Montana Mavericks Weddings (8 page)

“Yes.”

She could barely hear the word. “Good. You've learned an important lesson. I want you to know that even though it was stupid to climb the fence, you did the right thing when you called out for help. And when I was looking for you, you kept your head. You followed instructions very well. That made a difference. You're a smart boy. Good for you.”

He grinned. “Yeah? Thanks, Miss Conroy.”

“You can call me Sierra.”

He looked at his father, who nodded at the unspoken question. Sierra felt her heart contract. For those few minutes, she'd been able to forget Dylan was right next to her. Now she was forced to acknowledge him, even if just to herself. She swore silently. Why couldn't she have forgotten all about him?

She didn't bother waiting for an answer. If there was one, she wasn't going to like it anyway. If only he would go away. But the way he was looking at her, as if seeing her was the bright spot in an otherwise dull day, that wasn't going to happen anytime soon. Seemed as if she was going to have to be the one to end the conversation.

“I'd better get this looked at,” she said, and motioned to her arm.

She braced her right hand on the fence behind her and started to push herself into a standing position.
Dylan leaned forward and grasped her around her waist. “Let me help.”

“I don't need—”

But it was too late. He was already helping. She found herself caught up against him, her breasts brushing his upper arm, her body close enough to absorb his heat. Memories flooded her. Memories of how good they'd been together, of how he'd always made her feel so alive just by being near her. She didn't want to remember any of that. She wanted to forget the past and pretend it had never happened. She wanted the scars to fade, too.

Even as she tried to pretend she wasn't affected, she inhaled the familiar scent of him. That combination of masculinity and temptation. It wasn't cologne or even sweat. Just some chemical reaction in his skin, a faint, delicious essence that set her nervous system on fire. A shudder rippled through her from her scalp to her toes.

“Are you all right?” he asked. “Do you feel faint?”

His impersonal concern was insulting. She wrenched free of his embrace and stepped to one side. “I'm fine. Couldn't be better. Now, if you'll excuse me—” She turned to leave.

“Sierra, wait. We have to talk.”

Such simple words. They shouldn't have had any power over her, but they did. The power to wound and maul.

We have to talk.
He'd said that to her all those
years ago, right before he'd told her he was marrying someone else. She vaguely recalled an apology, something about him not wanting it to be like that. She couldn't remember exactly—the shock had been too great.

She wanted to scream at him. To tell him it was too late to talk about anything. He'd destroyed all her dreams when he'd left her. While she might not have recovered, she'd learned to get on with her life. Maybe that wasn't perfect, but it was all she had. Damn him. Damn them both.

Without wanting to, she glanced at him over her shoulder. He was dressed casually. Jeans, boots, a shirt. Just like most cowboys. But she knew the difference. His watch was expensive, as were his boots. Expensive as in they cost more than she'd made the previous month. The unfamiliar truck by the barn was new and equally pricey. She might not be the naive young woman he'd left ten years ago, but all the growing up in the world wasn't going to strengthen the branches on her family tree. The Conroys were good people—good,
poor,
people. Dylan came from another world, one where ancestors mattered and class was a trait, not something one attended while in school.

From all appearances, he was the successful lawyer he'd always wanted to be. He'd achieved his dreams. Funny, he'd once told her that none of
that would matter if he didn't have her. Guess he'd changed his mind.

“No,” she told him. “We don't have to talk. There's nothing left to say.”

S
ierra Conroy had grown up but she was still beautiful enough to make a man wonder how he could survive without her. The years apart had allowed Dylan to forget that. Now, staring into her flashing hazel eyes, he realized that he might have forced himself to get on with his life and leave the past alone, but a part of him had never been able to let
her
go.

She stood tall and proud, a strong woman, facing him down, despite the shock of seeing him and the obvious pain from her injury. He wanted to believe her air of calm hid an inner turmoil. He wanted to believe that she'd never forgotten him, either. That she was as affected by this meeting. He had to believe that because one look at her was all it had taken for him. It was as if the ten years they'd been
apart had never happened. Back then, he'd been willing to turn away from his family and their dreams for his future, just to be with Sierra. Here he was, ready and willing to do it again.

Only it wasn't going to be that simple. They'd both changed. There were complications, explanations, not to mention a nine-year-old boy between them. Dylan's feelings might not have changed, but both he and Sierra had. He knew she wasn't going to welcome him with open arms. He was lucky she hadn't already decked him.

“It's not what you think,” he told her, wishing he had the perfect words to make her understand. Ironically he was a lawyer and words were his stock-in-trade. Yet at this—possibly the most important moment of his life—he couldn't think of anything to say. Anything except the truth—that she was lovely with her dark blond hair pulled back into a braid. With her tanned skin, her full lips, her muscles and her work-roughened hands. She might not fit the traditional definition of womanhood, but she'd always epitomized femininity to him.

“I suppose you're not a successful lawyer,” she said contemptuously. “You're not here to flaunt all you've become.”

He eyed her arm. “Maybe I should take you to the hospital.”

She dismissed him with a scowl. “Yeah, right. Don't try to avoid the question.”

“I'm a lawyer,” he said. “I'm not here to flaunt anything. I'm here because I bought a ranch.”

That startled her. Her eyes widened slightly as she continued to glare at him. Her only concession to her injury was the gentle way she cradled her left arm in her right. “What do you mean? You bought a ranch around here?”

Dylan put his hand on his son's shoulder, then smiled down at the boy. “It's something we've talked about for a long time, right?”

Rory grinned. “Yup. We're gonna be cowboys. Just us guys.”

Sierra frowned. “Us guys?”

Dylan hesitated. He hadn't wanted to tell her this way. Not that there was a good time and place to discuss the state of his marriage—make that his former marriage. Sierra had the most at stake in wishing his relationship with Claire failed, yet he didn't think she would be happy they'd divorced. In her mind, he'd abandoned her for another woman. Knowing her the way he did, he knew she would have expected him to at least have had the common decency to leave her for someone he would stay with for a lifetime.

“Claire and I are divorced,” he said quietly.

Sierra's frown faded. Her expression turned neutral. “I'm sorry,” she said, in a polite tone that was supposed to tell him the news had no meaning for her. Was that true? Had he come back for nothing?

Not nothing, he reminded himself. With or with
out Sierra, he wanted the ranch. It would be a place to which he could retreat. A place where his son could grow up surrounded by horses, cattle and wide-open spaces. What could be better?

“The ranch is going to be my new base of operations,” he told her.

“You'll practice law from there?” she asked.

“No. I'll have an office in town. But I am going to be involved with the ranch as well. The buildings are in good shape, but the herd needs work. I want to start a breeding program. That's why I'm here.”

Sierra shrugged. “I don't know what's for sale. You'll have to talk to the boss about that. I'm just one of the hired hands.”

“I know. Don't you ever want more than that?”

Her gaze turned icy again. “No one here is interested in your opinion of my life.” She glanced at Rory and closed her mouth. He knew that if his son hadn't been standing there, listening to everything being said, she would have had a lot more to tell him.

“You're good, Sierra. You've lived on ranches, you understand what has to be done. I'm not here to buy livestock. I need a foreman. I'd like to offer you that job.”

Something flickered in her hazel eyes. A flash of longing maybe—or was it regret? He couldn't tell. Then the light faded and her lips curved into a bitter smile. “Gee, thanks. That would really be a move up for me. I'm a fair judge of livestock, but I've never
been much of a judge when it came to men. Still, even those of us who are slow learners eventually catch on. Thanks, Dylan, but I'll pass.”

“I know what you're thinking but it's not true,” he said quickly. “There were extenuating circumstances. There's a lot you don't know.”

“I know enough.” She raised her chin in a proud gesture he remembered so well. Deep in his chest, his heart tightened painfully. He would sell his soul to go back in time to change what had happened—but that wasn't an option. And she didn't know enough. But this wasn't the time to convince her of that.

“Dad says you're a barrel racer,” Rory said and grinned. “That you're pretty good—for a girl.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I went from being a superhero to just a girl in the space of ten minutes. Talk about fickle. I wonder where you get that trait from.”

“What's fickle?” Rory asked.

Dylan ignored Sierra's dig and answered his son. “Fickle means not being able to make up your mind about someone. Liking them and then not liking them.”

“I like you,” Rory said instantly to Sierra. “I think you're great. Dad promised that I could learn how to ride, but I haven't started lessons yet. Can you teach me?”

“Me?” Sierra shook her head. “Look, kid, I've got
a lot of responsibilities around the ranch and not a whole lot of free time. I…”

Rory's slight body seemed to shrink. His shoulders fell forward and his mouth drooped at the corners. “Yeah. Okay. You're too busy. I understand.”

Dylan silently cursed his ex-wife. The woman had never worked a day in her life. She'd had a live-in housekeeper and a nanny, and she'd still managed to make her son believe she was too busy to deal with him. Rory had learned early on that his mother considered him a burden. Dylan continued to work hard to make the boy feel special and wanted, but he knew that nothing he would ever do could make up for the maternal rejection. The boy had translated that into an expectation of rejection from all women.

“I'll teach you,” Dylan said and was rewarded with a slight smile.

“Really?”

He nodded. “Assuming I remember how. It's been a long time since I've been on a horse. I guess we can fall on our rears together.”

Rory laughed at the thought.

Sierra rolled her eyes. “Don't be ridiculous. You were never much of a horseman, Dylan. You'll hurt yourself and do Lord knows what to your son.” She glanced at Rory. “All right, pip-squeak, I'll teach you to ride. But there's more to it than just taking a wild gallop. You're going to have to take care of your horse. That means feeding it and cleaning up after
it. If you think a dog makes a mess in the backyard, wait until you see what a horse can do.”

Rory grinned broadly. “I promise to do everything you say.”

“You're going to, whether you promise or not. I'm a tough teacher, but you'll learn.”

“When can we start?” Rory asked.

Sierra nodded to her arm. “Give me a couple of days to heal. I'll be in touch.” Before Rory could ask, she crouched down so they were eye to eye. “I promise,” she told the boy. “I won't forget.”

Rory flung his arms around her. Sierra didn't respond to the impulsive hug and when the child released her, she stood up and cleared her throat.

“About the foreman job,” Dylan began.

Sierra didn't bother saying goodbye. She spun on her heel and headed for the barn. He stared after her for a long moment, wondering how long it was going to take to convince her that he wasn't one of the bad guys. What would happen if he couldn't?

“Is Sierra mad at you?” Rory asked.

“Not exactly,” he answered, then ruffled the boy's hair. “So you'd rather she taught you to ride than your old man?”

“Yeah!” Rory grinned. “She's cool.”

“That she is.” He took his keys from his jeans pocket and handed them to his son. “Let's go.”

Rory raced to the truck and carefully unlocked the passenger's door. Dylan followed more slowly,
wondering what his next move should be. He could give Sierra a few days to get used to the idea of him being back in her life. After all, he had the advantage—she was going to be coming to his ranch to teach his son to ride. There were possibilities in that.

“Lost, McLaine?” a low male voice asked.

He turned toward the sound and squinted into the sunlight. The man moved out of the shadow of the barn and as he did, memories put a name to the face. Kirk Conroy—Sierra's older brother.

“Or are you just checking to see how the other half lives?” Conroy said, his tone as unwelcoming as his expression.

“Neither.” Dylan glanced at the truck and saw Rory sitting on the front seat. He held a couple of plastic action figures in his hands and was obviously oblivious to Kirk's presence. “I wanted to talk to Sierra.”

“She doesn't have anything to say to you.”

“You don't know that.”

Conroy moved a few steps closer, his posture challenging. They were about the same size. Talk about an even contest, Dylan thought, standing his ground.

“She didn't need you all those years ago, and she doesn't need you now.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Kirk's eyes darkened. “Because I held her while she cried after you ran off and married Claire. You
didn't stay around long enough to watch her heart break, but I did.”

Dylan hated that he'd hurt her. That wasn't supposed to have happened. “There are things she didn't understand. I tried to explain…” His voice trailed off. Even to his own ears, his excuse sounded lame. At the time the right course had been so clear. In a choice between honor and love, he'd done what he'd thought was right. Now— Now he could only look back and wonder.

“But she never answered your letters, did she?” Conroy said with grim satisfaction.

His success in the courtroom was often based on a feeling in his gut. He'd learned to pay attention to what his body was trying to tell him. At this moment, it was practically screaming a question. So he asked it. “How did you know I sent her letters?”

Kirk shifted uncomfortably. It wasn't much, but it was all Dylan needed. Several missing pieces clicked into place. He hadn't believed it when she'd never written him back. Despite what he'd done, they'd loved each other. He thought he'd been a fool for caring about her when she'd responded with silence. That wasn't it at all.

“She never got my letters,” he said, knowing it was true. “You had no right to keep them from her.”

“I had every right.” Kirk pointed at him. “You promised to love her forever. You promised to stand against your family and marry her. You let
her dream. But in the end, you turned your back on her and how she felt about you. You married another woman and never gave Sierra a second thought. That damn well gives me the right. She's my sister and I'm going to make sure you don't get a second chance to destroy her.”

There were so many things he could tell the other man, Dylan thought to himself. But the truth wasn't always as simple as one might like. A thousand thoughts flooded his brain, a thousand images from the past. A thousand second guesses. In the end, he didn't even bother.

“You're wrong,” he said quietly. “About me, about why I did what I did, and about me not giving her a second thought. I never stopped loving your sister.”

Kirk's angry stance never wavered. “That must have made you a poor excuse for a husband.”

“That's what my wife said the day she left. Goodbye, Kirk. Don't think you've seen the last of me because I'll be around. I'm going to do my damnedest to explain everything to Sierra. I owe her that.”

“The only thing you owe her is to stay the hell out of her life.”

“You're probably right. But I can't.” Dylan headed for the car.

Kirk let him go without saying a word. As he turned the truck, he saw the other man still watching him. Would Kirk report the conversation to Sierra? What about the letters? Did he still have them?
Would he ever tell his sister about them? Would Sierra believe Dylan if he told her about their existence?

Too many questions, he thought as they rolled onto the highway and headed back to their ranch.

“Dad?” Rory asked.

He glanced at his son. “What?”

“Is Sierra that lady? The one Mom always talked about?”

Dylan grimaced. Claire hadn't cared who could hear her when she was in the mood to scream about something. He didn't like to think about all the things his son had heard over the years.

“Yes,” he said. “She is.” Only Claire hadn't referred to Sierra as a “lady.” Instead she'd been “that cowgirl bitch you can't forget.”

“You still love her?” his son asked.

How like a child to cut to the heart of the matter. “I'm not sure,” he said, going for easy instead of honest.

“Well,
I
like her,” Rory announced and relaxed into his seat. “I think she's cool.”