He wasn’t looking for love

Fun-loving Arizona rodeo cowboy Porter Cash has always been more interested in having a good time than a steady paycheck. But to realize his dream of owning his own ranch, Porter needs this new job delivering roughstock to rodeos. What he doesn’t need is a too-serious, too-smart and too-sexy-for-her-own-good copilot on the trip.

When savvy insurance adjuster Wendy Chin joins Porter for the haul, she is all work and no play. But soon, business turns to pleasure and Wendy is conflicted. Her heart wants Porter, but her strict Chinese-American parents will never support the match. Can Porter find a way to prove to Wendy that, when it comes to love, he’s not fooling around?

“It’s about time you learned to hit the bull’s-eye.”

Porter picked up two sets of darts.

“I’ve never played darts before,” Wendy said.

“Really? Could’ve fooled me.” Porter’s chuckle drifted into Wendy’s ear as he stood behind her to correct her position. His arm snaked around her waist.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, when his breath feathered across the back of her neck.

“Showing you how to throw.” He pulled her arm back and then thrust it forward. She released the dart and it sailed across the room, hitting the wall next to the board.

“You’re not a very good teacher.”

“Sorry, I’m better at other things.”

She gazed up at Porter and the heat in his eyes burned her face and stole her breath.

Right now, she didn’t care about her job or the investigation. All she wanted was to feel Porter’s mouth on hers. She leaned forward.

“It’s late. We’d better go.” Porter stepped back suddenly and Wendy lost her balance. He steadied her, then escorted her to the door.

Wendy was too shocked to stop him.

Dear Reader,

A Cowboy of Her Own is the final book in The Cash Brothers series and it seems like just yesterday oldest brother Johnny Cash was roping in his sister’s best friend. And now it’s time for Porter Wagoner Cash to fall in love. Porter is the youngest of the Cash brothers and has taken his sweet time growing up.

But once he meets Wendy Chin, he’s determined to prove he’s no longer the live-for-today, worry-about-tomorrow-later guy that everyone believes he is. He’ll have to do more than prove he has his act together to win over Wendy’s parents, who want their daughter to marry a man of their choosing. Porter is determined to show Mr. and Mrs. Chin that his love for their daughter is strong enough to overcome cultural barriers and stand the test of time.

If you missed reading any of the previous Cash Brothers books—The Cowboy Next Door (July 2013), Twins Under the Christmas Tree (October 2013), Her Secret Cowboy (February 2014), The Cowboy’s Destiny (May 2014) or True Blue Cowboy (August 2014)—you’ll find links to order them at www.marinthomas.com as well as a list of all my Mills & Boon American Romance novels and my social media hangouts.

Happy Ever After...The Cowboy Way,

Marin

A Cowboy

of Her Own

Marin Thomas

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MARIN THOMAS grew up in the Midwest, then attended college at the U of A in Tucson, Arizona, where she earned a BA in Radio-TV and played basketball for the Lady Wildcats. Following graduation she married her college sweetheart in the historical Little Chapel of the West in Las Vegas, Nevada. Recent empty nesters Marin and her husband now live in Texas, where cattle is king, cowboys are plentiful and pickups rule the road.

MILLS & BOON

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To Denise Hall…my Ohio-rockin’, country-western-music-lovin’ cowgirl posse leader! Your hard work, creativity and endless energy helped to make The Cash Brothers a bestselling series. Thank you for your friendship and for supporting my books. You keep me sane in this crazy business!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

“Hey, Porter!”

Porter Wagoner Cash glanced up at the stands from the cowboy ready area at the Yuma Rodeo Fairgrounds and spotted the buckle bunnies waving signs with his name on them. He grinned at the familiar faces—girls he’d dated and flirted with. Sauntering closer to their section, he removed his hat. “Hello, ladies.” The women giggled and preened for him. He wasn’t the best-looking Cash brother—Conway held that honor—but his live-for-the-moment-worry-about-tomorrow-later motto attracted his share of beauties.

“You gonna win today, Porter?” A blonde with a smokin’ hot body winked at him.

“Darlin’, I’ll do my best for you.” He blew a kiss at the group, then winced when a sharp pain shot through his right shoulder. The old injury had flared up two weeks ago after he’d entered a bull-riding competition on a buddy’s dare. At almost twenty-eight he was growing too old to play with bulls, but he’d rather ride the circuit on the weekends than sit by his lonesome in the bunkhouse at the family pecan farm.

“You comin’ to the Horseshoe later?” a redhead named Michelle asked. Porter liked all women but he had a thing for redheads. His brother Buck had married one, and Destiny was a woman to be reckoned with.

“I’ll be at the bar,” Porter said. The Horseshoe was one of his regular hangouts. His brother Mack and his band, Cowboy Rebels, used to play there every other Saturday night. But now that Mack and his wife, Beth, had adopted a teenage boy and a preteen girl, his brother was too busy being a father to perform in bars.

“Will you save a dance for me?”

“Me, too.”

“Me three.”

“I’ll dance with all of you.” He loved country music, and there was nothing sweeter than holding a pretty girl close and shuffling her across a dance floor.

“Hey, Cash, you here alone?”

Porter glanced behind him. All-around cowboy C. J. Rodriguez—the Cash brothers’ nemesis—walked in his direction.

“I’m the only Cash competing today.”

“I guess your brothers are too busy being daddies to play with the big boys.”

Porter stood a good three inches taller than the infamous bull rider. If his shoulder didn’t ache so much, he’d wipe the smug smirk off the man’s face. Who was he kidding? Out of all his siblings, Porter was the make-love-not-war brother. He used his mouth, not his fists, to settle disputes. “What’s the matter, Rodriguez? Are you worried you won’t find a woman to marry who’ll put up with all your crap?”

“I’m never getting hitched.” Rodriguez nodded to the cowboys standing a few yards away. “You still mourning your old flame?”

Porter couldn’t stop himself from staring. Veronica Patriot stood in the middle of the pack, her body plastered against a wet-behind-the-ears bronc buster.

Porter’s eldest brother, Johnny, had warned him to steer clear of Veronica, but she’d reeled Porter in with her pretty blue eyes and sexy curves. For the first time in his life, he’d fallen hard for the woman. She’d done and said all the right things to make him believe she was just as in love with him, but it had been an act. She’d used him to make an old boyfriend jealous and when she’d succeeded, she’d left Porter in the dust. The only satisfaction he’d gotten from the whole experience was learning a few months later that the old boyfriend had kicked Veronica to the curb not long after they’d reunited.

“‘Eat, Drink and Be Merry’...cowboy.”

Rodriguez thought he was a real cutup, quoting Porter Wagoner song titles. Thanks to Porter’s mother, who’d named her sons after country-and-western legends, he and his siblings had been teased all their lives. It didn’t bother Porter too much anymore—except when jerks like Rodriguez ran off at the mouth. He fisted his hands to keep from grasping the man’s Kevlar vest and shaking him.

“Hey, Cash!” Maxwell Black walked up to Porter. “A group of us are off-roading next weekend near Somerton. You wanna join us?”

Porter had gone through school with Max, and they’d stirred up their share of trouble in their teens. “I can’t. I’m a working man now.”

His friends gaped at him. “You got a real job?” Max asked.

“Yep.” Porter had landed a position as a roughstock driver two months ago and had already made several runs.

Max shook his hand. “Congratulations, man. Where are you working?”

“I’m hauling bulls for Del Mar Rodeo Productions.”

“Buddy Davidson is a big-time stock contractor,” Max said. “How’d you land that gig?”

“Ran into Hank Martin at the Horseshoe Saloon back in February. He works for Davidson and he said Del Mar was hiring drivers to cover their spring and summer rodeo schedule.”

Porter hadn’t believed he had a chance in hell of getting the job, because the only thing he’d ever hauled had been lumber, but he’d left the bar that night and filled out one of the company’s online applications.

A week later he was called in for an interview and given the job on the spot. Hank had spent a few minutes reciting the rules and showing Porter the paperwork for transporting livestock over state lines. The rest of his questions had been about Porter’s family, particularly his mother, who’d been dead for more than a decade. It wasn’t until the end of the interview that Hank had mentioned he’d known Porter’s mother, Aimee, and had been sorry to hear she’d passed away.

It had been years since he’d held down a forty-hour-a-week job that wasn’t seasonal work. Del Mar Rodeo was Porter’s chance to prove to his siblings that he’d left his freewheeling days behind him and was committed to one day owning a ranch of his own.

I’ll believe it when I see it. Johnny’s voice echoed in Porter’s head. How often had Johnny said, “C’mon, Porter, grow up. Life isn’t always about having fun.”

“We’ll catch you later,” Max said.

“Sounds good.” Porter hefted his gear bag over his shoulder and made a beeline for the bronc-bustin’ chutes. With his bum arm, he couldn’t wrestle on his shirt, let alone a steer, so he’d entered the bareback competition, hoping he had a shot of making the top five.

“Ladies and gents, turn your attention to chute number three. Porter Cash is about to do battle with Starry Night.” The fans stomped their boots on the bleachers, and Porter’s buckle-bunny fan club flashed their posters with his name on them.

“Starry Night, you ready for a little fun?” Porter pulled on his riding glove then adjusted his spurs.

“You’re the only cowboy I know who talks to a bronc like a pet dog.”

“Speaking of mutts...don’t you have anything better to do, Rodriguez, than follow me around like a lost puppy?” Porter zipped his Kevlar vest.

“And miss watching a Cash fall flat on his face?” The cowboy shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Tell me something,” Porter said. “Are you just pissed that Shannon Douglas was a better bull rider than you or that she married Johnny?”

Rodriguez raised his hands in the air. “I’d rather go ten rounds with a nasty bull than take on Shannon.”

“That’s what I thought.” Porter climbed the rails and settled a leg over the bronc. Starry Night decided he didn’t like the extra weight on his back and reared. Porter dove for the rails and waited for the horse to settle down. He hoped he hadn’t made a mistake in competing today. He didn’t need a broken arm or leg before hitting the road Monday morning with a trailer full of bulls.

“Folks, this bronc doesn’t think too highly of Porter Cash.” The announcer’s chuckle filled the stands.

The crowd quieted, their gazes riveted to Porter and the cantankerous gelding. When Starry Night stood still, Porter gave it another try and eased onto the horse’s back. When he was certain the animal wouldn’t object again, he wrapped the rope around his hand and secured his grip.

“Looks like our rider might be having second thoughts.” The announcer startled Porter out of his reverie and he sucked in a deep breath, then nodded to the gateman.

The chute opened, and Starry Night catapulted into the arena, his back legs kicking out before his body cleared the gate. Porter held his seat and spurred, ignoring the ache in his shoulder when he raised his right arm high above his head. Starry Night’s hooves hit the dirt hard, then the horse spun right, the move meant to unseat his rider. Not a chance. Porter wasn’t going down that easy. He clenched his thighs against the bronc’s girth and ignored the fire licking his strained muscles. Sweat stung his eyes, and his fingers grew numb from the stranglehold he had on the rope.

Porter braced himself for another spin and was caught off guard when the bronc reared. Only a superhero could have maintained his balance. His backside slid toward the horse’s rump, and he clung to the rope like a man dangling off a cliff. But he was no match for Starry Night’s power and he quit spurring. The bodies in the stands became a blur of color and the roar of the crowd faded to a muted drone. He’d lost this skirmish with the bronc, but the battle wasn’t over until the dismount. He spotted an opening, but before he was able to release the rope the horse planted his front hooves in the dirt and sent Porter sailing into the air.

His injured shoulder hit the ground first, taking the brunt of his weight. For a split second his vision dimmed, then a bright light flashed inside his head, blinding him. He crawled to his hands and knees, the right side of his body numb, which messed up his balance. Halfway to his feet he pitched forward and did a face-plant in the dirt.

The ground reverberated beneath him as Starry Night continued to buck. When the pickup men released the flank strap, the bronc trotted out of the arena as if he was taking an afternoon stroll. Porter got to his feet and stumbled to the rails, where a helping hand yanked him to safety. He bent at the waist and gasped for air, willing the throb in his shoulder to subside.

“What did you do to tick that bronc off?”

Breathing hard enough to generate electricity, Porter wasn’t sure if he imagined the feminine voice next to his ear or not. Dizzy with pain, he glanced to his right and discovered a pair of neatly pressed suit pants hugging slim hips that gave way to slender thighs and black high-heeled pumps. What woman in her right mind dressed in business attire to attend a rodeo?

He straightened, his six feet towering over her. He studied her teal silk blouse, slender, pale neck and smoky almond-shaped eyes. Other than the black eyeliner and pink lip gloss, she wore no makeup on her flawless skin.

She crossed her arms over her chest and arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow at him. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

“You kind of look familiar.” He racked his brain for a name. She wasn’t a buckle bunny who traveled the circuit, but he couldn’t remember where he’d run into her before.

“Wendy Chin.”

He snapped his fingers. Dixie’s friend. “You rode bulls with my sister a few summers ago.”

“Rode a bull.” She held up one finger—the oval-shaped nail as petite and delicate as her body.

“I remember you now. Your parents own the Yuma flower shop on Main Street.”

“You’re a hard man to track down,” she said. “Do you have a minute to talk?”

“Sure.” He had no idea what Wendy Chin wanted from him, but he wasn’t about to turn down an invitation to chat with a pretty woman. Dixie insisted that her girlfriends were off-limits—not that Johnny had paid any attention to the warning. He’d married Shannon, but Porter and the rest of his brothers had heeded their sister’s demand.

“Be right back.” Porter walked over to the empty chute where he’d left his gear bag and removed his vest, spurs and riding glove, then slipped the duffel over his good shoulder and returned to Wendy’s side. When the announcer’s voice blasted through the sound system, introducing the next cowboy, he motioned for her to follow him to the livestock pens, where it would be easier to hear over bawling cows than loud music.

When they stepped outside, she said, “Let’s get out of the sun.” They crossed the gravel lot to a storage unit with an overhang wide enough for the two of them to fit under. For a woman who’d been born and raised in Arizona, her skin looked like fine porcelain instead of thick leather.

“Why have you been searching for me?” he asked.

“You work for Del Mar Rodeo.”

“I knew my family was excited that I’d finally landed a permanent job, but I didn’t expect Dixie to broadcast the news to her friends.”

“Dixie didn’t tell me.”

Wendy’s sober eyes told him that their chat had a purpose and it wasn’t to catch up on old times. “Why does it matter to you that I work for Del Mar?”

A tinge of pink swept across her cheeks. “I’m your copilot to Grand Junction, Colorado.”

He banged his palm against the side of his head, thinking dust must have clogged his ears. “Copilot?”

“I work for American Livestock Insurance, and Del Mar Rodeo is our biggest client. We do a ride-along once a year with one of the stock haulers.”

“Neither Buddy nor Hank mentioned that I’d have a passenger on this trip.”

“It’s not a big deal. I just need to document the number of hours you drive each day, how many breaks you take and how you care for the animals.”

If it wasn’t a big deal, why hadn’t he been told she’d be going on the trip with him?

Look on the bright side.

There was a bright side?

It’ll be fun to have a companion on the trip. “I’m picking up the trailer at seven Monday morning.”

“I’ll meet you at the pecan farm.” She frowned. “Is it okay to leave my car there until we return?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll see you then.”

Wendy wove through the parked cars and hopped in one of those gas-efficient vehicles that looked as though it belonged in a Matchbox car collection. Not until she drove off did his arm begin to throb again. Unless he wanted Wendy to put in her report that his bum shoulder interfered with his ability to drive the rig, he’d better hightail it home and ice the injury.

No way was he losing his job over something a nosy claims adjuster—a pretty one at that—put in her report.

* * *

WENDY WAS STILL blushing after her talk with Porter at the rodeo. Why her friend’s brother made her nervous was anybody’s guess. Sure, he was good-looking—all the Cash brothers were handsome—but Porter wasn’t her type. According to Dixie, he didn’t want to grow up. He was more interested in partying and working only when he needed money to fill the gas tank or treat a buckle bunny to a night on the town. Wendy was Porter’s polar opposite. She was a go-getter and a stay-later at the job.

Even though they were different, Wendy had felt a tingle in her stomach when Porter’s gaze roamed over her body. She preferred serious, career-minded men, but there was something appealing about Porter’s laid-back attitude—not that she would ever do anything unprofessional with him.

As if you’d ever get the chance.

A girl could indulge in a fantasy or two, couldn’t she? Porter gravitated toward the well-endowed buckle bunny cheerleaders who screamed his name at rodeos. Voluptuous was not an adjective anyone would use to describe Wendy. Thanks to her Asian genes, her petite body lacked pronounced curves.

She pulled into the parking lot behind her parents’ flower shop and entered through the back door. “Hi, Mom.” Her mother was hard at work. “Are these the centerpieces for the ladies’ auxiliary banquet?”

“Where have you been? I thought you were helping me today.”

“I had to take care of a few things at the office.” Wendy hadn’t told her parents she’d be riding along with one of Buddy Davidson’s drivers because they’d worry. They agonized over everything—her safety, her diet, her job and her single status. Lately she’d begun wishing she didn’t live next to them. They shared a duplex that her parents had purchased in the ’80s. Although the low rent allowed her to put a substantial amount of money into savings each month, Wendy yearned for her privacy. Whenever she suggested she look for a new apartment, her parents became upset and changed the subject.

Wendy threw on an apron. “How many arrangements do you need to make?”

“Twenty-five.” Her mother pointed to the table against the wall. “I’ve finished ten.”

Wendy selected several sprigs of greenery and copied her mother’s design. When she finished, she held up the vase. “Good enough?”

“Perfect.”

They worked in comfortable silence for a half hour before Wendy spoke. “I’m traveling on business next week.”

“Where to?”

“Colorado. I’m documenting livestock drivers for our annual report.” No need to explain that she’d be monitoring just one driver. Her parents were old-fashioned and wouldn’t approve of her being alone with a man, even if that man was her friend’s brother.

“You’ve never done that before.”

“My boss believes it’s important that I have a good understanding of the transport process when I’m working claims for missing or injured livestock.” The less her mother knew the better. Wendy didn’t want word getting out that American Livestock Insurance was doing their own investigation into Del Mar’s missing bulls after the sheriff’s search had stalled out.

Buddy Davidson had been with American Livestock for fifteen years and had never had a bull go missing until a few months ago, when he’d filed claims for three. If that wasn’t suspicious enough, Wendy had interviewed Glen Fenderblast, Buddy’s ranching neighbor, and he’d said that Buddy had his eye on buying a bull named Happy Hour worth $1.2 million. The payout on Buddy’s missing roughstock would cover half the cost of the new bull. Before Carl Evans, Wendy’s boss, cut Buddy a check, he wanted to make certain that Del Mar Rodeo wasn’t trying to swindle its insurance company. The ride-along was their last chance to uncover any information that might be useful to the sheriff’s case.

Wendy had her doubts that Porter was involved in any illegal activity since he’d been hired right after Buddy had reported the lost bulls, but she had to be objective and look closely at everyone who worked for Del Mar Rodeo.

“Is there a promotion in this for you?” her mother asked.

Wendy had been promoted a little over a year ago, a fact that her parents frequently forgot. “I doubt Carl is ready for me to take over his job.”

As an only child and a daughter, she felt the weight of her parents’ high expectations of her. The constant pressure to climb the proverbial career ladder was overwhelming. She wanted more out of life than working twelve-hour days.

“Is the company paying for your motel room?”

“Yes.” Wendy finished a second arrangement and placed the vase on the table.

“When are you leaving?”

“Monday morning. I won’t return until the following Sunday.”

“You’ll check in with us.” It wasn’t a request or suggestion—it was an order.

“I’m twenty-six years old. I shouldn’t have to report my daily whereabouts and activities to my parents.”

“Then find a husband and get married so he can worry about you.”

Grrr...

“By the way, your father’s taking one of his suppliers to dinner tonight and he’d like you to join them.”

Not again. Wendy wished her dad would stop playing matchmaker. Even though her parents had been born in the United States, they clung to their traditional beliefs and wanted their only child to marry a hardworking, dedicated Chinese man so there would be no cultural clashes in the family. Wendy walked a fine line between two worlds, struggling to balance embracing the American way of life while still respecting her Chinese ancestry.

Unbeknownst to her parents, she had lost her heart in college to a classmate at Arizona State University. Tyler had been spontaneous, adventurous and exciting. They’d dated almost a year when Wendy found out by accident that he was engaged to a girl in his hometown of Tucson. The two-timing jerk had broken her heart and left her gun-shy when it came to serious relationships.

After graduating from college, she’d returned to Yuma and dated Asian men her father had selected for her. Polite, educated and dedicated to their careers, the men were everything her parents believed important. But none of them had made her heart stumble or her pulse quicken. Wendy wanted to marry a man she fell in love with, not a man her parents believed she’d be compatible with.

Wendy had grown up watching her parents toil in the flower shop seven days a week, year after year, and that wasn’t the life she dreamed of. She deserved more from a marriage than a working partnership. And she yearned for a man she could have fun with. The men she’d dated would never put their children or wives ahead of their careers. Wendy didn’t want to be number two in her husband’s heart. She wanted to be his top priority.

Porter’s image flashed before her eyes. He knew how to have fun. She’d be lying if she didn’t admit she was looking forward to traveling with him. But she wasn’t so naive as to believe anything could come of a week on the road with the cowboy.

“Make your father happy,” her mother said. “Go to dinner with him.”

Fine. “When do I need to be ready?”

“Seven-thirty. And wear that aqua dress you bought last spring. That looks nice on you.”

“Can you handle the rest of the arrangements if I grab a quick shower?”

“Go ahead. I’ve already done half of them myself.”

Feeling a tad guilty for leaving her mom with a table full of empty vases—but not too guilty since she’d been coerced into accepting a blind date—Wendy kissed her mother’s cheek and left the shop. As she drove across town, she lectured herself. As much as she anticipated the upcoming trip with Porter, she needed to keep her priorities straight and focus on finding information that would help locate Buddy’s missing bulls.

Time would tell if she uncovered any evidence that pointed to Porter. For Dixie’s sake—and maybe a little bit for her sake, too—she hoped her friend’s brother was on the up and up.

Chapter Two

“Porter!”

“In here!” Porter stuffed the last pair of briefs into the duffel bag resting on the bed in the bunkhouse. The door opened and in walked Johnny. “It’s Sunday night. Why aren’t you home watching TV with Shannon and Addy?”

“Mack said you were heading out on a weeklong run tomorrow, and we haven’t had a chance to talk in a while.”

“Checking up on me?” Because of their age difference, the eldest Cash sibling was more of a father than a brother to Porter.

Johnny tossed his cowboy hat on the table and gestured to the rodeo posters on the wall. “We had some good parties in here, didn’t we?”

“Yeah, we did. Then you and everyone else got hitched and left me all by my lonesome.”

“I doubt you feel lonely when you don’t have to wait in line for a shower and you can watch whatever television program you want.” Johnny picked up the remote and pointed it at the flat screen. The Nickelodeon channel came on. “You’re hanging out with the twins too much.”

“Mig and Javi are the only ones who visit me.” Conway and Isi were busy taking care of their new twin daughters and the boys had turned to Porter for attention.

Johnny ran his hand over the back of the sofa, and dog hair stuck to his fingers. “I guess Bandit’s been a regular visitor in here.”

“He only comes inside when it storms.”

“It hasn’t rained in over thirty days,” Johnny said.

“What do you care if I let the dog sleep in here? It’s not like you have to clean the place anymore.”

“You’re right. Better the dog in the bunkhouse than a bunch of buckle bunnies.”

“Hey, no matter what Conway says, I haven’t let a girl stay overnight in the bunkhouse since Isi and the twins moved to the farm. I know better.”

“We shouldn’t have let our Wednesday night poker game fall by the wayside.”

Porter emptied his sock drawer into the duffel. “If you guys would stop procreating, you might have a free day to play cards.”

“The love bug will bite you one of these days,” Johnny said. “You wait and see.”

“I’ve got more important things to do than worry about finding the right woman to settle down with.” Besides, how was he supposed to meet the perfect lady when he drove a stock trailer all day?

Johnny stared him square in the eye. “You think you’ll keep this job long-term?” He was really asking if Porter would grow bored of transporting bulls and quit as he’d done with previous jobs.

“You want an honest answer or you want me to make something up?”

“Honest.”

Porter sat on the bed and expelled a heavy breath. “I think so.”

“You think so?”

“Sometimes I wish I’d given college a try.” He’d never talked to his brothers about the restless feeling he’d battled daily since graduating from high school.

“Why didn’t you?” Johnny asked. “You made decent grades and with our family’s situation you’d have qualified for financial aid to help pay the tuition.”

“I didn’t know what I wanted to study. But I’ve been thinking—”

“That’s dangerous.”

“Ha-ha. Buck’s dream of owning a car-repair business came true, so why can’t I make my dream come true?”

“What’s your dream?”

“I’ve always wanted a piece of land to call my own.”

“You mean like a ranch?”

Porter nodded. “We grew up on the pecan farm, but it’s really Conway’s now. One day you and Shannon are going to run the Triple D. And I bet it’s not long before Mack buys in to a partnership at the Black Jack Mountain Dude Ranch.”

“If you had your own ranch, what would you raise?”

“Bucking stock.” Porter recalled the strength and talent of Starry Night at yesterday’s rodeo. “Broncs.”

“You have a lot of competition in the area,” Johnny said.

“The rodeo circuit keeps expanding. There’s room for more good horses.”

“Have you thought about where you’d buy this ranch?”

“There’s a property for sale in the Fortuna Foothills.” The land was east of Yuma but still considered part of the metropolitan area. He wouldn’t be far from his siblings if he moved out there.

“How many acres?”

“Twenty-five. Enough for a handful of horses.”

“If you want it bad, let’s find a way to make it happen.”

It was just like Johnny to step in and take charge. Porter appreciated the support, but he intended to figure out the future on his own. He knew for sure that he didn’t want to haul rodeo bulls the rest of his life, but he needed to prove to himself that he could stick with the job or investing in a business would be a waste of his money and effort.

“Thanks for the offer, but my first priority is to do my job well and not give Buddy Davidson a reason to fire me.”

“Are you nervous about this trip?” Johnny always sensed when one of his brothers was uneasy.

“A little. It’s twelve hours from here to Grand Junction, Colorado, where I pick up the bulls.” His previous runs had been across southern Arizona—no more than five hours each way. This trip would last an entire week.

“What has you worried?” Johnny asked. “The roughstock growing restless or you?”

“It won’t be me.” Porter grinned. “I’ve got company on this trip.”

“Who?”

“Remember Dixie’s friend Wendy Chin?”

“Sure. She was part of that crazy group of girls who helped Shannon promote her bull-riding tour a few summers ago.”

“Wendy works for American Livestock Insurance and she’s coming along for the ride.”

“Never heard of an insurance rep doing that before.”

Neither had Porter, but there wasn’t much he could do about the situation. “She’s monitoring my driving habits and how I handle the bulls.”

“I guess it doesn’t matter why she’s going on the trip as long as you remember she’s Dixie and Shannon’s friend. Keep—”

“My hands to myself. I know.” Johnny acted as if Porter planned to jump Wendy’s bones as soon as she climbed into the truck cab. “Wendy isn’t my type.”

“Good. Keep it that way.”

The last thing Porter wanted was to become tangled up with Wendy Chin—an educated career woman with a mind of her own. Her diminutiveness might bring out a man’s protective instincts, but he suspected Wendy could handle almost anything and anyone she crossed paths with.

“When are you leaving in the morning?” Johnny asked.

“As soon as Wendy gets here. I told her she could leave her car at the farm.”

“Have her park it behind the barn so the twins don’t mess with it.”

“Good thinking.” He waited for Johnny to grab his hat and mosey along, but his brother didn’t budge. “Something else on your mind?”

“Not really.”

Porter laughed. “Spit it out.”

“I guess it’s more difficult than I expected.”

“What’s that?”

“Accepting that all my brothers have grown up and they don’t need me anymore.”

Porter smothered a smile behind his hand. The strongest brother, the one who’d defended his siblings against playground bullies and as a result had made multiple trips to the principal’s office, looked like a lost kid. “It doesn’t matter how old we become,” Porter said. “You’ll always be our big brother and the go-to guy for advice.”

Johnny released a loud breath. “I’m glad, because all I’ve ever wanted is for my siblings to be happy.”

“It was tough when Grandma and Grandpa died, but I wasn’t scared, because I knew you’d be there for me.” Porter studied his boots before looking Johnny in the eye. “Remember when Mom died? You were worried about me because I didn’t want to talk about it.”

“I remember.”

“The reason I didn’t say much is because I didn’t feel sad and I thought I was supposed to. Then I found you crying down by the pond and I felt guilty that I couldn’t even shed a tear for my own mother.”

Porter had never told a soul about his eldest brother’s crying jag because he’d been so shaken at the sight. That night he’d realized that Johnny wasn’t a superhero but a human being. “You were the family rock, Johnny. Even before Mom passed on, we turned to you when we needed help.” Porter shoved a hand through his hair and paced in front of the TV. “I pretended Mom’s passing didn’t affect me because I didn’t want you to worry about me.”

“Mom’s death did bother you.”

“Not for the reasons you think.” Porter shrugged. “I never got to ask about my father. I know the rest of you had had conversations with her about your fathers, but she and I never had that talk.”

“Did you find out his name?” Johnny asked.

“Nope.” Porter laughed the sound bitter. “And I actually wanted to know who he was.”

“I’m sorry. But maybe it was for the best.”

“Maybe.” When his brothers had reached out to their biological fathers, they’d been rejected. “I’m slowly coming to grips with the possibility that I’ll never know who my dad is.”

“What about the stuff Grandma left in the attic?”

“I went through the boxes a couple of years ago. There’s no information about any of our fathers.”

“If you decide to search for him, I’ll help in any way I can.”

“Thanks.” Porter figured his brother would remain in the bunkhouse forever if he didn’t nudge him toward the door. “I need to finish packing.”

Johnny put on his hat. “Don’t forget to text Dixie when you arrive in Grand Junction. She’ll send out a search party if you don’t.”

He wouldn’t forget, because he didn’t want to be embarrassed in front of Wendy if his brothers showed up out of the blue to check on him.

Why do you care what Wendy thinks?

He didn’t care. “I’ll keep Dixie informed of my whereabouts.”

Johnny opened the bunkhouse door. “Does Dixie know Wendy’s going with you?”

“Not unless Wendy told her.” If the two had talked, Porter was sure his sister would have warned him to mind his manners with her friend. “Say hi to Shannon and give Addy a hug from Uncle Porter.”

“Will do. Drive safe.”

Once the door shut behind Johnny, Porter sprawled across the couch. He hated that one of his sister’s girlfriends would be monitoring his every move and groaned when he thought of spending a week with the no-nonsense woman. He closed his eyes and conjured up an image of Wendy in her suit pants and silk blouse.

This was going to be the longest road trip of his life.

* * *

“YOUR TRUCK SMELLS brand-new,” Wendy said after she climbed into Porter’s Dodge Ram.

“I bought it three months ago. It’s my new babe magnet,” he joked.

Babe magnet aside, Wendy marveled at how a rodeo bum/livestock hauler could afford a new pickup. Maybe he’d saved for years to cover the down payment. Or maybe Buddy Davidson had paid Porter a bonus when he’d signed on to work at Del Mar Rodeo. Or...maybe Porter had been told if he asked no questions and did his job well he’d receive a kickback after Buddy collected the insurance money from the missing bulls. Wendy had a tough time believing her friend’s brother was a criminal.

“Wave goodbye to the twins.” Porter nodded to Conway’s sons, standing on the porch in their pajamas.

She waggled her fingers out the window. “What are they doing up at five-thirty in the morning on a school day?”

“Their twin sisters’ crying probably woke them. The walls in the farmhouse are pretty thin.”

Dixie had posted a cute picture of the girls to her Facebook page the day Isi gave birth to them.

Porter started the truck, shifted gear, then honked as he drove out of the yard.

“I bet Isi doesn’t get much sleep with infant twins and two rambunctious six-year-olds to take care of.”

“The boys being in school full-time helps. During the day Conway focuses on the farm, then when Mig and Javi get off the bus, he keeps them out of Isi’s hair.”

“I doubt Conway and Isi have much time to themselves.”

“Every couple of weeks I have a sleepover in the bunkhouse with the boys so their parents can have a date night.”

The scent of Porter’s cologne filled the cab and the earthy smell distracted Wendy. She should be asking questions about his job, not his family. “Sounds as if you like being an uncle.”

He chuckled, the gravelly noise rolling over her skin and making her shiver. “Are you cold?” He switched off the air conditioner. The fact that he noticed made it even more difficult to focus on her job.

“How long have you been working for an insurance company?” He turned onto the highway.

“Four years. I hired on with American Livestock after college.”

“I’m sure Dixie mentioned it, but where did you go to school?”

“Arizona State University. I graduated from the W. P. Carey School of Business.” Was it her imagination or were Porter’s knuckles turning white against the steering wheel? “Did you go to college?”

“I couldn’t decide what I wanted to study. Then I got caught up in rodeoing with my brothers—” he shrugged “—and never ended up registering for any classes at the junior college.”

“I was surprised when I saw your name on Buddy’s roster of drivers. Last I’d heard you were working with Mack at the Black Jack Mountain Dude Ranch.”

“About twenty hours a week,” he said. “I filled in when they needed an extra hand.”

“Do you like cowboying?”

“I do. And I liked socializing with the ranch guests.”

That didn’t shock her. Of all the Cash brothers, Porter was the friendliest—former Mr. Popular in high school. She’d rarely seen him walk the halls alone and students had always gathered at his locker between classes. And he never sat by himself in the cafeteria, which made him taking a job that required driving long hours alone odd.

“If you enjoyed the dude ranch, how did you end up going to work for Del Mar?” she asked.

“I’d been on the lookout for a permanent job for a while.”

“Was the position advertised in the newspaper? Online? Did you hear about it from a friend?”

Porter’s eyebrows drew together. “Actually, it was the strangest thing. I ran into Hank Martin at a bar. He said Buddy was hiring drivers and suggested I apply.”

Wendy knew that Hank Martin was Buddy’s right-hand man and handled the rodeo scheduling.

Porter nodded to the iPad Wendy had opened on her lap. “Are you documenting my answers on that thing?”

“No.”

“Do you ask all the drivers you ride with the same questions?”

Porter’s inquisitiveness would only get her in trouble and she didn’t want to lie any more than she had to, so she changed the subject. “How many hours of training did Del Mar provide you with?”

“None. Hank asked if I’d ever driven a rig before and I said no but that I’d hauled my share of horse trailers. That seemed to satisfy him.”

Had Buddy known that Hank had sent Porter out with little to no training? Rodeo bulls were expensive, especially those with winning records. It didn’t make sense for Hank to trust the bulls with an inexperienced driver.

“How many trips have you gone on?” she asked.

“Twelve. They were short runs. Didn’t have any trouble.”

When Porter reached the Yuma city limits, he turned onto the county road that would take them to Buddy’s ranch. Fifteen miles later he parked the pickup next to the hay barn.

Hoping she wouldn’t run into Buddy and have to make up a lie as to why she hadn’t informed him that she was tagging along with Porter, she said, “I’ll wait in the pickup while you get the keys to the stock trailer.”

“The keys are in the trailer. Hank and Buddy left for Idaho yesterday. They’re checking out a new bull at a ranch up there.” Porter grabbed their overnight bags and stowed them in the cab of the trailer.

Wendy stood aside while Porter inspected the tires and made sure the latch on the trailer was secure. “Do you check in with Buddy each day when you’re on the road?”

“No. If I report to anyone, it’s Hank.” He pulled out his phone.

“I’ll need to know if Hank asks you to do anything unusual on this trip.”

“What do you mean unusual?”

“Change your route. Make an extra stop somewhere.”

“Hey.” Porter held up his hands. “I don’t want to get caught in the middle of anything between you and Hank or you and Buddy. I just want to do my job.” After testing the latch a second time, he opened the passenger door for her. “There’s no step up.”

How was she supposed to get into the cab? Even if she took a running leap, she wouldn’t be able to dive onto the floor.

“I’ll give you a boost.” Porter cupped his hands. “Put your foot in here and grab the handhold.”

She stowed her iPad in her purse, then lifted her leg and set her boot in his hands. Before she’d prepared herself, he hoisted her into the air. She teetered off balance and made a valiant swipe at the handle inside the passenger door, but missed and pitched forward. She saw the top of the cab coming at her head and braced herself, but Porter’s hands vanished from beneath her boot and she fell backward into his arms.

Oh, my.

Her breath caught and it wasn’t because she’d slammed into Porter’s chest and had the wind knocked out of her—it was because his grip had tightened on her fanny. Their faces were inches apart, and if she dipped her head a tiny bit...

He set her on the ground, then moved his hands from her bottom to her waist. “You okay?”

She could get used to the feel of Porter’s hands on her body. She shook her head and the lusty thoughts scattered.

“You’re not okay?” he asked. “Did you knock your head on the door?”

“No. I’m fine.” She retreated a step.

If you don’t get your act together you’re going to blow this assignment.

Wendy believed her boss had put her in charge of this investigation because he trusted her and she didn’t want to let him down.

“We have a long drive today,” he said. “You ready to try and get into the cab again?”

“I’ll do it on my own.” She braced her foot against the front tire and pushed off—this time she snagged the handle and pulled herself into the cab.

Porter closed the door, then hopped in behind the wheel. When he backed away from the barn, he spoke. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“Depends on the question.”

“What’s your waist size?”

Her mouth opened, then she snapped it closed.

“I’m guessing you don’t get asked that very often.”

“No, I don’t.” Good Lord. “Porter.” She pulled in a steadying breath. “My waist size is none of your business.” His grin exasperated her. “I realize we already know each other, but maybe I need to remind you that this isn’t a joyride or a vacation for me.”

His smile faded. “No, ma’am, you don’t need to remind me at all.” He stared out the windshield. “You can be sure I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

Great. She’d offended him. Now she’d be fortunate if he spoke two words to her the rest of the way to Colorado.

Chapter Three

What the heck was taking Wendy so long? Porter stared at the restroom door outside the mom-and-pop gas station on the outskirts of Flagstaff. They’d driven only five hours and had made three pit stops already. The first one to gas up before they left Yuma. The second to buy snacks in Phoenix, because he’d grown tired of listening to Wendy’s stomach growl. And now a potty break. At the rate they were traveling, they wouldn’t make Grand Junction until ten o’clock tonight.

He checked his cell phone for messages—none. Then he eyed the gas-station minimart, wondering how the building had remained standing when the outer walls sagged and the roof looked as if it might blow off with the next gust of wind. The owner could make more money than the property was worth if he sold the antique tin signs decorating the stucco facade. Drink Coca-Cola—Delicious And Refreshing hung next to the door, and below that was a Sinclair sign with the green dinosaur. On the opposite side of the door hung an old Mobilgas plaque with its winged horse. The faded black letters of Freedom Perfect Motor Oil Sold Here ran across the top of the building. Two red-white-and-blue Esso gas pumps—one regular and one diesel—lay on their sides in the dirt across the lot. A burn barrel served as a garbage can and sat between the newer gas pumps out front.

Tired of waiting in the hot sun, Porter pushed himself off the truck fender and went back into the snack shop.

The bell on the door announced his arrival and the clerk named Betty glanced up from the magazine in her hands. “You forget something?”

“I’m waiting for my copilot to finish in the restroom.” It didn’t appear that Betty had budged from her stool behind the counter since he’d bought a lottery ticket from her twenty minutes ago. She shoved her hand inside a Cheetos bag and grabbed a cheese puff, then chomped on it like a hamster before turning the magazine page with an orange thumb and forefinger.

He wandered over to the newsstand and selected the local paper from three days ago to read the headlines: When Push Cames to Shove, Elderly Man Lost Footing. Grandmother Inspires Orphans to “Create” Family Trees. Big Burrito Man Abandons Truck, Dreams.

The burrito man’s story intrigued Porter, but before he had a chance to read the copy, a loud thump startled him. He glanced at Betty, but her head remained buried in the gossip rag.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The noise sounded as if it came from behind the wall next to Porter. “Did you hear that?”

Betty’s hand froze inside the Cheetos bag. “Hear what?”

Thump. Thump.

“That sound.” He pointed to the wall.

“The restroom is on the other side,” Betty said.

Wendy.

“Key doesn’t always work. Your friend might be stuck in there.”

Unbelievable. “How long were you going to let her sit in there before you went to check on her?”

Betty stared as if he’d grown two heads.

“Never mind.” Porter hurried outside and banged his fist on the bathroom door. “Wendy? You okay?”

“The key’s stuck in the lock.”

She didn’t sound panicked, which surprised him. The women he’d known would have pitched a hissy fit by now if they’d gotten trapped inside a stinky gas-station latrine.

“Hang on!” He went into the store. “Do you have a screwdriver? Any kind of tool set?”

“What would I need with a screwdriver?” Betty asked.

“The restroom key is stuck in the lock, and I need to remove the door handle.”

“You can’t deface the property.”

“This place is already defaced.” He swallowed a curse word. By the time he and Wendy hit the road again another half hour would be wasted. “I’ll reattach the door handle once I get her out.”

Betty pried her backside off the stool and walked through the store. “There might be some tools on the endcap over here.” She pointed an orange finger.

Sure enough. Porter opened the kit and removed the screwdriver. He took one step but stopped when Betty blocked his path. “You gotta pay for that.”

He opened his mouth to argue with her, then decided not to waste his breath and handed her a five-dollar bill from his wallet. “Answer me one question,” he said. “Why does the restroom lock from the inside with a key?” That made no sense.

“Don’t ask me. I just work here.”

Porter went outside and rapped his knuckles on the door. “I’m going to remove the handle.”

Wendy didn’t say anything, and he became concerned that she’d passed out from the putrid fumes inside. He pressed the edge of the screwdriver into the latch at the base of the knob and jiggled it. The hardware was ancient and pulled right off. Next, he loosened the screws, then removed the mounting plate. “Hang on. I’m almost done.” He poked his finger inside the hole, scraping his knuckle. Ignoring his bloody finger, he pushed the latch aside, then shoved the door open.

He wasn’t sure what he expected to find inside the windowless graffiti-covered compartment with a chipped ceramic sink and condom wrappers littering the floor, but it sure wasn’t Wendy perched on top of the toilet tank, texting away on her phone.

“Thanks for freeing me.” She hopped off the toilet, inched past him and stepped outside, where she sucked in a breath of fresh air. “We should exchange phone numbers. If that happens again, I’ll be able to text you.” She marched to the truck, a strip of toilet paper stuck to the heel of her shoe fluttering in the air like a kite tail.

Her nonchalant attitude confounded Porter. Manipulating the jammed key was difficult when it was connected to a bike chain that had been padlocked to an old hubcap.

To hell with this. Cheetos Betty could figure it out. Porter replaced the outside knob then returned to the store. “I can’t get the key out of the lock. You’ll have to call a repairman.”

Betty’s head remained buried in the magazine, but she waved her orange fingers in the air, signaling that she’d heard him.

When Porter got into the truck cab, Wendy was working on her iPad. He glanced at the floor and noticed she’d removed the TP from her shoe. “I can’t believe it.”

She looked up from the screen. “Believe what?”

“You were just sitting there calm as can be, texting on your phone when I opened the restroom door.”

“I was making good use of the time by checking work emails.”

He stared, dumbfounded.

“I told you this isn’t a vacation for me, Porter. I have accounts that I need to manage while we’re traveling.”

“You’re a girl. You should have been distraught and panic-stricken.” And she was supposed to jump into his arms and smother his face with kisses of gratitude once he’d freed her—that’s how it played out in the movies.

“I’m not like most girls.”

No kidding. He started the truck, then merged onto the highway. “We’re not stopping again until we hit Durango or Silverton.”

“That’s fine.” Wendy set aside her iPad and dug through the bag of snacks on the seat. She unwrapped a candy bar and said, “You’re shaking your head again.”

“I’ll never understand women.”

“At least you’re smart enough to admit it. Most men assume women can’t function without them. The truth is we can do everything they can and often better.”

“I didn’t see you free yourself from the bathroom.”

“I would have figured a way out.”

“Okay, smart lady. If I hadn’t been there, how would you have gotten out of that jam?”

“I would have called nine-one-one.”

Porter shut up and focused on his driving.

* * *

THE TRUCK HIT a bump, and Wendy’s eyes popped open. “What happened?”

“Sorry. I didn’t see the pothole in the pavement,” Porter said.

She pressed the back of her hand against her mouth and yawned, waiting for her blurry eyes to focus. She wasn’t used to wearing her contact lenses more than ten hours a day. As soon as she arrived home from work, she switched to her glasses. “It’s late, isn’t it?”

“Almost ten.”

The cab was dark and she couldn’t make out his features, but she heard the frustration in his voice. Their unexpected delay at the gas station earlier in the afternoon had put a kink in his driving schedule.

“You didn’t actually plan on picking up the bulls tonight, did you?” The thought of the animals stuck inside a trailer until morning seemed cruel.

“No, but I wanted to have a little fun before I went to bed.”

“Do you always hit up the bars and women when you’re on the road?” She swallowed a groan. She was the same age as Porter, but she sounded like a crotchety old woman.

“As far as I know, when I’m off the clock it’s not against company policy to have a beer or a dance with a pretty girl. Do you have a problem with that?”

“Forget I asked.” Wendy wanted to get to the motel, enjoy a soak in the tub and then drift off to sleep—after she checked her email.

“If I go out for a beer, will the information end up in your report?”

“What do mean?”

“Are you documenting my after-hours activities on this trip?”

“No.” She tapped her fingernail against the armrest, willing the next ten miles to pass quickly.

“What do you do when you’re off the clock?” he asked.

She laughed. “When is that?”

“You don’t work 24/7...do you?”

“No, but there’s always email and phone calls to catch up on.”

“Surely your clients know you have a life outside of your job.”

“Maybe, but livestock disasters strike whenever and wherever with no respect for the human workweek.”

“There’s no blizzard or dust storm affecting cows or horses tonight. What do you say we stretch our legs and let loose for a couple of hours before we check into a motel?”

A couple of hours—was he nuts? “If you drink and drive, I’ll have to put it my report.”

He flashed his pearly whites. “Then I’ll be the designated driver.”

“Get serious, Porter.”

He frowned. “I am serious.”

She opened her mouth to argue with him but changed her mind—until she caught him shaking his head. “What?” she asked.

“It’s weird that you and my sister are friends.”

“Why is it weird?”

“Dixie was rebellious but I doubt you ever went against your parents’ wishes.”

She didn’t care for the critical tone in his voice, but bit her tongue. It would be cruel to argue that she respected her parents when Dixie and her brothers grew up without a mother and a father.

“Dixie gave my grandparents fits in junior high when she snuck off with Tanner Hamilton. They grounded her, but she kept leaving the house to be with him. My brothers and I followed her one night. Turns out she and Tanner had entered a dance competition and they were practicing in his family’s garage.”

Wendy knew that. “Glen Smith asked me to be his dance partner for the contest.”

“You snuck out of your house, too?”

She hadn’t dared disobey her parents. They would have been horrified if she’d met a boy late at night. She recalled sitting in the school cafeteria, listening to Dixie, Shannon and the other girls laugh and joke about the fun they’d had with the boys.

“I had to tell Glen I couldn’t be his dance partner.”

“Why not?”

She waved a hand in the air. “My parents wouldn’t have approved.”

“Did you have to follow a lot of rules growing up?” He chuckled. “Heck, after our grandparents went to bed at nine o’clock we’d sneak out and meet up with the Stockton brothers and party out in the desert.”

“No parties for me,” she said. Her parents hadn’t needed to set boundaries with her. The dos and don’ts had been implied. Come to think of it, Wendy couldn’t remember her father or mother ever raising their voices at her. Their preferred method of discipline had been giving her the look. The disappointment and censure in their eyes had affected her far more than if they’d grounded her.

“I think Grandma Ada and Grandpa Ely knew we ran wild after hours, but they were old and too tired to chase us down. And we never broke the law, except for the underage drinking.”

“Dixie doesn’t talk about your mother much.”

“She wasn’t around very often and when she was, she acted like one of us. I remember asking to borrow her car and she told me to check with my grandfather. It was as if she didn’t consider us her kids.”

“Dixie loved your grandmother.”

“Yeah, it was tough on her when Grandma Ada died. The two used to spend hours in the barn making soaps from the family recipes.”

Wendy wished she had a memory of doing something special with her mother—besides arranging flowers. But her mother and father were always busy in the shop. If Wendy had ever complained, her parents made her feel guilty, insisting they were toiling away for her future. It was difficult for her to be angry with them after they’d help pay for her college education.

“Who knows where I’d be now if I’d been raised by a mother and a father,” Porter said.

If you’d been raised by my parents, you wouldn’t have had nearly the fun you had on the farm. And I guarantee you wouldn’t be driving a livestock truck.

Hoping to divert the conversation away from her childhood, she asked, “What are your hobbies?”

“Just rodeo. There’s nothing like the rush of competing against a bull or bronc.”

“Dixie said you and your brothers used to sneak onto your neighbor’s property and ride his cows.”

“Fred Pendleton and his wife, Millie, never had kids of their own and they ratted on me and my brothers every chance they got.”

“What did your grandparents do?”

“Not much until Conway and Buck got caught letting Pendleton’s prized heifer out of the pasture. The old man called social services and told them that our grandparents were too old to raise a bunch of hooligans and we should be taken away from them.”

“That was mean.”

“A lady from child welfare services stopped by the farm and threatened to put us all in different foster homes and it scared us kids bad enough that we quit playing pranks on the neighbors.”

Wendy couldn’t imagine the Cash siblings being split up. They were a tight-knit family who looked out for one another.

“What kind of trouble did you get into during your teens?” Porter asked.

Wendy was embarrassed to admit she’d been a Goody Two-shoes. “I broke curfew once.” She’d been an hour late returning home from choir rehearsal. When she’d gone out to the school parking lot, she’d discovered a flat tire on her car. A teacher had offered to help, but she’d been determined to change the tire herself. The teacher had remained with her in the lot, cheering her on until she’d succeeded. And before he let her leave, he made her drive around until he was satisfied the tire wouldn’t fall off.

“Did your parents ground you?”

“No.” After she’d explained the emergency they’d understood. But they’d still given her that look because she hadn’t phoned them to say she’d be late.

“You felt guilty for weeks afterward.”

She laughed. “Yes.”

“I admit I was a goof-off in my younger years,” he said. “But I’ve changed.”

Wendy didn’t comment.

“Go ahead. Say it.”

“Say what?”

“You think I’m still a slacker.”

“I don’t know you well enough to make that judgment.”

“I’m sure Dixie shared enough stories about my exploits for you to form an opinion.”

“Dixie loves you, Porter. She believes all her brothers walk on water.”

“It would be nice if she let us know that instead of complaining about everything we do.” He grew quiet for a minute, then said, “One day I’m going to buy a ranch.”

“Where?”

“I’ve got my eye on a place in the Fortuna Foothills.”

“That’s a nice area.” Buying property in the foothills would require a large chunk of money, and she doubted Porter’s employment history of hit-or-miss seasonal jobs would convince a bank to give him a loan.

What if Porter was rustling bulls under Buddy’s nose and selling them on the black market in order to finance his dream? As soon as the thought entered her mind, she pushed it away.

“So what do you say?” he said.

“What do I say about what?”

“Having a little fun before we pack it in for the night?”

“It’s late. I’m not—”

“Ten o’clock isn’t late.” When she didn’t comment, he said, “C’mon. Let your hair down.” He nodded to the clip that pinned her hair to her head. “I’ve never seen you with your hair loose.”

“I wear it up because it’s cooler and it doesn’t get in my way at work.”

“If it’s a pain then cut it.”

Her long, silky hair was her best feature—according to her mother. “I’ve thought about it, but don’t men prefer long hair?” She winced. Porter would assume she was fishing for compliments.

“I can’t speak for every guy, but there’s more to a girl than her hair and makeup.”

That all sounded good but... “If you feel that way, why does Dixie believe you need to raise your standards and date women with brains, not—”

“Boobs?” He laughed. “I have nothing against serious girls, except that most of them don’t know how to have fun. All work and no play stinks.”

“Are you insinuating that I’m no fun?” she teased, knowing that it was the truth. The last time she’d goofed off with a guy had been in college, when Tyler had taken her to a miniature golf course.

“I’m not insinuating. I’m flat-out saying it’s so,” he said.

She’d show him she knew how to party. “Go ahead and stop somewhere.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

Two miles later Porter pulled into the parking lot of a bar.

“The place doesn’t look busy,” Wendy said.

“It’s a Monday night. Only the regulars will be here.” He got out, then helped Wendy from the cab.

“What’s the name of the bar?” she asked.

“The Red Rooster.” He pointed to the rooster weather vane on the roof of the building. And the black door sported the silhouette of a red rooster on it.

When they entered the establishment, a wailing soprano voice threatened to wash them back outside. Karaoke night was in full swing and a redhead in pink spandex and a rhinestone tank top belted out Patsy Cline’s “Walkin’ After Midnight” while a handful of men leered at her through beer-goggle eyes.

Porter grasped Wendy’s hand and led her to the bar.

A short man with a grizzled face and a potbelly stepped through a pair of swinging doors behind the bar. He wobbled over and asked, “Where are you folks from?”

“Yuma,” Porter said.

“I need to buy me a house down there. Can’t take the cold winters up here no more.” He slapped drink napkins on the bar. “What can I get you?”

“I’ll have a draft—” Wendy poked him in the side. “Make that a Dr Pepper,” Porter said.

“Scotch, neat, please.” She smiled at Porter’s wide-eyed stare. “You expected me to order wine?”

“Or beer. Where’d you learn to drink Scotch?”

“Most of my clients are men.”

“I guess there aren’t a lot of women running livestock ranches these days,” he said.

“There are some, but corporations are taking over the beef industry and family-owned ranches are disappearing.”

The barkeep delivered Wendy’s Scotch and she nodded to Porter. “He’s buying.” She tossed down the drink, then set the glass on the bar. “I’ll take another.” Two drinks would relax her. When the barkeep delivered her refill, her stomach had warmed from the alcohol and her ears no longer winced at the crazy lady singing another oldie but goody. After the second song the rhinestone beauty abandoned the microphone and a quarter found its way into the jukebox.

“Let’s dance.” Porter held out his hand.

Wendy finished her drink, then stood and swayed toward Porter. She braced her hands against his chest and closed her eyes. “Whoever built this place did a horrible job with the floors. They’re sloped downward.”

Porter’s chuckle drifted into her ear. Wendy could get used to having his hands on her. Standing this close to him, she noticed the bump on the bridge of his nose—he’d probably broken it roughhousing with his brothers. She shifted her gaze to his mouth. How would those masculine lips feel...? He lowered his head, closing the distance between their faces.

No. She pushed away from him and walked over to the stage. She picked up the microphone and tapped her finger against it, then jumped at the loud thump that echoed from the speakers on the floor.

“How does this work?”

Right then the song “Nine to Five” by Dolly Parton began playing and the screen hanging from the ceiling displayed the lyrics. Wendy made an attempt to sing along, but couldn’t keep up with the bouncing ball and sounded like an idiot. When the song ended, the group of men whistled. “Would you like me to sing another?” she asked.

“One song is enough,” Porter said.

“I wasn’t that bad, was I?” She looked at her fans. The men saluted her with their beer bottles.

“How about a game of darts?” Porter asked.

“I’ve never played before.” She accepted his help off the stage.

“I’ll show you how to hit the bull’s-eye.” He laid money on the bar and the barkeep handed them two sets of darts.

“Can I have the blue ones?” she asked.

“Sure.” Porter stood behind Wendy, grasped her wrist and raised her arm.

“What are you doing?” she whispered when his breath feathered across the back of her neck.

“Showing you how to throw.” He pulled her arm back and then thrust it forward. She released the dart and it sailed across the room, hitting the wall next to the board.

“You’re not a very good teacher,” she said, turning around.

“I’m better at other things.” The heat in his eyes stole her breath.

If you kiss him, you’ll compromise your investigation.

Right now she didn’t care about her job. All she wanted was to feel Porter’s mouth on hers.

He stepped back suddenly. “It’s late. We’d better go.”

Wendy followed, relieved one of them had come to their senses before it was too late—she just wished it had been her and not Porter.

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