want to help out.” He tried to ease the tension.
“As long as I know someone’s not pointing a gun at you, I…” She reached for a dish towel, wiped her hands and then dabbed at her eyes.
His heart twisted so tight he could barely breathe.
Ask me questions. Ask me. Let me get it off my chest.
But she didn’t.
As she loaded the dishwasher, he had second thoughts. She was all alone in a five-bedroom house and that bothered him. His mom was used to having family around her. Ace had lived in the house with a separate entrance until his marriage. Now he lived at the McKinley place with his new family. Colt and Uncle Josh had houses nearby, but it wasn’t the same thing.
There was a housekeeper, Lisa Marie, but she was only there a few hours a day to help his mother. He found that odd since his mom had always refused help. What had happened to change her mind?
She straightened and hugged him. A whiff of gardenia reached him. It was a scented lotion she’d used ever since he could remember.
“Take all the time you need. When you’re ready, you’ll know. Now I have to get dressed and go to work. Lisa Marie will be here soon and Leah’s probably already in the office.”
“Leah takes care of the books now?”
“Yes, and she’s been a blessing. All this new technology goes over my head sometimes. You’ll have to check out the updated office. With the rodeo contracting busines we have to keep up-to-date records and know exactly where and when our animals go to rodeos. It takes all of us to accomplish that.”
“Mmm. When are Uncle Josh and Beau coming back?” Seemed his uncle had gotten married a few weeks ago and they had gone on a honeymoon, too.
“Any day.” His mom moved toward her bedroom.
“Mom, I need some new clothes. Is there anyplace in Roundup I can buy them?”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Austin carries nice things at his Western Wear and Tack Shop. It’s not a law but a rule that you support family.”
He grinned. “Yes, ma’am.” He reached for his hat, slipped into his jacket and headed for the door. As he walked to his truck, he saw Midnight in a pen, and Gracie, one of the ranch hands, watching him. He strolled over to take a look. Gracie was somewhere in her forties and she knew her way around horses and cows. Bundled up in a heavy winter coat, she had a wool scarf looped over her felt hat and tied beneath her chin to cover her ears.
“Mornin’, Tuf,” she called and opened a large gate to a big corral. Midnight trotted through and galloped around kicking up his hooves in the nippy morning air.
“Mornin’.” He leaned on the fence and watched. The stallion circled the corral, his muscles rippling with restless energy.
“He’s easy to exercise,” Gracie said, “as long as I don’t try to box him in. Though he loads pretty nicely into a trailer for Colt. You just have to know what to do and what not to do. The horse is temperamental, to say the least.”
“But a gold mine if he performs as planned.”
“You got it.”
Midnight threw up his head, steam coming from his flared nostrils, but it was clear the horse reveled in the cold.
“He was born to buck,” Tuf murmured.
“The family still hasn’t decided yet.” Gracie shoved her gloved hands into her jacket pockets. “It’s cold. I hope Buddy gets here soon so I can go to the mare barn where it’s warmer.”
Tuf frowned. “Buddy Wright?”
“Yeah. When Midnight went missing, he showed up at Buddy’s place with a few cuts. Buddy doctored his wounds and took care of him. He was afraid to tell anyone where the horse was because he feared everyone would think he’d stolen the Harts’ prized stallion.”
Tuf remembered Royce saying something about that.
“But Dinah got to the bottom of everything, and your mom was very grateful to Buddy. She encouraged him to visit Midnight at Thunder Ranch whenever he wanted. And he does about two or three times a week. It helps me out a lot.”
Before Tuf could sort through this new information, Ace drove up to his clinic area and Colt pulled in behind him. They waved and went inside. They were giving him his space, and he should be happy about that, but in truth, he didn’t understand it. If one of them or Beau or Duke had disappeared for two years without a word, he’d be mad as hell. But he was the one who’d left Thunder Ranch and his family. They had gotten used to life without him. Deep in his heart, though, he knew this standoff wasn’t going to last. Soon someone would pop the cork of their bottled-up emotions and Tuf would be held accountable for his decisions.
* * *
ON HIS WAY INTO TOWN, he passed the Wright property. All was quiet, not a soul in sight. It was nice to know the Harts and Wrights were getting along so well. Very nice. He wondered if Cheyenne’s husband was with her. Or if she had a husband. From the look in her eyes, he knew something bad had happened in her life. What?
He was thinking too much about her and turned his attention to the view. It hadn’t snowed in days, but it still lingered across the landscape and nestled in the ponderosa pines. The chilly blue sky went on forever, and he was sure it reached into eternity with its wondrous breadth and depth. There weren’t skies like that in Afghanistan.
As he turned onto Main Street, he looked for a parking spot near Austin’s store. He swerved into a space and removed his keys. He’d purchased the silver Ford Lariat pickup in Maryland because he needed a way to get around. First new truck he’d ever owned, but he figured he’d earned it, since his pay had been piling up in his checking account. But he should have thought that over a little more. His mom said things were tight and the ranch could have used the money. Readjusting to the real world was a hell of a blow.
Getting out, he locked the doors, pocketed the keys and walked into Wright’s Western Wear and Tack. A bell jangled over the door and the scent of leather reached him. He came to a complete stop.
Cheyenne was behind a counter, arranging colorful jewelry in a glass case. She looked up, her green eyes startled. Her red hair was clipped behind her head and strands dangled around her pretty face. A flashback hit him that had nothing to do with Afghanistan. He was seventeen years old and sitting in the school auditorium right behind Cheyenne Wright, staring at the back of her hair pinned up much like it was today. Several loose strands curled against the curve of her neck, and he’d wondered if he reached out with one finger and gently tugged her hair toward his lips if it would taste like cinnamon. Which was odd, because Cheyenne never gave him any indication she wanted him to taste any part of her.
Strange how that memory lingered in his mind.
“Can I help you?” she asked in the coolest voice he’d ever heard.
Chapter Three
Cheyenne’s heart pounded in her chest at an alarming rate—too alarming to suit her. What was Tuf doing here? And why was he still standing at the door?
Closing
