A Cowboy Comes Home (3 page)

“You’re getting it, anyway, neighbor.”

“There isn’t actually a badge, you know.”

“I want him back, too.”

It wasn’t that Caleb had an interest in ferrying Reed back to Lyndon Valley. He had an interest in the Terrell ranch no longer being his problem. And there was more than one way to accomplish that.

“I could sell the place,” he pointed out.

She stiffened, drawing back in obvious astonishment. “You wouldn’t.”

“I could.”

“I won’t let you.”

The threat was laughable. “How’re you going to stop me?”

She lifted her chin. “I’ll appeal to your honor and principles.”

“Fresh out,” he told her honestly, his desire for her starting a slow burn in his body. There was certainly no honor in lusting after his brother’s neighbor.

She shook her head in denial, the tip of her tongue touching her bottom lip. “You’re here, aren’t you? You came all the way out here to give the ranch back to Reed. You can’t undo all those good intentions because you’ve been slowed down by a day or so.”

Caleb hesitated. The faster the better as far as he was concerned. “You think we can find him in a day or so?”

“Sure,” she said with breezy conviction. “How hard can it be?”

Caleb wasn’t touching that one.

But the flash in her eyes told him she’d heard the double-entendre as clearly as he did. She held up a warning finger. “I told you not to get any ideas.”

“You have a vivid imagination.”

“And you have a transparent expression. Don’t ever play poker.”

“Well, not with you.”

“So, you admit I’m right?” Her expression held a hint of triumph.

“I can control myself if you can.”

“There’s nothing for me to control.”

“You think I’m hot,” he reminded her.

“When I was thirteen and underage.”

“You’re not underage now.”

She pointed to him and then back to herself. “You and me, Caleb.”

Sensual anticipation shot through his chest.

But she wasn’t finished speaking. “Are going to find your brother, give him back his ranch and then go our respective ways.”

Caleb squelched his ridiculous disappointment. What had he expected her to say?

Two

H
aving escaped to the Terrell’s front porch and perched herself on the railing, Mandy tried not to think about the sensual awareness that flared inside her every time Caleb spoke.

And when he’d hugged her.

Hoo boy. She fanned herself with her white Stetson, remembering the tingling sensation that flowed across her skin and the glow that had warmed the pit of her stomach as he’d pressed his body against hers. Though the brothers were twins, she’d never felt anything remotely like that in a hug from Reed.

She heard the sound she’d been waiting for and saw a Jacobs ranch pickup truck careen up the driveway. She stuffed the hat back on her head as the truck caught air on the last pothole before spraying gravel while it spun in the turnaround and rocked to a halt. Two Jacobs ranch hands exited the passenger side, giving her a wave as they headed for the barn, while her brother Travis emerged from the driver’s, anchoring his worn hat on his head and striding toward her.

“And?” Travis demanded as he approached, brows going up.

Mandy jabbed her thumb toward the front doorway just as Caleb filled the frame.

At six-two, with long legs, all lanky muscle, Travis easily took the stairs two at a time.

“Came to see for myself,” he told Caleb, looking him up and down before offering his hand.

Caleb stepped outside and shook it, while Mandy slid off the rail, her boot heels clunking down on the porch.

“Good to see you, Travis,” Caleb offered in a steady voice.

“Figured Seth had to be lying,” said Travis, shoulders square, gaze assessing. “But here you are. A little uptight and overgroomed, but at least you didn’t go soft on us.”

“You were expecting a pot belly and a double chin?”

“And a pasty-white complexion.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

Travis shrugged. “What brought you back?”

Caleb’s gaze slid to Mandy.

Travis glanced between them. “What?”

Caleb hesitated, obviously debating whether or not to reveal the information about the will.

“Travis can keep a secret,” Mandy offered, moving toward them. Her family would be in a better position to help Caleb if he’d be honest with them.

Travis tipped his chin to a challenging angle, confronting Caleb. “What did you do?”

“Nothing,” Caleb stated levelly. “I’m solving a problem, not creating one. But I remember gossip spreading like wildfire around here.”

“Welcome home,” Mandy put in, struggling to keep the sarcasm from her voice.

Caleb frowned at her. There was nothing salacious in his expression, no inappropriate message in his eyes. Still, the mere fact that he was looking at her sent a flush across her skin.

“Come back to dance on your daddy’s grave?” Travis asked Caleb.

“You want a beer?” Caleb offered. Surprisingly, there was no annoyance in his tone at Travis’s crass remark.

Mandy took the opportunity to escape from Caleb’s proximity again, passing through the doorway and calling over her shoulder. “I’ll get them.”

She headed straight down the hall to the kitchen at the back of the house, shaking off the buzz of arousal. There was no denying the chemical attraction between her and Caleb, but that didn’t mean she had to give in to it. Sure, he was a great-looking guy. He had an undeniably sexy voice, and he could pull of a Saville Row suit.

She had no doubt he’d look equally good in blue jeans and a Western-cut shirt. When they’d hugged, she’d felt his chest, stomach, thighs and arms, so she knew he was rock-solid with muscle. Whatever he’d been doing in Chicago for the past ten years, it wasn’t sitting behind a desk.

She checked the wayward track of her brain and extracted three bottles of beer from the refrigerator, heading back down the hall.

When she arrived on the porch, Caleb had obviously brought Travis up to speed on the will. The two men had made themselves comfortable in the painted, wood-slat chairs. Mandy handed out the beers, her fingertips grazing Caleb’s as he accepted his. She refused to look in his eyes, but the touch sent an electrical current coursing the length of her arm.

She backed away and perched herself on the wide railing, one leg canted across the rail, the other dangling between the slats.

“Just when you think a guy can’t get any nastier,” said Travis, twisting off the cap of his beer bottle.

Caleb took a swig of his own beer. “Only Wilton could screw up our lives from the grave.”

Mandy had to agree with that. It looked as if Caleb’s father had deliberately driven a new wedge between his two sons. The only way to repair the damage was to tell Reed about Caleb’s offer to return the ranch.

“How are we going to find him?” she asked.

“We won’t,” said Travis, “if he doesn’t want to be found.”

“Probably doesn’t,” said Caleb. “Which means he’s finally come to his senses and left this place in his dust.”

“He thinks you’re stealing his ranch,” Mandy corrected, her voice rising on the accusation.

“Then why didn’t he call me and talk about it? I’m listed.”

“He probably thought you’d gloat,” she guessed.

“Your faith in me is inspiring.”

She hadn’t meant it as an insult. “I was speculating on what Reed might think. I wasn’t saying what I personally thought.” She took a swig of the cold, bitter brew. It wasn’t her favorite beverage, but sometimes it was the only thing going, so she’d learned to adapt.

“You thought I was going to keep the ranch,” Caleb reminded her.

“But I believed you when you said you wouldn’t,” she countered.

“You want points for that?”

“Or a merit badge.” The joke was out before she could stop it.

Caleb gave a half smile. Then he seemed to contemplate her for a long, drawn out moment. “I should just sell the damn thing.”

“Well, that would be quite the windfall, wouldn’t it?”

“You think I’d keep the money?”

She stilled, taking in his affronted expression. Oops. She swallowed. “Well…”

Caleb shook his head in obvious disgust, his tone flat. “I’d give the money to Reed, Mandy.”

“Reed wants the ranch, not the money,” she pointed out, attempting to cover the blunder.

“Then why isn’t he here fighting for it?”

“Excellent question,” Travis jumped in. “If it was me, I’d fight you tooth and nail. Hell, I’d lie, cheat and steal to get my land back.”

“So, where is he?” Caleb’s question was directed at Mandy.

“I’m going to find out,” she vowed.

Two days later, Mandy was no closer to an answer. Caleb, on the other hand, was moving his alternative plan along at lighting speed, having decided it was most efficient for him to stay on the ranch for now. He had a real-estate broker on retainer, an appraiser marching around the Terrell ranch and a photographer compiling digital shots for the broker’s website. He’d told her that if they didn’t find Reed in the next few days, the ranch was going on the market.

Trying to keep her activities logical and rational, despite the ticking clock, Mandy had gone from checking Reed’s web-browser history for hotel sites, to trying his cell phone one more time, to calling the hospitals within a three-hundred-mile radius, just in case.

At noon, tired, frustrated and hungry, she wandered into the Terrell kitchen. She found a chicken breast in the freezer, cheese in the refrigerator along with half a jar of salsa, and some tomatoes, peppers and onions in the crisper.

Assuming Caleb and the appraiser would be hungry when they finished their work, she put the chicken breast in the microwave and set it to defrost. She found a thick skillet, flour, shortening and a rolling pin, and started mixing up a batch of homemade tortilla shells.

When Caleb walked in half an hour later, she was chopping her way through a ripe tomato on the island’s counter, the chicken frying on the stove.

She glanced up to see Caleb alone. “Where’s the appraiser?” she asked.

“On his way back to Lyndon.”

“He wasn’t hungry?”

Caleb snagged a chunk of tomato and popped it into his mouth. “He didn’t know there was anything on offer.”

“You didn’t offer to feed him?” It was more than two-and-a-half hours back to Lyndon.

“I didn’t think it was worth the risk.”

She gave him a perplexed look.

“I don’t cook,” he clarified.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She turned her back on him to flip the last of the tortillas frying in the pan. “Everybody cooks.”

“Not me.”

She threw the vegetables in with the chicken. “How is that possible? You said you lived alone. Please, don’t tell me you have servants.”

“I don’t have servants. Does anybody have servants in this day and age? I live in a high-rise apartment in downtown Chicago. I’m surrounded by excellent restaurants.”

“You eat out every night?” She couldn’t imagine it.

“I do a lot of business over dinner,” he told her easily. “But most of the restaurants in the area also offer takeout.”

“It’s hard to believe you survive on takeout.” She turned back, returning to chopping the tomato on the island. How could he be so fit eating pizza, burgers and chicken?

“There’s takeout. And then there’s takeout.” He spread his arms and rested the heels of his hands against the lip of the granite countertop, cornerwise from where she worked. “Andre’s, around the corner from my apartment, will send up filet mignon, baby potatoes in a sweet dill sauce and primavera lettuce salad with papaya dressing.”

Suddenly, her soft-taco recipe seemed lame. She paused. “You must make a lot of money to afford meals like that.”

He was silent for a long moment, and she quickly realized her observation had been rude. It was none of her business how much money he made.

“I do okay,” he finally allowed.

“Tell me something about your job.” She tried to graciously shift the subject.

She also realized she was curious. What had happened to the seventeen-year-old cowboy who landed in Chicago with nothing more than a high school education. It couldn’t have been easy for him.

“The company’s called Active Equipment.” He reached out and snagged another chunk of tomato.

She threatened him with her chopping knife.

But he only laughed. “We sell heavy equipment to construction companies, exploration and resource companies, even ranchers.”

“So, like a car dealership?”

“Not a dealership. It’s a multinational corporation. We manufacture the equipment before we sell it.” With lightning speed, he chose another piece of tomato from the juicy pile and popped it into his mouth, sucking the liquid from the tip of his finger.

“There’s not going to be any left for the tacos,” she warned.

“I’ll risk it.”

“So, what do you do at this corporation?”

Caleb swallowed. “I run it.”

“What part of it?”

“All of it.”

Her hand stilled. “You run an entire corporation?” He’d risen all the way to the top at age twenty-seven? That seemed impossible.

“Yes.”

“I don’t understand.”

He coughed out a laugh. “I’m the president and chief executive officer.”

“They gave you
that
many promotions?”

“Not exactly. They let me run things, because they have no choice. I own it.”

She set down the knife. She couldn’t believe it. “You
own
Active Equipment?”

He nodded.

“How?”

He shrugged. “Hard work, intelligence and a few big financial risks along the way.”

“But—”

“You should stop being so surprised that I’m not a loser.”

He paused, but she didn’t know how to respond to that.

“Though it’s true that I can’t cook,” he allowed with a crooked smile. “I guess I concentrated on the things I was good at and muddled my way through the rest.”

“With filet mignon and baby potatoes. Poor you.” She kept her tone flippant, but inside she acknowledged he was right. She should stop being so surprised at his accomplishments.

“It wasn’t always that way,” he told her, tone going more serious. “In the beginning, it was cheap food, a crappy basement suite and two jobs.”

Then he straightened his spine, squaring his shoulders. “But I was never coming back here. I’d have starved to death before I’d have come back to Wilton with my tail between my legs.”

She found her heart going out to the teenager he’d been back then. “Was it that bad? Were you in danger of starving?”

His posture relaxed again. “No real danger. I was young and healthy. Hard work was good for me. And not even the most demanding bosses could hold a candle to Wilton Terrell.”

She retrieved the knife and scraped the tomato chunks from the wooden cutting board into a glass bowl. “So now, you’re a self-made man.”

“Impressed?”