Kelli Ireland - Conquering The Cowboy

He parked curbside, hopped down from his truck and traversed the fractured concrete walk that never failed to trip up drunks and tourists alike.

Inside, the atmosphere was comfortable in its familiarity. Square laminate tables, each surrounded by four vinyl-covered chairs, were scattered around the floor.

He nodded to a handful of familiar faces as he settled at a table in the corner and dropped his hat on the neighboring chair.

The waitress sauntered up, order pad and pen in hand. “What’ll it be, handsome?”

He didn’t even bother with the menu. “Cheeseburger, medium, all the trimmings, large basket of onion rings and a lemonade. How’s your mom, Amy?”

The waitress was another high school friend, and her family had owned the restaurant for three generations. She rolled her eyes. “Same as always. Swears I’m running this place into the ground and am going to end up being forced to sell to an—” she feigned a gasp “—outsider. She’s threatening to come out of retirement.”

Quinn chuckled. “If she comes back, tell her she’ll have to make her chocolate cream pies by the dozen. I miss those.”

“Secret family recipe I just happen to possess.” She considered him for a moment before tacking on, “You should come to dinner one night. I’ll make you a pie.”

He appreciated her predicament, being single in Crooked Water. The dating pool was more mud puddle than pond. But as much as Quinn liked her, he wasn’t the solution to her problem.

He’d once thought he wanted a love like his parents had shared, had spent years looking for it, dating, hoping every new face was The One. It hadn’t taken him long to realize exactly how rare that kind of love was. And now, given what he’d seen his dad’s death do to his mom? He intended to avoid relationships at all costs. No amount of love could make that amount of grief worth it.

Looking up at Amy, he smiled. “I appreciate the offer, but I have to pass. With Dad gone, Mom needs all the help she can get. Keeps my priorities at home, making sure she’s taken care of.”

The waitress smiled. “Can’t blame a girl for asking.”

“I’m flattered you did.”

She tucked her pen into her topknot of hair and ripped his order off the pad. “I’ll turn this in. Hank should have it out in just a few.”

He settled back to wait, sliding down in his chair to stretch his legs out in front of him.

“I hear you’re taking someone up the mountain,” Art Jameson, a town local and family friend, called out across the vacant dance floor. “That mean you’re back to climbing again, Q?”

Every eye in the place landed on Quinn.

He had no idea how the news had reached the gossip mill, but it clearly had. And he wasn’t ready to answer. Mostly because he didn’t have a damn clue what to say.

There’d been speculation that he’d be out of Crooked Water and back on the ropes before the seasons changed. But he hadn’t. Not this season, anyway. He was still grieving his dad’s passing, for Pete’s sake. More than that, his mom needed him. None of that mattered. People around here were fascinated that he’d left home and made something of himself. And since Jeff, the guy who’d bought Quinn’s former business, had referred this climber to Quinn—the first client of his new climbing business—he had expected folks would discover he was going up the mountain again. Next, word would get out he was opening up shop as a full-time guide. Managing that news would be...difficult, at best, seeing as he hadn’t discussed it with his new ranching partner.

His mom.

Fighting the urge to pull his shoulders up around his ears and growl, he instead met Art’s curious gaze with his level one. “I never really quit.”

Sam Tolbert, the region’s large animal veterinarian, picked up his tea glass and tipped it in Quinn’s direction. “Heard you agreed to take some climber up Trono del Cielo next week.”

Trono del Cielo. The Throne of Heaven.

Quinn arched a brow as he slid lower in the hardbacked diner chair. “Gone a handful of years and the only thing to have changed around here is the gossip mill’s efficiency.”

This, this, was what he hated about small towns. You couldn’t switch toilet paper brands without someone noticing and “mentioning” it to someone else.

“Rumors come and go, Doc. Hang around long enough and time will let you know what’s true.” Grabbing his hat, he stood, slapped it on his head and searched Amy out in the small crowd. “Make that a to-go order, would you?” He needed to get out of here. The levee of polite restraint had been publicly breached. People would ask what they wanted to know, pose question after question that he didn’t want to answer. He wasn’t prepared for that and was pretty sure he wouldn’t live to see the day he was.

“Hank was just plating it. I’ll wrap it, instead.”

“Thanks.” Quinn tipped his chin, first toward Art and then Doc as he passed their table. “You boys mind yourselves. And don’t you go flirting too much with Miss Amy here without your wife’s express consent, Art.”

The older men chuckled, and Art nodded at the young woman. “Too much respect for Miss Amy to put her through the missus’s jealous rage.”

Amy snorted. “Betty would probably send me spousal support if I’d take your sorry ass off her hands.”

Everyone in the bar laughed, louder this time, and Quinn relaxed as he felt the interest in him shift away. “What do I owe you?”

“Nine and a quarter,” Amy said, smile wide. “Plus the tip you would’ve left, of course.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” Quinn handed her several bills and took the sack of food she offered him. “Thanks for this.”

“Sure. You want your drink to go?”

“Nah. I’ll pop over to the mercantile and grab something. I have a list of things to pick up before I head home, anyway. Thanks, though.”

He turned for the door, and a question he hadn’t been prepared for hit him in the back.

“You coming to the barn dance at the Hendersons’ place Friday night?” Doc Tolbert asked. “Bring Elaine if you do. She’d probably enjoy a night out.”

Everyone paused and waited for him to answer.

Quinn shot the vet a quick, steady look. “You want Mom to go, you ask her directly. Not me.”

Several people chuckled, but the humor was strained.

“I’m asking you as a matter of courtesy,” the vet responded, level and calm.

“She’s a grown woman who knows her own mind.” The words sounded tinny in his head, sort of far away. Denial at its best. No way was Sam asking after Elaine as anything but friends. Sure, his mom was a widow, but that didn’t make her single. As in datable. Not now, and maybe not ever.

Definitely not in Quinn’s eyes.

2

TAYLOR SANG ALONG with the radio and Toby Keith as he professed why he should’ve been a cowboy. Pulling into town, Taylor reached up and turned the radio off. Nothing in the online ad for the little cabin she’d booked had prepared her for the reality of arriving in Crooked Water, New Mexico.

Not even close.

Slowing to the posted speed limit of thirty-five miles per hour, she had plenty of time to assess the town. All of it. The sign outside the tiny village advertised a population number someone had taped over with duct tape and, using stencils and spray paint, modified to 207. There was a post office housed in a glass-faced stucco building that couldn’t be more than twenty-five feet square.

Beside it sat a brick-bodied bar and grill with a neon sign over the front door that buzzed loud enough she could hear it.

Directly across the street was a mercantile-cum-grocer with touristy knickknacks set in the plate glass window. Sale ads were hand drawn with permanent marker on fluorescent paper and peppered the remaining window space.