Second Chance Cowboy Read online

  He moved off the side of the mattress, not even slightly self-conscious of his nudity. But what man would be insecure with a body like his? Her body filled with unbridled need.

  Battling the ache in her loin, she watched him pull on his wrinkled boxers and then tug on worn jeans. Then she said, “We both know why I left.”

  “We do?” His bitter laugh split the air with its razor-sharp intensity. “I know you want to hold on to the belief that I am the bad guy who drove you away, but isn’t it time you took half the responsibility for the failure of our marriage?” A trace of compassion softened his expression. He tugged on his shirt and finger-combed his hair.

  “It wasn’t my fault you cheated.” Once she said it, she wanted to yank the words back. Too late, just like their relationship.

  “You’re a broken record, sweetheart. It’s not worth denying the accusation any longer. Maybe eventually you’ll believe your words and feel justified in leaving. ”

  He sat back down on the edge of the bed and pulled on his socks and dusty cowboy boots. Dropping his booted feet to the floor with a thump, Chance then looked at her, his face hard and blank of any emotion.

  “Devon died, Carly. He’s gone and we can’t change the truth. One of us needed to make the decision to let him go and I made it. I held out hope you’d eventually find a sliver of forgiveness in your cold heart. I guess I was wrong.”

  The old wound broke open and her lungs emptied of oxygen. She wanted to lash out at him, tell him to go to hell, but the words didn’t come. Instead, she whispered, “I’m going to the bathroom. When I get back I want you gone.”

  “Carly, you’ve become an expert at sucking all the joy out of your life and pushing away anyone who reaches out to you. You’re living in a self-made prison, founded on guilt and pain, and there is no key to unlock the cell door.”

  She watched him get up from the bed, cross the room in four quick, troubled stomps, and come to stop directly in front of her. Rolling her head back to meet his glazed eyes, she bit back tears.

  “I’m leaving now, sweetheart. I want to thank you for last night. It was...” He seemed to search for the right word. “Enlightening. My last wish is you’ll realize, before it is too late, what you’re letting go.”

  “I do, Chance.” With lowered voice, plagued with emotion, she said, “I know exactly what I’m letting go.”

  Chapter 2

  Carly jetted around the bathroom in haste. She took a three-minute shower and dried her shoulder-length hair. She applied a coat of basic makeup and dressed, all in record time.

  If she didn’t hurry, she’d be late for a meeting with the buyer for her peaches. She hated being late and wanted to appear polished and professional. The sell would prove not only to herself, but to everyone else, that she’d evolved into a successful businesswoman.

  She swept past the unmade bed and darted a glance at the messy sheets. The crumpled linen reminded her of her deteriorated marriage. A sadness crept over her. She wanted to deny the truth, but it was stark and blaring inside her head.

  Chance’s final wish bombarded her thoughts.

  His last wish could screw itself.

  Why did she feel like her heart exploded into a million pieces? Sadness crept over her. She wanted to deny the truth, but it was impossible. The love she had for Chance remained.

  From the moment Chance Taylor walked into her life, she’d been caught in a whirlwind. Love, marriage, family.

  * * * *

  Carly stood by the punchbowl with her friends at the Fourth of July picnic when in walked the Chance Taylor. Muffled whispers and girly giggles echoed from the female partygoers, married and single.

  Not one woman in Shelby could resist Chance’s good looks and charm. They flashed pretty smiles when he walked past, hoping he’d glance in their direction. Carly’s body heat rose when he crossed the grass toward her. He looked mighty fine in a long-sleeved blue button-down, dark denims, and black boots.

  The afternoon sun glinted off his coal locks and his granite gaze warmed her skin. She couldn’t take her gaze off him. A drop-dead smile curved his lips and masculinity oozed from him. It was hopeless to resist a man who exuded virility from every pore.

  Her friends’ oohs and aahs filled the air as he approached their circle. He gave each a nod of acknowledgement before he’d focused his full attention on her. His gaze had made a heady path down her white silk top, tight-fitting jeans, to the cherry red points of her toes visible in the open-toed heeled sandals she wore.

  When his eyes had made it back to her face, he’d held out a hand for her taking. “You said if I came you’d save a dance for me.”

  Carly remembered staring at his open palm for the longest time while her girlfriends encouraged her with words of anticipation. “I did?” She hadn’t forgotten, but she’d wanted to play hard to get, at least a little.

  “That wasn’t the only thing you promised,” he’d teased.

  “So, you want to learn to line dance, huh?” She’d laughed when her friends’ collection of sighs and laughs echoed. She knew what indecent thoughts spun through her friends’ minds. Probably the same naughty ideas she’d been thinking at that moment.

  They danced every dance. Made love under the stars that night. And a week later, they married. They were known among their friends as the ‘bed to wed’ couple. She’d been the envy of many brokenhearted women in Shelby.

  She caught the cowboy.

  * * * *

  Carly needed to push all thoughts of Chance Taylor to the back of her mind. They were divorced now. No more midnight calls. No more stimulating images of him naked in her bed, delighting her with his magical touch.

  Adjusting the straps on her mile-high heels, Carly rose to her feet. She wobbled slightly, her limbs still weak from the night of wild sex, and strode across the bedroom. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the full-length mirror hanging on the wall and stopped.

  Her eyes twinkled with a light that wasn’t there yesterday. Forget anti-aging creams and repairing serums. She’d found the fountain of youth in the shape of a brawny cowboy. The night of passion did wonders for her pale features.

  Carly frowned. She’d have to get used to the idea that her and Chance were now divorced.

  She glanced at the clock with a grimace. Damn.

  Heading out of the room, she grabbed a slender gold bracelet off her dresser and fumbled with the delicate clasp as she walked toward the stairs.

  Distracted, she stepped onto the edge of the top rung, and the heel of her shoe snapped in half. She grasped frantically for the banister, but her hand slipped on the polished wood and her body lurched forward.

  Her scream echoed off the white walls while she bounced and rolled down the steep hardwood stairs. The tumble brought her shoulders hard against the steps and her body involuntarily plunged downward.

  She landed in a heap at the bottom. Her breath swooshed from her lungs. Her groan came from deep within and she slowly opened her eyes.

  She stared up at the antique chandelier. The shiny teardrop crystals twinkled and vibrated. The brightness reminded her of Devon’s pale eyes and his toothless grin.

  Her heart pounded a heavy tempo against her ribs until it paced. Amazingly, her anger, confusion and guilt dissipated and her mind cleared. She still loved Chance. She swore that if she lived, she wouldn’t waste another minute on sorrow. She’d make her cowboy her husband again.

  A flash of white caused her to blink.

  She attempted to rise but stopped when a sharp pain shot through her head. She reached around and gently probed the lump forming at the base of her skull.

  Her stomach twisted and nausea crawled through her intestines. A last image bombarded her mind before everything faded to black. “Chance,” she whispered.

  * * * *

  “I’m glad you came, Chance.”

  Chance’s mouth spread into a tight smile. He wasn’t sure why Harry McAllister called and asked him to come, but Chance could be
damn sure Carly wasn’t home. Invitations inside the house didn’t come with Carly there.

  He followed Harry through the tastefully decorated foyer with sleek oak flooring and expensive framed art. Carly once told him the name of the famous artist, but art wasn’t his interest, not like it was for the McAllisters. The vase of colorful flowers filled the room with a sweet, strong smell.

  Harry’s office was right off the hallway and Chance stopped in the doorway, a strong whiff of smoke accosted his nostrils. How many cigars had Harry smoked before he got there? Evidently, the man wasn’t himself.

  Chance shot a look around the room. Some of Harry’s greatest loves lined the walls. The older man called this room his open scrapbook. Antique guns, dating back to the Civil War, were on proud display in glass cases. Bookshelves with works of famous writers, many autographed, filled the wooden shelves, and an expensive collection of limited edition fountain pens held a special place in a container on a small table.

  The man liked precious and rare finds.

  His first memory of coming to the McAllister ranch involved Harry’s valuable collection of pens and books. Harry had given Chance a tour of the many exquisite items he’d collected over his lifetime.

  Pain developed deep in his chest each time he thought about the past.

  Being divorced took some getting used to.

  He hadn’t wanted to come see Harry. However, the sense of urgency in the man’s voice made it difficult for Chance to dismiss the seriousness.

  Chance wondered if he was going to get his balls busted by his ex-father-in-law. He hoped the guns weren’t loaded. Harry had a temper and wasn’t afraid to flaunt it if the need arose.

  Did Carly tell her father they’d spent the night together two nights ago and about the argument that followed?

  He rejected the thought. That wasn’t like Carly. She wasn’t the type to kiss and tell, but how well did he know her now? He hadn’t sat and had a conversation with her in two years. When he’d met with her the other night, talking wasn’t of importance. They’d been too busy exploring one another for words.

  The part of his anatomy behind his zipper twitched alive with the memory.

  If Harry knew and planned to unleash his anger, Chance wouldn’t have a problem telling him to mind his own damn business.

  Carly had opened up to him two nights ago, only to turn around and slam his ass right out the door, all in a course of eight hours. He didn’t need Harry’s input added to the unpleasant mix.

  Uneasiness crawled down Chance’s spine. Sweeping his glance around the lustrous space, he looked for the changes he knew Carly would have made, and then he spotted a big one.

  Missing photos.

  Once upon a time, one wall of shelves held a row of framed photos of Chance and Carly from their wedding day. Now the only pictures remaining were of Carly, a stepstool arrangement of each of her birthdays, from her first to her thirty-second, which she celebrated only a few weeks ago.

  The top shelf stretched arms-long with Devon’s smiling, dimpled baby face. Several from the smoldering July afternoon when he’d made his entrance into the world and a couple taken with Carly holding him. Only a few more. Too few.

  Harry’s gray eyes followed Chance’s line of sight. His sigh of displeasure sounded vast. He went to the aged box on his desk, took out a Cuban cigar, and lit it. Chance knew he’d tried to quit numerous times, but after his sixty-seventh birthday, he said his greatest gift to himself would be to enjoy life, one cigar at a time.

  “Carly took the wedding pictures down a while ago,” Harry explained through a cloud of smoke.

  Chance shrugged. “Makes sense. We’re divorced now.”

  Heading to one of the overstuffed, brown leather chairs by the window, Chance sat and positioned his back to the pictures. Being there was difficult enough, but to have to stare into the faces of his lost loved ones would send him over the edge.

  Harry followed suit, sitting on the matching chair across from Chance, separated by a small glass-top table that held a frayed-edged copy of Horse Illustrated. The deep worry lines around Harry’s eyes and mouth and his pale color concerned Chance. His age showed.

  “I came when I could,” Chance said and he removed his hat and hooked it on his knee.

  “I’m glad you did, son.” He took a long hit of the cigar before continuing. “I told you it was important. I wouldn’t have called you away from the Swift Wind otherwise.”

  Harry, normally a man who displayed a cool exterior, seemed different, anxious.

  “Are you okay, Harry?”

  “Yes, yes, I’m fine.” He waved a hand to blow off the question. He glanced out the window before turning back to Chance, like he’d needed a moment to gather his thoughts. “I’m going to be perfectly honest here today, son. When you and my daughter separated, I thought you both made a big mistake. The two of you were in love. You reminded me of myself when I met Carly’s mom.” A sparkle lit his gray eyes. “Boy, I loved her.” He smiled at the memory. “Shame we can’t turn back time. Then the divorce,” Harry continued with a sad shake of his head. “I thought I’d died and gone straight to hell when that poser Chris Whitfield started coming around and flashing his fake smile and deep bank account. If my guess is as good as I believe it is, the man will be all over Carly now, asking for her hand in marriage.”

  “She has to make her own choices.” Chance clenched his fist against his thigh. He didn’t quite believe his own words.

  He’d worked his ass off at the ranch the last two days hoping to ease the pent-up anger from the argument that sent him charging out of the McAllister house. It hadn’t worked. None of his ranch hands wanted to be near him for fear he’d blow up at them.

  It wasn’t like him to lose his temper, but when he did, people knew to clear a wide path. He’d been pickling in his bitter juices since he’d spent the night with Carly.

  Harry shrugged a thin shoulder, bringing Chance’s attention back. “I guess.” He slid forward until his knee grazed Chance’s thigh. “Let me ask, son. Do you still love my daughter?”

  Wow, he hadn’t expected a bombshell.

  Chance knew he could lie, but Harry would realize he wasn’t being honest. So he attempted to sidestep the question. “Harry, we both know what Carly and I shared is over.”

  “That’s not what I asked, boy,” Harry retorted crossly. He seemed to be growing impatient in his later years.

  Chance slanted his chin. Time seemed to rewind itself to when Harry, the well-meaning father, interrogated the twenty-six-year-old man who asked for his daughter’s hand in marriage.

  Sweat beaded on Chance’s upper lip. “Harry, why did you ask for me to come here?”

  “Carly was in an accident.”

  Chance lurched forward in the chair. The oxygen seemed to zap from the room and he couldn’t breathe. His heart missed a beat. “What? Is she okay?”

  A smile spread over Harry’s wrinkled face. He flipped the ashes off his cigar into a crystal ashtray and relaxed back in the soft chair. “I suspected that you do still love her.” He seemed proud of the discovery.

  Chance sighed and palmed the arm of the chair in frustration. “Is she okay or were you making it up? Damn nasty trick, Harry.”

  “I don’t lie, especially not where Carly is concerned.” Harry scowled. “Two mornings ago, while I was up at the cattle auction, I got a call from Sam telling me he found Carly lying at the bottom of the stairs. She’d fallen and hit her head.” He stopped a moment and sucked in a breath. Tears were visible in his eyes but he blinked and the mist vanished. “She was conscious and sitting up on her own but he took her to see Dr. Maxwell. The sawbones ran the usual battery of tests. Besides a huge lump on her head, she seemed fine.” He took one last puff of his cigar and snuffed it out.

  “Why didn’t you call me?” Chance asked. He laid his hands on his legs to control the shaking.

  “I did.”

  “Why not when it happened?” Guilt sliced through him. The
accident must have occurred right after he left.

  “Besides a few bumps and bruises we thought she’d be fine. I brought her home and she slept most of the day. When she awoke late yesterday, I realized something wasn’t right.”

  “What is it?” Chance frowned, raking a hand through his hair. Anxiety tunneled its way from his chest and through his stomach.

  Harry actually laughed. “Hold on to your worn boots, son. Carly thinks she’s still married to you.” He slapped his knee in humor.

  The words were like a hammer smashing into Chance’s brain. If this was a joke, he didn’t appreciate it.

  “I get it. Carly told you what happened between us the other night so you’re jerking me around. Fine, I deserve it, I guess,” he said through his laughter. Work needed to be done back at the ranch.

  He started to get up but Harry’s leather-skinned hand on his knee stopped him. Chance relaxed back into the chair and sighed.

  Harry wasn’t laughing anymore. “Carly hasn’t told me anything concerning the other night.” He seemed to toss it around in his mind before saying, “We’ll discuss that later. The doctor said she has amnesia, the type you get from a head trauma. We’ve told her she has some memory loss, but she doesn’t know the extent of it.”

  The trace of humor disappeared from Chance. His blood pumped faster through his veins. “Amnesia?”

  “Parts of Carly’s memory is missing. She thinks she’s still your wife. She woke up, and asked where you were. I told her I didn’t know and she broke into tears. She believes you two got into an argument and she came here to stay for a few nights until you apologized. She mumbled something about pink curtains and a horse’s ass.” Harry shrugged. “Beats the hell out of me why you’d argue over pink curtains and the ass of a horse.”

  Chance swallowed loudly. Pink curtains? He didn’t know either, until a thought came to him. Oh hell. She’d wanted the girly curtains in their bedroom. He told her the truth from his perspective. They were ugly. She made some outlandish comment, accusing him of having a masculine complex, which made him dislike the color pink.