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Authors: Joan Johnston

The Cowboy (7 page)

BOOK: The Cowboy
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She fiercely hugged the skinny shoulders of the long-legged boy, while a little blond girl clung tightly to her knee. He realized they must be her kids.

He looked for the changes time had wrought, but for her, it seemed time had stood still. The delicate lines at the corners of her eyes hadn’t been there eleven years ago, but he recognized the familiar fullness of her breasts, her
still-slim waist, and trim hips. The sun kissed a long blond braid where it trailed down her back beneath a battered black Stetson. An erotic memory flashed of her silky hair spread across his flesh.

Trace didn’t want to remember. He turned away and heard his father murmur something under his breath. He followed his father’s gaze and saw what had caught Blackjack’s attention.

“Ren,” his father repeated. “And Jesse.”

Trace had expected Jesse to show up for the sale. It was common knowledge in town that the Creeds needed stock to replace what had been stolen a few weeks ago. But he hadn’t expected to see Jesse’s wife. Or his daughter. Or her kids.

Trace felt an ache in his chest, almost a physical pain, as he watched Callie brush at a stubborn cowlick in the boy’s short black hair. The kid ducked out of her reach, bending to retrieve his lacquered straw hat from the dust where it had fallen. She gave him a quick, reassuring pat on the butt before he climbed onto the bottom rail of the corral, lapping his elbows over the top rail to steady himself.

Callie then picked up the little girl, who clasped her legs around Callie’s hips. She tousled the girl’s fine blond curls, then kissed her on the nose and gave her another hug, before crossing back to stand beside Jesse and Ren near the bleachers.

She should have been my wife
, he thought.
Those should have been my kids.
He fought to control the anger that had been so carefully banked, but it flared to ferocious life. He clenched his fists, struggling to find some measure of control.

“Come on.”

Trace felt his father’s hand on his shoulder, urging him in the direction of the stands. It was the last place he wanted to go.

But maybe it was time—hell, it was long past time—he confronted Callie, time he exorcised the memories of her he had carried with him for the past eleven years. Once and for all he wanted her out of his heart and his head. He probably should have confronted her sooner, but he’d been too afraid of what he might say or do. Feeling the way he did right now, he was glad he hadn’t sought her out. It was bound to be safer to meet her in a crowd, where he would be forced to keep a rein on his temper.

“Hello, Jesse. Ren,” Blackjack said.

Trace’s gaze had never left Callie’s face as he approached her, so Jesse’s snarled reply came as a shock.

“Get your goddamned eyes off my wife.”

Trace felt the sudden tension between the two men, who reminded him of nothing so much as two barnyard dogs faced off over a bitch in heat, fangs bared and neck hairs hackled. He’d always known his father wanted Three Oaks. He’d never realized how much he hated Jesse Creed.

After one narrow-eyed glance at Jesse, his father’s eyes lingered provocatively on Jesse’s wife. “You always were a fool, Jesse,” Blackjack said in a condescending voice. “There’s nothing between me and your wife—”

Jesse’s fist caught Blackjack completely by surprise and staggered him backward. He would have fallen, except Trace grabbed his father’s arm and kept him upright.

“I should have killed you a long time ago,” Blackjack said through gritted teeth.

“You can always try,” Jesse replied menacingly.

Lauren Creed’s sob of distress distracted Blackjack just as Jesse launched another blow. Instinctively, Trace caught Jesse’s fist before it could reach his father’s jaw.

“I see you need your boy to fight your battles now,” Jesse taunted.

“I can take care of myself,” his father bit out.

Too late, Trace realized his error. It would have been far less humiliating for his father if Trace had simply let the second punch land.

“Jesse, let’s go,” Ren pleaded.

“I’m not finished here,” Jesse said, shrugging off his wife’s hand and pulling himself free of Trace’s hold.

“Dad, come on,” Trace said.

“Stay the hell out of this!” his father snapped at him.

“Jackson.”

At the sound of his name, his father’s head swung around like a Longhorn bull facing a pack of wolves. Trace thought his mother had—for once—intervened. But it turned out to be Jesse’s wife who’d spoken.

Trace would have given anything not to witness the glance of longing and despair that passed between Ren and his father. He turned quickly to locate his mother and saw that she was still snapping pictures. There was nothing beautiful here for her to capture, Trace thought. The scene was as ugly as it could get.

Then a whirling dervish attacked Blackjack.

“You leave my grampa alone!” Callie’s scrawny boy slugged away with his fists at Blackjack’s belly and kicked with his booted feet at Blackjack’s unprotected shins.

“What the hell?” Blackjack grunted.

“Get him, Eli!” the little girl in Callie’s arms shouted.

“Stop it, Eli!” Callie cried.

Trace hesitated only an instant before grabbing the boy around his middle like an orphaned calf and holding him snug against his hip.

“Put me down, you yellow-bellied, toad-eating varmint!” the boy shouted, fists and feet thrashing helplessly in the air.

“What do you want me to do with this prickly piece of cactus?” he asked Callie.

“Give him to me,” she said in a shaky voice. “We’re leaving.”

Jesse stepped forward. “No! I’ll take the boy home. You stay and get us those horses we picked out.”

“Daddy, I—”

“Set the boy down,” Jesse ordered.

Trace set the boy down.

Before the kid could launch himself at Trace, Jesse snagged the boy’s arm and pulled him close. “Get the hell out of my way,” he said to Blackjack.

Trace was certain his father would have stood his ground, except Ren moved between the two men to take the little girl from Callie’s arms. “I think Hannah should go with us,” she said.

Ren remained as a buffer until Jesse and the boy had passed and were well on their way to the parking area. She looked up at Blackjack with stricken eyes, then followed after her husband.

“I’m out of film.”

Trace realized his mother had crossed to his father’s side. She slipped her arm through his and said, “Will you take me home please, Jackson? I need to get this film
developed immediately. I believe I’ve found the subject for my next painting, and I want to get started right away.”

His father shot him a look that asked for deliverance, but Trace wasn’t feeling too charitable toward him at the moment. Someone had to drive his mother home, and he had unfinished business with Callie Monroe. “I’ll see you later, Dad. I hope those pictures turn out, Mom.”

“I’m sure I’ve got something I can use,” his mother said.

A moment later, Trace was left facing Callie, with half the population of Bitter Creek watching to see what they would do.

C
allie could feel the tension radiating from Trace. She forced herself to meet his gaze and then wished she hadn’t. The ruthless predator was back. If she ran, he would only come after her. The only way to survive was to stand her ground. Her mouth was dry, her voice harsh to her ears when she spoke. “Hello, Trace.”

“Hello, Callie.”

There was a world of malice in those two words. Callie felt only pain. And fear. Had Trace recognized his son? It seemed he had not, but maybe he was baiting her, playing with her as a cat plays with a mouse it can crush at its leisure. Her heart pounded so loud she thought Trace must be able to hear it.

She became aware of the silence around them and realized they were being watched. She couldn’t afford for people to notice them together. Someone else might put
two and two together and come up with three—Callie and Trace and Eli. She had to get away from him.

Callie lifted her chin and said, “Good-bye, Trace.”

He caught her wrist before she’d taken two steps. “Take a seat, Callie.”

She fought her terror by speaking with all the disdain she could muster. “You’re hurting me.”

He let her go, but Callie knew there was no escape. She didn’t dare make a scene, and besides, she had horses to buy. She turned to survey the stands and saw a spot where there was a single seat left between two cowboys. She climbed up two rows and squeezed in, relieved to have outmaneuvered Trace.

A moment later, she watched Trace stare down the cowboy sitting on the aisle next to her. The young man rose, touched the brim of his hat, and excused himself. Trace took his place, but he was larger than the cowboy who’d given up his seat, and his leg was jammed tight against the entire length of her thigh.

Callie edged away to the opposite side, so their bodies were no longer touching, but it was too late. The damage was already done. She had already felt the heat of his flesh. She had already experienced the rush of unwanted desire.

She viciously squelched the feeling. Trace had abandoned her. He had refused to wait, even a little while, to see if they could work things out. And he had made sure she knew how easily she could be replaced. She had heard stories in Bitter Creek about the women who had come and gone from his bed. The first had been told within three weeks of their separation.

She had died inside. She had cried bitter, resentful
tears. Until Nolan had found her and comforted her. And married her.

Callie had wondered how she would feel when she saw Trace again. She had wondered what he would say, what he would do. Well, she had her answer.

He was nothing like the man she remembered. There was nothing honest and fair about his behavior. Trace seemed every bit as ruthless as his father, every bit as callous and uncaring of the harm he might cause by coming back into her life. It seemed, after all, that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

She focused her gaze on their parents as they retreated to the parking lot. “All these years, and nothing has changed,” she murmured.

Except her love had died a lingering death. And Trace felt nothing but contempt for her.

“What do you want from me, Trace?” she asked brusquely.

“You’re still a beautiful woman, Callie.”

Her gaze collided with his. But it wasn’t love she saw in his eyes, it was lust. Callie felt a spurt of panic.

“Don’t do this, Trace. Please. I’m begging you.”

“The Callie I knew wouldn’t have begged anyone for anything.”

“I don’t have that luxury anymore,” she retorted. “I have a family that depends on me. I can’t afford to indulge myself—”

“Is that what we did? Indulged ourselves? I thought we were in love.”

“How dare you speak of love,” she hissed at him, keeping her voice low. “You walked away. You were the one who left!”

“And you stayed. And married within—How long did you wait for me, Callie? A month? Two months?”

He had left her first, but she didn’t dare argue the point. She didn’t want him counting the months between her marriage and the birth of his son. “Nolan loved me. He didn’t want to wait to get married,” she said defiantly.

“And he gave you a son,” Trace accused, “that should have been mine.
Mine
, Callie, not his.”

He believes Eli is Nolan’s son.

Callie felt a profound rush of relief.

Before she could change the subject, Trace said, “That kid of yours is as rank a colt as I’ve ever seen. It’s been a while since Blackjack had his shins kicked.”

“Eli doesn’t normally fly off the handle like that,” she shot back in defense of her son. “He was provoked. Blackjack shouldn’t—”

“I don’t blame him for jumping into the fray. In fact, the kid reminded me of myself once upon a time.”

Callie was terrified Trace would make a physical comparison and blurted the first thing that came into her head. “You mean knobby-kneed and skinny as a sapling?”

His lips curved in a wry smile. “I was thinking full of fire and brimstone, ready to fight the world. With his teeth bared like that, and his eyes …” He waited until she looked at him and said, “He has your eyes, Callie.”

Callie’s throat tightened with emotion.
And your nose and cheeks and chin. Oh, Trace, I wish
…She tore her gaze away and stared down at her hands, which were twisting the rolled-up sales brochure into a tighter spiral. Callie cursed herself for a fool. She couldn’t afford sentiment. She couldn’t afford to wish and dream about what might have been.

“I suppose the boy must be missing his father,” Trace said. “I’m sorry for your loss, Callie.”

Her hands stilled. Callie swallowed painfully over the knot in her throat. She didn’t want Trace’s sympathy. She didn’t want him being kind. She met his gaze and said, “Eli loved Nolan. And so did I.”

She wanted Trace to know she’d gotten over him. She wanted him to know she’d gone on with her life. She wanted him to know that she’d even loved again. That she’d borne another man’s children. She wanted to hurt him with the knowledge of all he’d missed by leaving her behind.

She looked into his cold blue eyes, searching for the pain she wanted him to feel. And saw a flicker of something that might have been anguish.

“Callie … I—”

She jerked away when his fingertips grazed her cheek. “Don’t!” She struggled against the hand he had clamped on her arm to keep her from bolting. “Let go of me, Trace.”

A two-year-old filly whinnied with fear. Callie’s eyes were drawn by the terrified sound. She saw the whites of me animal’s eyes and then the number
6
painted on its hip. She froze in place.

“Damn, damn, damn,” she muttered, fumbling to unroll the curled-up brochure. “That’s one of the horses I’m supposed to bid on.”

She and her father had evaluated all the animals before the auction, and she’d written $40,000 in red Flair pen as the amount above which it was no longer profitable for her to bid on the number six animal.

In the cutting horse business, the price of an animal
was tied not only to how well the horse for sale had performed, but equally, or even more importantly, to how well the previous two generations had performed as cutters, how much money they had won, and how much their progeny had won.

BOOK: The Cowboy
3.61Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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