Promise from a Cowboy. C.J. Carmichael

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СКАЧАТЬ shrugged, as if to say it didn’t matter how she was.

      “Something’s happened,” she said.

      His heart contracted painfully. “Not another accident.”

      “No.” She held out her hand in a reassuring gesture. “No. Nothing like that. It’s about the fire.”

      He understood immediately that she was referring to the awful night that had changed everything between them. She’d been home babysitting her little sister while he went out partying with their friends and her twin brother, Hunter.

      Right from the beginning things had gone wrong. First the location. Hunter had been keen for their group to ride ATVs out to an abandoned barn on Olive’s estranged sister’s property. B.J. hadn’t felt right about it, but he’d gone along.

      Then a big electrical storm had struck, spooking the girls and sending them running. Only Brock and Hunter had stayed behind to witness the barn catching fire. Not until later did they discover that a vagrant had been passed out in the loft. Rain had put out the fire before the barn burned down, but smoke inhalation killed the vagrant.

      B.J. had been the one to insist on calling the authorities. He’d also done what he thought was the noble thing—taking the blame for inviting his friends out to his aunt’s barn. He’d wanted to protect his girlfriend’s brother, not ever considering that Savannah would blame him for getting Hunter in trouble.

      “Isn’t that ancient history?”

      “I wish.” She exhaled her annoyance. “I had a visit from a private investigator from L.A.” She frowned as a young man carrying two beers in his hands jostled her shoulder. “Could we find someplace quiet to talk?”

      He thought about his trailer. Too small, too intimate. The saloon where Cassidy and Farley were headed would be noisy. “I could stand some food. Want to go out for a steak?”

      She hesitated, and he could see the mistrust in her eyes. Even after all these years, it hurt.

      She blamed him for what had happened to her brother. Always a kid who invited trouble, Hunter had grown even wilder after the fire. He’d given up on school, found a rougher set of friends, and two months later, on his and Savannah’s eighteenth birthday, had stolen money from their mother and run off to his first rodeo.

      Since then he’d been traveling from one state to the other, always on the move.

      On the surface—and to Savannah—it probably seemed as if he and Hunter lived pretty similar lives. But the heavy drinking and gambling that sucked up most of Hunter’s energy was not B.J.’s scene.

      “My truck is parked close.” She pointed to the visitor lot. “How about we talk there?”

      Though she worded it as a question, she didn’t wait for him to answer—just started walking as if she expected him to follow.

      B.J. stood his ground. Following wasn’t something he did a lot of. But this was Savannah and he had to hear what was on her mind. With a sigh, he set off after her.

      * * *

      SAVANNAH COULD FEEL her phone vibrating as she moved away from B. J. Lambert. Good. She needed a distraction.

      As soon as she’d started talking to him, she’d realized approaching B.J. was a mistake. She’d thought enough years had passed that he would be almost like a stranger to her now. But strangers—not even the best-looking ones—didn’t make her palms sweat.

      She was a sheriff, damn it. She was supposed to be tough.

      She’d come to the rodeo in the first place hoping to see her brother. But though he was registered, Hunter hadn’t shown up.

      A typical Hunter move. And since he refused to own a cell phone, she had no easy way to locate him.

      Talking to B.J. had been the logical next step. Until she’d looked into those knowing gray eyes of his and had felt all her insides come undone.

      As she reached for her phone, she hoped B.J. would get stubborn and refuse to cooperate. But she could hear the sound of his boots scuffing along the hard-packed dirt behind her.

      She’d started something now. The Lord only knew where it would end.

      Savannah glanced at her phone’s display, hoping the call would be official business requiring her to leave Central Point, Oregon, right this minute. But the number was from the Mountain View Care Home back in Coffee Creek.

      “Savannah Moody.”

      “I can’t find my slippers.”

      She tried not to sigh. The staff at the care home had been instructed to restrict her mother’s calls. But Francine Moody could be ingenious, and no one appreciated that better than Savannah.

      Over the years her mother’s calls had become increasingly frequent and ever more muddled. Francine had never had the strongest hold on reality. Now it was mostly beyond her grasp.

      “Mom, hang up the phone and ask Aubrey to help you find them.”

      “Who’s Aubrey?”

      “She feeds you dinner every evening, remember? The nice woman with the smile you say reminds you of Goldie Hawn?”

      Actually, aside from her dyed blond hair and winning smile, Aubrey looked nothing like the winsome movie star. But the association seemed to help her mom’s failing memory.

      “Oh, yes, Goldie Hawn. Do you remember when she—”

      “Mom, I’ve got to go now, okay?” If she let her ramble on, her mother would spend the next thirty minutes rehashing the plot of some old movie. “I’ll be home again in a few days and I’ll visit you then.” She closed her phone, hoping B.J. hadn’t heard any of that. His pity about her down-and-out family was the last thing she needed.

      A few steps away from her truck, Savannah pulled out her keys and clicked the unlock button. She’d just slid behind the steering wheel, when B.J. plopped himself right next to her.

      She stared straight ahead, trying to adjust to his presence. But even without looking she could sense his long, muscular form beside her.

      B.J. was too tall to be a cowboy, but that hadn’t stopped him from being a success at it. He had a high forehead and a strong jaw and chin, and intense gray eyes that hinted at green when the light was right.

      From the first time she’d met him—at age fifteen when she’d walked into class as the new kid in town—she’d thought he was the best-looking guy she’d ever seen.

      She still thought that.

      Reluctantly.

      Asking him to come to her truck had been a mistake. She’d thought a restaurant would be too intimate. But her cab had never felt so small, and if there’d been a table between them, at least she wouldn’t have had to sit so close that their shoulders practically touched.

      The table also would have hidden the long line of his jean-clad thigh. And surely, in a restaurant, СКАЧАТЬ