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Until a short few months ago when he’d realized God had different plans for him, he’d been about as content with his life as a man could be. He lived a simple life, for the most part alone but free on some of the most beautiful, untouched land God ever created. But that part of his life was done.
He blamed his surly mood on the fact that he was road weary. But he knew that wasn’t it.
He’d signed on for this new life. He’d trusted the Lord to lead the way, to open doors that would put him where he was supposed to be. But in order to live life on God’s terms he’d had to give up a simple life that hadn’t ever required him to step too far out of his comfort zone.
That was about to change.
And truth be told, that made him uneasy.
Sheri changed into her running clothes the moment she got home from work. She needed a run in the worst way. More than the run, she needed to vent.
“Boy, did she ever need to vent,” she mumbled, yanking the lace of her running shoe into a tight bow, then attacking the other one just as violently.
If she’d thought walking out of Sam’s was going to deter the posse, she’d been oh so wrong. Those ladies were nothing if not tenacious. That’s right, they’d just followed her down to the salon she and Lacy owned and spent the rest of the afternoon badgering her. It had taken everything she had to ward them off. Did they care that she was elbow-deep in pedicure water and didn’t have time to be dealing with them?
Nope, they could have cared less. They were truly out of control. Rolling downhill and picking up speed in their attempt to manipulate her life.
They’d continued to ignore her every word of protest. Oh, it was enough to make a girl pull her hair out! Sheri yanked the shoelace instead, then stomped her foot for good measure. Couldn’t they understand that just because her former boyfriend, J.P., had fallen in love with someone else, that didn’t mean her heart had gotten stomped in the process? She was just fine.
Really, it wasn’t a lie.
Well, not exactly. Yes, it hurt, much more than she wanted to admit. But Sheri wasn’t about to throw fuel on that little secret fire.
No. They didn’t need to know that for the first time in her life she’d thought she might be in love. Might being the operative word.
At first she told herself her heart was just aching because her pride had taken a kick in the gut. After all, she’d dared to open up to J.P. more than anyone before him. She’d even been on the verge of telling him she might be open to the idea of marriage. Might be, even almost on the verge of, was a major, major breakthrough for her. In all of her twenty-six years, she’d never before thought she’d make such an almost commitment. J.P. understood her feelings completely. They’d both had their reasons to shy away from commitment.
Poor J.P.
It wasn’t as if he’d been planning to fall in love, either. He’d been blindsided by it just as much as she’d been.
Still, it had happened. Everyone who’d been at that wedding reception saw that love at first sight had struck him like a bolt of lightning. Only it wasn’t with Sheri.
Sheri still felt slightly light-headed thinking about it. They’d been attending a wedding reception together, and she’d asked J.P. to get her a cup of punch. Just an innocent cup of punch. He’d been his sweet self, strutting off toward the punch bowl. Bam! Just like that, it had happened.
Love at the punch bowl.
Bizarre but true. Tara, the bride’s friend from Houston, had come up for the wedding and was serving punch. When Tara and J.P. locked eyes with each other, that was it. They were goners.
“Goners for sure,” Applegate Thornton had put it.
It was old news now. Really, really old news. It had been two months ago that the bolt of lightning had struck. However, their wedding had been yesterday, and instead of closing the book on Poor Little Jilted Sheri, it had only amplified the matchmaking posse’s pity party for her. Actually, the entire town still felt sorry for her. Why, old Applegate and Stanley Orr were even giving her the sorrowful eye this morning.
Mule Hollow’s resident grumpy old men, Applegate and Stanley, played checkers at the table by the front window of Sam’s diner most mornings and lately some afternoons. When they looked at her as if she was some poor pathetic soul, it was almost more than she could take.
What was wrong with being a single gal, a happy single gal, thank you very much? Why were married women and old men convinced that marriage was the only way to happiness? She’d lived through more than her share of marriages with her parents. Nine, to be exact, and none of them had led to happiness.
As her mother was always saying, “Some people just aren’t good at being tied down.” How many times had Sheri heard that phrase? It was so true. Before J.P., she’d always grown bored and moved on after a few months. Sheri recognized that she was like her parents. This sudden ache in her heart only meant that she’d foolishly thought she might want more. That she’d changed, that her past didn’t matter… She’d prayed about it a few times even though she hadn’t expected an answer. She’d realized early on in her life that God spoke to some and she wasn’t one of them. She hadn’t let it get to her before, but lately that, too, was starting to bother her more and more.
As her footsteps pounded on the gravel road, Sheri felt as if she could burst with frustration. There had been times over the last two months jogging down this road that she had wanted to scream at the top of her lungs. She’d actually done it a couple of times—almost scared the cows to death. Still, there had been a certain freedom in letting loose.
As she rounded the bend in the road her mind locked on the matchmaking posse’s unwanted plans for her life. Now, she thought with a grunt, might be a really good time to feel some of that freedom.
She opened her mouth to let a holler rip—and thankfully, spotted the truck before she screamed and embarrassed herself.
She slowed her pace. The dusty truck was parked off the road between the ancient roping pen and the shack that had always reminded her of something the first settlers had built when they’d come to the West. She slowed more, her gaze locking on the cowboy standing at the tailgate. She was more than glad she hadn’t screamed. By the looks of this cowboy, if she’d startled him he’d probably have come running, guns ablaze. Of course, on closer inspection he wasn’t wearing a holster, but that didn’t take anything away from the impression he made.
She squinted but didn’t recognize him. She headed his way. It never hurt to keep tabs on who was out here in the boonies of Mule Hollow.
He was unloading gear from the back of his truck, which was odd given that this was an access road to the interior of Lacy and her husband Clint’s ranch. Lacy hadn’t mentioned to her that anyone was moving in.
Actually relieved to have something new to take her mind off her own dilemma, Sheri jogged up the drive.
“So, how’s it going, cowboy?” she called before she reached him. “Looks like you’re moving in.” She came to a halt a few feet behind him and placed her hands on her hips, awaiting a reply. None came.
Instead, as if he hadn’t heard her, he reached for a coil of rope that lay on the tailgate beside a duffel bag and saddle. He slid the rope to his shoulder, then finally turned toward her.
If she’d been wearing four-inch heels, she’d have fallen straight off them. The man was gorgeous! The rugged, black-haired cowboy cocked his head toward her and met her startled gaze straight on with eyes the color of a stormy night sky.
Oh, my, my, my, looking at this handsome stranger confirmed what she’d known all her life. What she was trying to get the posse to realize about her.
She was not marriage material.
And that was not with a capital N.
Honestly, if all it took was one look into some stranger’s eyes to remind her of the main reason she didn’t make commitments—then there ya go. It was a done deal.
As her mom always said, “Some people just aren’t good at being tied down”—but it wasn’t only the echo of her mom.
Sheri just liked dating. There, her secret was out.
This was exactly the reminder she needed that the matchmakers were on a mission that would ultimately fail. And why she shouldn’t feel bummed about it because really she enjoyed dating. She absolutely loved this. There simply wasn’t anything as exciting as the initial spark of interest between a man and a woman. Like now, it was breathtaking. Then again, Sheri realized suddenly that the cowboy seemed to be breathing just fine.
Sheri reined in her runaway exhilaration and put her feet back on the ground. Her reaction to this handsome stranger had been so strong that it took a second to see that he didn’t appear to have been bitten by the same bug.
Drat.
Instead, his steel-gray eyes skimmed over her with disdain—as if he were looking at the latest order of pesticide.
Sheri’s eyes widened as he adjusted the rope on his shoulder, then without uttering a word slung the saddle to his back and strode away.
Sheri realized suddenly that a little caution mighta been in order.
She hadn’t lived in the city in a while, and obviously her guard was down. His cold look yanked her straight out of her imaginings and slam-dunked her right back into reality. She was standing in the middle of nowhere, alone, with a man who looked as though he could stare down a wildcat and never blink.
Who was she kidding? He looked as though he could shoot it, skin it and eat it for supper. Raw!
At last, she reacted like a smart woman and took a step back. But that dismissive glance…it bothered her. Sheri had come a long way from being the once shy little girl who expected to be ignored, so this just didn’t sit well with her.
Oh yeah, baby. Danger or no danger, Sheri Marsh refused to be ignored by anybody, anywhere, anytime. She could excuse a guy for almost anything, even for falling in love with someone else, but she would not excuse a guy for ignoring her. Her hard-won “I’m here, I matter” personality demanded more.
“Hey, cowboy,” she snapped and glared at his back.
“I don’t know where you come from, but around here cowboys have manners. When someone speaks, an answer is generally appropriate.”
That got his attention, and he glanced over his shoulder at her. She met his stare with her own. That’s right, locked her spine, threw her shoulders back and dared him to ignore her again.
“Pace Gentry,” he said without halting. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
Okay, as if that made her feel any better. Sheri’s eyes narrowed to slits. The man hadn’t even broken step as he disappeared inside the shack. Of all the unmitigated gall. She felt like the lid of a pressure cooker barely hanging on as she waited for him to reappear.
In an instant he returned and strode back to his truck…swaggered was more like it. Passed her by without so much as a glance. It struck her then that this wasn’t any kind of cowboy she’d ever encountered. He was different in actions and in dress. It was subtle, but there were distinct differences.
Besides his collar-length hair, he had a strong jawline shadowed by a flat-rimmed, black Stetson devoid of the more traditional crease. Around his neck he wore a large checked bandanna tied loosely, as if he might pull it up at any moment to protect him from the trail dust of a hard cattle drive—
Or, with the dangerous glint in his eyes, maybe to rob a bank!
Then there were the spurs sticking out from beneath his chaps. They were more ornate than any Sheri had seen on the cowboys around Mule Hollow. These spurs were either for show or for intense business. From the look on his face, Sheri couldn’t envision anything about him being for show.
Nope, this man was all business, easily mistaken for a cowboy fresh off the trail a hundred years ago. Still, it was his intense gray eyes that told the story…this cowboy was one hundred percent authentic you-don’t-want-to-mess-with-me cowboy.
Again, good sense mandated she turn around and get out of there immediately.
Yeah, right!
“Look, this is my friend’s property, and I’m just making sure they know you’re setting up camp out here.”
She felt a sense of achievement when he stopped mid-swagger to glare at her. Suddenly, it felt as though he’d just weighed and measured her, and she’d come up lacking.
“Like I said,” he drawled, his eyes cool. “Not that it’s any more your business now than two minutes ago, but Clint knows I’m here.”
The gravel in his drawl sent a shiver up Sheri’s spine that had nothing to do with fright. “Lacy would have told me if someone was moving onto the ranch around the bend from me.”
Hoisting a duffel bag to his shoulder he slammed the tailgate closed. His spurs sang a little ditty with every step he took away from her.
He’d dismissed her again!
“Hey, mister, the macho man thing’s not really working for me.”
He scowled down at her from the rickety porch. “Look, lady, I’m here to break horses. If you’ve got a problem with that, then take it up with Clint Matlock.”
Before she could react, he disappeared into the tiny cabin and closed the door. Slammed the door was more like it. In her face, practically.
“Of all the rude, unmannered—” She halted mid-rant. He was probably inside the cabin watching through the window. No doubt laughing at the sight she must make standing in the middle of his drive with her mouth hanging open, her fists clinched at her sides. If only she had a mirror; she was no doubt fire-engine red with indignation.
The worst part about the entire situation was he was right. Boy, did that ever just annoy the thunder out of her. Well, not exactly right, she consoled herself. Fact was Clint and Lacy were her friends and she’d just wanted to make certain no funny business was going on out here on their property.
But since this Neanderthal was actually here for a reason then she had no right to continue questioning him. Spinning on her running shoes she raked a hand through her ponytail then jogged back to the road and headed home.
She’d only just begun her run, but she suddenly wasn’t in the mood for jogging. Nope. She was in the mood to make a phone call and find out why Lacy hadn’t seen fit to let her know she was about to have a neighbor.
If neighbor was what you could call the fierce-looking man she’d just met.
Chapter Two
Pace Gentry placed a few more pieces of wood on the campfire and watched the embers flutter as he settled into his bedroll for the night. Clasping his hands over his chest he relaxed and gazed up at the canopy of stars glittering above him. He could have slept inside the cabin, but tonight he needed to be outdoors.
He needed the connection to what he’d left behind.
He needed to feel the breeze whispering across the pastures to the north of him, hear the lonesome song of the coyotes and the occasional bawling of the cattle that grazed in the dark pastures surrounding him.
The sounds that made him feel at home.
The sounds that made him think for a moment he was back in the Great Basin, lost in the high desert of the Idaho range. Alone, with nothing but himself, God, his herd…
And his horses.
He loved his horses. It was in his blood. Nothing would make him happier than to die an old man as his dad had, atop a good ride. His dad had lived and died on his terms. Like his father, Pace understood bronc breaking was a tough way to make a living. He’d chosen it anyway.
Lived and breathed it.
With his dad’s nomadic way of living, Pace hadn’t ever really known any other life, but it hadn’t mattered. Even if he’d turned out to be the worst cowboy around, he figured he’d have found a way to keep at it.
Pace watched a shooting star travel across the sky—something he’d have missed if he’d been inside. The howl of the coyote rippled into a full-blown serenade. Pace was forever grateful for the life he lived. Or had lived, he reminded himself, his gut shifting momentarily with doubt. He was on a new path. Like a surly bronc, for the first time in his life he felt the bit in his mouth and was fighting hard to get used to the feel of it.
If his earlier encounter was a measuring stick of how his transition was going to go…things weren’t looking so good. Pace was the first to admit that he had some rough edges. Animals he could deal with, but people—he had little patience with interfering people. Meeting his pushy neighbor had proven those edges hadn’t smoothed out on the long haul from Idaho to Texas.
He’d been his usual blunt self, a reaction he was going to be hard put to change.
Pulling his Stetson down over his eyes, he crossed his booted feet and settled in for the night. He figured the Lord had his work cut out for Him when it came to smoothing this rover’s edges. But then, God was God, and if He could create the universe Pace figured, He could whip an ornery two-bit buckaroo into shape, too.
Pace just had a streak of buck left in him, and like the mustangs he was about to tame, that natural wildness was an instinct strong and deep in his soul.
Despite Pace’s new commitment to change, more than likely this transition promised to be a rough ride.
“Rise and shine, Sheri,” Lacy sang. “The mustangs are coming!”
Sheri bolted up from a dead sleep and squinted at the figure of Lacy standing in the stark light she’d flicked on as a wake-up call. Blinking and having murderous thoughts she peered at the red lights of her alarm clock. “Lacy! It’s five o’clock in the morning. Are you insane?”
“Aww, now don’t be that way,” Lacy laughed.
Slamming her eyes shut, Sheri plopped back onto the bed with a thud and covered her face with her pillow. She didn’t do early morning…and predawn—well, that wasn’t even a time frame she acknowledged.
A fact Lacy was well aware of, but obviously ignored.
“C’mon, girlfriend. Up and at ’em. The mustangs are coming, and I want you to be there when they arrive. Here we go—”
Sheri yelped when her pillow and covers were abruptly yanked away, leaving no barrier against the hundred-watt bulb glaring at her from above. She needed to change that light, pronto.
