A Cowboy To Keep: A Contemporary Western Romance Collection

by Hebby Roman

  “And if I send Stormy Knight on the circuit, it means you or Chuy would have to accompany him and be gone from the ranch for long periods of time. Not to mention, whoever was with Stormy would be on duty 24/7 without a break. Again, it’s a lot to ask for one horse, no matter how good he might turn out to be.”

  It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her to buy more race horses and make it a going venture and hire his son to help out. When he’d texted Pancho back and told him that his employer still hadn’t made up her mind, his son had been distraught and called him again.

  He couldn’t hurry her, though, it was her decision to make. But he worried about his son practically every minute of every day. Fearful he’d get a late-night call, telling him Pancho had been hurt or worse.

  And he couldn’t hurry her about their relationship, either. She was like he’d been when he was first widowed, fragile and aloof, holding the pain close. But she’d been widowed longer than he had. Surely, she would welcome a relationship, if she was attracted to him.

  She twirled one strand of her long, reddish-brown hair around her finger and took another sip of wine. “I’m still undecided, Franco, if I want to get into racing or not. Because the only way it makes sense is to go in with several horses. That means I need to buy more horses and that’s a big outlay. Not to mention everything else that goes along with it.”

  He lowered his head again. Uncomfortable with where she was leading. If they didn’t start a racing stable, would she need his son to work for her?

  This time, she reached across the small table and took his hand in hers, interlacing their fingers. Her golden eyes gleamed. “But I do have a surprise for you. One I’ve been waiting until the right time to tell you.”

  He gazed at her, hope springing alive. “Yes?”

  “I went to the immigration office in Eagle Pass last week, and I inquired about bringing your son to work for me.”

  “You did!” He couldn’t keep the joy from his voice. It was an answer to his prayers.

  “Wow! If I’d known how happy it would make you, I would have told you sooner.” She smiled. “When we get back, we’ll go together and you can help me finish filling out the paperwork. I need to know some particulars about your son. His age and address, references. That stuff.” She waved her hand. “You know the drill.”

  Yes, the formalities were not easy. And he worried about how slow the immigration office moved, remembering his application had dragged on for some time. He wanted to ask her if she knew of a way to expedite the process, but then she would want to know why. And he couldn’t tell her the real reason.

  He wished she’d told him sooner, so he could have called his son. They’d shared a long drive from the ranch to Houston, alone in her car, and she hadn’t mentioned it. Instead, they’d talked about his former life in México, and the people he’d worked for. And, as was customary, she’d asked questions about her horses and their training.

  He tried not to let his feelings show. Not to give away the simmering frustration eating at him. For her, hiring his son was nothing, just another ranch hand. But for Pancho, it might mean his life. Unfortunately, he was at her beck and call and, for the first time, a tiny shard of resentment stabbed him.

  She patted his hand and finished her wine. Then she stretched her arms and yawned, saying, “Franco, it’s been a long day. I’m tired. Could we go?”

  He couldn’t help but notice the way her blouse pulled taut over her rounded breasts when she extended her arms. One minute he was simmering with resentment—the next minute he was lusting after her like a randy billy goat.

  “Of course, I’ll ask for the bill.” He motioned to their waitress.

  A few minutes later, with her elbow in his hand, they stood in the elevator, their bodies touching, waiting for the eighth floor.

  The elevator reached their floor, dinged, and the doors slid open. He guided her to the right, where her room was. His room was in the opposite direction. They stopped in front of room eight-four-four, and she rummaged in her purse for her card key.

  But before she could swipe the card and tell him “good night,” he made a swift decision, pulling her close and covering her mouth with his. For one instant, he thought she’d push him away. But she didn’t. Instead, she opened her mouth and let him deepen the kiss.

  He put his arms around her and kissed her hungrily, open-mouthed and unashamed of his growing desire, pressing against her. But when he trailed his lips down her neck and put his hand on her breast, she flinched.

  She brought her hand up and pushed against his chest. “No, Franco, I can’t.”

  “¿Por qué, no? I thought you wanted me, too.”

  She shook her head, and he could see the moisture at the edges of her long-lashed eyes. “I thought I did. But I can’t.” She shook her head again. “I just can’t.” Her voice was whisper-soft. “I hope you understand, and this doesn’t change anything.”

  He stepped back, needing to put distance between them. His body clamored for hers, but she didn’t want him. He hadn’t been rebuffed by a woman since he was a pimply teenager. Her rejection stung. But she was his employer, and Pancho’s ticket out of México.

  He clenched his jaw, gritting his teeth, needing to control himself. He bowed stiffly. “I understand perfectly, Señora Villarreal.” He forced a fake smile. “It will be as you say. Our relationship will go on as before.” He inclined his head. “I will meet you at the coffee shop at eight tomorrow morning.”

  Chapter Three

  Leticia settled at a table in The Brown Bag cafe with her chicken salad sandwich and tortilla soup. The luncheon place was located on Main Street in Del Rio. It was one of the businesses springing up in the old downtown. She was pleased to see Del Rio’s downtown being revitalized with new businesses. For too long, the downtown had been slowly dying.

  Glancing around, she tapped her chin with her index finger, wondering if she might make an investment in one of the older buildings, renovating it, and then leasing it out. It was an idea she’d need to talk over with her realtor.

  She was in town to see about the malfunction of a sprinkler system in her largest commercial venture, a warehouse on the north side of town leased by Atkins Moving Company. The sprinkler system was relatively new and under warranty, but she was having trouble getting the company who installed it to come out and see what was wrong.

  She pulled out her cell, wondering if she hadn’t heard their call, but she didn’t have any voice mails or missed calls. She puffed out her breath and put down her phone, picking up her soup spoon.

  The spicy chicken soup smelled delicious, making her mouth water. All the food at The Brown Bag was excellent, and she often ate lunch there. Taking a taste of the soup, she burned her tongue. Wincing, she set her spoon down and decided to let it cool. She turned back to her phone and opted to check her emails.

  “Fancy running into you again, Leticia,” a man’s voice made her look up.

  She gazed at John Clay Laidlaw. He held a tray with one of the luncheon entrees, a large slab of chicken fried steak with mashed potatoes and green beans.

  Yes, what a coincidence—especially since they hadn’t crossed paths before in years. For a moment, she was speechless. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was stalking her. But that was stupid. How could he have known to be in Houston at the race track a few weeks ago?

  “Yes, quite a coincidence,” she said. “I’m often in Del Rio, taking care of my property, but it’s been years since I’ve run into you.”

  He tipped his Stetson back and smiled. “Guess I’ve been hiding out on my ranches for too long.”

  That was right, he had multiple ranches, spread around Del Rio for miles. The Laidlaws were one of the original pioneer families and possessed thousands of acres, not to mention he’d married into another prestigious ranching family, the Huttos.

  Cathy Hutto had been her parents’ only child and when her parents had passed, John Clay had lost no time in consolidating the ra
nches and introducing new and more efficient methods, like herding sheep with helicopters, to oversee their extensive holdings. She remembered Eduardo telling her about John Clay’s innovations with a wistful, almost envious note in his voice.

  “Well.” She searched for small talk and didn’t find any. “It was nice seeing you again.”

  “And you, Leticia.” He touched one finger to the brim of his Stetson, turned away and took a couple of steps, then he turned back. “Do you mind if I sit with you?”

  “Uh, I’m waiting on a call from a contractor and checking my emails…”

  His fixed smile drooped, and he dropped his gaze to his pointy-toed, alligator-skinned, cowboy boots. “I understand. No problem.”

  But before he turned away again, she relented, feeling almost sorry for him, which was ridiculous, considering their checkered past. “Hey, I can do the emails later. Sure, why don’t you join me. I’d love to catch up on you and your family.”

  Not really—but she had to say something. His obvious disappointment had touched a sore spot in her heart. Not that he deserved her compassion, but he’d appeared so forlorn.

  Now he looked like a youth who’d brought down his first white-tail deer. His wide smile spread across his way-too-handsome face. He was especially handsome without his glasses, and unlike some men, his silver-streaked hair suited him, the perfect counterpoint to his almost-lavender-colored eyes.

  He put his tray down and said, “Thanks.”

  Before he’d gotten his chair pulled out, she asked, “What happened to your glasses? You always wore glasses. Didn’t you?” Then she inhaled, wondering where that had come from. Why was she interested?

  “Oh, that,” he said, waving his hand. “I got Lasik surgery. It’s made my life so much easier.”

  She nodded, wondering if he’d gotten surgery to make his life easier or to feed his vanity. She’d just started to need reading glasses but only if the print was small. She could still make out the screen on her Smartphone, but she dreaded the day when she’d really need glasses. She had thought about surgery or trying contact lenses.

  So, who was vain?

  Even though Lasik surgery had a great track record, being both safe and effective, she had trouble getting her head around someone using a laser beam on her eyes.

  He seated himself, doffed his Stetson, and put it in an empty chair. Then he arranged his plate and drink and opened his napkin, setting it in his lap. “I didn’t know you followed Quarter horse racing, though, I know you own a horse ranch.”

  “That was the first time I’ve seen Quarter horse racing.” She swallowed some of her soup. Now it was too cool. Oh, well, couldn’t be helped. And when had she gotten so picky? She wasn’t exactly a Goldilocks-type person.

  “Really, your first time? How fortunate I saw you.”

  Was it fortunate? Not to her way of thinking. Of course, it was a long time ago when he’d treated her badly, but still… Why was he so enthusiastic to share lunch with her? And why had he stared at her at the race track?

  “I have to ask, John Clay, why were you staring at me at the track?”

  “Right to the point, Leticia. I always liked that about you.”

  “Did you?” She shook her head and dipped her spoon into the soup. “It’s been a long time to remember much about me.”

  “I haven’t forgotten you. You’re not a woman to forget easily.”

  She swallowed a mouthful of tortilla soup and looked up. She met his gaze. A tremor took her, almost as if the cool soup had chilled her, going down.

  When was the last time a man had said something like that? Not since she’d lost Eduardo. Franco liked to touch her, and they talked about their pasts and the ranch. But he’d never said anything quite so pointed.

  She took a sip of her iced tea and studied him while he cut his chicken fried steak into pieces. “I’m not certain how to respond, John Clay, except to ask after your wife.”

  “Cathy is fine.” He met her gaze again, but then he lowered his eyes and concentrated on his food.

  “And your girls? You have two girls. Don’t you? Older than my Camila.”

  He mixed his mashed potatoes with the cut-up steak, his green beans, and poured milk gravy over the whole mess. She smiled to herself. Her first husband, Gary, had eaten his food like that, all smashed together in one big blob.

  And thinking about her first husband, before Eduardo, was even worse than thinking about how John Clay had treated her after the divorce.

  “My girls are good. Heather owns one of those fancy interior decorator shops in the Design Center in Dallas. She’s a career girl, and her husband is a real estate developer. They both love their jobs and don’t see the need to have children.”

  “Let me guess. They live in Highland Park.”

  He chewed and swallowed. Then he grinned. “Close, but no cigar. They live in Preston Hollow.”

  “Ah, the home of the former President, Mark Cuban, Ross Perot, and—”

  “You sure know a lot about Dallas.” He ate another bite.

  “Mercedes moved there, after her father died and she divorced Luis.” She finished her soup and pushed it to one side, already feeling full. Maybe she should take her sandwich home for later.

  “I didn’t know you kept up with Mercedes.” He pushed a large chunk of slathered steak around his plate. “Especially after what happened between you two.”

  She recoiled at his too-pointed comment and thought about getting a doggy bag and leaving. She scooted back in her chair.

  He reached out and laid his hand on her arm. The look in his eyes was just-this-side-of begging again. “Don’t go. I didn’t mean to be crude. It’s just that—”

  “No worries,” she lied. She wanted to pull away, but his big, warm hand with its perfectly manicured nails distracted her, making her pulse gallop.

  And she was surprised to find the tips of his fingers were calloused, as though he actually worked on his ranches. It was an intriguing thought. She wondered if he took his shirt off when it was hot and how he looked…

  Not that he was built like her Eduardo or even Franco. His physique was lean and sinewy, but she could feel the strength emanating from his light touch.

  She cleared her throat, and he withdrew his hand. She reached for her sandwich. “Eduardo kept up with Mercedes. Not me. Though, we visited her in Dallas a couple of times with her new husband.”

  She glanced away and noticed another old friend, the electrician she used for her properties, who was seated two tables over. Raising her hand, she waved at him. He smiled and waved back.

  Small town life—how she’d hated it when she was young—now she lived in an even smaller universe. Her ranch and Eagle Pass were mostly home. And Eagle Pass was even smaller than Del Rio.

  John Clay inclined his head toward Enrique. “He’s a good electrician.”

  “Oh, you use him, too?”

  “For some projects. He doesn’t like to travel past Comstock. I’ve got another guy I use for my ranches further west.” He took a swallow of his coffee. “Wasn’t it awkward visiting Mercedes?”

  “No more awkward than other things I’ve done in my life,” she shot back. “I did forgive her. I just couldn’t be—”

  “Close friends like before.” He pushed more of his scrambled-up steak around. “I understand.”

  She chewed a bite of sandwich, savoring the dill they seasoned it with. “Okay, you haven’t finished—about your girls. How’s your younger daughter? Leslie, isn’t it?”

  His azure eyes lit up. “Leslie is just fine. Lives in Houston with her husband who’s in oil and gas.”

  “Let me guess.” She couldn’t help but grin. “River Oaks.”

  He smiled back, and she’d forgotten about the dimple in his right cheek. Eduardo had had a dimple like that. Thinking about it, her chest got tight, and she exhaled.

  “Right on the money, this time. Yep, they live in River Oaks.”

  “So, your daughters both married well.�
��

  “It’s one of the reasons I sent them to SMU.”

  “That’s calculating, John Clay.” She arched one eyebrow. “So, you sent them there to snag wealthy husbands?”

  “Yep, since neither one of them showed any interest in ranching.” He looked down again and forked another bite into his mouth.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. It must have been a disappointment for you and your wife.”

  “Yes, it was, at first, but Leslie didn’t finish college. She just wanted to marry and have a family. When she met Hugh, that was it. We threw her a big old wedding at First Methodist and then a reception at the Country Club. I think you and Eduardo were invited. But I don’t remember y’all coming…”

  “I remember the invitation. I sent her a chafing dish, but you’re right, we didn’t attend. It was right after I lost Eduardo, and I didn’t go out much.”

  He reached out and took her hand in his. The look in his eyes was steeped in sympathy. “I’m sorry. Forgive me for…”

  She swallowed and forced back the tears burning in her throat. “It’s all right, you didn’t know. Time has a way of running like sand through your fingers, hard to place certain events, like when people get married or pass on or have babies. It’s all right.”

  “I don’t remember coming to Eduardo’s funeral either.”

  “Probably because he wanted a small affair. Just a memorial service with a few people. He wanted to be cremated, didn’t want a big fuss…” Her voice caught, and she lowered her head.

  He put his fork down and folded her hand between his two big ones. She wanted to glance at Enrique, wondering what he thought about her holding hands with a married man in a public restaurant. Small town stuff again. But she didn’t look up, just concentrated on getting control of her emotions.

  Then she slipped her hand free and stuck a sickly smile on her face. “It’s, okay.” She took another swallow of tea, hoping it would dislodge the lump in her throat. “Did Leslie have her family?”

  He pushed his half-finished lunch to one side. “Yep, started right in, on the honeymoon. They went to Tahiti or Bali.” He waved his hand. “One of those damned South Sea paradise honeymoon places. She’s got two boys, Cole and Austin. I’ve great hopes for them. They visit every summer and love ranching, even the dirty work, like dipping and marking.”