The Renegade Cowboy Returns

Gage dared not call out to Chelsea. She had been distinctly displeased to see him.

The third option was all he had: turn around and walk away, pretending he’d never seen her in her green polka-dotted bikini. The vision of her languidly lying on that yellow raft was burned into his memory; he guessed it would probably haunt him for a long time.

Too bad. He turned to walk off unnoticed, glad he was able to do so.

Something cold and wet smacked him in the back, and he stumbled, surprised. A child-size football bounced onto the nearby dock Jonas had constructed.

Gage turned back, realizing that Chelsea, among her many other attributes, had perfect aim.

“You can at least have good manners and say hello,” she said.

He fished for words, wondering why he was so tongue-tied. “You seemed to be resting.”

“And you seem to be a Peeping Tom.” She rolled off the raft, wrapping her arms around it so she could float and look at him. “I thought you were going into town.”

“I am.” He resented the intimation that he’d been spying on her. He was, but he wasn’t. It was splitting hairs, and she was looking to split them. “I was making an initial run-through of the buildings to see where it might be best to start. I saw the creek. You’re not the only one who likes to swim. And I didn’t say hello because, quite frankly, I just saw you at the house, where you told me not to speak to you.” He shrugged. “Make up your mind.”

She gave him a long look. “Nothing’s changed. I just don’t like you watching me.”

“Believe me, I wasn’t planning on it.” He turned, hoping she didn’t have any more child-size missiles to peg him with. Jonas would have to stick him with the world’s most unfriendly female.

He was going to tell Jonas that, too, the first chance he had. Gage had every intention of letting his employer know that for perhaps the first time, the Callahan matchmaking magic had fizzled out big-time.

* * *

CHELSEA QUIT HIDING in the water and got back on her raft when she knew that Gage was truly gone. Exhaling, she went back to gazing at the sky.

He was annoyed with her now, and she was annoyed with him.

Neither of them wanted to share a house.

She closed her eyes, not as relaxed as she had been. It was going to be hard to plot a mystery when the Texas cowboy kept crowding red herrings and twists out of her mind. He was tall and big and strong, incredibly handsome, and if his back hadn’t made such a nice wide target, she wasn’t certain she would have been able to hit him with the small football.

He’d seemed pretty surprised, but not as surprised as she’d been.

Maybe it hadn’t been very nice to do it. They had to live in the same house together, so perhaps it was best not to let her Irish temper and red hair get the better of her, as her mother was fond of reminding her.

She rolled off the raft and swam to the dock, grabbing her towel as she stood in the shallows. “Hey!” she called after Gage. “Hang on a sec.”

He walked back, his eyebrows raised. Taking a deep breath, Chelsea wrapped the towel around herself and stepped onto the bank. “Listen, I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot here. I think it just caught me off guard that we’d be living—”

He’d been watching her as she spoke, listening, but her words stopped abruptly when he pulled a gun from his jacket, firing at the dirt to her left. Chelsea shrieked and jumped back, pinwheeling into the water, towel and all. Coughing, she rose to the surface.

He was staring down at something on the ground, then moved dark eyes to her. She pushed her hair out of her face.

“You…you crazy—” Chelsea took a deep breath. “You’re not living with me! I don’t care what Jonas says. I was here first.” She tread water, angrier than she’d ever been in her life. “I’m not living with a man who carries a gun on him as casually as a piece of chewing gum!”

Gage looked perplexed. “Why would you want to live with a man who didn’t carry a gun?”

She stared at him. “I don’t know. I don’t care! You’re crazy, and you’re not living with me. It doesn’t matter if you pitch a tent, but you’re not staying in the house.” She didn’t allow herself to think about his poor daughter, who had a maniac for a father. “Get out of my sight.”

She wanted to send a few more choice words after him, but he retreated so obligingly that she held her tongue. Jonas was going to get an earful! In fact, she was mad enough to drive out to Rancho Diablo and tick him off in person.

She swam to the bank, not bothering with pulling herself up on the dock. Her towel was soaked. She started wringing it out, muttering under her breath—and realized a three-foot-long snake was lying at her feet with its head shot off. The scream that erupted from her could have been heard in the next state as she leaped back into the water.

Chelsea was shaking badly, and was pretty certain she was sweating despite being in the creek up to her neck. She hated snakes! And that wild-eyed cowboy had shot the nasty creature and left her, no doubt snickering about how freaked out she’d be when she saw it.

No cowboy came to check on her.

She grabbed the float, which had become wedged in the shallows, and sat on it, looking around for more snakes. The stupid thing had probably been slithering to the creek for a drink, or to nest in the rocks.

Shivers crawled up her skin.

“Are you out there, cowboy?” she called timidly.

“Yes,” Gage answered, “but I’m not walking into your sight, Irish. Just want to make certain you’re not one of those hysterical females who can’t stand the sight of a little creepy-crawly.”

Little! He was having a laugh at her expense. Still, she owed him for shooting the snake. She probably would have stepped right on it. “I might be just a wee bit afraid of snakes,” she admitted.

“Nobody likes snakes. You did real well.”

She sniffed, surprised that he was offering her some empathy. “I take back what I said about you being a gun-toting freak, or whatever I called you.” She took a deep breath, still feeling goose bumps tighten her skin.

“No worries,” he said. “I’m heading off now to do my errands in town. You going to be all right?”

She wasn’t. She glanced around, wondering if the snake had any friends that might be nesting in the wet towel she’d dropped. “You know we don’t like snakes in Ireland,” she said. “Saint Patrick ran them off for us.”

There was a moment of silence before Gage walked toward the creek. He fished her towel from the water and held out his hand. “I’m no saint.”

She looked at him, not accepting the hand he extended. “I know that.”

He shrugged. “Come on, Red. I’ll walk you back to the house.”

She didn’t need a second invitation. Taking his hand—he felt strong and substantial, thank God, because she needed something strong right now—she let him drag her from the creek. He kept his eyes steadily averted from her, and she was out of the water and away from her snake nemesis in a blink. While Gage pinned her raft between two scraggly trees so it wouldn’t blow away, she hurriedly wrapped herself in her towel, unable to stop shivering. She couldn’t shake her fear that another snake might be nearby. Still, Gage didn’t look her way. Didn’t every man want a glimpse of a woman in a bikini?

He didn’t seem to. His posture was stiff, fixed in a deliberate stance of avoidance. Chelsea remembered that she’d told him to stay out of her sight, and he was clearly trying to obey her not-very-nice demand.

She swallowed, letting go some of her pride. “I’m sorry. I’ve been kind of a witch to you.”

He finally glanced at her. “It doesn’t seem so bad with that sweet accent you’ve got.”

Was that a compliment? “Really?”

“No.” Gage laughed and started walking. “Getting blessed out by a woman is no fun in any language or accent.”

She scampered after him, not thrilled to be left behind with a dead snake. “Maybe we could start over.”

“No need.”

Okay. She wasn’t going to beg him to accept her apology. They walked in silence back to the farmhouse. He went to his truck, and Chelsea went in the house, pulling off the dripping beach towel.

And that’s when she realized she’d gotten out of the creek without her bikini top.

She shrieked, this time with rage and embarrassment. The sound of male laughter came through the open screen door before Gage’s truck started up and drove away.

And he called the Callahans pranksters!

Chapter Two

When Gage ran into Jonas Callahan in Tempest’s town square, he was ready to let all his annoyance fall on his employer’s head. “Jonas, you ornery son of a gun,” he began, stopping when Jonas held up a hand.

“You can thank me later,” Jonas said. “I can’t chitchat now. I need to go over last-minute plans with an architect. I think I’m going to knock the farmhouse down and start over. It’s just much too small.”

Gage’s jaw tightened. “Knock it down? It’s the only livable place at Dark Diablo.”

“True,” Jonas agreed. “I wouldn’t do it until after the summer is over. Cat will have gone back to school by then, is how I figure it. Chelsea will have finished her Great Novel, and you can park your boots in the bunkhouse.”

The bunkhouse was, as Chelsea had noted, pretty old and not really inhabitable, even for someone who was as used to roughing it as he was. “This is almost the end of June, Jonas. What if I can’t get the bunkhouse and the barn renovated that fast?”

Jonas glanced at him. “My brothers and I can come over and crew for you if you need us.”

“I’ll know soon enough, I guess.” Gage wasn’t certain how to take this change of plans. “Why did I think the job was for about six months?”

“It is,” Jonas said, surprised, “unless you finish sooner or get sick of it. Do you have a problem with sleeping in a bunkhouse?”

Gage shook his head, not bothering to point out that the roof had holes in it the size of owls. He could get those patched up in the next month. He could get a lot done—if he didn’t have Cat to entertain. Secretly, he wasn’t certain what to do with a daughter he didn’t know that well. He’d met her only once, and he’d been nervous as hell.

The only good thing about having Chelsea and her mom on the property was that maybe they’d provide a buffer.

“Frankly, I’m scared shi—”

“Well, don’t worry,” Jonas said, his tone jovial as he pushed his hat down a little more comfortably on his head. “So, what’d you think of Chelsea?”

What did he think of Chelsea? Now, that was a loaded question. Gage sent his friend a suspicious glance, keeping his face unreadable. She was beautiful, for one. She had a helluva rack on her, and seeing her bare and not reacting had taken all of his self-control. Taut nipples, sweet breasts—he broke into a sweat that had nothing to do with the hot New Mexico sun. “Last I saw her, she was pretty upset about a little friend that was visiting. I’m hoping she’ll calm down before I get back.”

Jonas looked up from staring at his phone, his attention finally caught. “What kind of friend?”

“A snake friend. Just a small one, maybe a foot long. Nothing to get excited about. Be seeing you, Jonas.” Gage nodded and went down the sidewalk toward the lumber store, not feeling any more need to socialize. Reading Jonas the riot act about sticking him with a red-haired, sexy female wasn’t going to do anything but give his friend fodder for tales around the dinner table. He knew the Callahans too well.

I can take it, Gage thought. He just wasn’t certain he could take Chelsea and Cat and Ma all under one roof, when he didn’t know any of them at all.

* * *

“JONAS!” CHELSEA EXCLAIMED when her one-time fiancé banged on the front door. “Get in here so I can bawl you out like you’ve never been bawled out before!”

He came in, looking a bit wary, wearing a smile to placate her. She was not placated.

“Why didn’t you tell me there was going to be someone else living here?” she began hotly.

“Everything happened quickly,” Jonas said. “Both of you are making way too big a deal of this. Pretend like this farmhouse is a bed-and-breakfast. Would you care who the other boarders were?”

“No,” Chelsea said, clenching her teeth, “at least not until one of them shot a gun near my feet, I wouldn’t.”

“Gun?” Jonas perked up. “Gage wouldn’t fire a gun near you, Chelsea.”

“Well, he did.” She wasn’t about to share the whole bikini topless incident.

“Had to have had a good reason.”

Jonas’s eyes began to twinkle, and she knew from experience that he was vastly amused and couldn’t wait to hear the whole story, which would be retold later to his brothers and their wives with great gusto.

“Were you being mean to him, Chelsea?” Jonas asked, his tone rich with teasing.

“No, Jonas, I wasn’t.” He was referring to her Irish temper, knowing full well she wasn’t really mean to anybody.

But she did have a temper.

Which she didn’t intend to rein in now.

“Did this have anything to do with a critter you didn’t want around?”

“I am quite certain, Jonas, that Gage has told you everything, if you know about the critter. I’m sure he couldn’t wait to have a good laugh at my expense.”

“Now, now,” Jonas said, his voice comforting. “Gage didn’t tell me anything except that some animal had been around, and you hadn’t been happy about it.”

“It was a snake,” she said.

“Snakes are no fun,” Jonas agreed, trying to get on her good side. “What kind was it?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care,” she snapped.

“It’s important to know, Chelsea. If it was poisonous, I need to look for a nest and—”

“A nest!” Her blood ran cold.

He looked at her, his gaze curious. “You’re really afraid of snakes, aren’t you?”

“Everyone who is normal has a fear of snakes,” Chelsea stated, “unless that’s their line of work. And I’m not a snake charmer. Yes, Jonas, you know darn well that I’m as unenthusiastic about snakes as your five sisters-in-law and your wife would be.”

“True,” he conceded. “Snakes are not welcome around Rancho Diablo.”

“Well, then.” She crossed her arms. “Maybe you’d like to go take a look at it and catalog it. The stupid thing is down by the creek.”

“All right.” He ambled off, letting the screen door slam. Chelsea shook her head, thinking that men could be so dense at times. She went back to dusting, arranging the kitchen so she could start cooking tomorrow.

Cleaning made her start thinking about her heroine, who was still in danger and dangling cliffside.

This writer’s block is terrible. I don’t know how to get the story to flow again. I need peace and quiet and—

“Aw,” Jonas said, coming back inside with half a snake dangling from his hand. “It was just a—”

Chelsea screamed, a good old-fashioned gut scream that probably moved nearby mountains.

“What?” he said. “This is just a harmless—”

“Get it out of the house!”

“All right, all right.” He exited his own house in a hurry, recognizing that he and his trophy weren’t welcome. Chelsea grabbed a glass of water, drinking to calm herself.

“I’m sure that snake was more scared of you than you were of it,” he called from the porch.

“Shut up, Jonas,” she said, and then she heard Gage and him giggling outside the screen door like a couple hyenas. Like children. Chelsea drew a deep breath, marched to the front door, slammed it shut and locked it.

Boys might be boys—but not at her expense.

* * *

“NOW YOU’VE DONE IT,” Gage told Jonas. “I could have told you that gag wasn’t going to play well. Although it was funny. That Irish is a screamer for certain.”

His friend couldn’t contain his grin. “I’m going to take it home and bring it out at the dinner table.”

“Sabrina will probably let you have it upside the bean with a dinner plate,” Gage warned.

“This is true.” Jonas stuck his prize in a sack and went off. “Good luck, by the way.”

“Good luck with what?” he asked, knowing the sentiment had been loaded.

“Getting back in the house. Ever again.” Whistling, Jonas got in his truck and drove away, his conscience completely unbothered by how he’d destroyed Gage’s plans to get on Chelsea’s good side.

She wasn’t going to let him in tonight, he’d be willing to bet. “Nuts,” Gage said, thinking about the pretty breasts he’d tried so hard not to look at. Maybe it was better if he slept in the old run-down bunkhouse. Deciding there was always his truck to bed down in if he couldn’t stomach the conditions, he went off, cursing Jonas under his breath.

* * *

FROM HER UPSTAIRS bedroom window, Chelsea watched Gage slink off, a veritable snake in nicely fitting blue jeans that hugged his butt and yet sagged just enough to be comfortable. She should have known that any friend of the Callahans was bound to be a bad boy.

“I know how to handle men with a wild streak,” she said, setting down to her laptop. Bronwyn was in trouble, but Chelsea didn’t know how to help her. It all had to do with Bronwyn’s conflict, and Chelsea had yet to figure out exactly what that was. She had the feeling Bronwyn hadn’t yet been totally honest with her about her real emotions, the real thing that drove her to be a detective—

“Chelsea!”

She glanced out the bedroom window. Gage was below, waving something at her.

It looked like a white flag.

Truce?

She opened her window. “I’m busy. What do you want?”

He lowered the flag. “To ask you out to dinner.”

“Why?”

The question shot out of her more rudely than she’d intended. Once burned, twice shy…

“Just a friendly meal between two people who are sharing space.”

“We’re not,” she said very sweetly. “You’re out there and I’m cozy in here. But thanks.” She started to close the window.

“Chelsea, wait!”

She edged it up a little and looked out. “What’s the matter? Can’t you just grill a snake for your supper?”

He grinned at her, the devil in denim. “I could, but I’d rather share a meal with you.”

She shook her head. “Uh-uh. You’re trouble, Texas.”

“Yeah. But you know that up front, so it’ll be easier for you. Anyway, we should try out a restaurant in Tempest. I’ll buy, since you’re mad at me. It’s the least I can do.”

“Then obviously you’ll be buying me dinner every night.”

Gage laughed, a full deep laugh that had the hair standing up on her arms. The man was too sexy for his own good—and she suspected he’d been told that a time or two by man-hunting ladies.

“You need to see the town,” he said. “Getting out will help you with your writing.”

Chelsea wrinkled her nose. He had a point—it wouldn’t hurt her to go do some exploring of her new town. Jonas had said Tempest was charming.

Anyway, she had a dangling heroine, and truthfully, she’d do anything to get rid of her stubborn case of writer’s block. “All right,” she said, not gracefully, either. This man had probably looked at her naked breasts, no doubt told Jonas she’d gotten out of the creek without her top. They’d probably had a great, knee-slapping guffaw over it. “I’m ordering steak, though. You pay for your sins around here, buster.”

“Come on down, Rapunzel. We’ll see if we can find you a steak in Tempest.”

Chelsea shut the window, closing the drapes so he couldn’t watch her change. It had been a long time since she’d had a real date, although this certainly couldn’t be called a date—more like a short truce. She and Jonas had never dated—their relationship had started out as an agreement between two people who each needed something.

I wanted out of Ireland. I wanted a climate that suited my mother’s health better. I wanted life beyond what I knew.

If I have to put up with a snake now and again, it’s going to be worth it—even if he has brown eyes and a body to die for.

Chapter Three

“So,” Gage said, as they seated themselves in a booth at Cactus Max’s. “This looks like a great place for a red herring, don’t you think?”

Chelsea glanced at him with some disdain in her big eyes. Gage grinned, loving yanking her chain.

“Are you trying to be funny?” she asked.

“Not really. Am I?”

“I’m pretty sure you’re not.” She snapped open her menu with some annoyance, and he grinned again. In the corner of the bar-and-grill-style restaurant, three pool tables were in use, the occasional clicking of balls audible over the easy conversation of the diners. About fifty people milled around, enjoying nachos and beer and other cuisine, or watching big-screen TVs that hung from all four corners, the sound muted. In the background, soothing and mellow jazz music played. Gage found himself relaxing, until he saw Chelsea’s gaze fixed on him.

“What?”

She shook her head. “There’s a twenty-ounce steak on the menu.”

“If you can eat it, be my guest.”

“I’ll go with the Southwestern steak wraps.” She closed her menu.

“And some wine?”

“Tea,” she said, eyeing him again. “Thanks.”

He laughed. “You’re not letting your guard down around me, are you?”

“I can’t,” she said. “You got really close to me with a bullet. And do you have a permit for that gun you carry?”

They were interrupted by a dark-haired woman named Blanche cheerfully placing a lighted candle on their table. The flame gave the booth a romantic atmosphere that Gage knew would not help Chelsea relax. Not around him, anyway.

Talk about trust issues. He had a wall to climb with this redhead.

“New to town?” the waitress asked.

“We are,” Gage said. “We’re staying at Dark Diablo.”

“Oh,” Blanche said. “I know you. You’re the ones Jonas said didn’t like each other very much.”

Chelsea’s gaze shot to his, then bounced away. Gage laughed. “We’re working on it, Blanche.”

She smiled at him. “Well, you sure are a good-looking fellow. I like my men rugged. I can’t imagine a lady wouldn’t just go to jelly at the knees for you, honey.”

He figured Blanche was somewhere around sixty years old, and with her infectious smile and dark brown eyes, she’d probably been able to catch whatever kind of man she wanted. “Thanks. I like my ladies round and sweet like you.”

She grinned. “And what about you?” she asked Chelsea, politely trying to include her in the banter.

“I like my wraps rare and my tea cold, please,” she said, and Blanche giggled.

“She’s no fun,” the waitress told Gage.

“She’s fun sometimes,” he responded, teasing both of them. “So, who’s the babe in every corner of this joint?” He gestured to the four large paintings of a busty blonde in different costumes, looking like Marilyn Monroe come to life, only younger and somehow more innocent.

“That,” Blanche said with the gusto of a born storyteller, “is Tempest Thornbury.”

“Is that a stage name?” Chelsea asked.

“Well,” she said, “when you’re born Zola Cupertino, you have to consider alternatives, right?” She jammed her pencil into her abundantly tall and sprayed mass of shining dark hair. “Anyway, Tempest is our big star around these parts. She decided to name herself after our town, and the Thornbury, heck, I don’t know how she came up with that. But she went off and made herself famous on Broadway, and then went overseas to live in a villa in Tuscany.” Blanche shook her head. “They say she’s a recluse now, which is a shame, because she’s all of about twenty-eight. Can sing like a bird and dance like nothing you ever saw before.”

“Why did she become a recluse?” Chelsea asked, and Gage could tell she was fascinated by the story in spite of herself.

“No one knows, exactly. Something about a love story gone wrong, and ghosts in the old family home in Tempest. Not sure how it all fits together. We’ve talked about it many a time in Tempest, but the truth is, when she left here, she changed so much from when she was little Zola that we don’t really know what to think. Her life is very different from ours. You can still see her family home from the country road, you know, but none of us go out there much because of the ghosts.” She smiled at Gage. “So are you having steak wraps, too, or did you just want to sit there and stare at the lady all night?”