able to buy that place now. Just when they’s gettin’ close, old Wil Keene up and kicks the bucket.”
This was greeted with somber nods all around. Everybody in the county had known old Wil Keene and none of them had liked him much, especially the Burkes of the XOX Ranch. Wil had been a cranky SOB, but his neighbors had coexisted uneasily with him for the sake of his wife.
Miss Elsie Knox had been revered locally as a kind lady from pioneer stock. Hell, the town of Hard Knox got its name from one of her great-great-something or others. Why an aging maiden lady had waited all those years for her prince to come and then up and married a carpetbagger like Wil Keene five years ago was anybody’s guess. But she had, and out of respect they’d tried hard to get along with the abrasive foreigner plunked down in their midst.
They managed fairly well until Miss Elsie—no one ever called her Mrs. Keene—died. Then they moved in on Wil Keene like a flock of vultures, determined to rid themselves of a constant irritation.
The fastest way was to buy him out. Three ranchers whose land touched on Bar K borders made the widower offers they hoped he couldn’t refuse, Jack’s pa and grandpa among them. But Keene, who was getting up there in years and growing more surly by the minute, just sneered at all comers.
There was nothing for locals to do but stand by shaking their heads in collective disapproval while they watched the little Bar K go to hell in a handbasket.
Now Wil’s three sons were coming in to take over the failing dude ranch, and nobody was very enthusiastic about that, either.
“Those Keene boys are due in any day now,” one of the cowboys at a table near the bar offered. “Them ol’ boys are gonna have a real job of work gettin’ that place fit for dudes.”
Joe Bob Muskowitz, the long drink of water at the end of the bar, nodded. “They’ll play hell gettin’ any help from around here,” he predicted. “Their daddy ticked off just about everybody in this town at one time or another and they’re probably just like him.”
Heads nodded solemnly, all except Jack’s. Disgusted with himself for doing it, he still felt duty bound to speak up. It was hell to be beholden to a man you disliked and then have him die before you could repay your debt of honor.
“Wil Keene wasn’t—” he swallowed hard “—all bad.”
“Wal, where’s that comin’ from?”
Joe Bob gave the speaker an incredulous glance. “Where you been? Remember when Jack’s grandpa rolled his pickup last year? It was Wil who hauled the old man out just before the gas tank exploded—am I right, Jack? Saved Austin’s life, sure as shootin’.”
“That the way it was, Jack?” the other asked.
“Just about.” Jack didn’t like having his business discussed in public, but what could you do in a small town like Hard Knox?
“I still wouldn’t want to be one of them Keene brothers,” Joe Bob said emphatically. “I heard all about ’em—triplets, somebody said. Names are Danny, Nicky and Tony. Ain’t that sweet?”
“It’s not their front names that bother me,” the other cowboy said, “it’s the last one—Keene.”
“You got that right…never trust a Keene, just like their old man.” There were knowing nods all around.
Jack figured he ought to stick up for Wil Keene, but how? If he hadn’t owed Wil, he’d likely be making the same harsh judgments. And the thing was, Grandpa didn’t drive a danged bit better today than he had when he flipped that pickup and put his grandson between this rock and a hard place.
“Now,” he said halfheartedly, “don’t be too hard on ’em before you even lay eyes on ’em. They could be real nice guys.”
“From Montana?” Miguel Reyes, hitherto silent, raised his brows. “It’s too cold up there. Makes people all pinched and pale.” He looked at his own brown hand as if for emphasis.
“Yeah, and they talk funny, too,” another chimed in. “Why, I heard tell—”
The outside door flew open and Dylan Sawyer, a young cowboy from the XOX, stuck his head inside. “Hey, everybody, the Keene kids are in town! I just saw a dusty Jeep with Montana plates pull into the parking lot at the Y’all Come Café! Let’s go check ’em out!”
The bar of the Sorry Bastard emptied in a flash. Jack sat there for a moment longer, practically alone except for the lady bartender, who also happened to be the owner, Rosie Mitchell.
She looked at him, rolled her eyes and said, “Well, hell. There goes my Saturday business. At least you didn’t run off on me.”
“Don’t get your hopes up, Rosie.” Jack slid off his stool, digging in his jeans pocket for bills, which he tossed on the bar. “I may not like the Keenes any more than anybody else around here does, but I always pay my debts.”
And the sooner, the better. All he wanted was to be done with the Keenes, the whole lot of ’em, once and for all.
THE Y’ALL COME CAFÉ WAS only a block and a half away, so Jack hoofed it. As he neared the little restaurant, he saw the last of the cowboy crowd disappear inside. It was almost enough to make him feel sorry for the Keene brothers.
All set to follow, he caught movement from the corner of his eye and turned to see a woman walk around the side of the building from the big back parking lot. She was leading just about the best looking Appaloosa gelding he’d ever laid eyes on.
She saw him, too. Their gazes met and all of a sudden he couldn’t have told you whether that horse was a palomino or a bay. In her fringed leather jacket with a light wind ruffling her hair, she was even better looking than her horse, which was going some. He realized his mouth was hanging open and snapped it shut.
She raised slender brows in silent acknowledgment and turned away, the horse following obediently. Up and down she led the animal, obviously working out travel kinks. She must have just unloaded him from a horse trailer and was looking to his needs before seeing to her own.
Jack liked that. The woman must know horses. When she turned back in his direction the next time, he gave her a tentative smile. “Howdy,” he said. “Just get into town?”
Beautiful chocolate-brown eyes widened incredulously. “Was that a lucky guess?”
“What can I say?” He shrugged modestly, playing her little game. “Are you just passing through?”
“That’s right.”
“Mind me asking where you’re headed?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” She turned sharply and led the horse away from him again.
When she reached the outer limits of the small graveled area, she had no choice but to turn back again. When she did, he was waiting.
“Didn’t mean to sound nosy.”
“Well, you did.” But she seemed somewhat mollified.
“I’d be happy to help you with your horse if—”
“Touch
