Kristi's Cowboy Hero, page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
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KRISTI’S COWBOY HERO
Cowboys of Wildcat Creek, Book Three
Barbara McMahon
www.barbaramcmahon.com
Kristi’s Cowboy Hero
Copyright © 2022 Barbara McMahon
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Chapter One
Brodie Donovan paused just inside the doorway to Rosie’s Café and surveyed the place carefully before stepping inside letting the door close behind him. Old habits died hard. Of course, it was usually bars and honky-tonks that needed caution. But he always liked to know who was in a place and the location of all the exits.
His visual sweep absorbed the assortment of citizens in the booths, at the scattered tables and along the counter. The mix was the same as in most western towns he’d lived in: cowboys, ranchers, businessmen, a woman or two. Nothing distinguished this café from hundreds of others.
He headed for the counter, grimacing at the stab of pain in his ribs. The service was usually better there, and he could watch the waitresses as they worked. Beat sitting alone at a table.
There were four empty seats, two each between those at the counter.
The only woman at the counter was half turned and talking to another woman standing with a to-go cup in her hand. A large German Shepherd dog wearing a service vest sat at her side, his eyes focused on the women as they talked.
He chose the empty stool on the far side of the woman. An old man read the paper on the seat beyond. He eased onto the padded stool and reached for the menu. His movements were slow, giving in to the ache in his muscles.
The conversation between the women was winding down. But he could hear them clearly.
“So let Tuck know if you need help out there. He can spare some men for a day or two.”
“I hope it won’t come to that, but I appreciate the offer. Anyway, take care and keep me up to date on the wedding plans.”
“Will do. See you. Come on Val, we’re going,” the woman with the dog said.
In only a moment, both left the cafe.
As his hand held the menu, he suppressed a wince. Even his fingers hurt. Knuckles bruised and skinned were a mute testimony to yesterday’s fight. What a stupid way to celebrate his thirtieth birthday–a knock-down drag-out fight. When was he going to outgrow that instinctive reaction to wade in with his fists and ask questions later?
“What does the other guy look like?”
A bright, perky waitress stopped before him and shoved a cup of coffee across the width of the counter. Her smile was friendly. Her name tag said Carrie Sue.
“Worse than me,” Brodie acknowledged with a grin.
He felt the pull against his swollen jaw. One day he’d learn to control his blasted temper, he vowed, as he had hundreds of times before. It took longer and longer each time to recover from the fights. Maybe he was getting old.
Thirty. He couldn’t believe he’d turned thirty. He didn’t like it, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it. And what did he have to show for his thirty years on this earth? No place to call home. Friends scattered to the four winds. A bit of money in the bank. No plans for the immediate future. Would he still be roaming at forty?
He felt, rather than saw, the girl next to him glance his way. Slowly he turned toward her. She was pretty, he noted. Despite his interest in filling up the hollow in his stomach, he took the time to study her without appearing to.
He wasn’t that old yet and it couldn’t hurt to look.
She’d pulled her hair into a long braid that hung down her back. It was the rich color of a chestnut horse. He suspected in sunlight it’d gleam with hidden fire. Her eyes were gray, fringed by lashes so dark he almost wondered if she’d dipped into hoof black. Her skin had been recently burned by the sun and peeled just a little across her nose. It made her look so young.
He smiled, ready to start a conversation, but she looked away quickly.
“What’ll you have?”
The waitress claimed his attention.
Brodie ordered the full breakfast, then sipped his hot coffee as he waited.
The woman beside him ate her eggs steadily, not looking up again.
Idly he wondered who she was and why she was in the café all alone. Sliding another glance in her direction, he took in the faded work shirt and worn jeans. He couldn’t see her feet without giving away his perusal, but he bet she wore boots. Nothing else would fit. Hooked on the back of her stool was a dusty Stetson.
He tipped his own hat back and looked away. None of his business who she was or why she was here. Too young for him, even if he were interested. He liked them old enough to vote.
After he filled up, he planned to head for the local feed store and check out any job postings. That fight hadn’t only bruised his hands and body, it had ended his employment at the Circle J.
Second time in four years a fight had gotten him fired. Would he ever learn to control his blasted temper? To celebrate his birthday, he’d gotten knee-walking drunk and then took offense to Jason Johnson’s snide remarks. He should have picked on someone else instead of the boss’s son.
He took another sip of coffee. What was done was done. He needed to find a new job. Maybe here in Wildcat Creek, Wyoming, maybe not. If there was nothing available, he’d move on.
“Here you go, cowboy. Holler if you want anything else.”
Carrie Sue placed the loaded plate in front of him and slipped the bill beneath the edge. With a quick refill for his cup, she moved down the counter to see to another arrival.
“Pass the salt, please,” Brodie said to the woman beside him.
She slid the shaker along until he could reach it, snatching her hand back as if afraid he might touch her.
“Nice town,” he said easily.
She shrugged, but remained silent, eating, ignoring him and everyone around her.
His interest piqued. He wasn’t much with the ladies, too distrustful after the legacy of his mother. But suddenly he wanted to see if he could get her to talk.
Normally he was easygoing, one to let things slide. Unless his temper flared. But this time, something was goading him.
“You live around here long?” he asked.
She eyed him suspiciously as she reached for her cup.
“All my life,” she said.
Brodie froze, fork halfway to his mouth. Her voice sounded like some sultry country singer, low and husky. He wanted to hear more.
“In town or on a ranch? From your clothes, you look like you live on a ranch.”
“I do.”
Not chatty, eh? It was almost more effort than it was worth to have someone to talk to while eating.
“Maybe you can help me—” Brodie started.
Just then a rough-looking cowboy stomped across the room on his way out. He paused by the woman and yanked her braid twice. She whirled and knocked his hand away.
“Bug off, Sol,” she said, her voice low and angry, her eyes flashing.
“Hey, sweet cakes, what about you going out with me on Saturday night? We can go to the Round-up, drink a few beers, dance a few numbers, then go back to my place. I’ll get you home in time for chores the next morning.”
His leer was so blatant, Brodie was startled. Then the familiar white-hot anger flashed. Instantly, he wanted to wipe that lecherous look off the cowboy’s face, plant a fist in the center of his gut and wipe the floor with him. What was he doing talking to her like that?
“Go away, I’m not interested.” She turned back to her breakfast.
“Come on, sweet cakes, I’ll treat you better than Jimbo. Why not?” The big man whined, his hand dropped to her shoulder.
She tried to shrug him off. Brodie noticed the rosy glow of embarrassment in her cheeks. She stared at her plate as if it were the Holy Grail as she tried to ignore the obnoxious man.
Blinding heat surged through Brodie and, without thinking, he swiveled on his stool, stood and faced the other man, anger barely controlled. He had to look down; this Sol character was at least four inches shorter.
“The lady told you she wasn’t interested. I’d suggest you move along.”
His voice was low and mean. Clenching his fists, anger overrode the pain in his bruised hands. The last thing he wanted right now was another fight, but if this bully pushed much more, he’d wade right in.
For a long moment, silence held the café. No one spoke or moved, all eyes focused on Brodie and Sol. For a second, Brodie saw answering anger flare in the man’s eyes, but he backed down.
Glancing at the woman, then back to Brodie, he smir
Holding his hands away from his body, palms up, he stepped around Brodie and headed out the door.
Brodie swept his angry eyes around the rest of the café. The customers who were staring immediately glanced away. In only seconds the noise resumed a comfortable level. Slowly the anger seeped away.
“Thank you, but it wasn’t necessary to come to my defense. I can handle things,”she said.
She darted a quick defiant look at Brodie.
“I don’t approve of men harassing women.”
Brodie took his seat and drank a gulp of coffee, the adrenaline waning. Hadn’t he vowed just minutes before that he was going to learn control?
“I’m Kristi Hughes,” she said.
He looked up. “Brodie Donovan.”
Kristi really looked at the man beside her for the first time. She’d thought his attempts at conversation a pickup, a different tactic from the others she was used to. Maybe she’d been mistaken.
His left eye was bruised, his jaw swollen, and he needed a shave. He stood tall, broad in the shoulders. The muscles that bulged beneath his cotton shirt gave evidence he was not a stranger to hard work. His clothes were typical of all the men she knew, which proved he was just another randy cowboy. She’d observed his hands earlier. Clearly, he’d been in a fight recently.
That made it all the more touching that he had been willing to stand up for her against Sol Marshal. It wouldn’t have been easy starting out with aches and pains from an earlier fight.
Her heart lurched and raced in her chest as the full extend of what had happened hit.
No one had stood up for her before. It intrigued her that a stranger would do so.
Intrigued and touched and perplexed.
Obviously, he didn’t know who she was or he wouldn’t have bothered.
Still, the warm glow in her heart didn’t fade. She relished the cherished feeling that flooded her, caused by a stranger she’d probably never see again.
She sighed and turned back to the last of her omelet.
He wanted to talk, but she wanted to get out of here as soon as she could. She shouldn’t have come for breakfast. The scene was her own fault. She could have eaten at home. But it had been weeks since she had any kind of break and she’d wanted to treat herself to a meal that she hadn’t fixed.
And talk with a friend. Carrie Sue and she had been in the same class in school, and while they weren’t close, they had maintained a kind of friendship over the years, despite everything.
Most of the time, if she left the ranch, it was to go to Coleville, more than thirty miles away. There were never any problems in Coleville. But in Wildcat Creek, the possibility always lurked.
The worst was never knowing when it might come.
She’d eaten here before without being hassled. But then it had been for lunch and the cowboys weren’t present in such number.
Sol’s crude remarks were probably his way of showing off. He’d been a friend of Jimbo’s. One spreading malicious rumors. She’d have thought the entire situation would have faded from memory by now. But not with some of the town’s residents. They kept their hatred alive.
She sighed, drank the last of her coffee and took her check. With another brief nod to the stranger, she headed for the cash register. She had work to do. No time to worry about Sol Marshall.
Anyway, she should be used to it by now. Nothing had changed in six years, so why did she keep hoping?
Climbing into her pickup truck, Kristi glanced through the café window and stared at Brodie Donovan. For a split second, something touched her heart. Wondering who he was and if she’d see him again, she started the engine and pulled into the street. It might have been nice to chat casually with him for a few minutes. She had met no one new in ages. And, except for Juan and Karl, she rarely talked to other adults unless it was Carrie Sue when she came to town and stopped into the cafe.
Kristi drove to the lumberyard. She needed more fence posts. Riding the perimeter the past few weeks, she’d noted the number of posts that needed replacing, most in the draw near Frank Hamlin’s place. She’d pick up some new wire, too.
Before she left town, she also needed to stop at the feed store to get some supplements for the mare in foal. She hoped Sol was the worst she would face this morning. She didn’t relish having to drive to Coleville just for the mare’s supplements. She’d be glad to get back home where she felt safe.
Maybe she should give up and sell the place. Could she start over somewhere else? Somewhere where no one knew her?
But why should she? She’d done nothing wrong. This was her home.
It was the same old argument. And not one she’d resolve today.
The Royal Flush Ranch belonged to her. She owned it lock, stock and barrel and she wasn’t giving it up because of Jimbo Taylor or all his lying friends or even give in to Robert Taylor’s harassment.
Thirty minutes later, Kristi pulled up before the feed store and took a deep breath. She reached for the card she’d written her ad on. Every time she or one of the men came to town, they listed the job offer on the community bulletin board in the feed store.
She’d posted the same ad at the lumberyard, but didn’t have high hopes.
She suspected the owners took it down before she reached home. But maybe one day they’d get tired and leave it up long enough for someone to respond. She badly needed the help.
Entering the open barn of a building, she headed for the large cork board to the left of the wide double doors. Brodie Donovan stood before it, reading the cards posted. Hesitating only a moment, Kristi squared her shoulders and walked over.
“Hi again,” she said more calmly than she felt.
Sitting at the counter, she hadn’t realized how tall he was. He had to be over six feet. She couldn’t resist skimming her gaze over him. She remembered the firm jaw, still in need of a shave. His blue eyes sparkled as he looked down at her, and his slow smile caused her heart to turn somersaults. His jaw was swollen, giving his smile a lopsided look.
“Hello.”
He touched the rim of his hat with two fingers.
His drawl sent shivers up her spine. Standing as tongue tied as a young girl, Kristi concentrated on breathing. It was difficult. Warmth crept through her as his eyes locked with hers. The warmth was unexpected.
“I was right about the boots,” Brodie said.
“Huh?”
She’d expected something else.
“In the café I couldn’t see what you had on your feet, but I figured boots. Once I heard you lived on a ranch, I knew. But it’s nice to have it confirmed.”
He looked pleased with himself.
She nodded, stepping around him to pull off a thumbtack and pin her notice on the board. As much as she might wish to start a conversation, she had nothing to say.
The card posted, Kristi nodded and turned back toward the shelves that held the feed supplements. She needed to buy what she wanted and get back to the ranch. She’d been gone long enough. There was no reason to linger and risk more confrontations.
Taking two boxes, Kristi walked toward the back. Joe Stevens owned the store. He was talking with two men from the M Bar. Her heart sank. She didn’t need this. She was only in town to get supplies, take a brief break from the demands of the ranch. Getting hassled twice in one morning was just too much.
For a long heartbeat, she considered putting the supplements back on the shelf and sending Karl in to pick them up. But that was foolish. She could handle this. Tilting her chin determinedly, she marched back to the counter and put the boxes down. Reaching in her pocket for money, she avoided the stares of the two cowhands.
“Well, well. Lookee who’s here,” Owen said, nudging his partner. “Must be our lucky day, Jerry.”
“Yeah. Tiring of all those old men yet, darlin’?” Jerry asked, throwing his arm across her shoulders.
Kristi stepped away and shrugged him off. Glaring at him, she spoke coldly, “Keep your hands to yourself.”
Ignoring them as best she could, she gazed at Joe, angered at his standing by silently. Why didn’t he tell those yahoos to leave her alone?
“That’ll be $54.86. Cash,” Joe drawled.
“Of course.”
Everyone else in town ran a tab as long as her arm, but not Kristi Hughes. For her, it was cash the whole way. She should have gone to Coleville. Why was she giving her business to this man?
