Promise from a Cowboy. C.J. Carmichael

L.A.” She frowned as a young man carrying two beers in his hands jostled her shoulder. “Could we find someplace quiet to talk?”

      He thought about his trailer. Too small, too intimate. The saloon where Cassidy and Farley were headed would be noisy. “I could stand some food. Want to go out for a steak?”

      She hesitated, and he could see the mistrust in her eyes. Even after all these years, it hurt.

      She blamed him for what had happened to her brother. Always a kid who invited trouble, Hunter had grown even wilder after the fire. He’d given up on school, found a rougher set of friends, and two months later, on his and Savannah’s eighteenth birthday, had stolen money from their mother and run off to his first rodeo.

      Since then he’d been traveling from one state to the other, always on the move.

      On the surface—and to Savannah—it probably seemed as if he and Hunter lived pretty similar lives. But the heavy drinking and gambling that sucked up most of Hunter’s energy was not B.J.’s scene.

      “My truck is parked close.” She pointed to the visitor lot. “How about we talk there?”

      Though she worded it as a question, she didn’t wait for him to answer—just started walking as if she expected him to follow.

      B.J. stood his ground. Following wasn’t something he did a lot of. But this was Savannah and he had to hear what was on her mind. With a sigh, he set off after her.

      * * *

      SAVANNAH COULD FEEL her phone vibrating as she moved away from B. J. Lambert. Good. She needed a distraction.

      As soon as she’d started talking to him, she’d realized approaching B.J. was a mistake. She’d thought enough years had passed that he would be almost like a stranger to her now. But strangers—not even the best-looking ones—didn’t make her palms sweat.

      She was a sheriff, damn it. She was supposed to be tough.

      She’d come to the rodeo in the first place hoping to see her brother. But though he was registered, Hunter hadn’t shown up.

      A typical Hunter move. And since he refused to own a cell phone, she had no easy way to locate him.

      Talking to B.J. had been the logical next step. Until she’d looked into those knowing gray eyes of his and had felt all her insides come undone.

      As she reached for her phone, she hoped B.J. would get stubborn and refuse to cooperate. But she could hear the sound of his boots scuffing along the hard-packed dirt behind her.

      She’d started something now. The Lord only knew where it would end.

      Savannah glanced at her phone’s display, hoping the call would be official business requiring her to leave Central Point, Oregon, right this minute. But the number was from the Mountain View Care Home back in Coffee Creek.

      “Savannah Moody.”

      “I can’t find my slippers.”

      She tried not to sigh. The staff at the care home had been instructed to restrict her mother’s calls. But Francine Moody could be ingenious, and no one appreciated that better than Savannah.

      Over the years her mother’s calls had become increasingly frequent and ever more muddled. Francine had never had the strongest hold on reality. Now it was mostly beyond her grasp.

      “Mom, hang up the phone and ask Aubrey to help you find them.”

      “Who’s Aubrey?”

      “She feeds you dinner every evening, remember? The nice woman with the smile you say reminds you of Goldie Hawn?”

      Actually, aside from her dyed blond hair and winning smile, Aubrey looked nothing like the winsome movie star. But the association seemed to help her mom’s failing memory.

      “Oh, yes, Goldie Hawn. Do you remember when she—”

      “Mom, I’ve got to go now, okay?” If she let her ramble on, her mother would spend the next thirty minutes rehashing the plot of some old movie. “I’ll be home again in a few days and I’ll visit you then.” She closed her phone, hoping B.J. hadn’t heard any of that. His pity about her down-and-out family was the last thing she needed.

      A few steps away from her truck, Savannah pulled out her keys and clicked the unlock button. She’d just slid behind the steering wheel, when B.J. plopped himself right next to her.

      She stared straight ahead, trying to adjust to his presence. But even without looking she could sense his long, muscular form beside her.

      B.J. was too tall to be a cowboy, but that hadn’t stopped him from being a success at it. He had a high forehead and a strong jaw and chin, and intense gray eyes that hinted at green when the light was right.

      From the first time she’d met him—at age fifteen when she’d walked into class as the new kid in town—she’d thought he was the best-looking guy she’d ever seen.

      She still thought that.

      Reluctantly.

      Asking him to come to her truck had been a mistake. She’d thought a restaurant would be too intimate. But her cab had never felt so small, and if there’d been a table between them, at least she wouldn’t have had to sit so close that their shoulders practically touched.

      The table also would have hidden the long line of his jean-clad thigh. And surely, in a restaurant, she wouldn’t have been able to hear the sound of him breathing.

      “This is real cozy, but an open window would be nice.”

      Quickly she inserted the key, then powered down both windows. “Sorry. This is awkward.”

      “It doesn’t have to be, Savannah.”

      Was he serious? She had to check his expression to be sure, but he didn’t seem to be mocking her.

      “I heard your mom was in the care home in town now. How is she adjusting?”

      So he had heard the call. Damn.

      “Pretty good. Half the time she doesn’t really understand where she is, anyway.”

      “That’s got to be tough.”

      Savannah shrugged. Life with her mother had always been tough. Francine had been a flighty parent and an erratic housekeeper. But only recently had she crossed the line and become careless to the point of causing harm. Two years ago she’d flooded the main floor bathroom of their home on a twenty-acre plot of land just outside of town. The next month she’d almost set the house on fire.

      “Do the doctors think she has Alzheimer’s?”

      “No. She remembers some things just fine. She can tell you the exact year she planted each of the perennials in the garden at home. She’s just got...really bad judgment when it comes to everyday decisions. Her doctor insisted that she needed round-the-clock care, and since I can hardly afford that, there was no option but to send her away.”

      Savannah did her best not to sound bitter. But it wasn’t easy, knowing that if Olive Lambert ever got really sick, her kids would have no trouble affording top-notch medical care.

      At one time the discrepancy between the Lamberts and the Moodys hadn’t bothered her at all.

      But that was before her brother’s future had been compromised by a prank that had turned into a full-blown disaster. On the surface it didn’t seem that bad. A bunch of foolish high school kids trespassing in an old barn and having an underage drinking party.

      It wasn’t their fault the storm had blown in. Or that lightning had struck, setting the barn on fire.

      But the presence of that vagrant in the loft troubled Savannah. It seemed too much of a coincidence. There had to be more to the story than either B.J. or her brother was letting on.

      “What about Regan?” B.J. asked, continuing his polite inquiries