Kelli Ireland - A Cowboy Returns

Trying to sort out what might have gone wrong, he suddenly recalled Ty’s email. His little brother had asked him to handle the estate’s “issues.” Eli had assumed his brother meant the difficulty of probating such a physically large estate without a will or, at the very least, without a sufficient will.

Then there was Reagan. She’d accused him of not being here to help his brothers.

Looking around as he pulled up to the main house, the inactivity made his skin tighten. The “issues” his youngest brother had mentioned were clearly going to be larger, much larger, than Eli had assumed.

He parked in the main house’s half-circle drive. His childhood home hadn’t changed at all, from the silver tin roof to the stone walls to the aged, wavy glass of the picture windows. The sense of familiarity sans family left him empty. Steeling himself, he stepped out of the car.

The first thing to strike him was the smell. Someone had cut hay, and recently. The rich, clean smell tickled his nose. Below that hovered the subtle, distinct aroma of ammonia that was inherent to large animals. The barn door squeaked as the breeze curled around the corner of the building to shove the door to and fro. And the sky—man, the sky was so much bigger and bluer than he remembered.

All of that he could break down and compartmentalize by sense. It was the massive quiet that demanded recognition, though, calling forward all those memories he’d been fighting to suppress. They echoed endlessly through the aching hollow of his chest.

Pocketing his keys, he dropped his bag and headed for the barn.

Somewhere nearby, a mule brayed.

Eli grinned. Before he’d left, Ty had been bottle-feeding a little jack. The thing had followed the kid around like a damn dog.

Not a kid anymore . Ty would have grown up while Eli was away. He wondered if Ty was half as big as his feet and awkwardness had forecast he’d be. A dull burn settled in his belly when he realized he might not recognize his little brother after so long.

Rubbing his abs, Eli slipped into the dim barn.

The smells of leather and horse sweat joined the mix, dragging his past forward. He’d lived out here as a kid. It had been the one place he’d been entirely comfortable, with the cowhands and the horses. Leaning into the tack room, he was surprised to see a few extra saddles. The ranch must’ve taken on more hands, but for what? With the empty fields, he couldn’t imagine there would be enough work to justify the number of saddles on pegs or money to pay them.

Several horses stuck their heads over their stall doors and peered at him, curious.

He ran a hand around the base of his skull and pulled. A cloak of unease settled around him. It had to be coming here, to the ranch. Back home .

A diesel engine rumbled into the yard and saved him from that particular train of thought. Avoiding that sentimental bullshit was beyond necessary. As it was, his life was far too close to turning into a country song full of loss and longing. Eli didn’t have room for those emotions.

And with Reagan married, he’d never chance that road again.

4

REAGAN PULLED UP in front of the southern corrals at the Covington place. Several trucks were parked at the bunkhouses, but she didn’t see Ty’s or Cade’s anywhere. She had expected she’d beat Ty to the Bar C, but she’d thought Cade would be around. As serious as things were likely to get, she couldn’t imagine the brothers would be too far out of pocket.

Grabbing the backpack she carried her paperwork and iPad in, she slid out of the truck. Brisket leaped down and trotted along beside her, eyes glued to her hands, as she strode toward the main bunkhouse. Chances were someone there would know where Cade had run off to.

“Can I help you?”

She stumbled to a stop. Numb, her hands hung at her sides. Her feet wouldn’t move no matter what she silently shouted at them.

“I asked if I could help you.”

She might have shaken her head. Could have been she was just shaking. She had no idea.

“Hey. I’m talking to you.”

That dark chocolate voice wound around her chest and tightened, and her heart suddenly didn’t have enough room to hammer so wildly. She wondered if it would break free of her ribs or just break. Are there even enough pieces left?

Brisket pressed up against her legs as he looked over his shoulder.

“That dog... Reagan?”

Steeling herself, hands fisting, she turned with incrementally small steps. “Yeah?”

“Why didn’t you answer me?” he asked, exasperation woven through the question.

She shrugged as she mentally reached for her pride. “I figured I’d weigh the odds of you assaulting me again if I turned around. But with Brisket out of the truck this time, I’m feeling lucky.”

He smiled slowly. “Feeling lucky, huh? I didn’t think married women were supposed to cop to that with another man.”

Ice lodged in her chest and her vision wavered through unexpected tears even as a fierce blush stole up her neck and across her cheeks. “Go to hell, Esquire. It’s right back the way you came, so you shouldn’t have trouble finding your way.”

The smile faded. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you earlier.”

His apology caught her off guard. Picking up her pack, she called Brisket to her as she started toward the bunkhouse again. “Stick with the insults. They go with the suit better than apologies.”

“I didn’t know you were married.” His irritation escalated with every word. “And stop calling me Esquire.”

She didn’t really want to be petty, fought not to smile. And lost. Pausing, she glanced over her shoulder. The smile morphed from snarky to humorless when their eyes met. “But it fits you so well. There’s the attorney thing, but there’s also the fact you’re out here—” she looked him over just as she had earlier, head to toe “—apparently rolling around in cow shit while wearing designer duds I bet were featured in your namesake’s magazine. Esquire, it is.”

“I don’t remember you being so bitter,” he said, absently brushing at his clothes.

“And I don’t remember you being so worried about how you looked or what people thought,” she volleyed.

Something wounded passed through his gaze. “Then you weren’t paying attention.”

The breeze shifted. Eli’s cologne carried across the air, teasing her with its rich, crisp scent. She drew a breath, intent on offering him a creative suggestion on what to do with his cuff links, but the words hung in her throat. Beneath the cologne was the familiar scent that was all him—midnight and dark promises and sensual heat.

She remembered the taste of his skin on her tongue, the half promise of heaven, half threat of heartache. The feel of his body wrapped around her. But the sound of his voice? That was all too real. It hadn’t changed, not with age and time or education. Not any more than the brutal, irrational desire she still harbored for him, desire she’d warred against so long...and lost every battle.

Uncomfortable with the way the conversation was devolving and scared he’d want to talk about the kiss, she faced him and put up her hands. “Enough, okay? Enough.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Fine. What are you doing out here?”

“I’m the Bar C’s vet.”

“And?” he asked, rolling his hand in a get-on-with-it gesture.

She hesitated. “If neither Cade nor Ty said anything about this, I’m not sure I should be discussing it with you.”

“I own one-third of this ranch, Reagan.”

“On paper, yes.” Shifting from foot to foot, she let her gaze wander, let it rest anywhere but on him. “But by operational standards, I believe you’d be considered an owner in absentia.”