Cowboy Come Home

by Janette Kenny

  “Shit, the same happened to you because of me,” he said, his features twisted with torment she could feel as well.

  “That was Kurt’s and Ned’s doing.”

  He shook his head. “I should’ve suspected Ned would pull something. Should have gone to Barton right away and asked for your hand.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  His mouth pulled to one side. “Afraid he’d send me packing. You deserved better than me.”

  She smiled and cupped his ruggedly handsome face. “Cowboy, all I ever wanted was you.”

  “You sure about that?” he asked, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

  “There’s no doubt in my mind that you belong to me, now and forever.”

  And under a waning West Texas sun, they sealed their vow with a kiss that went on and on.

  Epilogue

  One year later, Reid, Dade, and Trey threw a Fourth of July celebration at the JDB that made all the other barbeques in the county pale in comparison.

  Cowboys, ranchers, and businessmen alike gathered near the barn to pitch horseshoes and shoot the breeze with the brothers who had united their three ranches: the Crown Seven, where Reid and Ellie would live, the Circle 46, which suited Dade and Maggie just fine, and the rebuilt JDB, where Daisy and Trey would call home.

  The women found comfort under the wide porch of the new ranch house, sitting on fine wicker chairs, sipping sweet tea, and watching the children play.

  Trey March finally tore himself away from the good ol’ boys by the barn and headed toward the house, knowing he was late again and certain he’d get a chewing out from Reid.

  They’d waited for this day for months. Now that it was here, Trey was beset with that old wariness again.

  “About time you showed up,” Reid said when Trey strode into the parlor.

  “Hello to you too,” he said and headed straight for his wife and his newborn son.

  “We’re ready to start,” Daisy said and shifted their son into his arms.

  His heart just puffed up with pride and that sense of rightness, but he pulled a face at the frilly getup his son had on. “Lace? You put my son in lace?”

  “Hush,” Daisy said in a low voice that had a sharp bite to it. “This is the christening gown your mother made for you, and you will not say another cross word about it.”

  “Yes’m,” he said. But dammit all, his son had on more frills than Dade’s baby girl.

  By mutual agreement, Reid, Dade, and Trey had appointed Phoebe Charlton as the matriarch of their family. Trey’s mama was tickled pink with her natural and adopted sons. But her husband was still trying to learn how to cope with three stubborn ranchers who all had an opinion yet stuck together as a united front most of the time.

  “We finally ready?” Reid asked, cradling his son with one arm while keeping the other around his wife, Ellie Jo.

  “I hope to hell so ’cause this bow tie is choking me,” Dade said, jostling his daughter so she wouldn’t start bawling again.

  “Will the parents please gather around the grandmother,” the photographer from San Angelo said.

  The three couples stood behind Phoebe Charlton’s chair like she was the queen. Hell, to them she was, Trey thought with a widening smile.

  As soon as all six of them were standing like the photographer wanted, he took the picture that would hang in the parlor of the JDB ranch house for the next hundred years.

  Trey looked at his brothers with their families, and his heart swelled with pride and love. Yep, he’d figured out what that emotion was when Daisy gave birth to little Jeremy.

  Hard to believe that three urchins would end up cattle barons. That they’d forge a bond stronger than any blood.

  Yep, they’d all found out that family was those you held close in your heart for as long as you lived. This dynasty was going to last.

  “You seem mighty pleased with yourself,” Daisy said as she snuggled up beside Trey and their beautiful son.

  “Darlin’, you’ve made me the happiest man on earth,” he said.

  Don’t miss the rest of the Lost Sons Trilogy by Janette Kenny!

  It all started one snowy holiday

  in A Cowboy Christmas ...

  Reid Barclay doesn’t have time for Christmas, not with trouble brewing at the Crown Seven Ranch. He’s got prize thoroughbreds to protect and a long-ago wrong that he wants to make right. But the beautiful cook who’s taken over the ranch kitchen is a welcome distraction, even if Ellie Jo Cade burns everything from gingerbread to roast beef. Her sweet face and womanly figure are pure temptation ...

  Cornhusk angels ... bright berry garlands… spun-sugar snow—everything about Christmas holds fond memories for Ellie Jo. She’s doing her best to make peace with an ornery wood-burning stove and make the old ranch house truly festive. All she wants is to believe in Reid ... and the only-at-Christmas magic that makes hearts glow ...

  Maverick, Wyoming, 1894

  Blinding light rode into the room on an icy gust of wind and rudely reminded Reid Barclay that he couldn’t get rip-roaring drunk today. He shot a scowl at the newcomer who didn’t seem to have the sense to know they were letting out what little heat the potbelly stove could belch out.

  Damn, was he going snow blind? He blinked a couple of times just to make sure she wasn’t a mirage. Nope, nothing wrong with his eyesight.

  A lady stood silhouetted in the doorway, as if debating whether to come in or skedaddle. The answer was as clear as the big blue sky that stretched to the horizon.

  A lady had no business stepping foot in this hole.

  He ignored the inclination to stand up straight in her presence, preferring to hunker over his whiskey while she stood in the open doorway like an ice princess, gilded in white light and prim bearing—the exact opposite of what this place represented.

  Any second Reid figured she’d realize she was in a bawdy establishment that made its money satisfying men’s baser needs. Or in his case, trying to.

  “Is this Mallory’s Roost?” That sultry note in her voice was at odds with her prim appearance, putting lurid thoughts in his head that he had no call thinking about a lady.

  “Yep,” he said, in no mood to offer anything more.

  She gave a shudder, but instead of hightailing it like any lady with a lick of sense would do, she stepped inside and shoved the door closed. Besides the wind that howled a protest at being shut out, the only sound in the Roost was the crackle of the stove and Reid’s uneven breathing.

  This lady oozed quality in a hovel that wouldn’t know sophistication if it bit saloon keep Ian Mallory on his Irish ass. The tips of dainty black boots peeked from under her heavy tweed skirt. Fine-looking black gloves covered small hands that rested demurely at her sides. Her wrap hugged her narrow shoulders and didn’t appear near warm enough for these environs.

  He had just enough liquor under his belt to want to heat this lady up under a nice thick blanket. Dangerous thoughts for a man in his position.

  He let his gaze drift up to her face, and her inquisitive eyes and lush lips hushed his heart a measure. He couldn’t recall when that had happened to him last. To have a woman intrigue him so now—Hell, it was time for him to vamoose.

  He’d heard the train chug in five minutes ago, and knowing he had a passenger waiting had chased off thoughts of getting drunk. Not that drink would solve his problems. But sometimes a man just needed to drown himself and his troubles in a bottle.

  That would have to wait. It was time for him to collect Mrs. Leach’s friend and head back to the ranch.

  He would’ve too if that slight desperation he sensed in this woman hadn’t stayed him. He couldn’t pull himself away just yet, not until he found out why a young woman of quality would enter a grubby saloon.

  He finished off his rotgut, then almost choked on it as the sweet scent of lilacs drifted over him, tempting him to forget the promise he’d made. He didn’t have to look up to know the lady stood at his elbow, but he did anyway.

&n
bsp; Dammit to hell but the uncertainty he glimpsed in those big brown eyes of hers had him wanting to reach out to her and tell her whatever was wrong would be all right. He knew better now than to make such promises.

  He shot the lady a look that should’ve sent her running, but she hiked that pert little chin up as if telling him she wasn’t one to bluff. If that chin hadn’t trembled the slightest bit—Aw, hell, didn’t she know it was dangerous for a woman to come close to a lone man swilling whiskey—a man who was wallowing in old regret and new longing?

  “Was there a gentleman in here earlier?” she asked.

  “Not that I recall.”

  She frowned and bit her lower lip. “Perhaps he left before you arrived—”

  “I been here since yesterday, ma’am,” Reid said and scratched his knuckles over the stubble he’d not bothered scraping off this morning. “Plenty of cowpokes and the like have come and gone, but nary a gentleman has passed through those doors.”

  “I see,” she said, her mouth pinched in clear disapproval of his admission, and his appearance, if he guessed right. “Is the owner of this establishment here?”

  Reid nodded in Mallory’s direction, his curiosity hiking up another notch. “That’s him propping up the far end of the bar.”

  “Thank you.”

  Yep, no doubt about it. She was the embodiment of the vision that had tormented Reid’s dreams for as long as he could recall. True elegance with a throaty voice that hinted of naughty. So what the hell was she doing here?

  She set off at a good clip toward the end of the bar where Ian Mallory snored like a sawmill. Her boot heels clicked a jig, and her bustle swayed to the lusty beat pulsing in Reid’s veins. Damn, but he’d sure like to see if her inviting backside was mostly padding or firm, natural rounding.

  “Excuse me,” she said to Mallory as she stopped a respectable distance from him.

  Mallory answered her with a snore.

  The lady tapped a foot impatiently on the floor and Reid bit back a smile, wondering what she’d do now. From what he’d seen so far, she wasn’t the type to tuck tail and run.

  She cleared her throat. “Sir, if I may have a moment of your time.” She leaned close to Mallory, her voice louder and more commanding this time.

  Like a schoolmarm. Or a general.

  It took grit for a woman to walk into this place. A damn sight more gumption to stay. Just the type of woman who appealed to Reid.

  Seeing his dream woman in the flesh brought all the old longing rushing back. A good dose of regret, too, though he rarely acknowledged it anymore. But what shocked the hell out of him was the beginning twitch of an honest-to-God arousal.

  The past two years lust had been a stranger to Reid. God knew he’d tried to get back in the amorous saddle again as recent as last night, but nothing any woman did worked. Now, just being in the same room with this lady had nudged his cock awake.

  About damn time. Now if only he were free—

  She turned to Reid then, and indecision flitted over her inquisitive features. “Is he always like this?”

  “He has his lucid moments, but they’re rare.”

  Her mouth cinched up tighter than a banker’s purse strings, but the gloved finger she slid between her neck and high ruffled collar was more telling than her tongue slipping out to dampen her full lower lip. That long-missed heaviness paid a teasing visit across Reid’s groin again.

  Yep, that part of him wasn’t dead after all.

  Reid gripped the empty shot glass in his hands, debating about filling it again. Drinking beat wishing to hell that he was holding soft womanly flesh, but he couldn’t leave the old gal waiting at the depot much longer either.

  She shook the sot. “Mr. Mallory. Please wake up.”

  “Uh, wha—” The old drunk roused from his stupor and stared at the lady, blinking like an owl.

  Reid could well imagine what went through the shanty Irishman’s head. Had he died and gone to heaven after all?

  “And just how can I help you, miss?” Mallory asked as he straightened to his full five-foot-six height.

  “I’m looking for Mr. Reid Barclay,” she said. “The conductor at the depot said I could find him here.”

  Reid froze, his hand inches from grabbing the bottle of whiskey. Had he heard her right?

  “Now what would a fine lady such as yourself be wanting with the likes of Reid Barclay?” Mallory asked, voicing the same question that swirled in Reid’s head.

  She slid Reid a dubious glance, before turning back to Mallory. “That’s personal.”

  The whiskey Reid had swilled crashed like angry waves in his gut. He stared at her long and hard, but nothing about her stirred his memory. Why the hell was she looking for him?

  “If that don’t beat all.” Mallory thumped a hand on the bar and let out a wheezing laugh.

  “Well? Can you tell me where I can find Mr. Barclay?” she asked.

  Mallory bobbed his shaggy head and pointed a gnarled finger at Reid. “That’s your fine gentleman right there.”

  Reid pressed both palms on the sticky bar, more discomfited than offended by the Irish sot’s mocking tone.

  “Oh.” She pressed a gloved hand to her throat and stared at Reid in clear disbelief.

  Reid’s mind churned with reasons, beyond the obvious one, why this lady had sought him out. Damn it all, but that one plausible cause wasn’t reassuring in light of his physical reaction to her.

  “Cat got your tongue?” Reid asked.

  Again, that telling flush stole over her creamy cheeks. “Please forgive me. I was expecting someone more—I mean, someone far older and, and, and—” She waved a hand as if trying to catch words that had escaped her.

  “Respectable looking?” he asked.

  Her cheeks turned a fiery red this time. “Please don’t take offense, but you don’t look like the gentleman I’d imagined.”

  “None taken, ma’ am.”

  She crossed to Reid, those sharp bootheels tapping out a lively ditty that had his blood pumping for a fare-thee-well. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Barclay.”

  Reid inclined his chin a mite, his neck crawling with suspicion. “Barclay or Reid will do.”

  “Highly improper, but if that’s what you wish.” Her cheeks darkened a smidgen, and for the first time she looked as uneasy as he felt.

  “Why are you looking for me?”

  “I’m Eleanor Jo Cade,” she said.

  She couldn’t be the woman he’d been expecting from Denver—the one his housekeeper had recommended for the job in her absence. “Mrs. Leach’s friend?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Why? What?” Reid scrubbed a hand over his face, annoyed as hell that she had him stammering for words. He sucked in a deep breath and wished he hadn’t as he drew in her sweet lilac scent.

  “Why didn’t you wait for me at the depot?” he asked, acting annoyed she’d come looking for him in this weather when he was really perturbed that she was a young, pretty and damned desirable woman.

  Of course, the fact she was here in the saloon told him she was the type who took matters into her own hands. And dammit all for thinking that because his body jolted again at the thought of her taking him in hand. Shit!

  “It seemed silly to wait when I could just as easily find you and we could be on our way.”

  There was more to it than that. The spark of panic in her eyes hinted she had another reason that she wasn’t ready to divulge.

  That alone was enough reason for him to send her on her way here and now and save himself a passel of grief. God knew he’d surely suffer misery in Miss Cade’s company, for his thoughts were anything but gentlemanly around her. But he’d have a hellish time finding a suitable woman to replace Mrs. Leach at this late date and in this ungodly weather.

  He blew out a disgusted breath at being caught between a rock and a hard place. “Then by all means let us collect your baggage and be on our way.”

  Her sigh was a fitting reactio
n, but the wide eyes glittering with relief, coupled with those soft lips trembling into a smile, went too far. Yep, this little woman roused feelings in him best left dead.

  Reid shrugged into his jacket and motioned to the door. “Stay here while I fetch the sleigh from the livery.”

  “I don’t mind walking with you. It’ll save time.” She click-clicked across the wood floor like a spirited filly and out the door into the bitter cold.

  Reid tossed five bucks on the bar and started after her. He would have preferred to lose ten minutes and regain his equilibrium, but it was obvious Miss Cade would rather tramp through the snow than spend another second in the Roost.

  “You’ve got your hands full with that one,” Mallory said.

  “She doesn’t appear to be the troublesome sort to me.”

  “Unlike yourself, Mr. Reid Barclay. For all that cultured talk you spout on a whim, I know you’ve got the heart and soul of an Irish rebel.”

  “What if I do?” Reid paused at the door and stared at the man who’d watched him go from rebellious boy to respectable rancher.

  “Her type won’t give you a roll in the hay and then go her way with a smile on her face. Remember that.”

  Reid inclined his head. “I’ll bear that in mind.”

  “Will you? You always were a cocky bastard. But then you have the blood of nobles flowing in your veins.”

  Mallory, the wily old goat, knew the truth Reid held close to the vest. He was an English nobleman’s by-blow, disowned by his father long before Reid’s mother died giving him life.

  “I’m still a bastard, Mallory.” If Kirby Morris hadn’t cut a deal when he had, he’d be a dead one by now.

  “Aye, you did ‘em wrong, boyo. They ain’t coming back.”

  His mouth stretched into a grim line. He’d given his brothers just cause to hate him, and damned if he knew how to right the terrible wrong he’d caused so long ago.