Cowboy Comes Home

Sure, he had reason. Not only had she left him, she’d been responsible for almost sending him to jail. But, amazingly, he didn’t seem bitter or angry. He’d practically ordered her to get more comfortable with him.

How could she when he never stuck around?

Every evening, for instance, he retreated to the bunkhouse right after supper. She was grateful at first. Then restless. And curious. There was nothing to entertain him in the cabin—not even a TV or radio. She’d offered to have the satellite-dish company come out to install a second receiver, but Rio had refused. He’d claimed he didn’t watch a lot of TV.

After a week, she’d mentioned that he could hang around after dinner if he liked. It wasn’t that she was looking for company, she’d justified to herself. The baseball playoffs would soon be starting and she’d felt obliged to offer since the Mariners were contenders and he’d once been a fan.

Again, Rio had said no. Then no to a movie on DVD, too. Even when she’d gone out of her way to choose one of the action flicks he’d once preferred.

After that, she was determined not to offer again.

Yet she couldn’t stop wondering what he did with himself. He didn’t drive into town, not even on Sunday, his day off. He’d barely put in an appearance at all that day, except when he’d asked to borrow Renny. He’d gone off on a horseback ride to Eagle Rock, a craggy point near the canyon they’d discovered as kids, pretending they were Lewis and Clark on expedition. He hadn’t asked her to go along, though of course she’d have declined if he had.

So, yeah. She was getting exactly what she’d thought she wanted.

“Great,” she said, standing at the stove scrambling eggs on the seventh day of October. The date was circled on the insurance company calendar she’d hung beneath her mother’s old cuckoo clock. “Just great. Yep. I am greatly relieved.”

At least she should be.

Rio let himself in the back door. “Talking to yourself is a sign of senility or loneliness, I don’t remember which.” He scraped his boots on the welcome mat. “What you need is a dog.”

“What you need is a hat,” she said, glancing at the reddened tips of his ears. “Aren’t you cold?”

He rubbed his hands together before crossing to the coffeemaker and pouring a cup. “I’ll get a hat if you’ll get a dog. Every ranch needs a dog.”

She thrust a plate of eggs and buttered English muffins at him. “A dog requires care and feeding. A hat is just a hat.”

“Except when it’s a cowboy hat. Should I get white or black?”

“Gray.”

“Spotted or solid?”

“Huh?” She pictured him in black-and-white cowhide. No way.

“Long hair or short?”

Her eyes went to Rio’s hair. The military cut was growing like stinkweed. The ends of his hair were already long enough to brush his collar. He looked more like the boy she remembered. Or maybe it was that she’d been getting used to the man he’d become, stranger though he’d remained.

“The dog,” he said.

“Right.” She forked up her eggs. Her appetite had improved. In the short time since Rio had moved to the ranch, she’d put on a pound or two. She figured that was just a by-product of feeling obligated to feed him well. Not anything to do with being happier. “I like mutts.”

“What size? You haven’t turned into the kind of girl who goes for an itty-bitty pocket dog, have you?”

She rolled her eyes. “You have to ask?”

His gaze lingered on the layered long-sleeved tees and favorite pair of Levi’s 501s that had practically become her uniform. “Guess not.”

She pushed away her plate with more force than necessary. “Today’s the auction.”

“I remembered.” She saw that he had. He was handsome in a fresh white shirt and practically new jeans. She did not let her gaze linger.

He indicated her almost-full plate. “Nerves took your appetite?”

“I don’t have anything to be nervous about.”

“No? Then I guess it’s only me.”

She frowned. Rio had always been the solid, silent type, but she didn’t remember him being so maddeningly obtuse. All week, he’d kept to himself, giving away nothing of his thoughts or plans.

How dare he follow her separation edict so strictly! If she hadn’t been so frustrated, she would have laughed at the irony.

Instead, she frowned more deeply. “What are you talking about?”

“You and me,” he said easily enough. “We’ll be out in public together for the first time since you hired me. Kind of a debut, you know?” Cocking his head to one side, he said, “We’ll be the center of attention.”

“Heaven forbid,” she said, but she wasn’t convinced. “You’re wrong. No one will care.”

Fortunately, the auction was in Laramie, over a hundred and fifty miles away. “As far as anyone’s concerned, we’re simply boss and employee, minding our own business.” They might run into acquaintances, but it wouldn’t be like parading down Range Street hand in hand, with everyone from her neighbors, the Vaughns, to the gang at Edna’s gawking at them.

Rio tossed off a cocky salute, a habit he’d taken to whenever she got to sounding too bossy. “Whatever you say, Sarge.”

She wrinkled her nose. “If you’re finished with breakfast, let’s go.” She cleared the table, scraping the dishes and leaving them in the sink instead of loading the dishwasher. “The riding horses won’t be on the block until the afternoon, but I want to get there early enough to inspect the available stock.”

“What are you looking for?”

“Young, green and cheap.” She wiped her hands on her back pockets. “Will you help? You always had an eye for horseflesh.”

His gaze had skimmed across her. Whatever he’d seen had made his eyes gleam like jet. “Sure, I’ll help.”

After the week together but apart, Meg felt good to have him look at her with some interest again. She stepped away quickly, before the urge to prolong the moment took hold. “Let’s get a move on. It’s at least a two-hour drive.”

THEY TOOK HER CAR. Meg kept the radio on for most of the drive, punching the buttons to switch stations whenever she became impatient. Rio teased her for the short attention span. She teased him right back for stabbing his left foot on the floor every time she zipped around a slow vehicle.

“You drive the same way you used to.” The car swerved. He made an exaggerated grab for the door handle. “I felt less at risk during a mortar attack.”

“Balderdash. I haven’t been in an accident in two years.”

“Two whole years, huh. That’s comforting, but…” He chuckled. “‘Balderdash’?”

“An experiment.” She lifted her chin. “Remember, I’m trying to cut down on the curse words. But there aren’t many options that don’t sound as corny as Nebraska. Horsefeathers, baloney, bull puckey.” She waved a hand at an approaching vehicle wavering toward the center line. “Golly gee, look at that jerkweed in the bat-rastard Jeep!” She scoffed. “You see? It’s hopeless.”

Rio shifted his legs. They were too long for the Camaro. “What’s with the self-improvement kick? No drinking, no swearing, no caffeine, no, uh, dates. Is it self-improvement or self-denial?”

“Aren’t they the same thing?”

“Not always.”