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She was clearing off the last table when the growl of a truck slewing into the graveled parking lot caught her attention. Through the slatted blinds of the front window, she saw Shorty Packer heading for the café. Abby’s pulse stuttered. Behind Shorty another cowboy followed, his hesitant gait somewhat unnatural and one-sided, the set of his shoulders much too familiar. Abby watched him yank his hat low, obscuring his face, but she knew…oh, God, she knew.
With her hands pressed to her chest, she felt her heart take off in a marathon race. Her mouth went dry. Her face grew hot. She closed her eyes and imparted a silent prayer. Lord, please don’t let me make a fool of myself.
For the first time in two years, the man who had loved her and left her was almost close enough to touch. She didn’t know whether to laugh, cry or call 9-1-1.
With a nod, Shorty said “Howdy” and headed for the lunch counter, but Bo remained motionless in the middle of the room, his face shadowed beneath his wide-brimmed hat. Abby knew he’d recognized her by the sharp intake of his breath. Not being able to see his eyes didn’t keep the heat of his gaze from igniting a high-voltage intimacy that sizzled straight into her raw-edged senses. His very presence caused her breath to catch in her throat and created a weakness in her knees and that produced an acute longing that both terrified and dismayed her.
Her own gaze drank in his shape swiftly. His body was thinner, harder than she recalled, yet every bit as seductive as it had always been. A missing button caused his wash-softened denim shirt to gap just enough to reveal the white T-shirt stretched taut across his chest. Hard-muscled arms, so achingly familiar in rolled-up sleeves, evoked images she tried desperately to push away. Everything about him tore at her heart. Those low-slung, faded jeans hugging his hips and long legs. The same well-worn boots that had—just once—been hastily discarded by the side of her bed.
A tiny gasp escaped her lips as bittersweet memories flashed in instant replay. She didn’t need to see Bo’s face to remember. Dark, smoky eyes. A mouth that could pleasure her with slow, burning kisses and coax her body into a hot, pliable mass of desire. Midnight-black hair she could almost feel sliding between her fingers, grasping it as the final shudder of ecstacy claimed her. Oh, God, why was she doing this? Why couldn’t she make herself forget?
She licked her lips and searched for something to say. Before she could find words, he turned. She heard him swear when he bumped the corner of a table, nearly falling in his rush for the door. She watched him limp away, shoving chairs aside and slamming the door behind him. How ironic that after all this time, Bo Ramsey was still in a hurry to leave her. And the pain in her heart was still the same.
Gravel spit and gears groaned as the pickup spun out of the parking lot. Shorty just watched the dust settle, then eased himself onto a red vinyl-covered stool at the end of the counter.
“Damn fool ain’t supposed to be driving yet.” He shrugged. “Guess I shoulda’ told him you might be here.”
Abby wondered if her heart would ever return to normal. With shaking hands, she concentrated on pouring Shorty’s coffee into a thick, white mug. She managed to get most of it where it belonged. The rest she wiped up with a cloth.
Shorty looked at her over the rim of his half-full cup. “You knew he was back, didn’t you?”
She nodded, trying to ignore the way her pulse was thrumming. She didn’t trust her voice enough to speak just yet.
“Well, hell’s bells, girl, ain’t you gonna say something?” He plunked his cup back on the counter, skewered her with his gaze.
Abby swallowed around the lump in her throat. Her eyes stung and she blinked hard to hold back the tears.
“What do you want me to say, Shorty?” She could barely squeak out a whisper. “That was a rotten thing to do,” she said, swiping at an invisible stain on the already spotless counter one more time.
“I wasn’t talking about that,” the old cowboy said. “Ain’t you got nothin’ to say about how he looked?”
“Looked? He was in such a hurry to get out of here, I barely saw him.” Oh, my heart saw him, though.
“Aw, girl, that boy’s had a terrible time of it. He’s come back to stay with me at the ranch until he’s done healing. Had a run-in with a nasty bull at a rodeo back in February. Lucky to be alive and walking. Only thing is, he ain’t used to people lookin’ at his face yet. I’m surprised you didn’t notice the scars.”
Abby sucked in her breath when a pain sharper than a razor’s cut sliced through her heart. So that’s the reason for the low-tipped hat. She gripped the edge of the counter, leaned against it for support. “Tell me what happened.”
Shorty took a swallow of what was left of his coffee and dug around in his pocket for a cigarette. Abby frowned at him hard enough to make him put it back. He fished out a wooden toothpick instead and tongued it to the side of his mouth, set his hat on the stool beside him and rested his elbows on the counter.
“Bo was in Dallas when I got a call from one of his rodeo buddies that he’d been busted up pretty good and was in the hospital there. I figured Marla was with him, but his friend said she’d already been there and gone, so I drove up there to see what the hell was goin’ on.”
He set his toothpick aside and blew on his already cold coffee, sipping it so slowly, Abby thought her hair would turn gray before he ever finished the story. When he lifted the plastic cover of the pastry display, she gave an impatient sigh and slapped her hand over his. “Shorty, please. Tell me the rest.”
He withdrew his hand with a shrug, picked up his toothpick and tapped it on the counter. “You know, the people at the hospital told me the doctors did all they could in surgery. Bo’s leg and face were the worst off. Had some busted ribs, too. A messed-up cowboy but lucky to be alive, even if he don’t walk so good. I couldn’t stay with him no longer, so I came on back here and kept in touch by phone, ya’ know.” He lifted his cup, drained it noisily before he continued.
“He stayed in the hospital a long time before he was transferred to some kind of therapy clinic. When he got done with the treatment there, he phoned me. Said he didn’t have no place to go and asked if I could come and get him.” Shorty heaved a sigh and closed his eyes as if remembering. “I wasn’t about to let him down.”
Abby fought the tremors coursing through her body. Hearing about the accident made her blood run cold. Even though she had just seen Bo with her own eyes, it was hard to believe he’d survived what Shorty had just described.
“You mentioned his face. I wasn’t able to see it when he came in. What’s wrong with his face?” A sudden urge to grab Shorty by the collar and insist he talk faster forced Abby to grab her own hands instead and clasp them tight.
“Well, he’s got some powerful scars,” Shorty drawled. “That bull made a mess of his face. The doc did what he could. Hell, he was the best plastic surgeon around, but he couldn’t give Bo back his good looks. He don’t look so awful, though. Just, uh, different.”
Abby caught Shorty watching her with a cautious eye while he kept on reciting his tale.
“That’s what Bo can’t accept, ya’ see. People stare at him and he can’t stand their pity. That’s why I brought him back here. Figured he could stay out at the ranch with me until he decides what he’s gonna do with the rest of his life. Truth is, Abby, he says he ain’t gonna ride the circuit again because of his crooked leg. And besides, he’s broke. Somebody’s gotta take care of him.”
“Well, where’s that high-falutin’ niece of yours…and their kid?” IdaJoy never minced words. “Why isn’t she here takin’ care of her man?”
Abby was relieved when IdaJoy asked what she hadn’t dared.
“Well now, I’m thinking that’s Bo’s business,” Shorty said.
“Nothin’ good ever comes from hiding the truth,” IdaJoy pointed out. She waggled her finger at Shorty.
Shorty shrugged. “Maybe so, but that’s Bo’s tale to tell, not mine. Right now, I’d be much obliged for a big bowl of your five-alarm chili. Oh, and how about puttin’ some in one of those take-along cartons? For Bo. Then I’ve got to find me a ride home.” He shot a hopeful glance toward Abby.
She hesitated when IdaJoy shot a disapproving look her way, knowing if she offered, she’d risk seeing Bo again. But then again if she didn’t, she would regret it later.
“I’ll be finished here in about half an hour. If you want to wait, I’ll take you back to the ranch.” Abby turned to head for the kitchen and bumped smack into IdaJoy, who stood there with her hands on her hips, snapping her gum and shaking her beehive hairdo.
“Oh, you are so asking for it, Abby Houston.”
Abby frowned. “Yeah, you’re probably right, but…” But what? her conscience asked innocently, as her heart danced a Texas two-step.
Shorty grinned like he’d just won the lottery.
Chapter Two
Abby’s pulse raced much too fast as she sped down the farm-to-market road with Shorty in the passenger side of her car. Her entire nervous system had been scrambled ever since Bo showed up at the café. Had it really been only a little over an hour since she’d seen him? Felt his presence? Nearly let her heart be bruised again? She took deep breaths and tried to concentrate on driving, even though the way to the Packer ranch was so familiar she didn’t need to watch the road. Some things you never forgot. Even when you tried.
Her damp palms were slick on the steering wheel and she swiped them across the front of her cotton shirt, one at a time. She had to swallow hard to keep the uneasy churning in the pit of her stomach from bringing her lunch back for reruns. The stifling afternoon heat kept her on the edge of nervous nausea. One of these days, she’d have enough money saved to repair the car’s broken air conditioner. Even with the windows lowered, the interior of the six-year-old Taurus was frying-pan hot. Right now, she had other things to think about.
When they’d left the Blue Moon twenty minutes earlier, Abby had made up her mind to stop when they reached the ranch, let Shorty out of the car and head right on home. She didn’t need to get out. Didn’t need to see Bo or anyone else that might be around. No need at all. Oh, right. Like that was going to keep her mind from slipping back to times and places best left undisturbed.
But undisturbed memories are like treasures stored away in dusty attics—often uncovered by accident and brought out to linger over. To cherish once again. So Abby blew the dust off her memories and drifted back to the time when Bo was the center of her universe—her reason for being.
Glorious. That’s what the time with him had been. He’d made her feel cherished. Special in a way she’d never felt before. She’d been swept off her feet and had fallen hopelessly in love. She’d believed he felt the same. Then he’d left without saying goodbye, and her world suddenly had become a black hole.
When she finally emerged from the darkness of heartbreak, anger took its place with an intensity that had almost destroyed her. Desperate to forget, but with a stubborn Texas pride too strong to let her give up, she’d focused on survival, facing the sympathetic looks of the community with her head held high. She’d believed her heartache had faded. Until now.
Her foot mashed harder on the gas pedal and the ribbon of highway blurred beneath tires she should’ve replaced last month.
“You tryin’ to get a speeding ticket or what?” Shorty snapped, his bushy eyebrows knit together in a gray scowl.
Abby checked the numbers on the speedometer and jerked her foot from its rigid position. “Sorry, guess I wasn’t watching.”
The old rancher stuck his toothpick back in his shirt pocket and drummed his fingers on his knee. He crossed and uncrossed his stubby legs, squirming around in the seat like a toddler with a bladder problem.
Finally, he cleared his throat. “Yeah, well, guess you’ve got reason enough to have a wandering mind, seein’ Bo again and all.”
“Ramsey’s return is no concern of mine.” Abby shot him a sideways glance just in time to catch the flicker of distress in the older man’s eyes. “Shorty, is something wrong?”
“Uh, no.” He hesitated, then exhaled loudly. “That is…I reckon this might not be the right time to bring it up, Abby, but I was thinkin’…uh, just wonderin’ if you could use some extra help at that riding school of yours? You know, something a cowboy with a bum leg could do.”
Abby hit the brakes. The car lurched, swerved and with a cough, chugged to a halt on the side of the road.
Shorty peeled the safety belt away from his throat and pushed back in the seat, his eyes wide.
“Gawdamighty, woman! Didja’ forget how to drive?”
Ignoring his colorful roar, Abby slammed the heel of her hand on the steering wheel, counted to ten under her breath, then whipped around in the seat to stare at him in disbelief.
“Did I hear you right? You want me to let Bo Ramsey work with my students? With my horses? Not in this lifetime, Shorty.” She shook her head so vigorously, the scrunchy holding her thick ponytail flipped off and landed on Shorty’s knee. She didn’t even bother to retrieve it.
When he blanched visibly, Abby was pretty sure he got the message. A fleeting stab of remorse snagged her conscience. Verbal attacks were not her usual style, but Shorty’s ludicrous suggestion was anything but usual.
For heaven’s sake, she didn’t need any more problems to deal with, especially one as provoking and personal as Bo Ramsey. So why was she even considering Shorty’s request? She wasn’t, was she? No, of course not.
“I ain’t said nothin’ to him about your riding program yet, Abby.” Shorty gingerly retrieved the ponytail holder with two fingers and deposited it on the dashboard. “He’s powerful depressed, though, and I just thought…maybe…”
He scratched his chin, ducked his head in that sheepish way of his that made Abby grind her teeth.
She leaned her head against the back of the seat. Why, oh why had Bo come back now, just when she was getting her life in order? Finally learning to live without him. She didn’t want to feel sympathy toward him. She didn’t want to feel anything at all. She owed him absolutely nothing. She would not feel guilty.
Shorty kept right on talking. “You know, Buck mentioned that you were sorta’ hard up for helpers since you got a few more kids this spring. Bo’d be mighty helpful with the horses, even if he can’t ride right now. Just seeing the spunk those youngsters have and how they deal with their handicaps might show Bo a thing or two. There’s lots of things…”
Abby bristled. “They’re not handicapped, they’re physically and emotionally challenged, but they work hard for every goal they reach. And for the record, we’re doing just fine, thanks. Some of the volunteers have already offered to work two classes. We can’t afford salaried helpers yet.”
She turned the key in the ignition, revved the behind-schedule-for-a-tune-up engine and eased the vehicle back onto the blacktop. Shorty was right. Her students had spunk to spare and she was so proud of them. There was no denying the inspiration they gave to anyone who observed them in the arena.
“The program isn’t all that large, anyway,” she added, trying to soften her sharp refusal. “There’s only a dozen students so far. I don’t need any extra help.”
Shorty leaned back in his seat and released such a mournful, Oscar-worthy sigh, Abby was tempted to applaud. She would have, if the situation had involved anyone but Bo Ramsey.
“Well, that may be,” he drawled, giving her a beseeching look, “but Bo’s sure needing your help now.”
He needs me? Oh, that is so unfair. Abby could barely see the road for the sudden tears blurring her eyes.
In all his thirty years, Bo Ramsey had never expected to return to Sweet River, especially like this, but with a body busted up from the wear-and-tear of riding rodeo bulls, and less than five dollars in the pocket of his jeans, he’d hit the bottom of the barrel with a loud thud. Shoot, he’d been down there so long, he had a personal relationship with every damned slat in it. And now, his pride had to take a backseat to being practical. Talk about bitter pills. The feeling of failure still stuck in his craw. He wondered if he’d ever be able to swallow around it.
He shifted his position in the vintage porch chair for the hundredth time, easing his left leg around to find a more comfortable angle. One that wouldn’t send those knifelike pains shooting clear to his eyeballs. He refused to give in and swallow any more of those damned pain pills. He reached for a longneck instead, knowing that wasn’t the answer either, but not really caring.
He’d been sitting there long enough to indulge in more beer and self-pity than was probably good for him, his only excuse being that the unexpected sight of Abby at the Blue Moon had blindsided him. Temporarily robbed him of his good sense. And, just like last time, he’d taken the coward’s way out.
Old memories he’d buried a long time ago crept out from their hiding place in the dark recesses of his heart. Persistent cusses, those memories, poking at him like cactus needles, paining him almost as much as the physical injuries to his body. Maybe more. He rubbed his hand over the scarred side of his face. Maybe not.
This wealth of land and cattle that made up Shorty’s ranch had been Bo’s home longer than any place he’d ever lived. Taking in the familiar view, Bo acknowledged that everything was pretty much the same as when he’d left. Everything but his own life. That was a mess of his own making.
His chest ached with deep regret for all he’d left behind. All he could never have. Bitterness crawled down inside his soul and lodged—a familiar, yet unwelcome tenant.
Bo shifted his leg again, his groan harmonizing off-key with a mournful groan coming from the far side of the porch. Shorty’s old yellow dog slowly made his way to Bo’s side and gave his hand a slobbery greeting.
With sad eyes nearly hidden in the folds of its loose-skinned face, and long ears drooping past bony shoulders, the mongrel looked like somebody’d smacked him with an ugly stick. Twice.
“Hey, Ditch.” Bo scratched the old dog behind the ears.
Ditch dog. That’s what Shorty’d called him, ever since he’d found the injured pup lying on the side of the road years ago. The pooch had to be as old as Shorty’s truck by now, because Bo had heard the rescue story at least a hundred times in the past.
Ditch dog. Bo felt like something of a ditch dog himself ever since Shorty’d fetched him back home from the hospital. Patched him up, too. Just like ol’ Ditch. Only difference was, the dog had become Shorty’s best friend. Bo wasn’t sure he could even lay claim to that anymore.
He tipped the longneck back, drank deep, then set the empty bottle aside. He left the porch to seek the solitude of his room. Hell, could life get any worse?
He’d gotten as far as the front room when he heard the car come up the gravel road. Bo knew in his gut who Shorty had persuaded to give him a lift home. Crossing the room, he stood by the window and moved the curtain aside just enough to sneak a look without revealing himself.
He watched as Shorty climbed out of the car. Ditch loped off the porch to greet his banty rooster-sized friend, wet nose nudging hopefully against the rancher’s hand for a pat on the head.
They make quite a pair, Bo mused, as a twinge of envy snuck past his good sense. The dog had gotten older, but the man hadn’t changed much. The Willie Nelson-style braid that dangled down his back was the same, except the gray hairs were beginning to outnumber the black ones. A few wrinkles creased Shorty’s leathery face, but the denim work shirt and faded jeans looked like the same ones he’d been wearing the day Bo had said goodbye.
On the backside of fifty, Shorty Packer had always cottoned to the belief that unless something was broken, you kept your hands off of it. Still, he’d give you his last biscuit and tell you he’d just eaten, if he thought you were hungrier than he was. He was generous to a fault if you were his friend, and meaner than a rattlesnake if you were his enemy. But he was fair. Bo respected him for that, and was shamed to the point of disgust, thinking maybe he’d lost the respect of this man who’d done so much for him.
Deep in thought, Bo didn’t notice the driver get out of the car until the door slammed shut. She stood by the car and looked toward the house. The instant thudding of his heart startled him. Damn. Sweat beaded his upper lip. He swiped at it, his fingers brushing across the raised seam of scars crisscrossing his face.
Cursing the clumsiness that prevented him from hurrying, he was almost within the safety of his bedroom when the front door opened and Shorty shouted.
“Bo, you in here?”
Where else would I be? He kept silent, listening. No other voice accompanied Shorty’s. Was that disappointment he felt? Hell, no. He was glad she hadn’t come inside.
“I’m here,” he answered.
When the other man’s footsteps echoed on the planked floor, Bo slowly, carefully, retraced his own. Guilt for taking off with the truck pricked at him unmercifully. Might as well apologize now and get it over with. He was halfway down the hall when he saw her.
Abby stood behind Shorty, taller only by a few inches, just enough to be visible. Shorty moved farther into the room, giving Bo an unobstructed view of her. His insides dipped on a wild roller-coaster ride.
There she was, standing in the doorway holding a big yellow bowl. She was totally unaware that the early afternoon brightness illuminated her with a halo of sunshine. Bo half expected a heavenly choir to break into song at any moment.
Instead, vivid memories flashed before him in living color. The softness of her sun-gilded skin pressed against his and the way it went all hot and damp when they made love; the curve of her rosy smile, the sweetness of her lips and the way her mouth melted beneath his when they kissed; the scent of honeysuckle that always clung to her and the way she glowed, all dewy and golden after he’d thoroughly loved her. Those memories were so intense, the pain of leaving her still crowded his chest. Restricted his breathing.
“Hello, Bo.” Her husky whisper trailed an erotic path across his skin as if she had physically touched him.
As soon as she spoke, the familiar tightening in his groin made his head swim. He ought to leave the room before he made a total ass of himself. He turned his head, ducking it slightly to avoid giving her a full view of his face. Damn, he’d gone and left his hat on the porch. He needed to get the hell out of here.
“Your hearin’ gone bad as well as your manners, boy?” Shorty scowled like an irritated parent. “Abby’s brought you some of IdaJoy’s mighty good chili. Least you could do is say thanks.”
Bo stared at the plastic-covered container clutched in Abby’s hands. She never gave him a chance to back away. Just marched up to him before he could turn his face. His heart flipped upside down when her unflinching gaze raked him up and down.
Dark blue eyes flashed undeniable disgust. Her summer-blond hair whipped around her face when she shook her head in apparent disapproval of what—or was it, who—she saw. He didn’t blame her for despising him.
