Promise From a Cowboy by C.J. Carmichael - Coffee Creek Montana 03 - Promise From a Cowboy

Author:C.J. Carmichael - Coffee Creek, Montana 03 - Promise From a Cowboy [Carmichael, C.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance
ISBN: 9780373754649
Google: S9cCa9QB4b4C
Amazon: 0373754647
Goodreads: 17277978
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2012-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

The last time B.J. had been to his aunt’s house—the only time—was eighteen years ago. He’d knocked urgently on her door, and as soon as she’d opened it, had yelled at her to call 911. “Your old barn is on fire!”

He remembered how wide her eyes had gone. “You okay?” she’d asked. Two dogs tried to push their way outside and she’d closed the door to a small gap as she waited for his answer.

“Yeah.”

“Good. Go home now, B.J. And tell your father.” Then she’d shut the door firmly.

Now B.J. stood in front of that same door. It needed staining. The bottom panel had started to rot. He thought of the countless bulls and broncos he’d faced in his rodeo career. How odd that he’d never felt nearly as nervous in the chute as he did right now.

It was five o’clock. She might be out in the barns doing chores. Or starting her supper. He hadn’t thought of it before, but this wasn’t the most convenient time to pay a visit. Maybe he should come back tomorrow....

And then he heard something come up from his rear. A border collie—younger than Sky and a little smaller—was sniffing his leg. Then a second dog, very similar to the first, had her nose on B.J.’s boot.

“Honey. Trix.”

Both dogs lifted their heads, then promptly ran toward their mistress. B.J. swung around slowly.

His aunt was walking from the barn toward him. Maddie had on baggy overalls, with a long-sleeved shirt and a checkered bandanna tied at her throat. She didn’t look much like his mother. Except, he realized as she drew closer, for her eyes.

They were the trademark Turner green—the color of a glacier-fed lake in the summer time.

Her complexion was gray, and the skin at her cheeks and jaw was slack, suggesting a recent loss of weight.

She stopped when they were about ten feet apart. The dogs halted, too, one on either side of her, heads swiveling from their mistress to the stranger, then back to Maddie.

She calmed them with a hand to each of their heads. Tipping her own head to one side, she regarded him for several seconds before lifting her chin. “You here to talk me out of giving my land to Jackson?”

“God, no.” His reply was instinctive and swift.

“Good. You can come inside, then. Want some supper?”

She led him into a spacious kitchen that belonged to another era—well before granite and stainless steel. The flooring and counters were of aged pine, and the stove was an antique wood-burning model that even on this warm summer evening was putting out a modicum of heat.

“Don’t use electric,” Maddie explained as she added a log to the stove, then put a kettle on to boil. Two cats were suddenly in the room. Whether they’d been sleeping in some quiet corner or had sneaked through one of the two doors, B.J. couldn’t say. One of them slunk up against his leg. The other hung back and watched the proceedings with sleepy eyes.

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