Page 29 of The Cowboy Comes Home

She grinned at him. “Maggie Rafferty just happened. Don’t feel bad, we all know what it’s like. And I can’t blame her for jumping on the chance to have a famous rodeo rider do the official launch of the Last Stand rodeo.”

“I thought maybe that meant I’d just open the first chute or something,” he muttered. “Not get up and talk to the whole crowd.”

“It’ll be fine. They’ll be so excited to see you it won’t matter if all you say is hello, thanks, glad to be here.”

“And ‘Let ’er rip’?”

“And that. So they’ll know it’s really you.”

“I’m surprised you remembered that.” He smiled as he said it, as if it pleased him that she had.

“I think you’ll find a lot of people here remember that. And you.”

His mouth quirked at one corner. “As long as it’s not just for that last ride.”

He sounded a bit sour, and who could blame him? She chose her next words carefully. “It might have been that way at first, because it was so…horrible, but after a while I mostly heard people simply saying they were sorry it had happened because you were the best.”

He just looked at her for a moment, and she wondered if she hadn’t chosen carefully enough. But then, in a low, rough voice that sent an odd ripple of both chill and heat through her, he said, “Thank you. For telling me that.”

She wondered if perhaps he thought he’d been long forgotten. If so, she was glad he knew better now. Texas would never forget him.

She certainly hadn’t.

“What will you do now? I mean, ifStonewallis over.”

“It is,” he said, rather flatly. “Jackson got the call before I left L.A.” Then his forehead furrowed a bit as he added, “That’s not general knowledge, by the way.”

She nodded in understanding. “I’ll not mention it to my multiple friends in the media.”

He blinked and drew back slightly. She couldn’t stop the corners of her mouth from twitching. And in the next moment he burst out laughing. And she let the grin she’d been fighting break loose.

“I like you, Officer Stratton,” he said, still chuckling.

“Back at you,” she said. “Although I’d like you more if you just called me Emily.”

“Do you promise that…Emily?”

Her breath caught. Not just because of his words but because there had suddenly been a quietly serious undertone in his voice. Any trace of teasing or lightweight flirting had vanished.

“Yes,” she answered, surprising even herself with her tone, which matched his.

And when he looked at her now, those blue eyes boring into hers, she knew she meant it.

Chapter Fourteen

Tucker walked slowlyalong the sidewalk, looking at the various businesses along Main Street. He hadn’t really taken the time to do that before, so since he’d had such a restless night anyway, he’d rolled out early on this Saturday morning and headed into town to look around.

He’d started at the coffee shop, Java Time, because he needed the jolt. When he came out with his cup in hand, he pondered crossing the street right there, to avoid going past the saloon, even if it would put him in front of what looked like a private residence. Because memories of last night there were what had kept him awake, mostly.

Coward.

Resolutely he kept walking, thankful the saloon was closed this early in the morning. He crossed the street labeled Oak, which put him in front of the large courthouse on the corner. He was sure he wasn’t the first one to wonder if the courthouse across the street from the saloon was coincidence or good planning.

He kept going, pausing briefly to look at the fountain that was in the center of the cluster of four large buildings. It appeared to be the city center, since he could see the sign for city hall behind the courthouse. Next came the library, a building that made him smile because it was bigger than the courthouse. Somehow that made him feel good.

He stopped at the statue that stood on the corner in front of the library. Noticed the shinier color coming through on the toes of the boots of the man named Asa Fuhrmann, a hero of the actual last stand. People obviously thought it was lucky to touch his boots, which sort of spoke to the esteem in which he was held by this town.

There was a sizeable plaque with the story beneath the tall, bronze figure, and he looked that way. But his gaze was caught by the missing chunk of the statue’s pedestal and the smaller plaque beside it, commemorating the heroics of one Police Chief Shane Highwater, who’d risked his life pulling a survivor out of the truck that had cartwheeled into that pedestal and burst into flames.

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