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He’s no hero...
But he’s her only hope
Trey Haymaker left his Texas ranch to escape his problems—not become entangled in someone else’s. Yet when Lisa Duprey asks him to help find her missing grandfather, the cowboy in him feels duty-bound to assist her. As their search intensifies, Lisa and Trey have only each other to rely on. But after the betrayals of his past, can Trey trust her with his secrets...and his heart?
ANGEL SMITS shares a big yellow house, complete with gingerbread and a porch swing, in Colorado with her husband, daughter and Maggie, their border collie mix. Winning the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart® Award was the highlight of her writing career, until her first Harlequin book hit the shelves. Her social-work background inspires her characters, while improv writing allows her to torture them. It’s a rough job, but someone’s got to do it.
Also by Angel Smits
A Chair at the Hawkins Table
A Family for Tyler
The Marine Finds His Family
Cowboy Daddy
The Ballerina’s Stand
Last Change at the Someday Cafe
Addie Gets Her Man
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.
A Cowboy at Heart
Angel Smits
www.millsandboon.co.uk
ISBN: 978-1-474-09645-4
A COWBOY AT HEART
© 2019 Angel Smits
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.
www.millsandboon.co.uk
Version: 2020-03-02
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“Why are you here, Trey?”
Lisa asked the question before she could stop herself.
“Uh, we’re looking for your grandfather, remember?” He was laughing at her again.
“No.” She leaned forward. The room was no longer cold, and she was warmed up from the inside out. “In Telluride. Why did you come to Colorado? You’re not from here.”
“What gave it away? The boots?” He grinned at her, stacking his feet on the old coffee table. His boots were across the room and she glanced over at them, noting the scuffed leather. Well-worn, the dark brown boots had seen better days.
“That—and the accent. Texas, right?”
“Yeah.” He stared down into his drink. Was he wondering how much to tell her? If he should lie? Was this all a lie...?
To all my Super Sisters, for inviting me in, sharing your wisdom and mostly for the wonderful friendship you’ve given me.
And as always, for my forever hero, Ron.
Dear Reader,
When word came that the Harlequin Superromance line was closing, it was a sad day for me. My series A Chair at the Hawkins Table was nearly finished and I was looking forward to hopefully adding to it, as well as bringing new characters and story lines to my readers. The uncertainty was a challenge, but the editors at Harlequin were wonderful and worked to make sure no one missed out.
I was thrilled when the last of the original six books, Addie Gets Her Man, was released as one of the final books under the Harlequin Superromance banner. It was a bittersweet but special last hurrah. Things got even better when the Harlequin Heartwarming line offered me a new home and extended the invitation to continue the series.
Many of you will recognize Trey Haymaker from the series, most specifically from Cowboy Daddy. He has been strong in my head from the beginning, and readers have wondered what happened to him. Well, now you’ll get the chance to learn his story. I’m so grateful to Harlequin Heartwarming for welcoming both Trey and me. And luckily for Trey, we also found Lisa. She’s a perfect fit—and contrast—for him.
I love to hear from readers, and I look forward to introducing the Hawkins clan to a whole new group with Harlequin Heartwarming! Thank you for inviting me and joining me on this new journey.
Angel Smits
AngelSmits.com
angel@angelsmits.com
Contents
Cover
Back Cover Text
About the Author
Booklist
Title Page
Copyright
Introduction
Dedication
Dear Reader
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 NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
EPILOGUE
Extract
About the Publisher
CHAPTER ONE
OLD PEOPLE DIDN’T tend to barhop, at least not in Trey Haymaker’s experience. They tended to find a barstool and plant their backside on it for the duration of their stay. This afternoon, one of the three regulars took up space along the polished wood, which meant the other two couldn’t be far behind.
“What can I getcha, Win?” Trey asked the skinny septuagenarian parked on the corner stool. Winston Ross was one of the few people Trey had known before moving here. The old man owned the cabin up in the mountains outside town that Trey, and his grandfather, had frequented over the years.
Those memories had made Trey reluctant to contact the man when he’d first arrived in Telluride. He hadn’t been sure he wanted to face the past, the pain that always came with the reminder of his grandfather’s betrayal. But fate had had other plans when she’d given Trey a job in the very bar that Win frequented.
Funny how small towns worked like that.
Looking at Win now—his weathered face, his stooped shoulders, his dimmed blue eyes—Trey saw time’s evidence.
Win had grown up here in Telluride, in the center of the Colorado mountains. He’d been a boy before the ski boom, before the old mining town had grown into nearly a city. Trey remembered hearing stories about how Win’s dad had run the gas station, and how in high school, Win’d started working there. Win’s knack for fixing a car had been the secret to not just working for his dad at the station, but to eventually becoming a partner, and ultimately the owner. Townsfolk and tourists alike had kept him in business for years.
Today, though, the old gas station was long gone, and a convenience store stood on that prime piece of real estate. Win was now retired, spending his days with his cronies, instead of under the hood of a car.
For the thousandth time, Trey wished Win could be his granddad, instead of that old—
Trey shook his head, focusing on Win’s words instead of the old pain.
“Same as usual.”
“You got it.” Trey pulled the highball glass out, and, as he fixed the drink, he kept one eye on his friend. “You okay?” Was Win paler tonight, or was it just the lighting?
“I’m fine. Or at least I will be once you finish pouring.” He rubbed his gnarled hands together in anticipation, the rough rasp of his outdoor-worn skin loud even in the noisy bar.
Trey slid the glass over the polished bar, the ice softly clinking when the glass came to a stop at Win’s elbow. “The others coming in tonight?” Usually, Hap and Sam were here before Trey finished pouring.
“S’posed to be, but I ain’t seen ’em yet.” Win stared down at the drink. Was he also wondering where his buddies were? They were getting up in years...
The door opened then, and a cold wind came in with a flurry of snowflakes. Sam held the door open for Hap, who pushed his walker slowly through the doorway. A pile of snow caught on the front of the tennis balls he’d shoved on the metal feet, and a puddle quickly formed as it melted. Trey made a mental note to wipe it up.
“Where ya boys been?” Win called, lifting his drink in a silent salute before taking an exaggerated, taunting sip.
“Ah, shuddup,” Hap grumbled as he reached the barstool beside Win. He nodded at the drink. “Gimme one of them, Trey.” He glared at Trey. “Maybe two.”
“Yes, sir.” Trey fought the smile. He didn’t take Hap’s glare personally. Hap glared at everyone.
Sam, on the other hand, grinned wide and took the farthest barstool, lumbering his big frame up onto it. The sheriff’s badge on his coat glinted as he shrugged the garment off. “I’ll stick with beer.”
That wasn’t new, either. Trey couldn’t remember the man ever drinking anything else. Once he’d finished serving their drinks, Trey leaned against the back bar, watching the trio.
What had they been like back in the day? He wished he could have seen them. Known them. They had to have been quite a wild bunch. And even though he was quite a bit younger, Sam told tales of how he’d tagged along with the older boys. Trey smiled at the image.
He glanced over the half-dozen others in the bar, and then to the window where snow fell on the other side of the glass. Thick, big flakes of cold and damp. It was going to be a quiet night. He could afford to kick back and watch.
“Whatcha think about that?” Hap interrupted Trey’s thoughts as he leaned forward to catch Trey’s eye. “I think he’s full of baloney.”
Though Trey hadn’t heard the whole conversation, he didn’t have to ask who or what Hap was referring to. Win and Hap had this same argument every time they came in here. The razzing went on as usual.
“I don’t listen to all your crap,” Trey said, a smile to contradict his denial firmly in place.
“Ah, come on.” Win slammed the empty glass to the bar. “Sure, you do. Yer a bartender. Best listeners on the planet.” He shoved the glass toward Trey. “Bet you got plenty of stories to share.”
Trey shook his head and refilled the glass. “I might listen, but I don’t gossip.”
“Good man,” Sam said. He nodded and took a healthy swig from the long-neck bottle.
“Humph.” Hap finished his drink, too, and mimicked Win’s movements to ask for another.
While Hap waited, he turned awkwardly, digging in his pocket, and for an instant, Trey thought the old guy was going to fall off the stool. “You ain’t foolin’ us, boy.”
Hap finally turned back around and pointed a bent finger at Trey, who breathed a sigh of relief as Hap regained his balance.
Hap had grabbed an envelope from the pocket of his jacket. It was worn and crumpled, like someone had tried to destroy it at one time.
Ancient cellophane tape had yellowed in several places. “What’s that?” Win leaned toward his friend and indicated the envelope with a hitch of his chin. “Looks older than dirt. Hell, looks like it’s been in dirt.” He cackled as if his comment was actually funny. “You out diggin’ in the cemetery or something, Hap? High school reunion?” Macabre humor was never beyond these guys.
Was that a growl that left Hap’s throat?
Whatever had been written on the outside of the envelope, if anything legible had been, was nearly worn away. Lifting the tattered flap, Hap pulled out another ancient piece of paper. Carefully, as if it were something precious, he spread it out on the bar top.
To Trey, it resembled some kid’s scribbles more than writing. Hap reached into the envelope again and pulled out a second sheet of paper. A half page.
“A telegram?” Win asked. Hap nodded. “When did you get that?”
“I didn’t.” He glanced at Win. “Your dad did.”
“What?” Win frowned.
“I was a-cleaning up the back porch. Millie is nagging me to think about that retirement community they’re a-building up the road. Now, I ain’t sayin’ I’m willing to go there, but I gotta make her believe I’m at least considering it.”
“Would you get on with it?” Sam prodded.
“Hurumph.” Hap pushed the old telegram another inch toward Win. “I just found this. It was in a box I’d packed up years ago when I retired from the shop. Haven’t looked in it since. Thought it was all mine. Didn’t know there was any of your stuff in it.”
Win hesitated before reaching for the telegram. Trey put one of his bartender superpowers to work—reading upside down. There wasn’t much on the page, so it wasn’t hard. Sent a map of our find. Will be in the post soon. Yours and Mom’s if I don’t come home. Love, Duncan.
“Duncan? Your brother Duncan?” Sam asked.
Silence was the only answer for a long minute. Win stared. Sam waited. Hap glared. And Trey pretended not to notice any of it. Finally, Winston took a deep breath. “Yeah.” He looked up at Trey. “My older brother. He didn’t come home from Vietnam.” He said it with the rhyme of a curse word.
The word caught Trey’s ear, and he froze, his smile vanishing.
“Vietnam.” Hap repeated it and Trey saw the other two nod. Were these guys vets? They were the right age. Same as his granddad. Trey cringed. Was that how Pal Senior had met Win? He’d never heard that story.
Trey’s mind tripped back to all the other stories his grandfather had shared with every man who’d ever worked on the ranch. Back to a time when he’d believed every word the old man said.
A bitter taste rose up in Trey’s throat, and he shoved away from the bar. His heart picked up a beat, and he curled his hands into fists. Curses echoed in his mind. This was so not why he was here. He’d come to Telluride so he could be totally on his own, to leave his past behind.
Trey grabbed a mop and headed to clean up the puddle Hap had made coming in, but that did little to distract him as their voices still carried across the nearly empty room.
“What’s he mean by find?” Sam asked.
“I don’t know.” Win reached out and grabbed the page of scribbles, the crinkle of the paper cutting through Trey’s well-intentioned escape.
Win turned the page around half a dozen times before saying, “Nothing on this ‘map’ looks familiar to me.”
“Are you kidding?” Hap said. “This here—it’s the peak over near the falls. Just past where they’re a-building that retirement community Millie’s so in love with.”
“How can you be so sure of that?”
“I’ve seen enough brochures of the place—I can find it in my sleep. And look.” He turned the makeshift map into the light. “Here’s the highway and this is that old ski run. See?”
The two men leaned forward and tried to see what Hap was showing them. Trey gave up trying to keep his distance and went to join them. Curiosity just might kill him.
“You know anything about this?” Sam asked Win.
The air hung thick and full of something Trey didn’t want to take time to identify.
Finally, Win shook his head. “I was a kid when he left.” Win’s faded eyes grew distant. “I remember goin’ to the funeral more than I remember him.” He chuckled softly, not happily. “Jumped half a foot when the twenty-one-gun salute echoed across the valley. All the grown-ups were crying.” He shook his head and reached for the glass Trey set in front of him. His hand wasn’t as steady this time when he took a deep swallow.
Trey saw more than that in Win’s eyes, which met his briefly before skittering away. With a whispered curse, Win climbed down off the barstool. “I’m done, boys.” He shrugged his jacket on and walked slowly to the door. “Put the drink on my tab, Trey. See ya.” And he disappeared into the night.
“Well.” Hap sighed. “That was a waste of time.”
“What were you trying to do, exactly?” Sam asked.
“Get information about this ‘find.’ It’s gotta be a treasure.”
“You’re an old fool. What do you need a treasure for?”
“Are you nuts?” Hap smacked a gnarled hand on the metal walker at his side. “To keep me outta one of them places.”
Sam pursed his lips and lifted his beer to drink. He didn’t say any more. When the bottle was empty, he stood. “Come on, Hap. Let’s go. The weather is getting rough out there.”
“But I ain’t done drinking.”
“Yeah, you are. Let’s go.” Sam tossed a couple of bills on the bar. “Keep the change,” he said to Trey.
Hap grumbled but grabbed hold of his walker anyway. The papers were still on the bar. Trey picked up the glasses and pushed the papers closer to the edge so Hap could reach them.
“Just toss those in the trash,” Sam told him. “No one’s looking for any stupid treasure.” He gave Hap a meaningful glare.
“You always were a stick in the mud, Sam.” But Hap didn’t grab the papers. He turned the walker toward the door and headed home.
Trey stared at the old pages. No way was this the end of it. After putting the glasses in the sink and wiping down the polished wood surface, he carefully folded the old pages and put them back into the envelope. He wasn’t buying the idea that there was any treasure, but there was no way he’d be the one to toss Hap’s dreams into the trash.
No way. He hit No Sale on the cash register and shoved the envelope in where the checks normally went. There was plenty of room as no one used checks these days. Tomorrow, he’d give it back to the three men.
* * *
LISA DUPREY HURRIED across the parking lot, praying the wind wouldn’t catch her skirt. As it was, she was freezing. The calendar might say spring was coming, but the breeze blowing off the Rockies was still full of winter snow.
Finally, she reached the big glass door emblazoned with the frosted image of a steaming pot of soup and a ladle. She loved the company’s logo. Simple, yet it looked warm and inviting. A Taste of Home—Catering and Heartfelt Events.
Who was she kidding? It wasn’t just the logo; she loved everything about her job and her life right now.
Stepping into the lobby, Lisa hurried in, but halfway to the kitchens, froze. Where was Trudy? The receptionist always sat at her desk. When Lisa came in every day, every time she went out to an event, every night when she went home, Trudy was there. She often teased the older woman that she had a bed stuffed under the desk and didn’t really go home at night.
But Trudy wasn’t there now.
Silence surrounded Lisa, and she stood still for a moment, listening, waiting. And then she heard voices. Distant voices. One male, deep, commanding. Marco. The other soft, feminine. That had to be Trudy. They were in the kitchen.
Hurrying down the short hall, Lisa pulled open another glass door and stepped into the gleaming white kitchen area—Marco’s pride and joy. Sunshine poured in the south-facing wall of windows, glowing off the polished floor and counters.
“But you can’t mean it, Marco. That’s so...so wrong.”
“It’s the truth, Trudy. I’m sorry.” His voice was no longer commanding. It sounded—he sounded—defeated.
“But what am I going to do?”
“Pack up and start looking for another job,” he said softly. Was that a hitch in his voice?
“Marco? Trudy?” Lisa called their names to get their attention. Both of them spun around, staring at her, as if surprised she was there.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” Lisa said, pulling off her coat and draping it over the tall chair at the raised counter. “What’s going on?”
“M...Marco says we’re closing.” Trudy’s voice shook as she clasped and unclasped her hands together.
“What?” Lisa froze, her breath stuck in her chest. “What do you mean, closing? Like, for the day?” Was there some holiday she’d forgotten?
“No. Forever.” Marco’s voice faded on the last word.
“But...what about all the new clients? The events we’re scheduled to handle?” They’d all been so thrilled when Robert had brought the contracts in. Marco had even taken them all to lunch to celebrate. She moved closer to stop beside Trudy and look at the papers spread out on the table. She hadn’t started working on most of these jobs yet, but she was supposed to meet with Robert in the next few days to get the details.
“All gone. All lies. A ruse to distract us while he stole everything.” Marco threw his hands in the air, and, turning away, he stalked across the big expanse of the prep area. “I’ve got some calls to make. To tell the few real clients we have that we can’t cater their events.” And with that, he disappeared into his office. The door slammed with a loud wham, and, in the quiet it left behind, she heard the lock click.
“Trudy? What happened? We were just voted Best of Denver.” Lisa looked around, as if the appliances or counters held some answers. “Where’s Robert?” Marco’s partner was usually here well before any of them got in.
“That’s the problem.” Trudy threw her hands up in the air, similar to Marco’s dramatic move, only more defeated. “We don’t know.” She reached behind her, to the stack of papers that sat on the counter. She tossed them dramatically into the air. “These are fake. Lies. All lies.” As the papers fell around them, Trudy’s eyes filled with tears. “He took everything. The money Marco gave him to buy the supplies, he just took it. Cleaned out every penny from the accounts. No money. No supplies. No customers.” Trudy stumbled to the door, toward her abandoned desk. “No job.” Her sob broke the silence.