Beau: Cowboy Protector

Five hours later, as Beau approached Roundup, he noticed a vehicle parked on the side of the road. His truck’s headlights shone through the car’s rear window, illuminating a silhouette in the driver’s seat. He turned on the truck’s flashers then pulled onto the shoulder behind the car. When he approached the vehicle, the driver’s side window lowered several inches.

What the hell?

“Hello, Beau,” Sierra said.

Well…well…well… This surely was his lucky day.

Chapter Two

Drat!

Sierra had the worst luck—go figure Beau Adams would end up rescuing her from her own stupidity.

Beau had set his sights on her early this spring when he’d begun eating at the diner on a regular basis. She found the handsome bull rider’s attention flattering and would have jumped at the chance to date him, but circumstances beyond her control had forced her to keep him at arm’s length.

“Engine trouble?” Beau’s gaze drifted to her lips. The man had the most annoying habit of watching her mouth when they engaged in conversation.

“I’m not sure what the problem is,” she said, ignoring her rising body temperature. There wasn’t a thing wrong with her RAV4, except for the dent in the rear fender from a run-in with a minivan in the parking lot of the diner.

Sierra’s sight had left her marooned on the side of the road.

He swept his hat from his head and ran his fingers through his hair. Beau’s brown locks always looked in need of a trim, but it was his dark brown eyes and chiseled jaw that made her heart pound a little faster.

“I bet I can figure out what’s wrong,” he said.

Typical cowboy—believing he could repair anything and everything. Too bad Beau couldn’t fix her eyes.

“How long have you been sitting here?”

Hours. “A short while.” No way was she confessing that she couldn’t see well enough to drive at night.

If not for a freeway wreck on the outskirts of Billings, she would have made it home, but ten miles from town dusk had turned to darkness. With few vehicles traveling the road, Sierra had decreased her speed and continued driving, but her confidence had been shattered when she’d crossed the center line and almost collided with another car. The near miss scared years off her life and she’d pulled onto the shoulder, resigned to wait until daybreak to drive into Roundup.

She’d phoned her aunt, who’d been visiting her since July, and had informed her that she planned to spend the night with a friend. Silence had followed Sierra’s announcement. Everyone in town was aware of Beau’s frequent visits to the diner and Jordan probably wondered if Sierra’s friend happened to be Beau.

She appreciated that her aunt hadn’t pried—after all, Sierra was thirty-one, old enough to have a sleepover with a man. In truth, she’d love to get to know Beau better, but life wasn’t fair. Too bad he’d happened along tonight. She’d been certain she’d get out of this mess without anyone the wiser.

“Pop the hood,” he said.

“There’s no need. I called Davidson Towing. Stan is out on another call but should be here in a little while.” Maybe if she distracted Beau, he’d forget about checking the engine. “Returning from a rodeo?”

“Yep. Hauled a couple of Thunder Ranch bulls down to Rock Springs, Wyoming.”

“Did you compete?”

He rested an arm along the top of the car. “Sure did, and I won.” His cocky grin warmed her better than her down parka.

“Congratulations.” The diner’s patrons kept Sierra up to date on their hometown cowboys’ accomplishments. Since she’d moved to Roundup five years ago, most of the gossip about the Adams twins focused on Duke’s rodeo successes. Lately, Beau was getting his turn in the spotlight.

“Wanna see my buckle?”

She swallowed a laugh. “Sure.” He removed the piece of silver from his coat pocket and passed it through the open window. “It’s beautiful.”

“There’s no need for you to freeze. Stan’ll tow your car to his garage and square the bill with you in the morning.” Beau reached for the door handle.

“No!” Sierra cringed. She hadn’t meant to shout. For a girl who’d lived most of her life in Chicago, small towns were both a blessing and a curse. She handed Beau the buckle. “I appreciate the offer, but I’d prefer to wait with my car.”

Instead of backing away he poked his head through the window, his hair brushing the side of her face. A whiff of faded cologne—sandalwood and musk—swirled beneath her nose. “Just checking to make sure there’s no serial killer in the backseat holding you hostage.”

Oh, brother.

“If you’re determined to wait for Stan, then sit in my truck. I’ve got the heat going and I’ll share the coffee I bought at the rest stop.”

“Thanks, but you should get your bulls back to the ranch.” C’mon, Beau. Give up and go home.

“I don’t like the idea of you waiting out here all alone.”

“This is Roundup, Montana. Nothing’s going to happen to me.”

“You’re forgetting the break-ins this past summer. This area is no Mayberry, U.S.A.”

Sierra regretted her flippant remark. Although Roundup had been and would continue to be a safe place to live and raise a family, a rash of thefts in the ranching community had put people on edge for a while. Even Beau had been victimized when one of his custom-made saddles had been stolen and sold at a truck stop miles away.

“I’ll be fine. Besides, your cousin caught those thieves.” She switched on the interior light and pointed to her winter coat. “And I’m plenty warm.” A flat tire during her first winter in Big Sky country had taught Sierra to keep a heavy jacket in her vehicle year-round. Unlike Chicago, car trouble in rural Montana could mean waiting an entire day for help to arrive and the state’s weather was anything but predictable—sixty degrees one hour, a blizzard the next.

“How long did you say you’ve been waiting for Stan?”

“Twenty minutes maybe.” When had she become such an accomplished liar?

Beau walked to the front of the car and placed his hand on the hood.

Busted. She’d been parked for over three hours—surely the engine was stone cold. “Thanks again for stopping to check on me,” she called out the window, hoping he’d take the hint and leave.

“You’re sure you don’t want a ride to the diner?”

“Positive.”

“Okay. Take care.” He retreated to his truck where he took his dang tootin’ time pulling back onto the road. As soon as the livestock trailer disappeared around the bend in the road, Sierra breathed a sigh of relief.

Then the tears fell.

Ah, Beau. Darn the man for being…nice. Handsome. Sexy.

Over a year ago, Sierra had become aware of the subtle changes in her eyesight, but she’d steadfastly ignored the signs and had gone about life as usual. Her resolve to pretend her vision was fine had grown stronger after each encounter with Beau. Then her aunt had arrived unannounced—thanks to the busybodies who’d informed her of Sierra’s recent mishaps around town—determined to persuade Sierra to schedule an appointment with an ophthalmologist. Sadly, she didn’t need an examination to tell her that she’d inherited the gene for the eye disease that had led to her aunt’s blindness.

Why couldn’t Beau have paid attention to her when she’d first arrived in Roundup years ago? Darn life for being unfair. Sierra rested her head on the back of the seat. Maybe she’d see—ha, ha, ha—things in a different light come morning.

Morning arrived at 6:25 a.m., when a semi truck whizzed by her car and woke her. She wiggled her cold toes and fingers until the feeling returned to the numb digits. If she hurried, she’d have time to mix a batch of biscuits before the diner doors opened for breakfast at seven.

She snapped on her seat belt then checked the rearview mirror. Oh. My. God. Beau’s pickup, minus the livestock trailer, sat a hundred yards behind her. Embarrassed and humiliated that he’d caught her red-handed in a lie, she shoved the key into the ignition and the SUV engine fired to life. After checking for cars in both directions she hit the gas. The back tires spewed gravel as she pulled onto the highway. Keeping a death grip on the steering wheel she glanced at the side mirror—Beau remained fast asleep, slouched against the driver’s-side window.

Don’t you dare cry.

Her eyesight was blurry in the mornings, and if she gave into the tears that threatened to fall she’d be forced to pull off the road again—and then what excuse would she give Beau?

* * *

BEAU WOKE IN time to catch the taillights of Sierra’s SUV driving off. The least she could have done was thank him for watching over her through the night.

Sierra mystified him. After finding her stranded on the side of the road he’d been puzzled by her insistence that he not wait with her for a tow. Then, when he’d placed his hand on the hood of the car and discovered the engine was cold, his suspicions had grown. For the life of him he couldn’t figure out what she’d been up to, but she’d made it clear she didn’t want his help, so he’d moseyed along. When he’d reached Roundup, he’d driven past Davidson Towing. Stan’s tow truck had sat parked in the lot, the lights turned off in the service garage.

For a split second, Beau had wondered if Sierra had intended to rendezvous with a man, but he’d nixed that idea. Before he’d begun his campaign to convince her to go out on a date with him he’d asked his cousin Dinah, the town’s sheriff, to find out if Sierra was involved with another man. According to Dinah’s sources Sierra wasn’t. Boyfriend or not, Beau hadn’t been about to leave Sierra alone in the dark.

He’d delivered Bushwhacker and Back Bender to Thunder Ranch, then had hollered at his father through the door that he was meeting up with friends at the Open Range Saloon. Alibi taken care of, he’d high-tailed it back to the highway.

When he’d passed her SUV, the truck’s headlights had shown her asleep in the front seat. Alone. Relieved he’d been wrong about a clandestine meeting, he’d parked behind the car, resigned to wait until morning for answers. Those answers were right now fleeing down the highway.

Although tempted to stalk Sierra until she offered an explanation for the crazy stunt she’d pulled last night, he started his truck and turned onto the county road that bypassed Roundup and brought him to the back side of Thunder Ranch, where the Adams men were in charge of the bucking bulls and the cattle that grazed this section of the property. He pulled up to the small house his father had raised him and his brother in after their mother had died in a car accident thirty years ago. He shut off the engine then tapped a finger against the steering wheel. Was he coming on too strong with Sierra?

When he’d first begun pursuing her, his brother had pointed out that folks might mistake his actions as those of a man on the rebound. He’d discarded Duke’s words. Beau and his former girlfriend Melanie had given their long-distance relationship a shot but they’d grown apart months before their official breakup last December. Now that Duke and all their cousins, except Tuf, had married, Beau was feeling left out of the holy-matrimony club. He wanted for himself the same happiness his brother and cousins had found with their significant others, and something about Sierra made Beau believe she could be the one.

He hopped out of the truck and used the side door to enter the house. He found his father sitting at the kitchen table, eating donuts—usually by this time in the morning he was checking the water tanks and feed bins in the bull pasture. Beau hung his sheepskin jacket on the hook by the door. “Skipping your oatmeal and English muffin today?”

“Jordan sent the donuts home with me last night. Leftovers from the diner.”

Jordan Peterson was Sierra’s aunt and his father’s…friend…girlfriend? The moment Jordan had stepped off the bus with her seeing-eye dog in July, his father had been hot on her heels. Beau had no idea where the older couple’s relationship was headed, but he was ticked off that his father spent most of his time with Jordan and neglected his responsibilities around the ranch.

“When did you get in last night?” Had his father been home when Beau had dropped off the bulls?

“’Round midnight.”

Guess not.

“Since we’re keeping tabs on each other’s whereabouts....” His father nodded at Beau’s jacket. “Where’d you hang your hat last night?”

Admitting that he’d slept in the cab of his truck would raise more questions than Beau cared to answer. Besides, he doubted Sierra wanted her aunt or the good folks of Roundup to learn she’d spent the night on the side of the road.

Rather than lie, Beau changed the subject. “Did you eat supper at the Number 1 yesterday?”

“Only an emergency would keep me from missing the Saturday special.”

Beef potpie baked in a homemade crust. Beau had memorized the daily specials when he’d begun his campaign to woo Sierra.

His father carried his coffee cup to the sink. “Sierra phoned Jordan and said she wouldn’t be back in town until morning, so I helped close up the diner last night.”

Sierra had covered all her bases—clever girl—but why?

“Speaking of Sierra…Jordan tells me that you’ve been dropping by the diner every day.”

Beau never talked about his personal life with his father and didn’t feel comfortable now. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. I want you to keep away from Sierra.”

Beau’s hackles rose. He and his father had never been close, and up until now his dad had kept his nose out of Beau’s affairs. Why all of a sudden did he care if Beau had his sights set on Sierra? “I’m a grown man. I don’t need your permission to date a woman.”

“You don’t have time for a relationship right now.”

“And you do?” Beau asked.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You and Jordan are becoming awfully tight.” Beau and his father exchanged glowers.

“Instead of chasing after Sierra, you should focus on mending fences with your brother. There’s a lot of work around here and if you’re squabbling with each other things don’t get done.”

Afraid he’d say something he shouldn’t, Beau helped himself to the last donut on the plate and poured a cup of coffee.

“You talk to your brother lately?” his father asked.

“No. Why?”

“Duke said you’ve been giving him the cold shoulder since he quit rodeo.”

Not exactly true. Beau was still talking to Duke—he just didn’t go out of his way to do so. After their blow-up this past summer, he’d had a few superficial conversations with his brother, but they’d steered clear of discussing rodeo. Beau accepted most of the blame for having kept his distance from Duke—he needed time to come to grips with all the changes in his brother’s life.

“You hurt Duke’s pride when you told him you’d never given your best effort in the arena all these years.”

Where did his father get off lecturing Beau? If the old man had shown a scrap of concern or compassion over Duke’s childhood stuttering, or defended Duke from bullies, Beau wouldn’t have felt compelled to do the job, which had naturally led Beau to allowing Duke the limelight to build his self-esteem.

“I never told you that you had to be second best,” his father said.

“No, but you were oblivious to Duke’s struggles. Someone had to encourage him.”

“I wasn’t oblivious.” His father’s gaze shifted to the wall. “Figured if I ignored his stuttering, Duke would grow out of it faster.”

Part of Beau felt sorry for his father—raising twin boys without a wife would be a challenge for any man. Even so, had his father shown any compassion for Duke, Beau might not have overstepped his bounds with his brother.

“The only reason you want me to make nice with Duke is because you’ve been shirking your duties around here and you need your sons to pick up the slack.”

His father’s steely-eyed glare warned Beau he was treading on thin ice—time to change the subject. “A while back Duke said you were thinking about retiring.” He hoped the news wasn’t true.

“Been tossing around the idea.”

The timing couldn’t be worse—Beau adding rodeos to his schedule and Duke trying to balance family and his job as deputy sheriff. Then again, his father only considered what was best for him—never mind the rest of the family. “Why retire?”

“What do you mean, why? That’s what men do when they get old—they quit working.”

Joshua Adams was fifty-eight years old and although ranching took a toll on a man’s body, his father didn’t look or act as if he was ready to spend the rest of his life twiddling his thumbs.

“Does this urge for less work and more free time have anything to do with Earl McKinley leasing his land and moving to Billings?” Joshua Adams had punched cows for Earl’s father until Beau’s mother had died, then Aunt Sarah had talked her brother into moving closer to family and working for her husband at Thunder Ranch.

“I don’t care what Earl does,” his father said.

“Ever since Jordan arrived in town you haven’t cared about anything but spending time with her.”

“You got a problem with that?”

Maybe. “Aunt Sarah isn’t sure if she’s going to keep Midnight. If she sells the stallion then we may have to invest more in our bucking bulls and Asteroid needs a lot of attention.” Beau didn’t have time to deal with the young bull, but his father did.

“Midnight and Asteroid will be fine. You worry too much.”

And the old man didn’t worry enough.

“Whatever you decide about retirement, I hope you put it off another year.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’m making a run at an NFR title next year. I’ll be on the road a lot.”

“You think you can win that many rodeos?”

“I don’t think—I know I can.”

A horn blast sent Beau to the back door. “It’s Colt.” His cousin’s truck and horse trailer barreled up the drive. “Aunt Sarah’s with him.” Beau snatched his jacket from the hook and his father followed him outside.

“It’s Midnight,” Colt said as he rounded the hood of his Dodge.

The newest addition to the bucking-stock operation, The Midnight Express, was wreaking havoc at Thunder Ranch.

“Something the matter with Midnight, Sarah?” Beau’s father asked.

“He’s run off again. Gracie thinks one of her boys accidently left the latch on the stall door unhooked when they were helping her in the barn this morning.” Gracie was Midnight’s primary caretaker and no doubt in a state of panic over the valuable horse.

This past summer, Midnight had suffered a flesh wound from a run-in with barbed wire after he’d escaped his stall and had gone missing for over a month. Although the horse was fully healed, Ace had kept Midnight’s physical activity to a minimum, which didn’t include a ten-mile sprint across the ranch.

Beau’s father put his arm around his sister’s shoulder. “Don’t get yourself worked up. The stress isn’t good for your heart.”

“What about the paddocks?” Beau asked. “Maybe Midnight jumped a fence to get to one of the mares.”

“We checked. He’s running free somewhere on the property,” Colt said.

Beau shielded his eyes against the bright sunlight and searched the horizon.

“Help Colt look for Midnight, Beau. He can’t have gone far.” Joshua motioned toward the house. “There’s hot coffee in the kitchen, Sarah. I’ll be in after I check on the bulls.”

Once his father was out of earshot, Beau asked, “Does Ace know Midnight’s on the run?”

“Not yet. I was hoping to put the horse back in his stall before my brother got wind of it,” Colt said.

“We’ll find him.”

“You head north on the four-wheeler and I’ll meet you there with the trailer.” Colt handed Beau a walkie-talkie then hopped into his truck and took off.

Before Beau forgot, he fished his wallet from his back pocket and removed the cashier’s check for three thousand dollars. “I won yesterday.” He held the draft out to his aunt.

She didn’t take the money. “Congratulations.”

“C’mon, Aunt Sarah.” He waved the check. “It’ll help pay for some of the expense that went into searching for Midnight over the summer.”

The Midnight Express had cost Thunder Ranch a hefty $38,000, and when the stallion had gone AWOL the family had shelled out big bucks—money they could ill afford in this bad economy—to locate the horse. In the end, the dang stallion had been right under their noses at Buddy Wright’s neighboring ranch.

Reluctantly his aunt accepted the check. “Thank you, Beau.” She sighed. “I’m worried I made a mistake in believing Midnight could bring Thunder Ranch back from the brink.”

“Midnight’s not just any horse, Aunt Sarah. He’ll come through for us.” Midnight’s pedigree had been traced back to the infamous bucking horse, Five Minutes to Midnight, who lay buried at the National Cowboy Hall of Fame. If given half a chance, Beau believed the stallion could win another NFR title.

Beau opened his mouth to tell his aunt he’d run into Tuf at the rodeo but changed his mind. She was already upset over Midnight; mentioning Tuf might cause her heart to act up. “Keep the coffee hot, Aunt Sarah.” Beau kissed her cheek then jogged to the equipment shed where the ATVs were stored.

A minute later, he took off, the cold wind whipping his face as he wove through two miles of pine trees. When he cleared the forest, he spotted Midnight drinking at the stock pond. Beau stopped the four-wheeler and pulled out the walkie-talkie. “Midnight’s at the pond.”

“Be right there.”

The ATV’s rumbling engine caught Midnight’s attention. The coal-black stallion pawed the ground. In that moment, Beau felt he and Midnight were kindred spirits—both needed to prove they were the best, yet neither had competed in enough rodeos this season to make it to Vegas and show the world they were number one.

Colt arrived, leaving the truck parked several yards away. He grabbed a rope and joined Beau. “Is he spooked?”

“Nope.” Midnight was the cockiest horse Beau had ever been around.

“Since he came back from Buddy’s he’s been more difficult to handle,” Colt said.

“I’ve got an opinion, if you care to hear it.”

“Speak your mind.”

“Midnight’s jaunt across the ranch is his way of letting us know he’s feeling penned in and he’s ready for a challenge.”

“By challenge, you mean rodeo.”

“Midnight’s a competitor. Bucking’s in his blood. He’s not happy unless he’s throwing cowboys off his back.”

“You might be right. He’s probably feeling restless now that Fancy Gal’s expecting and wants nothing to do with him.”

No wonder the stallion was acting out of sorts—his companion mare was snubbing her nose at him. “Enter Midnight in the Badlands Bull Bash.” The one-day event had a purse of fifty thousand dollars.

“Ace would have my head if I took that horse anywhere without telling him,” Colt said. “A win, though, will increase Midnight’s stud fees.”

“Sure would.”

“I’ll talk to Ace.” Colt pointed to the stallion. “You ready?”

“Nothing I like better than a good chase.”

“Keep him penned in until I get close enough to throw a rope over his head.”

Midnight allowed Colt to get within fifty feet of him, then when Colt raised his roping arm, the stallion took off. Beau followed on the ATV, cutting Midnight off at the pass. The horse spun, then galloped in the opposite direction. Beau turned Midnight back toward Colt. The game went on for several minutes. Finally, Midnight exhausted himself and Colt threw the rope over the horse’s head.

“Nice work,” Colt said after Beau shut off the four-wheeler.

“Midnight could have escaped if he’d wanted to.”

“Yeah, I know.” Colt tugged on the rope and led the stallion to the truck, Midnight snorting hot steam into the brisk air.

Beau followed the pair and opened the trailer doors, then lowered the ramp. Midnight tossed his head and reared. Colt gave him plenty of rope, then waved his hand in front of the stallion’s nose. Midnight clomped up the ramp and into the trailer.