Come Home, Cowboy. Cathy McDavid

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СКАЧАТЬ green belt park at its center. To the south, the striking McDowell Mountains shimmered tans, browns and gold in the midafternoon sun. “I could pick a worse spot to raise the kids.”

      Cole sent Josh an arch look before hauling himself up into the saddle. “Are you ready for fatherhood?”

      “I’ve been a father for almost three years.”

      “Yeah, and you’ve spent maybe one of those years with the rug rats.”

      Partially Josh’s fault, as a rodeo man was on the road a lot. But partially his ex-wife’s fault, too. Twice she’d taken off with the children for weeks at a stretch without telling Josh where they’d gone. Twice he’d hired a private investigator and tracked them down.

      Her actions had gone a long way in convincing the judge that Josh deserved full custody, as well as her acute drug addiction. She’d recently completed a third stint in rehab and was moving into a halfway house for the foreseeable future. If she remained in the program and stayed sober for three straight months, Josh had agreed to supervised visitation.

      For now, the children were staying with his former in-laws, having a last visit with them and Josh’s ex before he assumed custody. His former in-laws’ promise to watch his children carefully was the main reason he’d agreed to the stay. That, and his respect and affection for them. They loved their grandchildren and hated the mess their daughter’s addiction had made of everyone’s lives as much as Josh did.

      “We’re done here.” He turned Wanderer’s head toward the ranch and pushed the horse into a jog. Thinking of his ex-wife soured his mood as much as thinking of their late father did Cole’s. “Let’s get back—” He almost said “home,” but stopped himself at the last second.

      “Why the hurry?”

      “I want to talk to Cara.”

      “What about?”

      They rode along the narrow trail. Josh had to speak over his shoulder to be heard.

      “She had a small dead-broke gelding that would make a good horse for the kids.” He didn’t mention the black, deciding to keep that piece of news to himself.

      “Look, I admit I know squat about kids, but aren’t they a little young to ride?”

      “Nathan’s almost three.” True, baby Kimberly wasn’t walking yet, but she would at some point. “We were that age when Dad started us riding.”

      It was probably the only thing their parents hadn’t argued about. Coming from a rodeo family, their mother had loved riding as much as their father and encouraged her sons from an early age. She hadn’t yelled at Josh after he’d hurt himself roping the cow. Instead, she’d gone out the next day and bought him his first real lariat.

      “You sure you just don’t want to see Violet?” Cole flashed Josh a sly grin. “She’s due back from the grain supplier about this time.”

      For some reason, Cole and Gabe believed Josh was interested in the livestock manager. Not that Violet wasn’t pretty, and Josh did like her. As a friend. Nothing more.

      Nonetheless, he didn’t correct his brother. The same uncertainty that had him keeping his interest in the black mustang to himself also made him keep his fascination with Cara a secret. Cole might not appreciate Josh’s plan to get to know Cara better. Then again, Cara might not appreciate it, either.

      No matter. He was determined. Josh hadn’t successfully competed at a championship level the past twelve years because he gave up quickly. Cara, he’d begun to suspect, was worth the effort.

      * * *

      USING THE POCKETKNIFE she always carried, Cara sliced through the twine binding a bale of hay. With practiced ease, she yanked the twine loose, then quickly wound it into a small ball, which she tossed into the bed of the pickup truck with all the rest.

      Next she grabbed four flakes of hay and tossed them into the feeder. Dust and tiny particles swirled in the air, and she wiped her nose on her jacket sleeve, banishing the tickle. More flakes followed until the entire bale was gone and the feeder overflowing.

      That done, she moved to the next one. Twenty bales for this trip. She alone had loaded them onto the flatbed trailer and driven the pickup and trailer across two miles of pastureland to the mustang sanctuary.

      An old cattle barn sat at the center of the sanctuary. With the help of volunteers, Cara had converted the structure into a feeding station that, as it turned out, was seldom used. Then came the drought. With grass in short supply, Cara now made the trek three times a week, loading hay purchased with their donated money into the dozen metal feeders—a gift to the sanctuary from an elderly woman who retired last year and sold off her ranch.

      Cara continued stuffing the feeders full of hay, looking at her audience every few minutes. Nearly half of the sanctuary’s two hundred mustangs surrounded the cattle barn, milling impatiently. The remainder had stayed in the hills. Eventually, however, they’d come down. If not today, then tomorrow or the next day, driven by hunger and the slim pickings.

      Rubbing the palm of her right hand through the leather gloves she wore, Cara rolled her head from side to side. Aches and pains were a constant.

      No wonder. Feeding and caring for two hundred horses was hard work. Thank God. Most nights, she fell into an exhaustion-induced slumber in which she could escape the guilt and grief that filled her days.

      On those rare nights when sleep evaded her, she sat alone in the rocking chair by her window, revisiting her worst memories and blaming herself for something no amount of counseling had convinced her wasn’t her fault.

      “I’m not sure why, but I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

      Cara rounded and bit back a retort. The last person she wanted to see stood before her. When had he arrived and how had he gotten into the feeding station without her hearing? Catching sight of his horse tethered to the railing behind him explained it. No roaring engine to alert her.

      “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She resumed cutting open hay bales.

      Josh grabbed a thick stack of flakes before she could and added them to the feeder. “Two months I’ve been here, and you still try to avoid me.”

      “You actually have to ask why?”

      “I’m not the enemy, Cara.”

      “You’re not my friend, either.” She moved in front of him. “And I don’t need your help.”

      He ignored her and lifted the remaining flakes as if they weighed nothing. “We’re going to be living together for the next year, at least. It would serve us both to get along.”

      “We’re not living together.” Apparently, he didn’t carry a pocketknife, for he waited for her to cut open the next bale. “You’re staying in the guest suite.”

      “Living at the ranch, then.”

      “I get along with you.” As best she could. He didn’t make it easy.

      “You tolerate me.”

      “August promised the ranch to Gabe.” She stood СКАЧАТЬ