A Cowboy Returns
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Kelli Ireland
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21
Chapter 1
ELIJAH COVINGTON NEVER thought he’d find religion on a commuter flight, but when the tiny plane plummeted the last fifty feet to the runway, he prayed. Little more than a closed-cockpit crop duster, the little plane skipped down the cracked asphalt runway hard enough to compress his spine. He would have given anything for the firm’s corporate jet and his chiropractor right about then.
Of course, he should probably just be grateful they weren’t landing on a dirt strip. They’d had to circle several times while the neighboring rancher retrieved his cows from the runway. That had been bad enough.
The flight attendant made an inane joke at the pilot’s expense, but Eli only half listened. Thumbing his smartphone on, he waited for a signal. His service indicator showed a single bar. A single bar.
“I’m in hell,” he muttered, but that wasn’t true. Hell undoubtedly had better cell service.
Scrolling through emails, he ignored the flight attendant’s glare. He might have been obligated to come home to manage the distribution of his father’s estate, but that didn’t require he cut himself off from civilization entirely. With any luck, he could get to the ranch, go through the estate paperwork, file the will and be gone within the week. Had his old man been remotely organized, this could have been done by mail. And had the estate been reasonably solvent, they could have hired someone to manage the distributions altogether. No doubt, there wouldn’t be any money.
That had to be why his youngest brother, Tyson, had emailed and asked him to come home and handle estate “issues.” Otherwise? They never would have called him home. He’d have just received whatever his old man left him via certified mail.
Eli glanced out the window at the desert landscape. New Mexico always looked caught between centuries and droughts. The landscape was as foreign to him as Austin would be to his brothers. Here in Tucumcari, the wide plateau created a backdrop decorated with cedar shrubs, barbed wire fences and black grama grass. Cows outnumbered people twenty to one, and if you didn’t drive a pickup, you’d better be riding a horse.
The only beef Eli cared about was braised, his vehicle was an Audi R8 and the only horses that mattered were under the hood.
He’d always been the piece that didn’t fit this particular puzzle.
Elijah snorted and shook his head, pulling his small travel bag out from under his seat. Might as well get this over with.
Fifteen minutes later he was standing beside a tiny Ford Fiesta with a dented fender, an AM/FM radio and questionable air-conditioning. It was the better of the two cars available at the only car rental service in town.
“I’m in hell,” he repeated, struggling against a temper he’d all but mastered over the past fourteen years.
Fourteen years.
He’d been gone almost as long as he’d lived here.
Peeling off his Canali suit jacket, he tossed it across the passenger seat before folding himself behind the wheel. A generous layer of grit on the rubber floor mat ground under his heel. The little car shimmied as the four-cylinder engine sputtered and choked before it caught and, obviously under duress, whined to life.
The rental attendant tipped the brim of his hat in salute and wandered inside the tiny office as Eli drove away. He hadn’t remembered Elijah, or had pretended not to as a matter of convenience to avoid unnecessary chitchat. Small towns worked that way. You were either on the inside or exiled for life.
The next few days would be a lot of the same. Tight-knit communities were very unforgiving when one of their own escaped, and his leaving had been an escape. As well loved as his father had been, everyone saw his departure as a first-rate betrayal—oldest son to old man.
Elijah refused to feel guilty for wanting a different life, a better life. He had it now and hadn’t asked for handouts along the way. He’d earned his place, and he wasn’t sorry that place wasn’t here. With one exception...
Caught up in his own thoughts, he ran one of the two traffic lights in town.
An extended-cab four-wheel-drive pickup swerved, brakes chattering and tires squealing. It hit the curb, skipping up and over with a hard bounce before coming to rest in the hedges in front of the Blue Swallow motel.
Heart lodged in his throat, Eli shut the little car down and left it in the middle of the road, racing toward the truck. He couldn’t see anyone moving inside. Then a black-and-white head popped up and looked out the rear window.
A dog.
If anything, the dog seemed exhilarated at the wild ride, his feathery tail wagging with obvious enthusiasm.
Eli reached the driver’s side and found a cowboy-hatted individual slumped forward, forehead against the steering wheel, arms lax, hands resting next to trim thighs. A woman. He reached for the truck door. The dog objected, going from excited to back-the-hell-off between breaths. The animal crossed his owner and bared his teeth in a feral growl, blatantly daring Eli to open the door.
Not interested in losing any body parts, Eli knocked on the window hard enough to rouse the woman.
She rolled her head to the side, green eyes narrowed in an impressive glare. The moment those eyes focused on Eli, they flared with almost-comedic alarm. Almost.
Because his did the same thing.
Reagan Armstrong.
The one person he’d intended to avoid altogether stared at him in utter disbelief. Her mouth hung open in shock. She didn’t move.
History rose up between them, an invisible, insurmountable wall of differences that stole every word that might have allayed old hurts or bridged the gap of time to allow them to communicate. At least while he was here.
Leaning one arm against the truck’s door frame, Eli gave a small jerk of his chin. “Reagan? Lower your window.”
She mouthed something that, if it matched the look in her eyes, was seriously foul.
He was prepared for that. What he wasn’t prepared for was for her to shove the door open. The mirror folded as it nailed his shoulder. Then the hot metal of the door’s edge slammed into his sternum hard enough he wasn’t sure if he’d been burned or if the bone had cracked or both.
She spoke before her boots hit the dirt, her voice as smooth as the truck’s diesel engine. “Well, well. If it isn’t Elijah Covington. Or would that be Mr. Covington, Esquire, since you’re an Austin attorney now? Just what you always wanted—bigger, better and worlds away from here—so I suppose congratulations would be appropriate. I mean, you made it out, made your way and managed to break your word, all in one impressive feat.”
His brows drew together. “What are you talking about, ‘break my word’?”
“You said you’d come home. Promised, in fact. But I’d be willing to bet you hit the county line at a dead run and never thought about us again. Good on you, Esquire.” The last was offered with near indifference or would have been if she hadn’t begun to clap slowly for emphasis.
It was that last action that betrayed her, because, despite their fourteen years apart, Eli knew her.
The aged and seasoned hurt that lurked beneath the surface of her words sliced through his conscience with cold efficiency. He’d wanted her to come with him, but she’d made it clear her life was here. And his life could never be here.
“You knew we wanted different things. I was never going to fit in here. Not like you did. My dad. My brothers. Leaving was my only option. And I didn’t just skip out on you.” Running his hands through his hair, he huffed out a heavy breath. “Look, Reagan,” he started, and then the wind shifted, carrying her smell to him, all fresh-cut hay and sunshine on warm skin.
Overwhelmed with sensory memories, his gaze homed in on lips that parted in almost curious shock. And just like that, she was the girl he’d loved. And yet, with time and distance, she had somehow evolved into more.
She’d always been his sun, chasing away the shadows he hadn’t been able to banish himself. Unwelcome memories of yesteryear hovered at the fringes of his consciousness. He needed to touch her, needed the tenderness he’d always found waiting in her.
He closed the distance between them. His lips closed over hers and he pulled her into his embrace. The shock of cinnamon on his tongue told him she still loved Big Red gum, and the flavor transferred between them. Her lips were soft, pliable and so familiar his heart ached with the memories of a thousand and more shared moments. Being here, in New Mexico, didn’t hurt so much with her in his arms.
He wasn’t only “Covington’s oldest boy.” He wasn’t burdened with the unshakable disappointment his father had found in him. He wasn’t a failure of an older brother. He was Eli. Just Eli. And he could survive that.
His troubles became manageable as their tongues touched, tentative for the briefest moment. Then he took over the kiss. Dominating the moment, he took comfort in her nearness and yelped like a scolded pup when she bit his lip. Hard.
Parking both hands on his chest, she shoved and shouted, “What in the Sam Hill are you doing?” Eyes wild, she dragged a hand over her mouth. “You don’t waltz into town after fourteen years, run me off the road and then... You don’t... You can’t kiss me like...like...you ass!”
“‘Ass’? I kiss you and you call me an ass?” Eli’s lips thinned as his once-infamous temper, second only to hers and all but squashed under years of educational and professional training, raced forward like a laser-guided missile, target locked, impact imminent. “I’m going to point out the obvious here, Reagan. You kissed me, too.”
“I didn’t... That is... No. There was no mutual... No, I didn’t!” Chest heaving, she drove a finger into his chest. “Why are you even here? The funeral was two freaking weeks ago. You should’ve been here then. But you show up now, expecting everyone to bend to your expectations. That’s so typical, Eli. It’s always been the way you operate,” she snapped, backing up until she bumped into her truck. She hopped in, never taking her eyes off him. “You haven’t changed at all. You’re still smart as shit when it comes to business and dumb as dirt when it comes to people.”
“Hey,” he objected, but she powered on without pause.
“You’re too late to do any good, Eli, but, then, you taught me what to expect a long time ago. I’d truly thought you’d show for the funeral, though. For your blood.” She looked him up and down with a critical eye as she delivered the blow he should’ve anticipated but never saw coming. “I might have been your girlfriend once, but Cade and Tyson are your brothers, Eli. They needed you.” Her gaze met his, anger turning the normally moss green color of her eyes deep and vibrant. “They needed you here to help them manage the mess your old man left behind, but you clearly couldn’t put your high-society life aside for a few days to come home and help them out of the bind they’re in. You never could be bothered. Not for them. Not for anyone.”
She moved to slam the door, but he grabbed it, stepping close. “That’s why I’m here now—to probate my father’s estate. But that’s irrelevant. You don’t get to sit there in your shiny truck, that captain’s chair your personal throne, and pass judgment on me, Armstrong.”
Jerking away as if struck, she stared at him with wide eyes. “It hasn’t been ‘Armstrong’ for eight years. It’s Matthews. And to you? Dr. Matthews. Nothing less, and never, ever anything more. Now let go of the door, Eli.”
His hand fell away from the truck.
She’d married Luke Matthews. He’d had no idea.
The reality he’d likely see her and Luke together while in town made Eli’s stomach lurch up his throat until he seriously wondered if he might puke. Wouldn’t that be awesome.
Then there was the fact she was a doctor. From the size of her truck and the type of work boxes, he didn’t have to ask what kind. A vet. She’d always wanted to be a large-animal vet.
He cleared his throat once, then twice, before he managed to croak, “Great. Happy for you.”
Slamming the truck door shut, she made it a point to click the locks down. Couldn’t get much clearer than that.
Her dog whined loud enough for Eli to hear the cry over the soft rumble of the truck’s engine. Reagan absently soothed the animal, her hand shaking.
Eli could totally relate. Years in court had trained him to present a totally calm and controlled exterior under extreme pressure. That didn’t mean his insides weren’t rattling, though. The emotions buffering him now were both uncomfortable and unrecognizable. But there was no point examining them too closely. This visit didn’t center around assuaging years of curiosity and doubt; nor did it have anything to do with healing old hurts. It was about finally closing this part of his life. Permanently.
Swallowing his anger and determined to keep things civil, he motioned for her to roll her window down.
Green eyes that had always before met his with open trust and absolute passion narrowed and glared. She punctuated the stare with a one-fingered salute. Without waiting for him to move, she slammed the truck into Reverse and punched the accelerator.
He leaped aside with a shouted curse.
The truck surged off the curb, suspension squeaking in protest. She shifted the truck into gear and, leaning on the accelerator, she rapidly put distance between them.
The dog, its tail still wagging, watched him with open curiosity thought the rear window.
Closing his eyes, Eli parked his fists on his hips and let his chin fall to his chest.
What the hell am I doing here?
“Settling an old debt,” he answered quietly. He was here to make sure his brothers were okay. Yet according to Reagan, he was already too late for that.
Trying to wipe the unforgettable taste of her off his lips, he crossed the still-vacant street and crammed himself into the compact car before making a left and heading up Highway 54.
He was going to get this done and get gone. That would spare everyone involved any further awkwardness. Then he’d return to Austin, to the career he excelled at and the life he’d carved out for himself.
And Reagan was right. He wouldn’t look back.
* * *
REAGAN MATTHEWS MUSCLED her heavy-duty truck around the corner and shot down the highway as hard and fast as the GMC would go. She had to put distance between herself and that...that...man.
But it wasn’t just the man—it was the memories. She’d tried to put up a good front with Eli, to come across as both indifferent and controlled. Even she knew she’d botched it up and let emotion get the best of her. The apathy she’d dug for had been, at best, a shaky mirage. A strong gust of wind would have swept the bulk of it away, a million seeds of discontent that simply wanted answers.
But then he’d kissed her.
If her apathy hadn’t stood a chance against a simple breeze, it couldn’t hold out hope for survival when faced with the force of nature that was Elijah Covington.
He’d been the sole shareholder of her heart, the one thing she was sure she couldn’t live without. All those days spent at the river, just the two of them listening to music, talking, watching the sunset against the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. Then there were the nights. Hours spent stargazing and more hours spent discovering each other, learning the touches that elicited the most pleasure, the sensitive spots to kiss softly, the right time to love gently and the time to let it all go and be as wild and free as the world around them.
Then he’d left.
So many years she’d held out hope he’d come back. She’d been the talk of the town for so long, first with shared hope, then pity and then the fool who simply couldn’t let go of a man long gone. She’d never stopped loving him. She’d just stopped looking for him.
Reagan traced her numb lips with trembling fingers. Her chest had constricted to the point she couldn’t draw even half a breath. But her heart... She rubbed her sternum. Her heart hadn’t hurt this bad in years, and wasn’t that a testament to the way she’d lived her life.
She allowed reality to sink in, accepting that Eli’d had his arms around her again, and it had felt as familiar as it did foreign. A broken sob ripped out of her chest. She’d spent the past fourteen years trying not to drown in heartache and regrets. Then he showed up and, with a single kiss, pulled her under those dark emotional waters again. He acted as if it had meant as little to him as if he were ordering a cup of coffee to go.
When she’d broken away, she’d begun to sink.
Taking the first dirt road she came to, she slid to a stop, dust billowing around her. She rested her head on the steering wheel and rolled her forehead back and forth, trying to force her roiling thoughts to fall into place.
She’d have to repair the Blue Swallow’s landscaping. But the damage really hadn’t been her fault. Most people reacted poorly when a ghost ran them off the road.
Elijah Covington.
“Not a ghost,” she said, voice hoarse. “Just a memory. A...mistake.”
But that wasn’t true, either. Loving him had never been a mistake. Holding on to the faith he’d figure out he belonged here, too? That she was the one for him? Those were her major screwups, the two things that had given him the power to thoroughly and effectively decimate her heart.
Swiping her cowboy hat off, she cursed as she rewound her hair and tucked it under the hat. “It’s been fourteen years now, Matthews. You’ve moved on. You have a career and a life story, neither of which include him.”
She didn’t have much of a life at the moment, though. What she had were long, backbreaking days and endless, lonely nights.
In the passenger seat, her dog, Brisket, whined.
“It’s fine. I’m fine.” Untucking her shirt, she wiped the sweat—not tears—off her face.
The iPad alarm sounded. She glanced at the screen with a physical wince. Almost nine. She was due at the Jensen place in a little less than an hour to draw up health papers on their steers before they shipped the yearlings to the livestock auction in nearby Dalhart, Texas.
Scrubbing her hands over her face, she forced a deep breath. All right. Eli had come home. So what? He was fast-flowing water under the charred remnants of a bridge burned long ago. She could avoid him for however long he was here. And knowing him, it would only be temporary. He had run before; he would run again. That was what he was good at, after all.
Shifting the truck into Reverse, she backed out onto the highway as a faded red car started up the two-lane highway from the boulevard. Slow but sure, the car closed in on her. The driver was hunched over the wheel as if he were nothing but an origami miniature of a large man. Dark hair blew in the breeze from the open window. Large hands wrung the steering wheel. If the poor thing had been alive, he’d have killed it a thousand times over.
Eli.
Reagan punched the accelerator. Her tires chirped on the hot asphalt before gaining hold. The truck belched and then roared to life. She watched in the rearview mirror as the little red car disappeared in a dense cloud of diesel exhaust.
The truck’s tires slipped off the highway shoulder and into soft sand, forcing her attention to the road. Overcorrecting, she crossed into the opposite lane before muscling the truck onto her side of the road again.
Heat burned up her neck and settled on her cheeks. Freaking wonderful, Matthews. Exactly the kind of impression you wanted to leave him with. Then she grinned. She’d just filled the guy’s car with a solid layer of diesel exhaust. Sure, she’d almost wrecked her truck.
It was totally worth it.
