A Cowboy Returns. Kelli Ireland

A broken sob ripped out of her chest. She’d spent the past fourteen years trying not to drown in heartache and regrets. Then he showed up and, with a single kiss, pulled her under those dark emotional waters again. He acted as if it had meant as little to him as if he were ordering a cup of coffee to go.

      When she’d broken away, she’d begun to sink.

      Taking the first dirt road she came to, she slid to a stop, dust billowing around her. She rested her head on the steering wheel and rolled her forehead back and forth, trying to force her roiling thoughts to fall into place.

      She’d have to repair the Blue Swallow’s landscaping. But the damage really hadn’t been her fault. Most people reacted poorly when a ghost ran them off the road.

       Elijah Covington.

      “Not a ghost,” she said, voice hoarse. “Just a memory. A...mistake.”

      But that wasn’t true, either. Loving him had never been a mistake. Holding on to the faith he’d figure out he belonged here, too? That she was the one for him? Those were her major screwups, the two things that had given him the power to thoroughly and effectively decimate her heart.

      Swiping her cowboy hat off, she cursed as she rewound her hair and tucked it under the hat. “It’s been fourteen years now, Matthews. You’ve moved on. You have a career and a life story, neither of which include him.”

      She didn’t have much of a life at the moment, though. What she had were long, backbreaking days and endless, lonely nights.

      In the passenger seat, her dog, Brisket, whined.

      “It’s fine. I’m fine.” Untucking her shirt, she wiped the sweat—not tears—off her face.

      The iPad alarm sounded. She glanced at the screen with a physical wince. Almost nine. She was due at the Jensen place in a little less than an hour to draw up health papers on their steers before they shipped the yearlings to the livestock auction in nearby Dalhart, Texas.

      Scrubbing her hands over her face, she forced a deep breath. All right. Eli had come home. So what? He was fast-flowing water under the charred remnants of a bridge burned long ago. She could avoid him for however long he was here. And knowing him, it would only be temporary. He had run before; he would run again. That was what he was good at, after all.

      Shifting the truck into Reverse, she backed out onto the highway as a faded red car started up the two-lane highway from the boulevard. Slow but sure, the car closed in on her. The driver was hunched over the wheel as if he were nothing but an origami miniature of a large man. Dark hair blew in the breeze from the open window. Large hands wrung the steering wheel. If the poor thing had been alive, he’d have killed it a thousand times over.

       Eli.

      Reagan punched the accelerator. Her tires chirped on the hot asphalt before gaining hold. The truck belched and then roared to life. She watched in the rearview mirror as the little red car disappeared in a dense cloud of diesel exhaust.

      The truck’s tires slipped off the highway shoulder and into soft sand, forcing her attention to the road. Overcorrecting, she crossed into the opposite lane before muscling the truck onto her side of the road again.

      Heat burned up her neck and settled on her cheeks. Freaking wonderful, Matthews. Exactly the kind of impression you wanted to leave him with. Then she grinned. She’d just filled the guy’s car with a solid layer of diesel exhaust. Sure, she’d almost wrecked her truck.

      It was totally worth it.

2

      THREE HOURS LATER, Reagan wiped the sweat from her brow with a grungy bandana. “Is it me or is it about a hundred and ten out here today?”

      “Only supposed to be about ninety.” Tyson Covington, youngest of the three Covington brothers, tipped the brim of his hat up and leaned on the saddle horn to grin down at her. “I’m no expert in female anatomy, but I’d say you’re far too young for hot flashes, Doc.”

      She barked out a laugh. “Not an expert in female anatomy, huh? The only person in Harding County who’s seen more action than you, Ty, is the gynecologist, and that’s only because he’s been in practice longer than you’ve been alive.”

      Ty’s grin widened. “I suppose I’ll just have to work harder to catch up then, won’t I?”

      Her snort was answer enough. Turning back to the chute, she called out, “Push ’em through, gentlemen.”

      “You heard Doc Matthews,” Ty shouted to the other cowboys. “Let’s get the first truck backed up and help the Jensens make a little money.” He let out a sharp whistle as he wheeled his horse around and pushed his way into the thick of things.

      She grabbed her pad and jotted down a couple of notes as the semi parked, trailer gate open to the chute. The herd looked pretty good. A few were underweight, but calves sometimes lost a little mass to stress when they were gathered and penned. They’d also lose a bit of water weight when they shipped, but it would be easy to replace that. Picking up her vaccine gun, she climbed up the pipe panel and started inoculating the animals as they moved by.

      Once the first group of animals were loaded, they began sorting the second pen. Bawling protests decorated the dusty air. Cowboys called to each other as they moved the calves and pushed the current bunch down the chute, peeling off those Reagan indicated she wanted to assess a little closer. One truck driver after another climbed around shipping trailers like monkeys, opening and closing interior gates to make sure the weight distribution of the oncoming cattle was beneficial for the haul to the sale ring.

      A larger yearling turned back. Nose high, the whites of his eyes showed as he tried to work his way against the flow.

      Reagan scanned the corral. “Brisket!”

      A blue merle body darted between the men and their horses, arrowing toward her. The Border collie stopped twenty feet away, crouched and ready, focused on her as he waited for instruction. With a short whistle and pointed finger toward the offender, she set him loose.

      The dog wove through the masses. Reaching the bottleneck, he started nipping with a strike-retreat-strike approach, turning the steer around and driving the herd forward with unparalleled efficiency.

      It took a couple more hours to sort the remaining calves, and Reagan was officially exhausted by the time they finished. Carol Jensen approached her with a tall glass of tea, a barbecue sandwich wrapped in waxed paper, and a genuine smile. Such a nice person, and her husband was much the same.

      Accepting the drink first, Reagan sighed. “Thanks, Carol.”

      “What was the total count?”

      “We vaccinated and loaded 812 today. I held back a handful that weren’t ready or seemed a little sickly to ship to market. The other cows are ready to be driven to the bull pasture for breeding. Overall, with price-per-pound holding steady at $212 a hundredweight? Should be a very profitable day.”

      “Glad to hear it.” Reaching into her pocket, Carol pulled out a second sandwich. “Brisket around?”

      Reagan smiled and shook her head as the dog trotted up and sat at the other woman’s feet. “No wonder he likes to visit you.”

      “He works hard enough he should probably be paid day wages.”

      “We talked about it, but he decided long ago that self-employment taxes suck. Besides, I’m pretty sure he prefers to be paid with barbecue.”

      In apparent agreement, Brisket took his sandwich and sprinted across the arena. He dropped down in the shade of the barn and began ripping off the waxed paper to get to the treat, his tail thumping a happy beat.

      Ty sauntered over, his horse’s reins draped loosely over his shoulder. The giant quarter horse followed along, appearing to be more docile pet than high-dollar cutting horse. Ty smiled