You never forget your first cowboy

Eli Covington erased all traces of his cowboy upbringing to become a high-powered attorney. Then his father dies, and his brothers need him to rescue the family ranch. So, after fourteen years, Eli returns to the life he left behind—and the one woman he can’t resist.

Veterinarian Reagan Matthews was furious with Eli for leaving her all those years ago, and yet she was never quite able to let him go. Their attraction is as incendiary as ever, and Eli is very good at stoking the flames. But Eli doesn’t belong in her world, any more than Reagan belongs in his. So until Eli leaves for good, why not take her pleasure where she can? Pleasure only her cowboy can provide...

She should have said something...

Eli’s hands wove through Reagan’s hair and kept her face turned up to his. “You never have to apologize for looking at me, Reagan. Ever.”

“Things are different now, Eli. We both know it. If we can just get through—”

His hands tightened in her hair the second before his mouth crushed down on hers. Lips and teeth and tongue, all demanding and wanting and wet heat. She ached with need and hunger, ached in a way she’d forgotten she could feel.

Every thrust of his tongue demanded her response, refused to allow her to think, gave her no quarter except to touch him and move with him, to feel the hard muscle under his soft skin. She wanted everything he offered. Everything.

Reagan had missed this ravenous sexual ache; she’d hungered for this fire that branded her. It burned her from the inside out and turned her reservations to ash.

Eli freed one hand from her hair and, gripping her belt loop, yanked her closer.

And, God forgive her, she fell willingly into her first love’s embrace...

Dear Reader,

It’s with absolute pleasure I am able to introduce you to Harding County, New Mexico. It’s a land of grassy plains that give themselves up to the beauty of the Sangre de Christo Mountains, a range that is in some places sparse and in others the most beautiful country you’ve ever seen.

When his father passes away, Elijah, the oldest of the three Covington boys, comes home after fourteen years away. He’s reunited with the beautiful Reagan Matthews, the woman he loved and left behind—the only woman he’s ever loved. And it’s an emotional, passionate, thoroughly satisfying ride!

Having lived on a ranch myself in New Mexico after marrying my very own cowboy, I have to tell you that there are a few things in each of the Covington books that I’ve experienced firsthand, but I’m not telling which ones. Rest assured that every character and every situation is entirely a product of my imagination, though.

The one thing I can tell you with certainty? New Mexico’s cowboys are every single bit as sexy as anything Texas has turned out.

Happy reading,

Kelli

A Cowboy Returns

Kelli Ireland

www.millsandboon.co.uk

KELLI IRELAND spent a decade as a name on a door in corporate America. Unexpectedly liberated by Fate’s sense of humor, she chose to carpe the diem and pursue her passion for writing. A fan of happily-ever-afters, she found she loved being the puppet master for the most unlikely couples. Seeing them through the best and worst of each other while helping them survive the joys and disasters of falling in love? Best. Thing. Ever. Visit Kelli’s website at kelliireland.com.

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This book is for Vivian Arend, one of the absolute best mentors a writer could ever hope to find.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

Extract

Copyright

1

ELIJAH COVINGTON NEVER thought he’d find religion on a commuter flight, but when the tiny plane plummeted the last fifty feet to the runway, he prayed. Little more than a closed-cockpit crop duster, the little plane skipped down the cracked asphalt runway hard enough to compress his spine. He would have given anything for the firm’s corporate jet and his chiropractor right about then.

Of course, he should probably just be grateful they weren’t landing on a dirt strip. They’d had to circle several times while the neighboring rancher retrieved his cows from the runway. That had been bad enough.

The flight attendant made an inane joke at the pilot’s expense, but Eli only half listened. Thumbing his smartphone on, he waited for a signal. His service indicator showed a single bar. A single bar.

“I’m in hell,” he muttered, but that wasn’t true. Hell undoubtedly had better cell service.

Scrolling through emails, he ignored the flight attendant’s glare. He might have been obligated to come home to manage the distribution of his father’s estate, but that didn’t require he cut himself off from civilization entirely. With any luck, he could get to the ranch, go through the estate paperwork, file the will and be gone within the week. Had his old man been remotely organized, this could have been done by mail. And had the estate been reasonably solvent, they could have hired someone to manage the distributions altogether. No doubt, there wouldn’t be any money.

That had to be why his youngest brother, Tyson, had emailed and asked him to come home and handle estate “issues.” Otherwise? They never would have called him home. He’d have just received whatever his old man left him via certified mail.

Eli glanced out the window at the desert landscape. New Mexico always looked caught between centuries and droughts. The landscape was as foreign to him as Austin would be to his brothers. Here in Tucumcari, the wide plateau created a backdrop decorated with cedar shrubs, barbed wire fences and black grama grass. Cows outnumbered people twenty to one, and if you didn’t drive a pickup, you’d better be riding a horse.

The only beef Eli cared about was braised, his vehicle was an Audi R8 and the only horses that mattered were under the hood.

He’d always been the piece that didn’t fit this particular puzzle.

Elijah snorted and shook his head, pulling his small travel bag out from under his seat. Might as well get this over with.

Fifteen minutes later he was standing beside a tiny Ford Fiesta with a dented fender, an AM/FM radio and questionable air-conditioning. It was the better of the two cars available at the only car rental service in town.

“I’m in hell,” he repeated, struggling against a temper he’d all but mastered over the past fourteen years.

Fourteen years.

He’d been gone almost as long as he’d lived here.

Peeling off his Canali suit jacket, he tossed it across the passenger seat before folding himself behind the wheel. A generous layer of grit on the rubber floor mat ground under his heel. The little car shimmied as the four-cylinder engine sputtered and choked before it caught and, obviously under duress, whined to life.

The rental attendant tipped the brim of his hat in salute and wandered inside the tiny office as Eli drove away. He hadn’t remembered Elijah, or had pretended not to as a matter of convenience to avoid unnecessary chitchat. Small towns worked that way. You were either on the inside or exiled for life.

The next few days would be a lot of the same. Tight-knit communities were very unforgiving when one of their own escaped, and his leaving had been an escape. As well loved as his father had been, everyone saw his departure as a first-rate betrayal—oldest son to old man.

Elijah refused to feel guilty for wanting a different life, a better life. He had it now and hadn’t asked for handouts along the way. He’d earned his place, and he wasn’t sorry that place wasn’t here. With one exception...

Caught up in his own thoughts, he ran one of the two traffic lights in town.

An extended-cab four-wheel-drive pickup swerved, brakes chattering and tires squealing. It hit the curb, skipping up and over with a hard bounce before coming to rest in the hedges in front of the Blue Swallow motel.

Heart lodged in his throat, Eli shut the little car down and left it in the middle of the road, racing toward the truck. He couldn’t see anyone moving inside. Then a black-and-white head popped up and looked out the rear window.

A dog.

If anything, the dog seemed exhilarated at the wild ride, his feathery tail wagging with obvious enthusiasm.

Eli reached the driver’s side and found a cowboy-hatted individual slumped forward, forehead against the steering wheel, arms lax, hands resting next to trim thighs. A woman. He reached for the truck door. The dog objected, going from excited to back-the-hell-off between breaths. The animal crossed his owner and bared his teeth in a feral growl, blatantly daring Eli to open the door.

Not interested in losing any body parts, Eli knocked on the window hard enough to rouse the woman.

She rolled her head to the side, green eyes narrowed in an impressive glare. The moment those eyes focused on Eli, they flared with almost-comedic alarm. Almost.

Because his did the same thing.

Reagan Armstrong.

The one person he’d intended to avoid altogether stared at him in utter disbelief. Her mouth hung open in shock. She didn’t move.

History rose up between them, an invisible, insurmountable wall of differences that stole every word that might have allayed old hurts or bridged the gap of time to allow them to communicate. At least while he was here.

Leaning one arm against the truck’s door frame, Eli gave a small jerk of his chin. “Reagan? Lower your window.”

She mouthed something that, if it matched the look in her eyes, was seriously foul.

He was prepared for that. What he wasn’t prepared for was for her to shove the door open. The mirror folded as it nailed his shoulder. Then the hot metal of the door’s edge slammed into his sternum hard enough he wasn’t sure if he’d been burned or if the bone had cracked or both.

She spoke before her boots hit the dirt, her voice as smooth as the truck’s diesel engine. “Well, well. If it isn’t Elijah Covington. Or would that be Mr. Covington, Esquire, since you’re an Austin attorney now? Just what you always wanted—bigger, better and worlds away from here—so I suppose congratulations would be appropriate. I mean, you made it out, made your way and managed to break your word, all in one impressive feat.”

His brows drew together. “What are you talking about, ‘break my word’?”

“You said you’d come home. Promised, in fact. But I’d be willing to bet you hit the county line at a dead run and never thought about us again. Good on you, Esquire.” The last was offered with near indifference or would have been if she hadn’t begun to clap slowly for emphasis.

It was that last action that betrayed her, because, despite their fourteen years apart, Eli knew her.

The aged and seasoned hurt that lurked beneath the surface of her words sliced through his conscience with cold efficiency. He’d wanted her to come with him, but she’d made it clear her life was here. And his life could never be here.

“You knew we wanted different things. I was never going to fit in here. Not like you did. My dad. My brothers. Leaving was my only option. And I didn’t just skip out on you.” Running his hands through his hair, he huffed out a heavy breath. “Look, Reagan,” he started, and then the wind shifted, carrying her smell to him, all fresh-cut hay and sunshine on warm skin.

Overwhelmed with sensory memories, his gaze homed in on lips that parted in almost curious shock. And just like that, she was the girl he’d loved. And yet, with time and distance, she had somehow evolved into more.

She’d always been his sun, chasing away the shadows he hadn’t been able to banish himself. Unwelcome memories of yesteryear hovered at the fringes of his consciousness. He needed to touch her, needed the tenderness he’d always found waiting in her.

He closed the distance between them. His lips closed over hers and he pulled her into his embrace. The shock of cinnamon on his tongue told him she still loved Big Red gum, and the flavor transferred between them. Her lips were soft, pliable and so familiar his heart ached with the memories of a thousand and more shared moments. Being here, in New Mexico, didn’t hurt so much with her in his arms.

He wasn’t only “Covington’s oldest boy.” He wasn’t burdened with the unshakable disappointment his father had found in him. He wasn’t a failure of an older brother. He was Eli. Just Eli. And he could survive that.

His troubles became manageable as their tongues touched, tentative for the briefest moment. Then he took over the kiss. Dominating the moment, he took comfort in her nearness and yelped like a scolded pup when she bit his lip. Hard.

Parking both hands on his chest, she shoved and shouted, “What in the Sam Hill are you doing?” Eyes wild, she dragged a hand over her mouth. “You don’t waltz into town after fourteen years, run me off the road and then... You don’t... You can’t kiss me like...like...you ass!”

“‘Ass’? I kiss you and you call me an ass?” Eli’s lips thinned as his once-infamous temper, second only to hers and all but squashed under years of educational and professional training, raced forward like a laser-guided missile, target locked, impact imminent. “I’m going to point out the obvious here, Reagan. You kissed me, too.”

“I didn’t... That is... No. There was no mutual... No, I didn’t!” Chest heaving, she drove a finger into his chest. “Why are you even here? The funeral was two freaking weeks ago. You should’ve been here then. But you show up now, expecting everyone to bend to your expectations. That’s so typical, Eli. It’s always been the way you operate,” she snapped, backing up until she bumped into her truck. She hopped in, never taking her eyes off him. “You haven’t changed at all. You’re still smart as shit when it comes to business and dumb as dirt when it comes to people.”

“Hey,” he objected, but she powered on without pause.

“You’re too late to do any good, Eli, but, then, you taught me what to expect a long time ago. I’d truly thought you’d show for the funeral, though. For your blood.” She looked him up and down with a critical eye as she delivered the blow he should’ve anticipated but never saw coming. “I might have been your girlfriend once, but Cade and Tyson are your brothers, Eli. They needed you.” Her gaze met his, anger turning the normally moss green color of her eyes deep and vibrant. “They needed you here to help them manage the mess your old man left behind, but you clearly couldn’t put your high-society life aside for a few days to come home and help them out of the bind they’re in. You never could be bothered. Not for them. Not for anyone.”

She moved to slam the door, but he grabbed it, stepping close. “That’s why I’m here now—to probate my father’s estate. But that’s irrelevant. You don’t get to sit there in your shiny truck, that captain’s chair your personal throne, and pass judgment on me, Armstrong.”

Jerking away as if struck, she stared at him with wide eyes. “It hasn’t been ‘Armstrong’ for eight years. It’s Matthews. And to you? Dr. Matthews. Nothing less, and never, ever anything more. Now let go of the door, Eli.”

His hand fell away from the truck.

She’d married Luke Matthews. He’d had no idea.

The reality he’d likely see her and Luke together while in town made Eli’s stomach lurch up his throat until he seriously wondered if he might puke. Wouldn’t that be awesome.

Then there was the fact she was a doctor. From the size of her truck and the type of work boxes, he didn’t have to ask what kind. A vet. She’d always wanted to be a large-animal vet.

He cleared his throat once, then twice, before he managed to croak, “Great. Happy for you.”

Slamming the truck door shut, she made it a point to click the locks down. Couldn’t get much clearer than that.

Her dog whined loud enough for Eli to hear the cry over the soft rumble of the truck’s engine. Reagan absently soothed the animal, her hand shaking.

Eli could totally relate. Years in court had trained him to present a totally calm and controlled exterior under extreme pressure. That didn’t mean his insides weren’t rattling, though. The emotions buffering him now were both uncomfortable and unrecognizable. But there was no point examining them too closely. This visit didn’t center around assuaging years of curiosity and doubt; nor did it have anything to do with healing old hurts. It was about finally closing this part of his life. Permanently.

Swallowing his anger and determined to keep things civil, he motioned for her to roll her window down.

Green eyes that had always before met his with open trust and absolute passion narrowed and glared. She punctuated the stare with a one-fingered salute. Without waiting for him to move, she slammed the truck into Reverse and punched the accelerator.

He leaped aside with a shouted curse.

The truck surged off the curb, suspension squeaking in protest. She shifted the truck into gear and, leaning on the accelerator, she rapidly put distance between them.

The dog, its tail still wagging, watched him with open curiosity thought the rear window.

Closing his eyes, Eli parked his fists on his hips and let his chin fall to his chest.

What the hell am I doing here?

“Settling an old debt,” he answered quietly. He was here to make sure his brothers were okay. Yet according to Reagan, he was already too late for that.

Trying to wipe the unforgettable taste of her off his lips, he crossed the still-vacant street and crammed himself into the compact car before making a left and heading up Highway 54.

He was going to get this done and get gone. That would spare everyone involved any further awkwardness. Then he’d return to Austin, to the career he excelled at and the life he’d carved out for himself.

And Reagan was right. He wouldn’t look back.

* * *

REAGAN MATTHEWS MUSCLED her heavy-duty truck around the corner and shot down the highway as hard and fast as the GMC would go. She had to put distance between herself and that...that...man.

But it wasn’t just the man—it was the memories. She’d tried to put up a good front with Eli, to come across as both indifferent and controlled. Even she knew she’d botched it up and let emotion get the best of her. The apathy she’d dug for had been, at best, a shaky mirage. A strong gust of wind would have swept the bulk of it away, a million seeds of discontent that simply wanted answers.

But then he’d kissed her.

If her apathy hadn’t stood a chance against a simple breeze, it couldn’t hold out hope for survival when faced with the force of nature that was Elijah Covington.

He’d been the sole shareholder of her heart, the one thing she was sure she couldn’t live without. All those days spent at the river, just the two of them listening to music, talking, watching the sunset against the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. Then there were the nights. Hours spent stargazing and more hours spent discovering each other, learning the touches that elicited the most pleasure, the sensitive spots to kiss softly, the right time to love gently and the time to let it all go and be as wild and free as the world around them.

Then he’d left.

So many years she’d held out hope he’d come back. She’d been the talk of the town for so long, first with shared hope, then pity and then the fool who simply couldn’t let go of a man long gone. She’d never stopped loving him. She’d just stopped looking for him.

Reagan traced her numb lips with trembling fingers. Her chest had constricted to the point she couldn’t draw even half a breath. But her heart... She rubbed her sternum. Her heart hadn’t hurt this bad in years, and wasn’t that a testament to the way she’d lived her life.

She allowed reality to sink in, accepting that Eli’d had his arms around her again, and it had felt as familiar as it did foreign. 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 and winked, the picture of innocence. “You have another sandwich for a starving man, Mrs. Jensen?”

“You’re a menace to the female population,” Carol said primly. Still, she started to head for the house. “I’ll bring you a couple sandwiches. You want tea or lemonade?”

“Whatever you have is fine. I’d get it myself, but I’m too dirty to do much more than strip down and wash in the stock tank.”

Reagan hid her grin when Carol blushed.

Flustered, the woman fled.

“You’re a nuisance, Ty.” Reagan finished her sandwich and leaned against the corral fence, one boot heel hung on a rail.

“I’m harmless,” he countered, pulling his hat off and shaking out light brown hair darkened with sweat.

“You’re as harmless as a bad case of ringworm. Treatable, but still a pain in the ass.”

Denim-blue eyes sparkled with mischief. “Treatable, am I? Come over tonight and I’ll play patient to your doctor.”

Reagan pulled her vaccine gun out, the massive needle glinting in the bright sunlight. “Why wait? Drop your drawers, and I’ll take care of you right this minute.”

Ty blanched. “Not exactly the kind of action I had in mind if my pants came off.”

One corner of her mouth curled up. “Chicken shit.”

“Hey, if you weren’t so hot, I wouldn’t feel compelled to flirt.”

This time she laughed. “Ty, you’d flirt with an octogenarian if she was the only woman around. You can’t help yourself.”

His horse nosed him, shoving him toward her a step. “You know it’s all in fun.”

She waggled the vaccine gun at him and fought the urge to smile. “Only because my gun’s bigger.”

“That’s an unfair comparison. You’ve never seen my gun.”

“No offense, but I’m not interested in your caliber.” Her stomach tightened at the memory of just what caliber she had once been very interested in—the same caliber that forced her off the road only hours earlier. Keeping busy had helped her forget him, but now her mind raced.

Chewing her bottom lip, she glanced at Ty. “Today, in town, I...well, I was run off the road by...”

He scrutinized her, and Reagan wondered what he saw. When he sobered, she knew. The barbecue sandwich that had cut through hunger pangs only moments ago now sat like a lead cannonball in her stomach. She swallowed convulsively. It took a minute to work the question around the emotion lodged in her throat. “What’s he doing here, Ty?”

Dark brows winged down and he shoved sunglasses on to cover his eyes. “I asked Eli to come home for this thing involving Dad.”

Her chin snapped around. “Doesn’t the fact you had to ask him to come home tell you where he stands in all of this?”

“He should be here, Reagan. It’s his mess and his legacy as much as it is ours.” Full lips thinned. “Cade and I are going to need his help to sort out the mess Dad left us in. Our best chance at saving the ranch involves Eli...and you.”

The blood drained from her face at being paired, even loosely, in a sentence with Eli. “You can’t be sure your herd’s got Shipping Fever until the lab results come back and I get out there and look at the steer we drew from.”

“I grew up around this stuff. I know what it is.” He snorted and shook his head, hooking one arm through the pipe panel. “It’s going to ruin Dad’s perfect reputation.”

“He wasn’t perfect,” she said softly, remembering how Mr. Covington had always been so cold and rigid in his expectations of Eli. Those expectations had succeeded in driving Eli away for good, and she’d never forgive the old man for it.

Carol’s return with two sandwiches and a giant glass of lemonade interrupted the conversation. She’d also brought Ty cookies. “I thought you might want something sweet.”

Reagan fought the urge to steal a cookie.

As if the conversation hadn’t been deadly serious only moments before, Ty looked at the older woman and grinned wide enough to reveal a single dimple. “You’re an angel, Mrs. Jensen. You ever get tired of Mr. Jensen, you pack up and we’ll run away together.”

She flushed prettily. “You’re incorrigible, Ty.”

“Can’t blame a man for being attracted to a pretty woman...Carol.”

Reagan only half listened as Ty bantered with Carol and then a few of the day workers as he ate his sandwiches. She offered absent, one-word answers when someone said something directly to her, but she couldn’t manage to tease and joke in return.

“Hey.”

She glanced up to find her and Ty alone again. Coughing, she nodded. “Yeah.”

Ty ran a hand around the nape of his neck. “I probably should have warned you Eli was coming home.”

She winced at his name.

“I just wasn’t sure how to bring it up.”

She waved a hand in dismissal, but the words that matched the gesture wouldn’t come. Her chest was too tight. Shrouded in panic, she pushed off the fence. It had been years since this had happened, since she’d given in to the devastating loss that had changed the course of her life and affected every aspect of it, from what she’d taken in school to five years of marriage.

A hard gasp escaped her at the same time large hands spun her around. She said the only thing she could say to him. “Keep him away from me, Ty.”

“You want the Bar C to use Doc Hollinsworth? I don’t want to, but if you ask, I’ll do it.”

She swallowed convulsively. He was offering her a shameless out. All she had to do was seize it.

“You know we’re in trouble,” he continued. “None of us are sure just how bad it’s going to get, but I’ll wager my assless chaps it’s going to get ugly. We’ve got to have a vet on call. You know that, too. I can’t imagine Eli’s going to keep his share of the cows, even if they survive. Probably ship them off as soon as we can prove they aren’t infected. If that’s the case, I can try to put off getting the shipping papers until after Eli’s gone, maybe handle that part myself—me or Cade, anyway—and just send Eli the check.”

She straightened. “Call me when you’re ready. Hollinsworth isn’t half the man I am.”

Ty grinned, but it didn’t lessen the tight lines at the corners of his eyes or the crease between his brows. “Hell, Reagan, not many of us are.” Curling a finger under her chin, he nudged her face up. “You’ve managed really well.”

Her laugh was bitter. “Survival isn’t admirable, Ty. It’s the only option they ever left me with, him and Luke.”

“Luke didn’t die on you on purpose.”

She nodded, swiping viciously at the tears that fell for the loss of each man. “He might not have done it on purpose, but gone is gone. The only difference between Luke and Eli?” Backing away from Ty, she didn’t bother to try to hide her misery. “Luke didn’t have a choice. Eli did. But in the end? They both left me.”

Spinning on her heel, she called hoarsely for Brisket. The dog leaped into the truck bed, and she didn’t try to coax him into the cab.

Vaulting herself into the seat behind the wheel, she cranked the engine and took off, pretending not to hear Ty calling her name.

There was nothing left to say.

3

ELI MADE THE 120-mile drive to the Clayton County courthouse in average time considering his rental car was powered by little more than a two-stroke lawn-mower engine.

His first order of business was to determine whether or not anything had been filed on his old man’s behalf or—worse—against the estate. Nothing showed up, so he went through the rest of the probate process.

Privately, he was grateful for the mundane tasks. They kept his mind busy, kept him from thinking too much. He made the appropriate inquiries at the courthouse and filed the required documents as the estate’s representative. Then he’d gone to the newspaper to arrange for the mandatory ads to run in the classifieds. That done, he started for the ranch.

Less than ten miles from the courthouse, he was the only car on the highway. No surprise. The locals would consider traffic heavy if they passed a dozen cars. He was as far from Austin’s bumper-to-bumper lifestyle as he could get. Considering the clown car and his surreal surroundings, it was as if he’d been fired from civilization’s cannon into the wilds of wide-open space. Every instinct he had screamed the landing was going to suck. Bad.

The memory of Reagan—her summertime smell, her cinnamon taste, her feminine strength, her lean body—had haunted him all morning.

She’d always been at the heart of the community. It made sense, then, that she’d married the community’s son.

Everyone loved Luke. He was the kind who stopped to help a stranded motorist and not only fixed their car but topped off their gas and gave them food and a fresh set of directions before sending them on their way. Always neighborly, he’d be the first to volunteer for day work during shipping season. He’d be the last to leave. As a kid, every son had been compared to Luke—his dad had told him several times he would have preferred Luke as a son over him any day. Even Reagan’s mother had expressed her opinion, pushing her daughter toward Saint Luke—and away from Eli. She must have been overjoyed when Reagan married the right man.

Eli would put money on it the guy had evolved to the ultimate cowboy, the type of man every boy wanted to grow up to be. He and Eli had always been casual friends, but at the moment? Eli hated every damn cell in the man’s body.

Rolling the car window down, he breathed in the dry air. New Mexico’s unpopulated roads and wide-open spaces never failed to press their beauty on him without apology—right before they reminded him how insignificant he was.

He’d never been able to accomplish enough to stand out as his own man, always living in his father’s shadow. Never Elijah Covington, but always Max Covington’s boy. And even in that, the only thing that set him apart was that he was the eldest of the three. His greatest distinction was that he’d been his dad’s biggest disappointment. Never quite country enough, never quite smart enough, never quite proud enough of his name, just...never quite enough.

The only one who’d ever made him feel he was more, could be more, had been Reagan.

Seeing her today had shaken him. Hard. She’d been more beautiful than he remembered, those moss green eyes set in a deceptively feminine face. Most people just saw a pretty girl who’d make a good rancher’s wife. He’d always known there was far more to her than that. It had terrified him they’d both end up doing exactly what the community expected of them—him taking over his father’s ranching operation, and her staying on in the little town because she loved her man.

She had stayed, but not for reasons he’d ever understood.

Emotions whipped through him as unchecked as spring winds, tearing up certain pieces of his life and battering others until he was a mess of overlapping memories. When he finally reached the right road, Eli pointed the little car across the first of eleven cattle guard and started through the sand hills. It was a different world out here, yet nothing had changed. He could find his way through this alien landscape with his eyes closed.

Rounding a corner, he rolled to a stop. Cows blocked the road, completely unconcerned with either him or his cartoon car. Waving his arm out the window and shouting, pair after pair of huge brown eyes lifted to blink at him. He honked and snorted at the almost comical beep that made him think of circus cars that dumped out twenty clowns in the ring.

“I am not getting out of this car,” he shouted at them. Laying on the horn, he whistled and eased into the mass of bodies. Slowly, the herd began to move off.

Eli tunneled his fingers through his hair and fought the urge to turn the car around. He could get to Amarillo and catch a flight back to Austin tonight, be in his own bed by midnight and back in the office first thing tomorrow morning. And if it weren’t for the fact Tyson had asked for help, he would have done just that.

Damn it.

His youngest brother had never asked him for anything. Ever. The realization yoked him with heavy guilt. He’d do this for Ty and leave.

And what about Cade? his conscience whispered.

Oh, Cade had asked him for something once, had asked for the one thing he couldn’t give. He’d never forgiven Eli for saying no, either.

Eli whispered dire threats to the little car as it struggled up the final hill. It peaked and the world opened up. From the Sangre de Cristo mountain range to the west, the uninterrupted northern horizon and the plains to the east, open range spread before him with regal silence. His breath caught and his chest ached.

This would always be his place, his heritage and his home. But it seemed as foreign to him as another country, as if a passport should be required to visit his past. He was nothing more than a visitor and an unwelcome one, at that. Trying to ignore the undeniable beauty of the land and the way it called to him, soft and familiar, he put the car in gear, starting forward again. The car rattled over the washboard road. A bolt fell out from under the dash and clunked against the passenger floorboard as Eli’s teeth clattered together.

A dust trail caught his eye. Somebody was tearing through the sand hills. If Eli’d had a four-wheel drive, he would’ve ducked down a side road to avoid being seen. In this thing? He’d be dooming himself to walking, and it was way too far to the ranch to run the risk. Instead, he eased forward at the same time he rolled his window up. It would be easy enough to stay focused on the road and ignore whoever passed him. Might be the smartest thing to do, too.

He gained momentum heading down the hill, the little car bucking over the rutted road. A pickup truck roared by. Eli didn’t look up. Instead, he leaned on the accelerator, jaw tight, wheel strangled in a death grip. Habit had him flipping a hand up in absent greeting. Brake lights lit up the rearview mirror as the truck fishtailed to a stop.

Curiosity got the better of Eli. He slowed as he watched the driver’s side door swing open. The driver jumped down, boots stirring up small puffs of dust as he stormed toward the slowing car. Tall and clearly furious, the man yanked his hat off and tossed it aside without a care. Long legs ate up the distance between them. Lips thinned and eyes hardened the closer the guy came.

Eli let the car drift to a stop even as his stomach went into free fall. His mouth was so dry he couldn’t have share-cropped the space without subsidized water rights. Slipping the car into Park, he couldn’t make himself stop staring until the man was so close Eli could only see his torso in the little mirror.

Eli reached for the door handle.

The man beat him to it, yanking the door open. “Get out.”

Eli’s jaw set. “Out of the car or out of town?”

“Car first, town second.” The low voice was so raw it sounded like it had been dragged over sharp gravel.

His hands ached with the urge to clench into tight fists. “That’s not your call.”

Work-roughened hands reached into the car.

Shoving the man away, Eli lunged to stand. “What’s your—” A meaty fist connected with his jaw, whipping his head to the side. Stars exploded in his vision. Shaking his head, he rounded on the man, considering him through narrowed eyes. “What the he—” A short jab split his lip. “That’s. It.”

Eli threw himself into the fight. Grunting as the other man’s fist connected with his ribs, he spun and kicked out. He connected with a hip, forcing the bastard off him.

The man regained his balance and, chest heaving, charged Eli.

They went down in a heap, arms swinging and legs kicking as they pummeled each other for all they were worth. A hard shot to Eli’s temple made him see double. The guy grabbed him by the front of his oxford and twisted so he knelt over Eli, fist raised.

Eli set his jaw. He wouldn’t fight anymore. Not like this.

“You sorry son of a bitch,” the man gasped. “All these years. You been gone all these years. Why now?”

Eli swallowed hard. “It’s good to see you, too, brother.”

Cade Covington shoved off Eli, panting. “Can’t say the same.”

Seemed karma was determined to put the screws to him by dumping every ounce of history in his lap all at once.

Excellent.

Eli dabbed his split lip with his shirttail. “You still hit like a freaking truck.”

“You used to be faster.” Cade shook out his fist. “What’re you doing here, Eli?”

Cade’s tone was cold and Eli glanced at his brother. “Ty didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Cade asked, the words flat.

“He asked me to come home and probate the estate.”

His brother cursed, low and harsh.

“I’ll take that as a no.” Eli leaned against the little clown car and, one at a time, emptied his shoes of sand.

Cade turned away, his voice carrying on the wind. “I’ve got this covered. We don’t need your brand of help.”

The words hit Eli harder than any of Cade’s blows. He watched his younger brother, the middle of the three of them, retrieve his hat and head for his truck, his gait as long and sure as ever.

“I’ll see this through,” Eli called after him.

Cade shook his head, slapping his hat against his thigh as he paused beside his idling truck. “Why bother? You don’t want to be here, and we don’t want you. So just...go on. Get back to Austin and do whatever it is you do down there.”

Eli clenched his jaw so tight his molars ached. His nostrils flared on each exhale. “I have a client roster that proves I finish what I start.”

Cade settled his hat on his head and glanced over his shoulder. “A client roster, huh?” He shook his head and grinned sardonically. “And how many of those clients have you stuck by through the years, Eli? How many have you seen through the hard times because it was the right thing to do?” When Eli didn’t answer, Cade shook his head, grin fading. “They pay you to stick. You don’t do it because it’s the right thing, and that makes all the difference.”

“I’ve never walked out on my professional responsibilities,” Eli snapped.

“Then I can honestly say I wish we’d been professional associates instead of brothers.” Slamming the driver’s door behind him, Cade shifted the truck into Drive and took off.

Hurt and anger warred for dominance, an internal battle that bloodied Eli with every volley. Who the hell does Cade think he is?

The idea that he could leave this whole mess to someone else crossed his mind again. He could send a check to cover the attorney’s fees, let it be someone else’s headache. Epic temptation that it was, it would only reinforce Cade’s opinion that he didn’t care about his family.

Eli glared down the empty dirt road. He might be a lot of things, but a quitter? No. His leaving had been about survival and what was best for everyone. If Cade didn’t get that?

“Screw him.” Folding himself gingerly into the car, he winced as it gained speed and resumed rattling over the dirt road. Each jarring bump hammered every new bruise. By the time Eli reached Highway 102, he was pretty sure at least two fillings were loose.

He had no idea how he would manage staying at the ranch with Cade and Ty, but there wasn’t a decent hotel within a hundred miles. What there was would be historic—thereby archaic—and that translated to dial-up internet if he was lucky, rotary phones and curious proprietors. The ranch would at least have a rudimentary office. His brothers might not appreciate his presence, but one-third of the house was his, and he intended to put it to use before deeding it to them jointly. Breaking all ties with this place was long past due.

Eli buzzed by the ranch’s main gate. The black iron arch over the gate had the ranch’s name centered at the top arch, the family name below. Their individual brands were showcased on either side of the ranch name. His, the E-bar C, was to the right.

The battered mailbox stood weather-beaten and worn as ever. The red flag hung broken and listless, the ever-present breeze swinging it back and forth sporadically. Behind the mailbox stood the metal road sign—Road to Perdition.

He’d helped weld and post it with his old man’s help. He’d been...what? Eleven? Twelve? The irony had been lost on him at the time. Now? Now it just seemed prophetic. His mother had died two years later and cemented his understanding of perdition. Spiritual ruin. Utter destruction. Hell.

He passed under the sign and onto Covington land.

Tension built in knots across his shoulders, spreading down each side of his spine the farther down the road he went. Long-suppressed memories were close enough to the surface to shove into his consciousness. They dragged him through an entire lifetime of highs and lows that he’d lived in the measly nineteen years he’d been here. So much to remember. So much he wanted to forget. Too much to survive all over again. Shutting his thoughts out, he took in the landscape.

The range looked good. The pastures had benefited from heavier-than-usual summer rains, the black grama grass already heading out. To the west, the mountains rose in a wild spray of desert colors. Fences were tight. Windmills spun in lazy circles, pumping water in a slow but predictable push-pause, push-pause cadence. Yet for all that, something was wrong. It took him a minute to figure it out, but when he did, he felt like an idiot.

As pretty as everything appeared, the pastures were empty.

The ground around the stock tanks should have been soupy from cows stomping through the overflow. Not so.

Grass shouldn’t be thickening along livestock trails. It was.

The roads shouldn’t have been clear of cow pies and other evidence of a herd. They were.

This wasn’t the picture of a working ranch but rather an idyllic snapshot of grasslands. Postcard perfect.

His brows drew together. It was the end of the stocker/grower season. His brothers should be getting ready to ship the contracted stocker steers to the feed yards, yet there was no evidence of activity. Anywhere. Following the road toward the main house, his confusion increased when he found the fields closest to the place empty. That should’ve been where his brothers were holding the cattle and where the work was happening.

Trying to sort out what might have gone wrong, he suddenly recalled Ty’s email. His little brother had asked him to handle the estate’s “issues.” Eli had assumed his brother meant the difficulty of probating such a physically large estate without a will or, at the very least, without a sufficient will.

Then there was Reagan. She’d accused him of not being here to help his brothers.

Looking around as he pulled up to the main house, the inactivity made his skin tighten. The “issues” his youngest brother had mentioned were clearly going to be larger, much larger, than Eli had assumed.

He parked in the main house’s half-circle drive. His childhood home hadn’t changed at all, from the silver tin roof to the stone walls to the aged, wavy glass of the picture windows. The sense of familiarity sans family left him empty. Steeling himself, he stepped out of the car.

The first thing to strike him was the smell. Someone had cut hay, and recently. The rich, clean smell tickled his nose. Below that hovered the subtle, distinct aroma of ammonia that was inherent to large animals. The barn door squeaked as the breeze curled around the corner of the building to shove the door to and fro. And the sky—man, the sky was so much bigger and bluer than he remembered.

All of that he could break down and compartmentalize by sense. It was the massive quiet that demanded recognition, though, calling forward all those memories he’d been fighting to suppress. They echoed endlessly through the aching hollow of his chest.

Pocketing his keys, he dropped his bag and headed for the barn.

Somewhere nearby, a mule brayed.

Eli grinned. Before he’d left, Ty had been bottle-feeding a little jack. The thing had followed the kid around like a damn dog.

Not a kid anymore. Ty would have grown up while Eli was away. He wondered if Ty was half as big as his feet and awkwardness had forecast he’d be. A dull burn settled in his belly when he realized he might not recognize his little brother after so long.

Rubbing his abs, Eli slipped into the dim barn.

The smells of leather and horse sweat joined the mix, dragging his past forward. He’d lived out here as a kid. It had been the one place he’d been entirely comfortable, with the cowhands and the horses. Leaning into the tack room, he was surprised to see a few extra saddles. The ranch must’ve taken on more hands, but for what? With the empty fields, he couldn’t imagine there would be enough work to justify the number of saddles on pegs or money to pay them.

Several horses stuck their heads over their stall doors and peered at him, curious.

He ran a hand around the base of his skull and pulled. A cloak of unease settled around him. It had to be coming here, to the ranch. Back home.

A diesel engine rumbled into the yard and saved him from that particular train of thought. Avoiding that sentimental bullshit was beyond necessary. As it was, his life was far too close to turning into a country song full of loss and longing. Eli didn’t have room for those emotions.

And with Reagan married, he’d never chance that road again.

4

REAGAN PULLED UP in front of the southern corrals at the Covington place. Several trucks were parked at the bunkhouses, but she didn’t see Ty’s or Cade’s anywhere. She had expected she’d beat Ty to the Bar C, but she’d thought Cade would be around. As serious as things were likely to get, she couldn’t imagine the brothers would be too far out of pocket.

Grabbing the backpack she carried her paperwork and iPad in, she slid out of the truck. Brisket leaped down and trotted along beside her, eyes glued to her hands, as she strode toward the main bunkhouse. Chances were someone there would know where Cade had run off to.

“Can I help you?”

She stumbled to a stop. Numb, her hands hung at her sides. Her feet wouldn’t move no matter what she silently shouted at them.

“I asked if I could help you.”

She might have shaken her head. Could have been she was just shaking. She had no idea.

“Hey. I’m talking to you.”

That dark chocolate voice wound around her chest and tightened, and her heart suddenly didn’t have enough room to hammer so wildly. She wondered if it would break free of her ribs or just break. Are there even enough pieces left?

Brisket pressed up against her legs as he looked over his shoulder.

“That dog... Reagan?”

Steeling herself, hands fisting, she turned with incrementally small steps. “Yeah?”

“Why didn’t you answer me?” he asked, exasperation woven through the question.

She shrugged as she mentally reached for her pride. “I figured I’d weigh the odds of you assaulting me again if I turned around. But with Brisket out of the truck this time, I’m feeling lucky.”

He smiled slowly. “Feeling lucky, huh? I didn’t think married women were supposed to cop to that with another man.”

Ice lodged in her chest and her vision wavered through unexpected tears even as a fierce blush stole up her neck and across her cheeks. “Go to hell, Esquire. It’s right back the way you came, so you shouldn’t have trouble finding your way.”

The smile faded. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you earlier.”

His apology caught her off guard. Picking up her pack, she called Brisket to her as she started toward the bunkhouse again. “Stick with the insults. They go with the suit better than apologies.”

“I didn’t know you were married.” His irritation escalated with every word. “And stop calling me Esquire.”

She didn’t really want to be petty, fought not to smile. And lost. Pausing, she glanced over her shoulder. The smile morphed from snarky to humorless when their eyes met. “But it fits you so well. There’s the attorney thing, but there’s also the fact you’re out here—” she looked him over just as she had earlier, head to toe “—apparently rolling around in cow shit while wearing designer duds I bet were featured in your namesake’s magazine. Esquire, it is.”

“I don’t remember you being so bitter,” he said, absently brushing at his clothes.

“And I don’t remember you being so worried about how you looked or what people thought,” she volleyed.

Something wounded passed through his gaze. “Then you weren’t paying attention.”

The breeze shifted. Eli’s cologne carried across the air, teasing her with its rich, crisp scent. She drew a breath, intent on offering him a creative suggestion on what to do with his cuff links, but the words hung in her throat. Beneath the cologne was the familiar scent that was all him—midnight and dark promises and sensual heat.

She remembered the taste of his skin on her tongue, the half promise of heaven, half threat of heartache. The feel of his body wrapped around her. But the sound of his voice? That was all too real. It hadn’t changed, not with age and time or education. Not any more than the brutal, irrational desire she still harbored for him, desire she’d warred against so long...and lost every battle.

Uncomfortable with the way the conversation was devolving and scared he’d want to talk about the kiss, she faced him and put up her hands. “Enough, okay? Enough.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Fine. What are you doing out here?”

“I’m the Bar C’s vet.”

“And?” he asked, rolling his hand in a get-on-with-it gesture.

She hesitated. “If neither Cade nor Ty said anything about this, I’m not sure I should be discussing it with you.”

“I own one-third of this ranch, Reagan.”

“On paper, yes.” Shifting from foot to foot, she let her gaze wander, let it rest anywhere but on him. “But by operational standards, I believe you’d be considered an owner in absentia.”

“And how would you know the appropriate legal term?” His voice was lethally soft.

She finally met his gaze. “That’s between you and your brothers, Esquire.”

“So they called me home to officially shut me out?”

“If that’s what you think, what I said earlier about your intelligence in business is wrong. You’re dumb as dirt in that arena, as well,” she snapped. “How many ways do you have to hear that they need you, Eli, because I’m running out of ways to say it.” She sighed in the face of his silence. “Ty either called you home or he didn’t. He either asked for your help or he didn’t. But consider this, Eli. How often does a proud man go to his knees and plead for help from the one man least likely to give it?”

His visible flinch was followed by a wince as he touched his split lip. “Yeah, well, I don’t think Ty and Cade are seeing eye to eye on what they ‘need’ from me at the moment.”

Reagan stared at him long and hard, noting the split lip, the bruise beginning to blossom on one cheekbone, and the ripped buttons on his shirt. “Cade do that to you?”

Obviously watching her for a reaction, he blinked slowly. “What would you say if I told you I ran into Luke and he called me out on kissing you?”

Every ounce of blood left her face. Spots danced in her vision. She moved in slow motion, closing the distance between them and watching detachedly as her fist connected with his unbruised cheek. Observed his chin whip to the side with absolute indifference.

“What the hell!” Eli bit out, spitting fresh blood.

“You don’t talk about Luke. Never again.”

“I mention his name and you hit me?” The demand hung between them.

She met his angry stare, her own eyes flat. “Luke was killed three years ago.”

Eli’s mouth worked silently before he managed a gruff response. “Oh, shit. Reagan, I—” He reached for her, but she waved him off.

“Don’t.” She spun away and moved stiffly toward the nearest bunkhouse. Her voice hollow in her ears, she called back to him. “Tell Ty I’m taking a few men and heading out to pasture twenty-one.”

She battled against the urge to turn back to Eli, to lose herself in the comfort of his arms and the heat of his touch like she had all those years ago. The moment she’d recognized him in Tucumcari, she’d known with perverse certainty that nothing had changed. Eli had left her, broken her heart and left it an empty muscle, but his brand was still there, clear as day. She craved the sound of his voice, wanted his body against hers again and had the strongest...need to lose herself in him one more time.

But with Luke’s death hanging between them, it seemed as if it would be the ultimate betrayal of the man’s legacy. Luke had deserved better than she’d afforded him in life, and she hadn’t been able to give it. She’d damn sure try to do a better job after his death, no matter what her heart wanted.

* * *

EVERYTHING IN ELI had rebelled at Reagan’s admission. He crossed his arms tighter over his chest to hide its shaking and leaned against her truck.

She’d stared at him with that achingly familiar face, those stunning green eyes, her lean body backlit by the late-summer sunshine, and he’d realized she was as familiar as the landscape—and just as foreign.

Everything he believed about her had shifted when he’d discovered she was married. She’d stood up in front of God and everyone and committed her life. To someone else. But he’d said it himself—it had been fourteen years. Expecting her to wait when he’d given her no hope had been a kid’s dream. No more.

Yet, here he stood with every belief he had regarding Reagan changing all over again. He wanted to ask how Luke had died, but the words stalled deep in his chest. Death wasn’t so uncommon out here, but communities were small enough that losing one of their own was like losing a family member. And Luke had definitely been one of the community, their charmed favorite who’d never done anything wrong. Hell, he’d even got the girl.

Guilt swamped Eli at his disrespectful thoughts and he shoved off the truck.

“I’ve got to get my stuff inside,” he said to her retreating form. The urge to run, fast, hard, far, to push every physical limit he had, to go and go until he collapsed made his skin twitch and his muscles tighten even as his breath came shorter. He needed to get away from here. From her. He waited until he was sure his legs wouldn’t give out and then started for the house.

“Fair enough. I need to get the herds sorted as soon as possible. Tell Ty I’ll have the walkie-talkies.”

Eli stopped but couldn’t bring himself to face her. Instead, he focused on keeping his voice steady. “What’s going on, Dr. Matthews?”

Her breath might have hitched, but it could’ve been wishful thinking on his part.

She cleared her throat. “Ty really didn’t mention anything to you?”

“Apparently there are a lot of things Ty didn’t mention to me.”

He tipped his chin to his chest, ignoring the emotional hole rapidly unraveling in his chest. All of this—hurt, anger, regret...sweet heaven, the regret—was brought on by the simple sound of her voice, husky and made for whispers in the dark. “If it can wait, I’ll just get the news from him.” Cowardly, maybe, but too much had happened since he landed in Tucumcari, and he was pretty damn sure he’d reached his breaking point.

She hesitated. “I’m pretty sure it can’t wait.”

“That bad?”

“Yeah. I’m afraid it is.”

Closing his eyes, he gave her profile, just enough that she’d know she had his attention.

“Look, Eli, there’s not an easy way to say this. The Bar C is facing quarantine.”

Muscles across his shoulders tightened. “Pardon me?”

“You guys may have contracted Shipping Fever on a broad scale.”

“Shipping Fever?”

“Bovine Respiratory Disease—temp over 104, nasal discharge, dull eyes, diarrhea, stumbling about, muscle wasting. You’ve been gone more than a decade, Eli, but I’m sure you remember how the disease appears and what it can do to a ranch, or even a region, if it’s not contained.”

He blew out a hard breath, ignoring the barb. “How’d the Bar C herds come down with it? It’s the wrong time of year for Shipping Fever. All the stocker cattle should have arrived months ago.”

She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “The ranch recently bought some new replacement heifers of its own. Then there are the late stockers taken on. With the drought and prices high as they are, the ranchers who do have grass can feed through the winter and demand premiums. It’s messed up the delivery schedules as stockers and feed yards vie for the best growing environment for their steers.” She chewed on her bottom lip for a second and then continued. “Everything that came onto the Bar C had health papers—I checked them all—but logic says the disease somehow originated in the new heifers. If it originated with Bar C’s stocker cattle, that’s one thing. If it’s because of the ranch’s new stock...”

She didn’t finish, but Eli didn’t need her to. If the Bar C’s own cattle had infected those they’d been contracted to put weight on through the year, the liability would destroy the ranch. The ranch would be quarantined. The cows that didn’t die wouldn’t do well this year. That meant low revenue. Worst-case scenario would be a huge die-off that would force the ranch to compensate the brokers and owners for the casualties. That would permanently shutter the Covington operation.

He gave a single nod. “I’ll tell Ty where you’ll be. Four-wheelers or horseback?”

“Horseback. I want to keep from spooking the herd any more than necessary. I’ll take one of Cade’s horses. We’ll trailer them as far as we can to save time, and we’ll ride on from there.”

Eli nodded and she walked away without another word.

He grabbed his travel bag and then took the porch steps two at a time. Pausing at the door, hand resting on the iron doorknob, he hesitated. Then he depressed the lever, the door swung in and nostalgia claimed him, reeling him across the threshold like the catch of the day.

The inside of the house still smelled like lumber, wood smoke and leather. Wide-planked floors were scuffed and marked by age and heavy use. His old man’s recliner still sat in the corner as if waiting on Max himself to pull up a seat at the end of the day. Curtains his mother had made still framed the window, threadbare with time. A pellet stove had replaced the archaic potbellied beast in the stone fireplace. Leather sofas and club chairs were scattered around the room in a haphazard way that announced “bachelor pad” as efficiently as did the abandoned boots near the door and the boxers on the coffee table.

Eli wove through the room and down the hallway to the stairs. Taking a deep breath, he opened the basement door. These he took one at a time. The air was cooler with a bite of dampness to it. He used to love it, especially in July’s heat. Breathing faster, he crossed the family room and stopped outside a familiar wooden door. Twice he reached for the handle only to stop. It was stupid, really. Nothing on the other side of the door changed anything about who he was now.

He traced his fingers over the rough-hewn pine door. How many nights had he spent in this basement? How many nights had he sworn that he’d find his way out of a life that had never fit him no matter how he twisted or stretched it as he tried to fill his old man’s expectations? How many times had he imagined how fulfilling it would be to make it on his own and force his dad to be proud of him? The answer was the same for every question: too many.

On a sigh, he shoved off the casing and stood. One silent twist of the doorknob and the door swung open without a sound. His past crashed into him. Shallow shelves held trophies from FFA and 4-H and high school sports. Laminated newspaper clippings were tacked to a small corkboard exactly as he’d left them. His bed was made. That was different. Looking closer, he realized the room was clean. No dust, no cobwebs, nothing out of place. He was suddenly nineteen all over again and awkward with it. All of the familiar, unwelcome insecurities were still there, waiting, still unresolved after all these years.

Crossing the threshold, his heart stopped. There, on his nightstand, was his favorite picture of his mother. She smiled out at him. Even though her dark hair had been burnished by sunlight in the picture, time had faded the effect. Still, he could remember the way she appeared. The love on her face still radiated from the photo, though. In spades. The years had passed, indifferent to his family’s grief at the loss of her, but not even time could change how much Eli’d loved her. Nothing could.

He traced the face in the photo and imagined he could still hear her puttering around upstairs. “I miss her, too.”

Eli dropped the picture and the glass frame shattered. “I—” He glanced at the picture and back to the door, where a large man filled the doorway. “Tyson?”

“I don’t remember her as well as you and Cade, but it was still hard to lose her.”

His youngest brother was now definitely not the littlest. He was a couple of inches taller than Eli’s own six feet two inches and clearly comfortable in his skin as he moved into the room. “Grown a bit since you last saw me.”

Backing up, Eli stepped on the broken glass and winced at the sound.

Tyson paused, his brows winging down. “What the hell happened to your face? You look like someone dragged your ass down the runway. You do know you’re supposed to stay inside the plane until it comes to a complete stop at the gate, right?” He snorted. “And here I figured you were the debonair, well-traveled brother.” Stepping across the small room, he wrapped Eli in a rib-cracking hug. “It’s so good to see you, man.”

Eli wasn’t sure what he’d expected from his little brother, but given the brutal reception he’d gotten from everyone else, it definitely wasn’t this.

He wanted to hug Ty back. He wanted to put distance between them. He wanted someone to shock his heart back into a normal rhythm.

Instead, for just a second, he reveled in a brother’s love.

* * *

REAGAN AND THREE of the ranch hands trailered their rides as far northeast as they could go on the Bar C. Unloading at the gate to the last pasture on the place, she tossed walkie-talkies to each man and left one in the truck in case Ty or Cade showed up and needed to contact them. Mounting one of Ty’s geldings, she adjusted her stirrups and checked her saddlebags. Everything was there, from medical supplies and antibiotics to a pistol for animals that were suffering and beyond help.

Coiling her rope and securing it to her saddle, she whistled for Brisket and headed for the gate. The dog slipped in close, trotting along to keep up.

The men followed in a tight group. Jake Peterson, the most seasoned of the men and another childhood friend of hers, moved up beside her. “How far out do you think the cows’ll be?”

She glanced at the midafternoon sun. “I’m hoping we find them in the front half of this pasture. If not, it’ll mean getting a chopper out here to push them toward us, and that’s not cost effective. It’ll also stress them out more than they already are. We’ll save it as a last resort.” Leaning forward, she tightened her saddle’s cinch without stopping her horse. “Regardless, we’ve got to do whatever it takes to get this contained, Jake.”

He settled his hat more firmly on his head and frowned. “This is going to be bad, Reagan, isn’t it?”

“Let’s not borrow trouble,” she said softly, eyes on the horizon.

“No need to borrow when the coffers are full.”

She snorted. “Aren’t you a bundle of joy today?”

“Just worried. Forgot my canteen. Be right back.” He wheeled his horse around and galloped off.

The soft voices of the other men around her and the methodical clop of horse hooves were almost carried away by the sound of the wind whispering through the grass. Being out here on horseback with nothing but the sky above her and the power and potential of one of Ty’s cutting horses beneath her proved spiritually cathartic. She hadn’t realized how much she’d truly needed the privacy to process the day’s events.

Never in a million years would she have suspected today would be the day she ended up facing off with Eli Covington. So much history. So much hurt. She had no idea how she was going to survive the next week or two as she did what she had to do, and he did the same. He’d want the estate probated as quickly as possible. That made sense. But if this was truly Shipping Fever, it was the worst case she’d ever heard about. She’d have to get the state vet involved.

Wanting more distance, she urged her horse into a swift lope. No doubt the men would catch up, but she’d have a few minutes to herself to just breathe. She never expected the tears that first caught up and then overran her.

Leaning over the saddle, she spurred the horse into a dead run. Ghosts of the past chased her across the plains, nipping at her heels. Their teeth had been finely honed on the sharp clarity of memories she’d once cherished and now resented. Every touch, every kiss, every promise they’d made—every promise they’d broken—it all rushed over her in a ruthless barrage of brilliant recollections. But the taste of him today... It had broken the fragile levee she’d finally managed to build to keep her feelings contained.

The wind whipped her hat off her head. She didn’t slow down. If anything, she urged her horse faster, then faster still. Giving him his head, she buried her face in his mane and just held on. A harsh sob escaped as years of blinding heartache flooded through her.

Hoofbeats thundered up behind her. Sitting up, she scrubbed one hand over her face and fought to catch her breath. No one would say anything, but there would be curiosity. And out here, curiosity led to speculation, which led to probabilities, which led to the birth of the most insane gossip. She didn’t want to suffer through it. Particularly not with Eli in town.

It had been bad enough when Luke had died. For months, all she’d heard were condolences. The sentiments had been heartfelt, yes. But they’d all been as empty to her as her bed had been at night. No casserole, phone call or sympathy card could take the place of the man who had loved her for five years. She’d learned to hear the words without listening, without assigning them value.

A broad hand reached for her reins.

Sitting deep in the saddle, she parked her feet in the stirrups and shut the horse down. Like the brilliant athlete he was, the horse sat on his hindquarters and slid to a hard stop. Barely winded, he righted himself and stood waiting, ready.

Ty spun his horse and trotted up to her, her hat in hand. He offered the Stetson without comment.

She accepted it, absently reshaping the brim.

“You were running as if the hounds of hell were hot on your heels.” Reaching out, he grabbed her wrist. “I checked. No hounds. What’s going on?”

Her smile was wobbly as she drew a deep breath and blew out hard enough to puff her cheeks. “I’m good.” When he arched a single brow, she nodded quickly. “Honest.”

“Don’t ever bullshit a bullshitter, Reagan. What happened?”

The noise that escaped was half laugh, half sob. “I thought, just once, I’d indulge myself and try to outrun a past I can’t seem to escape. That’s what happened.” Slapping her hat on her head, she realized the group was quickly catching up. She glared at Ty. “Not a word, Ty. Not to anyone.”

“You should probably know that I, uh...” He tugged at his collar and whipped his head to the side, popping his neck.

“Know what?” she asked with a snarl.

“That he brought me along.” Eli had stopped several feet away, his eyes hidden by reflective sunglasses. He’d changed into jeans and a pair of beat-up boots she recognized from years past. His shirt was clean but wrinkled.

“Great.” How much had he heard? Whatever it was, she couldn’t take it back. Instead, she stared at the very man she’d so wanted to avoid. “Been a while since you’ve sat a horse, Eli. Do your best not to fall off, would you? Earlier, it seemed you’d already taken the opportunity to roll around in shit. Once a day is our limit out here.”

Tyson barked out a laugh. “You rolled around in shit? Where was I?”

Eli never took his eyes off Reagan when he answered. “You missed Cade taking it upon himself to reintroduce me to his fists.”

Ty sobered instantly. “So you didn’t jump from the plane?”

“No.” He shook his head, his eyes still on her. “While I’m flattered you’re worried about my well-being, don’t bother. I can take what you dish out, Dr. Matthews.”

Ty sobered instantly. “That’s right. She said you knew about her marrying Luke and—”

“The marriage. Nothing more, Ty, and I insist it stay that way.” Reagan reined the horse to the side with a heavier hand than necessary. The animal protested by tossing his head and crow hopping. She settled him down and pointed him toward the northeast again. “Chances are, the herd has holed up out here where they can be sick and miserable without human intervention. I want to get to them as quickly as possible. Either keep up or go home, Esquire.”

“You’ve gotten bossy as hell,” Eli muttered.

“And you’ve got a great manicure. Your point?”

Ty bit his lip and nearly choked on his laughter.

“You always were a smart-ass.” Eli coiled his rope with a practiced ease that made her fight the familiarity of him. “Some things never change.”

Settling her hat tight, she forced herself to calm down or she’d transmit her tension to her mount. “True, but some things, and people, do. Don’t pretend to know who I am anymore, Eli.”

Clucking at the gelding, she slipped into an easy lope.

The sooner she got this job over with, the sooner she could get home and start piecing her life together again. But after Eli’s reappearance, it was going to take more than all of her life experience and surgical skill.

It was going to take a miracle.

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