Page 4 of The Forever Cowboy (Noble Ranch #1)

Sterling slowed his steps as the outline of the large home took shape, with its Victorian-style flourishes and design.

Painted white and trimmed in black, the beautiful house had been built a few years after they’d started bringing in a profit from their ranch.

With five bedrooms upstairs, it had been more than adequate for their large family.

His gaze snagged on the front window of the formal parlor, the largest room—the room where he’d planned to marry Violet.

“No,” he whispered harshly. “No thoughts of her.”

For months after she’d run off, he hadn’t been able to keep himself from dwelling on how much he despised her for what she’d done. Doing so had only made him all the angrier so that he’d thought about her more.

Finally he’d decided he had to cut all ties to her, even the negative ones, and pretend she’d never existed.

To do so, he’d worked himself until he was so tired he couldn’t think about anything.

Eventually, he’d dwelt on her less and less until she’d faded to the background.

He’d been doing well over the last several months, keeping his mind from veering into unwanted territory.

Until last week…when at church, Hazel had let it slip that Violet and Hyacinth had returned from the East. Apparently their mother had died, and they’d come back to live with their father.

The moment Sterling had heard the news, he’d felt a momentary pang of sorrow for Violet, knowing how close she’d been to her mother. Of course, he hadn’t wanted to feel anything for Violet—not even sympathy—but it had been there anyway.

Ever since Sunday, thoughts of her had been coming with more frequency. Maybe that was the reason why he’d been staying up every night with the sick cattle—to have a diversion, something to hold his attention, anything to keep him busy.

Now the minute he was done working, his mind went right to her.

He halted on the flagstone path that led to the porch spread across the front of the house.

He wouldn’t allow himself to think about Violet for the rest of the short night.

He’d already given enough to that woman, and he didn’t owe her another thought, not even the tiniest one.

That’s why he was considering skipping church this week, so that he didn’t run into her there.

He didn’t want to see her again and would have been happy if she’d never returned to Summit County.

He blew out an exasperated breath.

Should he consider the possibility of finding another woman? His sister Scarlet had told him multiple times over the past summer that he should move on to someone else.

The problem was, he hadn’t been ready for another relationship during the summer. Maybe he’d still been reeling from Violet’s running away from the wedding. Maybe he’d been scared of being rejected again. Maybe he’d been hoping time would heal him.

Whatever the case, it was obviously time to force himself to be ready—to go to social gatherings and to mingle with women again.

Or maybe he should send away for a mail-order bride the same way Beckett had.

The bride was planning on coming in the spring, and Beckett intended to have built a small home for her by then—a home on the ranch so that he could continue to be the foreman, a home close to where Sterling had planned to build his.

The veterinarian had also put an ad into one of the matrimonial catalogs and had been expecting his bride to arrive all autumn. Unfortunately, she hadn’t shown up yet.

With the way men outnumbered the women in the high country, the marriageable young women were snapped up so quickly it was difficult for even stellar men like Beckett and Thatcher to have a chance at finding a wife.

Sterling shook his head at going the mail-order bride route. He wasn’t that desperate. Not yet.

The question was—would he ever be able to love another woman?

He peered up at the stars blinking in the universe. He’d thought Violet was the only one for him, the glowing sun swinging into his orbit, the brilliant light to his life. But it turned out she’d only been a shooting star, there one moment and gone the next.

Anger sliced through him again—anger at her, at himself, at God, at everything and everyone.

He gave a curt shake of his head. He didn’t want to feel that anger again, which meant he had to keep from dwelling on her and all that had happened.

He started down the path again, his footsteps slapping against the stones. He just needed to go to bed. He was so tired that the moment his head hit his pillow, he’d fall into oblivion and put her out of his head.

As he started up the steps, movement and a soft voice from one side of the porch brought him to a standstill.

Someone was there.

He quickly pushed aside his coat and gripped the handle of his revolver. He narrowed his gaze on the far area, withdrew his gun, and pointed it at the outline of a person who was rising from one of the rocking chairs.

“Who’s there?” He had no idea who would be out at this time of the night, especially when it was so cold.

“Hi, Sterling,” came a shaking voice, a familiar voice, one he’d never wanted to hear again.

The very sound of it sent his heartbeat into an out-of-control gallop. His whole body stiffened, and his mouth went suddenly dry.

She took a step forward. “It’s me, Violet.”

He didn’t need her to say her name. He would recognize her voice in a crowd of a thousand women.

“What are you doing here?” His question came out harsh and filled with all the bitterness he’d been holding inside since she’d looked at him on their wedding day after kissing another man and said: I can’t marry you! Not when I don’t know if I even love you.

“I need help, Sterling.” Again, her voice wobbled. From fear? Or from the cold? Or both?

He hesitated, but then he holstered his gun and finished climbing the stairs. Why was he giving her even a moment of his time? His consideration. “Go home. You’re not welcome here.”

Without another glance, he steeled his shoulders and started toward the door.

“I knew we shouldn’t have come here,” another voice whispered, this one different but decidedly feminine. “He’s such an arrogant oaf.”

He halted only a few steps from the door. Had Violet brought Hyacinth with her? If so, had they walked from town?

“Hush,” Violet said softly.

From the corner of his eyes, he could see Violet straighten and face him squarely.

“Please, Sterling.” Her voice was definitely shaking, or perhaps she was shaking, no doubt from the frigid night.

How long had they been waiting on the porch?

It wouldn’t take long for her to be frozen to the bone—not with how thin she was.

He silently cursed. Violet wasn’t his problem, and he couldn’t worry about her.

“We need a place to hide,” she continued. “Maybe for a couple of days, just until—”

“Not here. Find someplace else.” He took two more steps to reach the door.

“I don’t know where else to go.”

He opened the door and swung it wide. “Go home.”

“We can’t.” Her tone held a note of desperation, and she started crossing the porch toward him.

He stepped inside, needing to slam the front door behind him and block her out of his sight.

He didn’t want to look at her perfect body, didn’t want to see her beautiful face, and didn’t want to peer into her stunning eyes.

Because if he did, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to walk away from her tonight.

One tiny glimpse of her had always rendered him useless and weak and powerless against her charm.

He had the feeling that hadn’t changed, even though he’d tried so hard to free himself from her power.

He grabbed the door and started to close it against an invisible hand that seemed to be forcing it open.

She stopped only a foot away from him. “My dad made a bargain with a guy named Claude to have Hyacinth and me become dancehall girls.”

“What?” He released the door and pivoted to face her. He hadn’t heard her correctly, had he?

Violet was close enough that he could reach out and touch her if he wanted to—which he didn’t.

The moon cast a glow over her face, revealing the long lines of her jaw and cheeks, the perfectly slender nose, and the smoothness of her skin.

Beneath the hood of her coat, her dark hair was pulled back in a long braid, but wisps framed her face.

Keen longing shot through him. Holy sweet heaven. He’d missed seeing her. Missed her presence. Missed her voice. Missed her beauty. Missed everything about her.

“My father owes Claude a great deal of money,” she continued, “and so Claude said we could work for him as dance girls to pay off his debt.”

Dance girls?

Sterling could only blink at the allegation.

Mr. Berkley was a bank teller, which was a good and decent job. He was an upright, law-abiding, and well-respected citizen. There had never been any issues before. Why would Violet accuse her father of something so terrible now?

Her high brows slanted above her wide eyes that were framed by lush, dark lashes. He couldn’t clearly distinguish the green color of her eyes, but he could see the distress in every line of her expression.

She wouldn’t be able to act so upset if she wasn’t telling the truth, would she?

On the other hand, she’d been a good actor with him, making him believe she loved him when she never really had.

He crossed his arms over his chest and lifted his chin. “I don’t believe you.”

She hugged her coat closer to her body, rubbing her mittened hands up and down her arms, likely for warmth. In the same motion, she shuddered. “If my father doesn’t turn us over, Claude said he’ll send his men to come get us.”

Sterling tried to glare.

Her eyes turned glassy with unshed tears.

No, he wouldn’t let her tears move him. Not anymore, never again. He had to walk away.

Before he could move, her chin quivered, then her teeth began to chatter, even though she seemed to be trying to clamp her lips together.

She was freezing.

He peered through the dark to the edge of the porch, where Hyacinth was huddling in the other rocking chair. No doubt she was freezing too.

The battle raging inside him escalated—a battle he was already losing and perhaps had lost from the moment he’d realized she was on the porch.

As much as he wanted to stay away from her and keep up the rampart he’d built to protect himself, he couldn’t walk away from two people who were in need of warmth and shelter.

Not when the alternative would mean leaving them outside to face the frigid November temperatures.

He didn’t know what the truth was about her situation with her father.

He had the feeling she was holding something back, that there was more to the story than she was sharing.

Even though he absolutely didn’t want to invite her into his home, he would never turn his back on someone in need, not even his worst enemy.

Was that why she was here? Because she knew that? Or had she come to torment him?

Whatever the case, he had to get both women out of the cold.

Expelling a sigh, he stood back from the door and waved her inside. “You and Hyacinth can come in and warm up. Then you’ll need to be on your way.”

She dropped her head, but not before he heard a soft sob. She nodded, seemed to be getting herself under control, and then spoke quietly. “I know I don’t deserve your help, but thank you for giving it to me anyway.”

Hyacinth was already rising and stumbling toward Violet. The younger woman was shaking worse than Violet.

He was doing the right thing by inviting them in. Wasn’t he?

Right or wrong, Violet Berkley was walking back into his life. He would just have to make sure she walked back out tonight as soon as possible.