Cowboy Wilde (Cooper's Hawke Landing Book 2)

by Rhonda Lee Carver

  Pulling into the lot at the Hawke Landing building, he parked and slid out, spotting Creed Hawke and an attractive redhead stepping into the office. He gave a quick wave and Ruger waved back as he strolled toward the front doors and into the lobby, receiving a wide smile from the friendly receptionist.

  “Hi, Willow. You look as lovely as ever.” He winked.

  Her cheeks tinted red. “Ruger, you tease, you. Want a chocolate chip cookie? I made them myself.” She tapped the tin container on her desk.

  “I’d love one.” He took one and bit into the sweet chewy goodness. “These are great.”

  “They’re made with beet juice instead of sugar.”

  “Really?”

  “I created the recipe myself. How’s that ranch coming along?”

  “As slow as molasses. Did someone say this was a good idea? Buy a ranch and be happy?” He snorted and swiped off his favorite hat, hooking it on the coat tree.

  “Hang in there. You got this.” The pretty blonde had become his good friend over the last few years. She was the glue around the place and he liked seeing her smile when he came in. “The boys are waiting in the conference room. I picked up coffee and donuts from the bakery. I even grabbed you one of those eclairs you rave about. Also, Helen said to tell you hello. I think she’s still waiting for you to ask her out.”

  “Unfortunately, that won’t happen.” He wasn’t interested in being set up.

  “Why not? She’s pretty. Successful.”

  “Just because I’m single doesn’t mean I’m looking. Thanks, Willow.” He grabbed a second cookie then strolled down the hallway, took a left into the room where a handful of cowboys surrounded the long, polished table.

  “It’s about time,” Boone Hawke said with a lazy grin. “Glad it wasn’t me who was running late.”

  “I had an…appointment that lasted a little longer than expected.” He took one of the available chairs between Hank Hawke and the newest member, Luke “Mug” Foster.

  “Where the hell is Creed and the trainer? I’ve got other things I’d like to do today,” Hank growled, shoving a donut into his mouth.

  Mug reached over and grabbed a cinnamon twist from the box and munched on the confection. “Things are great for me.”

  “When are they ever bad for you?” Ruger laughed and glanced at Hank who looked like he could split a nail with his teeth. “Someone piss in your coffee, buddy?”

  “You could say that,” he grumbled.

  “What’s up?”

  Before Hank could answer, the door swung open and Creed strolled in. “Glad to see you all could make it.” The tall, broad shouldered cowboy had changed since he’d married and the birth of his son. He’d always been one helluva friend, but lately he’d been wearing a smile that didn’t seem to fade. Ruger appreciated how love could shape a man, but not for himself of course.

  “Where’s the trainer—?” Mug muttered at the same time his eyes widened.

  Ruger followed the man’s gaze to the pretty redhead with wide-rimmed glasses standing in the doorway. “So, this is my group for the day?” she asked without even a glimpse of a smile.

  Tongues hit the table. The men had been expecting their usual instructor—a bald, pudgy man with badly pockmarked skin and thick sideburns.

  “Where’s Harry?” Hank asked.

  Creed started to answer, but the blue-eyed, flared hip woman in nice fitting jeans interrupted. “Harry quit and I’ve taken over his position.” She strolled further into the room, set a stack of papers at the head of the table and removed her long-sleeved sweater down to a tight red shirt that read Air Fall Search & Rescue. “My name is Jady Pierce.” She pushed her too big glasses up further on her pert nose as she scanned each cowboy at the table.

  The men remained silent.

  “I worked with the Chicago Fire Department for ten years until I took over as the Certifications Instructor here in the southwest region of Montana. Basically, my job is to make sure you boys are following all the new guidelines set in place by the state director’s office before you’re accredited. Any questions?”

  “With all due respect, ma’am, what knowledge do you have of mountain rescue? As far as I know Chicago doesn’t have any mountains.” Mug languidly stretched his long legs.

  With a hint of a smile, the instructor leaned on her palms on the table and met Mug’s gaze directly. “I grew up right here in Cooper’s Hawk. I know these mountains like the back of my hand.”

  Ruger blinked. She grew up in Cooper’s Hawk.

  He searched his mind. Jady Pierce. Jady Pierce. Jady Sinclair? Could it be her?

  That had to be her.

  She was a few years younger than him and the image he conjured was of a painfully shy, petite girl with stringy brown hair who seemed to hide behind large glasses. Well, well, well. Someone metamorphosed. Ruger was interested in seeing what she taught the team.

  She pushed away from the table, swiped her hands as if to wipe away the last question and said, “I’ll be here for a couple of weeks, until I can be sure that every team member knows the safety and skill operations front to back. Does anyone have a problem with that? Best to get all those out of the way before we start.”

  If they did have a problem, they surely didn’t let it be known.

  CHAPTER THREE

  GRACE DRAGGED HERSELF up from the lumpy vinyl seat at the back of the bus and looked out the window. The bright morning sunlight bought tears to her sensitive eyes, making her squint as she investigated her surroundings.

  Her muscles ached and she stretched her arms high above her head, wishing she could climb into a hot shower and ease the tension in her body. Why hadn’t she gone to the airport to find her journey instead of the bus station?

  So far it seemed that all roads led her here.

  The bus had stopped in front of a place called: “Cooper’s Hawk Diner”, a quaint brick building with large windows adorned with window boxes filled with colorful flowers. A mural of a lake setting was painted on the side. From what Grace could see so far, most of the shops looked the same on the street.

  The driver opened the door and bellowed, “Welcome to Cooper’s Hawke. I suggest y’all step in and try the grub in the diner. Beats that chow we had last night.” Looking like a Black Friday sale, people pushed their way down the aisle and into the fresh morning air.

  Hairs on the back of Grace’s neck lifted. She felt enthusiasm—at least as much as she could feel this early in the morning without sleep and before her first cup of coffee. Everyone was in a hurry, but she hesitated. There was still the opportunity to turn back, find a beach and enjoy the ocean. But she didn’t want to leave. An invisible string tugged her to this place.

  Stuffing her makeshift pillow—a rolled up shirt—into her bag, she zipped it then glanced around the seat to make sure she hadn’t left anything. Grabbing up her things, she started down the aisle. With each step she took her pulse sped up. The friendly driver dipped his hat and she gave him a shaky smile before stepping into the bright sunlight. Breathing in deeply, she caught a mixture of fresh air, straw, and breakfast. A loud oink sounded from a nearby trailer, followed by a whiff of crap.

  All hunger pangs disappeared.

  Her stomach had been in knots, so she’d passed up eating at the greasy truck stop they’d stopped at during the night.

  First things first.

  Coffee.

  Rolling her small suitcase behind her, she entered through the glass door and with the sharp ding of the bell several patrons lifted their attention from their meals. They were probably a little offended that their peaceful town was invaded by a bus full of passengers who swarmed the restaurant like bees.

  Several people she recognized from the bus were seated at the bar, grabbing food before they hopped back on, but Grace wanted a table.

  And then came a friendly, high-pitched…

  “Welcome to Cooper’s Hawk. Pick a seat but I’d suggest you choose as far away from Monte Miller as possible. He’
s already been wallowing with the pigs this morning,” the tall waitress with chunks of purple hair called out from behind the counter.

  “This is the smell of hard work, young lady,” a burly, grizzly bear looking man said between shoveling over easy eggs into his mouth.

  Taking into consideration that she did indeed catch a scent of the pig trailer parked in the lot that had to be Monte Miller’s, Grace took a seat at the corner booth, far enough away from the scent of “hard work”. Could she complain? She probably needed a good tooth brushing and a swipe of deodorant herself.

  Once she was settled into the barn red vinyl with her suitcase situated in the seat across from her, she reached for the menu from the wire holder and opened it, her mouth salivating at the large selection.

  “Passing through?”

  Looking up from the menu, Grace smiled at the pretty waitress with the flamboyant hair color, bright pink eyeshadow, and large star earrings which spoke of her personality. “I’ll be staying for a while.”

  “Is that right?” She cocked a pencil thin brow and tilted a wide hip. “You have business here?”

  “Why don’t you give the gal some caffeine before you start your inquisition!” a man yelled from inside the kitchen.

  “Oh hush, Hal. I’m just being friendly,” the waitress hollered over her shoulder then smiled brightly at Grace. “Sorry. We don’t get many visitors around these parts except when the bus rolls through. I get a little carried away. The name’s Chynna. Coffee? It’s fresh, unlike Hal’s food.”

  “I heard that,” the cook piped in again.

  “Could I get a matcha latte, please?”

  “A matcha watcha?” Her pert nose with the diamond stud wrinkled.

  Grace wasn’t in New York any longer. “How about a coffee, a cheese Danish, and three slices of bacon.”

  “Coming right up.” Chynna scurried back to the counter.

  Grace slid from the booth and followed the sign to the restroom to freshen up. Brushing her teeth, then hair, applying deodorant and lip tint, she felt a little more human.

  By the time she made it back to her seat, the place had emptied and the bus was gone. Too late to turn back now.

  She sat down just as Chynna brought the coffee in a wide white cup and a plate of pastry and bacon. Grace practically salivated at the delicious looking Danish. She hadn’t realized just how hungry she was and had a piece of bacon almost gone while the waitress was still at the table.

  “What big city are you from, hon?” Chynna asked.

  Taking a sip of the delicious coffee, Grace wiped her finger across her bottom lip then answered, “New York.”

  “Oh wow! You’re a long way from home. What brings you to Cooper’s Hawk?” She pushed a loose tendril of hair behind her ear, bringing Grace’s attention to the dime sized heart tattoo on her finger.

  “A job.” She took out the crumpled paper GraceAnn had dropped at the bus station and set it on the table. “Do you know the Wilder Ranch?”

  Chynna’s eyes widened and her irises sparkled. “You’re GraceAnn? Why didn’t you say so?” She turned and yelled over her shoulder, “Hal, this is the new girl over at Ruger’s ranch.”

  A red-faced, scruffy looking man poked his head out of the window of the kitchen. This must be Hal. “Well…I guess you did come.”

  “That means you owe me five dollars.” Chynna turned back, smiling from star to star. “We had a bet going. Ol’ Hal thought you’d change your mind.”

  Catching up after the exchange between the two, Grace opened her mouth to correct the name, but then she slammed her lips closed. If she told anyone, especially Ruger Wilde, that she wasn’t his new employee, he’d probably send her away. Of course, he would. So, she made an impulsive decision that if she wanted to stay in the small town, she’d have to roll with being GraceAnn. She didn’t like to lie, but what harm was she causing anyone? It was simply a name. “Why wouldn’t I have come and how does everyone know who I am?”

  A second passed until Chynna burst into laughter, smacking her hand against her jeaned thigh. “Honey, that would certainly be a question a city girl would ask. Welcome to Cooper’s Hawk, where everyone knows your name, your business and who you did,” she lowered her voice for the latter part of the sentence. She dropped into the seat across the table, pushing Grace’s suitcase in further and leaned in to say, “Just between us ladies, although Ruger Wilde is a bit of a playboy, he certainly is as sweet as Mrs. Pfeiffer’s homemade pies and even better to look at.” She wagged her brows. The deep V neck of her blue blouse slipped down to show off the lace of a bra.

  Not knowing Mrs. Pfeiffer and her pies, Grace would have to guess that they were something special. “A playboy?” She wrung the paper napkin in her fingers in restless energy. Remembering how nice and raspy his voice had sounded over the phone she’d imagined a leather-faced man sitting in a saddle. A Sam Elliott type.

  “I’m not one to spread rumors or anything, but he’s got the reputation of loving and leaving. Hell, who can blame him. That bitch of an ex-wife did him dirty. She took off with his buddy, Mav. I didn’t know him well, but I thought he was pretty cool. I was wrong, a pattern I have with a lot of men. Anyway, townsfolk talked about the incident for months but that has been years ago. I only remember because I had a bit of a crush on Ruger myself. My guess he still ain’t over Bren. That’s her name.” She shook her head somberly. “Women like that give the rest of us a bad name.”

  “That’s awful.” Although Grace’s story was a bit different, she understood pain and how it could burrow into a person’s heart and stay there.

  Ring. Ring. Ring.

  Hal pounded the bell. “I’m not paying you to chit chat, Chynna. Poor Monte is parched. Just look at his face.”

  “Hold on to your tighty whities, Hal! Monte won’t die of thirst while I’m giving our new guest the lay of the land. Right, Monte?”

  The grizzly man held up his empty cup. “Well, I could use another—”

  “No one asked you,” Chynna barked. “Listen,” she said to Grace, “if you stick around, and I hope that you do, and you need a friend to show you around, hit me up.” She slid out of the booth, winked, and sashayed over to the counter to pour Monte another coffee. “You better give me an extra tip,” she told him.

  Grace enjoyed the easy banter, finding it humorous and a release of some of her own tension.

  Picking off a piece of the pastry, she looked out the window watching an elderly couple holding hands as they made her way down the sidewalk. Across the street a business owner was sweeping in the front of a store. A couple of men sat at a bench drinking their coffee and had a checkers board between them.

  Her phone dinged and she picked it up, looking at the screen. Emily had messaged her.

  “Where are you? What are you thinking? Stop being silly and come home!”

  Groaning, Grace dropped the phone into her purse and gave her head a little shake.

  When would her sister stop treating her like an incapable child? Grace had lost a child and a husband, not her life skills. Sure, for a short period of time she was out of commission—as in a couple of years, but somehow she’d managed to pick herself up, glue her shattered heart back together, and function, although a very dismal existence it was. Emily should be encouraging Grace because it took a lot of guts to step off a cliff and fly.

  Emily couldn’t possibly understand what Grace had gone through.

  How does one recover after losing a baby?

  The cushion of the seat seemed to wrap around her as she felt the familiar heaviness in her chest. She closed her eyes for a moment, concentrated on her breaths and felt the tension fade. Opening her eyes, she focused on the outdoors.

  If she didn’t take some sort of stand Emily would never stop smothering Grace. Not only did she need this break, but her sister did too. She had her own relationship and children to think of.

  A mother pushing a stroller stopped in front of the window and picked up the crying baby t
o comfort him. A familiar feeling drilled a hole in the center of Grace’s chest as tears filled her eyes. One day she hoped she didn’t feel like she was drowning every time she saw a mother and young child.

  Grace didn’t resent a mother’s love for her baby, but she resented her own sadness that never truly went away. She’d prayed, hoped, religiously gone to her therapist every few weeks for four years, but even now the pain reared its head like an ugly demon.

  Dropping the piece of Danish onto the plate, she pushed it away and stared down into her coffee.

  “Can I top you off?” Chynna asked.

  “No, thank you. I should be going.” Grace laid money on the table and slid out of the booth. Grabbing her suitcase, she started for the door.

  “Don’t forget. I’m volunteering as a tour guide,” Chynna offered.

  Offering the friendly woman a smile, Grace had her hand on the door when she remembered she had no clue where she was going. “Could you lead me in the right direction for Wilder Ranch?”

  Several patrons sitting at a close table chuckled and Chynna smiled. “Sure. Head south out of town and it’s about fifteen miles in the country on Pinwell Road.”

  Her stomach dropped into her heeled ankle boots. Fifteen miles? She wouldn’t get fifteen feet in her poor choice of shoes. The waitress must have sensed her concern because she said to Monte, “You headed toward Wilder Ranch?”

  “Yeah, I’m headed that direction.” He swiveled on the stool, wiped his fingers off on a napkin and offered Grace a toothy smile. “Good thing my windows roll down.”

  The option of turning the offer down wasn’t available.

  Planting an appreciative smile on her face, she bid Chynna farewell and then followed Monte to the red truck with the stinky trailer. “Don’t worry, darlin’, I don’t bite, at least not hard,” Monte teased.

  He must have read her unease because he apologized. She realized she was being ridiculous.