Lyle (Cowboy Elite #1)

Chapter 1

Lyle Watkins braced his knee against the side of the Hereford steer before him, steadying the animal as it released an annoyed snort and shifted its weight.

With practiced efficiency, he drew the dose of vaccine into the syringe, swiped the injection site with alcohol, then plunged the needle swiftly into the animal’s thick hide. The steer barely flinched.

Patting the animal’s broad shoulder, he stepped back, rolling his neck to work out the kinks, and wiped the sweat beading his temple.

The late summer sun bore down on the Watkins ranch with the kind of relentless heat only a Texas August could muster. His gaze lifted toward the horizon where Bear Valley stretched out as far as the eye could see, dotted with grazing cattle and the occasional towering oak.

This place had always been home, even if he didn’t want it to be.

His gaze focused on the main driveway beneath the iron archway of the Watkins Ranch entrance. A cloud of dust billowed behind a fast-moving SUV.

Someone was coming in hot.

He hadn’t been back in town long enough to recognize the various vehicles of the neighbors. Things had changed in the year he’d spent in Montana establishing a veterinary practice.

Coming home shouldn’t feel this way and Lyle was torn.

He’d thought Shotgun Ridge, Montana, where his sister, Dora Callahan, lived would be his new home.

And then his parents and his best friends, Jeff and Sherry, were returning from a church retreat and had been t-boned by a drunk driver.

There were no survivors and Lyle had become an instant single father.

He glanced over at his goddaughter, Charlotte, who sat in the corner of a stall playing with one of the barn cats.

Tendrils of curly blonde hair clung to her sweaty cheeks.

At least the moisture on her face was from the humidity in the barn and not tears.

Grief was still raw for all of them. Especially for six-year-old Charlotte.

The whole town had mourned Bill and Jean Watkins.

Bill had been the town’s pastor for the past thirty years.

Needless to say, his parents’ deaths had created a deep hole in everyone’s life.

Thankfully, his cousin, Jeremy had stepped up to pastor the church.

Lord knows Lyle and his brothers weren’t up to the task.

None of the four boys had followed in their father’s pastoral footsteps.

The only thing they all had done in keeping with Watkins tradition was to serve their country in the military.

They were a close family, always had been.

But Lyle had been hankering for something different.

His brothers seemed perfectly happy here on their ten thousand acres of prime ranch land.

They were established. But Lyle wanted something more.

He was a veterinarian by trade and a cowboy by nature.

He’d spent his life balancing between the responsibilities borne of being a preacher’s kid and the rebellion of a youth itching to break free from expectations.

After the military, he’d still felt restless and thought he could find what he was looking for in the small town his sister had settled in.

So, he’d gone to Montana and established his own private veterinarian practice, even hiring another doctor as the business had grown.

Then tragedy and duty had changed the trajectory of his life.

So, he was home. In Bear Valley, Texas.

For now.

“Char, I’ll be right outside.” The little girl nodded but made no move to leave the cat.

He headed out of the vaccination pen as the SUV came to a skidding halt.

Horses grazed in verdant pastures sectioned off with pristine white fences.

The main house made a grand statement—his brother, Mike’s doing.

He’d turned the original homestead into a sort of bed and breakfast surrounded by working ranches.

A dude ranch they called it. Since Mike was a gourmet chef, it was his dream to have his own restaurant.

The ranch is what he’d settled for. And it was creating quite a name for itself in the state of Texas and beyond.

A woman jumped out of the vehicle, reached back in, then whirled around, holding a blanket-wrapped bundle.

Lyle’s heart slammed into his throat.

Heather?

He hadn’t seen her in… well it had been a good long while.

He'd heard she’d been leasing one of the cabins on the ranch property, operating her dog training business there, but the Watkins spread was so big he'd yet to see her.

That, and he'd been up to his ears in figuring out how to parent a six-year old.

Before he could dwell on his gut reaction to a pair of denim jeans molded to a very nice butt and a cropped, pink tank top that could give a man plenty of ideas, she was thrusting the bundle into his arms.

“Bee sting!” Her voice was breathless, innately southern. “Anaphylactic shock. His throat is closing. Hurry!”

Lyle gently turned the puppy for a better look.

Golden Retriever puppy, he noted. Facial swelling.

Breathing distress. Without speaking, he headed for the barn, the limp puppy cradled in one arm as he pushed open the heavy wooden door.

Inside, the air was cooler, shadowed by the high beams towering above them.

His makeshift veterinary set up—an organized chaos of stainless-steel tables, cabinets and equipment—took up one corner.

The area was surprisingly well-stocked, and Lord knows there were more than enough animals on just the Watkins brothers’ ranches to keep him hopping.

“Hold him still,” he said, laying the puppy gently on a steel exam table.

” Assured that Heather had a good grip, he reached into an overhead cabinet and retrieved an antihistamine and a vial of epinephrine, drawing the liquids into two syringes, which he quickly injected into the muscle behind the puppy’s neck.

He noted that Charlotte was edging closer, the tabby cat clutched in her arms.

“I usually have Benadryl at the house,” Heather said, her hand calmly soothing the puppy even as her voice shook with fear. “I can’t believe I let my supply run out. I know better.”

“No sense beating yourself up, Firefly.” The nickname slipped out, surprising him.

She looked up sharply. Her green eyes met his, wide with a mixture of surprise and something he couldn’t quite place. Panic? Or maybe confusion at the endearment he hadn’t used since high school, back when she’d followed him and Frank around on their childhood and teenage adventures.

Heather blinked and glanced down at the puppy. "Is he going to be okay?” she asked.

Lyle focused back on the dog, studying the way its rapid breathing began to ease.

The swelling was already receding. “Looks like you got him here right on time. He’ll pull through.

” He reached down to scratch the pup behind the ears, grinning at the faint tail wag the puppy managed to muster. “Tough little guy, isn’t he?”

Heather exhaled slowly, visibly relieved.

Her body relaxed, but her hand stayed on the puppy, reluctant to let go of her soft, furry charge.

Lyle watched her for a moment, the way worry turned into something sweet and soft in her expression, and for reasons he didn’t want to examine just yet, it made his chest ache.

Charlotte stood next to them now, her wide eyes fixed on the dog. “Will he stay here, Uncle Lyle?” she asked quietly, her little voice rising above the hum of animals and activity in the barn.

Heather crouched down to Charlotte’s level, offering her a reassuring smile. “No, sweetheart. Once his throat is all better, he’ll go home with me and rest. But he’s in great hands now, thanks to your Uncle Lyle.”

“Why did a bee sting him?" Charlotte asked, her arms squeezing the tabby closer.

Heather’s eyes softened. “I train dogs to help find people, or sometimes to just be a sweet companion." She stroked the soft fur of the cat in Charlotte's arms. "Biscuit got a little wild during class and ended up in the honeysuckle patch, right on top of the bees."

The corners of Charlotte's mouth barely tipped up, but she didn’t follow with a barrage of questions like most little girls her age would have.

"What's your kitten's name?" Heather asked when the silence stretched.

Charlotte shrugged and looked tentatively toward Lyle.

"That's Pudge," Lyle said softly. “She's learning to be a barn cat."

"Well," Heather said, standing and lightly brushing Charlotte's curly blond hair. "Maybe one day Pudge will grow up to be a helper cat, just like some of my dogs.”

Lyle’s throat tightened at the way Heather spoke to Charlotte, patient and gentle, yet firm enough to make the little girl’s eyes light up with understanding.

He hadn’t seen that look on Charlotte’s face much lately, and it caught him off guard.

But before he could analyze the moment and exactly what he was feeling, the sound of a truck rolling up outside broke the spell.

Joe Watkins climbed out of his white F350, his posture cool and collected as always. His sharp eyes took in Heather’s SUV, the bundle of puppy on the table, and Charlotte’s curious stance in one sweep.

“I see you’re already keeping my brother on his toes, Heather,” Joe said smoothly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Some things never change,” she quipped, though her cheeks flushed again under Joe’s sharp gaze.

Lyle hid his grin, noting the way Joe’s presence always seemed to effortlessly command a room. His brother had that energy about him—cool, capable, and almost always a step ahead of everyone else in business matters. It was no wonder he was the family’s financial genius.

“What do you need, big brother?” Lyle asked, leaning back against the table and folding his arms.

Joe’s grin widened a touch. “Just checking on you. Figured I’d make myself useful. I heard Charlotte had set up camp in the barn again.”