Книга - Cherokee Baby

Cherokee Baby
Sheri WhiteFeather


One look. One dance. One night of passion. Julianne McKenzie had experienced it all with one sexy man. And now she was expecting a child, the Cherokee baby of Bobby Elk. What other surprises did life have in store? Too much heartache. Too much to atone for. Bobby Elk believed he lacked the soul to give Julianne all she deserved. She carried his child, and his Cherokee heritage demanded he give them a home, yet he dared not give them his name, his heart.Three souls bound by one fateful encounter. Man. Woman. Child. But their circle would never be complete until one man faced his greatest fear…and one woman showed him how deserving he was of love.












“We Should Wait Until The Baby Is Born To Come Up With Names,” Bobby Said. “That’s The Cherokee Way.”


Still struggling for composure, Julianne merely nodded.

“In the early days, a Cherokee baby was named in a ceremony by an elder in the community. A Beloved Woman. But things have changed. Today the father names the child.”

And that was important to him, she realized. To adhere to tradition, to play a significant role in naming their baby.

“A lot of things have changed,” he went on to say. “In an ancient Cherokee household, a man moved in with the woman he married, and he was restricted in his authority over the children. Now, a man is the undisputed head of the household.”

She didn’t know how to respond, not when his words barely applied. How could he be the head of the household when they didn’t even live together?

“I want the baby to have my last name,” he said.

Then marry me, Julianne thought hopelessly. Love me and marry me.


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Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire




Cherokee Baby

Sheri Whitefeather










SHERI WHITEFEATHER


lives in Southern California and enjoys ethnic dining, American Indian powwows and visiting art galleries and vintage clothing stores near the beach. Since her one true passion is writing, she is thrilled to be a part of the Silhouette Desire line. When she isn’t writing, she often reads until the wee hours of the morning.

Sheri is married to a Muscogee Creek silversmith. They have a son, a daughter and a trio of cats—domestic and wild. She loves to hear from her readers. You may write to her at: P.O. Box 17146, Anaheim, California 92817.


As writers, we often try to “become” our characters, live in their shoes, so to speak. In this case, the shoes I attempted to fill were custom-made cowboy boots belonging to Bobby Elk, a left-leg amputee. In my quest to delve into Bobby’s world, I connected with some amazing people who taught me how fragile and triumphant the human spirit truly is. To Tony Barr, a foot amputee, expert horseman and e-mail friend, for explaining how Bobby would ride and train his horses. To Laurie, a lovely lady and double amputee, for sharing intimate details about her life.

To Margo Severson for phantom pain references.

To Al Pike, Teja Gilmore, Matthew Baughman and Ken Hung, the CPs who answered questions and/or took me on a tour of their prosthetics and orthotics facilities. If I made any technical errors in this book, I apologize. I studied my research notes and applied them to Bobby’s life the best way I knew how.




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Epilogue




One


Thirty-nine and counting.

Good Lord. Julianne McKenzie trailed behind her cousins, wondering why she’d agreed to let them fuss over her upcoming birthday. Not that she didn’t relish the “girls only” vacation they’d agreed upon, she just didn’t understand why they’d insisted on arranging one of those tongue-in-cheek, over-the-hill parties to go along with it.

What did her cousins know about turning forty? Mern and Kay were still in their early thirties, nearly a decade away from the big 4-0, from the onset of gray hair, crow’s-feet and sagging rear ends.

And to top it off, they were both happily married. Julianne’s philandering spouse had left her for a cliché. A younger woman. A loyal secretary, the kind middle-aged wives feared and middle-aged husbands couldn’t seem to resist.

As her cousins reached the big wooden door of the lodge at Elk Ridge Ranch, Julianne dragged her luggage up the stone path and sighed.

Her life was falling apart at the seams.

“Are you coming, Jul?” Kay called back.

She waved the brunette on. “I’ll catch up.”

Kay rolled her eyes. “You and Grandma’s ancient suitcase. I can’t believe you brought that thing.”

“It’s my good luck charm.” And because it was nearly as old as she was, she wasn’t about to trade it in for a younger model. The ugly green case, with its temperamental clasps and scuffed exterior, wasn’t ready to be put out to pasture. It still had a few good years left.

And so do I, she thought as her happily married, thirtysomething cousins entered the lodge without her.

In spite of her dwindling bankbook and the job she’d just lost, Julianne had come here to have fun, to enjoy the amenities this Texas guest ranch had to offer.

She climbed the wraparound porch and caught sight of a cowboy exiting the building and heading in her direction.

She tried to appear unaffected by his presence, but as he moved closer, she stole several quick, curious glances. He was, after all, the first true cowboy she’d ever seen. He even walked with the stiff, rugged gait of a horseman.

Attired in varying shades of denim, he looked dark and exotic, rough around the edges, with a straw hat dipped low on his forehead and a silver buckle glinting at his waist. Broad of shoulder and narrow of hip, he stood tall and strong.

A man’s man. Or possibly a woman’s dangerous fantasy.

Not hers, of course. These days, she knew better than to fantasize about the Y-chromosome gender.

“Do you need some help?” he asked, casting a courteous glance at the pea-green monstrosity in her hand.

“No, thank you.”

“Are you sure? I’d be glad to carry that for you. Or send a ranch-hop out here, if you prefer. We provide all the same services as a five-star hotel.”

“Honestly, I’m fine.” She knew Elk Ridge Ranch wasn’t designed to toughen up the city dweller. Supposedly their guests were encouraged to relax, to enjoy being pampered in a country setting. To dine on meals provided by a gourmet chef, to swim in a luxurious pool, to visit a masseuse after a day of hiking, riding or fishing. But she’d be damned if she was going to come across as a pint-size, Pennsylvania greenhorn who couldn’t handle her own luggage.

Trying to appear more competent than her travel-weary appearance allowed, she flashed a small, self-assured smile.

But a second later she lost her composure, as well as her footing. Julianne McKenzie, the fantasy-free, pretending-to-be-tough divorcée, tripped and stumbled, nearly landing flat on her almost-forty behind.

With a foolish little yelp, she managed to regain her balance, but not her dignity. She dropped the suitcase and it opened upon impact, spilling a small selection of clothes.

Right at the cowboy’s booted feet.

Mortified, she looked up at him and mumbled an apology. Suddenly he seemed taller, broader, bigger. And she felt small and stupid.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Julianne nodded. The only injured party was her pride.

“Did you slip on something?”

“No. I’m just clumsy, I guess.” She knelt to organize her mess.

“Let me help.”

He crouched down, and Julianne froze. Her new bustier—the slinky French number Kay and Mern had insisted would boost her breasts, as well as her morale—was wedged beneath his slanted heel.

Should she say, “Excuse me”? Or just sort of yank it back before he got a good look at the lace contraption wrapped around his boot?

Too late, she thought. He was already glancing down to see what he’d stepped on, already shifting his weight, moving his foot, reaching for her bustier.

A piece of intimate apparel that came with a sheer, lightly boned bodice, under-wire cups, hook-and-eye closures and adjustable garters.

He handed it over with a polite if not proper expression, but she still wanted to curl up and die. Somehow his gentlemanly behavior only managed to intensify the mind-numbing moment.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“That’s okay.” Avoiding eye contact, she jammed the bustier back into her toppled suitcase, burying it beneath a pile of folded T-shirts.

Should she tell him that she’d bought it on an emotional whim? That her cousins convinced her that every woman should own one? Not to seduce a man, but to make herself feel pretty?

Oh, yeah, she thought. Go ahead and discuss your insecurities with a stranger. Explain to this hunky cowboy why you’d purchased a see-through bustier and thigh-high stockings as a birthday gift to yourself.

He reached for another dislodged garment and together they worked in silence, clearing the porch of her belongings.

Finally she closed the green case and tried to latch it, but it wouldn’t budge. Some good luck charm, she thought, embarrassed by her incompetence once again.

“Would you like me to try?” He shifted from his crouched position, bending on one knee and keeping the other foot flat on the ground.

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

He struggled with the clasps, too. But he didn’t give up. Determined to come to her rescue, he continued to fiddle with the case.

When he pushed his hat back, she took the opportunity to study him. And realized he was probably as old as she was. Maybe even a tad older. His long black hair, which he wore in a single braid down his back, was threaded with a distinguished hint of silver, marking his temples. And his eyes, those exotic-shaped eyes, were branded with tiny lines, crinkling at the corners.

Gray hair and crow’s-feet. And it looked damned good on him.

So did the rest of his features, she decided. The square jaw, the slightly aquiline nose, the razor-sharp cheekbones, the full, serious mouth.

“You’re—” She paused as he glanced up, suddenly aware that she’d voiced her next thought out loud. “Native American.”

His serious mouth tilted into a slightly amused smile. “And I’d bet my next pot of gold that you’re Irish.”

“Are you sure about that?” she asked, teasing him the way he teased her.

He reached out to smooth a strand of her hair away from her face. “Red hair, green eyes.” He brushed her cheek, rubbing his knuckles over her skin. “A scatter of freckles. To me, that’s Irish.”

She met his gaze, and they stared at each other.

So intimately, she had to force herself to breathe.

Footsteps sounded somewhere nearby. The cowboy dropped his hand, but he didn’t stop looking at her.

“Are you?” he asked.

She blinked. “Am I what?”

He studied her mouth. “Irish?”

“Yes.” She wet her lips, wondering how it would feel to kiss him, to press her—

“What’s going on here?” a masculine voice bellowed.

The cowboy flinched and Julianne nearly jumped out of her skin.

He recovered first. Adjusting his hat, he addressed the intruder. “Just helping a new guest with her fallen luggage.”

The intruder laughed. “Sure looks odd. You two kneeling there on the ground.”

Julianne glanced up and connected the disembodied voice with an older man. Short, paunchy and nearly bald, he wore a big, friendly smile. Another guest, she deducted.

“Yeah, I guess it does look odd.” The cowboy pointed to the stubborn green case, which lay open at his side. “But I’m still working on it.”

“So I see.” The older man turned to Julianne. “I’m Jim Robbins. I come here every summer.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Julianne McKenzie. It’s my first visit. I’ll be here for a week, with my cousins.”

“Then I’m sure I’ll see you at the barn dance on Wednesday, if not before. I come here to fish, but the missus prods me to dance.” He shifted to the cowboy. “Good luck with that, Bobby.”

“Thanks, Jim.”

The other guest departed, sauntering off the porch and into the dry Texas air.

Julianne looked at her companion, who concentrated on her suitcase. “So you’re Bobby,” she said weakly.

He nodded, then cleared his throat. “Bobby Elk. I own this place.”

Bobby Elk. Elk Ridge Ranch. It was a simple enough connection, but one that surprised her. “I thought you just worked here.”

“My mistake. I should have introduced myself first. Especially to a guest.” He glanced up for a second. “So, your name is Julianne McKenzie?”

“Yes.”

“Glad to have you aboard, Ms. McKenzie. If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you.” Their conversation had turned professional, but she could still feel the heat between them. The mutual attraction.

While he worked on her suitcase, she studied his deft movements, his calloused fingers. And that’s when she saw the gold band. The wedding ring on his left hand.

The air in her lungs whooshed out. He was married.

The son of a bitch was married, and behaving just like her ex.

How many times had she pictured her former husband flirting with his secretary? Kissing her? Holding her?

She wondered if Bobby Elk’s wife knew that he checked out other women? That he gazed directly into their eyes? Touched their faces? Their hair?

God, she hated men.

“I got it,” he said, closing her case with a resounding click.

And none too soon, she thought.

Julianne came to her feet. “I better go. My cousins are probably wondering what happened to me.”

He stood, too, towering over her by nearly a foot. “I’ll carry your bag.”

She wanted to argue with him that she could do it herself, but instead she walked ahead of him, tossing a cool look over her shoulder. “Suit yourself.”

She entered the lobby, a room boasting of country charm. The walls, constructed of oak, set off a stone fireplace. A floor-to-ceiling window offered a stunning view of flowers, trees and hills.

Bobby stopped to say her name. “Ms. McKenzie?”

She turned, huffed out a breath. “Yes?”

“I offended you, didn’t I?”

“Yes, Mr. Elk. You did. And I’m sure you know why.”

“I’m sorry. I’m not usually so forward with the guests.”

Yeah, right. “My cousins are waiting.” She spotted Kay and Mern, watching her from the front desk.

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll leave your bag with Maria. Our receptionist,” he clarified. “She’ll arrange for someone to take this to your room. Enjoy your stay.”

He carried her suitcase to the counter, and Julianne studied his limp, the slight glitch in his walk. Served him right, she thought. Whatever injury he’d sustained, he deserved.

She waited until he left the lobby before she approached the reception desk.

Her cousins met her with eager faces. “So that’s what kept you,” Mern said.

“Who is he?” Kay asked, smiling like a Tasmanian devil.

Mern and Kay were sisters, one blond and one brunette, both adept at traveling. Kay already sipped a drink from the nearby bar, and Mern leaned against the long oak counter, where she’d probably been in the process of checking them into their rooms.

“That was Señor Bobby,” an unfamiliar, heavily accented voice said. “He built this ranch.”

Julianne turned, realizing that Maria, the Latina receptionist, had answered Kay’s question.

“Handsome,” Kay mused.

“Married,” Julianne put in quickly. “Saw the ring myself.” A simple gold band. The kind her ex used to wear.

“No, no, no.” This from Maria, who waved her plump arms. Apparently she didn’t mind insinuating herself into their conversation. “Señor Bobby isn’t married. Not anymore.” She made the sign of the cross, in a very religious, very respectful gesture. “His wife, she died. Three years ago.”

The news struck Julianne like a fist. Like a hard, shameful blow.

Bobby Elk wasn’t a cheat. He was a widower.

And she’d treated him like dirt.



Bobby cursed himself all the way to the barn. Nothing was going to lighten his mood, not the Texas Hill Country he’d come to cherish, the vast blue sky or the earthy scent of horses and hay misting the air.

He’d screwed up. And at his age, he knew better. First, he’d gotten aroused by Julianne McKenzie’s underwear, by that sexy, little lacy thing he’d pretended not to notice. And then he’d touched her pretty, Irish skin. Which had left him aching to kiss her.

What an idiot.

Still cursing his stupidity, Bobby stalked into the breeze-way barn, headed for the office and booted up his computer.

Rolling his shoulders to alleviate the stress, he confirmed his next appointment, which was still hours away.

He poured himself a cup of coffee and scanned the cluttered room. Michael had left the place a mess. Typical, he thought. His nephew had a penchant for disorganization. Unlike Bobby, who required all of his ducks in a tidy row.

He tasted the coffee, made a horrible face and spat it into the trash can at his feet.

A chuckle sounded behind him.

He turned around and glared at his nephew. At twenty-five, Michael Elk had grown into a damn fine Cherokee. He could creep into a room without being seen or heard, but he brewed the worst damn coffee in the world.

“You’re in quite a mood, Uncle.”

“I offended one of our guests.”

For a moment Michael just stared. “That’s my job.”

“That was your job when you were a smart-mouthed, bad-ass fifteen-year-old. Neither of us are supposed to offend our guests now.”

The younger man poured himself a cup of the godawful coffee and sipped casually. “What’d you do?”

“I touched her. With a little too much familiarity, I suppose.”

“Who is she?”

“A good-looking redhead. She just arrived today. She seemed receptive at first. But she got upset after she found out who I was. I guess she thought I was taking advantage of my position here.”

Michael removed his hat and tossed it on the desk. He wore his hair long and loose, as free and wild as his half-cocked grin. “What were you doing? Trying to get laid?”

Bobby shook his head. At times Michael still acted like a smart-mouthed, bad-assed fifteen-year-old. But he knew it was a defense mechanism. Michael’s troubled heart had been wounded by his missing girlfriend—a young woman who’d deliberately left town, then disappeared.

But at least the boy hadn’t lost his passion, his emotion, the fire that drove him. Bobby had a few stirring moments now and then, but for the most part, he felt dead inside.

As dead as his wife.

As disconnected as his amputated leg.

“It’s normal to want, Uncle. To see a woman you desire.”

“I’m not looking for a lover.” He missed the masculine release that came with sex, but he wasn’t about to share his stumped, disfigured body with anyone. He didn’t give a damn how active or athletic he was. Sex wasn’t the same as riding a horse or running on a dirt path or working out in the gym.

Lovemaking required a partner. Human contact. And he couldn’t give of himself. Not anymore.

“Apologize to her,” Michael said.

“I did.” And now the only thing left to do was to avoid Julianne McKenzie. “I’m going home for a while. I’ll see you later.”

“Uncle?”

“Yes?”

“You’re a good man.”

Bobby’s chest constricted. The only love still left inside him was for Michael, for the youth he’d struggled to raise. “I’m not the champion you think I am.”

“Yes, you are.”

They stared at each other for a silent moment and then Bobby walked out of the barn and into the sun, unable to convince Michael that he wasn’t the warrior he used to be.

As he took the path that led back to the lodge, where his truck was parked, he glanced up at the sky, looking for a picture in the clouds. A wolf or a deer. A protector of some kind.

When he saw nothing but white puffs floating in a sea of blue, he cut across the grassy terrain and spotted her in the distance.

For a second he thought she was a figment of his imagination. But the nervous jab in his stomach told him otherwise.

She was real. And headed straight toward him.

So much for avoiding Julianne McKenzie.

Her hair billowed around her shoulders like a fire-tinged halo. And suddenly he was reminded of who he was.

Robert Garrett Elk, from the A-ni-wo-di, the Red Paint Clan. No wonder the color of her hair fascinated him. The ancient members of his clan were noted for using red paint to attract lovers.

Her hair had put a spell on him.

“Bobby.” She said his name in a soft voice.

He stopped, knowing he didn’t have a choice. He couldn’t just slip past her.

“Your receptionist told me I’d probably find you out here.”

He glanced back at the building behind him. “I’m usually at the barn.”

Julianne shifted her stance. She still wore the jeans and the simple T-shirt she’d sported earlier. But her hair, that scarlet, spellbinding hair, blew gloriously in the wind. “I owe you an apology.”

“No, you don’t.” He jammed his hands into his pockets, thinking how small she was, just a sprite of a woman.

“But I was rude to you,” she said.

“That’s all right. I had it coming.”

“That isn’t true.” She paused, took a breath. “It was a misunderstanding. I saw your ring and I assumed you were still married.”

“Oh.” Taken aback, he kept his hands in his pockets. He couldn’t explain why he wore the wedding band Sharon had given him. He couldn’t admit the truth, not to anyone but himself. “That was a logical deduction, Ms. McKenzie.”

“Julianne,” she corrected. “I’m so sorry about your wife.”

Everything inside him went still. Dead still. He would never forget the pain and guilt that tainted Sharon’s memory. “Thank you.”

“I’m divorced,” she offered.

“Is that good or bad?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t decided yet.”

“So what brought you to Texas?” he asked, trying to ease into a simpler conversation.

“My birthday.”

She made a sour face, and he found himself smiling. “That bad, huh?”

“I’ll be forty.”

He’d suspected as much. Although she wore her age well, he could see the maturity in her eyes, in her gestures. “You’ll survive. I did. Two-and-half years ago.”

“You’re a man. Gray hair looks good on your gender.”

And all those brilliant Irish locks looked incredible on her. “Come on. I’ll walk you back to the lodge.”

She gave him a suspicious look. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“I’m headed that way. And I assume you barely got a chance to relax. Besides, I think you left your cane in the lobby. And your granny glasses. Oh, and those dowdy housedresses old ladies wear. I’m sure I saw one in your suitcase.”

“Very funny.” She bumped his arm and started toward the lodge. “My cousins are going to have an over-the-hill party for me.”

“Black balloons? A cake with a tombstone on it?”

“Exactly.” She stopped, gazed up at him. “What did you do on your fortieth birthday?”

He tried not to flinch. He’d been emotionally ill that day, churning about the condition of his body. He remembered throwing his prosthesis across the cabin and smashing a lamp to smithereens. Although he deserved to be punished for what he’d done to Sharon, the constant reminder wasn’t easy to bear. Particularly on the birthday she’d been teasing him about but hadn’t lived to see.

“Quite truthfully, turning forty sucked.”

Julianne laughed. “Now there’s a man after my own heart.”

He laughed, too. Even though he could still feel the loss, the fear, the pain from that depressing birthday. “I hated every minute of it.”

“Then I guess that makes you my forty-support buddy.”

“Yeah, I guess it does,” he agreed. “After all, no one should have to go through it alone.”

“Amen to that.” She sighed, lifted her face to the sun. “And no one should have to be subjected to a cake with a tombstone on it.”

Or bury a wife, he thought.

They continued in silence, passing several large barbecue grills, a host of shaded picnic benches and the chef’s organic garden.

When they reached the lodge, Bobby pointed to the parking lot. “I’m going that way.”

“Oh, okay. I think I’ll book my first horseback-riding lesson for tomorrow. Should I do that at the reception desk?”

He nodded. “Guess who your instructor will be?”

“You?” she asked. “My forty-support buddy?”

“Yep.” He tipped his hat. “Ancient cowboy at your service.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow, old man.”

“You got it.”

He walked to his truck and then stopped to glance over his shoulder, to catch one more glimpse of her hair. But she was already gone, already out of sight.

He reached for his keys, wondering what Julianne McKenzie would say if he told her the truth about his wife.

That Sharon Elk had put her faith in him on the night she’d died.

On the night he’d killed her.




Two


Julianne sat on the edge of a rolling-pin bed, poring over a color brochure.

Her room at the lodge, artistically crafted from oak beams and plastered limestone, offered a cedar chest, a cypress table and multipaned windows.

The architecture, she read, was inspired by the German immigrants who’d originally settled in the Texas Hill Country, but the colorful baskets and clay pottery represented the Elk family’s Cherokee roots.

Curious to know more, she scanned the back of the brochure, hoping to learn more about Bobby’s family, but the rest of the information centered on the ranch.

“So, what did he say?”

Julianne glanced up. Kay sat at the table, watching her with a keen eye. Her cousins were staying in the room next door, but they seemed determined to remain by her side, probing her for details about Bobby Elk.

“He accepted my apology.”

“And?” Kay prompted.

“And we talked about my birthday. About coping with turning forty. He seemed to understand how I feel.”

“Did you tell him you were divorced?”

Julianne nodded. “I mentioned it.”

“We think he’s perfect for you.” Kay shot a gleaming grin at Mern. She, too, sat at the table, but she wasn’t nearly as devilish as the dark-haired Kay. Mern behaved like the innocent partner in crime, with her ladylike mannerisms and angelic gold locks. She merely inclined her head, waiting for Julianne’s reaction.

Just her luck. Her cousins, who used to drive her to distraction when they were kids, had decided to play match-makers. “And just how am I supposed to date him? I’m only going to be here for a week.”

Kay spoke up again. “We were thinking more along the lines of a fling. Something fast, fulfilling and fun.”

Julianne’s jaw nearly dropped. “You mean, an affair? You’ve got to be kidding.” She’d slept with one man in her entire life. And she’d been married to him. “I don’t do things like that.”

“Think about it, Jul. Sex with a gorgeous stranger. It’s just what you need to pull you out of this slump.”

Stunned by the casual suggestion, by the sheer raciness of it, she shifted her gaze between her cousins. “That’s what this vacation was supposed to do.”

Kay flashed her impish smile. “So, consider Bobby Elk an added bonus.”

Dear God. “What about sexually transmitted diseases?”

“You can make sure there’s protection available,” Mern said in her quiet, no-nonsense manner. “You can keep condoms in a drawer. Or in your purse. It’s possible to have a responsible affair.”

“And they sell prophylactics in the gift shop,” Kay added. “This place has everything. You don’t even need to go into town.”

Julianne’s mind reeled. Her cousins had been here all of three hours and already they’d scoped out a box of condoms and a tantalizing man to go with them.

Kay reached for her diet soda, the caffeine jolt she thrived on. “It’s time you got back into life, Jul. You’ve been divorced for two years.”

She fidgeted with the brochure in her hand, trying to get her thoughts in order. The idea of making love to Bobby Elk scared the stuffing out of her.

But deep down, it thrilled her, too.

“What if I made a play for him and he turned me down?” She’d be mortified. Crushed. Destroyed.

Kay took another swig of her soda. “Come on, Jul. He’s a red-blooded American male. And he’s attracted to you.”

“This whole thing is crazy.” Julianne popped up and paced the room. Now she wanted to throttle her cousins for putting the idea in her head.

“Just think about it,” Mern said.

Julianne stopped to study the blonde, noting how striking she was with her tiny waist, rounded hips and ample bust. Mern could seduce a man without even trying. And so could Kay. The brunette had a straightforward, free-spirited charm that drew men to her like magnets. No wonder they’d kept their husbands.

She plopped back onto the bed, picked up the brochure again. And when she caught sight of Bobby’s name, her heart raced.

Kay finished her drink. “Let it simmer for a day or so. You don’t have to rush into anything this minute.”

Let it simmer? What did that mean? That she was supposed to face Bobby Elk tomorrow with sex on her mind?

“Easy for you to say.” Already she was panicked about what tomorrow would bring. Panicked about just seeing Bobby, let alone imagining herself in bed with him.



The following morning Bobby woke with a start, shaking a leg no longer there.

Phantom pain, he thought. The nerves didn’t know his leg was gone.

But Bobby knew. A man didn’t lose a limb and suddenly forget that part of him was missing.

The phantoms rarely came anymore, so he closed his eyes, waiting out the discomfort, knowing it would eventually subside. He didn’t believe in pharmaceutical pain-killers. He followed a natural path and when necessary found relief with Juniper Berry, an herb also known as Ghost Berry.

Ghost medicine for phantom pain. Sometimes the irony actually humored him. But not today. This frustrating morning, Bobby was in a ravaged mood.

He opened his eyes and cursed. Relaxing didn’t seem to be an option, even though he knew it would help ease the pain.

He looked around his bedroom and took a deep breath. He lived in a log cabin that used to be a guest accommodation on the ranch. He’d given up the home he’d shared with his wife. Instead he stayed in a tiny place nestled on the side of a hill, surrounded by gnarled trees, flowers that sprouted on their own and long nights of seclusion.

When the phantoms subsided, Bobby rose and reached for his crutches. Carrying himself into the bathroom, he stared at the adaptations that had been made. Grab rails, a shower chair. They had been part of his routine for the past three years, but today they made him feel like a cripple.

Damn, but he hated self-pity.

He’d promised himself long ago that he wouldn’t dwell on the “Why me?” syndrome. And he’d been doing fairly well. Until yesterday, until a pretty redhead named Julianne McKenzie arrived, stirring an attraction that toyed with his libido.

And made him wish, much too desperately, that his body was whole.

After his shower, he attached his prosthesis. It took all of five minutes, but he did it begrudgingly, hating himself, once again, for falling into the self-pity trap. He was a healthy man, active and strong, financially secure. He had a lot to be thankful for.

He spoke to the Creator every day, and the One Who Lives Above always listened. But this morning, Bobby couldn’t find the emotional strength to give thanks.

On this bright summer morning, he felt like what he was—a forty-two-year-old widower—a man who’d lost his wife.

And, he added, grabbing a pair of Wrangler jeans from the dresser, a self-loathing, sex-starved amputee.

He made it to the barn by 6:00 a.m. and started a pot of coffee before Michael could do the damage. Checking his computer, he scanned his appointments, the riding lessons and guided tours the front desk had scheduled for him.

Julianne was his first lesson for the day.

Anxious, he glanced at his watch and listened to the coffee brew. He could handle this, he told himself. She would only be around for a week. And he knew how to interact with his guests, how to be a proper host.

All he had to do was relax and stop thinking about the sexual fury in his gut.

Ready for a boost of caffeine, he poured a cup of the European blend and settled into his desk.

The coffee tasted like heaven, and so did the continental breakfast Chef Gerard had sent to his office. The old chef, who’d trained at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris, spoiled Bobby and his ranch hands every morning with oven-baked treats.

He polished off a buttered scone and checked his watch again.

Showtime, he thought, rising to play his part, to face Julianne as he would any other paying guest. A week-long stay at his ranch didn’t come cheap, and he owed her the courtesy of a genuine smile.

Or as genuine as he could muster.

She was already there, seated at the bench outside the barn, her spellbinding hair secured in a girlish ponytail and tied with a silky blue ribbon.

She stood and sent him a look as sweet and warm as a candy-wrapped sun.

He approached her, thinking she looked like a fairy. She had a beguiling little dimple, eyes as green as moss and freckles sprinkled across her nose like glitter.

Forty looked cute on her, he decided. Bright and fresh.

“Morning,” he said.

“Hi.”

She adjusted the hem of an oversize denim jacket. The white blouse beneath it sported a touch of lace at the collar and a row of tiny blue buttons. Her jeans were a pair of comfortably worn Levi’s. Her moderately priced boots looked brand-spanking-new.

“So, have you ever been on a horse?” he asked, gearing up for her lesson.

She shook her head. “I’m from Pennsylvania.”

He couldn’t help but grin. “They don’t have horses in Pennsylvania?”

She waved her hands in a flighty gesture. “Oh, of course they do. That was dumb.”

No, he thought. It was sweet. “I’m just teasing you, Julianne.”

“I know.” She sent him a lopsided smile. “And you’re good at it, too.”

He kept grinning. “You’re an easy mark.”

“So I can expect you to torture me with that sense of humor of yours?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Having a sense of humor kept him alive, he supposed. That and his passion for horses. And of course, his paternal love for Michael.

He considered Julianne and wondered if she had any kids. Knowing it wasn’t his place to question her, he didn’t ask.

“Come on,” he said, guiding her into the barn. “I’ll introduce you to your mount.”

He chose a well-mannered, highly trained gelding. They stopped in front of a box stall and he motioned to the quarter horse. “This is Sir Caballero. ‘Sir Knight’ in English. Most of the time we just call him Caballero.”

“So, he’s a boy.”

“Yep.” Amused, Bobby watched her warm up to the gelding. “A ten-year-old boy.”

She tilted her head. “How can you tell?”

“That he’s male?”

She glanced at the horse, then blushed furiously. “I was talking about his age. How can you tell how old he is?”

Still amused, he flashed a telltale grin. “I knew what you meant.”

“Oh, goodness.” She laughed, rolled her pretty green eyes. “You were teasing me again. I’m such a dork.”

“No, you’re not.” She was playful, he thought. A little naive. And that girlish naiveté made him want to kiss her. To brush her lips with his, to taste the dimple in her cheek. “You’re sweet.”

She blinked and smiled, and the dimple imbedded even deeper. “Thank you.”

Bobby moved closer and they gazed at each other. All he had to do was to lean forward and initiate the first kiss, the first sip of satisfaction.

When she moistened her lips, a shiver shot straight to his groin.

Lust, he thought. Sugarcoated lust.

Kissing Julianne wouldn’t change who he was or what he’d done to Sharon. It wouldn’t restore his honor or the broken vow he’d made to his wife’s family.

It would only be a balm, temporary relief for what would never quit ailing him.

But that didn’t make his desire, the hunger, any less real.

“Where were we?” he asked, doing his damnedest to break the spell, to get back on track, to quit staring at her mouth.

“We were…” About to kiss, Julianne thought. Or so it had seemed. But she couldn’t be sure. She’d been out of practice for far too long.

“We were talking about Caballero,” she said, suddenly recalling where they’d left off. “About him being a boy. And about how old he is.” She turned to the horse and tried to gain control of her senses. She’d lain awake most of the night, considering an affair with Bobby.

A fun, fast, fulfilling fling.

“Oh, yeah.” He turned to the horse, too. “First of all, he’s a gelding, a castrated male.”

Julianne merely nodded. She wasn’t about to comment on the poor beast’s castration.

“Caballero is a registered quarter horse,” Bobby went on to say. “And his date of birth is on his papers. But a horse’s teeth can determine its age. The wearing surface changes as they grow older.”

“That makes sense.” She reached out to stroke the gelding’s nose, and the horse bobbed his approval.

Bobby glanced her way and once again their gazes locked. Softly, gently. Like a breath of spring.

Her cousins were right. She did need to get on with her life. To bask in the warmth and glory of a rough, rugged cowboy.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

To touch him? To lie beside his long-limbed, leanly muscled body?

“Yes,” she said.

He reached for a nylon article hanging beside the stall. “This is a halter.” He opened the door, entered the stall and buckled the horse into the headgear.

He led Caballero toward the barn door, and then stopped to say something in Spanish to a young Latino ranch hand, who looked at Julianne and nodded his head.

Once they were outside, Bobby tied the gelding to a hitching post. Julianne remained by his side, watching everything he did.

Yes, she thought. Yes. She wanted Bobby Elk. She wanted those big, calloused hands all over her.

The ranch hand appeared with a saddle and left it on a rack. Bobby thanked the young man in English and received a Spanish response.

After the ranch hand departed, he saddled the horse, explaining the process, naming the tack. Julianne listened, but now and then her mind drifted. Back to Bobby’s hands. Back to the fantasy of his touch.

“What are you hoping to gain from your first lesson?” he asked, tightening the girth. “What do you want out of this?”

You, she wanted to say. “Just the basics. So I can take one of the guided tours into the hills and feel comfortable.” She paused, brushed a stray hair away from her face. A few strands were coming loose from her ponytail. “Do you give those tours?”

He nodded. “I’m taking a group out tomorrow morning.”

She didn’t want to share him with a group. “Can I book a private tour instead?”

“Yes, but it’ll have to be on Thursday. That’s the only day I’m free. My schedule is pretty tight this week.”

She imagined being alone with him in the hills, surrounded by the scent of wildflowers and the warmth of the wind. “Then Thursday, it is. Now all I have to do is learn to ride.”

He finished tacking up the gelding. “Are you nervous?”

She shook her head, glanced at the gold band on Bobby’s finger.

“It’s important to relax,” he said. “To let the horse know you’re in control.”

As Bobby led Caballero, Julianne walked beside him, wondering how long he’d been married. Death had to be more stressful than divorce. She’d given up her wedding ring easily. Heck, she’d even considered flushing the meaningless thing down the toilet, but had opted to pawn it instead.

Once they were in the arena, she tried to clear her mind. But as she waited for the riding instruction to begin, she took an anxious breath.

Bobby studied her from her under the brim of his hat, the sun shining in his face. “I thought you weren’t nervous, Julianne.”

Okay, so maybe she was. But not about mounting the gelding. “Honestly, I’m fine.” Just suddenly scared to death about the decision she’d made, the choice to have sex with a stranger.

This stranger, she thought, glancing at his ring once again.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” So he missed his wife, she thought. That didn’t mean he didn’t play around. The man was a widower, not a saint.

He gave her a boost when she wasn’t able to climb into the saddle on her own. Next, he adjusted her stirrups.

The lesson went easily from there. Bobby corrected her when she did something wrong and praised her when she did something right.

He remained in the center of the arena, the sun glinting off his belt buckle. She’d never undressed a cowboy, but she was more than willing to try.

He watched her walk the horse along the fence rail. “You’ve got a good seat, Julianne.”

She sent him a quick smile, assuming that meant she sat a horse well.

The instruction lasted for almost two hours and when she dismounted, her legs wobbled.

Bobby caught her shoulders and suddenly they were standing only inches apart. His chest rose and fell, and when he dipped his head to look at her, their eyes met.

Julianne’s mouth went dry. God, he was beautiful. A Cherokee masterpiece, with his copper skin and strong, sculpted features.

“You’ll get over that,” he said.

Over what? The wooziness in her knees? Or the silky sensation between her thighs? The heat of wanting him? “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” He stepped back, his voice rough. Masculine. Much too husky.

Julianne attempted to steady her pulse, to give her lungs a dose of calm, even breathing. But the effort proved in vain. She wasn’t going to get over Bobby Elk until she was wrapped in his arms.

Warm and wet and naked, she thought.

Free and sinful.

Engaged in the affair of a lifetime.




Three


Julianne had worked in clothing boutiques since her teens, progressing from salesgirl to manager. She wasn’t exactly a fashion plate, but she had a keen sense of style, a knack for knowing what looked good on her.

But on this nerve-laced evening, everything she tried on fell flat.

“You look great.” This came from Kay, who sat on the edge of Julianne’s bed.

“I shouldn’t have bought this. I’m too old for a backless dress,” she responded, criticizing her appearance in a beveled mirror. She reached for the matching jacket and slipped it on, hoping it would help. “I shouldn’t go braless anymore.”

“Why not? You’ve still got perky breasts.”

Of course, she did. Her breasts were too small to be anything but perky. She didn’t actually have cleavage, which is why Kay and Mern had talked her into buying that padded bustier.

Maybe she should wear that tonight. Not with this dress, but with—

“Too bad your nipples aren’t hard.”

Julianne turned around to glare at Kay. “Knock it off. I’m nervous as it is.” She hadn’t worried about whether a specific guy would ask her to dance since her high school days. “What if Bobby isn’t even there?”

“He owns this place, Jul. He’ll be there.”

“I hope so.” She put on her cowboy boots, deciding they were the appropriate footwear for a barn dance.

“You could use a breath spray.”

As Julianne covered her mouth, Kay reached into her purse. “For your nipples,” her cousin clarified, handing over a small pump. “It’ll make them hard. I read about it in a magazine.”

Julianne studied the mint-flavored spray, and when she glanced up at Kay, they both burst out laughing.

Oh, what the hell? she thought, unbuttoning the front of her dress. She was out to seduce a man. And what man wouldn’t notice erect nipples?

Mern arrived at Julianne’s door a short time later and the three drove their rental car to the entertainment barn, a building designed for dances, casual meals and parties.

Guests were already gathered at rustic tables, sipping margaritas and chatting companionably. The chef had prepared an array of Southwestern appetizers. Julianne could see colorful trays garnished with tomatoes, peppers and cilantro leaves.

The dance floor accommodated Western-clad couples swaying to a beat provided by a country band. The room itself twinkled with white lights, giving the rugged atmosphere a touch of romance.

Julianne sat with her cousins and scanned the area for Bobby, and then made eye contact with a young man who smiled and came her way.

He resembled Bobby, with his long, lean body and jet-black hair. A relative, she decided. A member of the Elk family.

He stopped at their table. His skin wasn’t quite as dark as Bobby’s, but he had the same strong-boned features and rough-and-tumble appeal.

“Evening, ladies.” He introduced himself as Michael Elk, then turned to Julianne. “You must be the good-looking redhead my uncle mentioned.”

Stunned and flattered, she extended her hand. “Julianne McKenzie.”

After they shook hands, he sat in the empty chair next to her. She reached for a corn chip and dipped it into a bowl of guacamole. “So Bobby’s your uncle?”

“Yes, ma’am. And a damn good one. He gave up his rodeo career to raise me.” Michael poured a margarita from the pitcher on their table and handed it to her. “He stepped in when my mother died. I was thirteen years old, and full of pi—” He paused to rethink his statement. “Pickles and vinegar. I was quite a handful.”

And probably still was, she thought, catching the dark, dangerous gleam in his eye.

They talked for a few more minutes before Michael rose to mingle. “Enjoy the dance.” He smiled at Kay and Mern. “Try the sopes,” he said, pointing to a platter of small, ridged, pork-filled tortillas. “They’re my favorite.”

Taking his advice, Kay reached for one of the Mexican appetizers. “Hunky,” she commented when he was out of earshot.

“Just like his uncle,” Mern put in, nudging Julianne to glance toward the door, where Bobby had just arrived.

Instantly she became aware of her nerves, of the girlish flutter in her stomach. Taking a deep breath, she removed her jacket and placed it on the back of her chair. Suddenly she was warm. Much too warm.

Bobby looked like a mirage, a masculine shadow of denim and leather. A buckskin shirt fitted across his chest and a pair of cowboy-cut jeans hugged his hips. A Stetson, decorated with a silver hatband, shielded his eyes, creating an air of mystery.

“Did you hear that?” Kay asked.

Julianne couldn’t hear anything above the pounding of her own heart.

“It’s lady’s choice, Jul. Go ask Bobby to dance before someone else snags him.”

Lady’s choice. That gave her a perfect excuse to approach him, yet as she made her way through the other guests, she wanted to turn tail and run.

She’d barely taken a moment to breathe, to calm her schoolgirl anxiety.

He glanced up and saw her, and she realized it was too late to skitter off like a jackrabbit.

“Hi, Bobby.” She stopped in front of him, conjured a smile and tried to look more confident than she felt.

“Hello.” His gaze traveled over her body, settled on her breasts for a millisecond and shot back up to her face.

Julianne shifted her feet. He’d noticed her protruding nipples. The twin peaks she’d blasted with Binaca.

“Do you want to dance?” she asked before she lost her nerve.

When he stalled, she knew she’d made a mistake. Apparently he didn’t like forward women. Apparently the backless, braless dress had been the wrong thing to wear. Apparently—

“All right,” he said.

All right. He didn’t sound particularly enthused about holding her in his arms, but he’d agreed. To be polite, most likely.

Mortified, Julianne decided this potential affair was a pipe dream. A foolish notion going nowhere.

He led her onto the dance floor.

And suddenly everything changed.

Their eyes met and their bodies brushed, the music tempting them with a warm, slow, country ballad.

He slid his arms around her waist; she put her head on his shoulder. And the rest of the world seemed to disappear.

The twinkling lights flashed like a hundred wish-inspired stars glittering from an oak ceiling.

Julianne inhaled the scent from his cologne, the subtle mix of musk and man. He ran his fingers up and down her spine, caressing her bare back.

They could have been making love, she thought. Making love to music. She felt the flex of muscle, the hard, solid wall of his body swaying to accommodate hers.

He toyed with the ends of her hair. “Gi-ga-ge-i,” he whispered in a guttural tongue. “So red. So powerful.”

She wanted to respond but she couldn’t. Her entire body was melting. All over him.

When the song ended, they stood in the center of the dance floor, just holding each other. Until Bobby dropped his hands and stepped back.

“Wa-do,” he said. “Thank you for the dance.”

“You’re welcome.” Still a little dazed, she smiled. “Is that the Cherokee language?”

He nodded. “I don’t speak it fluently. But my grandparents did.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Wa-do,” he said again. “Thank you.”

The band started another song, but Bobby didn’t reach for her. And she didn’t reach for him. They separated, walked in opposite directions, and then turned back at the same moment to look at each other from across the room.

Giving her a connection she hadn’t expected to feel. A fleeting embrace from heart to lonely heart.



On Thursday afternoon Bobby saddled his horse. He wasn’t going to let last night’s dance affect him. He wasn’t going to obsess about the luxury of holding Julianne McKenzie, of swaying to a slow, silky song, of being immersed in the airy fragrance of her perfume.

He stole a glance at Julianne. She waited beside Caballero, with her hair blowing gently in the breeze.

Oh, hell. Who was he trying to kid? He was already obsessing about her. About the slim, sleek texture of her naked back and the erotic impression her nipples had made against her dress.

He’d gone to bed aroused and had awakened the same damned way.

He finished saddling his horse and went to Julianne. “Do you need a leg up?” he asked.

She gave Caballero a serious study. The sorrel gelding, at 15.2 hands, possessed a generous chest, a wide girth and a strongly muscled back. He made Julianne, with her petite frame and translucent skin, look like a pixie.

“I think I can make it on my own,” she said.

Good girl, Bobby thought. He knew she was more than capable of climbing into the saddle.

She put her left foot in the stirrup and heaved herself up, grabbing the horn for support. The leather creaked beneath her rear.

Bobby mounted his horse on the “wrong” side, on the right rather than the left. Julianne gave him a confused look.

“I’m favoring an old injury,” he said, telling her what he told anyone who was astute enough to notice. “And since it’s easier for me to mount on the right, I train my horses to accommodate me.” Which also included hand signals and the dispersal of his weight rather than the pressure of his legs.

Julianne merely nodded, apparently too polite to prod him for details.

Sometimes people questioned him further, and sometimes they didn’t. When they did, he chalked up his “old injury” to an “accident” and nothing more.

On occasion, the truth leaked out. His staff, along with plenty of folks in town, knew that he was a below-the-knee amputee.

But so far, no one had told Julianne. Of that much, he was certain.

He glanced back at her. “Are you ready to hit the hills?”

She sat up a little straighter. “Yes, sir.”

For nearly two hours they traveled a path Bobby reserved for inexperienced riders. The trails were wide and scenic, the trees tall and shady, the terrain smooth yet lush with foliage.

When they reached a grassy plain near the river, he stopped. Julianne had booked a half-day tour, which included a picnic. Most folks preferred to do this tour with a group, but Bobby knew why Julianne had chosen a private session.

She wanted to be alone with him, to relax, to talk. And he didn’t mind obliging her. He enjoyed her company. And in spite of that romantic dance, he was professional enough to keep his hormones in check. At least in front of her. His private fantasies, his late-night and early-morning arousals, were his own business.

Besides, she was leaving in three days, right after her party.

Speaking of which. “I ran into your cousins this morning,” he said as he dismounted. “And they talked to me about your birthday.”

Julianne slid from her horse. “Oh, goodness. What did they say?”

“They asked for my advice. And I told them I wasn’t too keen on the over-the-hill theme. I suggested that a classy dinner at the lodge and a night on the town might be more appropriate.”

She gave him a pleased smile. “You did?”

He nodded. “There’s a local honky-tonk I think you’d enjoy. It’s perfect for a fortieth birthday.”

“You mean I can get drunk there and forget how old I am?”

He laughed. “Yes, ma’am, you can.”

“Will you come to my party, Bobby?”

He adjusted his hat to look at her, to count the freckles sprinkled across her nose, to admire the fire in her hair. “Your cousins already invited me.”

“Does that mean you’ll be there?”

He moved his gaze lower, taking in the column of her neck, the curve of her waist, the flare of her hip. “Yes. That’s means I’ll be there.”

“Thank you.”

“Sure.” Before things got awkward, he tended the horses and gave her the task of spreading the blanket and unpacking the food.

When he joined her, she was in the process of filling their plates.

“Your chef is amazing.” She handed him his lunch, a grilled chicken and pita sandwich, accompanied by several gourmet salads. “Do you eat like this all the time?”

“Except when I cook for myself.” He tasted the wild rice medley, then went onto the mango and jicama concoction. “I can throw a meal together, but nothing this fancy.”

“Me, neither.” She eyed the dessert, a colorful array of freshly baked tarts. “I’d get fat if I lived here.”

“I’ve learned to curb my appetite for sweets.” And those sweets included women, he thought as he swallowed the food in his mouth.

She looked around, and he followed her gaze to the lull of the river and the flowers sprayed across the bank.

“It’s so beautiful here,” she said.

“Yes, it is.” And so was she. An Irish fairy with invisible wings.

She turned her attention back to him. “I met your nephew. He speaks very fondly of you.”

“Michael wasn’t easy to raise, but I love him like a son. I wouldn’t trade that experience for the world.”

Julianne sighed. “I don’t have any children. I wanted them, desperately. But it didn’t happen.” She picked at a piece of chicken in her sandwich. “We tried for years to have kids. And then we decided to have some tests done. Joe, my ex-husband, tested just fine. So that told us the problem was with me.” She paused, sighed again. “But since our insurance didn’t cover infertility, we didn’t pursue it any further. I was willing to adopt, but Joe wasn’t comfortable with the idea.”

Bobby studied her expression, the sadness in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It doesn’t matter anymore. He cheated on me anyway.”

“He sounds like a jerk.”

“You think so?” Looking up from her sandwich, she smiled.

“Yeah, I do.” He reached for his fork, instead of reaching for her, instead of touching her cheek.

Her smile fell. “Our relationship had become rather mundane, I suppose. But he should have come to me. He should have told me he was unhappy.”

“How long were you married?” Bobby asked.

“Twenty years.”

“Damn. That’s a long time.”

She blew a frustrated breath. “Too long, considering what he did. Joe was thirty-nine, pushing forty when he hopped into the sack with his twenty-year-old secretary.”

Bobby froze. His wife had been twenty when he’d met her, twenty-one when they’d married, twenty-two when she’d died.

Julianne picked at her sandwich again, tearing it into small bites. “I know those kinds of age differences don’t bother some people. But it was quite a blow to my ego. Why is it that men get away with everything?” She ate a slice of the grilled chicken, casting the pita aside. “Can you imagine me sleeping with a twenty-year-old? It’s absurd.”

Bobby frowned, recalling his attraction to Sharon. Their age difference had made their relationship more exciting in the beginning. And more painful at the end. “It is a double standard, I suppose.”

“No kidding.” Julianne reached for her drink, took a small sip.

When they both fell silent, the lull of the river intensified. The wind blew a warm breeze, and the sun shone, dappling the water with specks of gold.

“I’m sorry.” She glanced down at her plate, at her torn sandwich. “I shouldn’t have vented my frustrations out on you.”

“It’s okay.” At least now he understood why turning forty was such an issue with her.

“It’s not okay. I feel like an idiot. Forcing you to listen to all that.”

“Hey.” Giving in to the need to touch, he leaned forward and lifted her chin, encouraging her to look at him. “I don’t mind being your friend, Julianne.”

She blinked, smiled. “You’re a good man, Bobby.”

He pulled his hand back. “Michael says that to me, too.” But it felt different coming from her. It felt like even more of a lie.

They finished their lunch and cleaned up, working quietly. Bobby squinted at the sky, at a hawk soaring above the trees.

Julianne walked over to Caballero. “Is it a two-hour ride down the hill?”

“We’re going down the same way we came up,” he said by way of an explanation.

She made a face. “My butt’s going to be really sore later, isn’t it?”

He checked out her cute little rear and nodded. Strange how she could make him emotional one minute and humor him the next. “I suspect. Some folks do complain about their butts afterward.”

She heaved herself onto the gelding. “I guess this is nothing for a former rodeo cowboy. What event did you compete in?”

He finished packing his horse. “Bareback.”

“Is that where you get bucked around without a saddle?”

Humored once again, he grinned. She was already favoring her rear, wriggling in her seat. “That’s about the size of it.”

“And you deliberately chose that as your profession?”

“I surely did.” He watched her grimace through another city-slicker wriggle. “You could schedule a massage later,” he suggested. “And soak in the whirlpool.”

“Or I could tough it out like a true cowgirl.” She pushed her heels down, settling into her stirrups. “Will I see you tonight, Bobby? Maybe at dinner?”

“I don’t think so. I’m going to turn in early. I’ve got some business in San Antonio over the next few days. I’ll probably be heading out before dawn.”

“So when will I see you again?” she asked.

“At your party,” he told her. “I won’t miss your birthday, Julianne.”

“Are you going to bring someone?”

He mounted his horse, tried to act casual. “No. I think I’ll go alone.”

“I’m always alone.” When a strand of hair blew across her face, she shifted the reins to free her hand, to tuck the fiery locks behind her ear. “I haven’t dated since the divorce. It’s just not that easy.”

He chose not to comment, not to admit that he knew how she felt.

Side by side, they started across the grass, heading for the trail back to the barn. As a stream of silence ensued, a butterfly winged by, reminding Bobby of his borrowed time with Sharon, of summer days, colorful flowers and shattered dreams.

“Maybe you could be my date for the party,” Julianne said.

Bobby’s pulse quickened. Suddenly he ached for what she was offering. A romantic evening with a pretty lady. Flirtatious conversation. A sip of wine. A long, lingering kiss.

He glanced her way and saw that she watched him with shy anticipation.

“Sure, I could do that,” he said.

What harm was there in being her date?

In pretending, just for one night, that he was still the man he used to be.




Four


The Corral, a shabby-chic bar, presented sawdust floors, rustic oak tables, a collection of pool tables and a small bandstand. A trio of female singers belted out familiar country tunes as cocktail waitresses squeezed through the Saturday-night clientele, delivering drinks and ready smiles.

Julianne sat at a crowded table, sipping a glass of wine and looking around. Kay and Mern had invited the other Elk Ridge Ranch guests and some of the staff to her party.

Everyone was here, toasting her with well wishes. Everyone except Bobby, the man who’d promised not to miss her birthday.

Disappointed, Julianne watched the door. Was he merely late? Or had he decided not to be her date, after all?

Glancing across the room at the dance floor, she spotted Jim Robbins and his wife stomping and clapping to the music. Jim was the friendly fellow who’d startled her and Bobby on the porch that first day.

Another couple, much younger and much hipper than Jim and his wife, laughed when they all missed the same line-dance step.

She reached for her wine and glanced at the door again.

And then she saw him.

Bobby entered the bar, carrying a single white rose. She excused herself from the table and went to greet him.

For a moment they just gazed at each other.





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