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As he turned onto Main Street, he looked for a parking spot near Austin’s store. He swerved into a space and removed his keys. He’d purchased the silver Ford Lariat pickup in Maryland because he needed a way to get around. First new truck he’d ever owned, but he figured he’d earned it, since his pay had been piling up in his checking account. But he should have thought that over a little more. His mom said things were tight and the ranch could have used the money. Readjusting to the real world was a hell of a blow.
Getting out, he locked the doors, pocketed the keys and walked into Wright’s Western Wear and Tack. A bell jangled over the door and the scent of leather reached him. He came to a complete stop.
Cheyenne was behind a counter, arranging colorful jewelry in a glass case. She looked up, her green eyes startled. Her red hair was clipped behind her head and strands dangled around her pretty face. A flashback hit him that had nothing to do with Afghanistan. He was seventeen years old and sitting in the school auditorium right behind Cheyenne Wright, staring at the back of her hair pinned up much like it was today. Several loose strands curled against the curve of her neck, and he’d wondered if he reached out with one finger and gently tugged her hair toward his lips if it would taste like cinnamon. Which was odd, because Cheyenne never gave him any indication she wanted him to taste any part of her.
Strange how that memory lingered in his mind.
“Can I help you?” she asked in the coolest voice he’d ever heard.
Chapter Three
Cheyenne’s heart pounded in her chest at an alarming rate—too alarming to suit her. What was Tuf doing here? And why was he still standing at the door?
Closing the glass case with a snap, she asked again, “Can I help you with something?”
He removed his hat like a true gentleman and stepped closer to her. Well over six feet with wide shoulders, he was a little intimidating, which she was made very aware of by the flutter in her stomach. His dark brown hair was cut short and neat, and the lines of his face were all sharp bones and angles. A tiny scar over his left cheek added to his manly image.
The scar wasn’t something new. He’d had it in school. Rumor was he’d fallen off a horse when he was about three and hit a water trough.
“Is Austin here?”
She cleared her throat. “No…no, he’s over at the diner having coffee with Dinah. He should be back shortly.”
“Oh.” He looked around. “I need some clothes. Do you mind if I look around?”
“Um…no.” Was she supposed to help him? Why couldn’t he wait until Austin returned?
He settled his hat onto his head and glanced at the items on racks and shelves. Without taking time to look at anything, he grabbed T-shirts, socks, long johns and Jockey shorts.
He wears briefs.
Cheyenne took a deep breath. She really didn’t need to know that.
After laying his load on the counter, he walked to a round rack of Western shirts. He found his size and reached for a handful. Good heavens, he didn’t even look at the style or the color. Unable to stand it, she made her way to his side and tried not to frown.
“Don’t you want to look at the shirts?”
“No. Why?”
She suppressed a groan. “They’re different. Some are solids, prints, plaids and checks.”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s a shirt.”
She gritted her teeth. “Some have snaps. Some have buttons.”
“Doesn’t matter. I can handle both.”
“This is ridiculous. No one buys clothes without looking at them.”
He shrugged. “I’ve been buying my clothes since I was about sixteen and that’s my method.”
That would account for that god-awful shirt he wore in school.
He pointed to her face. “You’re frowning. What’s wrong with the way I buy clothes?”
Now she’d stepped in it. Why was she even talking to him? She should have stayed at the counter. She bit her lip and stepped in a little deeper. “I was remembering that bright pumpkin-orange shirt with purple piping you wore in school. Evidently you had on sunglasses when you bought it.”
He gave a cocky grin. “Ah, the orange shirt. My friends and I were in Billings getting rodeo supplies and they had that shirt in the window. I said someone would have to pay me to wear something so gaudy. Well, that’s what my friends did. They bought it and paid me twenty bucks to wear it to school. It got a lot of attention and laughs. I’m sure I still have it. My mom never throws anything away. It’s too small for me now, but you can have it if you like.” He lifted a daring eyebrow.
“No, thanks.” She took the shirts out of his hands and held one up. “This is a solid baby-blue Western with pearl snaps. It comes in white, yellow and pink. You might prefer the yellow.”
His grin widened and she felt a kick to her lower abdomen. “No. I prefer the blue.”
“See. That’s shopping. Making a decision.” She held up another. “This is a light blue check. We have it in dark blue, too.”
“I’ll take the dark blue.”
“And this—” she pulled a shirt off the rack “—is red, white and blue. It was made popular by Garth Brooks. Since you’re a former marine, you might like it.”
“I do.” He glanced at the shirt and then at her. “But don’t you think it’s a little loud?”
It was, but she wasn’t going to admit that after the orange-shirt comment. “It’s fine.”
“Good. I’ll take three.”
She had a feeling he didn’t really care. To him it was just a shirt, like he’d said. She found that so strange. Her husband, Ryan, had been a picky dresser. Sometimes she took shirts back three or four times before she could find one he liked. And they had to be starched and ironed before he’d wear them. If they weren’t… Her hand instinctively went to her cheek.
“Do you have any chambray shirts and jeans?” He glanced at the shirts hung against a wall.
“Yes.” She waved her hand. “And Austin has a lot more on this round rack. What color?”
“Light blue.”
“Not red?”
“No. That’s Colt’s trademark. Too flashy.”
“Yeah, right.” She reached for two. “Jeans are here.” She pointed to her left. “The size is beneath each stack. Do you know your size?”
He stared directly at her with steamy dark eyes. “Doesn’t every man?”
She felt dizzy, but she just shrugged. “You’d be surprised. A lot of women buy their husband’s clothes.”
“I don’t have a wife, and like I told you, I buy my own clothes.” He studied the sizes and fit and pulled out five pairs.
“Mommy, Sadie’s coloring on my page.”
“Excuse me.” She took the shirts and jeans from him, and as hard as she tried not to touch him, his hand brushed against hers in a fleeting reminder of the difference in the texture of male skin. She drew in a breath, laid the merchandise on the counter and went to her daughters, who sat at a small table in a corner.
“Sadie, color in your own book.” She homeschooled the girls, and while she worked in the store, they did their lessons. Today they were coloring a picture according to the colors Cheyenne had marked on the page.
“Sammie doesn’t know how to color. I’m just showing…” Sadie’s green eyes widened and her mouth fell open. Cheyenne knew why. Tuf was standing behind her. She could feel his warm vibes.
She stepped aside. “I don’t believe you’ve formally met my daughters. Girls, this is Tuf Hart, Aunt Dinah’s brother. And this is Cassandra and Samantha. Otherwise known as Sadie and Sammie.”
“Why not call her Sandy or Cassie?”
Cheyenne tensed. “It’s a name her father gave her.”
Tuf nodded and looked at the girls. “Nice to meet you.”
Sadie scrunched up her face. “I don’t like you.”
“That seems to be a unanimous opinion in the Wright family.”
Cheyenne forced herself not to smile. “Sadie, that’s not nice. Apologize.”
Her spirited daughter hung her head.
“Sadie.”
Sadie mumbled something, and Cheyenne went to the checkout counter with Tuf. “My name is Sundell now,” she said and was unsure of the reason why she needed to mention that.
“So you and your husband moved back to Roundup?”
Cheyenne kept scanning the items into the cash register, trying not to react. Trying to be cool. “No. Just the girls and me.”
There was a pregnant pause filled with all kinds of questions. But again, she didn’t react. “Will there be anything else?”
“I need PRCA regulated rowels and spurs.”
“Austin orders those.”
“I figured.” He reached for his wallet in his back pocket and pulled out a credit card.
She totaled his purchases, swiped his card and ripped off a receipt for him to sign. She watched as his strong hand slashed out Tomas Hart. No one around here called him that. Even in school he was always known as Tuf, the youngest Hart.
As he slipped the card back into his wallet, he said, “I was out of line the other day. Your child is your business and I shouldn’t have said a word.”
She was taken aback by the apology, but all of Sarah Hart’s children had good manners. “No, you shouldn’t have, but I appreciate your concern. Sadie always tests my patience.”
He nodded and picked up the big bag from the counter as if it weighed no more than his wallet. “Thanks for the help.”
Even though she told herself not to, she watched through the display window as he took long strides back to his silver truck.
“Mommy, who’s that man?”
Cheyenne looked down to see Sadie staring up at her with big green eyes.
Someone I knew a long time ago. Someone I wished I’d had the courage to date.
“He’s Aunt Dinah’s brother.”
Sadie bobbed her head. “Aunt Dinah gots lots of brothers.”
Sammie leaned into her, wrapping herself as close as she could to Cheyenne, needing attention, love and reassurance that their world was still okay. Sometimes she didn’t know if she had that much strength because she struggled every day to make sense of a life blown apart. But for her daughters she would do everything possible to hide her fears.
Her eyes strayed to the window. If only she could go back in time…
* * *
TUF GLANCED ACROSS THE STREET at the redbrick building that used to be the home of the old newspaper but was now the Number 1 Diner. Sierra, Beau’s wife, owned it, and Tuf’s mother raved about the home cooking. He swung the bag of clothes into the backseat of his truck and walked over.
Inside, the diner was decorated in a mining theme, and he remembered his mom saying it had been named in honor of Sierra’s grandfather, who’d died in a mine. On the walls were mining photos and a long shelf held mining artifacts. The tables were red and the chairs had black leather seats. The place had a rustic, homey appeal, and the scent coming from the kitchen made him hungry.
He spotted Dinah and Austin sitting close together in a booth. Not wanting to interrupt, he started for the counter to order coffee, but Austin eased out of the booth, so Tuf strolled over to join them.
“Hey, Tuf.” Austin shook his hand.
“I was just over at your shop to order some rowels, spurs and chaps.”
Austin’s eyebrows rose. “Getting back into rodeoing?”
“Yeah.”
“Come back and I’ll get you set up.”
“Okay. I’ll visit with my sister first.”
“Good deal.” Austin leaned down to kiss Dinah and then made his way toward the door. Dinah’s eyes followed him and she had a dreamy look on her face.
Tuf slid into the booth. “You’ve got it bad, Sheriff.”
Her gaze swung to him. “Yes, I do.”
Tuf removed his hat and placed it beside him. Before he could say anything, a young girl in jeans with a red apron trimmed in black appeared to take his order.
“Just coffee, please.”
When the girl left, Dinah asked, “So you’re getting back into rodeoing?”
“Mom and I talked about it. She’d rather I take it easy for a while, but I need to be busy.”
“Maybe you’ve been taking it easy for two years. Who knows?”
This was the Dinah he knew, the one who came straight to the point, spoke her mind and didn’t pussyfoot around.
“But I’m not going to grill you because I know you’ve been through a great deal.”
