Chapter One
It was Saturday night, and Cooper Drummond, five-time national bronc-riding champion, sat in a Hondo, Texas, bar, nursing his second beer. The barmaid flirted with him, as did rodeo fans who were trying to get his attention. They eventually gave up and turned to someone else when Coop didn’t flirt back. He had a lot on his mind. It had begun to bother him that he had very little to show for five years of earning good money on the circuit. He owned a top-of-the-line Dodge Ram and a color-coordinated two-horse trailer. He had a suitcase full of flashy buckles, more than one man would ever wear. He’d lost count of his broken bones. Thank heaven they’d all healed. With luck he wouldn’t have any more, now that—six months ago—he’d quit rodeo. He’d been working for Jud Rayburn on the Rocking R Ranch because he didn’t want to go home to the Tripe D, which his older brother ran with an iron fist—just like he tried to run Coop’s life. Tonight ought to be a typical Saturday night off from chasing rogue steers through dusty, cactus-littered arroyos. As a rule Coop would hit town with a group of other cowboys, and they all partied hard and two-stepped the night away with hangers-on from the rodeo days. But tonight, for some reason, his interest in dancing had disappeared. Some of his pals were playing pool in an adjacent room, but he wasn’t moved to take part in that either.
On the jukebox, Reba belted out a song called “The Bridge You Burn.” Her words, wrapped in upbeat music, bounced off the rafters and left Coop thinking about how many bridges he’d burned. A lot of them, for sure.
A hand clamped down on his shoulder, interrupting Coop’s self-analysis. He turned on the bar stool, expecting to see one of the guys from the Rocking R. He didn’t expect to see his older brother, Sullivan. Nor was Coop in any mood to have Sully pull out the adjacent stool and plant his butt there. The brothers had been at odds over almost everything since their dad died and Sully had nominated himself to fill his shoes.
Coop lifted his long-neck bottle and took a deep draw. “What brings you slumming tonight, big brother?”
“You. Why in hell are you working for the Rocking R instead of at home on the Triple D where you belong?”
“It hasn’t been the Triple D since Dad died,” Coop shot back. “You’ve made it the Single D.”
“You want the brand changed to the Double D? It hasn’t been double anything since you took off to prove something—hell if I know what. You rode every ornery bronc in the southwest when you could’ve raised the most profitable herd of quarter horses in Texas. You thought being a rodeo bum was better than doing everyday ranch chores, yet you’re working for Jud like a common drifter.”
“I sold my stock except for two geldings, and two geldings don’t make for good breeding, now do they? And Jud Rayburn treats me like a man—like I have a brain. He doesn’t play lord and master like you do. But I’m leaving Jud’s place and heading south. I read about a rancher advertising for a horse trainer down there.”
“Really? Well, that makes this easier.” Coop’s brother pulled a sheaf of papers from the inside pocket of his corduroy jacket. “I’ve run the ranch alone for five years. I want you to sign Dad’s third of the ranch over to my son, Gray.” He unfolded the legal document and produced a gold pen that he held out to Cooper.
“Do you think this will force me to come back? Forget it! Gray’s only six years old!” Coop set down his beer with a thwack.
“You were ten and I was fifteen when Mom died and Dad deeded us each a third of Drummond Ranch and renamed it the Triple D.”
“Then we got equal parts of Dad’s share when he died. So what?”
“After you graduated from college and got a harebrained notion to run off to the rodeo, I’ve pulled your share of the workload, along with Dad’s and mine.”
“That’s why I went off to rodeo, Sully. You put yourself in Dad’s boots. I didn’t like you ordering me around then, and I don’t need it now.” Coop grabbed the papers, ripped them in half and let the pieces drift to floor. Then, in a fit of long-brewing frustration, he hauled back and socked his brother in the jaw. Jamming on his hat, Coop stalked out, stiff-arming his way through the swinging door. He leaped into his pickup and roared out of the parking space without glancing back.
* * *
SULLY EXITED THE BAR, wiggling his jaw. His flinty gaze swept the area before his angry eyes fell on his pretty, red-haired wife, who waited for him near their car. She touched his face lightly and murmured, “Ouch. I can see that didn’t go well. Shall we hike over to the diner and get some ice for your jaw, Sullivan?”
“I’m through with him, Blythe. He tore up the contract. I know, I know, you warned me against coming here. But I’m done, I tell you. Coop can’t be a silent partner in the Triple D forever. I’m going to see our lawyer about voiding Coop’s entire inheritance.”
“Don’t, Sully.” Blythe gripped his arm. “Coop is family, and we have too little family left between us,” she said, her eyes filled with sorrow. “Give it more time, then try again. Coop’s young. He took your dad’s death really hard. You know he thought Matt hung the stars and the moon.” She sounded earnest. “Business at my clinic has picked up. You said stock sales were up, too. We’re okay. Please, Sully. He’s your only sibling, and Gray’s only uncle. Please give Coop time to come around.”
Sullivan, who’d loved Blythe since the day he met her in college, gave his jaw a last test before he sighed and kissed her. “Coop’s not all that young. He’s twenty-seven. Past time he grew up. What he needs is a good woman,” Sully grumbled. “Yeah, he took Dad’s death hard, but it’s the way Willow Courtland dumped him that sent him off in a huff. She could’ve stopped him.”
Blythe Drummond shook her head. “I don’t suppose we’ll ever know what really caused their breakup. Coop might have gotten over it if she hadn’t married Tate Walker. That was like pouring salt in an open wound.”
Sully yanked open the passenger car door and waited for Blythe to get in. “Yeah, but I say good riddance to Tate and to her. I wish Bart Walker would sell his ranch and leave. I can’t prove he cut out some of my newborn calves and branded them with the Bar W, but I know there was bad blood between Dad and him over calf-rustling. All the Walkers are shady, to say the least.”
Blythe swung her legs into the car. “Sully, you work too hard. And you worry too much about the Triple D, and about Cooper.” She raised one hand. “No, no tirade. I don’t care how much you gripe, I know you want Coop to come home. Why not hire someone to help you part-time for a few months? Coop’s left the circuit for good. Give him until the holidays to work this out. Have you ever met a cowboy who doesn’t get homesick at Christmas? If Coop doesn’t wander home by then, we’ll hunt him up and extend one last olive branch. Okay?” She smoothed a hand down Sully’s rigid arm.
He blew out a breath. “If Coop comes home, we’ll see if I feel inclined to give him a pass for the way he hit me. He had no call. And if I extend any olive branch, he’ll have to show up at the Triple D to collect it.”
* * *
STEAMED THAT SULLY had shown up at the bar unexpectedly, adding
