The Maverick of Copper Creek Read online

  “I’ll remember. Thanks, Fred.”

  Clutching the check, Ash shook the old man’s hand again before turning toward his ranch in the distance.

  As he made his way across the fields, his smile grew.

  Thanks to the kindness of a neighbor he barely knew, he’d saved his ranch for at least a while longer.

  He hadn’t admitted to Fred that he’d already betrayed the trust of the only good woman he’d ever known. Finding another like Brenna Crane wasn’t likely. And meeting any woman would have to take a back seat to ranch chores, at least for the foreseeable future. He intended to pay Fred back every penny before the year was up. If he had to work longer hours and tighten his belt even more, so be it. He intended to do whatever it took to make sure that Fred Covington never regretted putting his trust in him.

  That was Ash’s last thought before he spied the shiny black car bearing a Montana license plate parked in front of his ranch house.

  The man stepping out, dressed in a dark suit and tie and looking like the grim reaper, was no rancher. And the fact that he was from out of state meant that he wasn’t from the bank, either.

  Whoever he was, and whatever brought him way out here, Ash figured he hadn’t come all this way bearing good news.

  Ash stepped up onto his front porch and eyed the man.

  “Ash MacKenzie?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Phil Bradley. I’ve been sent by Mason McMillan.”

  “My father’s lawyer? You a private investigator?”

  The man nodded. “Could we go inside?”

  Ash made no move to open the door. “So my family resorted to hiring an investigator to find me. Now that you have, you can get off my property and hightail it back to Montana with the news that you were successful. I’m sure that’ll earn you a fat bonus.”

  As he opened the front door and stepped inside, the man’s hand shot out, preventing Ash from closing it in his face.

  Ash gave a sigh of disgust. “Okay. Why don’t you say what you came here to say and let me get back to work.”

  “I’m sorry to tell you that your father is dead. He was…”

  Ash never heard the rest. His hand lowered to his side and he stumbled inside like a drunk before dropping down heavily on a kitchen chair.

  Phil Bradley followed him inside and watched as Ash struggled to clear his mind.

  “My father…When? How?”

  “Two days ago. Shot in the back by an unknown killer.”

  “Murdered?” Ash couldn’t seem to wrap his mind around such stunning news.

  “I had to do a lot of digging to find you. Your family didn’t want you to hear this by phone.”

  “My family.” Ash closed his eyes on the pain. His mother, his brother, dealing with this for two days while he was wasting his time worrying about a piece of land.

  “What should I tell them?”

  “Tell them…? My family?” Ash’s head came up and he struggled to focus.

  He would phone Fred Covington and make whatever arrangements he could on the spur of the moment. Nothing else mattered now except being with his family. “Tell them I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

  Bradley nodded. “Your mother requested a phone number where she could reach you.”

  Too stunned to speak, Ash held up his phone, displaying the number. The investigator punched the numbers into his own cell phone before letting himself out.

  Ash lowered his face to his hands.

  His father dead. Murdered. It was too much to process.

  It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t. Bear MacKenzie was too tough, too ornery, to die.

  Grief welled up, choking him. There was a terrible band around his heart, making it impossible to take a breath.

  He roared up from his chair and stormed across the room, pounding a fist into the wall. Even the pain that shot up his arm wasn’t enough to overcome the terrible, black grief that had him by the throat, squeezing all the air from his lungs.

  He’d worked so hard. Denied himself so much, just to be able to go home one day and prove to his father that he could make it all on his own. It had been the thought of seeing his father’s respect that had driven him like a man possessed.

  And now, he could never stand before Bear MacKenzie and say the one thing he’d wanted to say more than anything in this world.

  “Oh, Pop.” Anger and anguish and guilt rolled through him in a storm of emotions that dropped him to his knees. “Why did I let the MacKenzie curse take me this far? Why did we always resort to our fists? Why couldn’t one of us have said we were sorry?”

  He got to his feet and began to pace. This is my fault. My fault. My fault. I deserted everyone I love because of this damnable temper. And though I’ve spent years blaming you, Pop, I’m the one who made the choice to go so far away from all the people I love.

  The people I love.

  Despite all the bitter battles of will, the shouting, the cursing, the angry words spoken in a haze of fury, he had loved his father. And knew in his heart that his father—though critical of everything he’d done, and ready to stand toe to toe with his oldest son every step of his journey to manhood—had loved him, too.

  What had Mad always said? Bear just wanted his sons to be tough enough to survive this harsh land and the almost superhuman demands made on anyone who chose ranching for a lifetime.

  “Oh Pop. What a waste. What a terrible waste of years ” With an arm across his eyes, Ash sank down on the ancient sofa that had been left by the ranch’s former owner.

  Overcome with a blinding, bitter grief, he wept scalding tears over his loss.

  Kabul, Afghanistan

  “Hey, Griff. Got a cigarette?” Jimmy Gable had just celebrated his twenty-first birthday the previous week. When he’d entered the Corps at eighteen, he’d been a pudgy kid fresh out of school. Now, despite his babyish face, muscle replaced the fat, and there was a toughness in his demeanor that came from facing death in the hills of Afghanistan. He considered thirty-year-old Griff Warren his closest friend despite the difference in their ages and backgrounds. The two had bonded over long nights spent under the heavy cloak of darkness punctuated by bursts of enemy fire.

  “Here.” Griff tossed aside the last of his cold coffee and handed over the pack after taking a cigarette for himself.

  “Thanks. I thought you quit.” With a grin, Jimmy struck a light to his own, and then to Griff’s.

  “I did. For about an hour.”

  The two men stretched out their legs and inhaled deeply.

  “You still thinking of doing another tour?” Jimmy blew out a stream of smoke.

  “Yeah.” Griff did the same, watching the smoke dissipate into the night air. “Nothing else to do with my life now.”

  “Tough about your mother.”

  When Griff said nothing, Jimmy figured that the pain of loss was still too fresh. Griff’s plans for a grand reunion when he was discharged had all somehow gone up in smoke.

  “Maybe I’ll stay in with you and do another tour.”

  At Jimmy’s words, Griff looked at his young friend and shook his head. “There’s no future here for you.”

  “And there is for you?”

  Griff shrugged. “It’s different for me. I’ve got no future back home, either. I’ve got nobody. But you’ve got that big family just waiting to smother you with love.”

  “Yeah. Smother being the operative word.” Jimmy gave a dry laugh. “With two older brothers and three sisters, I’ve been smothered from the day I was born. When I joined the Marines, I became plain old Jimmy Gable. Here, I’m not Artie’s little brother, or Audrey’s cute brother. Or John Gable’s kid.”

  “You should be proud to be someone’s kid.”

  At the rough tone of voice, Jimmy fell silent, embarrassed at that slip of the tongue. Though Griff kept his personal life pretty much to himself, he’d once said that he grew up without a father, or any family except his mother. To Jimmy, that sounded like heaven. But seein
g the look in Griff’s eyes, he knew his friend considered it more like hell.

  Over these past months Jimmy had begun to look up to Griff Warren as the epitome of a man and a Marine. Griff was strong, silent, and absolutely fearless. His muscled body was rock solid, his mind razor sharp. During their rare breaks away from combat, Jimmy had seen the way women looked at his friend. And no wonder. Even with that hint of danger in those dark eyes that warned everyone to keep their distance, Griff Warren was handsome in a rugged, dangerous sort of way. To Jimmy’s way of thinking, though, any woman who dared to take on Griff would have to be prepared to take on the devil himself. It wasn’t just the scar that ran from below his ear to his chest, a souvenir from a crazed enemy soldier. There was something dark and wounded that showed itself in those brief moments when Griff let down his guard. Something that spoke of a pain too deep for words. And maybe an anger that simmered and boiled deep inside. Jimmy just hoped he never caused that anger to boil over. It wouldn’t be pretty.

  When the mail was distributed, Jimmy clutched half a dozen envelopes, taking his time opening each one and chuckling as he read the long, newsy letters from his family.

  He was surprised to see Griff holding an envelope. “Hey. Look at you. You got some mail.”

  “Yeah.” Griff studied the letterhead on the legal-size envelope before slitting it open.

  He read through the official letter once, then read it again before carefully folding it and placing it back in the envelope.

  He stood and tucked it into his breast pocket before saying casually, “I guess I’ll be taking that discharge after all.”

  As he started away, Jimmy called, “You win the lottery?”

  Griff paused and looked back. His eyes were dark and fathomless. Whatever he was feeling, it had been carefully banked.

  “Something like that.”

  Copper Creek, Montana

  When Whit MacKenzie volunteered to babysit the herd on the western ridge for the night, nobody gave it much thought. Whit was known by his family and by the wranglers of the MacKenzie Ranch as a loner. He was a cowboy through and through. Whit ate, slept, and dreamed about ways to make his father’s ranch bigger and more successful than any other in Montana. And because of his father’s constant criticism, he’d learned early in life to put as much distance as possible between himself and the man to whom he would never measure up.

  The odd thing was, even though Whit had inherited the same hair-trigger temper that plagued all the MacKenzies, he’d also been blessed with a zany sense of humor. In fact, his friends often referred to him as “Whit the wit” in the MacKenzie family.

  Whit often spent weeks, even months, up in the hills, without ever feeling the need for companionship. The wranglers knew him to be tough, independent, and a free spirit. He carried a stash of books in his saddlebags, and would often curl up on a cot in the bunkhouse and read while the wranglers were passing the nights playing poker. They loved having Whit along, because they all knew that he would willingly take on the late-night hours keeping watch over the herd so that he could be alone with his thoughts.

  This night, as he and his horse patrolled the perimeter of the camp, he could hear the faint bursts of laughter or swearing from the bunkhouse.

  His thoughts turned to all the crazy events of the past week. His father dead. Murdered. It didn’t seem real. He had the feeling that he’d ride back home in a few days and find his father seated at the table, talking and laughing with his mother and Mad, and explaining that it had all been a misunderstanding.

  Then there was the fact that Ash had been contacted, and had sent word that he would be home as soon as he could make arrangements for someone to tend his ranch and herds in Wyoming. Though Whit still resented the fact that his big brother had abandoned him all those years ago, he couldn’t deny that he was eager to see him again. His heart beat faster just thinking about their reunion.

  And then there was the bastard. Whit liked thinking about the stranger that way. A bastard. A sneaky thief in the night, hoping to cash in on the accident of his birth.

  Mason McMillan had already received word that Griff Warren was planning on paying a call on the family as soon as his discharge from the Corps was finalized.

  Well, Whit had news for Griff Warren. He was free to visit and pay his respects, but after that, he’d better be prepared to head back to wherever he came from.

  Whit’s hand fisted the reins.

  Griff Warren would learn soon enough that there was no room on the MacKenzie Ranch for someone pretending to be one of them.

  Chapter Four

  As his truck ate up the miles, Ash MacKenzie took note of the changes in the landscape around the town of Copper Creek since he’d left. More of the once-desolate land had been claimed by small ranches. Cattle and horses shared pastures. Trucks and campers were parked beside freshly painted barns.

  The town itself hadn’t changed much, he thought as he rolled along Main Street. Green’s Grocery looked the same, as did Reels, the small movie theater that showed movies so old they were currently playing on TV. Most folks weren’t lured by the movie, but rather for the nostalgia of an old-time theater. As for the younger set, it still afforded a chance to make out in the dark. Wylie’s Saloon looked just as honky-tonk as ever, and the row of little shops and stores looked the same, except for the names. It was a dusty little town, with a main street that led to a jail, a courthouse, a medical clinic, and the Copper Creek Church, with its tall spire gleaming in the late morning sunlight. There were people out walking, talking, shopping, and crossing the street, waving to neighbors.

  There was nothing about Copper Creek to set it apart from every other tired little town in the West.

  Yet, he’d missed it. All of it. With an ache that caught him by surprise.

  If anyone had told him nine years ago that he would miss all this, he’d have called them crazy. But there it was. Despite the sad reason for his return, he was glad to be here, back where it had all begun.

  Of course, it helped that he was returning without feeling like too much of a failure. He’d sold off enough of his herd, plus some equipment, to Fred Covington to pay Fred back for the taxes and the repair of the irrigation system. Fred had agreed to care for the rest of his livestock until he returned.

  He would deal with the next crisis tomorrow.

  Today, he would deal with the biggest loss of his life.

  Out of the corner of his eye he caught the blurred image of a fuzzy yellow puppy darting into the street. He had to stand on his brakes to avoid hitting the poor thing.

  He was out of his truck in a flash and grabbing the wriggling little animal before it could get hit by the truck traveling in the opposite direction.

  “Hey, little guy.” Kneeling, Ash was rewarded by a face-licking before a female swooped down on them and dropped to her knees in the middle of the street.

  She was close to tears. “Oh, Sammy. I was sure you’d been killed.”

  At the sound of that familiar voice, Ash sucked in a breath. It wasn’t possible, and yet…

  He turned and caught sight of her face. A face he’d carried in his heart all these years.

  “Brenna.” The word came out in a whoosh of air.

  Her eyes rounded. “Ash?”

  For a moment both were rendered speechless.

  Brenna swallowed, before saying in a rush, “I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re home. I heard about your father.” She lay a hand on his in a gesture of tenderness that was so typical of the girl he’d known in his youth. “I’m so sorry, Ash. It must have been a horrible shock for you.”

  “Yeah. Thank you.” He was surprised he could get a word out. His throat had turned to dust, and he was so startled that all he could do was stare. With her hand on his there was a quick rush of heat, and then a slow trickle of ice along his spine.

  Brenna Crane had always had that effect on him. She only needed to look at him with those big blue eyes, and display those dimples in a daz
zling smile, and his brain turned to mush.

  She’d always been a cute, pert tomboy in braces and threadbare denims. Now she was movie-star gorgeous, her long blonde hair straight and shiny, her jeans molding long, long legs, and no braces on those white, even teeth. There was the faintest scent of spring flowers that had him wanting to lean closer and breathe her in.

  He felt an even stronger need to just drag her close and kiss her. There had been a time when it all would have been so easy. But that was in the past. And now, thanks to the years of silence and avoidance that stretched between them, all he could do was stare in awkward silence. To cover his reaction he handed over the wiggling puppy, and his hand brushed the underside of her breast. If this had been in the past, she would have teased him about doing that deliberately. In the past, he’d have grinned like a fool and said she knew him too well. But now, all that had once been easy and familiar between them was strained and awkward.

  He pulled back has hand as though burned and stood watching as she cuddled the little guy.

  The sight of it had his insides tangling as memories of her hands gliding over him had his throat going dry as dust. When the puppy began happily licking her face, he had to close his hand into a fist at his side to keep from reaching out to her.

  He managed a smile. “I can’t believe you’re the first one I’ve seen since returning…”

  A truck seemed to come out of nowhere, barreling around the corner and heading straight for them. Ash reacted instinctively, grabbing Brenna in a bear hug and drawing her to one side. The truck narrowly missed them, so close they could feel the rush of air as it rocketed by them.

  “Damned fool.” For a moment Ash remained protectively on top of her, stunned by what had just transpired. And even more stunned by the press of her body beneath his.

  When the vehicle roared off, he looked down into her face, seeing her eyes wide with shock. Her mouth was mere inches from his, her breath whispering over his cheek, and he wanted, more than anything, to taste her. To cover her lips with his and kiss her until they were both breathless.