Destined for the Cowboy (Home at Last Texas #2)

Chapter One

T oday was an avoid-the-memories day.

Trista Thorpe Carhart was used to those. In some unemotional—or perhaps simply numb—part of her brain, she had managed to box up the pain and sadness most of the time, but every once in a while it still hit her hard, even after more than seven years. She tried to take heart from the fact that it happened less often, and except on rare occasions didn’t swamp her anymore.

Today was one of those rare occasions.

And so she took the long way around to avoid going by the high school. Not that Creekbend High wasn’t a great-looking school, but it was great-looking in large part because of the dedicated work and talent of David Carhart. David Carhart, who had designed the update, spearheaded the funding drive, and seen it through until the school was the pride of Last Stand, and the envy of the county.

David Carhart who had died seven years ago today.

Her husband.

The man who had swept her off her feet when she was twenty-three, proposed to her on her twenty-fourth birthday, and given her the three most glorious years she’d ever had in her life. She didn’t count the last year as glorious, because it had been a war. A vicious, sometimes bloody, always agonizing war.

You’re in as big a battle as I ever saw.

Those words rang in her mind, as they often did. They’d come from a most unexpected source, the local blacksmith she’d run into at the market. A military veteran, Logan Fox was a kind, if quiet and withdrawn soul, and the gruff statement had soothed her more than any of the platitudes others had given her as she and David had fought the insidious cancer that was eating at him.

And David had fought, endlessly it seemed, and when it was clear the battle was lost, he’d simply endured, to stay with her as long as he could. But it had won in the end, that vicious beast, and she’d lost the center, the base of her life.

She knew other people in her situation might want to run from the memories, but she’d stayed, here in the town and state she now loved as fiercely as David had. She wasn’t a native Texan as he had been, true, but her love for the Hill Country abounded, and she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.

She slowed her compact SUV as she neared the gate to the Baylor ranch. She knew perfectly well her brother had practically ordered her to be here today because he knew what anniversary it was. She wouldn’t have put it past him to have picked today for exactly that reason. And as much as she wanted to go home and crawl in a dark, quiet hole, she couldn’t resist him just now, or her nephew Jeremy. They were coming out of their own dark tunnel, after Jackson’s beloved wife Leah, Jeremy’s mom, had been killed back in LA.

And most of that was thanks to one woman and her family.

“Thank you, Nicole,” she murmured aloud as she started the turn to the ranch. And even now, she couldn’t help smiling at the new sign that hung on the fence next to the ones for Baylor Black Angus and Nicole Baylor Horse Training .

Thorpe’s Therapy Horses.

Leave it to her little brother to come up with a way to leverage his fame—and lately, notoriety—in such a good way. Even after he’d walked away from one of the biggest TV shows in recent history, throwing it into chaos and his future as an actor in serious doubt, his name still resonated, and drew people.

But in the process, totally unaware, he’d also removed one of the biggest reasons she got through every day. She’d been trying to back off, give her brother and Nic space to work out their new relationship. It had only taken one look at them together the day they’d invited her to join them on a picnic at the spot where they’d found Jeremy during that horrible thunderstorm—they didn’t want the boy to be afraid of his favorite spot—to realize that her brother was happy again. That Jeremy was happy. That they both adored the woman who had changed their lives.

Which in turn had changed hers. No more daily calls to check on him and Jeremy. No more calling just to nag him about everything the show, filmed in California but pretending to be in Texas, got wrong about her beloved state. No more calling just to hear her brother’s voice and know he’d made it through another day. She’d walked that path, and she knew how hard it was.

What she hadn’t realized was how much the need to keep track of him had propped up her own life. Which she supposed spoke to how miserable that life was. For seven years she’d forged on, going back to work teaching at the small private school she loved, throwing herself into her work, her private life consisting solely of those contacts with her brother and the occasional outing with a couple of friends. But she suspected even they had gotten weary of her sorry state.

She had gotten weary of her sorry state herself.

And she was tremendously proud of her brother, of the stand he’d taken, and the courage he had, to walk away from the kind of success many actors could only dream of. And then to find that he had every intention of staying, not just in Texas but here in Last Stand—which she knew when he’d moved the two horses he’d bought from the show here, saving them from an unknown fate—brought her a happiness that had eased her soul. She had a new cause now. She would help Jackson and Jeremy walk that painful path of grief she knew so well.

So here she was, showing up at the ribbon-cutting ceremony for Thorpe’s Therapy Horses , because it was the least she could do.

She applauded her nephew as, grinning widely, he cut the ribbon with the big pair of scissors. She cheered as the venture began with Jackson’s short but clearly heartfelt welcome and explanation of the goal, that of doing for other grief-stricken children what Nic and her little pinto pony had done for Jeremy, brought him back to life, back to the smiling seven-year-old she was looking at now. That the horse trainer adored the boy as much as he adored her was obvious in both their faces.

And the heat Tris saw in the glances between Nicole Baylor and Tris’s brother was enough to make this spring day feel like the height of a Texas summer.

She wasn’t jealous—she couldn’t be. She loved Jackson too much for that. And when Maggie Rafferty, the powerhouse matron of the Rafferty clan, stepped up to present Jackson with the cowboy hat all of Last Stand agreed he’d earned, she felt her eyes tear up with joy for a change.

But that didn’t mean it didn’t make her ache a little inside. And once the ceremony was done and people began to mingle and chat, she escaped into the barn, thinking she’d say hello to Jeremy’s beloved Pie, the black and white pinto pony that had brought him out of his cave of grief.

And ran smack into Logan Fox. Hard.

“Whoa. Easy there.”

Odd, Tris thought. She could feel his deep, rough-edged voice as much as she could hear it.

Of course you can—you’re standing here like an idiot with your head against his chest. And he’s talking to you like you’re a horse he’s shoeing.

She pulled back, and he released her arms. She hadn’t even realized he’d been steadying her, she’d been so fixated on that voice. And she had never realized just how…solid he was. Big, yes, she’d known that. He was as tall as her brother and even broader. But she felt as if it would take nothing less than a speeding freight train to dislodge him if he was set on staying.

Looking up at him she saw the scar she’d noticed the first time she’d ever seen him, which ran along the left side of his face at the jawline, and wondered if it had been a horse who didn’t want to be whispered. And his hands, strong, powerful, and a bit battered, from his work no doubt. You probably didn’t become the most in-demand farrier in ranch country—she knew Nic would have settled for no less than the best for this new venture—without being able to wrestle heavy tools, hot iron, recalcitrant horses…and careless pedestrians.

“Sorry,” she said, and to her embarrassment it came out a little breathily.

“No problem.” He gave her the briefest of smiles, but somehow his eyes made it seem longer.

“I was just looking for Pie to say hello. And,” she added, not sure why, “hiding.”

His gaze flicked to the open doorway of the barn, with its view of the festivities and the crowd, then back to her. And this time the smile was longer. “Me, too.”

How had she not noticed his eyes before? Bright green, they were the color of a Texas spring when all was coming to life, right before the eruption of the bluebonnets they were celebrating now.

Deep down she knew why. The only other time she’d actually spoken to him was when she was buried so deep in her grief she barely noticed anything, back when he’d said those words she only later realized had meant so much that she still remembered them years later.

And she’d never thanked him.

She glanced around. They were alone in the barn. She might never get another chance. “This is very overdue,” she said, a little breathlessly, “but I want to thank you.”

He blinked, drew back slightly. “Thank…me?”

He sounded astonished, and utterly puzzled. “You probably don’t even remember, but when my husband was dying, you…said something to me. Something that helped more than any of the trite old platitudes everybody else was saying.”

She heard him suck in a breath, and something in those vivid eyes told her he did remember. But he didn’t speak—she had the oddest feeling he couldn’t—so she hurried to finish.

“Those words, that I was in as big a battle as you’d ever seen…meant a lot to me. Not just because they came from a veteran who would know, but…”

Something about the way he was staring at her made her voice trail away. She swallowed, fearing she’d offended the usually taciturn man.

“But what?” His voice was low, and even rougher than it had been.

She managed to get the words out. Barely. “Because they came from you.” Something flared then in those incredible eyes. Something that made her add hastily, “Because I know that you don’t…talk much.”

The gleam faded, and his mouth quirked slightly. “The Last Stand grapevine is as efficient as always.”

It was indeed. Especially when it came to the more…interesting residents. And since no one could quite figure out Logan Fox, he was a frequent topic.

“Thank goodness,” she said, telling herself she’d imagined that flash of…something in his gaze. “It helped save my nephew a couple of months ago.”

“I heard. I’m glad he’s all right. Sorry I wasn’t here to help.”

She wanted to ask where he’d been, because she was curious about this quiet yet impressive man, but did not ask because she was afraid he might think she was blaming him for not being here for the search for Jeremy during that massive thunderstorm.

And before she could think of another thing to say—unusual for her since she was usually rather adept in conversation—he touched the brim of his gray cowboy hat to her in a polite acknowledgment and continued walking in the direction he’d been going when they’d collided.

When you crashed into him, you mean.

She couldn’t stop herself from turning around to watch him go. The view from behind was as impressive as from the front. The kind of view that made her appreciate well-fitting jeans. She’d always thought she preferred traditional blue jeans, but he could convince her black ones were nicer. She wondered if he wore them while working, too. It would make sense, like his black boots did, because singe marks wouldn’t show up as much.

And as he walked out the big barn doors—neatly avoiding the main crowd gathered, she noticed—she wondered again where a man like Logan Fox went when he needed to get away.

And if, like the loner the Last Stand grapevine had dubbed him, he always went alone.