Texas Hope: Sweetgrass Springs Stories (Texas Heroes Book 16) (2 page)

The man only smiled patiently. “You don’t have to use it, but keep it. You might change your mind.”

The boy glanced down. “Gordon McLaren.” An odd look passed over his features. “Double Bar M, seriously?”

“Been in my family for over a hundred and seventy-five years.”

“For real, you have your own horse?”

“Got a whole bunch of them. Cattle, too.”

The boy’s head canted. “Do you have a dog?”

“Always. You like dogs?”

“They’re not so bad.”

She guessed that Gordon McLaren could see the same too-thin frame she was observing, the neglected haircut and shabby clothes. “Here. I live in San Francisco. If you need help beforehand, you can call me.” She took the pen and notepad and wrote down her own information.

“I don’t know,” the boy said. “You look rich.”

She finished writing as she grinned. “I’m not, but my father is.”

“Maybe he’ll give me some money.”

“I doubt that. But I’ll help you find assistance. You could come with me now.”

Wary eyes met hers. “No thanks. Gotta jet. ’Bye Cowboy! Bye, Rich Girl!”

Before Gordon could stop him, he was gone.

Leaving the two of them staring after him.

“He won’t call, will he?” she asked.

“Maybe not, but the Double Bar M isn’t goin’ anywhere.” He turned. “Sophia—I only caught the first name.” His eyes were warm and made her want to get closer so she could lean into that broad chest and inhale the scent of his strength.

“Sophia Bancroft.” He made her shiver. In a good way. “So how does a Texas cowboy wind up in the Navy?”

“Serving my country. I come from a long line of patriots. My great-great granddaddy Ronald McLaren won our land in return for fighting to free Texas from Mexico.”

“But now you’re a sailor?”

He shrugged. “Thought I wanted to see the world.”

“You don’t?”

“I’ve seen enough to know that I belong back on my land.”

What must it feel like, such certainty? She’d never belonged, not in her society life, not with the bohemians she’d fled to. She wasn’t sure where to try next, so she’d been floating along. “Would I like Texas?”

His quick grin and the crinkles around those warm gray eyes made her breathless. “Texas would like you, I know that for sure. Would a rich girl let a cowboy buy her lunch?” He held out an arm like the gentleman he was.

A completely new kind of gentleman to her experience, one who was rugged and strong but knew how to temper the rough edges. He’d take off his hat for a lady, she’d bet anything.

“That would be lovely,” she replied, and slipped her arm through his, holding on and feeling something inside her settle.

As they walked, they spoke of small things, what he’d seen, where she’d traveled, books they’d read, music they liked.

Most of it as different as cheese and chalk.

But beneath the surface, both of them felt the thrills, the little shocks.

And the first heart-racing currents of longing.

Chapter One

M
ichael Cavanaugh slowed his truck as he came in sight of Sweetgrass Springs. All the way here, the beauty of the Texas Hill Country had impressed him, the rolling hills, the stunning vistas from the summits.

But now… his gut clenched. A fist squeezed his heart.

Somewhere in that little burg just around the curve and over the river bridge, his brother lived.

A brother. He was still stunned by the discovery of Ian McLaren, the older half-brother he’d never known existed until Michael’s own father had died. Michael’s mother Sophia hadn’t meant to tell him about this older brother—not ever—and she was still very much against Michael and Ian meeting.

He loved his mother, and she’d been a good one.

To him.

But she’d abandoned his brother when Ian was only five years old. Michael still couldn’t reconcile a woman who would do that with the loving parent she’d been. Until he’d been rocked by this news, he would have sworn she was the perfect maternal influence.

The same woman who’d surrounded him with love all his life had walked away from her first child, had never seen Ian again. Never even tried to. It wasn’t because he’d been stolen from her, kidnapped in a custody battle.

No, she’d known where he was all this time. For thirty years.

Years
.

From what he’d learned, Ian’s location was part of why she’d left, because Ian’s father Gordon never would have. He was rooted in this community his ancestors had founded, had ties deep in the soil of this place. That they’d ever met in the first place was amazing. When she’d finally consented to talk about it, she’d told Michael that she’d met Gordon in San Francisco when he was in the military. The attraction had been instantaneous, and they’d fallen in love. And into bed. Not that Michael could wrap his mind around that image or wanted to. Sure, his mother was still a very attractive woman, but—

Moms didn’t have sex. Okay, sure, of course they did. But no child wanted to think about it. Especially not with a man other than his father.

Sophia Cavanaugh wouldn’t vilify her first husband even now.

But she’d damned sure kept him a secret. Even Michael’s father had not known she’d been married before. Yet she’d insisted that Gordon was a good man. She had nothing negative to say about him. Michael shook his head. Gordon McLaren, however, surely had more than a few choice words to say about his first wife—and why wouldn’t he?

Michael tapped his brakes and pulled over. Stared ahead. He might be crazy even considering introducing himself. Ian had every reason to hate Michael’s mom, and Michael, too. But Michael had always wanted a sibling, especially a brother.

So he was doing this, even though Ian might tell him to go straight to hell. He hoped that wouldn’t happen. It wasn’t as if he was a bum. He was a successful veterinarian, well-regarded and liked by those who knew him. Hell, even Laken…

His lips curved at the thought of the siren he’d met in a seedy club in Austin, a hard-edged diamond in the rough, a woman intent on protecting her heart and the soft underbelly she refused to admit she possessed.

He wouldn’t be here yet if she hadn’t sent him away.

Because she was scared. Not that she’d admit it.

But he knew, and damn it, she drove him crazy. If he had a brain in his skull he’d forget her.

Yeah, that was gonna happen. Prickly or not, his polar opposite maybe, still…they had something together, something fine and rare.

He wasn’t giving up until she admitted it.

In the back seat of his dual cab truck, a small yip reminded him that puppies had to pee—often. He glanced over at the net barrier that kept Ajax in the back and caught his three-legged boxer Monroe’s tolerant expression. “Yeah, I know, buddy. You’d stay put without the net, but the little dude?” He shook his head and smiled. “We know better than that.” Ajax was as hardheaded as the woman who refused to admit she’d fallen head over heels for the pup. He pulled over and made sure to leash the little golden retriever before lifting him to the ground.

When both dogs had done their thing, he took a little time to wrestle with the energetic ball of fluff. Then he worked again with Ajax on the Sit command, rewarding him with one of the treats he always carried in his pockets.

Afterward, he loaded both dogs back into the truck. Monroe went without complaint, but Ajax had to be helped and clearly preferred to run around. Or sit in Michael’s lap. “Sorry, little dude. No idea what we’ll find up ahead, and your mommy would have my head if anything happened to you.” Ajax settled down, and Michael climbed back into the front seat, grinning to himself at Laken’s certain horror, being called
Mommy
.

He turned on the engine and headed toward town.

And whatever he might find there.

“Ruby? You okay?” asked her right-hand man Henry Jansen. He’d begun as a busboy but discovered that he liked to cook, though he wasn’t too proud to help bus tables or mop floors. She didn’t know how Ruby’s Diner would keep running without him.

“’Course I am,” Ruby Gallagher Howard muttered. “Except for having married a blasted fool.”

Henry’s eyes popped, and she didn’t miss the glance exchanged between her two waitresses, Jeanette Carson and Brenda Jones. “And I blame you, Harley Sykes,” she called out over the pass-through above the grill.

“What’s got stuck in your craw?” Harley asked, looking innocent as a newborn lamb.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. Radio station, my precious patootie. What on earth does Sweetgrass need with a radio station?”

“This town is big enough for a trading post program, and you know it. Why, with Jackson bringing all kinds of folks to town with his video game company and your granddaughter Scarlett planning to draw in new visitors with a restaurant in the courthouse, we’re gonna be popping at the seams any day.”

“Already are,” she grumbled. Never mind that she’d spent years struggling to keep the town alive in hopes of exactly that.

“My point exactly.” Harley rose from the corner booth where he’d been dawdling. “Folks can’t hear everything they need to know by coming in here now. Time was, all a body needed was to hit Ruby’s and find out everything worth knowing.”

Had she thought, years ago when she’d bought the decommissioned courthouse, that the boarded-up downtown would wind up practically exploding with activity? Her long-lost great-nephew Jackson Gallagher had come home, wound up marrying his teenage sweetheart and had decided to relocate his thriving video game empire. Now he was buying up and rehabbing buildings all over the small downtown for both housing and workspace for any employees he could convince to relocate from Seattle.

In addition, the Paris-trained chef granddaughter she hadn’t known existed had shown up over a year ago and set her sights on revitalizing Sweetgrass with a destination restaurant that would someday also be an events center right in the courthouse, newly remodeled and brought back to sparkling life. In the process, she’d met and married rancher Ian McLaren, the town’s unofficial mayor and as dear to Ruby’s heart as if he’d been born her own.

Now there was an actual bed and breakfast being operated by Nita Benefield and her husband Raymond—though if you asked Ruby, Nita would do a better business keeping that old curmudgeon under wraps.

“So you aim to replace my cafe as the jungle drums of the town?”

Harley snorted. “That ain’t never gonna happen. But folks need a place to list what they got to sell or want to buy and such. These young folks got things so busy, a fellow don’t have time to come sit and learn everything they need to know. Radio trading posts used to exist in every small town that had a station.”

“What happens the other twenty-three and a half hours out of the day?” Ruby grinned as Henry snickered. “Do you expect me to believe you and that husband of mine are gonna abandon your coffee group? You all sit here half the morning.”

Harley scratched his chin. “These young folks talk about multi-tasking. We were thinking we could do both.”

Ruby narrowed her eyes. “Sit here all morning drinking coffee and…?”

“Run our trading post program. Broadcast live. One of Jackson’s staff, that Big D fella, says that now that Jackson built a cell tower, we could do some sort of internet radio thing, and all we’d need is a computer and microphones.”