Cowboy's Pride (Welcome to Covendale Book 1) Read online

  She snorted. “You already said you’d rent it to me cheap. I hope this deal’s better.”

  The hint of a smile struggled to form on his face, but he fought it. “Much better,” he said. “Here’s the deal. I’ll fix it up for you, just like new. I’ll even let you borrow it for free. Horses included, my best pair. On one condition.”

  An explosion of butterflies filled her stomach, and suddenly she didn’t want to know the condition. But she heard herself say, “What’s that?”

  “Once you’re married, you never come back to my place again. And I mean never.”

  The pure venom in his voice took her breath away. Something told her agreeing to this was a terrible idea, and bound to blow up in her face somehow. But she did really want the carriage, and it wasn’t like she could come back here even if she wanted to. She was moving to New York with Tommy.

  “All right,” she said, and held a hand out. “It’s a deal.”

  He looked at it like she’d offered to stab him—and for just an instant, she thought she saw pain in his eyes. Like the moment just before he’d shattered her heart with a laugh.

  But it was only the prelude to fury.

  He seized her hand, pumped it once, and pulled away fast. “How long do I have?” he snarled.

  “Three weeks.”

  “Fine. Would you mind leaving now? I’ve got work to do.”

  “Gladly.”

  She walked out with her head held high and made it all the way back to the truck before the tears started. It seemed no matter what the circumstances, Cam Thatcher had a knack for hitting her where it hurt.

  Well, this time she could handle it. Or at least that’s what she told herself. She had a great fiancé, good job prospects, and a bright future ahead of her in the Big Apple. She was happy.

  Really she was.

  * * * *

  Cam wrenched the axe free and gripped the handle hard, until he heard the truck start up and drive away. When the sound of the engine finally vanished, he let out a frustrated snarl and swung, burying the blade a good four inches into the tree stump. He’d have a hell of a time getting that out later.

  He didn’t care. That girl boiled his blood like no other person, alive or dead.

  Six years. Sydney Davis hadn’t spoken a word to him in all this time, not even to ask why things turned out the way they did that day in high school. Not even at his father’s funeral. In fact, she hadn’t so much as glanced in his direction. Now she had the nerve to show up at his place and ask to use the hopelessly ruined carriage—so she could marry Tommy By-God Lowell.

  She’d just strutted in here and said frog. And worse…he’d jumped.

  Christ, he was a bigger idiot than his father ever accused him of being. As if he didn’t have enough on his plate. Now besides running what was left of the ranch and fighting off the bastards trying to take it from him, he’d have to fix the carriage somehow.

  But he’d do it, if it meant there would be no chance he’d ever see her again.

  He kicked the stump, pivoted on a heel and stalked to the barn. The sight of the decrepit carriage twisted his gut. He had reasons for keeping it covered, not the least of which was the memory of one perfect afternoon that still haunted him. No matter how hard he tried to forget. He’d already paid for that experience twice—once with his father, and again when Sydney decided he was the devil incarnate. Just like the rest of the town thought about him.

  Now he’d signed on for a third payment. One impossible task, delivered in three weeks, so the girl he’d once loved could marry the man who wanted to destroy him.

  He ought to take a sledgehammer to the thing and put it out of its misery. And when he finished that, do the same favor for himself.

  But this wasn’t the time for wallowing in self-pity. A handful of horses and chickens still needed him around, at least, and one infuriating girl was waiting for a wedding carriage. He’d start by replacing the wheel and pray that the rest was salvageable.

  Once it was done, he’d finally be rid of Sydney Davis. He hoped.

  Chapter 2

  Sydney walked into a house she expected to be quiet and empty, only to find her mother sitting on the couch with a bunch of photo albums spread across the coffee table. She almost walked back out. Marnie Davis could smell a crying jag at a thousand feet, and Sydney hadn’t told anyone she was going out to the ranch. She didn’t feel like explaining what happened.

  “Hi, honey.” Marnie patted the couch next to her. “Got a minute?”

  Too late. “Hey, Mom. I thought you were volunteering at the library today.” She turned away and took her coat off, trying to wipe her eyes surreptitiously. “Isn’t it Thursday?”

  “Yes, but I’m there on Tuesdays. I only do one Thursday a month, and that was last week.” A note of concern had already entered her mother’s voice. “Where were you this morning? Luka came by looking for you.”

  “She did?” Maybe she could still pass this off. She took her time hanging her coat up, still not looking directly at her mom. For just a minute she regretted staying home to save money while she finished college—but that wasn’t really fair. Her folks were great most of the time. “What’d she want?” she said.

  “Something about her cousin racing tonight, so she was wondering if you were still going to the track with Tommy.”

  “Oh. I forgot about that.” Ugh, she amended silently. Watching a bunch of cars drive around in endless circles was not exactly her idea of a good time. But Tommy enjoyed it, so she’d promised herself to give it a decent shot. At least having Luka there would make it suck less. “So, um, I’ll just go give her a call,” she said.

  Marnie cleared her throat. “Sydney, hon,” she said gently. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she muttered—but her voice betrayed her by breaking on the word. “Everything. I don’t know.” With a sigh, she walked to the couch and plopped down. She could usually talk to her mom about anything, but not this. Not now, anyway. She was already humiliated enough. “What are we doing with these?” she said, gesturing at the open albums.

  “I take it you don’t feel like talking about it.”

  “Not really.”

  “All right. You know where I am if you need to.” Marnie patted her leg and smiled. “Anyway, I’m picking out photos for the reception. Your father’s so excited about the big, fancy projector, I don’t think I’ll get him away from it all night. What do you think about this one?” She pointed.

  Sydney looked, and let out a snort. “Oh, God. You kept that?”

  “Of course I did. It was your first date.”

  “Well, it wasn’t really a date.” The picture was her and Tommy on the Loop-N-Drop, at the county fair in Valley Ridge. It came from one of those automated things that took a shot of every roller coaster car on the way down the big plunge, and then sold them for ridiculous amounts of money as you left the ride. He was laughing, she was screaming and clutching his arm. In the photo, Tommy still had a black eye from the accident he’d gotten in with Brian and Jesse Banks the week before that totaled his pickup.

  It was kind of funny, now that she thought about it. Her and Tommy had barely ever spoken before that accident. After it, she’d started running into him everywhere, including the county fair. They’d gone there separately—her with her parents, him with his friends—but they left together. Someday they’d probably share a laugh over the car crash that led to a wedding.

  At least, she hoped they would. She wanted the kind of marriage her parents had. The two of them still had weekly date nights, still liked and hated pretty much the same things, and still sent each other secret looks when they thought no one was watching.

  “Care to turn off Memory Lane and back onto Now Street?”

  Sydney giggled and looked up from the photo. “Sorry, Mom. This one’s fine. A little goofy, but I’ll live with it,” she said. “What else have we got?”

  “Well, I’ve already picked out the requisite embarrassing baby photos.�
� Marnie winked at her. “And I went through my phone to get some more recent pictures. But I have some more shots from the fair—remember, I bought that disposable camera there? I had it developed ages ago, but I never looked at the pictures.” She shuffled albums around until she found a white mail-order photo envelope. “Care to do the honors?”

  Sydney grinned. “I don’t know. Are there any compromising pictures of you and Dad in there?”

  “Absolutely not. We use the digital camera for those.”

  “Mom!” She gave her a playful shove and took the envelope. “Seriously, I don’t want to know.” She tore the flap open and pulled out a stack of glossy photos. The one on top was her and Luka side by side, with her dad standing behind them sticking his tongue out. “I think this counts as an obscene gesture,” she said.

  Her mom smiled. “No comment.”

  Laughing, Sydney put it aside for the next one. The first few were just the people she went with. Tommy entered the picture at the fifth shot, which was him and Luka in front of the horse stables. Next was the two of them, with Sydney staring at the ground. Then one with her smiling straight ahead—and Tommy looking off to one side with a fierce expression, practically baring his teeth at something off-camera. “Whoa,” she said. “What happened here?”

  Marnie leaned over and frowned at the picture. “I’m not sure. Maybe it was…you know, there was some sort of commotion over by the stables. People shouting. That must’ve been it.”

  “Oh, you’re right. I think I remember.” She stared at the photo, at Tommy’s snarling face. She’d never seen anyone look so angry. Her mind worked at the faint memory of an argument in the background. Harsh male voices, the impatient snorts of horses. And hadn’t she looked over, like anyone would?

  She had. There’d been three men, one wearing a Fair staff shirt, confronting a black-clad cowboy leading two horses. She couldn’t make out any of their faces, but she’d seen one of them shake a fist at the cowboy. He’d batted it away, sending what looked like a bunch of cash flying. Seemed they were making him an offer he had no problem refusing. She remembered thinking he was probably from out of town—the locals around here preferred to deal with their own, and didn’t exactly play fair with outsiders. It wasn’t a practice she condoned.

  “Well, this one’s out.” She put the picture of angry Tommy aside. Next was the two of them again, both actually looking at the camera and smiling. Tommy’s expression was still a little strained, but it was hard to notice without the context of the previous picture. “How about this?” she said, handing the photo to her mom.

  When she got a look at picture beneath it, her heart stopped. Marnie’s camera had caught the money-flinging cowboy looking their way—and even from a distance, his face was familiar. Not to mention ten times more furious than Tommy could ever get.

  “Cam,” she whispered. It shouldn’t have surprised her that Cam and his explosive temper had caused a shouting match, but the clear bad blood between him and Tommy was unexpected. She’d thought they were friends. They had been in high school, anyway.

  “Cam Thatcher?” Her mother scooted in for a peek at the photo. “Will you look at that. You were head-over-heels in love with him for quite a while, weren’t you?”

  “Something like that,” she said flatly.

  “I haven’t seen him in years. His mother either, come to think of it. Not since the funeral.” A troubled expression flashed across Marnie’s face. “Well, Amanda Thatcher never was big on coming into town. I suppose she’s still holed up at the ranch.”

  “Yeah,” Sydney muttered. “Uh, Mom…I think I’m going to lie down for a while. I’m pretty tired, and it’s going to be a long night.”

  “Oh, honey.” Marnie hugged her. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk?”

  “Maybe later. Besides, if I don’t call Luka soon, she’ll send out a search party.” She smiled and stood, carefully avoiding another look at the picture. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “Any time.”

  With a parting wave, Sydney headed upstairs. After six years of avoiding even the thought of a certain caustic cowboy, this much Cam in one day was overkill. Things would look better after a nap.

  They had to—because she wasn’t going to let him bring her down again.

  * * * *

  The sound of an approaching car grated on Cam’s last nerve. He’d gotten used to people leaving him alone out here, which made two visitors in one day practically a circus. If it was Sydney Davis again, maybe he’d tell her where she could shove the damned carriage—which he should’ve done in the first place.

  When he stormed around to the front of the house and recognized the car, he almost wished it was Sydney. At least he only hated her.

  He waited until two men climbed out of the sleek gray sedan. “The answer’s still no, Lowell,” he called. “And you’re still trespassing.”

  “Oh, I didn’t come with a new offer.” Boyd Lowell, the biggest snake of a real estate developer in three counties, started toward him with his boy Tommy right behind. Cam’s hands clenched into fists. It took all his restraint not to swing at the smug little bastard, especially after Sydney’s revelation. “Just the old one,” Boyd went on. “Thought I’d give you one last chance to turn a profit. You know, what with the foreclosure and all.”

  Cam let out a bitter laugh. “Can’t you come up with a better lie than that?”

  “Why bother, when the truth is so much easier?” Boyd grinned, flashing white teeth and good-ol’-boy condescension as the sound of yet another engine swelled from the drive. “I do believe your mail’s here, Thatcher. Might be you have to sign for something.”

  Eyes narrowed, Cam watched as an ancient blue Bel Air with a yellow bubble light and a U.S. MAIL placard on the side lurched its way up behind Lowell’s sedan and stopped. The mailbox for the ranch was mounted at the gates, so the carrier never had occasion to come down to the house. Unless there really was a certified letter.

  The car’s heavy door swung open, and a compact and unsmiling old woman clambered out. Enola Frasier had been delivering the mail in Covendale five days a week since sometime around the dawn of humanity. She’d outlasted five postmaster generals, dozens of weekend and fill-in carriers, and three Bel Airs—her vehicle of choice. The fourth one showed signs of checking out before Enola, too.

  Eventually she extracted a clipboard and an envelope plastered with green stickers. She paid no attention to the Lowells and headed straight for Cam, holding the envelope out like a sword—or a disease. She barely looked up from her clipboard. “Need your autograph for this one, young Thatcher,” she said. “It’s from the bank, in case you’re wondering.”

  “I wasn’t.” Cam made no move to touch the thing. “What happens if I don’t sign?”

  At that, Enola raised a stern postal-official glare. “Well, I suppose I’ll take it right back with me,” she said. “But in all my years, I’ve only had one person refuse to sign for a certified letter. That was old Ned Harding, back in ’81.” She leaned a bit closer. “Let me tell you, it didn’t end well for him.”

  “Why? Did the post office police come after him?”

  “Process servers,” Enola said in ominous tones, glancing around like there might be some hiding in the bushes. “They’re a nasty bunch. Not at all official. Why, they’ve never even taken the civil service test.”

  Despite being mad enough to spit fire, Cam almost laughed. No one could accuse Enola of not taking her job seriously. “All right,” he said. “I’ll sign.”

  “Good choice. Here, and here.”

  He scrawled his name in the two places she pointed out, and waited while she tore the stiff green card off the envelope. This time he took it when she held it out. “Have a nice day, young Thatcher,” she said, and turned back to her car.

  “Yeah,” he muttered. “Real nice.”

  The letter felt heavy in his hands, and he didn’t want to open it. He knew with dull certainty that Boyd must’ve struck a deal with his budd
ies at the bank—the same people who’d grudgingly worked out a payment plan with Cam eight months ago, to pay off the back property taxes he owed. It hadn’t been easy with the ranch floundering, but he’d made every single payment on time.

  And this grinning son of a bitch had somehow negated all that work, because some rich client of his wanted to turn the Leaning T into a golf course.

  Boyd nodded sharply. “Aren’t you going to read your mail, boy?”

  “Get out of here,” he growled, shoving the letter in a back pocket. “This is my property.”

  “Not for long.”

  The soft, mocking statement came from Tommy. Cam whirled on him and flashed a cold smile. “Don’t you have a wedding to plan for?”

  The shock on Tommy’s face almost made up for the pain it cost him to say that. “That’s not your business, farm boy,” he said. “I don’t know what you heard, but you’d better mind your own. You got that?”

  Cam took a step forward, and laughed when Tommy flinched back. “What’s wrong, Tommy?” he said. “Afraid you’re going to have another accident? Wouldn’t want your pretty face messed up for your own wedding.”

  “That’s enough,” Boyd said darkly. “Thatcher, my offer stands until Monday. You can take it and clear out with a profit, or you can end up with nothing and get cleared out anyway.” He jerked his head toward the car, and Tommy went without a word. “You know where to find me. Don’t be stupid, boy—I’m your only choice.”

  Cam stood his ground while Boyd stalked to the sedan and drove away, spinning up clouds of dust to punctuate the exit. When the Lowell brigade was gone, he yanked the damned envelope out and tore it open.

  Two things jumped out at him. Foreclosure Notice…and $14,712. That impossibly huge figure was what it’d take to keep the ranch—and he had five days to come up with it. Until the end of business on Monday. Might as well demand that he swim across the Atlantic Ocean and be back in time for supper.