Best of Cowboys Bundle
Page 98
In fact, had he really improved all that much by beating himself up over the death of his sons?
Deep in his gut, he knew the answer, knew Felicia had been right every single time she’d told him to move on.
To live again.
He closed his eyes, hearing the shuffles and muted discussion of the funeral crowd breaking up.
To live like Rip wouldn’t get the opportunity to.
Not long ago, Jackson had run head first into a fire, dammit. Why didn’t he have the courage to step up to a good-hearted, loving woman and tell her how he really felt, how afraid he was to raise another boy, even if his heart already belonged to the little guy?
The image of Felicia cuddling Bobby as if he were her own thrust into him once again. A natural mother. A son in need of parents.
He knew what he had to do.
What he wanted to do, deep inside his soul.
Pushing away from the barn wall and forcing himself to walk into the open, his pulse began thrumming against his skin.
When he came around the other side of the barn, he searched for her in a throng of mourners who were saying their goodbyes to Rip’s ashes.
But she was nowhere in sight.
Panic caught at him. Had he finally chased her away? Was it too late to make amends this time?
God, if he could find her, he wouldn’t back down this time. God, God, God….
He continued seeking her, finding Dutch and Carter hovering near a stand of flowers, quietly surveying the crowd, their faces drawn and lined with sorrow. Mrs. Krauss stood with her hand on Rip’s urn, as if touching it would suffice for the real thing. J-Wayne lay with his head in his paws, keeping her company, keeping his eye out for a master who was never coming back.
Jackson could almost hear the old man right now.
You go get little Markowski, right quick, son. Time’s awastin’.
“I’m trying, Rip,” Jackson whispered.
He searched inside the cabin for her. No success. But he did hear the soft creak of a gliding porch seat that Rip kept near the back door.
Fisting his hands, Jackson stepped outside, his life coming into still focus before him.
There on that faded wooden seat, Felicia held Bobby. The boy was sleeping, sweet features arranged in momentary peace as she rocked him back and forth, smoothing the curls back from his face. The wind fluttered her angel-gold hair as she gazed at the hills in the near distance.
It was as if the hand of time had struck midnight in Jackson, ringing every cell of his body until he came together in the chaos, becoming whole again.
He was finally home, wasn’t he?
Overwhelming joy made it hard to swallow, hard to get a hold of himself. And even though he started to tremble, he was stronger than ever.
“You’re still here,” Jackson said, keeping his voice low, although it seemed to echo over the landscape with his relief.
Felicia sent him an oddly jubilant grin, resting a hand over Bobby’s ear while pressing his head against her chest. His little feet in those teeny tennis shoes looked so helpless as his legs sprawled over the seat.
“What made you think I’d leave?” she asked.
Unruffled, as calm as a pond at sun break.
His Felicia, a woman who never seemed to stop believing that he would come around.
There was room next to her, but Jackson didn’t presume to sit. Not yet. Instead, he walked down the stairs, hoping he wouldn’t break the serenity of this picture.
This view of what his life was meant to be.
He bent, stroked a bandaged finger over Bobby’s chubby cheek. “I was wrong about what I said back there. About moving on.”
She lay her cheek on Bobby’s head. Her smile only grew bigger.
A mother and child, he thought.
“Are you telling me you’re staying, Jack?”
He bit down on his emotion for a moment, too consumed by it to control his reaction. But then, at the hopeful lift of her brows, he seemed to explode—a laugh, a sob, he wasn’t sure what it was he was doing.
He only knew that it felt damned good.
“Hell, yeah, I’m staying for as long as you’ll have me.” He took a breath, cupped a wounded hand over her jaw. “I want to hear you laughing every morning. I want to hear all the stories about your millions of relatives. I want to show everyone how damned much I love you, Felicia.”
She closed her eyes, let out a sigh at the same time. “I think I’ve been waiting forever to hear you say that.”
Still standing, he laughed, took off his hat and brought his forehead to hers. “I suppose I have a way of keeping you in suspense, huh?”
“I’d say.” She opened her eyes, rubbed her nose against his, nuzzling him. “Up until an hour ago I thought life had gone down the drain, but then I realized that I just needed to be patient for a touch longer.”
Felicia. This limitless optimism was going to be a part of his life.
And Bobby’s life.
Unable to trust his knees much longer, Jackson finally sat down, fastening his fingers into her hair, filling himself with her scent, her presence. His future.
Jeez, he was really going to do this. Was going to take a wife and a child.
“Did you hear Stoverson talking?” she asked, giving him a reprieve.
“I wasn’t listening so closely.” Jackson had been too deaf with grief.
“Well, something he said made everything click into place, just like Rip is sitting in a comfortable somewhere fitting a puzzle together.” She beamed. “‘The last cowboy will make you a mother.’ It was about Rip the whole time, Jack. He wants to make us a family.”
She paused, probably afraid he’d change his mind again with the return of the Prediction.
The fact that she was talking about Carlota’s visions or about the rancher as if he were still here should have put fear into Jackson, but it didn’t. It only stirred up some of the bitterness over Rip’s death, at the scheme of things in general because life had seen fit to take such a man from them.
So she thought that Rip was the one who’d made her a mother? Through Jackson? Through their love for Bobby?
A flash of conscience whirled through Jackson’s mind: him talking about Rip during that heartfelt cowboy speech he’d given to Felicia that day in Wycliffe.
Maybe there’s one cowboy left, he’d said. He’d been referring to Rip, all right. A scrap from the canvas of the old west, a stalwart throwback.
A part of the Prediction.
But why had the powers that be decided Rip needed to die for Jackson’s and Felicia’s happiness? It made no sense.
Felicia must have sensed the frustration in him. “I can’t explain life, either, but Rip trusted you. He knew that, if anything happened to him, you’d be the perfect dad for Bobby.” She laughed sadly. “I guess he went a lot on instinct, like he did when he hired Stoverson.”
“Or when he hired me. Rip didn’t know much about where I came from or what I was about, but he handed over his accounting books like I was meant for them.”
She rested her fingers on his arm. “And he made you Bobby’s guardian.”
That glow welled up in him again, like a fountain that had been fixed after rusting away for years and years. He wasn’t used to having this hope trickle through him, washing away all those clinging doubts.
But it was so right.
Jackson turned to face Felicia and Bobby, too overcome to say anything. Running a gaze over the child—his child, from now on, God help him—he rejoiced in the way Bobby’s lashes fanned over his pinkened cheeks, how his mouth pouted in sleep, how he rested without nightmare or worry in Felicia’s embrace.
Jackson knew how it felt. He brushed his fingertips over her temple, down her cheekbone, memorizing the openhearted beauty of her face.
“I love you,” he said again, almost as if to reassure himself that this was really happening. “And I want to start over. Make things right for you…and Bobby.”
Her eyes were blue mirrors, reflecting his affection right back at him. “I love you, too, Jack.”
His soul seemed to crack open, forcing out every dark moment he’d held to himself, every remnant of self-hatred he’d lived with for so long.
In their place he found the warmth of a healing balm, a nest for love to grow and flourish. A field basking under the sun of a new day.
He smiled at the calm of it and Felicia leaned forward, careful not to disturb Bobby. Jackson himself didn’t need any persuasion to do the same.
Their lips met in a gentle pulse of contact, a promise more golden than rings or the sunshine itself. With every brush of their mouths, he felt his heart being given over to her, laid out for her taking.
When Bobby shifted in Felicia’s arms, they reluctantly pulled away from each other, though Jackson still kept his hand nestled near her neck.
He wasn’t about to let go.
“Jack?” asked the little boy, his voice fuzzy with sleep.
“Right here.”
Bobby blinked and, with what might have been a grin, went right back to sleep, obviously too exhausted for anything more.
Felicia’s heart expanded just by watching Bobby and Jack. A family, and she was in the middle of it now.
Where she’d always wanted to be.
He was watching her again: the rough-and-tumble features, the mouth that had just kissed her, the eyes that shouted out his love for her…
They were all hers—the way things were meant to be.
As Jack slipped his arm around her, Felicia sighed into him, hugging Bobby closer. Soon they would be riding into the country to spread Rip’s ashes, to give him back to the land and to watch the grass grow over those same dusty patches next year.
Time and tide, she thought. Birth and death.
She glanced at Bobby again, knowing that he might be the only son she would ever have.
But that didn’t matter, because Bobby would be enough son for her. He’d make her just as proud as a child of her own body would and, when it came right down to it, love was love.
And she had enough of it to last all their lifetimes.
Yes, she and Jack would see Bobby grow, just like the grass. They would be his parents, even if he hadn’t come to them in the traditional way. They would raise him to remember his great-uncle, to appreciate the sacrifices Rip had made for all of them.
Jack tightened his hold around her and rested a hand on Bobby’s leg. Cheerfully, Felicia leaned into him and watched the sun sink over the hills, the trees.
The grass that was already growing around them.
Epilogue
One year later
J ack laughed right along with the table of Markowski relatives who’d been invited over to the Hanging R to celebrate Bobby’s birthday.
“Na zdrowie!” said Uncle John as he toasted the other adults with a glass of soda. “To your health!”
They all raised their drinks to each other and sipped. Aunt Grace stopped midway through and toasted another table; it was full of giggling children, balloons and used wrapping paper that Bobby had torn off his presents in glee. Felicia sat on a bench next to him, snapping pictures and generally keeping the peace.
“To Bobby,” Aunt Grace said, “and his seven candles!”
Another round of soda guzzling followed and, as Aunt Jean continued the fun by suggesting a toast for the highballs they’d be drinking tonight after the kids went home, Jack took a break.
He leaned his elbows on the table and watched his wife and his adopted son, who was dressed like a cowboy with chaps and the whole nine yards, while he tore into another present.
Every time Bobby grew another inch, Jack felt his gratitude bloom, too. Much to everyone’s surprise, the Hanging R was getting back on its feet with some creative bookkeeping from Jack—and a hefty loan from Deston that would be paid off within the next thirty years. They’d instituted an “old-time cattle drive” in the spring and fall to bring in more cash and Jack was making arrangements to breed horses, as well.
Even though Rip had entertained too much stubborn pride to take another person’s money, Jack found no shame in it—as long as hard work would pay it off. He felt certain that Rip would have eventually come around and taken a loan to keep Bobby happy and healthy anyway.
So Jackson followed in the invisible footsteps of the man he aspired to be like, taking Rip’s place the best he could, paying homage to him every day. After all, maybe there would come a time when Bobby could be a real cowboy, owning this spread and working it. Granted, the boy showed a lot more interest in academics than agriculture, but Jack hadn’t let go of the dream.
Still, he realized that he just might be the last cowboy the Hanging R ever saw.
Uncle John nudged Jack with an elbow. He smelled of licorice and tobacco.
“You off in the ether?” the older man asked.
As Jack’s gaze met Felicia’s, he nodded. “Cloud nine.”
Chuckling, Uncle John left him alone, probably knowing a lost cause when he saw one.
Across the table, Felicia and Jack grinned at each other like two starstruck kids. Marriage hadn’t siphoned away their passion—it had built on it, day by day.
Even during Felicia’s surgery and follow-up doctor visits, they’d remained happy, especially since the doctors were more optimistic about her chances of conceiving now.
Jack warmed, his heart expanding with the heat. He and Felicia were sure having some fun trying for a baby, and her continuing hope was an inspiration to him—a lesson in strength.
“Dad?” It was Bobby, calling for him.
Jack rose from his seat and came over to his son, touching his wife’s shoulder as he looked down at Bobby. The child was holding up a large model T. rex with movable parts.
“Cool, huh?” Bobby said.
Jack nodded. Yeah, cool. Bobby still kept that wooden dinosaur Jack had carved for him but, slowly but surely, it had gotten buried under more toys in his closet.
His little boy, growing up. Ouch.
It was a nice hurt, though, the way life worked. A second chance to see how Leroy and Lucas would’ve turned out.
Now, as Bobby went back to his business and oohed and aahed over a present that reflected his new hobby—a chemistry set—a beaming Felicia kissed Jack’s hand.
Now, his entire body exploded with joy, with all the love he’d been too afraid to feel before he’d met her.
She’d taught him that it was okay to wish, to persevere in the darkness of doubt and impossibility. And he had taken the lesson and used it for the benefit of his new family, putting his work and faith into resurrecting the Hanging R.
“Need a break?” Jackson asked his wife.
“Hey.” She stood, kissed him, her lips warm against his. “I’ll never need a break from you two.”
Openly, lovingly, Jack wrapped his arms around her. He loved her so much that words wouldn’t suffice. Instead, he allowed his actions to speak for him—his every adoring gesture.
A smile washed over his mouth as he kissed his wife then watched Bobby have fun with his cousins and friends. In the background, his relatives were still toasting everything the world had to offer.
Once upon a time there’d been a prediction about a last cowboy, he thought, snuggling Felicia right next to him so she fit in every way.
And, in the end, after surviving Rip, maybe Jack really was the last cowboy on this ranch, one who had made Felicia a mother to Bobby—and maybe to another unborn child someday.
Maybe the prediction hadn’t even come to fruition, he thought.
As she drew away and sent a saucy glance to him on her way to the cabin, Jack looked up at the sky and winked at Rip.
Who said he didn’t believe in fate?
Hard Case Cowboy
Nina Bruhns
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter
6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
Chapter 1
T here was a dead cow in the road.
“By the saints,” Rhiannon O’Brannoch muttered as she slammed on her hired car’s brakes before hitting it. Dust from the dirt track billowed around her in a huge, gritty cloud. What on earth…?
Was there no end to the savagery of this country?
Rhiannon gripped the steering wheel tightly and peered out at the strange Arizona landscape all around her. Harsh, desolate, forbidding. And red. The gnarled trees that stood crooked and hunched over like old men were green, but everything else was the color of a flaming sunset. The ground, the mountains, the rocks, were all so red she only now noticed the dark shadow of blood pooling under the dead cow’s side.
“Oh!” she exclaimed aloud. “What’ll it be next? Wild Indians?”
She closed her eyes and wiped a bead of sweat that trickled down her temple. This was a sign. Coming to Arizona had been a colossal mistake.
Last week’s letter from her late father’s long-lost brother had seemed like a godsend, with its mysterious scrawled message, “Rhiannon, love, your uncle Fitz needs you,” and its one-way ticket to America. It was exactly what she’d needed—a way out. Away from her ex-fiancé Robbie, away from Da’s—her father’s—farm that should have been hers but now belonged to her aunt Bridget and uncle Patrick, away from the hurts and betrayals those she loved had dealt her one after the other. Away from Ireland.
She’d thought coming here would give her a new start and help her set aside the pain of the past several years. Help her forget, and forgive.