A Cowboy To Keep: A Contemporary Western Romance Collection

by Hebby Roman

  He raised his head and spread his hands. “Forgive me.”

  “We’ll talk later after the kids have gone back to College Station. Okay? But you need to understand we will have to put each other first, to make this work.” She chewed on her lip. “You need to do some soul-searching. And I need to be sure.”

  He stared at her, wondering what she meant by that? Did she need to be sure about him … or their love … or wanting to get married? His heart sank like a stone, leaving an achy place in his chest.

  He nodded, still believing she was being unfair, expecting him to be like… He stopped himself. He didn’t want to think that. That she’d held him up to her memory of Eduardo and found him lacking.

  The ache in his chest grew and doubts swamped him. He couldn’t take any more, at least, not tonight. He turned away and mumbled, “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight.” She pulled the door closed.

  * * *

  Leticia sat bolt upright in the bed. After her disagreement with John Clay, she’d tossed and turned. She’d finally dozed off, but now she was wide awake again. She grabbed her cell phone. It was a few minutes after two a.m. and something wasn’t right.

  She had to get home.

  She dressed in jeans and a pullover, throwing the remainder of her clothes in her bag. She didn’t want to text anyone and wake them up. Using the stationery and envelopes from the desk drawer, she left a quick note for Camila and another one for John Clay. She pushed the notes under their doors.

  Then she went downstairs, paid her bill, upsetting the night clerk, who was concerned she hadn’t been happy with her room or the hotel. She tried to reassure the poor man, saying she had an emergency.

  She got her Cadillac from valet parking. Stormy, John Clay’s trainer, and José would be on their way back to the Lazy L at first light. John Clay had driven them to San Antonio in her car. Camila and Rusty would have to take John Clay back to Del Rio, or he could get a rental car.

  She’d tried to explain in her notes, but she couldn’t worry about that right now. Her sudden premonition haunted her, compelling her forward, and she headed south on I35. Almost three hours later, she pulled into her driveway and saw Sheriff Ely’s car parked in front of the barn.

  Panic pummeled her, pounding at her.

  She ran to the barn and stopped. Her barn looked like the set of a B-grade horror movie. Splotches of blood-stained hay littered the barn floor. And like the night of the fireworks, the metallic smell of spent gunpowder was heavy in the air.

  Chuy sat on a bench in the back with Maria swabbing at a gash on his forehead. Jim Bob stood in the middle of her barn, talking to Chuy. Behind him, on the wall separating the tack room from the barn, there was a spray of bullet holes, riddling the boards.

  And from the last stall on the left, she heard a low groan. Frosty Prince!

  She sprinted to his stall and found her prized charro stallion, lying on his side, his eyes wide, his nostrils flared, and a low moaning sound coming from him. Blotches of bright-red blood besmirched the hay, and on each of his four fetlocks were bloody bandages.

  Throwing open the stall door, she went to him, laying her hand on his heaving side and stroking his beautiful gray-and-white mottled coat.

  He picked up his head. The suffering in his huge, brown eyes shattered her soul. She put her arms around his neck and sobbed. Her heart was breaking.

  Someone touched her shoulder. She glanced up and saw Jim Bob standing there.

  “Leticia, I was going to call you,” he said. “Wanted to get my facts straight first.”

  She nodded, but what she wanted to do was to scream at the top of her lungs, asking what had happened. But her tongue had cleaved to the roof of her mouth. And she was shaking all over.

  “They cut his fetlocks to the bone,” Jim Bob said.

  Horror washed over her, imagining Prince’s suffering. She hugged his neck harder, and he lifted his head again, looking her in the eye.

  He was suffering. She had to do something … quickly.

  “Jim Bob, give me your revolver.”

  “Leticia, this is a government-issued firearm, and I can’t—”

  “He’s suffering, he’s hurt.” She got to her knees and then stood. “I can’t stand it. If you won’t give me your revolver, I have a Colt 45 in the office.”

  He touched her arm. “We’ve already called Doc Leghorn. He’s on his way. He can put your horse out of his misery.”

  She twisted away from him. Her nerves were shot; she could feel her horse’s pain, tearing at her from the inside. A giant, ugly, clawed thing within her, eating its way to her heart.

  Finally, she found her voice again, and this time it was back in full force. “He’s dying! He’s hurting!” She screamed. “I won’t let him suffer a moment longer. How can you be so cruel, Jim Bob?”

  He sighed but didn’t say a word. He unsnapped the leather holster and held out his firearm. “Here it is.”

  She grabbed the gun. Then she kneeled beside Frosty Prince, kissing his muzzle, crooning soft words to him, stroking his forehead. She cocked the Smith & Wesson, carefully pointed it between Prince’s eyes, turned her head, and pulled the trigger.

  The shot was deafening, reverberating through the barn.

  She sank onto the stallion’s muscled neck and bawled her eyes out, huge, tearing sobs. She shook and shook, crying and crying, knowing she needed to stop but unable to.

  Finally, her weeping subsided into hiccoughs. But her insides were knotted and aching with agony. She leaned over and vomited last night’s haute de cuisine into the hay.

  Jim Bob lifted her in his arms and deposited her beside Chuy on the rough bench. Maria offered her a bottle of water. She took the bottle and gulped. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

  The Sheriff’s voice was soft. “Should I send for an ambulance or do you want Ruth to come and—?”

  “No, no.” She shook her head. “What happened? I need to know what happened.” She got to her feet, fear swamping her again. “What about Princess and her foal? Are they okay. Are they?” She shrieked and looked around. “I need to—”

  “They’re fine,” Jim Bob interjected and gently pulled her down again.

  She covered her face with her hands and blubbered, “Good, good. But I need to know what happened. Please.” She lifted her head and gazed at the Sheriff.

  Jim Bob glanced at Chuy. Chuy nodded.

  “As best we can tell from what your foreman found, a drug cartel from around Guadalajara was after your horse trainer’s son.”

  “Pancho,” Chuy supplied.

  “Yes. His father, your trainer, knew he was in trouble with the cartel in México, so he talked you into bringing his son here to work.”

  She turned her head to one side, new pain piercing her guts. Ramos had used her—had deceived her to bring his son to the States? She shouldn’t have trusted him. How stupid of her. She’d known Ramos was over-eager, almost frantic to get his son here. She should have…

  Chuy touched her arm. “Señor Ramos’ son lied to him, telling his father he was fleeing México because he didn’t want to work for the cartel. Only after Princess was poisoned, did he learn the truth.

  “That’s when Señor Ramos forced his son to tell him the truth—that Pancho had gotten one of the cartel’s women pregnant, and they’d hunted him down. They tried to hurt your horses to send a warning, so Pancho would think he had no choice but to return and work for the cartel.”

  She licked her dry lips. “Why didn’t Ramos tell me? Or why didn’t they leave and find some place to hide in the States?”

  Chuy shook his head. “It was all about honor with Señor Ramos. He wanted to guard your horses, follow through on his obligation until you returned from San Antonio, hoping the cartel wouldn’t come back so soon.” He took a sip of water. “He planned for them to leave, so the cartel would quit hurting your horses. He and his son were going off as soon as you returned home.”

  “I wish he w
ould have told me, once he knew the truth. I would have tried to—”

  “Do what, Leticia?” Jim Bob asked. “These Mexican drug cartels are a law unto themselves. México is a failed state; there is no real law and order there.” He shook his head. “Nothing anyone can do.”

  She clasped her hands and lowered her head. “I know, I know. The border is a tragedy. Not like when I was growing up.”

  “Even so, I won’t let you down.” Jim Bob touched her shoulder. “I’ll file all the necessary paperwork with the Federal authorities. This is a crime, and it will be duly noted, as best I can.”

  “Thank you, I appreciate it.” She cradled her head in her hands.

  Jim Bob moved off, surveying the crime scene, taking notes, bagging samples of hay, and picking up stray, spent cartridges.

  She glanced at Chuy. Maria stood on his other side, stroking his arm.

  “What happened to Ramos and his son?” She touched his bandaged forehead. “And to you?”

  He shook his head again and grasped Maria’s hand. “It was awful. I woke to the sound of gunfire. When I rushed out with my revolver, someone hit me over the head.” He touched his forehead. “I must have blacked out for a few moments. When I came to, I realized Ramos and his son had tried to hold off four men, wearing ski masks. They had machine guns.” He shrugged. “It was no contest.

  “And they’d already cut Prince’s … Prince’s…” His voice caught on a sob. Chuy gulped. “Ramos said his son must have been sleeping, but when they hurt Prince, he woke up and fired his shotgun once, a signal for his father to come. But it was too late, he was surrounded and…

  “They grabbed Ramos and then three of the men took Pancho into the tack room and beat him to a pulp. That’s when Ramos explained why the men were here—in English. The one left watching Ramos didn’t understand much English. I gave him cigarettes, and he let us talk.” He glanced at Maria, who was still hovering over them, like a mother hen, taking care of her chicks.

  “Maria, thank you for bandaging me and helping to bandage … Prince.” Chuy looked at her, his eyes full of adoration. “I think I could eat something. Could you make breakfast?”

  “Of course, of course.” Maria glanced at her. “Señora?”

  “Please, yes, Maria, make us some breakfast. That would be good.”

  Maria bobbed her head and hurried toward the house.

  “So,” she turned back to Chuy, prompting him, “that’s how you learned what happened.”

  “Yes.”

  “And they took Ramos and his son away?”

  “Yes. There was no stopping them.”

  Jim Bob had returned and stood by the bench, surveying the blood-soaked hay.

  “Have you finished for now, Jim Bob?” Leticia asked.

  “Yes, I’ve got what I need.” He consulted his wristwatch. “I’m surprised the Doc isn’t here yet.”

  “It’s all right. I know he’ll be along,” she said.

  Even as she tried to regain some measure of composure, she felt sick inside and helpless. Ramos had been a good man; he didn’t deserve what had happened to him. She didn’t want to know, but she had to ask. “Jim Bob, what will happen to Ramos and his son?”

  Jim Bob cocked back his hat. “Hard to say. The boy will have to join the cartel.” He glanced away. “As for Ramos, there’s no telling. But most cartels want young blood, not someone like Ramos. Probably, they’ll let him go if he promises to not make trouble.”

  “But he has to live with the fact his son will die, serving the cartel?”

  “Probably. Once you’re involved, there’s no way out, except…” Jim Bob stopped short of saying the obvious.

  “I wish I could have done more for them … if Ramos would have told me, maybe I could have…”

  “Leticia, it wasn’t your battle. Ramos was on the up-and-up. But his son got in over his head.” Jim Bob shrugged and reached out, patting her shoulder. “Don’t feel guilty. There’s really not much you could have done.”

  Doc Leghorn pulled up in his van.

  Leticia let the Doc examine Prince, not wanting to see her beautiful stallion again. Jim Bob helped her to sign the necessary documents for the County to allow her to bury Prince on her property.

  After the vet was gone, she said, “Chuy, can you have some of the hands move Prince and bury him in the south pasture, overlooking—”

  “Mamá!” Camila called out, flinging open the barn doors and rushing to her. Her daughter threw her arms around her and, without a word of explanation, they held each other.

  Rusty followed Camila into the barn and hugged her, too. She could see the shock on their faces. Knew they’d seen Doc Leghorn leave, couldn’t miss the blood-soaked hay or the prone body of Prince in his stall.

  They stared at her, but they didn’t say anything.

  But where was John Clay? They’d argued last night, but after reading her note, she’d expected him to come. Hadn’t really expected him to rent a car and leave her…

  She ran her fingers through her hair and tried to quit crying, knowing she must look like hell. She realized Rusty and Camila were afraid to ask what had happened until she’d calmed down. She folded her arms across her chest and lowered her head, biting her lip until it bled. She needed to regain control, needed to explain…

  And then John Clay strode into the barn, looking neither right nor left. Like a homing pigeon, he came for her, pushing Camila and Rusty out of the way.

  He lifted her in his strong arms. “Darling, I need to get you out of here and take care of you.”

  He stopped and glanced around. His gaze rested on the Sheriff. “Later, Jim Bob, I need to know what happened.” He inclined his head. “Rusty and Camila, too. I don’t want Leticia to have to go through it again. Okay?”

  “No problem. I should get back to the station, but I can come back later after lunch,” Jim Bob said. “How’s that?”

  “That would be great.”

  He clasped her tighter and said, “Let’s get you to the house.”

  Pure love flooded her. She nestled in his arms, glad for his strength, marveling at his caring. She gazed into his lavender-blue eyes and said, “You know I love you.”

  He brushed his lips against hers. “I’m glad, because I’ve always loved you. And I will move heaven and earth to make you believe me. To make you understand, you’re the most important thing in the world.”

  “Oh, John Clay, I know. I know.” She smiled, a thin smile.

  He nodded and strode toward the ranch house, ascending the front steps and lowering her gently into one of the rockers. He kissed the top of her head and said, “Try to relax. Can I get you something? Water or coffee or…”

  “I know it’s early, but I had to shoot Prince to put him out of his misery and…” Her eyes teared up, and she was afraid she was going to break down again.

  “I think I need some brandy and an aspirin.” Shivers shook her, and her teeth chattered. Was she going into shock?

  “An … and … my afghan. I’m, I’m caa … cold.”

  “I better call the doctor.”

  She grabbed his hand. “No, no, gi … give me a min … minute, please.” She inhaled deeply and concentrated on breathing slowly, in and out, in and out.

  “Okay, let me get Maria.” He gazed at her. “But if you’re not better in a few minutes, I’m calling the doctor.”

  She nodded.

  He rushed off, calling for Maria, and within minutes, he’d tucked the afghan around her, she’d swallowed the aspirin, and was sipping the brandy, letting it warm her inside.

  Slowly, her shaking subsided, and she leaned back in the rocker, feeling as if she’d been wrung out and hung up to dry.

  John Clay kneeled beside her, taking her hand and squeezing it. She relished the touch of his calloused hands, reassuring her, making her feel safe and cared for.

  “Feeling better?” he asked.

  “Much better.” She lifted her other hand and stroked his face. “Thank you
… for everything.”

  “No thanks necessary. I love you. I want to always be here for you.” He glanced down. “In fact, since I’ve already assumed the position, I think I need to ask you something. And I want to do this properly.”

  She held her breath, knowing what was coming, and feeling the joy pour through her.

  Now she was ready, more than ready.

  “Leticia Rodriguez Villarreal, will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

  She pulled her hand free and threw her arms around his neck. “Yes. Oh, yes.”

  “It might take a while for my divorce to come through.”

  “I don’t care. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that we’re together.”

  “And we’ll work out all those details, I promise. Together. Mutual decisions. Okay?”

  “Of course. I know you’ve changed. You’ve proven yourself to me, over and over. We’ll work it out. We have to. I can’t live without you.”

  Epilogue

  Eight Months Later

  “Camila, can you hear me,” Leticia asked.

  “Sure, I can hear you, but you sound like you’re in a wind tunnel or something.”

  “That’s because we’re in the study on my ancient speaker phone. Guess I should get a newer model. Is Rusty around?”

  “Yeah, he’s in the kitchen, making that godawful chili of his. I’ll get him.” There was a rapping sound over the speaker, and then she could hear her daughter’s voice, muffled, calling out, “Rusty, can you come here. Mamá needs to talk to us.”

  She heard a shuffling and then Rusty’s voice, saying, “Hey, Leticia, how are you doing? What’s up?”

  Leticia glanced at John Clay and smiled. “Couldn’t be better. But we’ve got some exciting news for y’all. John Clay’s divorce is final.”

  He put his arm around her shoulders.

  “Hey, that’s great,” Camila and Rusty chimed in, together. “Congratulations.”

  “Yeah,” John Clay took up the thread of conversation. “A huge relief, went better than we expected.”

  “So,” Camila’s voice started and then hesitated. “Are y’all still thinking about a double wedding?”