Love Drunk Cowboy Read online

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2011 by Carolyn Brown

  Cover and internal design © 2011 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover design by Dawn Pope

  Cover photos © Jimmy Thomas/RomanceNovelCovers.com; Barrett & MacKay/Photolibrary.com; Prisma Bildagentur AG/Alamy

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

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  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  For Todd & Amy Morgan

  Chapter 1

  The Lanier gut was never wrong.

  Austin Lanier didn’t need a deck of Tarot cards or a psychic to tell her something was fixing to twist her world into knots. She looked behind her… nothing but willow trees with new mint-colored leaves dancing in the spring breeze. She looked ahead… nothing but the muddy waters of the Red River.

  The antsy feeling causing all the hair on her body to tingle might be the fact that she was about to sift her grandmother’s ashes into the dirty brown water. At least, the old Red flowed gently as if it had no place to go and all year to get there, like an elderly retired man sitting on the porch in his oversized rocking chair watching the cars go by on a lazy summer day. Later, when the spring rains came, it would change to a rebellious teenager, rolling and spinning out of control, rushing to its destination at a breakneck speed.

  But that day it was as peaceful as Austin Lanier was agitated by the inner turmoil that crept up on her unwanted and unexplained. She stood on the sandy bank and Pearlita Richland handed her the wooden box. About the size of a shoe box, only heavier, Austin held it close to her heart in a hug but it didn’t hug back and it didn’t laugh like Granny Lanier. Was this all there was to life? Joys and sorrows reduced to a box full of gray ashes.

  “Even though I don’t agree with this, it’s what she wanted so it’s the way we’ll do it. So good-bye, my dearest old friend. You hold a place for me on your park bench up there until I finish what I’m doing down here,” Pearlita said.

  She was eighty-three, the same age as Austin’s grandmother and they’d been friends from the time they started school back in the Depression years. Pearlita was a tall, lanky woman who still stood proud with her head held high and her back ramrod straight. She had gray hair cut in a no-nonsense style that required nothing more than washing and towel drying. That day she wore her one pair of black slacks and a black sweater reserved for weddings and funerals. She’d left her black shoes at home and worn her old brown cowboy boots since she was going to the river.

  Austin opened the box and was amazed at the ashes inside. That fine dust couldn’t be her grandmother. She’d been a force that never succumbed to age, even in the end.

  “She told me that old age wasn’t for wimps,” she said as she held the box out over the water and slowly poured it into the muddy waters of the Red River. Tears streamed down her face and dripped onto her favorite black power suit: tailored slacks, a fitted jacket over a black silk camisole, and black spike heels. The moment the ashes were out of the box she wanted to wade out into the muddy water and gather them all up to hug one more time. She didn’t care if she ruined a pair of expensive high heels in the sand or if the suit would have to go to the cleaners when she got back to Tulsa.

  “Living isn’t for wimps no matter what age you are,” Pearlita said. “Now we are supposed to watch the ashes disappear and then go to the Peach Orchard for lunch. When we get done you’ll need to start sorting through things at her house. Want me to help?”

  “Thanks, but I can do it. I’ll call if I need help.” Austin watched the river carry her grandmother away.

  It wasn’t right. There should have been flowers and a casket and weeping and it should have been done six months ago when she died. She deserved a twenty-one gun salute even though she wasn’t military and then they could fold up that superman cape Austin always thought she wore and Austin could frame it in a special box with the big S right on top.

  She should’ve invited Rye O’Donnell, her grandmother’s elderly neighbor, to come to the river with her and Pearlita. Even though Verline had told them exactly what she wanted, Rye should’ve been there. He loved Granny too.

  Austin had been talking to him once a week the past six months since her grandmother died. He’d been her neighbor for several years plus her best friend and he’d looked after things after Granny died. There wasn’t much to be done since Verline had taken care of everything beforehand, but Rye had kept an eye on the house until Austin could get find a couple of weeks to come to Terral to sell the watermelon farm. Maybe that was why her stomach was tied up in knots. She had to meet the elderly gentleman sometime and he’d be disappointed that he wasn’t asked to come to the river.

  “My cell phone number is on the front of her refrigerator. She could spout off my regular old phone number from the first time we got party lines, but this newfangled cell phone stuff was almost too big of a trick to teach us old dogs. You take all the time you need here, Austin. I’ll be in the truck.”

  A thousand memories flooded Austin’s mind all at once, none of them more than a brief flash. Granny Lanier in her jeans and boots making biscuits before daylight or thumping the end of a watermelon to see if it was ripe or demanding that Austin make her bed every single morning when she came to visit for two weeks in the summer. When the memories played out and there was nothing but the cooing sound of mourning doves in the distance, Austin looked out at the Red River and couldn’t see the faintest bit of ashes left. She brushed the tears from her cheeks with the sleeve of her black suit and headed toward the pickup truck where Pearlita waited.

  That sinking feeling in her gut said there was more trouble hiding nearby and in the distance she heard the engine of a truck.

  ***

  Dust boiled up behind Rye O’Donnell’s truck like a billow of red fog. He pushed down harder on the gas pedal, fishtailed the truck when he made a hard right, then another quick turn to the left, sliding into the driveway and throwing gravel everywhere. He bailed out of the truck, slammed the door, bypassed the porch steps with one leap, and shed his dirty work clothes on the way to the shower.

  Every time Granny Lanier got a new picture of Austin she’d hauled it out for him to see. He’d talked to her once a week the past six months on Thursday night. After he’d assured her that the house and land wa
s fine, the conversation had usually centered on Verline Lanier. He’d missed the old girl horribly and looked forward to talking to her granddaughter but seeing her on that riverbank had been… well, hell, it had knocked his socks off.

  He took a fast shower, lathered up his face, grabbed his razor, and nicked the dent in his chin. Grabbing a small piece of toilet paper and plastering it down on the blood bubble, he kept shaving, but he couldn’t erase that shit-eating grin looking back at him in the mirror.

  He finished shaving and peeled the paper from his chin, slapped on his best shaving lotion, and even used a comb rather than his fingers on his black hair. It only took a few minutes to jerk on a pair of starched jeans, a fresh shirt, and his Sunday cowboy boots.

  From the time he’d parked the truck until he was back in it ten minutes had elapsed, but she’d already be at the Peach Orchard. He and his one hired hand, Kent, had been working on a tractor all morning. The only thing that held it together the previous summer was baling wire, cheap used parts, and cussin’ that would fry the hair out of a frog’s nostrils. There didn’t seem to be any more cheap parts and the baling wire had all rusted. The only thing left was cussin’ and even that wasn’t working that day. He’d been hot, sweaty, and hungry when he went to the river and had no intentions of cleaning up in the middle of the day until he saw Austin. Seeing her in person made his heart do crazy things in his chest. Things he’d never felt before.

  He hit the speed bumps in front of the school too fast and thumped his chin on the steering wheel. The nick started bleeding again and he’d forgotten to put a clean handkerchief in his pocket. He slowed down to a crawl and pulled down the visor to look in the mirror. Luckily, there was a paper napkin from the last Dairy Queen trip in the console, so he dabbed at it while he drove to the highway and turned south toward the Peach Orchard.

  Kent leaned on the rear fender of the old ranch work truck in front of the café and raised an eyebrow when Rye brought his truck to a stop. He had a cigarette smoked down to the stub and put it out on the heel of his boot when Rye parked beside him.

  “How did it go? I was about to give up on you. Guess you liked what you saw if you got all cleaned up just to meet her. What are you grinning at? I washed my face and hands with one of them wet wipe things Malee uses on the boys. Do I still have dirt on my nose or something?” Kent asked.

  “Your face is clean and everything at the river went just like Granny Lanier wanted it. Pearlita brought the ashes and Austin scattered them in the river.”

  “She see you?”

  “Who? Granny or Austin?”

  “Either one,” Kent answered.

  “Austin didn’t. Granny probably did and is laughing.”

  “What’d she look like?” Kent asked.

  “You’ve seen her pictures.” Rye couldn’t think of a damn thing to erase the silly grin from his face.

  “That’s not what I asked. A picture is just a likeness. Real people have dimension. Why are you smiling like that? What’s the matter with me?”

  Rye poked him on the shoulder. “Nothing is the matter with you. Dimension? I didn’t know you knew ten-dollar words.”

  “You are avoidin’ a simple question and you got all spruced up which means you liked what you saw.”

  “Let’s go eat some fish. I’m starving,” Rye said.

  The restaurant was packed full of people. He and Kent walked past the U-shaped cashier’s bar and through a door into the dining room on the north side. The noise of several conversations and the smell of frying fish filled the place. They settled into chairs at the table beside the last booth on the west side.

  “You look like you put in a morning. What can I get you?” the waitress asked. Her face looked like the bottom of a dried up creek bed after a drought, but her green eyes were bright and sparkling.

  Rye removed his cowboy hat and hung it on the back of his chair. He’d seen Austin when he first walked in the place and was glad that there was a table close by her booth. Damn she was even more beautiful up close. He should’ve introduced himself right away but he couldn’t force words out of his mouth.

  “It’s been more than just a morning,” Kent said.

  “What’s done got you two all in a tizz?” Pearlita asked.

  Rye looked at Pearlita but his eyes were on Austin. “Well, I’ll be danged. I didn’t recognize you without your hat and boots.”

  Pearlita stuck out a foot. “Look more familiar now?”

  “Yes, ma’am, you surely do. And you are Austin?” Rye stood up and extended his hand. “I’m Rye O’Donnell.”

  Austin was struck mute. That couldn’t be Rye. The Rye she expected was at least seventy years old. She’d talked to him every week on Thursday for the past six months. Well, almost every Thursday. A couple of times he wasn’t home on Thursday night and at least twice she had to be out of town on business, but they’d talked and he was supposed to be old. Granny had said he was her good friend and a little younger than she was. Hell’s bells, that didn’t mean early thirties and it didn’t mean sexy cowboy handsome.

  She put her hand in his and pure old sexual heat created sparks that danced around the café. “It’s nice to finally meet you in person.”

  “Yes, it is.” Rye held her hand a few seconds longer, brushing her palm with his thumb and squeezing just a little bit, unconsciously wanting to take her home with him and never let her out of his sight. “I guess you took care of the burial this morning?”

  “We did,” Pearlita said. “I’ll never understand why she wanted it done on Friday before Easter but we did it the way she wanted.”

  “She’d be pleased.” Rye sat back down at his table, not three feet from Austin. He knew he was staring but he couldn’t stop and he couldn’t think of a thing to say. On Thursday nights they’d talked for ten or fifteen minutes and he’d never had a problem with words. But sitting so close he could reach and push that errant strand of dark hair back, his mouth was so dry that he felt like he’d eaten a sawdust sandwich laced with alum. His palms were clammy and he was damn sure glad he was sitting down or his knees would have failed him and he’d have fallen flat on his face right there in the café.

  “I hope so. Six months is a long time to wait,” Austin said. The gut that did not lie twisted up like a piece of sheet metal in a class five tornado. Her hands trembled and the place where his thumb had grazed her palm was hotter ’n hell’s blazes.

  His mossy green eyes rimmed with the heaviest lashes she’d ever seen on a man were undressing her right there in the café in front of Pearlita, the customers, and even God, Himself. Pure animal sexuality exuded from him in those creased jeans, cowboy boots, and a green and yellow plaid shirt. Austin still couldn’t believe he was Rye and kept stealing long sideways glances his way. Damn! She should have known a man with a voice like that couldn’t be seventy!

  “What’ll you cowboys be havin’ today?” the waitress asked.

  “Fish, full order, and sweet tea,” Kent said.

  “Double it,” Rye said. He didn’t want to think about food, eat food, or do anything but stare at Austin. Stare, be damned! He wanted to do a lot more than devour her with his eyes. The palm of her hand was as soft as gentle rain on his calloused thumb. He wanted to slide into the booth beside her, sink his face into that thick black hair, and see if it was as soft as her fingertips.

  The waitress nodded and disappeared through the door into the kitchen and promptly returned with four glasses of sweet tea, putting two on Austin’s table and the other two on Rye’s.

  He drank long and deep and turned toward the booth where Austin and Pearlita were. That’s when she noticed the barbed wire tattoo circling his left bicep right below his shirtsleeve. She blushed when she realized she was staring at the tat. She shut her eyes and suddenly there he was in her imagination without a shirt, his belt buckle undone showing a fine line of dark hair extending downward, and a big smile on his sexy face. She opened them with a snap to find him grinning at her. A slow he
ated blush crept into her cheeks.

  “So you are here for a couple of weeks?” He knew the answer to the question because they’d talked the night before but he couldn’t think of anything more intelligent to say.

  “That’s right.” She blinked and stared at the menu on the far wall.

  He did the same. A grown man didn’t look at a woman from behind a willow tree on the banks of the Red River and know in an instant that she was his soul mate. That wasn’t just bullshit, it was insanity.

  He tried. He really, really tried to keep from looking at her. But it was impossible. When he looked up she was talking to Pearlita so he stared until she shifted her gaze and caught him. Then he blinked and asked Kent if he thought they could find a tractor part up in Ryan at the feed store.

  His dark green eyes and the way he looked at her set her nerves on edge. God Almighty, what was wrong with her? She’d never reacted to a man like that in her life and he was a cowboy with a tat on his arm. Her mother would stroke out if she called home and said she was panting after a cattle rancher in Terral, Oklahoma, with a tattoo of barbed wire around his arm.

  When she jerked herself back into the conversation with Pearlita, the woman was saying, “Me and Verline met in here once a month for dinner and we usually sat right here in this booth and talked about everything that had happened in Henrietta and Terral since we’d last seen each other. We talked about my niece, Pearl, and you, and what you were both doing these days. I’ve missed her terrible these past six months.”

  Rye leaned across the space from the table to the booth and said, “Are you really going to sell the watermelon farm? There’ll be lots of folks interested in Verline’s property. It’s prime watermelon ground but I’d like to be first in line to buy it if you decide to sell.”

  “I haven’t made a solid decision about the farm,” she said.

  Dammit! We’ve talked on the phone for six months. Why didn’t you mention wanting to buy my land during those conversations? And why in the hell didn’t you tell me you weren’t an old bowlegged geezer who walked with a cane?