Colorado Cowboy - Includes a bonus novella

by Sara Richardson

  Dev took in the redness in her eyes, the very slight quiver in her lower lip. Holy shit…Charity looked like she was about to cry. That proved only one thing. She cared a whole lot more than she was admitting. “Maybe he needs to be with you,” he said, being careful with his tone. He didn’t want to overstep, but he’d seen plenty of situations like this. “If we call social services and you refuse temporary custody, he’ll go into the foster care system.”

  “Maybe that would be better.” She looked down at the table. “Maybe he’d end up with a good family. Maybe he’d get what he needed.”

  Was she being serious? Dev stared at her in disbelief. “It’s not better. I was in two foster homes before my parents adopted me. The people were decent enough, but I was never part of their families. I never had a connection with any of them.” He’d spent those two years trying not to screw up, trying not to get attached to anyone, trying to be invisible so he wouldn’t have to move again.

  Charity leaned over the table and gaped at him. “You’re adopted?”

  He didn’t know why she looked so surprised. “My parents adopted me out of the foster care system when I was six.” Young enough he could still bond with them. That would be much harder for a thirteen-year-old.

  Charity simply stared at him for a minute, as though digesting that information. “Why did you have to go into foster care?” she finally asked.

  “I don’t remember much. According to my parents, my birth mother couldn’t take care of me. She abandoned me at a fire station when I was four.” He tried so hard to see those memories—but they were blank. He had no recollection of his mom’s face, or the day she’d dropped him off and drove away. He’d pieced things together from what the social worker and his own parents had told him, but that was it.

  “But they’re good to you? Your parents?” Charity asked. “You’re glad you got adopted, right?”

  “Yes.” He met her eyes. “They’re amazing. I love my parents. But it doesn’t happen that way for most foster kids, Charity. Most foster kids bounce around from home to home until they’re eighteen and then they’re on their own. They have no one.” His had been one of the few miracle stories. “My parents were older. They’d tried to have a baby for years, but never could. My mom was a second cousin of my social worker, and that’s how I got placed.”

  Charity seemed to consider what he’d shared.

  “But maybe you won’t even have to worry about it. Maybe your sister will come back in a few days.” Or maybe she wouldn’t come back at all. He didn’t say it. “Can you figure out any reason she’d want to up and leave?”

  “She’s probably in trouble.” Charity didn’t hesitate with her answer. “It wouldn’t be the first time. As far as I know, she’s been living in Oklahoma. I haven’t seen either of them in ten years. She showed up last night and said they were on their way to California so she could get a new job. Start over.”

  It would’ve sounded reasonable except for the rush. If she’d given Charity no warning, maybe there was a reason she’d had to leave so fast. “Would she have wanted to start over without Bodie?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so.” The words held no conviction. Charity’s uncertain gaze locked with his. “When he was younger, she used to leave him at my mom’s sometimes without telling anyone where she was going. But she always came back for him. I do believe she cares for him.”

  Dev nodded. “Could she be staying with friends or relatives? Maybe at your mom’s place?”

  “My mom lives in Texas with her new husband,” Charity muttered. “And Melody has never been one to make solid plans. So I don’t even know if she’s really on her way to California.” Her lost gaze drifted back to her nephew. “Please help me find her, Dev,” she murmured. “Bodie needs her.”

  He wasn’t so sure about that. If Charity’s sister was the hot mess she sounded like, going home might not be the best place for him. “I don’t know that we can find her. But I can do some checking around.”

  “Thank you.” For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, she touched his hand.

  The feel of her skin sparked that same slow burn it had in the parking lot at the bar last night. Maybe this was his chance to convince her to give him a shot. She needed help, and he needed her to see he wasn’t some jackass cowboy. “I’m happy to hang out with Bodie too,” he said. “If you need someone to keep an eye on him once in a while. I could bring him out to the ranch. Might be good for him.”

  Right on cue, her expression tightened. “No. Thanks, but it’s okay. I can manage on my own for a few days.”

  “I’m sure you can.” Like Mateo, Levi, and Ty had said last night, she was used to handling things on her own. But maybe that was because no one had ever been there for her. Maybe all she needed was someone to remind her she didn’t have to do everything alone. Dev gathered up his newspaper and slid out of the booth. “If you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.” He brushed a light touch across her shoulder so she’d know he meant it, and then he left for work.

  Chapter Four

  What in the Sam Hill? Charity thrashed out from under her quilt and blinked until she could get a look at the clock on her dresser. Two o’clock in the morning and one of her neighbors was gunning his diesel engine.

  It had to be that old biker dude on the corner. The man partied hard and was known for tearing up and down the street on his Harley at all hours of the night. She was all for living it up in your later years, but seriously. “Some of us aren’t retired,” she muttered, scrambling to get out of bed. She stalked to the window and threw the curtain aside.

  High-powered headlights cut across her vision, temporarily blinding her. Tires screeched against concrete. She rubbed the explosion of colorful dots out of her vision and squinted. Wait just one minute…

  That was her truck!

  It lurched backward, the tires squealing again, and then shot forward across her front lawn, cutting grooves into the grass and passing by her window close enough that she could see her nephew behind the wheel before it stalled again.

  “Bodie!” What the hell was he doing behind the wheel of her truck? She cranked open the window. “Stop!” This had to be a nightmare. There was no way her nephew was driving across her lawn right now. Actually, he wasn’t driving because he’d killed the engine. “Stay there!” she yelled, before snatching a sweatshirt off the dresser. She booked it through the house and paused to thrust her feet into a pair of flip-flops before rushing through the front door.

  The engine started and truck stuttered forward again. “Bodie!” she yelled, sprinting behind the truck as it bounced across the lawn and back into the street. “Have you lost your mind? Stop!” Maybe he was sleepwalking…

  Across the street a door opened. “What’s all the noise?” Mrs. Lummens screeched.

  “Nothing! Everything’s under control!” Charity rushed alongside the truck, but before she made it to the driver’s side, Bodie peeled out and the truck lurched its way down the street.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Charity shuffle-ran back to the garage and threw it open. She hadn’t been biking since her friend Cassidy had forced her to ride up a mountain last fall, but right now the bike was her only option. Scraping her toes on the concrete, she ran her hardly used mountain bike down the driveway and hopped on, pedaling hard enough that her quads cramped almost immediately. What was Bodie thinking? He was only thirteen years old! He couldn’t drive a freaking truck down the street at two o’clock in the morning.

  Actually, it appeared he could drive the truck, Charity realized when she came around the bend in the road. Bodie seemed to be getting the hang of it. The truck picked up speed and took a hard right at the end of the street, disappearing from sight.

  Charity pedaled faster, her legs stiff from the cold. “Come on, come on.” She was in good shape. She could catch him. She had to catch him and stop him before someone else did.

  Thankfully, there was no traffic. The bike whi
zzed past the shops on Main Street, her reflection speeding from window to window. Oh god, she looked like a lunatic! Wild hair, half dressed, wearing flip-flops in what had to be forty-degree temperatures. “I’m gonna kill him.” But truthfully, she couldn’t blame this on him.

  She should’ve been paying attention. All afternoon, he’d acted fine. She should’ve known better. She’d had some of those same wounds inflicted on her by her own mom, and she’d always acted fine too. At dinnertime she made him a sandwich—it was either that or boxed macaroni and cheese—and he’d taken it into the guest room. Before she’d gone to bed, she’d stuck her head in to check on him but he’d simply grunted that he was fine.

  Of course he wasn’t fine. His mom had left him.

  Sorrow squeezed in to edge out the anger. She took another hard right turn and sped past the ice cream shop just in time to see the truck reel around the corner at the end of the street. Instead of tailing him, Charity cut across the small park next to the theater. He had to be headed toward the highway. If she crossed through the alley, she could easily catch him near the rodeo grounds.

  Puffing out heavy breaths, she coasted between the restaurants and shops. Everything was dark and deserted. Quiet except for the occasional screech of tires somewhere nearby. Her legs ached but she forced them to keep cycling. Faster. She had to cut him off before he got out of town or she’d have no choice but to sic Dev on him.

  Just as she neared the end of the alleyway, there was a crash—the sound of steel cracking, breaking. Oh god. Dear god. She accelerated down another block until the view opened up. There was her truck mashed into the copper statue of famed bull rider Luis Cortez in the parking lot of the rodeo grounds. The sculpture now leaned dangerously low, threatening to topple into the dirt.

  “Bodie!” Charity ditched the bike and ran the rest of the way, a hit of nausea bringing on a cold sweat.

  Steam rose up from the crumpled hood of her truck with a hiss, snaking into the air. The windshield had shattered. Right as she reached the truck, the driver’s door groaned and opened. Bodie scrambled out. “Oh god, oh god, oh god.” He raked his hand through his hair.

  “Are you okay?” Charity wheezed, out of breath from the ride and the horror of imagining him slumped over the wheel unconscious. Or dead. Don’t throw up. Do. Not. Throw. Up. Her stomach always rebelled against adrenaline. It was a common practice for her to throw up before and after a competition, but she never did it in front of anyone. “Are you hurt?”

  “Don’t think so.” He looked down at his body as though he couldn’t believe it. “I’m fine.”

  Well, she was not fine. Her bones shook. Everything shook. “What were you thinking, stealing my truck?”

  “I wasn’t gonna steal it. I was only borrowing it.” Bodie’s wide worried eyes made him look like a little boy again. “I swear. I was only gonna use it to go find my mom. Then I was gonna bring it back.”

  “You can’t borrow someone’s car. You’re thirteen!” Charity shouted. She could hardly hear anything over the rush of blood in her ears. “You could’ve been killed. You could’ve killed someone else!” Her stomach heaved again, but she gagged back the nausea.

  “My mom lets me drive sometimes,” he shot back. He probably meant to sound angry, but his voice was still too ragged with fear.

  Charity paced away from him to calm herself down. How many times had she been forced to handle things on her own when her mom was busy working a cowboy on the circuit?

  “I’m sorry about your truck,” he muttered behind her. “I didn’t mean to hit that thing. I tried to turn but I was going too fast…”

  “It’s okay.” A slow, steady inhale brought clarity. He was okay. That was all that mattered. He was okay…

  Sirens whirred in the distance. Damn it, that was not okay. Bodie didn’t need this on his record.

  “The cops.” Fear hollowed his voice. “This is gonna be bad, isn’t it?”

  Without answering, Charity jogged back to where she’d dropped the bike and awkwardly lifted it off the ground. Staggering against the weight of it, she hoisted it into the back of her pickup.

  Bodie came over to join her. “What’re you doing?”

  “When they ask you what happened, tell them I was driving.” Charity looked at him sternly. For once, the kid didn’t look away. “Understand? No matter what they say. No matter what questions they ask. You tell them you were riding with me.”

  “Really?” Her nephew’s eyes went round again before narrowing into a look of disbelief. “You’re gonna cover for me?”

  “I have to.” Maybe it wasn’t the most responsible thing to do, but she couldn’t let him take this on by himself. He already had enough to deal with. “I don’t even want to know what they’ll do to you if they find out you did this.” God, that statue was the town’s pride and joy. It had taken years to raise the funds to have it made, and her nephew had turned it into a crumpled heap. She stared him down again. “When the cops get here, I don’t want you to say a word. Got that? Not a word.”

  Dev rarely had the opportunity to triple the town’s twenty-five-mile-per-hour speed limit. But with one phone call, his night had gone from quiet paperwork at the station to some hoodlum crashing into the town’s prized statue of Luis Cortez out at the rodeo grounds.

  Hot damn, now we’re talkin’.

  It’d been a while since he’d gotten any real police action. Of course, this was likely a DUI, but for just a second Dev let himself fantasize that it might be some dangerous perp he’d get to take down.

  His SUV whipped around the corner and fishtailed like they always did in the movies. That was a first for him though. At least he had an excuse for driving like a maniac. Imogen O’Connell—who lived less than a block from the rodeo grounds—had called in the crash and told him the driver was “either higher than a kite or as mad as a March hare,” and Dev had better get out there before the idiot caused any more damage.

  He accelerated down the block until the rodeo grounds materialized in front of him. Sure enough, a big truck had tangled with the bronze statue of Luis Cortez sitting on the back of a bull.

  Hold on. His eyes strained, and he slammed on the brakes, bringing the SUV to a swift stop in the parking lot. Wasn’t that Charity’s truck?

  She and her nephew walked out from the shadows.

  That got him moving. He scrambled out of the car and jogged over, visually evaluating them both for potential injuries. “Everyone okay?”

  “We’re fine.” Charity almost sounded bored. “Just a little mishap.”

  “You’re sure?” It came out gruffer than he’d intended, but hell, he hadn’t anticipated seeing her here. Hadn’t anticipated seeing her in pajama shorts either. Had he ever seen her wear anything except for jeans?

  “Of course I’m sure,” she said with a hint of annoyance. “Like I said, it was a little mishap.”

  “A little mishap?” Dev eyed the damage again. A little mishap was a fender bender on Main Street. Her truck had just mowed down the town’s only $75,000 statue. Which definitely seemed odd. In all the time Charity had lived here, he’d never had to pull her over once for speeding. In fact, he’d often admired her careful driving habits. She handled the hefty truck she drove like a pro. “What the hell happened?” He shifted his gaze to Bodie, who hadn’t looked up from the ground once.

  “I got distracted,” Charity said, drawing his attention back to her. “My phone rang and I went to answer it and completely missed the turn, but by the time I realized what was happening, it was too late to correct.”

  Her phone rang? At two o’clock in the morning? Dev eyed Bodie again, but the kid still wouldn’t look at him. Oh yeah. Something was definitely off. “And what’re you doing out here at two o’clock in the morning?” Wearing only those shorts, a sweatshirt, and flip-flops? “It’s the middle of the night.” He not-so-subtly shifted into his stern cop voice.

  “We were…hungry.” Charity shot a quick look at Bodie, who nodded encourag
ingly. “Yep. Uh-huh. We were hungry.” She gave Dev a tight smile. “I don’t have many groceries in the house. We couldn’t sleep so we thought we would go get a snack.”

  Damn, she was a bad liar. Of course, that only made him like her more. He let her squirm in silence a few minutes while he considered his response. It was pretty obvious something else was going on. This definitely wasn’t his first rodeo with a suspicious crash, but playing the bad cop wouldn’t get him anywhere. So he opted for the alternative approach. Logic. “Okay, so you were hungry and wanted a snack.” He frowned at them both. “But nothing’s open this time of night.”

  “Right.” The woman’s head bobbed in a slow nod, an obvious cue she was buying time.

  “That gas station,” Bodie said suddenly. “The one down the highway. It’s twenty-four hours. That’s where we were going.” He still refused to meet Dev’s eyes.

  Dev struggled to keep from shaking his head at them. Didn’t these two know you could get in serious trouble for lying to a cop?

  “Right. Yes. The gas station,” Charity echoed. Her smile turned smug. “They have the best nachos there.”

  Ha. Leave it to Charity Stone to get overconfident. Didn’t matter what she said to him, none of this added up. Letting her sweat, Dev walked the length of the truck, taking his time to look over every inch. “Why is your bike in the back?” he finally asked, turning to Charity.

  Her lips pressed into a firm line. “I keep it back there sometimes. So I can ride it whenever I want.”

  “Strange that the bike didn’t get ejected on impact,” Dev mused, peering into the bed of the truck again. “Judging from the damage to the front end of your truck, you had to be going, what? Forty miles an hour? And yet the bike didn’t even dent the side of the truck bed.” Which it definitely would have had the bike been in the back of the truck at the time of the crash.

  “It’s a heavy bike.” Worry finally started to cloud her eyes. “Really heavy-duty. Very good quality. It’s one of the best brands you can buy—great for hills and rocks. There was this one time I hit a rock and went flying over the handlebars…”