Big Chance Cowboy Page 3

  And there she went, thinking about Adam again. Her secret fantasy knight in dusty cowboy boots. At least that’s how she’d thought of him until she’d thrown herself at him and chased him away. She shuddered, slamming a lid on that embarrassing memory and focusing on the now. Seeing Emma would be fine. Adam was probably still in the army, and if not, he’d have moved as far from Big Chance as possible.

  He always swore the last place he’d spend his life was the ranch where he and Emma had grown up after their parents died.

  Going to visit Emma would be easy-peasy. No worries.

  * * *

  Lizzie didn’t see Emma when she finally wrangled D-Day into the Big Chance Feed and Seed. This may have been because she’d only spoken to her friend a few times on Facebook over the past ten years or so, and Emma didn’t post pictures of herself. Heck, her profile picture was her first day of kindergarten.

  Also, D-Day, yanking Lizzie six ways to Sunday, had her a little distracted.

  She went into the store looking for the quiet, bookish girl with the long black hair, heavy eyeliner, and thick glasses she remembered.

  A young woman with a blond buzz cut, countless piercings, and electric blue eyes glanced up from a ledger on the paint counter.

  “Is Emma Collins here?” Lizzie asked the punk pixie.

  “Maybe.”

  D-Day chose that moment to spy something at the end of the aisle he needed to investigate at warp speed.

  “Damn it, D-Day!” Lizzie yanked the dog’s leash, but he didn’t stop, dragging her halfway through the store, until the clerk stepped around the counter and said, “Down,” in a calm, authoritative voice.

  D-Day immediately dropped to his haunches.

  “I’m so sorry,” Lizzie said. “I’m trying, but I can’t control him to save either of our lives.”

  “I can see that,” the other woman said, laughing. She straightened and met Lizzie’s eyes. “You’re going to have to get a handle on that.”

  “That’s kind of why I’m here.” A tingle of recognition swept over her, and Lizzie looked more closely at the girl—woman. “No way. Emma? It’s you! It’s me. Lizzie.”

  “I see that, too.” Emma grinned and reached over the dog for a clumsy hug. “I’d know you anywhere.”

  “Really?” Lizzie was surprised. “Sometimes people don’t.” As Dean had pointed out every chance he got, the years hadn’t been kind. Nor had Doritos and M&M’s, her comfort foods of choice. Of course, he’d met her after she’d starved herself half to death and was running 10Ks every weekend. The snack foods came back into her life after they’d been dating a while.

  “Are you kidding?” Emma laughed. “You’re prettier than you were back then, if that’s even possible.”

  Whatever. Lizzie didn’t want to get into a reality smackdown in the farm supply store, so she let the over-the-top compliment pass. “So how are you? What are you…up to?” She didn’t add, you know, since your high school sweetheart drove off a bridge? Or better yet, How’s your jerk-face stud muffin of a brother? The one with the giant chip on his shoulder? And by the way—will you help me train my dog? Not a good way to resume a friendship.

  Emma’s smile chased away the flash of darkness that flitted through her eyes, and she spread her arms wide to indicate her surroundings. “Living the dream of single, successful girls everywhere.”

  “That’s, um, that’s great.” Lizzie glanced around the nearly empty store and wondered how the place managed to stay open. Especially with shrines to a dead soldier hanging from every available bit of wall space. The shelves might be nearly bare, but the walls were covered with photos of the late Todd Stern, mostly either in his football uniform or his army uniform.

  “Yeah,” Emma said. “I’m really grateful to the Sterns for this job. After they had to sell the Dairy Queen, I wasn’t sure if they’d keep me on here.”

  After an awkward pause, Lizzie said, “I’m really sorry about Todd. I’d have come back for the memorial service, but I was out of town when I heard.”

  “Thank you. And you sent flowers. That was nice. It’s been hard, but I’ve been keeping busy. It really is okay.” And the way Emma said it let Lizzie know that while she would probably never be over Todd’s death, she was getting by and didn’t want to talk about it right now. “What’s going on with you? Last time I saw a Facebook update, you and Dean were just getting back from a Caribbean cruise.”

  “Oh.” Lizzie’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah. That was pretty much the last time I had anything positive to say on social media. Dean…moved on to ‘other opportunities.’” Found a thinner, prettier girlfriend. “And I’ve moved home.” Given up, tucked my tail, and skedaddled.

  “Is that a good thing?”

  Lizzie gave a quarter of a second’s thought to how much Dean had hurt her and another quarter to how much more peaceful she’d felt after deciding to come back to Big Chance and said, “Yeah. It is. There’s nothing for me in Houston, and my dad needs help here. It seemed like a good time for a fresh start.” And maybe she’d be better at life here than she’d been there.

  Emma’s musical laugh contrasted with her hard-ass look. “There’s nothing fresh in Big Chance.” She sobered slightly. “I heard about your dad. Prostate cancer? That sucks.”

  “Yeah, thanks. His prognosis is good, but”—he seems to have lost his will to live—“he’s got a long road ahead of him.”

  Emma started to speak, stopped, then said, “I was going to offer some sort of ‘Gee, this might be a good time for him to retire while you sashay to the helm of the family business’ optimism, but the market here doesn’t exactly support a lavish lifestyle.”

  Lizzie shrugged. “I don’t care about lavish. The Lifestyles of the Rich and Feckless demographic I worked with in Houston wasn’t exactly where I fit anyway.” To put it mildly. She needed to change the subject, so she asked, “How’s your grandpa? Does he still have the ranch?”

  A shadow crossed Emma’s features, and Lizzie regretted the question. Before she could apologize, Emma said, “No. Granddad and I are living in the little house in back of the store.” She pointed toward the rear exit. “He’s got dementia, and the ranch got to be…not safe. So we’re here in town, and Adam’s staying out there.”

  Adam.

  Lizzie had been carefully not thinking about him for at least ten minutes, and she’d never thought he’d be living in Big Chance again. What was he like now? Her teenage dreamboat, becoming a studly soldier turned—what? “Is he, uh, still in the army?”

  Emma blew out a frustrated breath. “No, he got out a few months ago. He’s been living alone on the ranch, hiding from the universe, I think.”

  “That’s too bad.” Though maybe he’d taken off his camouflage and put his Wranglers back on. She suppressed the shiver that ran through her at the thought of seeing him in either. Or nothing.

  The conversation lulled, and D-Day saw a new opportunity to escape. Lizzie dropped her purse to grab his leash with both hands while her belongings scattered across the floor.

  “Here,” Emma said. “Let me take him while you gather your stuff.”

  “Can you take him until, I don’t know, until he’s a good dog? I could use some help.”

  Emma looked like she was going to laugh off Lizzie’s request, then realized she was serious.

  “I wish I could. But Granddad takes up all of my spare time. We haven’t had dogs since, well, since before Todd died.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah. Me too,” Emma said, squatting down to rub D-Day’s ears. “Sometimes I miss working with them. It’s so…straightforward, I guess. In the moment. You can’t worry about other stuff when you’re focusing on a dog and he’s focusing on you.”

  Lizzie didn’t know what to say, not sure if Emma was referring to the tragedy of watching the man who’d raised her disappear before
her eyes or if she was talking about Todd, or both. And of course, Emma also worried about Adam. She’d mentioned he’d retreated into himself out at the ranch. He’d been to war, and that must have messed him up plenty. Lizzie thought of the earnest country boy he’d been in high school and wondered if he’d lost his optimism.

  She tried to push Adam’s memory away. That was a long time ago. She might remember the way she’d made a fool of herself over him, but he’d no doubt forgotten her existence. Instead, she said, “Do you have any suggestions about what I should do with D-Day? Mom’s already threatened to sell him to a glue factory if I don’t keep him in his crate all the time.”

  Emma raised an eyebrow.

  “Well, she’ll call animal control, anyway.”

  “Oh, you can’t do that!” Emma looked at her like she was about to drop her grandmother off at Walmart and not come back. “I mean, I’m all for crate training a dog, but not if he’s never going to get out and have a life.”

  “I know. And I’m determined to make sure he has a life. I really didn’t want to keep him, but I can’t find a shelter within a hundred miles that has room and won’t promise not to kill him.”

  “How long have you had him?”

  “I found him a few days ago. Or rather, he found me. I stopped to check my tires, and he climbed in the car and wouldn’t get out. The clerk said he’d been hanging around for a couple of weeks. He’s not a bad guy,” Lizzie told her. Honestly, the ugly beast had started to grow on her. “But I’m staying at my parents’ house right now, and they aren’t fans of big dogs.” To say the least. “Aaaand he eats everything in sight. Like furniture. And car parts.”

  “You do need help,” Emma told her.

  “Yes. I do.” It had been foolish to take on the responsibility for a dog when she’d soon be so busy helping her parents, but what was she supposed to do? Leave him on the side of the road to starve or get hit by a semi?

  The doors of the store slid open as someone walked by and triggered the mechanism. A white pickup truck passed, and Emma narrowed her eyes in its direction. “I have an idea.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” She looked at her watch. “I get off work in ten minutes. Our neighbor Mrs. King stays with Granddad while I’m at work, and she’s usually willing to stay a little longer. Do you have the next hour or so free?”

  Lizzie was afraid to hope and afraid that Emma’s idea was going to make her—and a certain army veteran—very uncomfortable.

  Chapter 3

  Adam did not shriek like a little kid when the trickle of lukewarm water flowing over his head and shoulders turned arctic. He uttered a few high-pitched yet completely manly curses and rinsed off as much soap as he could before his balls completely retreated inside his body. He reminded himself to be glad that Emma and Granddad were living in town in relative comfort while he tried to add sweat equity to a worthless, run-down ranch and appreciated the solitude.

  So when he turned off the water and stepped out of the chipped, claw-footed tub, he was surprised to hear a feminine voice from somewhere outside.

  “Sit,” he heard his sister say, followed by a bark in response.

  Oh hell no.

  He should have known she’d show up here, since he hadn’t stopped at the farm store while he was in town, but bringing a dog here to torment him was just twisted. He looked around for a pair of clean gym shorts with no luck. Eh. It was only his sister. Pants were overrated anyway.

  Wrapping a towel around his hips, he padded down the steps, dripping water on the warped pine floors the entire way. They’d get refinished eventually, just as soon as he fixed the roof on this old house, painted it, cleaned up the yard…

  He was about to open the front door when he heard another female voice outside. Emma wasn’t alone.

  Ditching the towel, he found a pair of sweatpants in the pile of clean laundry on the couch and shoved his legs in but gave up trying to tighten the knotted drawstring. They hung low around his hips, but since nothing crucial was exposed, they’d have to do.

  This wasn’t a good time for company. He glanced around the inside of the house at peeling paint and grime-encrusted windows. The view outside wasn’t much better, though. Invisible from the road, the dilapidated house faced north toward an ancient barn filled with deserted kennels. The neutral territory between was a quarter of an acre of lawn, er, weeds. Rounding out the areas that needed to be cleaned up were a horse shed and paddock that had never, at least not in Adam’s time, held a horse.

  A loud bang was followed by two softer knocks. “Adam! Are you here?”

  “Yeah.” He was going to let Emma have it for not calling before she visited. He threw open the door and stepped onto the porch. “Dammit, Emma, I thought I told you—”

  Emma’s presence was a dim shadow in his peripheral vision as Adam stared into the familiar liquid-brown eyes of his dirtiest midnight fantasies.

  Lizzie Vanhook. It had been her on the street the other day.

  He should say something, like hello, but a black blur bolting into view caught his attention. Before he could react and get the women to cover or even warn them, he was slammed sideways and tackled to the porch floor.

  Deeply familiar impulses prepared him to neutralize the threat.

  “D-Day, no!” Lizzie yelled, and her husky voice cut through Adam’s narrowed focus. Dog. It was a dog. Straddling Adam’s legs and playing tug-of-war with the drawstring of his sweats. Another, older instinct arose from Adam’s addled brain, and he gave the command before he even realized he’d opened his mouth.

  “Down.”

  The dog dropped to its belly, right on top of Adam.

  “Omigod, I’m so sorry.” Lizzie knelt next to Adam, tugging ineffectually at the dog’s collar. “Come on, D-Day. Get up. Come on.”

  Her hair was shorter and streakier than he remembered. She was definitely more grown up, in a very good way. She was a prettier, curvier version of the girl he’d tried to leave behind, and every bit as tempting. But she smelled as sweet as she had the last time he’d seen her.

  She noticed his examination, and her expression shuttered.

  Turning to Emma, she said, “I don’t know if this is such a good idea.”

  So she was still pissed about the way he’d run off from her the night before he left town.

  If only she knew how much more painful that had been for him. Surely, she—what was she doing here anyway?

  “Li—” He cleared his throat, masking his uncertainty by shoving the dog off and getting to his feet. “Lizzie.”

  If she was surprised at his chilly reception, she didn’t show it as she rose and moved back a step. “Hi, Adam.” Her voice was a little lower, richer, than it used to be. She gave him a quick up and down look, masking her expression, but he felt the judgment anyway. “How are you?”

  Lizzie was here. With his sister. And a dog. Which remained in the down position but managed to army crawl right against Adam’s leg. He fought the urge to shove the thing away.

  Lizzie had retreated to the edge of the porch, arms crossed over her middle, looking like she’d rather be anywhere but where she was. At least she’d gained some self-preservation since he’d last seen her.

  “What are you doing here?” He finally pulled his brain together enough to ask. “What’s going on?”

  “We need your help,” Emma said, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he and Lizzie were both uncomfortable.

  “What? No.” He shook his head but had to ask, “What kind of help?”

  “We need you to be a foster parent,” Emma told him. “You’re out here alone all the time, and it’s not good for you. You need company.”

  He deliberately didn’t look at the dog, but a chill ran up his spine anyway. “I don’t need company,” Adam protested. “It’s really good for me to be alone out here.”

 
“No. It’s not. You need a companion, and we happen to have one for you.”

  Nope. No way. He stared at the beast grinning up at him, enormous pink tongue dangling. Adam looked away.

  The dog sat up and shoved its head into Adam’s crotch. Pet me.

  Adam stepped back. The dog got to its feet and followed.

  “What is that thing?”

  “That’s D-Day,” Lizzie said, a note of defensiveness in her tone.

  “But what is it?”

  “Well, the vet thinks one of his parents was a Rottweiler,” Lizzie said.

  “And the other was, what, a mastodon?” The dog responded to that remark with an enthusiastic bark and another crotch nudge. Adam shoved its head away.

  “D-Day, come here,” Lizzie pleaded with the dog, tugging ineffectually at its lead.

  For crying out loud. She was beautiful but clueless when it came to dogs.

  Before he could stop himself, he took the leash and reminded the dog to sit. It sat. Adam and the dog both worked on instinct—he to lead, the dog to obey the alpha—but he’d sworn off this job. To distract himself from his own contradictory behavior, he asked Lizzie, “What’s wrong with its hair? Why is it half bald?” The thing had huge bare spots.

  “The vet thinks he had mange, and someone tried to treat it with a home remedy that killed the parasite but also killed the hair.”

  Adam’s gut roiled at the thought of some of the things he’d heard of people doing to their pets, through ignorance, cruelty, or neglect. Nothing like the dogs he’d worked with in the army. Those damned things were treated better than most Thoroughbred racehorses. At least until their handlers got them killed.

  The dog nudged his leg, big black eyes rolled up in supplication.

  “Down,” he commanded, and the dog flopped to the porch floor, staring at him with a vague semblance of adoration.

  “See? He does all that stuff for everyone but me,” Lizzie huffed, hands on hips. “This is why we need your help.”

  And yeah, he noticed when she stomped her foot and produced a nice jiggle.