Cowgirl Bride. Susan Mallery

that she’d suffered ten years ago. It was as if the time between had never passed. She remembered standing in front of Dylan, listening in disbelief as he swore to her nothing had happened that night. That he and Claire had only been friends. That he still loved her—Sierra.

      She’d wanted to believe him, had needed him to be speaking the truth, because anything else was too unthinkable. If Dylan had betrayed her, there was nowhere for her to run and hide. He was her world. So she’d believed because it was easier than facing the truth. But she couldn’t keep believing. Not when the truth stood directly in front of her. Truth in the shape of a nine-year-old boy.

      As Rory stopped at his side, Dylan placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Son, this is Sierra Conroy. You and I are going to have a talk about following instructions, but first I want you to thank her. She risked her life to save you, and got a bad cut in the process. That steer could have killed you both.”

      Rory didn’t seem to appreciate the gravity of the situation. His face split into a broad grin as his eyes widened. “You’re a real superhero! Just like on TV.”

      “A superhero?” Sierra asked, feeling more like roadkill than anything larger-than-life. “That’s a lot nicer than a few other names I’ve been called.”

      “You made me fly.”

      “I tossed you out of the pen, kid. There’s a difference.”

      The boy moved closer to her and grinned. “It felt like flying.”

      “I’ll bet it did.”

      His gaze swept over her before settling on the makeshift bandage around her arm. His humor faded. “I’m real sorry you got kicked. Does it hurt bad?”

      When compared with the shock she was feeling? Hardly at all. But that wasn’t what he was asking. “I’ll recover,” she said. “I’ve had much worse.”

      “Really? When? Do you have scars? Can I see them?”

      “Rory.” His father spoke in a stern voice. “You’re missing the point, son.”

      Rory glanced at his dad and nodded. His chin lowered as he stared at the ground. “I’m real sorry for what happened, Miss Conroy. I didn’t mean to fall in with the steers. I was just sorta watching them, but I couldn’t see anything so I climbed on the fence to get a better look. Then I guess I slipped.”

      While she didn’t blame the child for his part in destroying her life, she certainly hadn’t expected to like him. Yet there was something appealing about Rory’s big blue eyes and engaging smile. “Have you been on a ranch before?” she asked.

      “Sure.” He grinned. “Sorta. My dad just bought a ranch. We’ve got horses and steers, like this one. And the house is real big, but it’s kinda dark inside.”

      A ranch? Sierra tried to imagine the ever-perfect Claire in a ranch setting. It was beyond her mental abilities. “A ranch can be a lot of fun,” she told the boy. “But it can also be dangerous. If I hadn’t come along, there’s no telling what would have happened to you.”

      “My dad would have saved me,” he said confidently.

      Sierra didn’t voice her private thoughts about what a citified lawyer would do in a corral full of restless cattle. She didn’t doubt that Dylan would have risked his life to save his son, but she doubted either of them would have survived the resulting chaos.

      “And if your dad hadn’t heard you calling?” she asked.

      Rory thought about that for a second. His mouth twisted and he shoved his hands into his jeans’ pockets. “Oh.”

      “Yeah. Oh. Do you think you could have made it out on your own?”

      “No, ma’am.”

      “You think you weigh enough to push back those steers?”

      “No, ma’am.” His voice got a little softer and smaller.

      “You think your parents would like finding you after you’d been trampled?”

      This time he just shook his head.

      “You think you’re going to remember all this the next time you want to climb a fence you shouldn’t be climbing?”

      “Yes.”

      She could barely hear the word. “Good. You’ve learned an important lesson. I want you to know that even though it was stupid to climb the fence, you did the right thing when you called out for help. And when I was looking for you, you kept your head. You followed instructions very well. That made a difference. You’re a smart boy. Good for you.”

      He grinned. “Yeah? Thanks, Miss Conroy.”

      “You can call me Sierra.”

      He looked at his father, who nodded at the unspoken question. Sierra felt her heart contract. For those few minutes, she’d been able to forget Dylan was right next to her. Now she was forced to acknowledge him, even if just to herself. She swore silently. Why couldn’t she have forgotten all about him?

      She didn’t bother waiting for an answer. If there was one, she wasn’t going to like it anyway. If only he would go away. But the way he was looking at her, as if seeing her was the bright spot in an otherwise dull day, that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. Seemed as if she was going to have to be the one to end the conversation.

      “I’d better get this looked at,” she said, and motioned to her arm.

      She braced her right hand on the fence behind her and started to push herself into a standing position. Dylan leaned forward and grasped her around her waist. “Let me help.”

      “I don’t need—”

      But it was too late. He was already helping. She found herself caught up against him, her breasts brushing his upper arm, her body close enough to absorb his heat. Memories flooded her. Memories of how good they’d been together, of how he’d always made her feel so alive just by being near her. She didn’t want to remember any of that. She wanted to forget the past and pretend it had never happened. She wanted the scars to fade, too.

      Even as she tried to pretend she wasn’t affected, she inhaled the familiar scent of him. That combination of masculinity and temptation. It wasn’t cologne or even sweat. Just some chemical reaction in his skin, a faint, delicious essence that set her nervous system on fire. A shudder rippled through her from her scalp to her toes.

      “Are you all right?” he asked. “Do you feel faint?”

      His impersonal concern was insulting. She wrenched free of his embrace and stepped to one side. “I’m fine. Couldn’t be better. Now, if you’ll excuse me—” She turned to leave.

      “Sierra, wait. We have to talk.”

      Such simple words. They shouldn’t have had any power over her, but they did. The power to wound and maul.

      We have to talk. He’d said that to her all those years ago, right before he’d told her he was marrying someone else. She vaguely recalled an apology, something about him not wanting it to be like that. She couldn’t remember exactly—the shock had been too great.

      She wanted to scream at him. To tell him it was too late to talk about anything. He’d destroyed all her dreams when he’d left her. While she might not have recovered, she’d learned to get on with her life. Maybe that wasn’t perfect, but it was all she had. Damn him. Damn them both.

      Without wanting to, she glanced at him over her shoulder. He was dressed casually. Jeans, boots, a shirt. Just like most cowboys. But she knew the difference. His watch was expensive, as were his boots. Expensive as in they cost more than she’d made the previous month. The unfamiliar truck by the barn was new and equally pricey. She might not be the naive young woman he’d left ten years ago, but all the growing up in the world wasn’t going to strengthen the branches on her family tree. The Conroys were good people—good, poor, people. Dylan came from another