The Prodigal Cowboy. Kathleen Eagle

bar stool, but she wasn’t looking for a booth, and the man and his boys could do what they pleased with their wagon. She wouldn’t be vying for a parking spot at the Hitching Post. She’d already crossed the place off her list of possible sites for her report on Rapid City’s hottest singles’ hangouts.

      “Would you rather go someplace else?” Ethan asked her quietly.

      She looked up, taken by the change in his tone. He was speaking for her benefit alone, and he sounded sincere, even hopeful. Tension drained from her shoulders as she shook her head. “We can catch up right here.”

      As she neared the high-backed booth, she saw a big book lying open on the far side of the table beside a cup half-filled with black coffee. She slid into the near side, her back to the room.

      “Looks like he ain’t comin’,” she drawled as she checked her watch.

      “Maybe he’s still working on his story.” He set his glass on the table and dropped his hand over the book, which he closed, swept off the table and deposited on the seat beside him in one quick motion. His eyes danced. “Better be a good one, huh?”

      She shrugged, subtly acknowledging that he was playing along. “You were here all along. All I saw was the hat.”

      “It serves many purposes.” He pulled down on the brim, shadowing all but the generous lips and their slight smile.

      “I’m surprised you remember me.”

      “I watch TV.”

      “So … you don’t actually remember me.”

      “Really took me back when I saw you sitting on that bar stool. You sat in front of me in—what class was it? English?”

      “History.”

      “History. Don’t remember any names or dates, but I never forget a woman’s back. You have a small—” he hooked his hand over his shoulder and touched a spot near the base of his neck “—beauty mark right here.”

      “Beauty mark?” She laughed. “It’s called a mole.”

      “Not in my book.”

      “Which book is that?” She wondered about the one he was sharing his seat with.

      “History. My favorite class. Liked it so much, I took it twice.” He dropped his hand to the seat as he leaned back, grinning. She imagined him patting that book as though he wanted to keep a pet quiet. “You were there the second time around.”

      “No wonder you had all the answers. You’d already heard the questions.”

      “I didn’t hear anything the first time.” He leaned closer, getting into the reminiscence. “We did a project together. Remember?”

      “I wasn’t going to mention it. You still owe me.”

      “I do?”

      “I bought all the materials. Actually, I did all the work. You were going to come to my house the night before it was due, but you never showed up.”

      “Forgot about that part.” He arched an eyebrow and cast a pointed glance at her watch. “How do you keep getting mixed up with guys like that?”

      “I’m not meeting anyone,” she confessed.

      “Then what the hell are you doing here?” He pulled a dramatic grimace as he glanced past her.

      She shrugged. “Checking the place out.”

      “For what? This ain’t no singles’ bar, woman. This is a hole in the wall.”

      “Maybe I’m not single. Maybe I’m here doing my job.” She gave herself a second to rein in her rising tone. “And maybe I didn’t need to be rescued.”

      “In the old days, you wouldn’t’ve said maybe. Once you got to talkin’, you were as sure and self-determined as any girl I ever met.” He gave her the no-bull eye. “I don’t know about the rest, but you’re not married.”

      “That doesn’t mean I’m single.”

      “I think it does.” He took a drink of his tea, then looked at her again. “So how much do I owe you for labor and materials?”

      “Since it was a required class, I think you owe me your diploma.”

      “I showed up for the report. I had all the facts and figures. Hell, we got an A, didn’t we? Can’t do any better than that.” He shook his head. “We’ll have to come up with something else. You sure don’t need my diploma.”

      “And you sure have a better memory than you first let on.” She gave a tight smile. “I guess we can call it even. Being Ethan Wolf Track’s history project partner raised my lowly underclass social status a notch.”

      “What were you, a sophomore?”

      She shook her head.

      “Freshman?”

      She smiled and nodded.

      “How did you get into that class as a freshman, for God’s sake?”

      “I took a test. Actually, I took several. They had a hard time coming up with a schedule for me.” She lifted one shoulder. He had his muscles, she had her brain. “And you were a senior and the captain of everything.”

      “You were smart. It didn’t take a test to figure that out. You were goin’ places.” He glanced around the room. “Better places than this.”

      “I go where the story is. Or where we think it might be.” She tested out a coy look as she sipped her tea. “Stay tuned.”

      “Do me a favor. Give me a heads-up if this place is gonna be raided. I try to stay out of trouble these days.”

      “By doing what?”

      “I guess you could say I’m a cowboy.”

      “Like your brother?”

      “Not a rodeo cowboy like Trace. A working cowboy. A ranch hand. I work for the Square One Ranch.”

      She had no idea where that was, but he seemed to think the name of the place spoke for itself, so she made her usual mental note. Find out. It could lead to something.

      “So you’re one of a dying breed,” she said. “I did a story on a guy who calls himself a cowboy for hire. He says he has more work than he can handle. Do you ride a horse or an ATV?”

      “What’s an ATV?”

      “All terrain …” She caught the smile in his eyes. “You know, vehicle.”

      “Those kid toys? Couldn’t call myself a cowboy if I rode one of those things. Hell, I was raised by Logan Wolf Track.”

      “He trains horses, doesn’t he?”

      “He does, and so do I. I’m training a mustang right now. Entered up in a contest.” He winked at her. “Gonna win it, too.”

      Déjà vu on the Wolf Track wink. She’d been on the receiving end of one or two of those babies years back, and the experience had given her the same tummy tickle that was not going to get a smile out of her now.

      “You’re talking about the competition they’re running at the new Wild Horse Sanctuary near Sinte?”

      “The wild horse program is pretty new, but the Double D Ranch has been there forever,” he reminded her. “I hired on for a couple of summers when I was a kid, back when old man Drexler was running it. Now it’s his daughters.”

      “I know. I’ve been reading up on the place.” She took a breath, a moment’s pause. They’d been playing a circuitous game, and she’d just landed at the foot of a ladder. One person’s connections could be another person’s rungs. They could be fragile, but as a journalist, she was weightless. Most sources