Kelli Ireland - A Cowboy Returns

Eli nodded and she walked away without another word.

He grabbed his travel bag and then took the porch steps two at a time. Pausing at the door, hand resting on the iron doorknob, he hesitated. Then he depressed the lever, the door swung in and nostalgia claimed him, reeling him across the threshold like the catch of the day.

The inside of the house still smelled like lumber, wood smoke and leather. Wide-planked floors were scuffed and marked by age and heavy use. His old man’s recliner still sat in the corner as if waiting on Max himself to pull up a seat at the end of the day. Curtains his mother had made still framed the window, threadbare with time. A pellet stove had replaced the archaic potbellied beast in the stone fireplace. Leather sofas and club chairs were scattered around the room in a haphazard way that announced “bachelor pad” as efficiently as did the abandoned boots near the door and the boxers on the coffee table.

Eli wove through the room and down the hallway to the stairs. Taking a deep breath, he opened the basement door. These he took one at a time. The air was cooler with a bite of dampness to it. He used to love it, especially in July’s heat. Breathing faster, he crossed the family room and stopped outside a familiar wooden door. Twice he reached for the handle only to stop. It was stupid, really. Nothing on the other side of the door changed anything about who he was now.

He traced his fingers over the rough-hewn pine door. How many nights had he spent in this basement? How many nights had he sworn that he’d find his way out of a life that had never fit him no matter how he twisted or stretched it as he tried to fill his old man’s expectations? How many times had he imagined how fulfilling it would be to make it on his own and force his dad to be proud of him? The answer was the same for every question: too many.

On a sigh, he shoved off the casing and stood. One silent twist of the doorknob and the door swung open without a sound. His past crashed into him. Shallow shelves held trophies from FFA and 4-H and high school sports. Laminated newspaper clippings were tacked to a small corkboard exactly as he’d left them. His bed was made. That was different. Looking closer, he realized the room was clean. No dust, no cobwebs, nothing out of place. He was suddenly nineteen all over again and awkward with it. All of the familiar, unwelcome insecurities were still there, waiting, still unresolved after all these years.

Crossing the threshold, his heart stopped. There, on his nightstand, was his favorite picture of his mother. She smiled out at him. Even though her dark hair had been burnished by sunlight in the picture, time had faded the effect. Still, he could remember the way she appeared. The love on her face still radiated from the photo, though. In spades. The years had passed, indifferent to his family’s grief at the loss of her, but not even time could change how much Eli’d loved her. Nothing could.

He traced the face in the photo and imagined he could still hear her puttering around upstairs. “I miss her, too.”

Eli dropped the picture and the glass frame shattered. “I—” He glanced at the picture and back to the door, where a large man filled the doorway. “Tyson?”

“I don’t remember her as well as you and Cade, but it was still hard to lose her.”

His youngest brother was now definitely not the littlest. He was a couple of inches taller than Eli’s own six feet two inches and clearly comfortable in his skin as he moved into the room. “Grown a bit since you last saw me.”

Backing up, Eli stepped on the broken glass and winced at the sound.

Tyson paused, his brows winging down. “What the hell happened to your face? You look like someone dragged your ass down the runway. You do know you’re supposed to stay inside the plane until it comes to a complete stop at the gate, right?” He snorted. “And here I figured you were the debonair, well-traveled brother.” Stepping across the small room, he wrapped Eli in a rib-cracking hug. “It’s so good to see you, man.”

Eli wasn’t sure what he’d expected from his little brother, but given the brutal reception he’d gotten from everyone else, it definitely wasn’t this.

He wanted to hug Ty back. He wanted to put distance between them. He wanted someone to shock his heart back into a normal rhythm.

Instead, for just a second, he reveled in a brother’s love.

* * *

REAGAN AND THREE of the ranch hands trailered their rides as far northeast as they could go on the Bar C. Unloading at the gate to the last pasture on the place, she tossed walkie-talkies to each man and left one in the truck in case Ty or Cade showed up and needed to contact them. Mounting one of Ty’s geldings, she adjusted her stirrups and checked her saddlebags. Everything was there, from medical supplies and antibiotics to a pistol for animals that were suffering and beyond help.

Coiling her rope and securing it to her saddle, she whistled for Brisket and headed for the gate. The dog slipped in close, trotting along to keep up.

The men followed in a tight group. Jake Peterson, the most seasoned of the men and another childhood friend of hers, moved up beside her. “How far out do you think the cows’ll be?”

She glanced at the midafternoon sun. “I’m hoping we find them in the front half of this pasture. If not, it’ll mean getting a chopper out here to push them toward us, and that’s not cost effective. It’ll also stress them out more than they already are. We’ll save it as a last resort.” Leaning forward, she tightened her saddle’s cinch without stopping her horse. “Regardless, we’ve got to do whatever it takes to get this contained, Jake.”

He settled his hat more firmly on his head and frowned. “This is going to be bad, Reagan, isn’t it?”

“Let’s not borrow trouble,” she said softly, eyes on the horizon.

“No need to borrow when the coffers are full.”

She snorted. “Aren’t you a bundle of joy today?”

“Just worried. Forgot my canteen. Be right back.” He wheeled his horse around and galloped off.

The soft voices of the other men around her and the methodical clop of horse hooves were almost carried away by the sound of the wind whispering through the grass. Being out here on horseback with nothing but the sky above her and the power and potential of one of Ty’s cutting horses beneath her proved spiritually cathartic. She hadn’t realized how much she’d truly needed the privacy to process the day’s events.

Never in a million years would she have suspected today would be the day she ended up facing off with Eli Covington. So much history. So much hurt. She had no idea how she was going to survive the next week or two as she did what she had to do, and he did the same. He’d want the estate probated as quickly as possible. That made sense. But if this was truly Shipping Fever, it was the worst case she’d ever heard about. She’d have to get the state vet involved.

Wanting more distance, she urged her horse into a swift lope. No doubt the men would catch up, but she’d have a few minutes to herself to just breathe. She never expected the tears that first caught up and then overran her.

Leaning over the saddle, she spurred the horse into a dead run. Ghosts of the past chased her across the plains, nipping at her heels. Their teeth had been finely honed on the sharp clarity of memories she’d once cherished and now resented. Every touch, every kiss, every promise they’d made—every promise they’d broken—it all rushed over her in a ruthless barrage of brilliant recollections. But the taste of him today... It had broken the fragile levee she’d finally managed to build to keep her feelings contained.

The wind whipped her hat off her head. She didn’t slow down. If anything, she urged her horse faster, then faster still. Giving him his head, she buried her face in his mane and just held on. A harsh sob escaped as years of blinding heartache flooded through her.