Page 2 of Rogue Cowboy (Montana’s Rodeo Cowboys #3)

R iley Telford tucked her phone in her back pocket and gave one last pat to Siouxsie’s golden rump as she visually checked the six horses comfortably munching their treats.

She had to stop looking at her texting history with Cole.

He’d just been kind, reaching out over the years—sometimes a couple times a week, other times months would pass, and she’d worry, and she’d wonder if she should initiate.

But that would have made her look needy.

And she didn’t want him to feel responsible.

He’d done his good deed, and she didn’t want to be a yoke.

One day he’d show up and cut her loose for good.

Her white-hat cowboy’s patience would run out.

She knew it was coming. It would be for the best—maybe they could both fully move on.

But she dreaded the day.

Her gaze swept the horse training indoor and outdoor arena, the pastures and the forest beyond that marched up the Absaroka mountains to the tallest peak that dominated in this part of Paradise Valley—Copper Mountain.

She had everything she needed. She’d triple-checked, and she needed to stop stalling.

It was only a twenty-five-minute ride southeast to the Marietta fairgrounds where the horses would board in the stables for the duration of the Copper Mountain Rodeo.

Her duffel was packed along with a garment bag hanging in the narrow closet in the trailer’s living quarters.

Even with the rodeo close to home, Telfords didn’t leave their stock alone. Anywhere. Ever.

And with her mother more involved with organizing the rodeo this year and receiving an honor for her years of service, Riley was going to have to deal on her own.

She’d dealt before. Heck, she’d camped during the rodeo since she was a child, but never alone.

And it was mortifying to admit, but it was getting harder, not easier to hide her anxiety from her family.

Why was she getting worse? It had been years now. If Cole knew how jumpy she felt inside, he’d… She didn’t even want to think about how disappointed he’d be. He’d been charmed by the adventurous and spontaneous girl she’d once been. The woman now was more problematic.

She squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to see the bits and pieces of memory scrape her brain like shards of a broken Coke bottle.

She didn’t want to worry her parents—or worse become a burden.

She’d been young and dumb. Cocky. Over her horse thinking she was all that.

Wanting more. But she’d crashed and burned and had come home.

She’d stick with her decision. She’d been raised to honor commitments.

And to live a productive life and to be of service to her family and community.

“So deal.”

She pulled the keys to the Ford F-250 out of her dark denim jacket.

Palmed them. She had her water Hydro Flask.

Coffee thermos. She and her mom had packed the trailer last night with supplies and feed for the horses and her—not that there wouldn’t be plenty of food trucks and stands at the fairgrounds for the rodeo crowd, and downtown Marietta was only a stroll away.

Camping out during the rodeo had been one of her cherished memories as a child and now that too was fading as her world tunneled smaller.

She balled her fists, keys pressing into her calloused palms. It was a matter of will.

She had to do it so she would. She ducked her head to look at the tread of the trailer ramp and unconsciously sang a new Jason Isbell song.

She grabbed the handle to lift up the ramp to shut the back of the trailer, but it was surprisingly easy. Her brother, Rohan, had joined her—using his sneaky former Special Forces soldier superpower.

“Now isn’t that a cheerful start to a Thursday morning,” he said, sliding one bolt home and then the second while Riley did the same on the other side. “‘Bury Me’? Stop. I can’t take the happiness. It’s blinding.”

“You can walk away.” Riley dug deep for the sassy ’tude he’d expect from her.

“Nope.” He held his hand out. “Nice try. Mom wants me to drive you to the fairgrounds. Get the horses settled.”

“Nice try,” she shot back. “I’m driving.”

“Mom said.” His fingers curled, inviting her to toss him the keys.

“You’re a grown man. A daddy now.” She stuck her tongue out. “You can’t pull the mom card out and slap it on the table. Sheesh. I’m nearly twenty-six.”

“Just did.” He moved toward her. He was quick.

But Riley had been anticipating the lunge, so she tucked and rolled between his legs, popped to her feet and ran to the driver door, flinging it open and hopping inside before slamming the door shut.

And pushing the start button. The truck roared to life.

But she unlocked the doors. Locking her brother out would be mean, and as he’d only left the army less than two years ago, she’d never shut him out.

She’d been terrified every deployment, especially as he’d spent more and more time away from the ranch.

But now Rohan was home working with her dad and brother, Boone, on the ranch that had been primarily a cattle ranch for several generations but now had branched into breeding horses and buckin’ broncs and bulls and stock contracting.

“Still got speed, little sister,” he said, through the closed window. She rolled the window down. She didn’t have to fake her smile.

“Don’t forget it, big brother.”

“I need a ride to the fairgrounds to help Boone and the Wilders set up the broncs and bulls.”

“I’m still driving.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” Rohan climbed into the passenger side.

He didn’t have a bag with him, and Riley’s shoulders relaxed.

Rohan should be home with his wife, Ginny and their baby and his adopted son, Lucas.

She could handle staying in the trailer alone.

She’d know a lot of the people camping. Copper Mountain was a local rodeo, attracting a lot of Montana cowboys and cowgirls.

She’d grown up barrel racing and trick riding and had fantasized about joining the world touring company Cavalia when her mom had taken her to a show in Seattle when she’d been eight.

She’d been pushed and pulled between her love of horses and music her entire life, and her passion for music was gone.

Her fault. She was weak. Not fighting hard enough for herself. Her happiness.

“Hey.” Rohan tugged one of her braids like he had when she was twelve. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” She pressed Drive and carefully accelerated, not watching the stables and safety get smaller in the rearview mirror.

I’m safe. The rodeo grounds are a second home.

“Riley, you put on a good show, but you can’t hide behind a mask twenty-four seven.”

“Ouch,” she said. “You saying I’m a phony?” She pulled out a sealed package of homemade beef jerky. Food always shut her brothers up.

“I’m saying you’re my little sister even though you’re all grown up. I’m watching you.”

“That’s not creepy at all.”

She opened the beef jerky, held it to him, extracting a piece though she wasn’t hungry but needed something to do. He took his own piece and tore off a hunk with strong, white teeth.

“You’re quieter,” Rohan said. “More watchful than you used to be, like you’re worried, like you’re bracing for something.”

His words made her feel sick. She thought she’d been doing so well—the cheerful, friendly, bouncy youngest Telford. The only daughter after three sons.

“Just growing up,” she said easily.

He didn’t answer, but she could feel his scrutiny. Boone had been watching her more closely too. As had her mom.

“Yeah.” Rohan settled in his seat, scanned through the satellite radio. “Not buying what you are half-heartedly selling. You’ve been back home almost what, five, six years, and though you play a good game, you’ve lost a lot of your glow.”

She narrowed her eyes as she drove slowly over the last cattle grate on their drive.

“You saying I need a better skincare regimen? Careful, I might tip over with my head swelling so big at all your compliments.”

She didn’t dare look at him to let him know he’d hurt her, because then she just might need to give Rohan—the idiot big brother she’d said a prayer for every endless night he’d been deployed—a hard slug in the arm and a charley horse.

“Keeping you in line,” Rohan said, still staring at her, but she kept her eyes on the road and her hurts to herself.

*

During the meeting at the Copper Mountain Rodeo and fairgrounds offices, Cole Jameson felt like a phony. He’d picked this assignment out of several that his paw-paw had offered once he’d finally arrived back at the Jameson Ranch, for good, he supposed.

He had more business in Marietta than expanding his family’s stock-contracting business, though he hadn’t mentioned that part. His business for the time being, but his family deserved his best, so despite the brutally long drive, Cole had sucked down enough coffee to keep his head in the game.

“Good to meet you.” Taryn Telford shook Cole’s hand again at the end of the meeting with the Copper Mountain Rodeo committee.

“I knew your father,” Taryn said, his blue eyes still sharp. “We tagged each other up and down the leaderboard back in the day—long before we met our better halves.”

Cole nodded. Most people who’d known his dad talked about his rodeo days.

And then said how he’d been a good man. Honest, with a gift for horses and for business, and they’d been so sorry to hear of his passing.

Even twenty-seven years later. One more thing Cole had loved about being in the service—no one knew his dad or that he came from one of the biggest legacy ranches in Texas Hill Country.

No one knew about the tragedy. People he met were only interested in his confirms that had garnered a reputation.

But his commanding officers and the men in his unit barely scratched the surface, and that was how he liked it.

“He was a good man,” Taryn pushed.

“Yes, sir.” Cole had few real memories of his father—only those that his paw-paw and maw-maw shared. And the buckles, programs, even some posters and pictures and videos. His dad seemed more like a movie star than a father.

“What branch of service?” Taryn asked casually.

Hard to hide what he’d become. Cole wasn’t sure he wanted to, but he’d definitely lost his cowboy swagger a year or two after basic when he’d put in for specialized training and had clawed his way up the barbwire fence of promotion.

“Army.”

“My son Rohan was a Ranger.”

“We’ve met. Good shot.”

Taryn grinned, and Cole noted the laugh lines that crinkled from his warm blue eyes that were so similar to Riley’s. He slapped Cole on the shoulder. “You mustered out for good?”

“Looks like.” Cole might keep his hand in as a trainer. He didn’t feel emotionally ready to say goodbye to the military, but he had his fifteen in, and Riley couldn’t wait forever.

“Good to see you home safe and taking up with the family business. Your granddad and I’ve shared a lot of ranching stories over the years.”

“I’ll give him your best.”

“No need. Already did when he called telling me you were making the run to this rodeo and looking to expand up north. Got you a meet with the Wilders of Wilder Dreams Ranch and Stock company, but anything inked happens after the steak dinner, finals and the Ballantyne Bash.”

Rodeo folks with their social traditions. Cole’s skin wanted to curl off his body.

“I’ll be there.”

Cole avoided social situations. But not this year. And with Riley as his wife, maybe not anymore. He’d never seen a woman with a star that shone so brightly—she’d begun to melt some of the glacial ice that seemed to form his marrow.

He looked at Taryn’s smile, his laugh lines, and imagined that would all fade when he showed up at the family’s ranch and stated his first purpose.

Too bad.

He’d stepped up when they couldn’t and what was done was done.

*

Riley leaned against the stall door where Cinnamon snuffled through her enriched haylage, and she sprinkled in oats.

She scratched between her horse’s ears and stared out at the rolled open door of the stock stables.

The September morning was sunny but still crisp, and competitors were starting to roll in even though the rodeo didn’t officially open until Saturday.

Locals usually arrived on Friday, but since she was bringing Cinnamon for an exhibition ride along with Boone’s horse Shadow and Rohan’s horse Midnight, along with three horses that boarded for some local barrel racers, she’d wanted to get the animals settled.

Heck, who was she kidding? She needed to get herself settled.

Animals picked up on stress, and she wanted, no needed to be alone—as alone as one could be in a stable a day or two before it was swarming with friends and neighbors and rodeo community and competitors.

People who would be happy to see her—the girl she’d been, not who she was now.

And she needed time to rope her carefree, cowgirl persona snugly around her.

Riley drew in a deep breath and her heart leapt to her throat. Oh, what a gorgeous smell. How it took her back to before. She closed her eyes remembering. Bergamot, hint of cedar, sun-warmed leather and something exotic like sandalwood—not that she’d smelled actual sandalwood.

But it smelled heady. Safe. Strong. And miles out of reach.

She pictured Cole and inhaled again. Pretended she could go back in time to when she’d desperately crushed on him and wanted to show off. Before when life was simple, and the future was a sparkly gold and pink road she could skip down, her head full of dreams.

How had she been so stupid and young?

She opened her eyes just to see dandelion seeds floating in the shaft of lights slanting through the door.

Make a wish.

From behind, a strong arm went around her shoulders and another anchored at her hip, trapping her between a hard body and the cool metal of Cinnamon’s stall.

“Hello, Riley.”

You still up stargazing?

Always. Is it night there too?

You know I can’t tell you where I am.

Mystery man. Sometimes I imagine we’re looking at the same stars.

Someday.

Cole wished he could give her more of himself, but he wasn’t sure if even hinting at a future would send her galloping higher into the mountains.

Was the counseling helping? She’d promised—sort of.

It seemed invasive to ask. The attack had been a couple months ago, yet she was his wife, and it was in his nature to take care of his own, especially when Riley wasn’t telling him what he needed to know—not that he’d be able to get to her anytime soon.

Can’t sleep?

Someday.

Sassy, cowgirl.