Cowboy For Keeps

“Whatever you felt for me is long past,” Reno continued. “And you know I never looked at you that way.” She bit the inside of her cheek after telling the half lie.

“You’re right on one point,” Cade said. “I still care for you, Reno. But I don’t ever want to hurt you again. I’ll be going back to Idaho after Dad—”

She gave a dry laugh. “Cade, everyone I’ve ever cared about has left me in one way or another. I’m afraid I don’t trust anyone anymore. So you see, you’re here preaching to the choir.” She held out her hands, palms up. “I’ve already told myself I’ll never let you hurt me again. I feel nothing for you, Cade. Not contempt, not love…nothing.”

Liar.

She could forgive him for leaving her, but she couldn’t forget.

Dear Reader,

This book is very dear to my heart, as Reno is a woman much like me. Proud of her American Indian heritage, Reno Blackwell loves the land, especially the mountains of Colorado. She does her best to live in harmony with the wild mustangs that roam her ranch and the government property surrounding it. In honor of her grandfather’s memory, Reno has created a sanctuary for those mustangs too old, lame or otherwise unwanted for adoption.

Like the horses she loves, Reno’s had a tough row to hoe—betrayed by the man she thought of as her father, left alone when her grandfather passed away. And deserted by Cade Lantana, a good-looking cowboy seven years her senior.

Reno hung on to the courage she’d learned from Grandpa Mel and stayed at her home in Eagle’s Nest, on Wild Horse Ranch, where she created the mustang sanctuary. But she’s never forgotten the betrayal she felt when Cade left Eagle’s Nest. Now Cade is back, a BLM ranger, out to get the poachers who are stealing the mustangs Reno loves with all her heart.

Reno is also determined to see the poachers pay for their crimes, and equally determined to guard her heart against Cade.

Come with me, dear reader, and ride the trails of Colorado’s western slope. Let’s see what it takes for a strong-headed woman and an equally strong hero to forget the past and focus on the future.

I love hearing from my readers. You can reach me at BrendaMott@hotmail.com. Please reference the book title on the subject line.

Brenda Mott

Cowboy for Keeps

Brenda Mott

TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

When Brenda Mott isn’t busy writing or rescuing animals—she has more than thirty dogs at any given time—she enjoys curling up with a good book (naturally!), riding her horses or walking her dogs along the riverbank. Brenda can trace her family roots back to the Cherokees who walked the Trail of Tears, and her ranch—twenty-one acres deep in the Tennessee woods—is located on part of what used to be the original claims of the Cherokee Nation. Brenda’s stories often reflect her love of horses by having a ranch-themed plot. She enjoys writing romance best of all, because there’s always a guaranteed happy ending. She loves hearing from her readers. You may reach her at BrendaMott@hotmail.com.

This book is dedicated to my father, his father and

to my son, Chance (a-da-na-ta di-ni-la-wi) and my

cousin, Melvyn—Cherokee men who are every bit

as tough and loving as Reno’s Grandpa Mel. And

to my daughter, Loretta—a smart, strong woman

like Reno. Neh-go-he-luh ah-yuh-we-yah.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

LIGHTNING CUT ACROSS the sky with a vengeance, turning darkness to light for the span of a heartbeat. Long enough to give Reno Blackwell a clear glimpse of the horses. They raced through the clearing below, scattering like spilled marbles. Flared nostrils and urgent whinnies made their fear palpable—more so than the pounding of hooves on rock.

Without a second thought, Reno sent her own mount plunging over the edge of the hillside. The ground slid away beneath the blue roan, rock striking rock as Plenty Coups tucked his haunches and propelled himself forward in a hell-bent-for-leather descent.

Thunder rumbled like an angry spirit, and the long-awaited rain poured down relentlessly. As horse and rider reached the bottom of the slope, Reno searched the darkness for signs of human movement. She prayed for another flash of lightning, a glimpse of a headlight…anything to help her locate the poachers.

There. At the edge of the clearing.

All-terrain vehicles moved easily across the rocky ground, driving the mustangs forward, herding them along. Reno spotted at least two ATVs—and men with rifles—before the sky blackened again, but she could still see the bobbing glow of headlights. Her pulse pounded in her temples.

The mustangs. Her mustangs…At the sight of the men’s rifles, she’d tasted the sharp copper of adrenaline, but now thoughts of her own safety fled. She had to turn the herd.

With a shout of rage, Reno dug her heels into her gelding’s sides, rain rolling off the brim of her hat as she leaned forward in the saddle. If she could steer the mustangs away from the mouth of the canyon ahead, they might have a chance. Once inside, they would be trapped. In another flash of lightning—the bolt too close for comfort now—she spotted the Judas horse, one sent by the poachers to lure the mustangs onward. He was running ahead of the herd, showing them the way. She pointed the blue roan straight at him.

Plenty Coups responded like the warrior he was named for. Fearless and surefooted, he galloped along the sagebrush-dotted wash, despite the darkness. Like Reno, he’d been born on this land, and he stretched his neck out now, pinning his ears back as she leaned low in the saddle and urged him to run.

As they approached the Judas horse, a gray, Reno pulled her sodden cowboy hat off and waved it, shouting. Her voice was mostly lost amid the noise of the running herd, the thunder and the roar of the ATVs, but the gray pricked his ears and rolled his eyes.

Rain soaked Reno’s hair and got into her eyes, but the wind whipped it away. She shouted again, angling in tighter. The blue roan’s hooves beat a steady rhythm, taking her closer.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a sudden movement. Another rider was racing through the sagebrush, silhouetted against the stormy sky. Reno had just enough time to wonder where on earth he’d come from before he reached her. His horse, dark as the night around them, sped past Plenty Coups, coming at the gray from the opposite side. As a team, they cut off the animal.

Reno saw a sudden flash, like light reflecting from a spur, as the cowboy on the dark horse turned the gray, and then the herd. Waving his arms, he sent them in an arc, while she rode behind him, backing his efforts. The shouted curses of the men on the ATVs was music to her ears, and Reno let out a whoop. Her grandfather, a full-blooded Apache, had also loved the mustangs, and she’d be damned if a group of money-grubbing poachers would ever touch one hair of their manes.

Not on her land.

A bullet whizzed past her ear, and for one heart-stopping moment, she thought the gray had been hit. But he raced on, blending with the herd. Turning in the saddle, Reno drew her pistol from the holster beneath her black oilskin and fired at the headlight of an ATV. The glass shattered, knocking out the bulb, and she shot again, hitting another. She heard curses, and one high-pitched scream that made her laugh.

Not so tough now, are you?

She’d been born in the saddle, according to her grandfather, with a pistol in one hand and a knife in the other. Come closer, scumbags, and I’ll show you an old Apache trick.

But the poachers had had enough. Their ATVs roared around and sped back up through the canyon, the sound echoing off the walls as they retreated. Reno tugged on her reins, gradually slowing Plenty Coups, who shook his head. She knew he wanted to keep running with the herd—his herd once.

The wild horses swept away, disappearing like shadows into the night. The lightning seemed to follow them, creating one last light show across the expanse of Colorado sky before the storm rumbled to a subdued downpour.

But not before Reno saw him clearly.

In the last flash of lightning, the cowboy on the black horse sat still in the saddle, blending into the sagebrush. Reno felt the air leave her lungs as she realized why he’d seemed familiar.

She knew his face, all right. One that still haunted her sleep.

Cade Lantana.

The man who had stolen her heart.

Then killed her father.

RENO RODE HOME without looking back, her thoughts churning. Never in a million years would she have expected to run into Cade. He’d rattled her worse than the poachers had.

“Where the hell did you come from?” she’d demanded, and he’d laughed at her bluntness. But not with humor. Reno found nothing funny about his return to Eagle’s Nest, either.

She cursed under her breath. That was all she needed—help from the man who’d abandoned her nine years ago, after she’d lost her parents. Sonny Sanchez had turned out to be scum, but he’d been the only father she’d ever known. And Reno had looked up to Cade as a big brother, until he’d left her when she needed him most.

It was close to midnight by the time she finished unsaddling Plenty Coups, rubbing him down and putting him in a warm stall with hay and fresh water. Exhausted, she headed for the house, which sat almost dead center on the two thousand acres of Wild Horse Ranch, not far from the barn. Grandpa Mel had liked being close to his horses, and Reno found comfort in it, too. In summer, she slept with her windows open and loved hearing the occasional whinny floating on the air like a lullaby.

As she walked up the four steps to the wide porch now, her dogs greeted her, tails wagging, bodies wriggling with excitement as though she’d been gone for days. Her German shepherds—one white, the other black-and-tan—towered over the two mutts she’d rescued. Two sweet dogs, unwanted, dropped off on a desolate mountain road near her ranch…It sickened Reno, the things people did to animals.

She petted all four, then opened the screen door and stepped into the mudroom. After kicking off her boots, she made her way through the living room and into the lighted kitchen.

“Wynonna, what are you doing up?” Reno thought she’d been quiet enough leaving the house to not disturb the housekeeper.

Wynonna studied her in the soft glow of the twin wrought-iron lamps, shaped like roosters, that hung on either side of the sink. A Lakota Sioux, she’d worked for Grandpa Melvern for more years than Reno could count, long before Reno had been born, and had stepped without question into the role of mother when Reno’s own mom had overdosed. And Wynonna had stayed when the second of two strokes took Grandpa Mel’s life.

“I heard you ride out a while ago. Want some hot chocolate?” Without waiting for an answer, the older woman poured a mug for Reno, then sat cradling her own in both hands, her slippered feet propped on the vacant chair beside her. “Is it the horses?”

Reno nodded as she sipped the rich, sweet cocoa, feeling its warmth chase away the aftereffects of the storm, the danger. “I thought the poachers might try something, what with everybody busy in town.” Independence Day, with a big parade, three-day rodeo and fireworks display, would keep Sheriff Pritchard and his deputies occupied through the weekend, rain or no.

“I knew it wasn’t the possibility of canceled fireworks keeping you home,” Wynonna said, her dark eyes knowing.

“You didn’t really have a headache, either, did you?”

Wynonna’s laugh lines deepened as she flipped her long, salt-and-pepper braid over her shoulder. “I wanted to be here in case you needed me,” she admitted. “I also figured I might as well stay out of your way and let you look after your horses. But I did call Austin, since I was worried for your safety. He said he would come out if we needed him.”

Reno nodded. Austin Pritchard had been sheriff of Garfield County for five years, a deputy before that, and he was good at his job, if a little too gung ho at times. He was an attractive-looking man, thirty-three years old, tall, blond…most women’s idea of a catch. Plus he had a crush on Reno as wide as the Colorado River. Reno wasn’t sure she was looking for a catch, but that hadn’t stopped her from going out with the man.

Automatically, she found herself thinking of Cade, who’d also once been a deputy sheriff. Now there was a man who could turn heads, with his sun-streaked brown hair and blue-green eyes. But hell would freeze over before she’d let him back in her heart. “Did you know Cade Lantana is in town?”

Wynonna nearly missed the table edge as she set down her mug. “No, I didn’t. Where did you hear that?”

“I ran into him tonight.” Reno told her about the poachers and Cade, leaving out the part about being shot at. Wy tended to worry.

“I wondered if he would come back to help his mother,” Wynonna said, “with his dad being so sick.”

Matthew Lantana’s emphysema had deteriorated to the point where he needed oxygen on a regular basis. That was a virtual death sentence to a rough-and-tumble cowboy. Estelle Lantana was having a hard time running their cattle operation, since the mounting medical expenses had forced her and Matt to let go most of their ranch hands.

“Cade’s a man of honor,” Wynonna added.

“Don’t start.” Reno knew the other woman had hoped, years ago, that Reno and Cade would someday have a future together. But things had never been that way between them. At twenty-five, Cade had still viewed eighteen-year-old Reno as a kid, even though she could tell by the way he sometimes looked at her that he thought she was pretty. His own looks hadn’t escaped her, and she’d had a crush on him, for sure. But she’d longed so much for a big brother that she’d tried hard to impress him every chance she got. She’d wanted him to be proud of her.

Wynonna had read more into it. The seven-year age difference between Reno and Cade hadn’t bothered her the way it had Grandpa Mel. Or maybe it was just that Reno’s grandfather had deemed no man good enough for his granddaughter, least of all Cade, the deputy sheriff who had tucked tail and run after Sonny’s violent death.

“You should be careful,” Wynonna said now, and for a minute Reno thought she meant in regards to Cade. “Those poachers mean business. I didn’t say anything earlier because it would’ve been no use trying to stop you. I understand what the mustangs mean to you, but I also understand what they mean to the poachers. Money. And greed makes men do rash, crazy things.”

“I know.” Reno nodded. Riding out alone at night wasn’t the smartest thing she’d ever done. And shooting out the ATV headlights? Plain stupid. At the time she’d been too angry to care if she ended up hitting the poachers, who’d had no qualms about shooting at her. Really, really stupid. She could’ve killed someone. Her passion for the horses had overridden everything else.

Reno sighed. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”

“Aren’t you going to call Austin and tell him what you saw?”

“It’s late, and the poachers are gone for now. I’ll call him tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Wynonna said, resigned. “Then I will see you in the morning.”

“Good night.” Reno turned toward the hall.

“Reno?”

She looked back over her shoulder.

“Don’t lose sleep over Cade.”

“Not to worry,” she replied. “I’ve got a dream catcher hanging over my bed.”

She left hearing Wynonna’s soft chuckle, and wondering if the webs of the dream catcher would be strong enough to trap the nightmare of Cade Lantana being back in her life.

CHAPTER TWO

CADE SHOOK OFF the remnants of a nightmare he hadn’t had in quite some time. Chalk it up to coming home to Eagle’s Nest. Throwing back the covers, he stood, taking in the familiar room.

Home. In Colorado.

It felt strange yet comforting to be on the Diamond L after nine years of living on the outskirts of New Meadows, Idaho. He hadn’t expected to feel comforted, plagued as he still was by the events that had led to his departure. He only wished he’d come here under more pleasant circumstances. It killed him to see his father so sick.

After a quick shower, Cade dressed and yanked on his boots—still damp from last night’s downpour—and clomped down the stairs. The aroma of coffee and hot, buttered pancakes wafted from the kitchen, drawing him in. His father sat at the table, dressed in his usual Western shirt, jeans and cowboy boots. But the light was gone from his blue eyes. His tan had faded, and he looked as ill as he was. The oxygen tube clipped to his nostrils called attention to his labored breathing.

Cade forced a smile. “Morning, Dad. Mom.”

Estelle stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. Her short, silver-blond hair smelled like strawberries. “It sure is good to see you in my kitchen, son. Sit down, I’ve got pancakes ready.”

She scowled and pointed a finger at her husband, who’d pulled a cigarette from his shirt pocket and stuck it between his lips. “Light that, Matthew Lantana, and I’ll kick your butt—if your oxygen tank doesn’t blow you to kingdom come first!”

“Don’t get your britches in a knot, woman.” Clutching the unfiltered cigarette between two fingers, Matt waved it in the air. “I just wanna suck on the damn thing. Is that all right with you?” He glared at her. “Wasn’t gonna light it.”

Estelle gave him a dark look. “You’re playing with fire either way,” she said. “Just tempting and tormenting yourself, is all you’re doing.” She slammed down a plate with a single pancake in front of him. Refilled his cup. “You shouldn’t even have those cancer sticks in the house.”

“Can we please not argue on my first morning here?” Cade interjected. “Dad, put the cigarette away.”

“Fine.” Matthew stuck it back in his shirt pocket. “A man can’t do a blasted thing in his own home,” he grumbled.

“You can die in your own home, that’s what you can do, if you don’t stop it!” Estelle blinked, tears rimming her red eyes. She dropped into a chair across from her husband and dug viciously into her own stack of pancakes with the side of her fork.

Purposely and with relish, Matthew put a huge dollop of butter on his single flapjack, then poured enough syrup over it to drown a mule. He narrowed his eyes at Estelle as if daring her to object.

Cade sighed. “Do you feel like taking a ride with me today, Dad?”

“I can’t manage horseback anymore—you know that.” Without looking at him, Matt shoved a forkful of dripping pancake into his mouth. Though he owned a portable oxygen tank small enough to fit behind a saddle, the limited air supply kept him from riding, since anything less than two hours in the saddle was, in his mind, a waste of time. Not to mention that pride wouldn’t allow him to do something with difficulty that had once been second nature.

“I meant a ride in the truck,” Cade said. “I’m driving out to Wild Horse Ranch to see what those poachers might’ve left behind.”

Matt snapped to attention. “So, they were there last night?”

Cade nodded. “Bold as you please, trying to run the herd into a canyon.”

“That disgusts me to no end,” Estelle fumed. “Can’t the sheriff get them for trespassing on Reno’s ranch, at least?”

“Yep, but trespassing charges aren’t going to solve the problem. The Bureau of Land Management needs to bust them for poaching and theft of government property. But what I hear from Sam Grainger, the agents have been busy out by De Beque, where this same thing’s been happening.”

“Think it’s wise to be poking around on Reno Blackwell’s place?” Matt asked. He’d been well aware of Cade’s feelings for Reno, and the complicated decision he’d made in leaving Colorado.

Cade shrugged. “Reckon I owe her all the help I can give.”

“You’re an agent in Idaho, not here,” his mother reminded him. “I hate to see you hanging around Reno again.” She didn’t have to finish what he knew she was thinking. That by leaving, he’d hurt Reno, a teenage girl who’d looked up to him.

But the older Reno had got, the more Cade’s interests had changed from brotherly to something more, especially once she turned eighteen. Yet after what her stepfather had done, not to mention what Sonny had forced Cade to do, there was nowhere for those feelings to go. Twenty-five-year-old men weren’t supposed to be attracted to eighteen-year-old girls.

“I’m not hanging around with her, Mom. I’m just doing what needs to be done.”

“I suppose,” Estelle said, “but there’s no sense in you dragging your father out in the middle of nowhere.”

“For crying out loud!” Matt slammed his cup down, sloshing coffee onto the gingham tablecloth. “Why don’t you just go ahead and put me in a pine box and bury me?”

“Matthew, calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down,” he wheezed. Suddenly, a coughing fit seized him, and Cade half rose from his chair, feeling responsible.

“You okay, Dad?” he asked, laying a hand on his arm.

“Oh, Matt.” Estelle scooted her own chair away from the table and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Relax. Just breathe easy.”

“Br—breathe easy,” Matt wheezed. “Easy for you…to say.” His color had gone from red to ashen, then slowly returned to normal as he leaned back in his chair and sucked in oxygen.

Cade felt like crap. He wished there was something he could do for his father. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t,” Matt snapped. “She did.” He waved Estelle away. “Quit fussing, woman. If I’m gonna die, then so be it. But I damn sure ain’t gonna sit around this kitchen twenty-four-seven—like an invalid.” He breathed somewhat easier. “Yeah, I’ll ride along to Wild Horse Ranch with you, son.” He reached out to squeeze Cade’s hand, and his grip was surprisingly strong. “It’s good to have you home, boy.”

Cade swallowed the lump in his throat. “It’s good to be here, Dad.” To his mother he added, “Don’t worry. I’ll look after him. The truck’s air-conditioned, so he’ll really be more comfortable in my Chevy than he is in this kitchen.” He winked at his father.

The old ranch house was cooled by the shade of the massive cottonwoods that grew around the perimeter of the yard, front and back. Plus most of the rooms had ceiling fans and plenty of windows for cross breezes.

Matt smiled, more like his old self. “I’ve always been a Ford man myself, but I guess a body can’t be choosey.”

THE PHONE RANG, startling Reno from her spot in front of her home office computer. She used the PC to keep records of the mustangs that lived at her sanctuary, as well as for her own small herd of fifteen quarter horses.

“Wild Horse Ranch.”

“Hey, Reno,” Sheriff Pritchard said. “Hope I’m not calling too early.”

His sexy drawl gave her shivers. “Not at all. What can I do for you, Austin?”

“Now there’s a loaded question,” he teased. “I saw Wynonna at the diner today—talk about a morning person.” He laughed and Reno joined him.

“Wy definitely gets up with the chickens.” Wynonna sometimes ate breakfast in town on the weekend, lingering over coffee at the diner to chat with her friends.