DONNA ALWARD - The Last Real Cowboy

He stood slowly, reached for his hat and put it back on his head. “Ma’am.”

He was nearly to the door when he heard her sigh. “Mr. Diamond?”

He paused, his hand on the door handle. He turned his head to look at her and realized she’d taken off her glasses again. Her eyes really were stunning. And he shouldn’t be noticing.

“Your mother didn’t believe in simply throwing money at a problem,” Angela said quietly. “She believed in being part of the solution. I find it strange she’d ask you to take her place if she didn’t think you’d hold up that end of the bargain.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t care, or that Butterfly House wasn’t a good cause. He just had too much on his plate. Angela Beck was being far too smart. She’d worded her last statement in just the right way to flatter and to issue a finely veiled challenge at the same time.

A challenge he wasn’t up to accepting. The foundation had its land, had its house free and clear. That would have to be enough.

“Good day, Ms. Beck,” he replied, and walked out, shutting the door behind him.

SAM pulled into the yard and killed the engine, resting his hands on the steering wheel. He hadn’t been going to come. He had planned simply to leave well enough alone, go home to Diamondback, grab something to eat and collapse in bed so he’d be on his game for his daybreak wake-up call. Instead he’d found himself turning off the main road and driving through Cadence Creek, putting on his signal light and turning into the Butterfly House driveway. Angela Beck’s last words bothered him more than he cared to admit, and he couldn’t escape the need to make things right. He didn’t necessarily want to apologize. He just wanted to explain why he’d acted the way he had today.

Angela was right. His mother was counting on him to step in now that she couldn’t. He was a Diamond, and family was everything. He’d learned that at a young age, and it had been reinforced daily as he grew up alongside his cousin, Ty. Blood stuck together—no matter what Ty insisted these days. The ranch wasn’t the same with him gone, and Sam wished both Ty and Virgil would mend fences.

Sam was only doing this for Molly—Lord knew she’d sacrificed enough over the years for the Diamond men. It didn’t sit well that he was probably going to let her down, too. So when Angela had accused him of just that, it had smarted more than he wanted to admit. He hadn’t exactly acted like a gentleman by walking away. So now he’d just smooth things over and ease his conscience.

Resolved, he hopped out of the truck and shut the door. The rambling yellow Victorian house was full of add-on rooms, giving it a boxy, unsymmetrical appearance. It had once been in its glory but now the gingerbread trim beneath the eaves was dull and the paint was chipping. The front porch sagged as he took the first step. This was what the Diamond money had paid for? This falling-down monstrosity was going to be a progressive women’s shelter? He frowned, then jumped as a train whistle sounded to the west, followed by the faint rumble of the cars on tracks. What a dump! And on the fringes of town. What had his mother been thinking, endorsing such a place?

He knocked on the door. It would be better if he just explained and left. He’d find the right time to deal with his mother. If he bided his time, she might even be back on the board within a month or two.

The door opened a crack. “Mr. Diamond?”

Ms. Beck’s voice came through the crack, clearly surprised at seeing him standing on the ramshackle verandah. “Sam,” he corrected, angling his neck to peer through the thin gap between door and frame.

“Sorry. If I open it further, Morris will get out. Again.”

Morris? Sam sighed. Who on earth was Morris? Give me strength , he thought. He was starting to think that growing a conscience had been a big mistake. But he was here now. Might as well press on and then put it behind him. He had far bigger things to worry about when he got home. Like how to save the family that was falling apart.

“May I come in, then? I’ll shut the door behind me.”

Indecision twisted her face. She didn’t want him inside Butterfly House. He knew it as sure as he knew he was breathing. What he didn’t know was why. Maybe he’d been a little heavy-handed this afternoon, but nothing that should keep the door barred against him.

“I only want five minutes of your time,” he said. “I don’t like how we left things this afternoon.”

She opened the door and he stepped inside, only to find it quickly shut again.

There was barely room to move around in the foyer. Plastic bags were scattered everywhere, along with cans of paint in various shades, the colors announced by dots on the silver lids. He sidestepped around them and pressed against the wall to allow Angela to move past and ahead of him. When she did, the panels of his sport coat brushed against her blouse. Something slid through him, something dark and familiar that came as a surprise. Angela sucked in a breath, clearly wanting to keep from touching him in any way, her eyes wide with alarm.

Just as well. She was pretty tightly wound and he preferred his women to be a little more easygoing. Angela Beck was the kind of woman who was work, and he had enough of that to last him a lifetime.

“I just got home a while ago,” she said, leading the way into the kitchen. “Excuse the mess.”

“I dropped in uninvited. No need to apologize.” He walked around boxes stacked with linens and came to stand in the middle of the room.

“I was just having something to eat. Can I get you anything?”

He looked down at the concoction in cardboard she held in her hand. It appeared to be some sort of chicken and rice in a brownish sauce. “Not if it looks like that,” he replied.

She performed a perfect shoulder shrug and said, “Suit yourself.” She took another bite, but then got a strange look on her face and put the meal down on the counter. He wondered if she was going to ask him to sit down as the silence wound out awkwardly.

“So this is the house,” he said casually, trying to put things on an even keel. He looked around the kitchen and then ignored his customary good manners and took a seat at the table, hoping she’d follow his lead and they could stop standing in the middle of the room. Small talk. He could manage a few minutes of that, couldn’t he?

“It is.”

“And how many residents will you have?”

“We split up the master bedroom and added a bathroom. At full capacity, we’ll have five women and myself.” She remained stubbornly standing, which made him feel even more like an unwanted guest she’d rather be rid of.

He nodded, wondering where to go next. Five tenants weren’t many, but the shelter was only meant to be temporary—for as little as two months with a maximum of a year’s occupancy. It would mean that a lot of abused women could find help in the run of a year. She was doing a good thing. He just didn’t fit into the picture.

“Begging your pardon,” she asked, “but why are you here … Sam?”

“Are you always this abrasive?”

Her mouth dropped open and she stared at him. “Are you always this blunt?”

“Yes,” he replied without missing a beat. “What’s the point in dancing around anything? I tell it like it is. Makes it much easier to deal with issues.”

Her mouth twisted. “In answer to your question, no,” she admitted. “I’m usually not.”

“Should I be flattered?” He couldn’t resist asking. Flapping the seemingly unflappable Ms. Beck was an intriguing pastime.

“Hardly. You seem to bring out my worst.”

Sam couldn’t help it, he laughed. A low, dry chuckle built in his chest and the sound changed the air in the room, made it warmer. He looked up at her, watched as her gaze softened and her lips turned up the slightest bit in a reluctant smile. Desire, the same feeling he’d had as they’d brushed by each other in the foyer, gave a sharp kick. Angela Beck was an attractive woman. But when she became approachable, she was dangerous. The last thing he needed was to be tangled up in something messy and complicated. He’d been there and done that and it wasn’t fun.