Tomas: Cowboy Homecoming Read online

  Cattle carriers, trailers and trucks were parked to the right of the barn. They sported a new logo: Hart Rodeo Contractors arched across the top, the lettering green. In the center was the Bull Mountains shadowed by a blue cloud with a bucking horse and bull in front. Below was etched Roundup, Montana. Very impressive. The family had invested heavily in the contracting business.

  As soon as the sun peeked over the Bull Mountains, he saddled up Sundance, his brown quarter horse with a white blaze on his face, and galloped off into miles of Thunder Ranch. Snow blanketed the ground, but in places winter grass poked through. He stopped and sucked in the fresh, cold air. There was no scent anywhere like winter in Montana.

  He kneed Sundance and rode along Thunder Creek. The snow-banked water was frozen in places. Sundance picked his way through the snow and Engelmann spruce, and they came across a herd of cattle huddled together near a windmill. At the sight of horse and rider, the cows bellowed. Tuf dismounted and saw the water trough had frozen over. Picking up a pipe left there for such purposes, he broke the ice. Cows milled around for a drink.

  He swung into the saddle and was surprised not to see more cattle. The herd must have been downsized—more changes. He rode back to the house in time for breakfast.

  When Tuf was in Afghanistan, he often dreamed of his mom’s warm yellow kitchen with the pine plank floors, the natural butcher-block counters and cherry-stained cabinets. It relaxed him and he’d wondered if he’d ever sit at the family table again.

  He ran his hand across the butcher-block table and felt the warmth of being home.

  His mom watched him while he ate. She did that a lot, and he felt guilt press on his chest again.

  Picking up his mug of coffee, he asked, “What happened to all the cattle?”

  She shrugged. “The economy tanked and cattle prices dropped and I made the decision to downsize. The contracting business is time-consuming, and we need every available hand to make it a success.”

  He pushed back his plate. “Then I’ll take care of the cattle. That should help.”

  “Yes, but I’d rather you enjoy life for a while. There’s no rush for you to do anything.”

  That puzzled him. Growing up it was always important that everyone pulled their weight. “Come on, Mom. I need to stay busy. What is everyone else doing?”

  “Ace handles the breeding program while Colt’s in charge of Midnight and handles the rodeo bookings and transporting bucking horses. Beau and Josh take care of the bulls, though Josh is cutting back to spend more time with Jordan.”

  “Is anyone rodeoing?”

  “You bet. There’s a lot of rodeo talent in the Hart and Adams families. All the boys are riding to earn extra money for the ranch, except Duke. He’s given up bull riding for Angie, but he’s still helping to transport stock to rodeos.”

  He got up and poured another cup of coffee. “I never thought Duke would give up bull riding for love.”

  His mother carried dishes to the sink. “His heart was never in it like Beau’s.” She shot him a glance as she rinsed dishes to go in the dishwasher. “Like you.”

  “Yeah.” He leaned against the counter. “I loved bareback riding.”

  “Your father said you’re the best he’d ever seen.”

  He thought for a minute. “If everyone’s rodeoing to make money, I can, too.”

  His mother had a way of not frowning, but she made up for that with a disapproving look.

  “What?”

  “For eight years I’ve gone to bed every night wondering if I’d ever see my youngest again.”

  “Mom…” His heart twisted.

  “I just want you safe.”

  He smiled at her worried face. “We’re the Harts. Rodeo is in our blood.”

  “Mmm. I guess it’s safer than what you were doing.”

  “I want to help out.” He tried to ease the tension.

  “As long as I know someone’s not pointing a gun at you, I…” She reached for a dish towel, wiped her hands and then dabbed at her eyes.

  His heart twisted so tight he could barely breathe.

  Ask me questions. Ask me. Let me get it off my chest.

  But she didn’t.

  As she loaded the dishwasher, he had second thoughts. She was all alone in a five-bedroom house and that bothered him. His mom was used to having family around her. Ace had lived in the house with a separate entrance until his marriage. Now he lived at the McKinley place with his new family. Colt and Uncle Josh had houses nearby, but it wasn’t the same thing.

  There was a housekeeper, Lisa Marie, but she was only there a few hours a day to help his mother. He found that odd since his mom had always refused help. What had happened to change her mind?

  She straightened and hugged him. A whiff of gardenia reached him. It was a scented lotion she’d used ever since he could remember.

  “Take all the time you need. When you’re ready, you’ll know. Now I have to get dressed and go to work. Lisa Marie will be here soon and Leah’s probably already in the office.”

  “Leah takes care of the books now?”

  “Yes, and she’s been a blessing. All this new technology goes over my head sometimes. You’ll have to check out the updated office. With the rodeo contracting busines we have to keep up-to-date records and know exactly where and when our animals go to rodeos. It takes all of us to accomplish that.”

  “Mmm. When are Uncle Josh and Beau coming back?” Seemed his uncle had gotten married a few weeks ago and they had gone on a honeymoon, too.

  “Any day.” His mom moved toward her bedroom.

  “Mom, I need some new clothes. Is there anyplace in Roundup I can buy them?”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Austin carries nice things at his Western Wear and Tack Shop. It’s not a law but a rule that you support family.”

  He grinned. “Yes, ma’am.” He reached for his hat, slipped into his jacket and headed for the door. As he walked to his truck, he saw Midnight in a pen, and Gracie, one of the ranch hands, watching him. He strolled over to take a look. Gracie was somewhere in her forties and she knew her way around horses and cows. Bundled up in a heavy winter coat, she had a wool scarf looped over her felt hat and tied beneath her chin to cover her ears.

  “Mornin’, Tuf,” she called and opened a large gate to a big corral. Midnight trotted through and galloped around kicking up his hooves in the nippy morning air.

  “Mornin’.” He leaned on the fence and watched. The stallion circled the corral, his muscles rippling with restless energy.

  “He’s easy to exercise,” Gracie said, “as long as I don’t try to box him in. Though he loads pretty nicely into a trailer for Colt. You just have to know what to do and what not to do. The horse is temperamental, to say the least.”

  “But a gold mine if he performs as planned.”

  “You got it.”

  Midnight threw up his head, steam coming from his flared nostrils, but it was clear the horse reveled in the cold.

  “He was born to buck,” Tuf murmured.

  “The family still hasn’t decided yet.” Gracie shoved her gloved hands into her jacket pockets. “It’s cold. I hope Buddy gets here soon so I can go to the mare barn where it’s warmer.”

  Tuf frowned. “Buddy Wright?”

  “Yeah. When Midnight went missing, he showed up at Buddy’s place with a few cuts. Buddy doctored his wounds and took care of him. He was afraid to tell anyone where the horse was because he feared everyone would think he’d stolen the Harts’ prized stallion.”

  Tuf remembered Royce saying something about that.

  “But Dinah got to the bottom of everything, and your mom was very grateful to Buddy. She encouraged him to visit Midnight at Thunder Ranch whenever he wanted. And he does about two or three times a week. It helps me out a lot.”

  Before Tuf could sort through this new information, Ace drove up to his clinic area and Colt pulled in behind him. They waved and went inside. They were giving him his space, and he shoul
d be happy about that, but in truth, he didn’t understand it. If one of them or Beau or Duke had disappeared for two years without a word, he’d be mad as hell. But he was the one who’d left Thunder Ranch and his family. They had gotten used to life without him. Deep in his heart, though, he knew this standoff wasn’t going to last. Soon someone would pop the cork of their bottled-up emotions and Tuf would be held accountable for his decisions.

  * * *

  ON HIS WAY INTO TOWN, he passed the Wright property. All was quiet, not a soul in sight. It was nice to know the Harts and Wrights were getting along so well. Very nice. He wondered if Cheyenne’s husband was with her. Or if she had a husband. From the look in her eyes, he knew something bad had happened in her life. What?

  He was thinking too much about her and turned his attention to the view. It hadn’t snowed in days, but it still lingered across the landscape and nestled in the ponderosa pines. The chilly blue sky went on forever, and he was sure it reached into eternity with its wondrous breadth and depth. There weren’t skies like that in Afghanistan.

  As he turned onto Main Street, he looked for a parking spot near Austin’s store. He swerved into a space and removed his keys. He’d purchased the silver Ford Lariat pickup in Maryland because he needed a way to get around. First new truck he’d ever owned, but he figured he’d earned it, since his pay had been piling up in his checking account. But he should have thought that over a little more. His mom said things were tight and the ranch could have used the money. Readjusting to the real world was a hell of a blow.

  Getting out, he locked the doors, pocketed the keys and walked into Wright’s Western Wear and Tack. A bell jangled over the door and the scent of leather reached him. He came to a complete stop.

  Cheyenne was behind a counter, arranging colorful jewelry in a glass case. She looked up, her green eyes startled. Her red hair was clipped behind her head and strands dangled around her pretty face. A flashback hit him that had nothing to do with Afghanistan. He was seventeen years old and sitting in the school auditorium right behind Cheyenne Wright, staring at the back of her hair pinned up much like it was today. Several loose strands curled against the curve of her neck, and he’d wondered if he reached out with one finger and gently tugged her hair toward his lips if it would taste like cinnamon. Which was odd, because Cheyenne never gave him any indication she wanted him to taste any part of her.

  Strange how that memory lingered in his mind.

  “Can I help you?” she asked in the coolest voice he’d ever heard.

  Chapter Three

  Cheyenne’s heart pounded in her chest at an alarming rate—too alarming to suit her. What was Tuf doing here? And why was he still standing at the door?

  Closing the glass case with a snap, she asked again, “Can I help you with something?”

  He removed his hat like a true gentleman and stepped closer to her. Well over six feet with wide shoulders, he was a little intimidating, which she was made very aware of by the flutter in her stomach. His dark brown hair was cut short and neat, and the lines of his face were all sharp bones and angles. A tiny scar over his left cheek added to his manly image.

  The scar wasn’t something new. He’d had it in school. Rumor was he’d fallen off a horse when he was about three and hit a water trough.

  “Is Austin here?”

  She cleared her throat. “No…no, he’s over at the diner having coffee with Dinah. He should be back shortly.”

  “Oh.” He looked around. “I need some clothes. Do you mind if I look around?”

  “Um…no.” Was she supposed to help him? Why couldn’t he wait until Austin returned?

  He settled his hat onto his head and glanced at the items on racks and shelves. Without taking time to look at anything, he grabbed T-shirts, socks, long johns and Jockey shorts.

  He wears briefs.

  Cheyenne took a deep breath. She really didn’t need to know that.

  After laying his load on the counter, he walked to a round rack of Western shirts. He found his size and reached for a handful. Good heavens, he didn’t even look at the style or the color. Unable to stand it, she made her way to his side and tried not to frown.

  “Don’t you want to look at the shirts?”

  “No. Why?”

  She suppressed a groan. “They’re different. Some are solids, prints, plaids and checks.”

  “Doesn’t matter. It’s a shirt.”

  She gritted her teeth. “Some have snaps. Some have buttons.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I can handle both.”

  “This is ridiculous. No one buys clothes without looking at them.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve been buying my clothes since I was about sixteen and that’s my method.”

  That would account for that god-awful shirt he wore in school.

  He pointed to her face. “You’re frowning. What’s wrong with the way I buy clothes?”

  Now she’d stepped in it. Why was she even talking to him? She should have stayed at the counter. She bit her lip and stepped in a little deeper. “I was remembering that bright pumpkin-orange shirt with purple piping you wore in school. Evidently you had on sunglasses when you bought it.”

  He gave a cocky grin. “Ah, the orange shirt. My friends and I were in Billings getting rodeo supplies and they had that shirt in the window. I said someone would have to pay me to wear something so gaudy. Well, that’s what my friends did. They bought it and paid me twenty bucks to wear it to school. It got a lot of attention and laughs. I’m sure I still have it. My mom never throws anything away. It’s too small for me now, but you can have it if you like.” He lifted a daring eyebrow.

  “No, thanks.” She took the shirts out of his hands and held one up. “This is a solid baby-blue Western with pearl snaps. It comes in white, yellow and pink. You might prefer the yellow.”

  His grin widened and she felt a kick to her lower abdomen. “No. I prefer the blue.”

  “See. That’s shopping. Making a decision.” She held up another. “This is a light blue check. We have it in dark blue, too.”

  “I’ll take the dark blue.”

  “And this—” she pulled a shirt off the rack “—is red, white and blue. It was made popular by Garth Brooks. Since you’re a former marine, you might like it.”

  “I do.” He glanced at the shirt and then at her. “But don’t you think it’s a little loud?”

  It was, but she wasn’t going to admit that after the orange-shirt comment. “It’s fine.”

  “Good. I’ll take three.”

  She had a feeling he didn’t really care. To him it was just a shirt, like he’d said. She found that so strange. Her husband, Ryan, had been a picky dresser. Sometimes she took shirts back three or four times before she could find one he liked. And they had to be starched and ironed before he’d wear them. If they weren’t… Her hand instinctively went to her cheek.

  “Do you have any chambray shirts and jeans?” He glanced at the shirts hung against a wall.

  “Yes.” She waved her hand. “And Austin has a lot more on this round rack. What color?”

  “Light blue.”

  “Not red?”

  “No. That’s Colt’s trademark. Too flashy.”

  “Yeah, right.” She reached for two. “Jeans are here.” She pointed to her left. “The size is beneath each stack. Do you know your size?”

  He stared directly at her with steamy dark eyes. “Doesn’t every man?”

  She felt dizzy, but she just shrugged. “You’d be surprised. A lot of women buy their husband’s clothes.”

  “I don’t have a wife, and like I told you, I buy my own clothes.” He studied the sizes and fit and pulled out five pairs.

  “Mommy, Sadie’s coloring on my page.”

  “Excuse me.” She took the shirts and jeans from him, and as hard as she tried not to touch him, his hand brushed against hers in a fleeting reminder of the difference in the texture of male skin. She drew in a breath, laid the merchandise on the counter and wen
t to her daughters, who sat at a small table in a corner.

  “Sadie, color in your own book.” She homeschooled the girls, and while she worked in the store, they did their lessons. Today they were coloring a picture according to the colors Cheyenne had marked on the page.

  “Sammie doesn’t know how to color. I’m just showing…” Sadie’s green eyes widened and her mouth fell open. Cheyenne knew why. Tuf was standing behind her. She could feel his warm vibes.

  She stepped aside. “I don’t believe you’ve formally met my daughters. Girls, this is Tuf Hart, Aunt Dinah’s brother. And this is Cassandra and Samantha. Otherwise known as Sadie and Sammie.”

  “Why not call her Sandy or Cassie?”

  Cheyenne tensed. “It’s a name her father gave her.”

  Tuf nodded and looked at the girls. “Nice to meet you.”

  Sadie scrunched up her face. “I don’t like you.”

  “That seems to be a unanimous opinion in the Wright family.”

  Cheyenne forced herself not to smile. “Sadie, that’s not nice. Apologize.”

  Her spirited daughter hung her head.

  “Sadie.”

  Sadie mumbled something, and Cheyenne went to the checkout counter with Tuf. “My name is Sundell now,” she said and was unsure of the reason why she needed to mention that.

  “So you and your husband moved back to Roundup?”

  Cheyenne kept scanning the items into the cash register, trying not to react. Trying to be cool. “No. Just the girls and me.”

  There was a pregnant pause filled with all kinds of questions. But again, she didn’t react. “Will there be anything else?”

  “I need PRCA regulated rowels and spurs.”

  “Austin orders those.”

  “I figured.” He reached for his wallet in his back pocket and pulled out a credit card.