Rita Herron - Certified Cowboy

With good reason. The bastard had put plenty of bruises and scars on Carter. “He’s still your old man.”

“He was a drunk who hated my guts.” Carter gripped his hands together and leaned closer to the microphone. “But he had a nice piece of ranch land, once.” Carter’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Is that why you’re here? The rich and famous Johnny Long planning to buy up my old man’s spread to add to his empire.”

Johnny ground his teeth. “No, Carter. I came as a friend.”

“I don’t have any friends,” Carter snapped. “I lost them years ago.”

“That’s not fair, Carter.”

“What’s not fair is that I’ve been stuck in this pit watching my daddy’s spread go down the toilet while you and Brandon built your fortunes.”

Johnny understood his need to vent, but he was still Carter’s friend whether Carter liked it or not. “Is the property going into foreclosure?”

The chair clanked as Carter stood. “So you are here to see about buying it?”

“No,” Johnny said quickly. “But I do have money, Carter, and if you need me to do something to keep the property from going into foreclosure, I will.”

“I don’t want your charity.”

“Then what about a loan? We can come up with some kind of payback plan for when you’re released—”

“For when I’m released?” Carter hissed. “Don’t you get it, Johnny? I’m never getting out.” Carter’s voice was cold, but Johnny detected fear underlying it.

“There’s parole,” Johnny argued.

A look of defeat settled in Carter’s eyes. “Even if I did make parole, I’ve got nothing. No way to keep the land. And no one in Texas is going to hire a convicted murderer.”

Johnny started to say that he would, but before he could voice the thought, Carter shook his head in warning.

“Don’t you dare,” Carter snarled. “I don’t want your pity. And I would never work for you.” He turned and strode toward the door, the chains around his ankles rattling.

“I’ll hire another attorney,” Johnny said. “I’ll find the best, Carter—”

Carter slowly turned around, his expression bitter. “Go to hell, Johnny.”

Johnny silently cursed as the metal doors banged shut behind Carter. Damn. What good was having money if he couldn’t use it to help his friend?

Johnny stood, frustrated, his stomach tied in knots. Maybe he couldn’t do anything for Carter now, but there were kids at the Bucking Bronc Lodge who deserved his help. To hell with worrying about the press putting a negative slant on him.

Brody and the ranch needed him. He was going to start organizing that rodeo as soon as he got back.

“WHERE’RE WE GOING, Mommy?” Kenny clutched his stuffed puppy to him, his voice edged with worry. He’d obviously sensed her distress when he’d woken up in yet another strange motel and realized they were on the run again.

“To a big ranch, bud.” Rachel tried to inject enthusiasm into her voice. “I think you’re going to like it there.”

And she would like the solitude, the distance from the city, and the miles between her and Rex. Provided he hadn’t already sniffed out their trail.

Kenny craned his neck to see out the window of the Jeep she’d traded her sedan for. “Are we there?”

“Almost.” They’d passed San Antonio an hour earlier, and he’d been asking the same question since. Relief swept over her as she turned down a long, winding road, then spotted the welcome sign. “Look, it says BBL—the Bucking Bronc Lodge.”

“They really got horses and I can ride one?” Kenny asked.

“Yes, they do. And there’ll be lots of space to play outdoors.”

“Maybe we can get a puppy here!” He hugged his stuffed toy. “A real one!”

Rachel shrugged. “Maybe.” Although, having a pet made it harder to travel or pick up and move again if they had to. And she had no doubt they would at some time.

As they drove down the mile-long drive to the main house and headquarters of the operation, she admired the lush pastures, the stables and riding pens, the cattle grazing lazily around the pond, the horses galloping across the land, and her nerves settled somewhat. If anyone needed another chance, she and Kenny did.

This place was just isolated enough to provide a reprieve…

She only hoped they still had some positions open.

“Look, there’s horses!” Kenny brightened, making guilt nag at Rachel. She wanted a home for Kenny so badly she could cry. But he hadn’t had a place to call home in two years. And he barely remembered the house she’d shared with Rex.

Thank God. Hopefully that meant he’d forgotten the screaming and brutal fights.

A large two-story rustic log cabin with skylights to let in light, farmhouse decor, a metal bull outside on the lawn and fence posts designated for tying horses in front of the house appeared in her view, and her heart stuttered. A huge porch complete with rocking chairs and colorful flowers flanking the front made it feel homey and inviting. Then she spotted other log cabins strewn across the land, and realized the lodge was central to the operation but they also offered individual cabins, probably for guests or employees. From what she’d read, there were acres and acres of riding trails, ponds and camping sites for the campers.

This house, the sprawling ranch, the stables and rolling land, was the kind of place dreams were made on.

Only, she’d stopped dreaming a long time ago.

Still, she parked and grabbed her purse. Before she could go around to open the back door for Kenny, he’d unfastened his seat belt and jumped out. “Can I ride now?”

Rachel climbed from the vehicle. “No, not yet.” Rachel led him up the stone pathway to the front porch. “Now remember, Mommy has to get a job here so we can stay. So be a good boy for me, okay? And remember our game. Right now our last name is Simmons. Rachel and Kenny Simmons.”

He bobbed his head up and down. She knew the name change was confusing, but it was necessary, so she squeezed his hand, then knocked on the door.

A second later, the door opened, and Rachel could only gawk. A big rugged cowboy wearing a black Stetson with silver trim, chambray shirt, jeans, a belt buckle engraved with a bucking bull and black boots with rhinestone studs stared down at her. He was at least six-three, had shoulders so wide that he filled half the doorway, and crystal blue eyes that sparkled with a hint of the devil inside. Lady-killer eyes.

Eyes she recognized from magazine articles, newspaper stories and TV.

Johnny Long. Famous rodeo star. Bronco rider. Barrel racer. Champion bull rider. You name it, Johnny Long had done and had won it.

He was also a notorious playboy. A man who wrecked women’s hearts.

Suddenly her voice wouldn’t work.

“Howdy,” he said in a lazy Texas drawl. “Did you come to register your little boy for camp?”

Kenny pulled at her hand. “Mommy, can I do camp?”

Rachel struggled to pull herself together. “Actually, I…came to apply for a job.”

“All right.” His eyes cut over her, then he seemed to zero in on her neck, and the friendly gleam in his eyes died.

Rachel automatically adjusted the scarf she’d tied around her throat to hide the bruises Rex had left.

But it was too late. He had seen them.

Her heart hammered. If he thought she was in trouble, he probably wouldn’t hire her.

Then where would she and Kenny go?

REX CURSED AS HE TORE through the small house where his wife had lived. It had taken him half an hour to cut the damn handcuffs apart with bolt cutters, then another ten to pick the stupid lock.

He rubbed at the angry red marks on his wrists. The damn bitch would be sorry for what she’d done.