A Real Cowboy Knows How to Kiss (2 page)

And now, here he was. It had been only a few months since he'd almost died, a hellish period that had involved post-surgical complications and a second surgery. But now he was finally standing outside the prison he'd never thought he'd leave alive.

He was sure she'd said something about a woman. What woman? He needed to ask her. He needed to know, because otherwise, the fact he was still breathing made no sense.

Ignoring the pain from both the stab wound in his left side and the incision bisecting his stomach, he eased down the steps, almost laughing at how out of breath he was. Where was the former star athlete now, eh? The glory days were long past, not that those days had been all that glorious. He knew now they'd just been the setup for the fall.

He'd made it halfway down the flight of stairs, when a shadow moved across his path. Prison instincts flared up, and he stopped fast, his fists going up for protection as he jerked his head up to see who had cut him off.

It was a man in a suit, polished shoes, and a perfect white shirt. His dark hair was flecked with gray, and his smooth shave looked like it had been done in a grooming salon. His face had a few lines on it, but they were the kind of wrinkles a man got from too much stress, not from a lifetime in the sun. He studied Steen silently, evaluating him.

Steen let his fists drop, but his tension didn't lessen. He didn't trust men who paid more for their clothes than average people spent on their cars. He never had trusted people that like, and the last five years had made him even more cynical about human nature.

He was sure the man had never had to fight to save his own life. He almost envied the guy. What would it have been like to grow up having no idea how dirty life could be?

"Steen Stockton, I presume?" The man's voice was cultured and precise.

He knew who he was? Steen's tension rose another notch, but he hid it, giving only a non-committal shrug with one shoulder. "Maybe."

"They said you were getting paroled today."

Steen stiffened, as it occurred to him that the man could be associated with the people who had gotten him thrown into prison in the first place. He immediately raised his chin and relaxed his hands. There was no chance in hell he was going to be goaded into doing anything that could get his ass thrown back in prison. He was done with that.
Done
. "What's it to you?"

The man was unruffled by Steen's surly tone. "I've been waiting all day for you to come out. I wanted to thank you personally."

Steen paused at the unexpected answer. "
Thank
me? For what?"

The man cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. I've been remiss. My name is Thomas Smith." He held out his hand, and Steen reluctantly shook it. No one had shaken his hand in a long, long time.

"Okay," Steen said carefully, still unclear what the man wanted from him. He shifted restlessly, wanting to get away from the building that had trapped him for so long. He had no clue where he was going to go, but that didn't matter. He just wanted to hike down that long driveway and start over.

No, first he was going to find his brother's woman, and ask her what she'd said to him to pull him out of his coma. The words in his head wouldn't connect, and he didn't like it.

Thomas raised his brows. "My son is Joe Smith. He goes by Pointer."

Steen went still, looking sharply at the man. "Pointer?" He remembered Pointer all too well. The kid had walked into prison skinny and pale, the perfect bait for abuse on his first day. "He's your kid?"

At Thomas's nod, Steen relaxed. Pointer was a good kid, and Steen had known instantly that the younger man came from solid stock. Maybe Pointer wasn't exactly a kid. He was in his early twenties, but his cushy life had left him too young and inexperienced to face prison on his own. He'd been targeted from the first second he'd stepped in the door, and it was Steen who had met his gaze in that first second. It was Steen who'd seen the fear in the kid's eyes, as well as the rigid set to his jaw that hid his terror behind a mask of defiance.

He'd liked the kid instantly. Pointer reminded him of how he used to be, back when he believed that if you fought for what you believed in, you could make it happen. He hadn't wanted Pointer to lose that look within the first five seconds of being in prison.

Thomas gestured toward Steen's left side, which was heavily bandaged beneath his shirt. The knife blade had gone deep, causing injury that his body hadn't wanted to heal, resulting in a rough second surgery. "I want to thank you for saving his life," Thomas said.

"Oh..." That. Steen didn't want accolades. He didn't deserve any. He shrugged. "Right place at the right time. Nothing else."

Thomas laughed softly, the kind of amused laugh that called Steen on his bullshit. "Pointer said you'd say that, but he knows damned well that he wouldn't have survived his first day in prison if you hadn't seen that knife coming for him and stepped in front of the blade to take the hit instead of him. He was targeted because of my work, and I'll never forget that you're the reason I still have a son." He leaned forward, looking at Steen. "I've seen the tapes, Steen. I watched your eyes go to that knife, and I saw you decide to step in front of the blade and take the hit that was meant for my son, who you didn't even know. I know how badly you were hurt, and I know you almost died."

Steen shifted uncomfortably, not used to that kind of praise. "Yeah, well, it worked out okay." He realized there was no point in denying it. The kid had seen the move, and apparently, the damn cameras had immortalized it. Maybe it was good that Pointer knew he'd been saved. Maybe it would encourage him to pay it forward to someone else someday. "Pointer's a good kid," he said, trying to get the focus off him. He was too damn tired to be lauded as a hero. He'd just done what any decent human being would have done. Nothing special. Just basic shit.

"I know he is, and now, thanks to you, he has a chance to start over." Thomas slipped his hand inside his blazer and withdrew a fat envelope. He held it out to Steen. "Here's some cash to help you get started. It's tough to get going after you've been in prison. It's my thank you for saving my son's life. I'm deeply sorry that you almost died because of it. I will owe you a debt for the rest of my life."

Steen stared at the envelope for a moment, but he felt no temptation to take it. He shook his head. "Money ruins people," he said. "I don't want it."

Thomas must have heard the conviction in his voice, because he lowered the envelope without trying to push the money on him. "What can I offer you?"

"Nothing." The only thing Steen wanted was to turn back the clock to four years ago, and have him be smart enough to see what was coming before it happened. But there was no way to make that happen. Life had happened, and there was no way to go backwards.

Thomas raised his perfectly trimmed eyebrows. "I know a lot of people, Mr. Stockton. I can make phone calls. I can get you a job doing anything you want. I can help you start over. I have money, and I have contacts in every line of business."

Mr. Stockton?
Steen almost laughed. Who called him Mr. Stockton? "Just call me Steen." But he had to admit he was mildly curious as to what Pointer's father did for a profession. Who had a business that resulted in so many connections and favors? Maybe he was trouble after all. "Why did your business get Pointer targeted?"

Thomas's face became shuttered. "I piss off a lot of people," he said simply. "I accept those consequences for myself, but seeing Pointer affected has caused me to think deeply about what I do. Please, allow me to do something in return for my son's life."

Steen shook his head. "I don't want anything." He started to walk past him, then turned around. "No, you can do something for me."

Thomas raised his eyebrows. "Anything."

"Be the father Pointer deserves."

Thomas frowned. "That's it?"

"That's everything. You seem like a good guy. He's lucky to have you. Be there for him. Put him first. That's it." Steen suddenly felt restless, and he wanted to leave. "Have a nice day." He nodded his farewell, and then walked past him, heading down the driveway toward the chain link fences that separated the world from those who weren't allowed to inhabit it.

Today, they would open for him. He still remembered the day he'd arrived in the van, watching those gates slide shut behind him, locking him away from the world.

Thomas didn't follow as Steen walked away, his legs growing heavier with each step. He hadn't realized how weak he still was, but there was no way he'd go back to the infirmary and ask them to call a transport to take him to a civilian hospital, like they'd originally planned. He'd rather die under the oak tree by the street than have anyone tell him what to do ever again.

He'd made it only about a hundred yards when the gates slid open, and a black pickup truck towing a two-horse trailer drove in the gate.

Steen stopped, a slow grin spreading on his face as he watched it roll up. He didn't need to see the
Stockton Ranch
lettering on the side to know it belonged to his brother, Chase, the only person who would be disrespectful enough to pick him up when he'd specifically told him not to.

The truck eased to a stop beside him, and Chase rolled down the passenger window. His beige cowboy hat was tipped back on his head, and those familiar blue eyes regarded him unflinchingly. Chase draped his wrist loosely over the steering wheel, turning just enough to face Steen. "Need a ride, little brother?"

"I don't know." Steen walked over to the window and leaned on the frame, his elbows resting on the door. "Where you going?"

"Stockton Ranch. We have room."

For a moment, Steen hesitated. How many times had Chase talked about getting him to the ranch? It wasn't his world, and he didn't feel like he was a Stockton like the others were. "You don't want an ex-con living at your place. It's bad for business."

Chase's smile disappeared, replaced by a dark scowl. "I'll say this one time, Steen, and then this topic is over. We both know damned well that you didn't do shit, and you didn't deserve prison. The fact that justice failed you doesn't change the fact you're a good man, an innocent man, and my brother. The ranch will always be a better place with you on it. Got it?"

Unexpectedly, Steen's throat tightened, and he had to look away. "You never give up, do you?" But there was no ire in his voice. Just weariness.

"No, I don't. You coming to the ranch or what?"

Steen took a deep breath, fighting off his gut instincts to climb into the truck and accept the life his brother offered. He wanted it, he burned for it, but it wasn't right. Despite Chase's words, he knew he was a black mark on the Stockton name, and he didn't warrant a piece of that land. He wanted to just walk away and forget who he was, but he couldn't make himself do it...not yet. There was something he needed to know, closure he needed to attain before he could walk away. "Is Mira there? At the ranch? I have some questions to ask her."

Chase grinned, his entire face lighting up at the mention of his woman. "Of course she is. She lives there now. We've been waiting for you to get out before we get married. She said you promised to come to the wedding, and she's holding you to it."

Steen considered that statement. Marriage carried nothing but bitterness for him. "You trust her?"

"Yeah, all the way."

He heard the conviction in Chase's voice, which surprised him. Chase had been more anti-marriage than any of them. "Then I hope you're right. You deserve a good one."

"I got one." There was a thud from the trailer, and the sound of hooves crashing into the metal. Chase swore, glancing back at the shuddering trailer. "White Knight doesn't like the trailer. You want to ride with him?"

Steen stiffened. It had been a long time since he'd done the horse thing. "Not really."

The horse crashed against the side of the trailer, making it shake. A panicked squeal split the air, and Steen instinctively called out to the animal and began heading toward the trailer. He'd never been able to walk away from a horse in need, and the old instincts came rushing back.

"Hey!" Chase called out.

Steen glanced back at him, still moving toward the horse. "What?"

"You'll need this." As he spoke, Chase tossed a battered old cowboy hat out the window. Steen recognized it immediately as the one he'd worn back in high school.

He caught it, surprised by the sensation of feeling that familiar shape in his hands again. "You still have this?"

Chase grinned. "I never gave up hope, bro."

Shit. It had been a long time. Steen studied the hat for a moment as images of his old life, his cowboy life, flashed through his mind. He remembered the horses, the competitions, the smell of worn leather and clean straw, all the things that had grounded him when nothing else had made sense. He felt like it had been in another lifetime, as if it had happened to someone else.

White Knight slammed against the side of the trailer again, jerking his attention back to the present. Steen jammed the hat down on his head and loped back to the trailer. He opened the door and swung inside without even thinking about what he was doing, moving as naturally as if he'd never walked away.

A dapple-gray horse was backed up against the rear of the trailer, his head up and his eyes wide with fright as the trailer began to lurch forward again. Steen instinctively began to talk, the words leaving his mouth without him even thinking of what to say. He just knew what the horse needed to hear, as he always had. The horse began to lower his head toward Steen, his ears flicking forward to listen, and suddenly, the day didn't feel so crappy.

For the first time in a long, long time, Steen felt like he was in the right place.

It wasn't much, and he knew it wouldn't last, but for right now, it was a start. He grinned at the animal. "Hey, boy. Sucks to be locked up in a cage, doesn't it?"