Buch lesen: «Courted By The Cowboy»

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Kylee glanced up as the door to Shots opened. Her pulse leaped and her legs tightened, ready to run. Ice-cold fear engulfed her, twisting her insides and making her lungs ache. An older gentleman shuffled in, tipping his well-worn cowboy hat in greeting before heading to the poker game taking place in the back corner. He was one of Cutter’s friends, someone she’d seen before. Her nod was stiff, but her grip on the counter eased. She pulled in a deep breath, then blew it out, steadying herself. We’re safe. At least she didn’t freeze up anymore—or duck behind the counter. She was making progress.

The old man made his way across the scarred wooden floor to the group of men hunched over their beers and several decks of cards. A chorus of rough and creaky greetings welcomed the newcomer as he pulled a chair back to join them. Nothing to fear there. She took a deep breath, a slight smile on her lips.

Three wonderfully uneventful weeks had passed since she and her little brother, Shawn, arrived in Stonewall Crossing. Each day she woke up anticipating the worst. And each night she went to bed happy to be wrong. If Jesse or one of his low-life associates really wanted to find her, they would have by now. Her gaze wandered to the door again.

As if thinking about Jesse would somehow make him appear. That was ridiculous. She tossed her rag onto the bar and rubbed vigorously. She was sick and tired of jumping at her own shadow.

“You look ready to bolt.” The voice startled her so much she dropped the rag. And jumped a good foot into the air.

“Dr. Boone.” She pressed a hand to her chest as she stared at the man leaning against the end of the bar.

“I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” He added, “And it’s Fisher, Kylee. Only my patients get to call me Dr. Boone.”

The thudding of her heart still echoed in her ears. “Your patients? As in, the dogs and cats?”

“I speak fluent dog and cat. It’s a vet thing.” He nodded, not cracking a smile. “My bird’s a little rusty, though.”

She pressed her lips together, fighting a smile. “When did you get here?”

Fisher stooped, picking up the rag and handing it to her. “I followed Ol’ Pete in.”

When she was having a minor panic attack. She nodded, working hard to pull herself together. The obvious concern on Fisher’s face surprised her. She didn’t like it. No one had ever worried over her. She didn’t need anyone to start now. “Beer?” she asked.

“Sounds good.” He was watching her—a little too closely for her liking.

She kept her eyes on his beer as she popped the top off a longneck and slid it across the counter toward him. “Good day, Doc?” she asked. Small talk was always a good distraction.

“No complaints.” He shrugged. “You?”

“Just starting,” she returned, flipping the switch that powered the wall of fluorescent beer and pool signs. The colored lights brightened the room and her mood.

The door opened to three women, chatting animatedly.

“Hey, Kylee.” Janet was the only one Kylee knew by name. “Looks like we beat the rush.”

“Can we have a round of beers?” one of the women asked, commandeering a table in front of the picture window that overlooked part of Stonewall Crossing’s Main Street. “Bottles,” she added.

“Please and thank you, Kylee.” Janet winked.

Kylee was already popping the tops and putting them up on the counter.

Janet turned to Fisher. “Hey, Fisher, how’s it going?”

From the way Janet got all giggly over Fisher’s easy grin, it was clear Janet thought he was cute. And maybe he did have a nice grin, but that didn’t amount to much. Kylee wasn’t sure what to make of the hulking veterinarian. He was a little too tall and a little too broad. And he was nice—too nice. It made her nervous.

“Saving the world, one shih tzu at a time.” Fisher saluted Janet with his beer.

“If I was single, Fisher Boone, I’d say you were the perfect man.” She shook her head, laughing. “All big and muscle-y and a tender heart.”

“That’s me—a lover not a fighter.”

Janet laughed. “You’re adorable.”

“I work hard at it,” Fisher shot back.

Kylee glanced at Fisher, amused in spite of herself. He bobbed his eyebrows at her, trying to include her in the joke. So he had a pleasant grin. And a sense of humor. But something about him set off warning bells. She ignored Fisher and said, “Janet, can you let your friend know we finally got that hard apple stuff she wanted to try.”

“My friend?” Janet asked.

Kylee nodded. “From last week?”

“Oh, that one.” Janet rolled her eyes. “You mean Winnie.”

Kylee shrugged. The only thing she remembered about the woman was the ass chewing she got for not having some hard cider drink. When Kylee ordered new stock, she made sure to get some. Cutter told her to make customers happy, plain and simple. She wasn’t about to argue with the man who’d turned her life around—even if the customer in question was a witch.

“She’s not really a friend. But she’s not exactly the type you want to make an enemy. When she wants to go out for a drink, you go.” Janet took the beers and headed back to the table. “But I’ll tell her.”

“Janet speaks the truth.” Fisher chuckled. “Beware Winnie Michaels.”

Kylee wiped out a few glasses, getting ready for the regular after-work crowd. “Anyone else I should beware of?” She glanced at him again, trying not to let the weight of his steady green eyes bother her.

The corner of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. That was another thing. He smiled a lot. Maybe too much.

“I’ll let you know,” he offered. “Got plans for the weekend?”

She shook her head once. She and Shawn were planning on painting their tiny apartment—Cutter was letting them rent the addition at the back of the bar until they found a “more suitable place.” As far as she and Shawn were concerned, it was perfectly suitable.

She did need to talk to Cutter about finding a resale shop. She wanted to get some bicycles so she and Shawn could explore. But none of that was any of Fisher’s business so she didn’t say a word.

“All that?” He set his beer on the counter. “Damn, Kylee. Sounds like you’ll wear yourself out.” He paused. “What am I doing? Working. But thanks for asking.”

She couldn’t stop the smile that slipped out.

“Ha, there it is.” Fisher raised his arms over his head. “We have a smile, people.”

She shook her head, but she couldn’t stop smiling. Which really irritated her. She needed to be more careful around him.

Two men came into the bar, and one nodded. “Fisher.”

Kylee watched as the three exchanged the standard male-shoulder-slap thing that seemed to have replaced a customary handshake.

“Hey, pretty lady.” One of them sat on the bar stool. “Jarvis is back.”

She looked at him. “What does Jarvis want to drink?”

“A pint of stout.” He grinned. “And an appetizer. But we can start with your number.”

She pulled off a pint of beer, and placed the glass on the counter. “Your drink.” She faced the other man and asked, “Going to try something other than a Dr. Pepper tonight?”

“Come on, Mario,” Jarvis nudged him. “Man up.”

Mario laughed. “No.”

Kylee put a large glass with ice on the counter and nodded at the soda machine along the back wall. “You know where it is.”

Mario nodded. “Thanks, Kylee.”

The three took up their places at the pool table and Kylee got back to work.

People steadily streamed in. It was Thursday night, so most were locals. She was beginning to recognize a few faces. Thursdays were the night Janet and two other teachers came in for their “book club.” But Kylee had listened to their conversations and she’d yet to hear them mention a single book.

There were plenty of customers from the university’s vet school—like Fisher, Mario and Jarvis. Some were in scrubs, others not. She was beginning to tell the difference between the staffers and the upper-level students by their demeanor. The students all looked exhausted and stressed out.

Then there were ranch workers from Boone Ranch. Apparently the Boones were a pretty big deal in Stonewall Crossing, the founding family of the town and the veterinarian school. According to Cutter they owned most of the county and employed half the people who lived here. To own that much property, employ so many people, run a working ranch and run a bed-and-breakfast on part of their property, the Boones had to be loaded. The number of Boone employees she’d served supported that. Looking at Fisher it was hard to imagine the wealth he came from, he acted humble and...regular.

Her eyes swept the bar again. Normally a few patrons would sit at the bar and watch whatever sports Cutter put on. Tonight, one of them—a Boone employee—was worked up about something. He was radiating hostility, something she knew well. The rigid set of his jaw, the short, jerky movements—signs he might be trouble. She shook her head. What would be signs of trouble in Las Vegas didn’t always apply here. Stonewall Crossing was a very different sort of town. Quiet and slow and peaceful. The sort of place she’d seen on television, dreamed of, but never expected to live in.

A chorus of laughter came from Cutter and his cronies. They played cards twice a week. They told bad jokes, laughed a little too loud—and were completely adorable. For all Cutter’s outspoken opinions and cranky temperament, Kylee was getting pretty fond of her ancient landlord and savior.

Her eyes swept the room, taking in the expressions and actions of each customer. It was a habit she’d picked up when she was working with Jesse. Even though she wasn’t looking for a handoff or someone who’d make an easy target, she still “cased the joint.”

Only one thing stood out. The ranch worker in the corner was glaring at Fisher with pure, unfiltered aggression. The kind of aggression that usually didn’t end well. Her gaze shifted to Fisher Boone, towering above every other man in the room. His cowboy hat was pushed back on his head and his eyes were narrowed as he watched Jarvis make the shot at the pool table. He had no clue he was being sized up for a takedown.

Whatever the problem was, Kylee hoped the ranch worker would reconsider. Fisher was a mountain of a man. He had a fit build, big hands and wasn’t knocking back alcohol—the way this guy was. If there was a fight, Fisher would win.

“Big fellow,” Cutter nudged her.

She nodded, proud that her boss’s sudden appearance didn’t have her jumping out of her skin.

“Good family, too. Lot of money and land.” Cutter helped himself to a pint. “If a gal had any sense, she’d set her sights on landing that one.”

She stared at Cutter then. “What?”

“You heard me.” His leathered face creased with a grin.

“Guess I’m short on sense,” she murmured.

“Not a troublemaker, either. Even if he is the size of a full-grown grizzly.” He laughed.

“Well, trouble found him.” Kylee nodded in the direction of the man shooting daggers at Fisher.

“George?” Cutter snorted. “Carson is always starting something with someone. Damn fool hothead. Let me know if his drinking gets out of hand. But I wouldn’t worry your pretty lil head too much.”

Good to know. Kylee studied the man. She had a list of rules for their new life in Stonewall Crossing. Number one, no men. Number two, avoid troublemakers. In her experience, however, the two were pretty much the same thing. She glanced at Carson again. Especially the troublemakers with tempers who drank too much.

Number three, become self-reliant. She was still working on number three. The first two were a lot easier to follow.

“Have any luck looking for a new job?”

She looked at Cutter again, frowning.

“Something with better hours. Be better for the boy, too. You can’t enjoy working in this place all that much, while Shawn’s hangin’ out in the break room watchin’ TV,” he grumbled. “Or want to stay in that rattrap apartment.”

Did Cutter want her to leave? Was he telling her it wasn’t working? She knew having her preteen brother underfoot wasn’t ideal, but what other choice did she have? He’d been good, spending more time drawing in his sketch pad than anything else. Shawn was what kept her going, kept her fighting. She didn’t want to move him again. But if Cutter wanted them to move, to start over again, she’d figure it out.

A hollow emptiness formed in the pit of her stomach. If life had taught her one thing it was not to put down roots. Yet here she was, loving the tiny apartment she and Shawn shared. She didn’t care that they lived behind a bar. Better than the nights they’d spent on the street. For the first time in her life, she and Shawn didn’t have to worry about where they were going to sleep that night. They had an actual kitchen, not just a hot plate. And a bathroom they didn’t have to share with everyone else on their floor.

But if Cutter wanted them out, it wasn’t like she had a right to argue with him. She just needed to know. Her tone was cool as she asked, “Do you want us out of the apartment?”

“Did I say that?” Cutter scowled at her. “What the Sam Hill is that about?”

She twisted the towel in her hands. “I know you could get more rent than I can afford to pay you.”

Cutter snorted loudly. “Don’t give a rat’s ass ’bout that. Never said you should leave. Or that you needed to find other work, either.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Givin’ you options. Pointin’ out a single fellow and a more respectable job doesn’t mean I’m kicking you two out, ya hear?”

She relaxed, a little. “Oh.” She glanced at Fisher, who happened to be looking at her, and frowned. “I... I appreciate you looking out for me.” As far as she was concerned, her job was perfectly respectable. If Cutter knew what she’d done for Jesse... She shuddered.

Her hours at the bar weren’t the best, but Shawn didn’t mind staying in the break room watching TV and sketching after he’d finished the workbook pages she made him do. And Fisher? How could she explain that the last thing she wanted was a man to screw things up? Cutter might not get it, but as far as she was concerned, life was good. She smiled at the old man. “I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve given me and Shawn—”

Cutter cut her off with a grunt. “You work hard, Kylee. I’m not giving you nothin’. Life shouldn’t be so hard.”

She gave Cutter an awkward one-armed hug. “Well...thanks. I’ll get back to work.”

* * *

“YOU’RE UP.” JARVIS leaned closer to whisper, “Try staring a little harder.”

Fisher was a good foot taller than Jarvis so he made a point of looking down at him before quipping, “Watch out. I don’t want to step on you.” He wasn’t staring at Kylee. He’d just been looking that way.

“Harsh, man,” Jarvis sighed, stepping back. “You’re the Sasquatch.”

Fisher leaned across the table, lined up the cue ball and sent the green six ball into the upper-right corner pocket. Mario laughed, Jarvis groaned and Fisher searched out the next best shot. He adjusted his aim, leaned forward and set his cue.

But Jarvis’s muttered, “Looks like Fisher isn’t the only one interested in the new bartender,” threw him off. He missed pocketing the yellow one. When he straightened, Jarvis was laughing.

Fisher scanned the bar, but all he saw was Cutter talking to Kylee. “You’re cheating now?” he asked Jarvis.

Jarvis shrugged. “Didn’t think it would work.”

Fisher finished off his beer and glanced back toward Kylee. She was looking at him, frowning. He smiled at her, saluting her with his beer bottle. Not that she seemed to care. She turned away, her scowl still in place.

“Ouch,” Mario whispered.

Fisher shrugged. “Can’t win ’em all, I guess.”

“You didn’t even make it out of the starting gate with that one.” Jarvis sounded way too pleased about that. “Must chap your hide, being rejected by something so curvy and soft. That long black hair. Those big blue eyes.” Jarvis shook his head. “Maybe the lady’s not into sasquatches. Maybe she likes normal-size guys.” He elbowed Mario, who laughed—albeit reluctantly.

“You’re just pissed I’ve been kicking your butt all night,” Fisher said, laughing off their teasing. The three of them had been working together for years, but they’d been friends even longer. The kidding was part of it. So was his beating them at pool. But it wasn’t about the winning, it was about the chance to relax after a long day.

Relaxation didn’t exist once he got home—not since Archer had moved in. His brother needed a place to stay while the water pipes in his place were repaired. Since the family’s Lodge was booked solid and his other two brothers had a families of their own, Fisher felt obliged to take him in. Problem was that Archer had only one setting: intense. If Fisher was spending more time at Shots, it was because he needed a break from his brother.

The new bartender didn’t hurt, either. He was sure Kylee was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. Even if she didn’t like the looks of him.

They played a few hours, then moved on to darts. Fisher was one of the last to leave the bar. He lingered, slowly enjoying his beer. There were times he wished he had his younger brother Ryder’s finesse with the ladies. Most of them thought Fisher was cute and flirted with him easily enough, but he’d never been all that interested in pursuing something more.

Jarvis’s teasing had chapped his hide because few women caught his attention the way Kylee had. And she had. So much so that he found it hard not to openly stare at her as she swept the floor, mesmerized by her long black hair swaying as she worked. If she’d just look at him with the slightest flicker of interest he’d figure out some way to start up a conversation. Instead, she seemed oblivious to him. Once his beer was gone and the bar was empty, he had no reason to stay.

He put his empty bottle on the counter. “Night,” he called out, making a last effort.

Kylee nodded but didn’t look up, her black hair blocking her face from view. He walked out of the bar, glancing back at Kylee through the glass front of the door. She was still sweeping.

He stared up at the perfect circle of a moon hanging low in the deep black sky. A million stars broke up the canvas of dark. July in Texas was a scorcher, not that August and September were much better. And, from the feel of it, it was going to be a long, hot summer. But after the damn near arctic winter they’d had, he didn’t mind so much. If anything, the chirp of the cicadas and crickets, and the thick, humid air was a pleasant change.

“Fisher Boone.”

Fisher didn’t recognize the slurred and angry voice until he turned around. “Carson.” He nodded at George Carson, one of Archer’s employees. He didn’t know Carson but Archer didn’t think too highly of him. “Everything all right?”

“Been better,” Carson bit out, a hard smile on his face. “I need you to give your brother a message for me.”

He nodded, realizing just how worked up George Carson was when the man’s fist slammed into his right eye. Fisher was still recovering when the next hit came, catching him in the gut and knocking the air out of him. He shook his head, instinct taking over. He tried to rein himself in, to keep control. But with one punch, Carson was on the ground. Fisher groaned, “Dammit.”

Suddenly Kylee stood there, staring down at Carson, a beer bottle in her hand.

Fisher wiped away the blood running into his eye, made sure Carson was breathing, then turned to Kylee. She held the neck of the bottle with a white-knuckle grip, her body shaking. “Got my back?” Fisher asked, still processing.

Kylee blinked, tossing the bottle into a garbage bin in the alley between the buildings. “Doesn’t look like you needed it,” she murmured. She looked at him and crossed her arms over her chest, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. “So, you’re not a fighter, huh?”

His eye was throbbing. His fist...it hurt to flex his thumb, and from the way the muscles in his palm pulsed and burned, he suspected he’d dislocated it—again. “I didn’t say I couldn’t fight. I said I don’t fight. My size gives me an unfair advantage.” He’d learned that the hard way.

She nodded, her eyes searching his face. He wished he knew what was going on inside that head of hers. Even standing here bleeding, all he could do was grin at her. She stared at him, then shook her head. She stepped over the unconscious Carson and reached up to tilt his head back. “You’re bleeding pretty bad.” Her fingers settled on his temple, her eyes narrowing. “The light’s better inside.”

His hand encircled her wrist, brushing over her soft skin. She drew away immediately, stepping back and almost tripping over the man on the ground. Fisher caught her but released her instantly. Even with that slight contact, his hands tingled.

He cleared his throat. “He probably needs looking after more than I do.” He nodded at George Carson, but he was too startled by how blue her gaze was to look away. Clear blue. Like a perfect summer sky. Or the surface of the lake.

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “You’re going to patch him up?”

Better than standing around bleeding, thinking about how damn pretty she was. He nodded. “Have my bag in my truck.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Why do I have my bag in my truck?” He wiped his eye, smiling at her. “I like to be prepared.”

She put her hands on her hips, clearly not amused.

He glanced at Carson. “Can’t just leave him here.”

She stood there, confusion lining her face, while he collected his medical bag from his truck. He handed it to her and pulled George Carson inside the bar.

“Dumb ass,” Cutter murmured as Fisher propped Carson in a chair. “You called it, Kylee. I’ll call his brother to come get him. Got his number in the back.” He wandered off, leaving Fisher to inspect Carson.

As far as Fisher could tell, Carson would wake up with a massive jaw ache and an impressive knot on the back of his thick skull. But that was about it. “He’s going to feel that in the morning.” Fisher glanced at Kylee. Her blue eyes were fixed on him, puzzling things out. She masked her expression when his gaze met hers, but he could sense the tension thrumming in her veins. “You okay?”

Her brow furrowed. She opened her mouth, then closed it. Her gaze bored into his, raw and intense.

He straightened, crossing to her. “Kylee?”

She stared up at him, her hands rubbing up and down her arms again. He reached for her, but she stepped back. He stopped, his hands falling to his sides. He’d no intention of scaring her, even though it was plain to see he did.

“Serves him right,” Cutter barked, reappearing. Fisher watched Kylee march behind the bar, her movements jerky and tense. “His brother will be here in a shake or two,” Cutter continued.

Fisher shook his head, placing his left hand on the counter. He stared at the bulging thumb, willing it to move. It didn’t. It was an old injury. It didn’t take much to pop it out—like it was now. There was no hope for it, he grabbed the metacarpal and, with one quick jerk, popped his thumb back into place. He winced.

“Damn boy,” Cutter cursed loudly, slapping Fisher on his shoulder. “Could use some stitching, too, from the looks of it.”

Kylee placed a bag of ice and a towel on the counter, a hint of sympathy in her eyes as she glanced his way.

Fisher nodded at her, wrapping the ice in the towel. “I have some glue that should take care of it. Be back.” He took his bag and headed to the restroom, washing his hands and cleaning the cut. No avoiding a black eye tomorrow. He leaned forward, applied a small amount of glue along the split in the skin and pressed the cut edges together. He counted to ten before blinking. When he did, the glue held.

He packed up his bag and threw away his trash, replaying the evening. He had no idea why Carson had punched him—other than being drunk. And Kylee’s reaction? What had set her off? Carson’s attack? Or Fisher’s one-hit knockout?

He paused, shaking his head. Maybe Jarvis was right. He had to be more than a little interested in Kylee if he was worrying about her while he was supergluing his eyelid back together. He shook his head, double-checked the cut was sealed and washed up before heading back into the bar.

Kylee was opening the Staff Only door at the end of the hallway. She glanced at him, but didn’t stop to say good-night.

“Thanks for the help,” he said.

The door closed without her making a peep.

He shook his head, too tired and sore to worry about anything other than getting home and into bed.