The Prodigal Cowboy. Kathleen Eagle

she’d seen the man, but he wore the years as well as his own straw cowboy hat. Surprising, considering where he’d spent the last couple of those years. His hat was battered, and his jeans and T-shirt had seen better days, but he made them look camera ready. She’d lost what little touch she’d had with high school friends, and Ethan Wolf Track was no exception, but she’d never quite shaken her interest in what he was up to. Generally it was no good.

      But his smile was as disarming as ever.

      “Sorry I’m late, Bella.”

      Loopy peeked over his shoulder and then turned back to Bella with a whole new brand of interest in his glazed eyes. “Why didn’t you just say you were with Ethan Wolf Track? Hell, man, we were just—”

      “Long Island iced tea all around. Loopy’s buying.” Ethan’s hand appeared on Loopy’s shoulder. “Right, man?”

      “It’s just tea. There’s no whiskey,” Loop said.

      “Long Island iced tea isn’t made with whiskey or tea.” Ethan jiggled his hand rest. “You been living under a rock, Loopy?”

      “Same as you.”

      “Nah, look at the difference.” Ethan laid his hand on the bar beside Loopy’s. “You need to get yourself some sun, boy.”

      Bella glanced between the two faces. The “boy” couldn’t have been any younger than the man, but he didn’t take exception. Ethan was still the man. The memory of a younger but no less commanding Ethan letting the boys know who was boss flashed through her mind.

      “Iced tea for two,” the bartender announced, landing the glasses on the bar with a thunk. “As for the other two, you want another beer? It’s the same price as tea.”

      “No beer for these horses, Willie,” Ethan said as he claimed both glasses. “Tricky, ain’t it, Loopy? Pullin’ the wagon and riding it, too?”

      “You got your parole officer, I got mine. Far as I’m concerned, beer don’t count,” Loopy grumbled. “And it’s Toby. That’s a Toby Keith song, ‘Beer For My Horses.’”

      “Not without Willie,” Ethan said as he glanced at Bella and gave a nod toward a corner booth. “Not on my wagon.”

      Bella was off the 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