turned his head and his eyes sucked her into a vortex of swirling blue. How easy it would be to fall under this man’s spell. “I’m truly sorry about your husband’s death,” he said.
Even though the words were sincere, she’d had enough of pitying looks and mumbled sympathies. It wasn’t easy being reminded how gullible she’d been. Besides, I’m sorry wouldn’t pay the mortgage or breathe life into her dead husband. “We’re having grilled cheese sandwiches for supper. You’re welcome to join us.”
His lips curled at the corners. “Thanks all the same, but I’ll grab a bite to eat in town.”
Rude man. She hugged herself, because the wind had picked up, not because the cowboy had declined her meal invitation. “You’re not going to make this easy on me and disappear, are you?”
“No, ma’am, I’m not.”
“If you don’t mind me saying—” she gestured to his horse trailer “—you appear to have the financial means to absorb a thirty-thousand-dollar loss.”
“That’s beside the point. A deal is a deal. I intend to breed my mares to Son of Sunshine.”
Enough said. There would be no changing the wrangler’s mind—not today. She spun, but he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “How did Ben die?”
She supposed he had a right to know. “He was attacked by a horse.”
The wind died suddenly, as if heaven held its breath. “What horse?” he asked.
“Son of Sunshine.”
If she hadn’t been watching his mouth she would never have heard his faintly uttered cuss word.
Shit.
Chapter Two
A smart man would understand when to stop pursuing a lost cause.
A smart man would know when to pull up stakes and hit the road.
At the moment Matt Cartwright didn’t give a crap about how smart he was or wasn’t.
As he drove away from the Broken Wheel late Saturday afternoon, he glanced in the rearview mirror. After issuing a supper invitation both Amy Olson and Matt knew he’d refuse, the widow stood in the gravel drive, shielding her eyes against the sun’s glare, watching the truck’s taillights fade into the distance.
When he reached the county road he pulled onto the shoulder and cut the engine. The anger he’d experienced at having his plans to breed his mares suspended was nothing compared to the shame consuming him.
It might not make sense, but Matt wasn’t able to shake the feeling that one stupid poker game—instigated by him—had set in motion a series of events that had culminated with Ben’s death. What if the card game had never taken place—would the future have played out differently? Would Ben be alive today?
Matt wanted to believe that if he’d been aware Olson had had a wife he’d never have suckered the compulsive gambler into playing poker.
Don’t kid yourself. You would have done anything to gain access to Son of Sunshine.
He tilted the rearview mirror and stared himself in the eye. Had Kayla’s betrayal left him with more than a broken heart and his pride in shreds? Had he channeled his hurt into a ruthless determination that ignored everyone and anything, including his own moral code?
Leave it alone, man. What’s done is done. Matt would have to deal with the wreckage left behind from his own selfish interests—a widow, two fatherless girls and a prizewinning stud whose behavior had become unpredictable and erratic.
What the hell was he going to do now? His father disapproved of Matt’s plans to enter into the horse-breeding business, and Matt didn’t relish the idea of returning to Oklahoma with his tail tucked between his legs.
You’re an ass—wallowing in self-pity while Amy Olson struggles to pick up the pieces after her husband’s death.
What was it about the young widow that got to Matt—not her looks, that’s for sure. Amy Olson didn’t come close to the sexy groupies that pestered him on the road. She was a living, breathing, walking advertisement for home and hearth—kids included. A world of hurt and stubborn pride shone in her brown eyes, yet she carried herself—shoulders stiff, chin high—as if ready to face her next test, which happened to be him.
Fingers drumming the steering wheel, he considered his options. His stomach gurgled with hunger, so he started the truck and merged onto the highway, heading north into town. Five minutes later he slowed to a stop at the sole intersection in Pebble Creek.
The quaint map dot consisted of one city block of 1920’s brick-front businesses. Fake, old-fashioned hitching posts lined the sidewalk. A livestock tank overflowing with red and purple flowers sat by the door of a beauty shop called Snappy Scissors Hair Salon. Mendel’s Drug emporium offered a park bench for customers outside its store. Smith Tax Consultants was sandwiched between the beauty shop and drugstore. Farther down Wineball Realty had been painted in white lettering across a black awning. And at the end of the block sat United Savings and Loan.
Situated across the street was a turn-of-the-century Victorian home that had been converted into a tavern. Joe’s was scrawled in red paint across the front window and a Michelob sign hung from the flagpole bracket mounted on the overhang of the porch. A pot of faded plastic daisies decorated the bottom porch step and two battered aluminum chairs graced either side of the front door. An orange tabby rested in a windowsill on the second floor.
Roxie’s Rustic Treasures occupied the abandoned gas station on the corner. The treasures: iron headboards, broken furniture and an assortment of tools and dishes were scattered about the parking lot. Next to Roxie’s, a life-size horse statue pawed the air in front of Pebble Creek Feed & Tack.
A sidewalk sign outside Pearl’s advertised, Parking in Rear, so Matt drove around the corner and swung into the lot behind the block of businesses. He left his hat on the front seat and entered through the back door of the diner, deciding he’d order a thick juicy burger.
“We’re out of burger meat. Delivery truck jackknifed near Pocatello. Won’t get here till morning,” the waitress groused when she arrived to take his order at the lunch counter. The middle-aged woman with dyed blond hair scrutinized him through her mango-colored bifocals. “You’re not from around these parts, are you?”
Matt read her name tag. “I’m from Oklahoma, Pearl.”
“I met an Okie years ago. Didn’t impress me none.” She batted a set of false eyelashes.
“Maybe I’ll change your mind.” Matt’s grin teased a twitch from the corner of the woman’s mouth. “What do you recommend for a hungry cowboy?” He read the offerings scratched in white chalk on the blackboard mounted to the wall behind the counter.
“If you’ve a mind for home cooking try the meat loaf. Otherwise the Reuben ain’t bad.”
Pearl’s World-Famous Meat Loaf…Matt shook his head. Every diner in America boasted a world-famous something. “Meat loaf it is and a cup of decaf.”
“Sure thing.”
After
