Pine Country Cowboy. Glynna Kaye

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      Chapter One

      The last thing Abby Diaz needed was to be surrounded by little kids and pestered by a flirtatious cowboy.

      At the moment, she had the misfortune of both.

      She sucked in a steadying breath, acutely aware of the echoing chirp of sparrows in the indoor arena’s rafters, the smell of straw, hay and horses—and the engaging smile of the good-looking man patiently awaiting a response to his question.

      At least she wouldn’t be in Canyon Springs much longer. In a few hours she’d be sailing her Chevy down the curving mountain road to Phoenix, then pushing farther southward through the desert to Tucson and home. It had been foolish to make the trip anyway, a futile, final grasping by her rapidly ebbing faith.

      “So what do you say, pretty lady?” the sandy-haired cowboy with impossibly wide shoulders urged again, his low, mellow voice teasing her ears. Dressed in boots, faded jeans and a Western-cut shirt, he tipped back his summer straw hat as twinkling hazel eyes studied her with unconcealed interest. “It will take half a minute to lead another horse out here and get your lessons started right along with these kids.”

      Was he out of his mind? “I’ll pass, thank you.”

      He briefly dipped his head in acknowledgment, a smile twitching at his lips. Then he glanced at the half dozen grade-schoolers milling around them, including her brother Joe’s son. Since entering the arena, Davy had stuck gluelike to her side despite only having met her three days ago.

      The seven-year-old had been excited about coming today, begging his almost-nine-months pregnant stepmother not to renege on his first riding lesson. But after another sleepless night of acute discomfort, Meg hadn’t been up to it. With his daddy working an extended shift as a regional paramedic and Grandpa Diaz seeing to an RV park crisis, Aunt Abby had been dragged into this family-oriented outing. She’d planned to drop Davy off and return for him later, but on the drive to the High Country Equine Center—which most locals still called Duffy’s after the original owner—the brown-eyed boy seemed to be having second thoughts about the adventure. She’d hung around for moral support.

      Avoiding the cowboy’s assessing gaze, Abby rested her hand on her nephew’s shoulder and gave it a reassuring pat. “This will be fun, Davy—won’t it, Gina?”

      His best buddy, a blonde pigtailed dynamo, nodded emphatically, her instructor-issued riding helmet bobbing atop her head. “Majorly fun.”

      Not to be outdone by a girl, Davy shook off his aunt’s hand and gave a manly nod reminiscent of his father. “That’s right. Majorly fun.” He cut a glance upward. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to, Aunt Abby.”

      That caught the cowboy’s attention. “Aunt Abby?”

      “Daddy’s little sister,” Davy announced proudly, stuffing his hands into the back pockets of his jeans.

      “Well, what do you know?” The man’s smile broadened as he again caught her eye. “Joe has a sister? Where’s he been hiding you, ma’am?”

      Obviously this man, no more than a handful of years older than her, wasn’t a Canyon Springs native or he’d know the whole story. But there was no point in enlightening a stranger on the Diaz family history.

      “He didn’t hide her,” Davy piped up with a giggle. “Aunt Abby lives in Tucson. She’s a librarian.”

      “Davy,” Abby said firmly before the boy could further elaborate on her personal affairs. She didn’t want him sharing with the world that she’d recently lost her librarian position and not too many months before that had sent her fiancé packing. Or at least the latter was what she’d allowed her family to assume.

      Today—the first of June—was to have been her wedding day.

      “A librarian,” the cowboy echoed, his gaze flicking over her appreciatively. If the sparkle in his eyes was any indication, for a reason known only to him he found that bit of information amusing.

      He held out his gloved hand. “Good to meet you, Aunt Abby. Diaz, is it?”

      She nodded and reluctantly shook his hand.

      “I’m Brett Marden.”

      A shrill whistle pierced the air.

      “Brett! Let’s go!” Another cowboy-hatted man, this one taller and walking with a slight limp, made his way across the arena’s expanse. He clapped his hands and motioned to the portable corral assembled on the far side of the arena where half a dozen saddled quarter horses waited quietly.

      Abby had met Trey Kenton, manager of the equine facility, her first night back in town and remembered his wife, Kara, from grade school. It had come as a shock to discover she and the other woman might be stepsisters in the not-too-distant future. Thanks for the warning, Dad.

      Brett studied Abby a moment longer. “Why don’t you stick around, Aunt Abby? You never can tell... Could be you’ll find something that catches your interest.”

      He stepped back with what she instinctively knew was a well-practiced wink.

      Warmth crept into her face. Did he mean him? Of all the...

      Not waiting for a response, he lightly rapped his knuckles on her nephew’s helmeted head, then spread his arms wide to herd the youngsters toward the corral. “No running, no yelling. We have things we need to go over before you get to ride.”

      Abby stared after him. Find something that catches your interest, indeed. Talk about an over-the-top ego. Nevertheless, her gaze lingered on the masculine form as he crossed the arena, a booted Pied Piper with a covey of trailing kids attempting to mimic his confident stride.

      “You may as well come on over here and have a seat,” a feminine voice called from somewhere behind her. “Abby, is it?”

      Jerked from her reverie, Abby turned toward a small semicircle of folding chairs placed just inside one of the arena’s side gates. She hadn’t noticed the arrangement when she and Davy had slipped inside to join the other kids. Apparently Brett Marden had been a bit too distracting. Four women now claimed the seating area—a gray-haired lady and three others near Abby’s late twenties or slightly younger. One, the spokesperson she assumed, patted the sole empty chair next to her in invitation.

      A knot tightened in Abby’s stomach. Why’d the most friendly one have to be holding a baby?

      “Yes, Abby. Abby Diaz.” With considerable effort she returned the smiles of the women. Then she reluctantly closed the distance between them to take the seat next to the woman who cuddled her napping infant close. If they’d caught her name, they’d probably heard the whole conversation between her and the flirtatious cowboy.

      “I’m Davy’s aunt,” she nevertheless confirmed. “From Tucson.”

      “Joey’s sister.” The familiar-looking older woman on the far side of the semicircle nodded knowingly. Abby sensed she was aware of the family’s sordid history, how Abby’s parents divorced when she was ten, with her mother taking both her and middle child Ed and leaving teenage Joe to be raised by their father.

      “Are you visiting, Abby?” the woman continued with an СКАЧАТЬ