Best of Cowboys Bundle

by Vicki Lewis Thompson, Barbara White Daille, Judy Christenberry, Christine Wenger, Shirley Rogers, Crystal Green, Nina Bruhns, Candance Schuler, Carole Mortimer

  “Want to stop for a pint at Jake’s?” Hawk suggested. “Maybe the guys are there.” This might be the old man’s last chance to see them and possibly know them….

  Fitz nodded eagerly, then started mumbling excitedly. Hawk knew it was probably not a good idea to give him alcohol, though the doctor hadn’t expressly forbidden it, and it was definitely a bad idea for himself to indulge because of the pain medication and anti-inflammatories he was on for the hole in his arm. But at the moment he didn’t give a damn.

  He needed a drink bad.

  While Rhiannon settled Fitz in at his friends’ usual table and spoke a few quiet words in Pete’s ear, Hawk grabbed the two of them a private booth toward the back and waved at Jake to bring them a couple of beers.

  He eased onto the seat and leaned his head back on the padded vinyl. The reassuringly familiar cocoon of the booth enveloped him as did the whine of the jukebox playing softly in the background. The smell of peanuts, stale beer and horses and the sound of Jake’s smoker’s laugh as he pulled their drafts were comforting in their sameness. This was the way Jake’s had been for as long as he could remember.

  What would it be like if suddenly all that turned foreign, unknown, and scary?

  That’s exactly what was happening to his best friend, and there wasn’t a damn thing Hawk could do about it. The thought ate at him like acid in his stomach. He wished he had the means to take Fitz back to Ireland, as the doc had suggested. But unless he robbed a bank, it wasn’t going to happen.

  Why was he never able to help those he loved?

  Rhiannon slid in next to him and he let out a sigh. How he needed her right now. How glad he was that she’d come to Irish Heaven. How much he wanted her to stay. For him.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  He rolled his head and gazed at her with a wan smile. “Hell, no. You?”

  “Me, neither.” She shook her head. “Suppose I’ll have to quit my job.”

  He digested that. “Gonna make things hard. No more filet mignon for supper.”

  She smiled dryly. “Or champagne to wash it down.”

  “That sucks,” he said, taking a sip of his beer.

  “Yeah,” she agreed, and laid her head on his shoulder.

  He slid his arm around her. “We’ll be okay. As long as we’re together.” He gave her a kiss.

  “Hawk,” she started, but was interrupted when a commotion rose at Fitz’s table. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s Grant,” he muttered, watching carefully while Fitz was turned away and calmed down by his friends. Hawk switched his attention back to the deputy, who walked up to his and Rhiannon’s booth.

  “Been looking for you two,” Grant said, ignoring the stir he’d caused on the other side of the room. He frowned at Hawk’s arm around Rhiannon.

  Hawk pulled her closer. “Yeah? The sheriff find out who made that offer on Irish Heaven?”

  The deputy slid into the opposite side of the booth. “No. But I thought you’d like to know, forensics confirmed your story about the incident yesterday.”

  “I told you they would.”

  “Yes, well, we also think we located the truck you described. Abandoned at a shopping mall up in Kaibab.”

  Hawk sat up. “And?”

  “If it’s the same one, it was reported stolen last week. Belongs to the Lost Man outfit up the road.”

  “You mean Jeremy Lloyd’s ranch?” Rhiannon asked in surprise. “Where the dead guy, Rudy Balboa, worked?”

  “Believe so.”

  “That’s a bit of a coincidence, don’t you think?” Hawk remarked, his mind churning.

  “I thought so, too. Unfortunately, there’s no way to connect any of this to Lloyd. No trace of the cattle, and no witnesses. Everyone there seems to have an alibi. We’re still working on it, though.”

  “Great,” Hawk said, slumping down again. Damn. Every time they got close, the slippery bastards slid through their fingers. Rather, the cops’ fingers. Maybe he’d have to start doing his own investigating.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” Grant said as he got up to leave. “We also received a heads-up from Social Services. Someone has filed a petition with the county probate court regarding Fitz.”

  “What about?” Hawk asked indignantly. “If they’re saying his care—”

  Grant held up a palm. “No, nothing like that. It was more along the lines of questioning his ability to do business. The filer is a lawyer claiming he has a contract pending with O’Brannoch and he wants to be sure the old man’s mentally competent to sign it.”

  Hawk stared at the deputy in disbelief.

  “Mentally competent?” Rhiannon asked.

  Grant gave her an oily smile. “Everyone’s aware of Fitz’s condition. The people who made the purchase offer on the ranch, I expect that’s the origin of the petition.”

  “But why would they do such a thing?” she asked.

  He shifted on his feet. “To force a competency hearing, I expect.”

  “They can do that?” Hawk put in, starting to suspect where all this was going.

  Grant shrugged expressively. “If it involves lawyers, I expect so.”

  “What’s the point?” Rhiannon said. “A judge will just appoint Redhawk or me as his conservator. And we both agree with Fitz about the contract.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked meaningfully.

  “Of course we agree,” Hawk practically snarled.

  “Then there’s no problem,” he said. “Anyway, just thought I’d let you know.”

  “Thanks very much,” Hawk said, hanging on to his temper by a thread.

  With a mock salute, Grant strolled out of the bar.

  “The little weasel,” Hawk hissed under his breath. “I can’t believe they’d pull something like this.”

  “I don’t understand,” Rhiannon said with a troubled expression.

  He lifted his hand to her cheek, running his fingertips along her pale, satin-soft cheek. “They’re counting on us to get greedy. Or one of us.”

  “Greedy?”

  “Irish Heaven is worth over a million dollars. Control of that would be mighty tempting to a lot of broke-down cowboys and poor immigrant lasses.”

  Her chin went up. “I’m no poor immigrant lass.”

  He chuckled and kissed her temple, then grew somber again. “They’re counting on us fighting over control of the money.”

  She looked at him for a long while, searching his eyes. He suddenly couldn’t breathe, wondering what she was thinking. He knew what he was thinking. If they got married, it wouldn’t be an issue. Whoever was doing this would have to give up and realize they were a united front.

  But were they?

  She was being awful silent.

  “I see,” she finally said.

  “Well?” he demanded, a bit more harshly than he’d meant to.

  “Well, what?”

  “Is one of us going to get greedy?”

  She leveled him a gaze. “I want exactly the same thing you want, Hawk. But I’ll abide by Fitz’s wishes. You know that already.”

  What the hell was that supposed to mean?

  He clamped his jaw and made himself finish his beer before saying, “Let’s get out of here. I’ve got work to do.”

  While Rhiannon fetched Fitz, he paid the tab and shoved away the temptation to put her in the truck, drive straight to Reno, and force her to marry him.

  Why couldn’t the stubborn woman see that was the best solution to all of their problems? That way they’d both get what they wanted, and nobody could split them apart through dissention and doubt.

  Hell and damnation.

  He was overreacting, he told himself firmly. She wasn’t going to go against him. She’d just said so. And he trusted her.

  Pretty much.

  As it turned out, after reading the accompanying documentation and affidavits, the judge deciding the petition ruled that a full competency hearing for Fitz was in order. The estate was too extensive to leave the
running of it to people with no legal standing. Fitz’s lawyer testified he had no extant power of attorney, and his doctor confirmed he was unlikely to recover his faculties enough to legally execute one.

  So it was up to the judge to choose a conservator.

  While on the stand, Rhiannon and Hawk both suggested appointing the person who would inherit Irish Heaven according to Fitz’s will. Unfortunately, the laws in their county prohibited his attorney from revealing the contents of the will before his death, without his signed authorization.

  It was a frustrating catch-22, and Rhiannon felt completely wrung out, well before the proceedings ended.

  She cringed when the judge called Fitz to the stand as the last witness. He’d been disoriented through the whole hearing, muttering about the IRA and the injustice of their British oppressors. She was afraid he’d appear so far gone the judge would take him away and put him in some awful facility. That would break her heart. He deserved to be cared for by the people who loved him.

  “Do you know why you’re here?” Judge Fernandez asked him.

  “Aye,” he said belligerently. “’Twasn’t enough you got me brother, now you want me in prison, too.”

  “For what?” the judge asked patiently.

  “Bein’ a patriot. Erin forever!” he called out, shaking a fist.

  “Mr. O’Brannoch, do you remember moving to the United States?” Fernandez probed.

  Fitz blanched, his whole demeanor changing. Suddenly he rose and grasped the railing in front of him. Rhiannon could see his hands tremble.

  He turned a distraught gaze on Redhawk. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I’m so sorry, lad! We didn’t mean to—” His eyes flicked to her. “If I thought it would end this way, I’d never have asked you to take my mission that day.”

  Judge Fernandez looked puzzled but went on. “Mr. O’Brannoch, you are not obligated to tell us, but it would be a big help if we could know who you’ve named as your legal heir, in your will.”

  “And now they’ve thrown you in prison for life.” Fitz covered his face with his hands. “Oh, Janet, Janet, what have we done?”

  Shock froze Rhiannon to her chair. Janet?

  The judge turned to Redhawk. “Do you know what he’s talking about, Mr. Jackson?”

  Hawk looked visibly shaken. “I assume it’s something about his past. He—” He halted and swiped a hand over his mouth.

  Rhiannon swallowed hard. She knew he wouldn’t want to air Fitz’s secrets in open court, but something told her this may be her only opportunity to learn this one. And it sounded big.

  “He’s talking about his brother, Jamie,” she said. “Janet is my mother.” Gathering her courage, she faced her uncle. “Uncle Fitz, were you and Janet together the day they arrested my father? The day of the bombing?”

  For a second she saw lucidity in his eyes, saw the knowledge of what he’d done, the regret, and the anguish over it. “Aye,” he whispered, then he broke down with a sob. “I’m sorry, love.”

  Instantly she was on her feet, rushing to him. “It’s all right, Uncle.” She knelt down, holding him in her arms, rocking him. “It doesn’t matter. You didn’t set that bomb, Jamie O’Brannoch did. My father chose his own fate. It’s none of your doing.”

  “Ah, Janet, me love, you were never mine for the taking,” he murmured, and she wasn’t sure if he was there with her or back in the past. “What made me think I could?”

  “She loved you, Uncle,” she whispered, knowing it was true. Even if she hadn’t found the letters, she’d always instinctively felt there was something missing in her mother’s voice, in her expression, when she’d talked about Da. Rhiannon had always assumed it was because her mother couldn’t forgive him for leaving the two of them all alone in the world, over a fickle thing like politics. Now she knew the truth. The politics were just an excuse.

  “Why don’t we adjourn for today?” Judge Fernandez suggested, clearing his throat. “I think I have all the facts I need for a ruling.”

  Hawk’s gaze met hers and her heart skipped a beat.

  Passion.

  That’s what had been missing in her mother’s eyes.

  Did she see it there in Hawk’s?

  Maybe. Or maybe it was just the love and compassion he felt for his dying mentor shining through.

  “I’ll have my decision tomorrow,” the judge announced, and they all rose as he left the room.

  She wished her own life could be decided as easily.

  “Nervous?” Hawk asked as he opened the outside door for them and took her arm to walk to the truck, Fitz trudging along behind.

  “Should I be?”

  “I guess that depends on how much you want the ranch.”

  And suddenly she understood, deep in her heart, it wasn’t the ranch at all that she wanted. What she wanted was the feeling of belonging. Of being a family.

  Of passion.

  And that was something she’d never get from 538 acres of Arizona desert.

  Turning, she took Fitz’s elbow so the three of them were walking arm in arm down the dirt sidewalk.

  “What I want,” she answered, “is to go home and forget about all of this. And finally eat our Christmas dinner.”

  The next day, Judge Fernandez named Rhiannon as Fitz’s conservator.

  As soon as he had his doctor’s okay, Redhawk resumed his vigil with the cattle.

  Rhiannon was worried sick. Pete lent him a small Arctic-weight tent, cot and pocket heaters that came in at the trading post, but she still thought Hawk was mad to risk his health in the bitter winter weather, and endanger his life with rustlers who’d already proven they were willing to shoot first and ask questions later.

  She’d tried for the entire week, but couldn’t budge him off his decision. Now he was packed and ready to go.

  “They got away with six more steers last time,” he said, sliding his rifle open and checking the chamber. “That means we only have seven left for spring market. One more attack and our entire income for the year will be wiped out. Everything. Do you want that?”

  Apprehensively, she watched him drop a full box of shells in his duster pocket. “No, of course not. But—”

  “And after spring calving, they’ll no doubt start in on the cows and newborns. I have to stop them before that happens.”

  She understood all that. But in her heart she knew that wasn’t the only thing driving him out into the cold, bleak night.

  It was her.

  He’d listened without comment to the announcement in her favor by the judge; he hadn’t even blinked an eye. But he’d taken it hard. She’d seen it in his expression when he didn’t think she was looking. He’d been very quiet ever since.

  He’d also started to defer to her in all decisions, to the point where sometimes she’d wanted to throw something at him. He said he was teaching her the ropes. She knew better. His pride was hurting.

  What she didn’t know was what to do about it.

  “For heaven’s sake, be careful,” she said, giving him a hug goodbye before he walked out the door. She hung on to him for a few more precious seconds. She missed him terribly when he was gone at night. Hated sleeping in the bed without him.

  “I will.” He kissed her, and for a moment she thought he was as reluctant as she to let go.

  “Come home if the weather turns,” she reminded him. It was the only promise she’d managed to wring from him—if it dropped below thirty degrees or started storming, he’d come in, as the rustlers were unlikely to be out then, either.

  “Yeah,” he said. And then he was gone.

  Leaving her with empty arms, and an even emptier heart.

  She watched him ride over the far ridge and sighed, not looking forward to the long, lonely night ahead.

  Suddenly, there was a loud knock on the door.

  Chapter 14

  R hiannon’s head swung around and she glanced toward the sound of the knocking, then at the clock. Nervousness shimmered through
her. It wasn’t that late, but who could it be? Hawk was gone, and Fitz already asleep.

  Biting her lip, she debated whether she should just ignore it.

  It grew louder. Then a yell. “Rhiannon!”

  With a chuckle of relief, she ran to the door, opened it and smiled. “Burt. What are you doing here this time of night?”

  He grinned and leaned against the doorjamb, hands behind his back. “Oh, I was in the neighborhood…”

  She laughed and waved him in. “I suppose being within fifty miles is considered in the neighborhood around here.”

  He winked. “Reckon so.”

  “Would you like some tea, or maybe a—” She halted in consternation. Were they out of beer?

  From behind his back he produced a six-pack. “Since Fitz is keeping you in these days, thought I’d invite myself on a date with you here.”

  “Burt,” she chided, suddenly unsure of what was going on. “You know I don’t go out on dates since Redhawk and I…”

  He made a dismissive gesture. “Not a date date. Just to talk. No biggie.”

  Odd that he didn’t ask where Hawk was. Almost as though—

  “Wanted to bring you up to speed on the investigation,” he said.

  She motioned for him to take a seat at the kitchen table. “Has there been a new development?”

  “Well, yes and no. We followed up on the truck,” he said, and twisted open a beer for her. “Reinterviewed everyone at the Lost Man. All the alibis seem to hold up, and forensics didn’t find anything unusual in the truck.”

  “Did you check their bank accounts? For the money from the stolen cattle? Or that restaurant deal?”

  “Not without probable cause, we can’t.”

  “So we’re back to square one.”

  “Looks that way,” he said, leaning back in his chair to take a few more pulls from his bottle. “So I hear you’ve been made Fitz’s conservator.”

  She sighed. “Yes. I have.”

  “Will you be selling the ranch?”

  Her jaw dropped. “No. Why would I do that?”

  “It’s no secret, Rhiannon. You guys are pretty well bankrupt.” His brows rose at her expression. “You’re actually thinking of keeping the place?”