Texas Rebels: Egan Page 9

Oh, no, not another story. Egan wasn’t in the mood.

  “It was back in the sixties, I think. The town council decided no more horses in town and that got my dander up. So I rode my horse into town and tied him to the sheriff’s bumper. Of course, that stupid horse crapped right there on the pavement and the sheriff escorted me to a cell. Your grandma had to come get me out, and let me tell you, I’d rather spend the rest of my life in that cell than deal with your grandma when she was in one of them moods. I called her Blue Northern because I never knew when one of them was gonna blow in. Your grandma was—”

  “Gotta go, Grandpa.” Egan swung into the saddle. Gypsy pranced around, ready to ride. Pete barked. He was antsy, too.

  “Glad to have you home, boy. You were always my favorite.”

  Egan smiled as he trotted Gypsy out of the barn, Pete trailing behind. That was one of his grandpa’s favorite sayings. He had said it to all of them at one time or another. His favorite seemed to be the one he was talking to at the time.

  Within minutes Egan was flying through pastures, loving the feel of the horse beneath him, the fresh air on his face, even the wind tousling his hair. He was back in the saddle, doing what he did best—being a cowboy.

  Thoughts of Rachel lingered. He should have spoken to her at the jail. But if he had, it would have opened a door he wanted to keep shut. She was a distant memory and he would leave it that way. Because for them there was no future. No beginning. No ending. Just nothing.

  Chapter Eight

  Tears ran down Rachel’s cheeks and she didn’t bother to brush them away. Egan didn’t want to talk to her. That hurt more than she’d ever thought possible, but she understood his reaction. The Hollisters had hurt him, herself included.

  She wanted to thank him, but under the circumstances it was probably best if they went their separate ways. Her mind told her that. Her heart said something entirely different. Before returning to New York, she would approach him, because leaving without seeing him wasn’t an option. She’d caused him more pain and she had to apologize for that even if he never wanted to see her again.

  Later that afternoon, Angie, Hardy and Erin came by. Erin was bubbly and her happiness was contagious, just as her mother’s was. She talked constantly and Rachel enjoyed just watching her. As she did, she wondered what it would be like to have children. She’d never really thought about it, because her life was such a mess. Listening to Erin babble on, Rachel realized she wanted to be a mother. And she wanted her child to have dark, dark eyes.

  The drugs must still be in her system, since there was no way that was ever going to happen. Not unless Egan forgave her. Not unless she fought for what she wanted. Not unless...

  * * *

  “LOOK FOR MY HAT, Pete,” Egan instructed the dog.

  Pete ran through bushes and around trees, sniffing the ground. When he barked, Egan followed on horseback.

  His hat was hugging a big oak tree, the wind unable to dislodge it. He dismounted and picked it up. Dusty and a little mangled, it was still wearable. He straightened the brim and placed it on his head. Oh, yeah. He was back.

  “Come on, boy. Let’s find my rifle.” He placed his foot in the stirrup and swung into the saddle again. His dad had given him that rifle when he was ten years old and he wasn’t losing it. Pete trotted ahead. Egan knew where he’d left the gun, and it didn’t take him long to reach that area.

  When they arrived, Pete barked, sniffed and marched around the object lying in the grass as if he was guarding it. Egan dismounted, picked it up, brushed it off and shoved the gun back into the scabbard on the saddle. His father had taught him and his brothers how to care for their weapons and how to care for their horses and equipment. He’d been very rigid about teaching them responsibility.

  Swinging back into the saddle, Egan felt a pain pierce his heart. It always did when he thought of his dad. He’d died too soon. His boys still needed him. But nothing could change the past. Each of his sons had accepted it and was doing his best to move on. At times, though, his boys rebelled. It was in their name. In their DNA.

  Egan turned Gypsy toward the ranch and then pulled up, looking toward the hills and the cabin. When he kneed the horse, Gypsy responded, and they galloped in that direction. Why he was going back he didn’t quite understand. Once they reached the wooded area, Egan slowed the horse and carefully picked his way through the rough terrain. It was after noon by the time he reached Yaupon Creek and the little cabin.

  Everything was the same as he’d left it. He tied Gypsy to a post on the porch and went inside. Pete scurried in, searching for varmints. Finding none, the dog trotted outside.

  On the bed was Egan’s duster and Rachel’s purse. The lantern was still on the floor and he put it away. Staring at his coat, he had to admit they had spent a special time here together, without the world crowding in. He had shared things with her he’d told no one.

  Sinking onto the mattress, he sighed. A line from the old movie Casablanca filtered through his head. Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine. It was exactly how he felt. Of all the ranches in all of Texas, she had to ride onto his. Was that bad luck, or what?

  He ran his hands over his face and something in her purse caught his eye. The bag was big; he’d never noticed that before. It was like a small suitcase. He pulled out a sketch pad and stared. The strokes were bold and defined, clearly showing a cowboy standing on a hill looking down into a valley. He wore a dark duster and held a rifle in his hand. It was him. She’d drawn a picture of him.

  Pete came inside and sniffed the pad, as if it might be something to eat.

  “What do you think, boy?”

  The dog barked.

  “Yep, it’s me. Why would she draw this?”

  Pete whined.

  “We don’t know each other, and yet it seems as if we’ve known each other forever. It’s crazy, isn’t it?”

  Pete cocked his head sideways and Egan knew he’d reached an all-time low. He was talking to a dog as if he understood every word. Sometimes, though, Egan felt he did. That’s when you knew you were a loner—when you talked to animals rather than to people.

  He tucked the picture back into the purse and got to his feet. With the purse and the duster under one arm, he walked out the door, closing it behind him. And, hopefully, closing the door on the events of the past three days.

  Before he started the trip to the ranch, he drank from the well and so did Pete. He led Gypsy to the creek to drink her fill. Then they started the trek home. When they reached the valley, Gypsy threw up her head, a sign she wanted to run. Egan gave her free rein and they flew across coastal pastures and spring grasses.

  He pulled up when he noticed Pete wasn’t with them. Looking back, he saw him lagging far behind. Egan had found Pete starving to death on the side of the road about eight years ago. He didn’t know exactly how old the dog was, but he was getting up in years and tired easily. Egan waited for him to catch up.

  The dog’s tongue hung out and he was breathing heavily. Egan slapped his leg. “Up, boy.” With the last bit of strength he had, Pete jumped into the air and Egan caught him and pulled him onto the saddle, stroking his coat. “You just wanted a ride, didn’t you?”

  Pete whimpered and settled against Egan across the saddle. They made their way to the ranch.

  It was about seven o’clock and his brothers were finishing up for the day when they arrived. Egan followed a truck pulling a flatbed trailer loaded with fence posts and barbed wire into the big barn.

  “Where did you go?” Jericho asked, crawling out of the truck.

  “I had some things to do.”

  Elias pulled off his hat and wiped his forehead. “Only cowboy I know who lets his dog ride on his horse.” He pointed a finger at Egan. “Tomorrow it’s your turn to pull wire.”

  Egan dismounted. “No problem. Did y’all find any more dead calves?”

  “No,” Quincy replied. “With Izzy in jail that problem is solved.”
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  “Don’t underestimate the McCrays.” Paxton joined the conversation. “They’ll find some way to get even with us.”

  “We have to be vigilant in the next few weeks,” Quincy added.

  “In the morning Paxton and I are heading out to ride and rope in a rodeo in Lubbock,” Phoenix told the group. “You’ll be two men short.”

  “Since when?” Elias guffawed. “You slept most of the day and Paxton was on his phone talking up some chick.”

  “Don’t start a fight,” Quincy warned. “I’m not in the mood to break one up, and you just might kill each other.”

  “I can talk to a girl anytime I want, Elias. You don’t tell me what to do.”

  Elias got in his brother’s face. “Not when I’m pulling wire and you’re supposed to be nailing it to a post.”

  Paxton’s right fist connected with Elias’s jaw and the fight was on. Elias came back at Pax like an angry tiger, cursing, hitting and kicking. The two rolled around on the dirt floor. Dust flew, Gypsy danced sideways and Pete barked excitedly at them.

  “Stop it!” Quincy shouted, but the two kept fighting.

  Egan nodded to Jericho, who reached down, grabbed the back of Paxton’s shirt and yanked him to his feet. At the same time Egan got a choke hold on Elias. Paxton twisted and turned, his pearl snap shirt popping open. But Jericho had a handful of his T-shirt in a death grip, almost choking him, and after a moment Paxton stilled.

  “Let me go.” Elias tried to kick back with his boots. Egan tightened his grip.

  “Calm down and I will.” He dug his own boots into the dirt, giving him added strength.

  It took Elias a whole minute before he admitted defeat. He sagged limply and Egan released his hold. Not for a second did he believe his brother wouldn’t come back at him. One thing about Elias was he never knew when to give up or when to quit. Egan kept his eyes on him.

  Elias reached down and picked up his hat, slapping it against his jeans. “I’m gonna let this pass, Egan, because you’ve had a rough couple of days.” He jammed his hat on his head. “But don’t ever put me in a headlock again.”

  Egan stepped closer to him, his dark eyes never wavering from his brothers. “Don’t threaten me. If you scare my horse one more time, I’ll punch your lights out. Understood?”

  Elias rubbed his jaw. “Paxton hit me and that’s just asking for trouble. No one sucker punches me.”

  Paxton rubbed his throat and glanced at Jericho.

  “You got something to say?” Jericho asked.

  “Yeah, your fingers are made of steel.”

  “Remember that.”

  Paxton picked up his hat and Elias watched him. “Why are you fooling around with that girl in Horseshoe? What about Jenny?”

  “Don’t ask me questions, Elias, or I’ll hit you again.”

  “Yeah, Paxton. What about Jenny?” Quincy asked, and Egan watched Quincy’s facial muscles tighten. He had a soft spot for Jenny. She lived down the road, and she and Paxton has been an item since high school. But she loved paint horses and Quincy raised them. Most of her time at Rebel Ranch was spent with Quincy. Paxton was always at a rodeo somewhere.

  “Not that it’s anybody’s business, but Jenny and I broke up again.”

  “And that makes what?” Phoenix rolled his eyes. “About fifty-two times.”

  “Shut up. It’s not any of your business.”

  “It’s my business.” Phoenix jabbed a thumb at his chest. “We rope together and when your mind is somewhere else, we never place. Like that girl in Denver or the one in Cody, Wyoming. We placed out of the money because of you, so get your head straight or I’m not roping with you anymore.”

  Phoenix marched out of the barn and Paxton trailed after him. “Come on, Phoenix. It wasn’t my fault. Those girls are always hanging around and I can’t resist a pretty face.”

  “Or big boobs.”

  “Little brother, that might be a fact.” Their voices faded away as they made their way to the bunkhouse. Paxton would get Phoenix to come around by the time they reached it. He was just that way. A talker. A charmer.

  “I’m going to check with Mom and Falcon to see who’s on the schedule to carry those heifers to Abilene tomorrow.” Quincy moved toward the door.

  Egan led Gypsy to another part of the barn to unsaddle her. Rico was a step behind. “Wanna go into town and get a bite to eat?”

  “Nah.” Egan removed the purse and duster from the saddle. Rico eyed the bag, but didn’t say anything. “It belongs to Rachel Hollister. I went back and got it. My rifle and my hat, too.”

  “What are you gonna do with it?”

  Egan looked down at the cream-and-tan purse. “Thought I’d take it in to the sheriff. I’m sure her ID and stuff is in there.”

  “Why not take it to her?”

  Egan undid the cinch. “I’d rather not see another Hollister.”

  Rico nodded. “I’ll take care of Gypsy. You go ahead.”

  Egan always took care of his horse, but today he wanted to get into town before Wyatt left. “I owe you.”

  “Paid in full.” Rico lifted off the saddle.

  Egan strolled from the barn with the purse and duster in his hand. His truck was parked at his house and he hurried there, Pete loping at his heels.

  As Egan opened the door, the dog whined pitifully. “Get in.”

  Pete jumped onto the driver’s seat and then to the passenger side, sitting on his haunches and looking out the windshield. Egan shook his head.

  The drive into Horseshoe didn’t take long. He parked at the jail and let down his windows halfway. “You stay here. I’ll be right back,” he said to Pete.

  As he went inside, Wyatt was giving Stuart orders. Evidently the sheriff was leaving for the evening.

  “Egan,” Wyatt said in a startled voice.

  “This belongs to Rachel.” He held up the purse. “She might need it.”

  Wyatt looked from the purse to Egan’s face. “I’m sure she’d rather you returned it in person.”

  Egan sat the purse on Wyatt’s desk, figuring that pretty much conveyed how he felt about that suggestion. He would never go onto the Hollister property. Not for any reason.

  “Egan.” Wyatt stopped him as he turned toward the door.

  “Don’t beat yourself up about what happened, Wyatt. You were doing your job. I understand that.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  Egan tipped his hat and walked out. Getting into his truck, he took a long breath and then turned the key in the ignition, just to hear a sound to block out his thoughts. But no sound could block her from his mind. He’d been trying for two days. Her lovely face was right there. In his vision he could see her gorgeous blue eyes, blond hair and sweet expression that was created to torture him. He could feel her hands on his face, taste her lips on his and breathe in the sweet scent of her. All by just closing his eyes.

  Pete barked, pulling him from his reverie. Egan backed out of the parking spot and Pete kept barking.

  “You are one spoiled dog, do you know that?”

  Pete continued to bark excitedly and Egan made the corner turn to the Wiznowski Bakery. Pete loved apple kolache. Every time Egan brought the dog to town, he made a fuss about getting them. It didn’t take long to buy a bagful. Egan gave Pete two on a napkin and he gobbled them up. Egan refused to let him have any more because he’d make himself sick. The rest he would offer to Quincy and Elias as a peace offering for the fight today. Elias was a sucker for sweets, just like Pete. Paxton wouldn’t care. He would be in town making contact with his lady friend.

  As Egan drove to the ranch, one thought was on his mind. It was over. He wouldn’t have to see Rachel again. That should bring him some comfort, and he wondered why it didn’t.

  * * *

  GOING HOME WASN’T like anything Rachel had expected. Angie and Erin made it fun and festive. A Welcome Home sign hung in the living room and colorful clumps of balloons were attached to lamps and furniture. Angie had made a special d
inner and the decadent smell of pot roast permeated the house.

  After her mother’s death, every time Rachel entered the house, an overwhelming suffocating feeling would come over her. Today it didn’t, and she realized why. It wasn’t her mother’s house anymore. It was now Angie’s and Hardy’s and their children’s. New rich brown leather sofas graced the den, and Angie had blooming potted plants here and there, giving the room a homey feel. Baby things were scattered about, including a small crib.

  The kitchen was basically the same, but it had that Angie feel to it, with recipe books and photos of Erin and the baby.

  Rachel hugged Mavis until her arms hurt. The older woman was basically the same, except her hair was grayer.

  Mavis cupped Rachel’s face. “It’s so good to have you home, sweet girl. It’s been too long.”

  Rachel teared up. It had been a stressful few days and she was feeling the pressure. Seeing Mavis and the kids was making her weepy. She’d missed so much.

  Mavis removed her apron. “I’m going home now, but I’ll be back in the morning to help with the little one.”

  Rachel sat on the sofa, holding the baby. She’d never held an infant before and thought she would be nervous, but she wasn’t. It was quite natural and she loved the scent of him, his chubby cheeks and the feel of him in her arms. She couldn’t imagine anything more fulfilling than holding your own child. She was getting maudlin.

  “What do you think, sis?” Hardy sat down beside her, tickling his son’s stomach.

  “I think you hit the jackpot.”

  Hardy glanced at Angie. “Yes, I have.”

  Trey made a face and let out a squeal. Angie was immediately on her feet. “I’ll nurse him and put him in his crib. It won’t take long and then we can have dinner.”

  Rachel’s father was very quiet during dinner. He was probably afraid to antagonize her further because he knew her feelings about what he’d done to Egan. Erin’s chatter made up for any awkwardness.

  “We’re getting the pool ready for the summer, Aunt Rachel. It’s going to be so much fun. I wish you could stay longer.”

  With her arm around Erin, Rachel walked into the den. “I have to stay longer than I planned because of the rabies shots, so we have a little extra time.” She had called the school to let them know what had happened, and one of the other teachers had taken over her class until she could return. It was four weeks until the end of school and Rachel had to be back by then.