A Cowboy To Keep: A Contemporary Western Romance Collection

by Hebby Roman

  Her heart clenched, wondering if she’d ever have grandchildren. Rusty wasn’t a spring chicken, closer to her age than her daughter’s, but he was the love of Camila’s life. She’d even encouraged them getting together, knowing how deeply Camila cared for him.

  “How wonderful for you. If you and Cathy can turn the ranches over to them, won’t your problem be solved?”

  Seldom did the pioneer ranching families sell their land. They were land-proud and usually found a way to pass the running of their holdings to someone in the family who had an interest in ranching, even if it might be a distant cousin or an in-law.

  “I’m hoping they’ll stay interested.” He dug his phone out. “Want to see some pictures?”

  “Sure, of course, please.”

  His smile widened again, showing off that damned dimple. He punched on his Smartphone screen and scrolled. Then he handed it to her. “That’s the oldest boy, Cole, and if you scroll over, you’ll see Austin.”

  She took the phone and gazed at his grandsons. They were both darling-looking with light brown hair and blue eyes. The shape of their mouths reminded her of John Clay’s somehow.

  She flushed as that thought boomeranged back at her. What was she doing, thinking about the shape of his mouth?

  “They’re both handsome boys.” She handed the phone to him.

  And she remembered he and Cathy had had beautiful girls. So, unless this Hugh was an ugly duckling, she’d expect nothing less than his grandchildren to be good looking. And Cole had his grandfather’s dimple, too.

  “Cole is seven, going on eight. And Austin is almost six. They both love horses, but Austin, young as he is, acts like he was born to the saddle. Of course, Leslie had them taking riding lessons since they were three. She always loved horses.” He scrolled through more pictures, grinning to himself.

  Then he glanced up and said, “Your turn. I’d like to know how Camila is doing. She was at the race track with Rusty Douglas. Wasn’t she?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I barely recognized her, she’s all grown up. And beautiful like her mother. I heard she was a contender in barrel racing a couple of years ago. What happened?”

  She studied his dark-blue eyes. His pupils were darker, a rich purple color, giving his eyes their distinctive violet shade. And she was surprised by how much he knew about her family.

  Then her cell rang. She grabbed it and saw the caller ID, “Fawcett Irrigation and Sprinkler Systems.” Finally. “Please excuse me. I need to take this call.”

  “No problem.”

  “Yes,” she answered.

  “Leticia, how are you? My apologies for not getting back sooner, but we’ve been kind of inundated around here,” Jim Fawcett, the owner, said.

  “I was about to give up hope. I’m glad you called, or you might have found me on your doorstep.”

  “Aw, Leticia, you know us better. I just had several calls ahead of yours. But I’m available now. Can you meet me at your warehouse, and I’ll see what the problem is.”

  “Yes, I’m finishing lunch. I can be there in…” She consulted her wristwatch when the time was right there on her phone. Old habit. “I can be there in fifteen minutes.” The good part about small towns—nothing was very far apart. “Okay?”

  “See you in fifteen.”

  She clicked off her phone. John Clay had drained his coffee and piled his dishes and silverware on the tray. He was finished with his lunch. And she’d eaten all of the sandwich she wanted.

  “I’ve got to run. I have a sprinkler problem at the Atkins warehouse.”

  “So, I heard.” He inclined his head. “Jim’s the best.”

  “Yes, but it keeps him busy.” She’d gathered her luncheon remnants onto her tray while she was talking.

  She held out her hand. “It was nice running into you again … and catching up.”

  He took her hand and shook it, but his fingers lingered, clasping hers, as if he didn’t want to let go. “We didn’t finish. I want to know how your ranch is doing and about your daughter. Meet me for dinner tonight? You’re staying in town. Right? How often do our paths cross?”

  She hesitated. Should she be polite or direct? She remembered, when she’d been younger and more easily offended, telling her late husband she didn’t go to dinner with married men. A strange sense of déjà vu struck her, sending a shiver down her spine.

  But she was older now and wiser. Or so she hoped. And her sensibilities were more accustomed to human frailties. She let her hand slip from his.

  “John Clay, it’s nice of you to offer. But I seldom eat dinner when I’ve had a big lunch.”

  He snorted and gazed at her tray. “That’s a big lunch? A few mouthfuls of soup and some bites of a sandwich.”

  She couldn’t help but throw him a snarky grin. “If I ate more, at my age, I’d need to take up residence in a gym. Besides, you’re lean and trim, and I noticed you only ate half your plate, too.”

  He grinned again. “I can’t disagree. One of the liabilities of getting older. My metabolism has slowed down.” He caught her gaze. “Drinks, then?”

  Okay, she was tired of playing nice-nice with him, and though it pained her to repeat almost the exact same words she’d used with Eduardo when they’d first met, she needed to put him in his place and see about her sprinkler system.

  “John Clay, I don’t go out with married men.”

  He scooted back his chair and grimaced. “Cathy and I have been separated for ten years. As soon as Leslie left for college, we split up. But we’re still business partners, since the ranches are consolidated.”

  Leticia rose, tray in hand, and pushed her chair into the table. She hesitated, gazing at the black-and-white tiled floor for a beat, considering what he’d just said.

  She didn’t get out much anymore, especially in Del Rio, so the local gossip hadn’t reached her. And for some strange reason, a wave of sadness washed over her. She’d had one failed marriage, which was more than enough. Now John Clay’s second marriage had failed. How must he feel about that?

  She lifted her head. “I’m sorry to hear that. I didn’t know.”

  “You don’t go out much when you’re in Del Rio. Do you? When was the last time you went to the Country Club?”

  “Years and years, I guess. Only a couple of times for baby showers and wedding receptions I couldn’t get out of.” She lifted one shoulder. “I’ve often thought of dropping my membership, but the dues are reasonable.”

  “Well, if you went to the Club, you’d know. But you’ve been kinda ‘digging in’ since losing Eduardo. And I understand.” He dropped his gaze. “I felt the same way when Cathy and I made it official. Second marriage, everything in common, beautiful children…” He slumped in his chair. “I felt … feel like a failure. Two marriages down the drain.”

  “Oh, John Clay, you shouldn’t blame yourself. It takes two to make a marriage work.”

  “Maybe.” He lifted his head. “I’m lonely, Leticia. I know I haven’t … didn’t treat you right … before. But I still think of you as a friend.” He touched the left side of his chest. “Somewhere in here.” He rose and faced her. “I know I don’t deserve it. And I swear I’m not after anything besides catching up. Just talking. Nothing else.” He frowned. “Won’t you meet me for drinks tonight? You are staying over. Right?”

  “Probably. Yes, I’m staying the night at my condo. Don’t know how long this sprinkler thing will take.” She glanced at her wristwatch again. “And I need to fly or as busy as Jim is, I don’t know if he’ll wait.”

  He reached out and touched her shoulder. “How about meeting me at the Cripple Creek restaurant around eight-thirty? The dinner hour should be over. It will be quiet, and we can talk.”

  She licked her lips and thought about what he’d been through. And against her better judgment, she said, “Okay. I’ll see you there.”

  * * *

  Leticia pulled her Cadillac into Cripple Creek’s parking lot. She was surprised to be here, amazed she’d a
greed to meet John Clay. But he’d known what strings to pull, talking about how lonely he was. She shook her head and scanned the parking lot. It was mostly empty, being relatively late on a week night.

  She hoped they didn’t run into anybody she knew. Technically, he was still married. No matter what he said. But most people in Del Rio would know his true status. Even if she hadn’t known—like an ostrich with her head in the sand.

  And since she’d given in and decided to join him, she wanted some answers. Her questions might have to do with the long-dead past, but she still wanted answers.

  She opened the door to the restaurant, and the oily smell of fried food, along with the underlying sour stench of beer hit her. As a restaurant, Cripple Creek was small-town-okay, but she hadn’t eaten there in years.

  She scanned the room. A long bar with a mirror in the back and liquor bottles lining several shelves occupied the right-hand wall. Tables huddled in the center. And along the left wall was a line of booths.

  He was sitting in a back booth with a Lone Star beer in front of him. She’d expected him to be early and wait for her. She hadn’t rushed, made certain she ate a salad so her stomach wasn’t empty—not that she was going to drink much. She was a little bit late; it was already eight-forty-five.

  Sliding into the booth, she said, “I’m usually a wine drinker. Does this place have decent wine?”

  “Uh, I’d stick to beer or a mixed drink, if I were you.”

  She laughed. “Thought you might say that. I don’t like beer, though. Guess I’ll make do with a margarita.”

  He’d dressed for the occasion, in another blue Polo shirt and creased jeans. And he was wearing cologne, too.

  She liked that he’d dressed, and the smell of his cologne was calming, crisp and clean, reminding her of the faint scent of fresh, running water. She remembered a man’s cologne, from some years back, called “Cool Waters.” But she wasn’t sure if that was the name or the scent. No matter. It suited him.

  He signaled to the waitress, and a young, blonde girl came over, with a big, welcoming smile wreathing her face.

  “I’d like another beer, and she’ll have a margarita,” John Clay said.

  “Frozen or on the rocks?” The waitress asked.

  “On the rocks, please, and no salt,” she said.

  “You’ve got it,” the waitress replied and hustled back to the bar area.

  “Sitting here in the shadows, John Clay?”

  He grinned. “Something like that. Didn’t know if you’d want to be seen with me.”

  “Oh, I’m not that bad. Am I?”

  “No, I’ve always admired you.”

  “Could have fooled me.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been known to be a horse’s ass.” He shrugged. “Probably the reason I can’t keep my wives happy.”

  “Okay, let’s not do a pity party here,” she said. “But since you’ve brought up the past and being a horse’s behind, I do have questions.”

  “Shoot.” He flinched and attempted a grin. “Only don’t shoot through the heart. Okay?”

  The waitress returned with his beer and her margarita in a schooner-type glass. He looked up and said, “Thank you.”

  “Sure, just call if you need something else,” the waitress said.

  Leticia turned the schooner around and took a sip. “Why did you ask me out in high school, only to stop after a couple of dates?”

  He ran his hand through his hair. His customary Stetson was sitting on the table. “Wow! You are going a way’s back. I thought you’d want to know about—”

  “When we were both divorced and you turned down my loan.” She looked him in the eye. “Don’t worry, I’m getting there.”

  “Okay. High school first. Right?” He nodded. “You know how it was back then. We got close, you helping me with my Spanish class, and I liked you. Hell, I thought you were one of the most beautiful girls in school. But after we went out together a few times, my friends made bad jokes about me wanting a ‘hot tamale’ for a girlfriend. You know what I mean.”

  Leticia stiffened her back and sucked in her breath. Yes, she knew what it was like back then. Prejudice had been alive and well in Del Rio. Lots of people hadn’t been too happy when she’d married Gary Fowler, a Border Patrolman from up north. But over the years, as more and more Latinos and Anglos dated and married, the bigotry had died down.

  “So, you let your buddies get to you,” she said.

  He took a swig of his beer, set it down, and fiddled with the label. “Yep, I was a moral coward. Wanted to fit in, wanted to be like everyone else.” He sighed. “That’s why I didn’t ask you out any more.”

  “Okay, what about that fiasco with the loan for my store, and you calling me in the middle of the night, as if, as if…”

  “I know. I know. That was bad, very bad. I was young and arrogant, and still hurting after my first wife deserted me.”

  Shades of Eduardo. His first wife had deserted him, too. How odd. Another coincidence?

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “With Charlotte? Pretty simple. I met her at Tulane. She was a southern belle from Alabama. She and her family approved of my balance sheet, but once we were married and I brought her to Del Rio, she hated the place. Felt it was too insular and isolated. And she despised ranch life—thought it was dirty and primitive.” He lifted his shoulders. “She never fit in with my friends here, probably because she was too busy looking down her nose at them.”

  “Not a pretty scenario.” Leticia sipped her drink. “Gary, my first husband, didn’t like it here, either. He’d wanted to be stationed on the Canadian border, closer to home.” She snagged his gaze. “Living on the border isn’t easy. You either love it or hate it.”

  “And then Gary betrayed you.” He shook his head. “I never understood that.”

  She sucked in her breath. He’d brought that up again. She shrugged one shoulder, as if it didn’t hurt any more. “I don’t think there was a good reason why he did it. Opportunity, I guess. Mercedes was lonely and available. He was unhappy, and we didn’t know where our marriage was going.

  “I wanted, once I got my parents’ store turned around, to go back to school. Gary wanted to go back north. I didn’t want to sell my family’s store, so where would we have lived? Neither of us knew how to bridge the gap.” She sighed and sipped her drink. “We should have talked that stuff over before…” She shook her head. “We got married too quickly. I was still grieving and vulnerable after my parents were killed in that boating accident. And he was a long way from home.” She bit her lip. “Not good reasons to get married, but there it is.

  “Hey, enough about me,” she said. “You’ve moved the conversation away from what you did. Why couldn’t you have at least funded part of my loan?”

  “Why wouldn’t you take out a mortgage on your store?”

  “Too risky. I didn’t want to take the chance of failing at changing Rodriguez’s over to a niche market, only to lose the store my parents took years to build up.”

  “Same here, the bank wasn’t ready to risk losing their money.”

  “Oh, John Clay, be reasonable. I offered my bank stock as collateral.”

  “I know.” He nodded and started to shred his paper napkin into thin strips. “I should have partially funded you.”

  “But you didn’t because I wouldn’t go partying with you. Right?”

  Chapter Four

  John Clay sucked in his breath and squared his shoulders. In retrospect, the way he’d treated her was this-side-of-awful. Could she find it in her heart to forgive him? Not that he deserved her forgiveness, but he still cared for her. Had never stopped caring. And somewhere, buried deep inside his heart, he’d always hoped to get a second chance—or was it a third chance?

  “Yes, you’re right,” he said. “I was already hurting from losing Charlotte. I couldn’t take being turned down. I struck back in the only way I knew.”

  “By turning down my loan.”

  He
swallowed his beer and set the empty down. If he was brutally honest, would she believe him and realize he was filled with remorse? Had regretted what he’d done almost immediately? And would give anything to change the past?

  “It was wrong on my part. Not professional. Petty and mean and ugly.” He shook his head. “No excuses, no rationalizations. And I’ve wanted to apologize for a long time.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Cowardice again. I couldn’t face you down and admit what I’d done. It was easier to keep my distance.” He pulled the fresh beer in front of him and wadded up the shredded napkin. “Besides, you had Eduardo by then. You and he were quite the couple. Everyone in town knew y’all had something special. And most of us were envious. I can tell you that.”

  “Envious? You’ve got to be kidding. Why?”

  “Because so few couples stay in love the way you two did. That’s why.”

  “Oh,” she gulped and blinked. Then she lowered her head. “I see.” She sniffed and dabbed her eyes with the napkin. “But what about you and Cathy? You seemed made for each other.”

  Who were her tears for? Not for him; he was certain. No, she was crying because of how much she still loved her late husband. And realizing that, made his heart shrivel in his chest.

  He had hoped… But what had he hoped for—that she’d stopped loving Eduardo? Not likely, not the way she’d retreated from life, grieving for years. He’d have to accept the way she felt. He’d never try to push her again. He’d made that vow to himself, and he’d keep it.

  He took a swig of beer. She’d asked him about his marriage with Cathy. Looked like he needed to face all of his mistakes and failures. But he’d been the one who’d begged her to meet him and talk. He needed to take it like a man.

  He nodded. “Yes, in a lot of ways, you’re right about Cathy. We shared a common heritage and background. And we had a good marriage … for a time. But when the girls were young, Cathy and I quit doing things together.