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Chapter One
Hayes Matthews had long expected his day of reckoning to come compliments of a gnarly saddle bronc. Instead, it came at the hands of corporate policy.
Fucking bureaucrats.
When he’d retired from rodeo and signed on with the sprawling Buckhorn Ranch south of Kalispell, he’d been glad to end his rodeo career on his own terms. His body wasn’t snapping back like it used to, and while he still competed in local rodeos, he no longer found satisfaction in constantly being on the road, spending every waking moment either traveling to a rodeo or competing in one.
He’d felt pretty damned smug about his smooth segue from competitor to responsible employee with a salary and benefits—right up until the Buckhorn sold to Wellington Communications. Then the bean counters and their minions had come onto the scene, and he found himself fighting people wearing fake western wear whenever he needed to accomplish something. Fucking maddening.
Hayes forced his jaw muscles to relax as he turned his truck onto the road leading to the Tree Fork Ranch fifteen miles southeast of Marietta, Montana. He’d turned in his notice earlier that day and the Buckhorn Ranch part of his life was officially over. If he’d known that the ranch had been in the final stages of a sale prior to accepting the full-time position, he wouldn’t have…who was he kidding?
He would have totally taken the job. The Buckhorn was a prestigious ranch and he’d felt confident that he could handle non-ranch types running the operation after the sale was finalized, figuring that, in the name of efficient business practices, they would listen to the people who knew what they were talking about.
Nope.
The last straw had come that afternoon when he’d gotten news that his uncle, Wade Matthews, had suffered an accident and was in the hospital. When Hayes asked for emergency family leave, he was told that an uncle didn’t qualify. It didn’t matter if the guy had raised Hayes and his brothers from a young age after they’d lost their parents in a car accident. He was an uncle. Uncles didn’t qualify. How many times had hard-headed Suzanne repeated that even as Hayes explained the circumstances?
Often enough that Hayes had finally lost his tightly controlled temper. He’d torn an oversized sticky note from the holder on her desk, pulled the black marker out of his shirt pocket and wrote “I quit” in wide black lines on the pale blue paper, signed and dated it. To his credit, he did not stick it to her forehead. Instead, he slapped it onto her desk directly in front of her. Suzanne had flinched, then raised a cool gaze.
“Do you understand the ramifications of this act?” she’d asked.
Hayes had swallowed the retort that sprung to his lips, turned and stalked out of her pseudo-western office. Yes. The ramifications were that he would no longer have to fight to do what needed to be done. He no longer had to explain why the pivot irrigation system remained running during a half-hour squall. Or why things with cattle needed to be done by a certain date, even if it didn’t jibe with their schedule. He’d have no more micromanaging corporate types interfering with him.
On the drive south to the hospital in Marietta where his uncle Wade had been admitted with a seriously broken leg, he’d had at least six calls from Suzanne that had gone straight to voicemail. After passing through Livingston, he played the calls.
The first informed him that Suzanne had met with her boss and HR, and while it meant bending the rules, they were open to finding a solution that worked for everyone. Translation: there was no one to step easily into Hayes’s shoes. Tough luck, Suzanne. He’d put up with corporate bullshit for over a year, which was a year too long. There were other jobs, and thanks to his frugality he had a decent bank account. Winning big had not meant spending big. Hayes loved the risk of rodeo, but he also knew that his career could end in a heartbeat. All it took was a couple of mental errors or an unfortunate combination of events and he could be out of a job. Therefore, even though he had a reputation for recklessness in the arena, he’d saved his money. Now that he was out of a job, he was glad of it.
Wade was heavily sedated after the surgery to deal with a compound fracture of his tibia and fibula bones, and Hayes was taken back by how worn and gray his uncle looked against the stark white of the hospital sheets. And out of place. Wade Matthews, man of action, did not belong in a hospital bed.
“He’ll be more aware tomorrow,” the attending nurse murmured, giving Hayes a look that clearly said she didn’t know if that was a good thing.
“He can be a handful,” Hayes replied, and the nurse laughed, albeit grimly.
“I was on duty when he came in. He was in terrific pain, as you can imagine, but all he could talk about was losing time on the ranch.”
“Sounds like Wade.”
As he drove away from the hospital, he was grateful that Suzanne had been such a butt about the definition of “immediate family.” Her stubborn adherence to the rules had been the kick in the ass he needed to get himself out of a mind-sucking job.
Half an hour after leaving the lights of Marietta behind, Hayes turned off the county road and onto the long driveway leading to the Tree Fork Ranch. Despite the thousands of times he’d traveled the road, tonight felt different.
Because you’re coming home for real?
That might be it, even though he didn’t plan to stay. Right now, his future was truly up in the air.
The familiar buildings came into view, silhouetted against the twilight as Hayes crossed the last stretch of driveway and clattered over the old cattle guard. He’d expected all the buildings to be dark given the hour and the fact that there was no one on the ranch—or at least there shouldn’t be—but a dim light shone through a window of the barn.
Had it been burning since Wade broke his leg? Possibly, even though, as Hayes understood it, the incident occurred during daylight hours.
Then there was the matter of the Ford pickup he didn’t recognize parked close to the barn. He turned his truck in a sweeping circle on the wide drive and came to a stop with the headlights reflecting off the Wyoming plates. Had Wade bought himself a new truck from out of state?
Or had someone decided to capitalize on Wade’s injury and help themselves to tools while the ranch was empty?
If so, they were going to be dealing with one cranky cowboy, because this was all he needed at the end of a very long day.
Bailey Hunt had gone still at the sound of a vehicle, crouched in the stall next to the roan mare she’d been doctoring, and now her muscles were beginning to protest. The rig rolled to a stop outside the barn and Bailey rose to her feet, wishing she could see through the walls. She put a hand on the sturdy roan’s side and glanced at the palomino in the adjoining stall. Both mares had their ears pricked forward and their eyes on the same wall Bailey wished she could see through.
The Tree Fork Ranch was semi-isolated and was not a place that people came to by accident. The farmhands had left hours ago and, after his accident that morning, Wade had been adamant about not bothering his nephews until he knew what he was dealing with, giving Bailey orders through gritted teeth as the EMTs loaded him into the ambulance for transport.
Stubborn man. But she owed him a debt of gratitude, so even though she’d found the phone numbers on the handwritten list tacked up in Wade’s kitchen, she’d stifled the impulse to call Trev or Jordan Matthews. Calling Hayes Matthews was out of the question unless she had no other options.
But maybe the hospital had contacted them?
The sound of the truck door opening, followed by boots stepping into deep gravel, made her stomach twist. She’d love to turn off the light but couldn’t chance giving up her location. Better to just melt into the shadows. News traveled rapidly in the area and there were people who wouldn’t mind dropping by an unattended ranch to see what easily salable items might be lying around.
Or if a certain horse might be there.
That was her fear, but it was also an overreaction. There was no possible way that Chance Meyers could have sussed out where the mare was. Bailey had been very careful.
But maybe not careful enough?
Footsteps came closer, crunching in the gravel before growing quieter as they hit the soft ground that surrounded the old building. Bailey’s nerves hummed as she eased out of the stall and slunk behind a stack of hay bales before working her way along the wall to the side door, where she could slip out unseen. She reached the door, held her breath as she turned the latch. The resulting squeak was crazy loud, and she froze still gripping the handle, heart slamming against her ribs as she listened.
All she could hear was the blood pounding in her ears. Then the door was yanked open from the outside, pulling Bailey with it. She let out a yelp as she let go of the door handle and automatically threw a punch at the person pressing in on her. He let out an oof as her fist connected and then she pushed past him, knocking him off-balance before running toward her truck.
“Hey!”
A second later she was yanked to a stop and spun around as her pursuer caught hold of the back of her oversized denim jacket. She lost her balance and went down, only to be hauled upright again by a hand on her collar. She kicked and twisted, and must have yelled something, because her assailant suddenly released her and she stumbled sideways, unprepared to support her own weight.
“Bailey?”
The familiar voice rolled over her and even though she would have rather faced anyone else, save Chance Meyers or maybe a tweaker looking for something to steal, relief made her knees feel JELL-O-like. Apparently, she wasn’t going to have to fight for her life, but the primitive part of her brain was having a hard time accepting that reality. Fight or flight was a bitch at times.
Bailey pushed back the hair that had fallen in her eyes and gave the man in front of her an accusing look. “You scared the crap out of me, Hayes.” The words came out in gasps as her lungs fought for air. This was not how she’d envisioned a reunion with the man who’d once tied her in knots.
“I thought you were a thief.” He, too, was breathing heavily. “What the hell are you doing here?”
A reasonable question since she hadn’t been on the ranch since she’d broken up with him many years ago. Bailey braced her hands on her thighs as she pulled in a couple of deep breaths that did nothing to slow her heart rate. “Robbing the place, of course.”
Hayes made a noise that sounded like a growl, and she lifted her head. “I’m working for Wade.”
“Since when?”
“Since mid-July.” Two months. Another deep inhalation, then she rose to full height. Better. “I take it you and Wade don’t talk too often?”
It was a little jab. Undeserved, because, as demonstrated that morning, Wade might communicate regularly with his nephews, the boys he’d raised from toddlers to adults, but he wasn’t about to tell them that he was having issues running his ranch. Not unless his back was against the wall.
“We talk,” Hayes said. “Were you here when the accident happened?”
“I’m the one who called the ambulance. His new mare fought him and went over. Landed on him.”
“Shit.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.
“The mare is in the barn. She hurt her leg in the accident. Wade asked me to take care of her.” She’d stopped by to check on her way home from a fruitless early evening visit to the hospital. Wade had been out of surgery, but no visitors were allowed except immediate family.
Hayes’s gaze came up, his eyes looking more silver gray than blue thanks to the odd tint of the overhead pole light. “Why are you working here?”
He made it sound as if she should have learned her lesson the last time she’d been hired on to the Tree Fork, which had been the summer after her stepdad walked out on the family and she and her mom needed income. Wade, their closest neighbor, had reached out to help the struggling mother-daughter duo, hiring them for day work, despite not needing additional help the way he did now. Hayes had been in the middle of his second pro rodeo season and had come home to recover from an injury. Wade, of course, put him to work while he was home, doing what he was able to do with a bad elbow. Bailey had worked with him, mainly to keep him from reinjuring himself, and it didn’t take long for sparks—the good kind—to ignite between them.
“It’s temporary. I’m spending the summer on the old place and stopped to tell Wade that he had a neighbor when I first arrived.”
Bailey had always harbored a soft spot for the man, who’d broken character to help her and her mom, and apparently that went both ways. It wasn’t until he offered her work “if she wanted it” that she came up with the idea of trading man-hours for boarding Dakota Sunshine in a safe place. A place where it was unlikely Chance would look. “We worked out a deal where I’d do some day work for him until the Copper Mountain Rodeo.” Which was now two weeks away. Her friend Jenna, who’d been in radio silence for almost two weeks now, had promised her that she’d find another place for the mare by then, thus freeing up Bailey to head to the western gear shows where she made a fairly decent living selling her hand-engraved silver. “He needed an extra hand.”
“Nice of you.”
He spoke as if he sensed there was more to the deal.
“He agreed to board my horse, too. My place isn’t safe. Mom’s been leasing the homestead to Jim Reed and his sons since we left. The fields are in good shape, but the corrals are wrecked.” She looked past him to the lighted barn window, wishing that Wade had managed to stay on his horse that morning. Hayes was studying her intently when she turned back to him, making her wonder just what he saw. A woman he hadn’t set eyes on in almost ten years who now meant nothing to him? Or was he, like her, feeling the tug of unfinished business?
“Do you have an update on Wade? Have you seen him?” His expression shifted at the question. “I stopped by the hospital earlier,” she explained, “but I couldn’t get any information.”
“He was sleeping when I stopped by, but yes, I saw him.”
“Good.” The word hung, the silence emphasizing the many things that had been left unsaid between them because of the chicken-hearted way she’d ended things. She wasn’t a coward—far from it. But after watching everything her mom had gone through, her feelings for Hayes had terrified her back then.
“Are you okay?”
Bailey didn’t know if he was referring to her lapse into silence, or her physical well-being after being knocked around. “I am.”
She was also itching to get to the safety of her truck where she could catch her breath both figuratively and literally. She’d known that at some point she’d run into Hayes again, but in her mind, they’d have a cool, it’s-been-a-long-time-hope-you’re-doing-well type of reunion. Adult-like. No running, no punching.
“Are you okay?”
Hayes opened his mouth, as if surprised at the question, then closed it again. Bailey studied his ridiculously handsome face as she waited for an answer, a face that had gotten better with age. How was it that men could do that? “Yeah,” he said grimly. “I’m good.”
“Then I should go.” There was no point in continuing this conversation now that they’d settled the important issues. They were both okay and neither of them was there to rob the ranch or steal a horse.
“Will you be back?” he asked. “To work I mean?”
“That’s the deal I made with Wade—unless you want to change it?”
“No.”
She gestured toward the barn. “I didn’t get a chance to turn off the light, but the horses have been taken care of.”
“I’ll get the light.”
Bailey nodded and started toward her truck, nerves thrumming—the aftermath of being chased in the dark and then having to face the guy she’d ghosted so many years ago.
Oh, Wade. Why couldn’t you have stayed on that mare?
Questions. Hayes had a ton of them, but the top two were why was Bailey staying at her old place after not setting foot on it for a decade, and why had she left him so abruptly years ago?
The second question had rattled around in his brain since he found the note she’d written him, becoming more a matter of curiosity than anything else as time passed—or so he’d thought until he’d come face-to-face with his runaway cowgirl again.
Maybe he’d get some answers. Or maybe it was a good time to leave well enough alone.
After checking on the mares in the barn, Hayes shut out the light and let himself out into the cool night air, wondering if his uncle had purchased the palomino beauty in the stall next to the injured roan or if she was Bailey’s boarded horse. The mare was obviously the culmination of a careful breeding program, showing all the characteristics of a classic quarter horse—dainty head, large eyes, sturdy well-muscled body and a square stance. Not Wade’s type of horse. He was a big believer in plain brown horses of questionable breeding and the palomino was well beyond the quality of any horse Hayes had ever seen on the ranch, including Trev’s roping horses. Whoever owned the mare, they had a prize on their hands.
Hayes let out a long breath as he headed for the dark house. It had been a twilight zone of a day, starting with his sticky-note resignation and ending with the discovery that the woman who’d wrecked him was once again working for his uncle. He rubbed the area just below his clavicle where she’d connected with her punch. He’d have a bruise and he was probably lucky she hadn’t landed her punch any higher. She might have broken her hand and/or dislocated his jaw.
Weird, weird night.
And it would no doubt be followed by a strange morning.
Hayes pushed open the door of the house he’d grown up in and was struck by the scents of his childhood—cooking, because the exhaust fan had never worked in the kitchen, ranch mud, and horse. A dirty saddle blanket lay in a crumpled heap next to the washing machine. Hayes hoped that Wade didn’t plan to wash the thing. The hair would do a number on the filter.
After hanging his jacket in the mudroom and kicking on his boots, he snapped on the kitchen light. The room showed the usual signs of bachelor living: a half-rebuilt carburetor on the kitchen table, the usual jumble of mail and things that tended to collect when one lived alone. But there were no dishes in the sink and the coffee pot had been cleaned. Wade had his routines.
Hayes went through the house to his old bedroom, a small room with a window that opened silently—very handy back in the day. It had taken a lot of constant maintenance with a bar of soap to keep it that way, and the only time he’d been caught coming in when he was already supposed to be in had been after he’d slacked off on window-squeak maintenance. Wade had been the kind of guardian who wasn’t all that concerned about school or grades—as long as Hayes and his brothers were passing, he didn’t care how much time they’d spent skipping class to practice for rodeo—but he didn’t want his boys out drinking and partying until all hours. Hayes and his brothers knew that was because Wade had been a wild child himself. A “do as I say, not as I do” type of situation that the brothers had taken in stride. As they’d grown, and heard stories about their uncle, they realized the changes he’d embraced when he’d become their guardian. Hayes’s late father had been the quiet Matthews brother, deeply into home and family; Wade could not be tied down. Ironic that he’d ended up being a damned good father to not only Hayes and Trev, but also to Jordan, their foster brother, who’d come to them as a toddler.
Despite his spotty school attendance, Hayes had managed to nail down a couple of scholarships but had decided to go the rodeo route instead of heading to college. He sometimes wondered if that was why Bailey had dumped him. He’d been two years into his career the summer they’d gotten together, but rodeo wasn’t the most secure life path, and Bailey—even though she would have denied it with her dying breath—was looking for security. She never mentioned family troubles, as if they’d go away if she didn’t speak of them, but Hayes knew that things had been rough for her the last years of high school before her stepdad had moved on to greener pastures and a younger woman. Bailey, with her cowgirl swagger and fearless façade, had driven him nuts.
Now she was back on the Tree Fork, and he had the feeling that very little had changed in that regard.
His phone rang as he passed the small bathroom where he’d learned to shave. Finally, one of his brothers had gotten the messages he’d left concerning Wade’s accident.
“How is he?” Jordan asked. Hayes perched on the edge of the neatly made bed as he answered. He patted the covers and a pouf of dust rose in the air. It’d been a while since he’d been home.
“He was out of it when I stopped by. The surgery was successful, and I’ll see him first thing tomorrow.”
“Damn,” Jordan said. “Maybe he shouldn’t be living alone? How long is Parker supposed to be gone?”
Wade had hired Dan Parker as his live-in ranch hand around the time that the Matthews brothers had started leaving home. Dan and his wife Vera had been mainstays of the operation until late that spring when Dan had taken a half-year leave of absence to have back surgery.
“October. I think? And I wonder what he’ll be capable of when he gets back.”
“Wade may have to keep his day hands longer than anticipated.” The plan, as near as the brothers could tell, since Wade had been customarily vague about it, was for him to lease the farming to their neighbor Jim Reed, and to hire day hands to help him handle the cattle and maintenance.
“Did you know that Bailey was one of the day hands?”
“Bailey? Your Bailey?”
Not my Bailey.
“She’s been here for a couple months.”
“You talked to her?”
“Briefly.”
“How was the reunion?” Jordan spoke with a hint of caution. Hayes had denied it at the time, but his middle brother had sensed how ruined he’d been when Bailey dumped him.
“She punched me.”
“For real?”
“I startled her,” Hayes said before changing the subject. “I have things handled on this end for now. When you and Trev come for the rodeo, I’ll know more, and we can come up with a plan to keep Wade from hurting himself before he’s healed.”
“You can get that much time off?” Jordan was aware that this was the Buckhorn Ranch’s busy time as they tackled fall chores and prepped for guests for hunting season.
Hayes moistened his lips. “I quit them.”
“Did you?” Jordan did not sound surprised.
“Should have quit when the ranch sold to the investment partnership.”
“Live and learn. What’s your next move?”
“I’m sitting good financially, so I might stay here until Parker comes back.” The idea had played in his head on the drive home from the Buckhorn. He’d have to wait and see how things played out. “Keeping Wade from hurting himself will be a full-time job.”
“I imagine so, unless this broken leg humbles him.”
“Good one.” Hayes couldn’t imagine anything humbling Wade Matthews for long.
“I try,” Jordan said. “I want updates. If you think I should come to help, let me know. I’ll try to work out something.”
They both knew that would be difficult. As an independent contractor in a niche industry—shaft sinking—Jordan was constantly in demand and constantly fighting deadlines. As near as Hayes could tell, his jobs consisted of one emergency situation followed by another.
“Right. If things get tough, I’ll do that. Where do you think Trev is?”
“He and Dylan were supposed to compete at the Lewiston Roundup, I think. Hard to keep track.”
“I hope he checks his messages some century.” Unlike the rest of his generation, Trev was not a phone guy. It was inconvenient, but Hayes was kind of impressed with his brother’s attitude toward technology, especially since he’d surprised everyone and made it his career—for the wrong reason in Hayes’s opinion. Trev had turned himself inside out trying to be the man his now ex-fiancé had wanted him to be. Things had not ended well, but Trev now had a decent career and a steady paycheck. Hell, both his brothers had decent careers. Hayes did not.
After ending the call, Hayes lay back on his bed, feet still planted on the floor. The room was stark. No childhood memorabilia remained. He and his brothers had made a point of emptying their rooms before leaving home, donating, recycling and tossing the bits and pieces of their lives so that Wade wouldn’t be stuck curating their belongings. Because of that, Hayes’s room contained a dresser, a bed and a layer of dust on the floor, a far cry from the custom cabin he’d lived in on the Buckhorn Ranch.
No fancy mini appliances, hardwood floors and tile.
No micromanagers. No HR department.
Hayes smiled despite his exhaustion. He’d take it.
End of Excerpt
