasn’t a chance in hell he was letting her speed down the dark, dirt ranch road all alone.

  Four

  All the lights were blazing when Mandy and Caleb drove up to the ranch house. Caleb’s rented SUV had barely come to a halt when she flung open her door, feet barely touching the dirt driveway as she sprinted across the porch. She rushed through the entry hall to the big living room.

  There, she saw Seth first, his strong face pinched in concern where he sat on the sofa, holding her mother’s hand. Her sister Abby was furiously hitting keys on the computer, while Travis paced in the middle of the room, obviously ready for action and obviously frustrated because there was nothing he could do to help.

  “Mom.” Mandy rushed forward, sliding down beside her mother and wrapping an arm around her slim shoulders. Her mother’s face was pale, eyes red-rimmed and hollow looking.

  “The helicopter left about five minutes ago,” said Seth.

  “They said there wasn’t room for Mom.” Travis sounded angry.

  Mandy heard Caleb enter the house and cross the foyer behind her, but she didn’t turn. She felt guilty for being attracted to him, guilty for kissing him, guilty as sin for getting lost in his embrace while her father fell ill and collapsed.

  “I’m trying to find her a ticket out of Lyndon for the morning,” Abigail put in.

  “They’re taking him straight to Denver,” said Travis. “There’s a specialist there, a whole team with the latest technology for early stroke intervention.”

  “That sounds good,” Mandy said to her mother, rubbing Maureen’s shoulder with her palm.

  “Damn it. The connection is bogged down again,” said Abigail.

  Caleb stepped fully into the room. “My corporate jet’s on the tarmac in Lyndon.”

  Everyone turned to stare at him.

  Seth came to his feet. “How many of us can you take?”

  “As many as need to go.” He captured Mandy’s gaze for a long second.

  “I’ll stay here,” Travis put in, drawing everyone’s attention. He glanced at his siblings. “I’m probably the least help there, but I’m the most help here.”

  Seth nodded his agreement with the suggestion.

  Responding to Seth’s concurrence, Caleb pulled out his cell phone. “I’ll have the pilots meet us at the airport. Mandy, why don’t you put together an overnight bag for your mother?”

  Abby swiveled back to the computer. “I’m booking a hotel for us in Denver.”

  “See if there’s an Emera
ld Chateau near the hospital,” said Caleb as he pressed the buttons on his phone. “We have a corporate account. Call them and use my name.” He put his cell phone to his ear and turned toward the foyer.

  Mandy squeezed her mother’s cool hand. “Did you hear that, Mom?”

  Maureen gave a small nod of acknowledgment.

  “Good.” Mandy struggled to keep her voice even. Breaking down right now wouldn’t help anyone, least of all her mother. “I’m going to pack you a few things. You just sit tight.”

  “He couldn’t speak.” Maureen’s voice was paper dry, her hand squeezing Mandy’s. “He tried, but his words were all muddled. Syllables sometimes, then nonsense.”

  Mandy swallowed the lump in her throat. “I think that’s really common with a stroke. And it’s sounds like they’ve got a great team in Denver. He’ll get the best care.” Her gaze met her brother Seth’s and he motioned with his head for her to go pack.

  She nodded in response, gently releasing her mother’s hand. The sooner they got to Denver, the better.

  As she headed for the staircase, she passed Caleb in the foyer, where he was talking on the phone to his pilot. “Two hours, tops,” he said. “Right. We’ll be there.”

  She stopped and turned back, reaching out to lay the flat of her hand on his chest, mouthing the words “Thank you.”

  He placed his hand over hers and gave one quick squeeze then pointed her toward the staircase.

  Mandy had never been on a private plane. The flight to Denver was, thankfully, quick and smooth. The Active Equipment jet had room for eight passengers, and Caleb had arranged for a car to take them directly from the airport to the hospital. There, Mandy’s mother was the only person allowed to see her father, and the nurse would let her into his room for only a few minutes.

  The doctors were medicating him and monitoring him closely to watch for additional strokes. They told the family they needed to keep him calm. The initial prognosis was for a slow, potentially limited recovery. There was no way to tell how much of his speech and mobility he would regain. A doctor told them the first few days were critical.