The Renegade Cowboy Returns

Damn grateful.

“For what?” She looked at him, surprised.

He shrugged, not certain how to express what he wanted to say. “Helping Cat make the transition. And me.”

Afternoon light glowed softly on her features as she studied him. Gage waited nervously, as if he was on a first date, not certain why he felt so skittish around Chelsea. Her eyes were so kind and radiated understanding. She wasn’t the type of woman who made men nervous, he was pretty certain.

Which meant…he must dig her.

A little.

The stray thought made Gage even more nervous. Since his relationship with Cat’s mother, Leslie, he’d stayed busy, making no time for dating. A night or two with a lady sufficed.

He shouldn’t feel differently about this russet-haired Irishwoman. For many reasons—not the least of which would be not wanting to play right into Jonas’s hands.

A man had his pride. Gage looked away from the redhead with the big eyes.

“I didn’t do anything for either of you,” Chelsea said. “I like Cat. She reminds me of myself at that age.”

He couldn’t imagine any resemblance, in any way, between the two of them. But he smiled. “Thanks.”

“No thanks necessary.”

There was no reason to keep Chelsea outside longer than he had, either. The shame of it was he really wanted to talk to her more. His heart drummed inside him, and he wished he had his typical easy talk at his disposal. But he didn’t.

And then he did the unthinkable, brushing his lips from the side of her mouth to her cheek, as “just friends” as he could manage.

God, she was soft.

“See you around,” he said, not hanging in to find out what price he might have to pay for stealing a brotherly peck. He didn’t know what had possessed him. He’d let his mouth do the speaking his voice couldn’t. “I’m leaving, Cat! Are you coming?”

“I’ll catch up in a sec!” she yelled back from upstairs. He heard the screen door close as Chelsea went inside.

Good thing, too. Or he’d be tempted to go back for another helping of “just friends.”

Now that he knew how soft she was, he was going to have to put the brakes on temptation. Hard.

Chapter Five

Chelsea went inside to help her mother with dinner, completely stunned that Gage had kissed her. Sure, it was a non-kiss, really, as kisses went—but yesterday they hadn’t even been on shaking-hands terms.

Of course, it hadn’t been anything more than Gage expressing his gratitude. New-overwhelmed-dad gratitude.

He appreciated her and her mom being nice to his daughter. That was all the brief peck had meant.

It had “just friends” written on it. Quick and fast and…like it hadn’t meant anything except thanks.

She was amazed to see Moira and Cat busy chopping vegetables. “What can I do to help, Mum?”

“Nothing at the moment. The cake is made, dinner is almost finished. We’re just finishing up a big salad for Gage. And a sweet potato casserole.”

Cat glanced up at her. “We get a baked chicken. Dad gets portobello mushroom skewers.”

“You go write, dear,” her mother said.

“You should,” Cat agreed. Chelsea wondered if that was her subtle way of trying to keep Moira to herself. “I read what was on your laptop—by accident. I went into your room to find you, but you weren’t there.”

Chelsea raised a brow. “And you just happened to make yourself at home on my laptop?”

“I didn’t touch anything. You left the screen up.” Cat shrugged. “Anyway, it’s going to get read if it ever gets published.”

“It is getting published, and I don’t allow anyone to read my work until I say it’s all right to.” This was something they were going to have to straighten out pronto. Cat would have to understand that her room was off-limits.

“Anyway,” the teen said, “I just thought you should know that Tempest is a real flesh-and-blood person. I can actually see her.” Cat took a bite of carrot, considering her thoughts. “Bronwyn, not so much. She seems kind of wishy-washy. Cardboard.”

Chelsea and Moira stared at Cat. Chelsea wasn’t certain what to think about the critique—although she had a funny feeling it was dead-on. “Please don’t read my work anymore, Cat, unless I give you permission.”

She nodded. “I won’t. Miss Moira says she’s going to take me to the library and get me some books by great authors. Great texts, is what she calls them. Suitable for my advanced level.” She beamed, pretty proud of that praise.

Chelsea shook her head, recognizing the teacher at work. She sank onto a bar stool and looked at Gage’s daughter. “Permission aside, that was a pretty confident critique.”

“I know.” Cat nodded. “My teacher says I should consider journalism. Maybe even poli-sci.”

The front door opened, interrupting the conversation.

“Cat!” Gage called from the front door.

“Yes, Dad?”

“I thought you were going to catch up with me?”

“I am.” She put down the carrot she’d been chopping. “I’m sorry, Miss Moira. I have to go help my dad.”

“You go, love,” she replied, amused.

“Will you finish helping her?” Cat asked Chelsea. “There’s a lot left to do.” She went out of the kitchen, and the front door closed a moment later.

“Goodness.” Moira laughed. “She’s a bit of an old soul, isn’t she?”

“Yes.” Chelsea took over the chopping. “I’m not too happy with her critique, either.”

“Oh, don’t be angry with the lamb,” her mother said. “You know our rules may be different from what she has at home. I don’t sense that she gets a lot of supervision. Now that you’ve explained the boundaries, I’m sure she’ll respect them.”

Gage would insist on his daughter respecting boundaries. That much she could tell about Gage—he tried to keep distance where it needed to be.

Except when he’d kissed her.

And she hadn’t even smacked him, as she’d promised herself she would if he ever stepped over her lines.

Like Cat, he’d crossed her limit so nicely. In such an ordinary way. It had barely been a kiss—and yet it had felt strangely as if there’d been deeper meaning behind it.

Boundaries.

Like father, like daughter.

“Boundaries are good,” she told her mom. “We’ll work on them.”

* * *

DINNER WAS SET ON THE PATIO, and Gage and Cat gathered around, looking hungry, and in Cat’s case, tired and a tiny bit red in the face from exertion and late-afternoon sun. They washed up and then sank down gratefully to join Moira and Chelsea.

“This is great,” Gage said. “I can’t remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal.”

Cat looked at her dad. “That’s probably because you’re itin—”

“I know,” he said, ruefully interrupting. “But going from job to job is how I make money, kitten.”

“Mom does say you’re always right on time with the child support.” Cat grinned at her father. “It’s the one nice thing she says about you.”

“What did you two do all afternoon?” Chelsea asked, wanting to put Gage at ease.

“We went and talked to a man about knocking down the barn. Dad wants an estimate for that,” Cat said importantly. “Although I think his boss will be angry if he does it.” She looked at her father, not certain if knocking over buildings was really in his job description.

“And look who’s going to join us for dinner,” Moira said. “Just in time to say grace for us.”

Chelsea looked up, surprised to see Jonas Callahan pulling in with a horse trailer. “I’ll set another place.” She went to grab a plate and silverware, coming back out in time to see Jonas slap Gage on the back.

“Didn’t I tell you you’d like it here?” Jonas asked, glancing around at the wonderful spread on the table. “That smells good. I love roast chicken and portobello mushrooms.” He leaned over to kiss Moira on the cheek, tipped his hat to Chelsea, and said, “Who’s this beautiful girl?” to Cat, who blushed, to Chelsea’s delight.

“My daughter, Cat,” Gage supplied. “Sit down, Jonas.”

“I will.” He sat down easily, filling his glass from the tea pitcher. “Hi, Cat. You like it here?”

“Not really,” she said with her characteristic tact. “But will you please say grace for us? Miss Moira says you will, and we’re starved. Dad’s been working hard today.”

Jonas laughed. “Good for him. And I’m happy to say grace, thank you for the honor.”

They bowed their heads, and Jonas said grace, and then everybody began filling their plates with Moira’s good cooking. Chelsea was amazed by how well Cat seemed to fit in, with just a smidgen of guidance and structure. She caught Gage watching her study his daughter, and busied herself with the chicken and vegetables. I’m getting too involved. It’s none of my business. I’m here to write, and get my heroine out of her tangle, and take care of my mother.

Not get love-struck over a footloose cowboy.

“Fiona says to tell you hi, Miss Moira,” Jonas said.

“When’s she coming out to see me?” Moira asked.

“Actually, I’m to remind you all of the Fourth of July picnic at the ranch. You’ll be there, won’t you?” Jonas looked at Chelsea and then Gage.

“I will be,” she said.

“We can all drive out together,” Gage offered.

“Splendid.” Jonas grinned. “You know, Aunt Fiona said you would all get along like peas in a pod, and she’s never wrong about these things.”

Chelsea’s gaze caught Gage’s by accident, and she felt herself blush—just like Cat.

Jonas grinned at her, looking like a man who was enjoying his charmed life a bit too much. Chelsea frowned at him, letting him know she didn’t appreciate his statement, and he laughed.

She was going to stab him with a fork, she vowed, if he thought about trying any of the Callahan matchmaking games on her.

“How’s the writing, Chelsea?” Jonas asked, trying to get on her good side, probably having noticed the steam coming out of her ears on his behalf.

“Fine,” she said, her tone sweet for the sake of table manners, but with a definite edge of don’t bother.

“She’s still stuck,” Cat said, “but Miss Moira says if we shut her up in her room for a few days, sometimes that works. And sometimes a change of scenery helps, too.”

Jonas snapped his fingers. “Speaking of that, I need the two of you to run an errand for me.”

Chelsea felt her eyes narrow. “The two of who?”

“You and Gage, my two trusted house sitters.” Jonas waved a fork expansively. “I need you to go sweet-talk two peacocks out of our neighbor to the north, a Ms. Ellen Smithers.”

“Peacocks?” Chelsea said. “Why peacocks and why us?”

“I want two peacocks out at Rancho Diablo, and maybe here, once we get things settled. Ms. Smithers doesn’t like us. Or at least she didn’t like the man who used to own this house. I’ve talked to her on two occasions, even took Sabrina with me. Both times the answer was an enthusiastic no.” He grinned. “She’s a stubborn thing. But Ms. Ellen doesn’t know that I’m not above using a decoy to get what I want.”

“And you want peacocks?” Gage asked.

“Always have.” Jonas nodded. “The kids’ll love ’em. Cat, be prepared that when you come to Rancho Diablo, there’s a lot of babies, and a lot of toddlers running around.”

“Great. Sesame Street-a-palooza,” Cat said ungraciously.

“Nope. We don’t watch much TV at the ranch. Too busy.” He winked at her. “You’ll see. You’re just about the right age to be a great babysitter.”

Cat shuddered. “My friends are never going to believe the summer I’m having.”

“That’s right,” Jonas said, his tone jovial. “We’ll take lots of pictures for you to show your friends.”

Gage shot his daughter a warning look. Cat lowered her head. “Thank you.”

“Can you leave tomorrow?” Jonas asked. “I can stay over tonight in Tempest. I’d love to take the peacocks back with me.”

“Tomorrow? Jonas, I was going to discuss the plans for the barn and bunkhouse with you tomorrow, and—”

“Always time for that. Running out of time to get peacocks on the ranch for the Fourth. I want this year to be special. Can I count on you, Chelsea?”

She didn’t want to sound reluctant like Cat, but she was. Not meeting Gage’s gaze, she said, “I have no knowledge of peacocks, or buying peacocks, Jonas.”

“That’s my girl,” he exclaimed, as if she’d said “Absolutely, I’d love to.”

Moira had been silently watching the interchange with a smile on her face. “Now that that’s all settled,” she said, “who wants cake?”

Chapter Six

“I’ve known you two days, and Jonas has got us chasing peacocks.” Gage shook his head as he steered the truck onto the highway bound for Colorado. “Peacocks.”

Beside him, Chelsea looked out the window. “I’m surprised Cat wanted to stay with Mum.”

“What teenage girl wouldn’t rather go on a wild peacock chase?” Gage was somewhat annoyed with his boss, but to be honest, there were some perks to being on the road.

Namely, his shotgun rider wasn’t too hard on the eyes.

“The upside is that we won’t be gone long. It’s a long day at the most.” He was trying to comfort Chelsea, probably not doing too good of a job. Her deadline was heavy on her mind. He understood deadlines. The fact that Jonas didn’t seem as pressed about getting started on the plans for the ranch as Gage was put him on edge. He’d allotted six months for this job, hoping to wrap it up in four, depending on how fast he could secure building permits. This was no long-term job for him—Jonas knew that.

“What if this Ms. Ellen Smithers doesn’t want to sell us peacocks?”

“Not our problem. We’ll give it our best shot.” Gage shrugged. “Personally, I couldn’t care less about Jonas’s damn birds.” Thinking about birds made him think about his daughter preferring to hang back with Moira and Curly and Mo. He hoped Cat didn’t call her mother and mention that he’d left her behind with a woman she’d just met. Leslie would probably have a fit.

“Still, Jonas seems to have his heart set on them. I can’t believe Ms. Smithers is so ornery with him about peacocks. A paying customer is a paying customer.” Chelsea sighed. “Sometimes I feel like we all just jump around to Jonas’s tune.”

“Sure. He’s our boss. We signed on to his madcap adventures.” Gage frowned. “Normally I wouldn’t mind. If he’d sent me looking for horses, which is under my job description, I’d be fine. But the surprise element is what moves the Callahans.”

“Yes.”

In his peripheral vision he could see Chelsea’s hands fidgeting. She still wasn’t all that comfortable around him. He didn’t guess she had any reason to be. They barely knew each other.

“Listen, we’ll make this quick,” Gage said. “We’ll get you back to your computer, and me back to my kid, and we’ll all have some more of your mom’s delicious cake.”

Chelsea nodded. “That sounds good.”

Gage hoped he was right.

* * *

MS. SMITHERS WAS A TALL, large-boned woman who looked more like a woman who could tame lions than a peacock breeder. Chelsea could see why Jonas was a bit intimidated by her, not that he would ever say he was. For one thing, Ms. Smithers was almost Jonas’s height—and Gage’s. Both were tall men. Not only was Ms. Ellen Smithers tall, she was heavyset. She looked like a stern, no-nonsense person, and Chelsea found herself shrinking back slightly when the woman glared at her.

“You’re here about my peafowl?” Ellen asked.

“Yes. We are,” Chelsea said, noting that Gage seemed happy for her to lead. “We’re interested in purchasing a pair.”

She received a frown in return. “I mostly sell to zoos and other breeders. Not interested in selling to individuals usually.”

Chelsea offered her a smile. “We’re hoping you might make an exception.”

“The problem is,” Ms. Smithers said, “I don’t know if the birds get taken care of by people who don’t understand them. They’re beautiful animals. They have special needs. What do you know about peacocks?”

Chelsea gulped. Gage shrugged. “That they’re good watchdogs.”

“True.” Ellen nodded. “What else?”

“That we pay cash for them.” Gage pulled out his wallet. “And that peafowl can be noisy during breeding season. I’ll be building an appropriate pen with sprinklers and lots of shade.”

“Hot where you are, is it?” Ms. Smithers stared at him warily, one eye on his wallet. “Peafowl need lots of space, too. You got lots of space?”

“I’m from Hell’s Colony,” Gage said easily. Chelsea noticed he sidestepped saying that the birds would possibly be living on the despised ranch Jonas had purchased.

“And you?” the curious Ms. Smithers asked Chelsea. “You don’t sound like you’re from Texas.”

“I’m from Dublin.” Chelsea could tell by the look on her face that she wanted more information. “I’m in the States with my mum. She has some breathing issues, and the warmer, drier climate here is helpful.” Chelsea hoped that was enough to satisfy Ms. Smithers.

“Well, now.” Ellen nodded. “Come inside and have a bite while I ponder whether I have a pair of peafowl I want to sell.”

“We don’t—” Gage began, and Chelsea shot him a look.

“We’d appreciate that,” she said quickly, and he gave her a slight squeeze on the arm that she took to be appreciation as he followed the ladies inside. “Play along,” she whispered as Ellen led them into a small, bright kitchen that looked hardly big enough to contain her bulk. “Be nice.”

“I’m always Mr. Nice.”

Chelsea ignored that and sat at the table. Gage took the seat across from her.

“Looks like a storm is blowing in,” Ellen said. “These early summer storms are strong this year. We’ve had a couple of tornadoes.”

Chelsea took the glass of water she was offered. Gage did, too, watching her for cues. “I’ve never seen a tornado,” she said.

“Just hope you never do.” The breeder peered out one of the windows, worrying. “Yep, here comes the rain.”

Slashes of droplets suddenly hit the glass panes, loud in the small kitchen.

“Guess I should have had you move your truck into the barn,” Ellen told Gage. “That’s hail.”

Chelsea looked at him sympathetically. “It was too shiny-new, anyway.”

He didn’t look amused. “So, about the peacocks—”

“I don’t have any right now,” Ellen said. “I’ve got some old ones you wouldn’t want, and I’ve got some that are nesting, but—”

Chelsea thought Gage’s head was going to pop off his shoulders.

“You didn’t say you didn’t have any available when I called you,” he said.

“We’re so eager to see some,” Chelsea interjected, shooting a warning glance at him.

“You can see them. Of course, not now with this storm. The nesters are cozy in their pens right now. I don’t let my peafowl roam during nesting, you know.”

Chelsea had wondered why there were no peacocks roaming about when they’d driven into the red-fenced farm, heralded by a sign that read Smithers’ Peacock Farm and Honeymoon Cabin.

The lights went out suddenly, plunging the kitchen into darkness.

“Well, that’s that,” Ellen said cheerfully.

“What’s what?” Gage demanded.

“That’s the end of the juice.” She sounded so happy about the electricity going out. “Could be hours before it comes back on.”

“All right.” Gage rose, his patience at an end. He handed her a business card. “Why don’t you call me when you have a pair of peacocks you’d like us to look at buying.”

“I will.” She nodded. “You folks be careful pulling onto the main road. This rain’ll be making mud of the end of the drive. Can be tricky.” She smiled at Chelsea and lit some candles. “Of course, if you want to wait out the storm, you’re welcome to stay in my guesthouse. It’s two hundred dollars a night, and I don’t mind saying it’s kind of a honeymooner’s getaway. I’ve got about fifteen peacocks, and maybe in the night I’ll remember which of them is just right for sale. I do hate to part with any, but of course they’re prettiest now. They’ll lose their trains at the end of breeding season. I might find a pair if I have time to go over my records.”

Chelsea froze. She didn’t want to be in a honeymooner’s getaway with Gage. “We’re not in need of—”

“We’ll take it.” He tossed cash on the table to cover the cost of the room, and then an extra hundred to encourage her memory. “Maybe that’ll help you come up with a just-right pair for us, and cover your trouble for keeping us, Ms. Smithers.”

Her eyes glowed in the candlelight as she gazed at the money. “You’ll find food in the fridge. Best in the area. Everything in the Peacock Cabin is available for guests. Lots of towels, which you’ll need, because I don’t have a spare umbrella to offer you. You’ll need this flashlight to see your way over to the cabin. Once there, you’ll find candles and a torch on the entry table. As remote as we are, power outages are not unusual. Of course, you may not need the candles.” She smiled broadly, winking. “Please make yourself at home, and don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything.”

Gage leaned close to Chelsea as they got up to follow Ms. Smithers down a long hall. “Just a pair of birds with eyes on their tails.”

“Shh,” Chelsea said, trying not to giggle. She was nervous at the thought of staying in a “peacock cabin” with Gage. But it wasn’t bad nerves. More like shivers of destiny and creativity finally awakening—the thrill of the unknown and adventure. And when he put his hand on her back to help her outside to the cabin Ms. Smithers pointed at, Chelsea accepted his assistance along the mud-washed, cobbled sidewalk. He clasped her hand as they ran to the cabin surrounded by trees, rain hitting them as they went.

They stepped inside, and Chelsea gasped. “Wow. This is the Peacock Cabin.”

Gage whistled, closing the door behind them. “Little less rustic than I’m used to.”

“Me, too.” Chelsea took off her shoes, leaving them on the Saltillo tile floor near the door as she lit the candles on the entry table Ellen had mentioned. When candlelight threw flickering light around the room, she could see their digs for the night. The centerpiece, she noticed with some dismay, was a round honeymooners’ bed covered with an emerald-green satin spread, and positioned beneath a heavy crystal chandelier. She stepped closer with a candle, seeing peacock-feathered pillows piled abundantly at the top of the bed, the colors glistening almost erotically in the candlelight. A mirrored wall backed the bed, emphasizing the florid color scheme. Chelsea lit candles on the bedside tables, noting that every wall had a painting, which seemed to be delicate nudes in a Garden of Eden–type setting, each of which included—what else?—peacocks.

“Holy smokes,” Gage said. “I think the bed is motorized.”

“Why?” She stepped closer to see what he was looking at.

“I guess so it can turn.” He stared underneath the bed with a flashlight, checking out the contraption. “I wondered why it was set so high. When the juice, as Ellen called it, comes back on, we’ll check it out.”

“She certainly wants this cottage to contain everything a honeymooner needs,” Chelsea said, checking out a glass-topped table with a gold-rimmed tray. “I was going to help myself to some fruit juice, but I see these are juices of a different kind.”

Gage grinned as he glanced at the tray of varying fruit-flavored body oils. “Who would have thought Ms. Ellen had such a sensual side?”

“Not me.” Chelsea shuddered. “Let’s not think about that. Let’s plan on how you’re going to get those peacocks away from her. I’m pretty certain she hijacked you for the honeymooner’s cabin and has no intention of letting you have any peafowl. How’d you know they were called peafowl, anyway?”

“First,” Gage said, handing Chelsea a towel so she could dry off, “she didn’t hijack me. She held up Jonas for the money, and he said I had his full permission to do whatever I had to do, including bribery, to encourage her to let loose some birds.” He leaned down and pulled off his boots, setting them by the door next to her leather flats. “Second, once I realized Jonas was determined to get his hands on some peacocks, I did a quick study of how the creatures live.”