Page 5 of The Cowboy Comes Home

A sudden grin flashed across the man’s face, and for a moment she seemed to forget to breathe. Then he leaned down to stroke the black fur, and she had herself in hand by the time he straightened up.

Lobo looked at her, and she said, “Friend.”

The dog held up a paw, and with another of those killer grins the man took it and gently shook.

“How’d you get lost, Uncle T?” Jeremy asked.

She would have expected the man to be embarrassed, but instead he just grinned again. It had the same effect on her.

“I didn’t bother to check a map,” he admitted. “I figured if I could find my way around L.A. I could find my way around Last Stand. I kind of forgot about no street signs out in the hills, and the ‘you gotta know where you’re going to get there’ philosophy.”

She found the honest admission rather charming. Most guys she ran into would never admit something as simple as they’d gotten lost. But she was curious. He didn’t have the air she associated with the L.A. folks she’d run into. That hat was well used for what it was intended, and so were the dark brown cowboy boots he was wearing.

“You’re from L.A.?” she asked.

“Not far enough, at the moment,” he said, and there was a sour undertone to his voice. But it vanished when he smiled again and said, “It wasn’t hot enough in L.A., so I figured I’d come home.”

Home? That would explain the slight accent she’d heard. “You’re from here?”

“Not Last Stand. I grew up in Amarillo.”

Amarillo. It hit her then, with the force of a blow. She stared at him, afraid she was gaping but unable to help it. Nor could she stop the shock from creeping into her voice.

“You’re Tucker Culhane!”

Chapter Three

Tucker blinked atthe sudden exclamation of his name. He’d just gotten past the realization that this uniformed cop with the likely lethal dog at her side was actually rather pretty. Well, beyond pretty. He wondered just how long that hair the color of the sand in Malibu would be if she let it out of that knot at the back of her head.

An alarm went off in his head, and he had to slam the door on the old, haunting memories about another cop.

“Um…yes?” he said, feeling oddly hesitant because he didn’t know why she would have known who he was. Not many people paid attention to the people in his job. It was all about the front man, the star. Most people never even thought about whether or not the star actually did the stunt, which was the whole point of doing his job well.

“I first saw you in Houston at the Livestock Show and Rodeo. Amazing ride.”

He drew back slightly, surprised. His days of being on top of the rodeo news were almost a decade behind him, and she looked a bit young to even remember. Or maybe he was just feeling achy and old today. Some days were like that, when getting moving was a bigger effort because his body insisted on reminding him of the abuse it had taken, and that all his parts weren’t exactly OEM. People sometimes teased him that his titanium ribs kind of made him a superhero, but they weren’t the ones who had these days now and then. Fortunately not often, but today had been one of them.

But at least she hadn’t mentioned The Ride. That’s how he thought of it, with the T and the R capitalized. The ride that would have won him his fifth championship. The ride that had instead ended his rodeo career.

The ride that had almost ended his life.

He shook off the memories. He was better at that now. “I’m surprised you remember,” he said with a half-shrug.

“I try to remember that rather than the next year,” she said quietly.

And there it was. He felt a little chill. “You…were there?”

She nodded. She didn’t speak, and he wondered if it was because she couldn’t, or didn’t want to. Maybe she thought he wouldn’t want to talk about it. In which case she’d be right.

“I’m sorry you saw…that.” It was all he could think of to say.

“You’re sorry? You lived through it.” Something else flashed in her eyes, eyes that were the same shade as her hair, a light golden brown. “Thank goodness,” she added, sounding as if she were truly thankful he had survived.

“Sometimes,” he muttered, then gave a sharp shake of his head.

He didn’t usually admit that sometimes he wasn’t so sure he was glad he’d survived. He and Jackson didn’t even talk about it, since the day years ago that he’d made it clear he never wanted to hear another word about it.

He wondered why he had admitted it now.

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