How to Handle a Cowboy (28 page)

Ridge saw Sierra's car the moment he came around the corner of the barn. He'd been working Moonpie half the morning and actually getting somewhere. It seemed as if Jeffrey had broken through some barrier in the animal's mind, and the horse was more willing to trust.

The second he saw the car, he started off at a run. He'd longed to see her, but she'd been scheduled to work the whole day and most of the evening. She must have gotten Gil to cover for her.

He'd thought about her all day—about her and the life they'd build together. The one thing he'd wanted most, all his life, was the kind of love he shared with Sierra. He'd have a home, a family.

He'd be golden.

He ran into the house, jogged through the front hall, the kitchen, and the family room. No Sierra. She must be upstairs.

He ran up, two steps at a time, and there she was, sitting on the side of his bed. She didn't see him at first; her face was turned toward the window, and he wondered if she was taking in the view in a new way, seeing the landscape that stretched beyond the ranch house as home.

He hoped so.

He just watched her for a few seconds, loving the way the light from the window picked out the paler strands in her blond hair, the way it highlighted her cheekbone and silhouetted her strong profile. He loved the way the dim light emphasized the softness of her skin. He loved everything about her, especially when she was here, where she belonged. The ranch might be a foreign land to her, but it brought out the best in her in every way.

His heart swelled with love and the certainty that a happy future lay before him. He'd never believed that, even when he'd started conquering the big bulls, even when he'd won his championships. He'd never believed it until now, and at this moment, his heart felt big enough to hold all of Wyoming.

And then she turned. And she wasn't smiling. Her eyes were dull and dim, her lips drawn into a grim line.

“Hey,” he said. “What's wrong?”

She shook her head as she rose, her lips tightening to hold in her thoughts.

She glanced down at the old tin pail he used as a wastebasket, and quickly up again, as if she hadn't meant to give herself away. He crossed the room in a single stride and picked up the bundle of magazines that filled the battered pail.

“
Elegant
Bride
,” he said. “
Bridal
Seasons
,
Bride
Magazine
,
Here
Comes
the
Bride.
” He flipped through one of them, looking at the models in their white dresses.

“You'll throw every one of these girls in the shade. You know that, right? You're going to be the prettiest bride in the state of Wyoming.”

She didn't smile.

He looked down at the stack of magazines in his hands then back at her face. He didn't think Sierra was the type to care much about clothes, but he'd heard women turned crazy when it came to weddings.

He set the magazines on the desk. “Couldn't find anything you liked?”

She stood, and he reached out, took her hands. She shook him away, and he saw tears in her eyes. What was going on?

Glancing down at the bed, he saw something even more telling than the bridal magazines: his old composition book, open to plan B.

Shit.

He tried to remember exactly what he'd written. He knew her name was in there somewhere, as a goal to be attained. He knew that wasn't a bad thing—to love someone and want to win them—but he'd learned enough about women to know they misinterpreted things. They thought differently from men once you entered emotional territory.

“I'm sorry, Sierra,” he said. She didn't answer, just stared back at him with disbelief written all over her face.

“You're
sorry
?”

He nodded. “I just don't know how to do this. I screw it up every time. I don't know a damn thing about love, and I do stupid shit like writing it down on a list.”

She sat back down on the bed and looked at the composition book again. He wanted to snatch it out of her hands, take away the evidence of his own stupidity, but he knew enough to hold himself back.

“I knew it. That's what kills me. Remember that lunch at the Red Dawg? I told you not to look at me that way—like I was a means to an end.” She picked up Shelley's stupid cowboy book, which he'd left beside the bed. “Did you get ideas out of this? Did I fall for lines from a romance novel?”

“No. That was Shelley's. She left it here. I might have a lot of flaws, but I'm not a liar. Everything that happened between us was for real. Everything.”

“I'm sorry, Ridge. Maybe you believe that. But I think you want to succeed so badly that you don't know your own heart. I'm here now, the perfect answer to your problem. But what happens when that other woman turns up, the one you really love?”

“I'll never love anyone but you.”

“No, because you'll never let yourself. You'd stand by me because you're an honorable man. I know that.” She swiped at her eyes.
I
will
not
cry. I will not cry.
“But once you make your goal, you'll realize that what you thought was love was just—I don't know—determination.”

“It's not,” he said. “I love you, and I always will.” He knelt down, taking her hands in his. This time she didn't pull away.

But she wouldn't look him in the eye, and he knew he'd lost her.

***

Sierra could hardly stand to look at Ridge. He looked demolished. Maybe he believed he really loved her.

But there was no way he could know. He'd made up his mind to be a foster parent, and he was a man who always accomplished his goals. Hang on to the back of a bull for eight seconds? Check. Win a world championship before he turned thirty? Check.

Find a partner so he could adopt foster kids, like the dad he so admired?

Check.

She sat frozen by indecision, staring at the pictures on the far wall. Ridge on a horse. Ridge on a bull. Ridge with Bill Decker, with Irene. God, she loved this man, but what kind of situation was she getting herself into? What if she married him, and he only loved her for the kids? He'd get tired of her someday, and then what would she have? A sad, loveless marriage and a heart full of regret for the things she hadn't done.

She swallowed and blinked hard, doing her best to put up that professional shield that had been her greatest weapon. All the time she'd worked in Denver, her ability to shut down her emotions had been her best professional strength. Wonder Woman had her golden bracelets, Spider-Man had his webs, Batman had the Batmobile, and Sierra Dunn had her impenetrable shield of professionalism.

But she'd dropped it here in Wynott. Something about this small town had charmed her and broken through her defenses. She'd fallen for the kids first and then for Ridge. Then she'd fallen for the life she could have here on the ranch, and in the quaint little town.

She so wanted Ridge's love to be real. It was the best she'd ever had. It had convinced her, finally, that there were good men in the world.

But that was the problem. She'd seen what she wanted to see, and she'd ignored the truth.

“I can't do it, Ridge,” she said. “I'm sorry. I can't.”

“You know, it's the same old problem,” he said. “You always want some kind of guarantee. You want a guarantee the horse won't hurt Jeff, or you won't let him ride him. You want a guarantee Riley won't screw up again, or you won't let her loose. Now you want a guarantee that I love you just the right way.”

“Those things matter to me.”

“I know that. But sometimes you just have to gamble and make the leap, you know?”

She didn't answer. She couldn't, because he was right. It just wasn't a leap she could make.

She turned and left the bedroom, then headed down the hall toward the stairs. She couldn't help touching the doorframes as she passed the bedrooms, running her palm over the round finial at the top of the stair rail, stroking the smooth wood of the bannister. She wanted to memorize this place, to hold it in her heart forever.

Because even though there was a fatal flaw in her love affair with Ridge, it was the closest she'd ever come to the real thing. She had a feeling it would be a long time before she handed over her heart again—maybe never. So she needed the memories of her time with Ridge to treasure, to turn over in her mind for a long time to come.

She knew he'd followed her downstairs. She just needed to make it to the door, to the porch, to the car, without turning around. Because if she saw his face, she might relent, and she knew that would be wrong.

“What about the rodeo?” he said.

She stood in the doorway, still as a frightened deer. “I'll take them,” she said. “I'll take them by myself.”

Sierra hadn't fully appreciated the complications inherent in taking a gang of boys to a small-town rodeo until she and Gil pulled up in the parking lot and it was time to open the van's doors. She could see the Ferris wheel spinning as a backdrop to a temporary midway filled with rides and food stands, and she knew the boys would scatter like a covey of quail the moment the doors opened.

“Wait!” she hollered.

Everybody froze. She had that holler honed to perfection.

Spinning in her seat, she fixed each one of them with a stern stare, pointing to each boy in turn. “We will follow the rules.”

Point.

“We will stay together.”

Point.

“We will be well behaved and orderly.”

Point.

“There will be no talking to strangers beyond the polite necessaries.”

She narrowed her eyes and addressed the whole group.

“Now, what are the polite necessaries?”

The boys rolled their eyes and chanted in toneless unison, “The poh-lite necessaries are yes, ma'am; no, ma'am; yes, sir; no, sir; thank you; and you're welcome.”

“And what do we never tell people?”

“Who we are, where we're from, why we're here, or anything personal.”

“And why is that?”

Their tone livened considerably as they bounced in their seats and shouted, “'Cause we're secret agent men from the planet Zorg and revealing our true identities could cause discovery and
death
!”

Sierra doubted Mike would approve the death part, but it heightened the stakes in the game and that kept the boys serious about playing and winning.

“Okay. Our mission today is to study local culture.”

The boys groaned. She grinned. She might have a broken heart, but she still loved these boys, and they still made her smile. They would, for months or maybe years to come.

Maybe, in that way, Ridge had done her a favor. He'd made her stay, and she couldn't say she was unhappy about that. She hadn't seen him since their confrontation, so maybe she'd be able to heal in time.

“What does studying local culture mean?” she hollered.

“Something boring, probably,” Isaiah muttered.

“No!” She upped the volume even more. “It means we have to cheer for the good guys, eat till we bust, and figure out why these men in funny hats want to strap themselves onto wild animals and ride until their brains are scrambled and their bones are broke. Ready?”

“
Ready!
”

The van's doors slid open and the kids hit the dirt parking lot running.

***

Sheriff Swaggard thrust his thumbs in his belt loops and made his way through the crowds at the Carson County Rodeo and Fair with his very best cowboy swagger. The Rodeo and Fair was the biggest event that ever came near Wynott, and every year he waited for something important to happen—a challenge that would demand all his skills as a lawman and a protector of the public. One that would let him shine. One that would make him a hero.

Not that he wanted anything bad to happen. It would be terrible if the Ferris wheel stalled, leaving some young girl trapped at the top so he'd have to climb up and rescue her. It would be tragic if some carny took off with somebody's baby, and he had to track the miscreant down and shoot him, catching the infant in his arms as the kidnapper fell to the blacktop. It would be a shame if there were a bomb threat, and he had to clear the fairgrounds while preventing panic and maintaining order.

He didn't want those things to happen, but they ran through his dreams every night, like old-time silent movie reels. He knew he was born to handle disaster with the calm courage represented by the star he wore so proudly on his chest.

But nothing ever happened. Every year, the folks of Wynott and the surrounding countryside came to the fair and had a good time. Sometimes a bull rider would get gored, but then the pickup men played hero and whisked him out of danger on their highly trained horses. Sometimes a fight would break out at the beer tent, but somehow the whole thing was always over by the time he even got there. Sometimes a fan would get a little too excited and try to climb onstage with one of the country music acts, but the bands always had their own security.

That was the other thing. The band security guys, the pickup men, even the rodeo clowns—they got respect, and that respect translated to some very good times with some mighty fine women. But Jim always missed out on that part of the fun too.

Not this year, though. This year, he could feel something tingling in his bones. He could tell his luck was about to change, and he was going to prove he was the one to turn to when things went wrong.

He tipped his hat at a group of young ladies who were perusing the Native American jewelry booth under the grandstands. They giggled and moved away, probably because the sight of such a respectable lawman reminded them to be embarrassed by their tight jeans and tiny tops.

“Excuse me, Sheriff?”

He turned to see a big, beefy cowboy heading his way.

“I could use some help.”

Sheriff Swaggard gave a sharp nod. “That's what I do, sir.”
Kind
of
like
Superman.
“Now how can I make your attendance here at the Rodeo and Fair a safer and more enjoyable experience?”

The cowboy stared at him a minute, going kind of cross-eyed. Jim knew that sometimes his vocabulary was just too advanced for the average yokel to understand, so he dumbed it down a notch.

“How can I help you?”

“I'm looking for my son.”

There. Hadn't Jim just dreamed about a missing child only two nights ago? He took out his pocket-sized notebook and flipped to a blank page. Pulling a pen out of his pocket, he looked up at the cowboy.

The man had muscles like one of those wrestlers on TV. It looked like his head was shaved under that cowboy hat, and he had a bunch of tattoos. It was really something that a tough customer like that needed Sheriff Swaggard to help him, but that's how things worked. The law had certain powers.

“When did you last see your boy, sir?”

“Oh, hm.” The cowboy looked confused for a minute. He was probably distraught. But after a little hemming and hawing, he came up with an answer.

“It was about a month ago.”

“A month!” This kid hadn't gotten lost in the crowd around the Ferris wheel or slipped away in the grandstands, then. This was a runaway.

“Yep.” The cowboy's face reddened, and he looked away for a minute, probably overcome with emotion, and who could blame him? He hadn't seen his kid for a month. Jim didn't have any kids, but he suspected you'd miss one if it were gone that long.

“How old is the child?”

“About—ten?”

Jim squinted at the cowboy. He didn't sound sure of his own kid's age. That seemed kind of strange, but then, it was the mother's job to keep track of birthdays and that kind of thing. This guy was probably too busy providing a living for his little family to take care of details like that.

“And where did you last see him?”

“He's at that Phoenix House place,” the cowboy said. “His mom and me got divorced, and she went and put him into foster care while I was away fightin' in Iraq.” He showed some kind of military tattoo by way of proof. Jim couldn't tell what it was supposed to mean, but it had a shield and an eagle, so he just nodded.

“I went over there to pick him up and found out they're here at the rodeo.” The guy took off his hat and scratched his head, squinting in the harsh sunshine. Sure enough, his head was bald as a basketball. Maybe he'd been Special Forces or something. “So I thought maybe you could help me find him.”

“Sure thing.” Jim clapped the guy on the back to reassure him and was stunned when the guy's face reddened and those WWE muscles tensed like he was about to turn into the Incredible Hulk.

He reminded himself the man was a soldier. Probably had PTSD from all the stuff he'd done in the Special Forces, that was all. Evidently his condition was well under control, because already he was smiling at Jim. He even gave him a little punch in the arm, like a buddy would.

There weren't any Special Forces guys in Wynott. In fact, the only military man in town was Phoebe Niles's son, Mike, and he was gone so much, Jim never saw him. But military men and lawmen had a lot in common, and Jim had no doubt he'd have lots of friends in the Special Forces if he lived in a bigger town.

“Now here's the thing.” The soldier put a friendly arm across Jim's shoulders and tugged him over by the potato skins stand, where they couldn't be heard by the passing crowd. “You know how vindictive a woman can be when it comes to divorce and child custody and all that.”

Jim nodded, though he really didn't know much about women at all, vindictive or otherwise. There just weren't enough of 'em in Wynott that would give a man a chance.

“Well, my ex sent the kid to this Phoenix House place, and the woman that runs it—you know her?”

“Sure do,” Jim said. “Sierra Dunn.”

The cowboy chuckled. “Doesn't sound like you like her much.”

“You can bet your Noconas on that,” Jim said. He'd noticed the man's boots right away—expensive Noconas with lizard-skin uppers. He'd thought about getting a pair like that himself sometime. When he had the money. Which he'd never make working here in Wynott.

That's why he needed to do something courageous, something to make himself stand out.

“Well, Miss Dunn really has it in for men,” the soldier said. “She's one of those feminists—you know the type.”

Jim nodded. He sure did.

“There's no way she'd hand the kid over to me without all kinds of paperwork and probably even a court proceeding.”

Jim nodded.

“But…” The big man actually started to tear up. Nearly cried, right there on the midway, just thinking about his boy. “But I just want a moment with my boy. I just want to talk to him, you know? So if you could help me find him, you could help a soldier spend a little time with his son.”

“You bet,” Jim said. “I appreciate your service, sir, and I'll do whatever I can to help you reunite with your son. I'm sure he's real proud of you, and I'll bet he takes after his old man too.”

“I sure do thank you, sir.” The soldier looked like he was about to cry. Jim couldn't believe it. A real Special Forces soldier brought to tears by his love for his son. He could see the headline now.

Well, he couldn't really see it. He wasn't much for writing or that kind of thing. But he could see his picture right underneath it, holding the kid while the soldier—well, maybe he ought to let the soldier hold his own kid.

“And you'll make sure that Dunn bitch doesn't know a thing about this, right? Or that boyfriend of hers?”

Jim recoiled a little. Of course, that kind of language was probably used every day in the army. But there was something else…

“How do you know she has a boyfriend?” he asked.

The soldier blinked and then blinked again. Then he smiled. “Doesn't that type always have some man on a string?”

“They sure do.”

Not only was this soldier a brave fighter for his country, but he also knew a thing or two about human nature. Jim held his notebook at the ready and clicked his silver ballpoint into readiness. “Now, how about you give me a description of your son?”