The Cowboy's Honor

by Amy Sandas

  Randall looked confused at that one, so Dean provided the answer. “The day that should have been her twenty-second birthday.”

  “Shit!” Randall hissed as he shook his head. “I can’t believe it.”

  “All the incidents since those first two have been random, but near enough to the MacDonnell homestead that someone could have ridden out, killed the cattle, and gone home without much effort.”

  “But why?”

  Dean didn’t want to answer that. He didn’t want to believe Anne’s family, lifelong friends of the Lawtons, would have turned on them in such a way. But grief could do terrible things to people.

  “We don’t know for sure it’s them,” Dean explained instead. “It’s just a suspicion at this point. I can’t do anything without solid proof. I won’t,” he stated firmly, looking his still-stunned brother hard in the eye. “And you won’t either. Got it?”

  Randall nodded readily. “Yeah. I got it.”

  Dean gave a nod of his own. “Now, why don’t you head home? I imagine Pilar’s been waiting for you.”

  “Sure,” Randall replied, though his movements were reluctant as he turned to his gelding. Just before hoisting himself up into his saddle, he looked back. “I’m sorry, Dean. I never woulda thought…”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll handle it. Get on home.”

  After his brother left, Dean stayed out by the arena until the sun gave up its last rays of light over the horizon. He loved the ranch. It was the kind of love that had formed in his bones, passed down through generations.

  And someone was threatening it.

  He didn’t want to believe Anne’s family had anything to do with the senseless slaughter. Ranchers themselves, the MacDonnells understood the value of livestock as more than what it brought at auction. The cattle were the ranch, the soul, the lifeblood.

  An attack on Lawton cattle was a direct attack on Dean.

  He bristled with the urge to fight back. To strike in anger and frustration and grief.

  But he needed proof. He needed to be convinced unequivocally that the MacDonnells were behind the killings. Until then, his hands were tied and he hated it.

  As stars blinked to life in the sky above, he slowly approached the house, gearing himself up for another confrontation he didn’t want to have. Through the window of his office at the back of the barn, he’d seen his red-haired wife return to the main house a few hours ago with Jimena.

  Since arriving at the Lawton Ranch with Pilar, Jimena had insisted on cooking for Dean whenever he would allow it. It had taken him a while to accept her frequent presence in his house, since there hadn’t been a female at Lawton Ranch since his mother left nearly twenty years before. But Pilar explained how much her mother loved to be in the kitchen. It gave Jimena joy to cook for her family, and Dean was now family. Apparently, so were the ranch hands she fed whenever any of them were in from the range. Dean employed a camp cook, and Augie had made sure Dean and Randall both knew how to fix their own food in the kitchen as well as out on the range, but their skills just couldn’t compete with Jimena’s culinary talent. It hadn’t taken long for Dean to get used to the various appetizing smells that would greet him when he returned to the house at the end of the day.

  Eventually, he and Jimena had settled on a compromise of sorts. She would come over to cook on nights when the family gathered at the big house for the evening meal and whenever there were men in the bunkhouse. It was much easier to prepare big meals for the ranch hands from Dean’s kitchen than from her own. Any other night, Dean managed on his own.

  Though Randall and Pilar were not expected to join him tonight, Jimena was likely preparing something for his men.

  And there was also his bride to contend with.

  After the discussion with Randall, Dean was really not in the mood for another argument, which he definitely expected to have after the way he’d deserted her earlier. He certainly hadn’t planned to dump her off in such a manner. He just hadn’t been prepared to face both women staring at him like he was some jackass for not knowing his own wife’s name.

  He’d have to swallow his pride and ask her. He couldn’t go on much longer without knowing, and at this point, he was pretty damn sure she wasn’t going to offer it to him freely.

  Jimena was standing at the stove when he entered the house through the kitchen. She gave him a swift look over her shoulder, but that was all it took for him to realize she had sided with his bride. The disappointment and animosity in her dark, flashing gaze made that fact clear as day, even without the sudden litany of Spanish that flowed from her lips like a blast. He didn’t understand a word of it, but there was no doubt she felt he was at fault in regard to the situation with his new bride.

  He was. He just didn’t feel like hearing it right then.

  Sweeping his hat off his head, he stood stiffly in the middle of the kitchen for about two minutes, enduring the woman’s tirade before he interrupted.

  “Enough, Jimena. I get it, but this is between me and the woman.” He crossed the kitchen. “I’m gonna wash up for dinner.”

  After taking a quick bath, Dean headed first to the parlor. He was surprised to find it empty, half expecting to find his bride waiting in ambush to give him a piece of her mind. He paced the room a few times, then decided he’d be better off waiting on the porch, where at least he could enjoy some fresh air.

  He stepped outside and walked forward to brace his hands on the railing. The night was only slightly cooler than the day had been, suggesting they were in for a hot summer this year. Crickets were making themselves known, and a quiet scuffing came from the barn.

  It was a beautiful night. The sounds and scents soothed his riotous mood.

  They always had.

  When he’d been young—shortly after his mother left—he’d often get to feeling all pent up, as if emotion might explode from his chest. Augie would bring him out here on those nights to just sit in silence and listen. And Dean would realize that no matter what was going wrong in his life, if he had the ranch, he was doing all right.

  He’d left his hat off after his bath, and he shoved both hands back through his still-damp hair as he gazed skyward. Tonight, he was badly in need of some of that peace and confidence. He filled his lungs with the night air, releasing it all on a heavy exhale.

  A familiar creaking sounded behind him. Turning in place, he came up short at the sight of his bride sitting in Augie’s old rocking chair in the corner of the porch.

  Everything inside him pressed outward for a sharp second.

  He wasn’t likely to find peace tonight.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The moon and stars were bright enough on the clear night for Dean to see that his bride was watching him, with her hands resting peacefully on the armrests of the chair and her spine straight against the back.

  When the silence between them reached an awkward length, she finally gave a slow nod in his direction. “Good evening, Mr. Lawton.”

  Dean tipped his head. “Evenin’.”

  Another dragging pause, then she sighed. The sound was part exasperation, part resignation. “How was your day?” she asked politely.

  “Fine,” he answered automatically. It took him another minute under her steady gaze to realize she expected some reciprocation. For some reason, this woman’s presence chased away all the manners he’d ever been taught, not to mention most of his good sense. “And yours?”

  Her smile was unexpected. “Quite lovely, actually. Pilar and Jimena have been very welcoming.”

  Though her smile looked nothing but sincere—and far too pretty—Dean heard the censure in her words. He decided it best not to respond beyond a low sound of acknowledgment.

  More silence.

  Then the lady stood. Her skirts made a soft swish when the fabric slid against her legs as she approached. It was just a few steps,
bringing her to the railing beside him. He tensed as she stopped with her hands linked in front of her. The breeze stirred some loose curls that lay against her check and neck and sent a whiff of something sweet on the air to his nose.

  His stomach tightened, and his stance tensed under her regard.

  “Mr. Lawton, though there is no reason for you to be so gruff toward me and every reason for me to be quite put out by the situation in which you so unconscionably placed me, I have chosen to accept your rather reluctant apology and forgive the circumstances that brought me here.” Her tone was reasonable and matter-of-fact despite the challenging words. When she paused, she lowered her chin modestly. The adjustment should have made her look demure, but it managed to do the opposite. As she looked up at him from beneath the sweep of her lashes, there was an expression of determination on her pert features. “But I am here, Mr. Lawton. Since I do not relish the idea of having to endure your ill humor for the next four weeks, I suggest you find a way to accept it.”

  He hated having to say it, but she was right. He wasn’t even sure why he tended to be so rude to her. He wasn’t usually that way.

  Then again, maybe he was, and she was the only person who’d bothered to call him on it. “I shouldn’t have shoved you before the judge like I did.”

  She lifted one brow in an elegant arch. “No, you shouldn’t have.”

  “I lost my head,” Dean continued. “It doesn’t happen often, and I didn’t handle it well.”

  There was a hint of naughtiness in the way her smile tilted. “I might have experienced something similar. I shall endeavor not to lose my temper so willfully again.”

  He felt a tug of disappointment at the thought but didn’t want to delve too deeply into what he found so appealing about her fiery little outburst.

  “Perhaps we’ll survive this marriage after all,” he suggested.

  “I do hope so,” she replied with a heartfelt sigh. “My new life has barely just begun.”

  Optimism and excitement were evident in her voice. The sound had a singular effect on him, making him wonder when he’d last felt such uplifting expectation.

  He turned to face her more fully and noted how her forehead was just about level with his chin. If she tipped her head back—as she did then—to look him in the eye, it really wouldn’t take much effort to reach her mouth with his.

  Shit. He needed to stop doing that. There was gonna be absolutely no kissing of this woman.

  Dean cleared his throat and held out his hand. “My name is Dean Lawton, but you can call me Dean.”

  Her russet brow arched higher, and an interesting curl formed at one corner of her mouth. “Such pretty manners,” she replied.

  “My granddad made sure I had ’em, even if I don’t always use ’em,” Dean replied with a lopsided half smile.

  She didn’t take his peace offering right away. In fact, she grew quite still as her gaze dropped to his mouth. She’d done that earlier, and even as his belly tightened with how his body interpreted her interest, he wondered what it was about his mouth that drew her attention.

  And then she told him. “I like your smile, Mr. Lawton.”

  Dean tensed, and the smile slipped away. For all her reserve, the woman hadn’t been lying when she’d said she intended to share her opinions freely. She’d thrown him off yet again. It wasn’t as though he was accustomed to getting pretty compliments from the ranch hands. He had no idea what a proper response might be.

  Apparently, she did not require one. With a wide smile of her own, she lifted her hand to take his. The moment their palms met—hers soft and warm, his callused and rough—and his fingers curved around hers, something strange and electrifying passed between them. He could see she felt it too because her gaze flickered and her smile faltered for a split second before she recovered herself to reply. “My name is Courtney. Courtney Adams.” She gave a soft laugh. “Or at least it was up until yesterday.”

  There was a honeyed tone to her voice that hadn’t been there before. It flowed through Dean’s blood and angled straight to his groin. Though he had a wild urge to slide his fingers up over her wrist to tug her in a bit closer, he released her instead.

  “As long as you stay clear of ranch business, we should get on just fine,” he said.

  As he intended, his curt words had her expression sliding back into one of calm imperturbability. All the honey was gone from her voice when she replied, “Then we shall be fine indeed.” Clasping her hands in front of her again, she tilted her head to the side. “May I ask you a personal question, Mr. Lawton?”

  He wanted to say no. But he found himself giving a short nod anyway.

  “You have indicated more than once that you have no wish for a bride. Why exactly are you so opposed to marriage?”

  He should’ve known that was coming.

  He took a moment to note the way she looked up at him, her fingers linked between them, her head tilted back and slightly to the side as she studied his face. Those eyes, all direct and softly questioning.

  After a moment of his continued silence, her lashes swept over her gaze as she glanced down. “I shouldn’t have pried.”

  “Maybe not,” Dean replied, his voice sounding rough to his ears, “but I reckon you deserve to know anyway.”

  Her gaze rose to his again, her elegant brows lifting just a touch as she waited for him to continue.

  With a sigh, he shoved his fingers back through his hair before turning to brace his hands on the porch railing. “I was engaged once.” He felt her surprise at his admission in the way her body subtly tensed beside him. He shouldn’t have been able to feel so small a change, but he did. “Anne grew up at the neighboring ranch, and I’d known her just about all my life.”

  Since Dean’s time had been most often spent at Augie’s side, for many years he had barely taken any notice of the little girl running around in baggy breeches with two long, brown braids trailing down her back. It wasn’t until Dean was around eighteen that he first wondered what it might be like to kiss the pretty neighbor girl.

  But Anne, who’d ridden her father’s ranch like one of the hands since she was fourteen, had neither the time nor inclination for romantic gestures.

  Of course, we’ll marry, she’d reply with her wide grin the few times Dean broached the idea with her, as though it was a foregone conclusion. And it had been. A marriage between them would link their families’ ranches and increase the prosperity of both. It made perfect sense. But not yet, she’d add.

  And Dean had been content to wait. When they were both ready, they’d settle down together, and there would be no one else for him from that moment on.

  But that moment never came.

  Dean took a steadying breath and sent his focus out past the bunkhouse and the land beyond as he continued, “When my granddad died more than five years ago, this whole place became my responsibility. I’d been raised to take over the ranch, and Granddad made sure I knew what that meant. It was a lot of work: getting my footing as the boss, keeping Randall in line and making sure he did his part, ensuring the ranch remained prosperous and became even more so.”

  “I’d say you’ve managed quite well,” she said softly.

  He shrugged. “It’s all that’s been expected of me since my dad died…” Dean almost mentioned his mother leaving but stopped himself. That was likely to open a whole other round of questions he had no desire to delve into.

  “Anyway, the ranch took all my time and attention for a while. It was a couple more years before Anne and I got around to deciding on a wedding day.” He took a shallow breath. “She died less than a week before we were to be married. She was the best horsewoman I’ve ever known, yet she was thrown from her horse in a freak accident that took her life.”

  Courtney took a step toward him and murmured gently, “I’m so sorry.”

  Dean turned his head to look dow
n at her. The compassion in her deep, green eyes made his muscles tense in rejection. His gaze shifted to where she had rested her slim hand on his upper arm in an offer of comfort. Then he watched as she slowly lowered it to her side.

  He didn’t want her sympathy. The sentiment conflicted with the guilt he’d been wrestling with these last three years.

  Anne had ridden over to talk to him. She’d hinted the day before that she had something important to discuss in private. But something came up, and ranch business took precedence over everything else, so he’d been in town that day and missed her visit. It wasn’t until after she’d been found that he discovered the note she’d left him. The emotional, tearstained note that called off the wedding. It seemed that while Dean had been busy taking charge of the ranch, she’d fallen in love with another man. And though she hated the idea of hurting Dean, she had to follow her heart.

  She chose someone else.

  Her note didn’t name the other man, and no one came forward after her death.

  Not that it mattered at that point. Anne was already gone.

  Had she been upset when she hadn’t found Dean at home? Had emotional distraction caused her accident?

  If he’d been home, they could have talked it out. He’d have understood. He’d have released her from the engagement. She was his friend, after all. He’d have wanted her to be happy.

  But he hadn’t been home, even though he’d said he would be. And she had ridden off to her death.

  He’d never forgive himself for that.

  “You loved her very much.”

  Dean stiffened at the softly spoken words. The truth came out before he could stop it. “Not enough.”

  He’d loved Anne; of course he had. But he knew when he read her letter that he hadn’t loved her in the way a man should love the woman he intended to marry. She’d wanted that kind of love, and she’d deserved to have it.