Page 10 of Saddles and Snowstorms (Sagebrush Cowboys #4)

Brooks

I wasn’t exactly looking to make another delivery to the diner, but Dolly had insisted.

She said she had a big party coming in and she wanted to make sure she had enough food for them.

After my delivery the week before, it seemed impossible that she would be out already.

Still, I wasn’t so rich as to turn down a special delivery of some of my best steaks.

I needed the extra cash for the cattle auction coming in spring, anyway.

So, after I’d finished up the last of the chores, I went inside and got cleaned up. I didn’t have anyone to impress, but I didn’t want to give the people in town any more reason to call me a hermit. If I at least looked presentable, it would give them less reason to talk.

I pulled on my least-worn pair of jeans, a blue checkered shirt that still had all its buttons, and my good boots, the ones without manure caked in the treads. My hat was a lost cause, sweat-stained and bent out of shape, but it was as much a part of me as my own skin.

The drive into Sagebrush was quiet, just the rumble of my old pickup and the sway of prairie grass on either side of the dirt road.

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the rolling hills, turning everything golden.

It was pretty enough to make a man forget his troubles, at least for a spell.

The town was busier than usual for a Sunday. I spotted a few trucks I didn’t recognize parked outside the diner, probably the party Dolly had mentioned. I pulled around back where deliveries were made and grabbed the cooler of steaks from the truck bed.

When I pushed through the back door with my boot, Dolly was at the stove, flustered, her blonde hair escaping from its usual tight bun.

“Oh, thank the Lord, Brooks! You’re a lifesaver,” she called over her shoulder. “You wanna just drop those on the counter? I’m just about ready for them now.”

“You doin’ a private party or something?” I asked, leaning against the counter as she bustled around the kitchen. “You ain’t usually open on Sundays, right?”

“I’m doin’ a favor for some friends,” she smiled, taking the steaks from the counter. “They wanted a place to have a good night, and I didn’t have the heart to tell ‘em no.” She looked me up and down, one eyebrow quirking. That couldn’t be good. “In fact, you’re the last person to arrive.”

I felt my chest tighten. “I’m just here to deliver steaks,” I said, shaking my head.

“You think I didn’t call you out here on purpose?” she grinned. “There’s someone here I know you wanna see, so just go out and say hello, sugar.”

“Someone I want to see?” What the hell was she getting at?

“You heard me. And you know I won’t take no for an answer.” She pointed toward the kitchen doors out to the dining room. I could hear music on the other side of it. “Go on, git,” she laughed, pushing me toward the door. “Go be social for once. You need it.”

I stood there like a damn fool, staring at the swinging doors.

I wasn’t in the mood for one of Dolly’s matchmaking or socializing schemes.

She’d tried it before, setting me up with her niece from Austin, then with the new schoolteacher.

Both disasters. We didn’t even make it past the first date.

I preferred my quiet life out on the ranch with just my cattle for company.

“Dolly, I ain’t?—”

“Brooks Callahan, you get your stubborn backside through those doors, or I swear I’ll never buy another cut of your beef again.” Her hands were on her hips now, wooden spoon pointed at me like a weapon .

I sighed, pushing my hat back slightly. “Fine. But I’m only stayin’ for one drink.”

The moment I pushed through those swinging doors, the conversation in the diner dimmed.

Six or seven folks were gathered around pushed-together tables, and they all turned to look at me.

I recognized most of them. Locals from town who I’d exchange nods with at the feed store or gas station.

But one face caught my attention immediately.

Rowan Walsh, the new town vet. He was sitting at the far end of the table, a beer bottle halfway to his lips.

Our eyes locked, and I felt a strange tightness in my chest. I hadn’t seen him up close since he’d treated my horses a couple weeks ago.

Something about the way those dark green eyes widened at the sight of me made my mouth go dry.

Despite my best efforts, he still had a profound effect on me.

“Well, look who finally decided to join civilization!” Beau Turner called out, raising his beer. He was some of my biggest competition in town with his cattle. “C’mon over, Brooks. We saved you a seat.”

Sure enough, there was an empty chair right next to the vet. I hesitated, considering making some excuse about needing to get back to the ranch, but Dolly appeared behind me with a cold beer and a knowing smile.

“Here you go, sugar,” she said, pressing the bottle into my hand. “Now sit. Talk. Be friendly.”

With all eyes on me, I had no choice but to shuffle over to the empty chair.

I nodded at the group, mumbling something that might’ve passed for a greeting, and sat down stiffly.

The conversation gradually resumed around me, but I was acutely aware of the man beside me, the way his sleeve brushed against mine as he shifted in his seat. Damn he looked good.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Rowan said softly, giving me a warm smile. “I didn’t think this would be your kind of thing, especially since you never took me up on my drink offer at the Rusty Spur.”

“It’s not my thing,” I replied flatly, taking a sip of my beer. “I like being alone.”

“Nothin’ wrong with that,” Rowan nodded. There was no hint of reprimand in his voice. “I wish I got more alone time. But the clinic has been so busy lately that I’ve barely had time to think. If Colt hadn’t invited me out here, I might’ve just spent the whole night working. ”

“Colt?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. I glanced across the table where Colt Dawson was holding court, his boisterous laugh filling the diner as he told some rodeo story. His red hair caught the light, and I noticed the way his hand gestured wildly, showing off the muscles in his forearm.

“Yeah, we met when I treated one of the arena’s horses this morning,” Rowan explained, taking another sip of his beer. “He invited me out to meet the guys. It’s nice to have people like me to hang out with.”

I grunted in response, suddenly irritated. Colt Dawson was everything I wasn’t—outgoing, charming, the kind of man who drew attention wherever he went. And here he was, bringing the new vet into his orbit. He glanced over at Rowan, giving him a wink. Instantly, something twisted in my gut.

“How’s that calf of yours doing?” Rowan asked, turning those green eyes on me. “The new bull I checked out?”

“Better,” I said, surprised he remembered. “He’s been a right pain in my ass. Broken out of the barn three times now.”

Rowan smiled, and I noticed the small scar on his jaw again. Found myself wondering how he got it.

“Good to hear.”

Colt was trying to get Rowan’s attention again. But before he could, I brought his attention back to me. I didn’t feel like sharing.

“That scar,” I said, jutting my chin in his direction. “How’d you get it?”

Rowan’s smile brightened, clearly happy I was interested in him in some capacity.

I felt my chest fill with heat, a tingle running down to my groin.

Did he really crave my attention that much?

And if he did, why did that turn me on? I looked him up and down quickly, my gaze resting on his once more.

Who was I kidding? I knew exactly why I liked it.

“It’s not much of a story, honestly,” Rowan sighed, taking a sip of his beer.

“We had a very upset orange cat come into the clinic when I was in training that needed some routine shots. The owner told me the cat didn’t like being held, I didn’t believe her, and I paid the price.

” He reached up, tracing the scar on his jaw. “There was blood everywhere.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Never underestimate an angry cat.”

“You can say that again,” Rowan said, laughing along with me. His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, and I noticed a dimple in his left cheek I hadn’t seen before. “What about you? Got any good battle scars from your ranch?”

I hesitated, not used to sharing personal things. But something about his easy manner made me want to talk for once. “Got a nice one on my shoulder from when I was sixteen. Bull took exception to me in his pasture.”

“Can I see it?” he asked, then immediately looked embarrassed. “Sorry, professional curiosity. Vet thing.”

Before I could answer, Colt’s voice boomed across the table. “Hey, Walsh! You gotta hear this story about the time I rode Hurricane for eight seconds in San Antonio!”

Rowan glanced at Colt, then back at me, as if torn. I shrugged and took another pull from my beer. “Go on. Sounds like a real thriller,” I said, my voice drier than the summer pasture.

“I’ve heard plenty of rodeo stories,” Rowan said, his voice low enough that only I could hear. “I’m more interested in yours.”

Something warm unfurled in my chest at his words. I wasn’t used to being anyone’s first choice for conversation, especially not with Colt Dawson holding court across the table.

“Not much to tell,” I said, but I found myself unbuttoning my shirt collar and pulling it aside just enough to reveal the jagged scar that ran from my collarbone toward my shoulder. “Sixteen years old and thought I knew everything. Bull proved me wrong.”

Rowan leaned in closer, his breath warm against my skin as he examined the scar. His fingertips brushed lightly over the raised tissue, and I had to suppress a shiver.

“That must have hurt like hell,” he murmured, his professional demeanor not quite hiding the interest in his eyes.