Spurs 'n Surrender (Operation Cowboy Book 2)
Em Petrova
Chapter One
“Hey, Wydell, you coming inside for some breakfast before you get to work?”
The beautiful woman standing barefoot on the wide front porch didn’t belong to him. Neither did the porch or the house it was attached to. For weeks since Wydell had been staying with his friend and his wife, he’d felt like a monster truck sized third wheel.
He tipped his cowboy hat lower. “Thank you, but I’ll grab something in town.”
Danica laughed. “You’re such a liar, Wydell. There’s nothing in town. Now get inside and grab a biscuit at least.” With that, she turned and disappeared inside in a whirl of dark, silky hair and feminine curves.
“Yeah, don’t be such a hard ass.” The quip came from his friend, Brodie. He nudged him with a shoulder as he came out of the barn.
In his platoon, Wydell had been known as Hard Ass. But not for the reasons Brodie was suggesting. Here he was stubborn for the good of his friend’s new marriage. On the battlefield, he’d had no choice.
Brodie swaggered up the porch steps and vanished into the house after his pretty little wife. Wydell stared at the inviting front door and then widened his view to the ranch home and the dawn breaking across the land. What a snapshot that would make. If the film crews got hold of that picture, they’d plaster it all over the newspapers, magazines and TV.
One of two homes left standing in Los Vista, Texas.
Wydell still couldn’t believe it. They’d come home from serving their country only to find they were homeless—the whole town devastated by tornadoes. Only Brodie had a place to hang his hat and dry his boots, and he’d married the woman who owned the other ranch left standing after the storms had come through.
He nudged his hat lower and crossed the yard. Dew still spangled the thick turf, darkening the leather of his boots. When he opened the door, Danica handed him a thick biscuit filled with egg, gooey cheese and crisp bacon.
“Thanks.” He hated mooching off his friends, but what choice did he have? He was happy to be staying on a cot in the back of the barn and get a couple meals a day in return for the work he put in on the ranch.
And Danica hadn’t been lying—in town there was nothing but dust and rubble that hadn’t yet been removed.
Speaking of which, he had a full day ahead of him. He bit off a chunk of biscuit and egg, groaning around the savory taste.
Danica grinned. “Good?”
“The best. You’ve got a damn fine cook here, Brodie. Don’t let this’un go.” He raised his biscuit in farewell and went back outside, leaving husband and wife to share their meal in peace. That third wheel had long ago rolled over his desire to stick around.
As he polished off his breakfast, he strolled to his truck. When he opened the door, it creaked loudly. A couple of free range chickens skittered away with a squawk. Ignoring them, he climbed behind the wheel and started the engine.
The old girl was sluggish on the best of days, and sometimes it damn well didn’t want to wake up at all. But Wydell coaxed her, giving a little gas. When it started, he patted the sun-baked dashboard and headed down the dirt and gravel lane leading into town.
Ghost town, more like. Which reminded him of that last news reporter who’d visited. She’d cornered him and asked more questions than his drill sergeant in basic training, and just as fast.
Yes, he’d lived here all his life. Yes, his family had survived the tornado; they were living in the neighboring town until they could recover from their losses. Yes, Wydell and his friends were determined to rebuild Los Vista. Yes, yes, yes…
If he didn’t know these interviews were bringing in money for families and new construction, he would have walked away from the reporter. But viewers were kind and their cash was helping with the cleanup.
He swung his head from side to side as he made his way into town. In his mind he saw houses, restaurants, a bowling alley. Nothing but parking lots and driveways were left of these places. That and a few tents dotting the landscape.
And a brand new trailer. Lizzie Fletcher was one of the townspeople who’d refused to flee after the devastation. She was ninety if she was a day, saying she was born in Los Vista and would take her last breath here.
She stood outside her trailer and waved at him as he neared. He down-shifted and rolled up to her.
He rested his arm out the window. “Howdy, Mrs. Fletcher.”
“Hello, young man. I was hoping to see you pass through today.”
He stroked his jaw that was still stubbled with last night’s growth and gave her a wink. “Is that so?”
At his flirty tone, she waved a frail hand. “Oh you. If I were seventy years younger, I’d take you for a test drive. I always did have a thing for soldiers.”
He laughed. “You’re still a charming lady, Mrs. Fletcher. Did you need help with something?”
“Yes, I do.” Her blue eyes were magnified behind glasses, making them appear even brighter in the rising light of day. “I have this beautiful new trailer and no photographs of my grandchildren. I hoped you’d put up a shelf for me.”
“Yes’m. I’d be pleased to.” He cut the engine and got out of the truck. Keeping up with her was surprisingly difficult—she was a fast old bird. He mounted the small flight of stairs in one big step and entered the trailer.