Read the book: «Claimed by a Cowboy»

Chapter Two

Sam Travis was well-versed in the ghosts of Texas lore—he’d shared many a local legend with tourists around the campfire—but he’d never felt haunted until now.

No matter which room he moved to in the bed-and-breakfast, he still saw his landlady, eccentric Wanda Keller, who had been mothering him on and off for the past three years. Maybe I should have left with the others. As of this morning, there had been two other guests staying at the inn. Another proprietor in town had promptly offered them free rooms in light of the tragedy. Wanda had been well-liked in town, even by loners like Sam.

Sam worked multiple seasonal jobs that kept him in motion, but he always circled back to Wanda’s, helping her with minor repairs and enjoying her cooking for a week or so before leaving again. It had taken him over a year of just being able to show up, his usual room always vacant, before he’d realized that she held it perpetually open for him. When he’d insisted she shouldn’t do that, she’d called him dummkopf and responded that it was her inn and she’d do whatever she liked. This B and B, now painfully devoid of her presence, was the closest thing he’d had to a home since the dusty bunkhouse where his uncle had raised him.

But not close enough that he wanted to own the place. He recalled the shock on Ava Hirsch’s tear-streaked face that afternoon—it had mirrored his own.

“What do you mean, she left it to me?” Too flabbergasted to keep his voice down, Sam had earned angry glares from all the nearby nurses.

Behind her wire-rimmed glasses Ava’s eyes had been the size of poker chips. “You didn’t know? I never would have said anything. I thought…”

Sitting alone in the dimly lit kitchen hours later, Sam raised his half-finished beer in an affectionate toast. “Still meddling from the great beyond, Wanda?” She’d always nagged him to settle down. If Ava were right about the change to her friend’s will—something Sam still didn’t quite believe—then maybe it was Wanda’s gentle way of coercing him into putting down roots.

He shook his head at the asinine idea of him as a hotel manager. Granted, this was a very small hotel, but that made it worse. Guests expected a personal touch, that extra dose of folksy hospitality. On the trail, in his element, Sam did just fine with tourists as long as they followed his rules about the horses. Most clients who wanted to rough it had a certain expectation of what their guide would be like. His occasionally gruff demeanor fit the part. He didn’t have Wanda’s gracious nature. The first time some the-customer-is-always-right twit complained about sheet thread count or something equally ridiculous… Well, being raised by a cantankerous bachelor uncle was not the same as attending charm school.

Even though he wouldn’t be staying, he was touched by the gesture. If she had bequeathed him the inn, her intentions were good. Wanda may have been trying to give him a home—which was more than his actual mother had ever done—but she seemed to have overlooked that what he’d loved most about the inn was gone. He’d once got jalapeño juice in his eye, and it had burned like hellfire. His dry, unblinking eyes stung far worse now.

“Place won’t be the same without her,” Sam declared aloud.

A plaintive, otherworldly yowl of agreement came from the floor. Sam nearly jumped until he realized that the reclusive white cat had finally made an appearance—his first all night, although he’d halfheartedly eaten the small plate of food Sam pushed under the bed.

“You miss her, too, don’t you?” Sam reached down to scratch Oberon’s head, which the cat tolerated for a millisecond before scooting back, his ears flat and his yellow gaze suspicious. The feline had worshipped and adored Wanda Keller, but regarded all other human beings with contempt.

Sam might have made a sarcastic comment, such as telling the cat to have fun opening its own damn can of tuna tomorrow, except he couldn’t forget the pet’s distress earlier. It had been Oberon who had found Sam in the kitchen and let him know something was wrong, meowing anxiously, tail twitching, constantly glancing back over his shoulder, as if he wanted Sam to follow. Although Wanda normally rose at sunrise to roll out dough for breakfast, Sam had assumed she was sleeping in because of the bad headache she’d mentioned last night. He’d tried to help out by brewing coffee for everyone and putting boxes of cereal around the bowl of fresh fruit on the dining room table.

Sam had followed the cat to her room, but there was nothing to be done. She’d gone in her sleep; the doctors diagnosed a ruptured brain aneurysm. When the paramedics had tried to take the body, Oberon had launched himself at them in hissing attack. Attempts to get hold of the cat had proven futile, and the feline disappeared under Wanda’s bed, where he’d begun a low, spine-tingling wail. When Sam had returned from the hospital, Oberon had still been there, his cry hoarser than it had been hours before but just as heartfelt. Sam believed the cat was ornery enough to have tried stalking the ambulance, if Wanda had ever installed a cat door. She worried about him ending up in traffic and getting hit by a tourist watching for street signs.

Now, Oberon sat back on his haunches and studied Sam as if assessing him. The uneven triangle of black fur around the cat’s left eye added to his sinister expression. When his slim body tensed to pounce, Sam wondered if he was about to get lacerated for letting them take Wanda away. Instead, the animal shot into Sam’s denim-covered lap and circled twice before curling into a warm ball. Sam was shocked, but assumed this was a temporary truce. They were each saying goodbye to the only family they’d had.

We weren’t her only family. Wanda might have been “like a mom” to him, but she was a real mother to someone else. If there was one thing Wanda had talked about more than her legends, herbs and woo-woo philosophies, it was Lorelei. Sam’s jaw tightened. He’d heard dozens of stories about Lorelei, who’d pretended at five that her bicycle was a horse named Spokes and, at ten, had been the first in her class to memorize all the state capitals. Wanda always bragged that Lorelei was as “smart as a whip,” which would explain the extra cords and whatnot draped over the young woman’s gown in graduation pictures.

Most of the family photos Wanda liked to show off were from back when her husband was alive and Lorelei had been a chubby-cheeked little girl. The most recent portrait he’d seen was from several years ago: a flinty-eyed, unsmiling college grad who looked just a bit too smug beneath her mortarboard. Wanda had always made excuses for why her pride-and-joy didn’t visit. Sam was less inclined to do so.

“Things were hard for her after her dad died,” Wanda had said once, looking faraway and sad.

Not wanting to upset his friend, Sam had held his tongue. But he had trouble sympathizing. As a child, he, too, had lost a father. What he’d needed most was comfort from his mother. Instead…

Sam didn’t realize he’d been absently petting the cat until he stopped and Oberon butted his head into Sam’s arm, protesting.

“Enough of this,” Sam told the cat. “You want me to pet you, you have to come with me into the den. No more sitting in the dark, crying into our beer. Metaphorically speaking. Let’s see what’s on the tube.”

He gently set the cat on the floor, and, sure enough, Oberon followed him down the hallway. They passed by a framed picture of Lorelei as a teenager and Sam shook his head. If the woman was so damn smart, why hadn’t she known how lucky she was to have Wanda?

LORELEI WAS A LITTLE surprised that the man behind the counter handed over keys to the rental car. After her sleepless night and turbulent flight into San Antonio this morning, she had deep bags beneath her bloodshot eyes. She probably looked strung out and wouldn’t have blamed the guy if he’d insisted on some kind of drug test before letting her drive a car off the lot. Then again, he was already a little scared of her from when she’d growled, “Trust me, I understand the optional insurance policy, you can stop overexplaining!” So maybe his thrusting the keys at her was less about customer service and more about getting rid of her.

“Your luggage is already in the trunk,” he informed her. “You have a nice day.”

Not a chance in hell. “Thank you,” she said tightly. She’d been speaking through clenched lips all day; now she gripped the keys so hard they dug into her palm.

It was as if she were trying to hold herself together through sheer physical force because if she didn’t, Lorelei might fly apart. She stalked across the lot toward her assigned car, barely giving herself a moment to buckle in and adjust the seat and mirrors before heading for the exit. If she paused to consult a map, paused to find a radio station, paused for one second to think…

Although it had been a while since her last trip here—I’m sorry, Mom. I will always be sorry—she knew the I-10 route by heart. There were no surprise detours this Wednesday afternoon. The city gave way to unmanicured vistas, tree-studded hills and pastures that looked furry due to bunches of some tawny untamed grass.

About fifteen minutes from Fredericksburg, she stopped at a filling station to use their restroom even though it wasn’t really necessary. Maybe she was just stalling because she couldn’t face what awaited her.

It was surprisingly warm outside—she’d dressed that morning for March in Philly, not March in Texas. On her drive, she’d already seen a few patches of bluebonnets in bloom. Wanda had loved plants of all kinds. Lorelei had a stray memory of a picnic with her parents, long ago, in a field of wildflowers. Her mother had told her a Native American legend about how flowers had become fragrant. Wanda had grown plants both decorative and functional in window boxes and pots all through their house and yard. She and her husband had turned to medicinal herbs and holistic treatments when he was diagnosed with liver cancer, rather than to oncologists.

With a hard swallow, Lorelei climbed back into the rental car, annoyed with herself for postponing the inevitable. She could stop every mile between here and the bed-and-breakfast and it wouldn’t change anything. I’ve lost them both.

When she’d called Ava last night with her flight details, Ava had volunteered her husband, Clinton, to come pick up Lorelei in San Antonio. “If you insist on driving yourself, at least call us when you get close. We’ll meet you at the B and B.”

Lorelei had thanked the woman sincerely for the offer but had said she’d call them later because she might want a nap before seeing anyone. It had been a half truth. There was no way she’d be able to sleep, but she needed to be alone in her mother’s inn. Being there would solidify the loss and Lorelei wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep from detonating. The last thing she wanted was a witness.

Though she had to slow down temporarily for a stretch of road where signs warned Loose Livestock, she didn’t encounter traffic. Judging from the wry sign on a dilapidated diner—Over a Dozen Served!—she was officially on the road less traveled. All too soon, she was turning onto the street where the Haunted Hill Country Bed-and-Breakfast sat.

Lorelei parked the car in front of the stone-faced two-story building, bracing herself for not hearing her mother’s voice when she walked inside. Would she still smell the uniquely familiar blend of lemon, lavender and nutmeg from the incenses and oils Wanda had favored? Those aromatherapy scents had permeated the entire inn. Except during Christmas seasons when the bed-and-breakfast was filled with fresh pine and baking gingerbread.

“Get out of the car,” Lorelei muttered. If she sat in the driveway much longer, some kind passerby would stop to tell her that the B and B wasn’t currently open for business, that the owner had…

She wrenched open the door, then crossed the short sidewalk leading to the porch. The front steps creaked softly beneath her weight, and she was attempting to fish the key from her purse when the door swung open.

A tall man in a plaid button-down shirt and a cowboy hat greeted her. “Sorry, we’re not— Ah. It’s you.”

She drew herself up straighter, the involuntary reflex making her feel a touch juvenile. Even if she stood on tippy-toe, she wouldn’t be level with him. He was at least six feet. “I’m L—”

“Oh, I know who you are,” he interrupted in a lazy drawl. He rocked back on his heels, seemingly in no hurry to move the hell out of her way so she could lock herself in a bedroom and have a private breakdown. Not that indulging in an emotional fit would bring her mother back.

“You’re little Lori,” he continued, thumbs hooked in the front pockets of his jeans. “Wanda’s girl, all grown up.”

She almost snapped that she wasn’t anyone’s “little” anything. She was five foot eight for crying out loud! And what was with the all-grown-up condescension? He looked three or four years older, tops. “I go by Lorelei. No one’s ever called me Lori, particularly not total strangers who block doorways.” She glared meaningfully.

He glared back.

“So who are you?” she demanded. “An employee?”

“Not exactly.” Hardly an informative answer, but at least he stepped to the side.

“Ava told me all the guests were relocated,” she said as she crossed the threshold into the foyer. A cursory glance at the adjacent dining room and den showed that everything was as she remembered—except for her mom’s absence and this annoying man’s presence. “I had expected to be alone.”

The man shrugged. “Someone had to take care of Oberon.”

How could she have forgotten the maniacal cat? As a scraggly kitten, Oberon had shown up on the front porch while Wanda and the real estate agent had been doing a walk-through of the inn.

“He was a sign,” Wanda had told her daughter over the phone. “I was meant to buy this place, and he was meant to keep me company. It’s been so lonely with your father gone and you at college.”

“Ow!” A sudden scratch to the ankle jolted Lorelei back to the present, and she bumped the willkommen table. Brochures detailing area activities sat alongside the guestbook and one pamphlet fell to the floor. A telltale white paw jutted out from beneath the tablecloth. Speak of the freaking devil.

Grimacing, she took a large step away from the table and, more importantly, the extended claws. “I see Oberon hasn’t mellowed with age.”

“Nope.”

She suppressed a sigh at the man’s flat tone. Good thing he was attractive; he’d be doomed if all he had going for him was personality. Attractive? That must be the sleep deprivation talking. While she couldn’t find fault with the cowboy’s well-muscled body—and his green eyes were admittedly arresting—he was a bit scruffy with his too-long dark golden hair and the stubble dotting his jawline. Not her type at all.

“I assume you have a name?” she prompted.

He flashed a mocking smile that lasted just long enough to reveal deep dimples. “Good assumption. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Miz Keller, I was on my way out. Help yourself to any room except the Faust suite. That’s mine.”

As in, he would be sleeping there? She’d hoped he was only dropping by to feed the cat. “You’ll be back tonight?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He must have caught the dismay in her expression because his eyes narrowed. “Don’t worry, this place is plenty big enough for both of us.”

Despite the multiple bedrooms in the two-floor structure, she didn’t believe him. And she couldn’t help noticing he didn’t seem convinced, either.

THE DOOR BANGED SHUT in Sam’s wake as he strode toward the truck parked behind the inn. He wanted to leave quickly, before the B and B’s omnipresent reminders of Wanda nettled his conscience like the spines of a prickly pear cactus. She would have wanted him to be more welcoming to her daughter. Hard to believe they’re related.

He’d known from pictures that Lorelei was dark-haired and striking. He just hadn’t realized she was so tall; her mama had been a round little dumpling of a woman. Other than her height, though, Lorelei Keller had been pretty much what he’d expected. Purse-lipped and haughty, with no mention of her mother. Granted, Lorelei’s dark eyes had been puffy, but no more than most tourists’ in pollen season.

He could almost hear his former landlady’s chiding voice. Oh, and you were a real charmer during that encounter? You didn’t even give her a chance. With a sigh, he glanced back over his shoulder, then retraced his steps.

Through the window in the door, he could see the brunette slumped in a chair at the kitchen table, much the same way he’d been last night. As soon as he turned the knob, her backbone went ramrod straight. Her expensive-looking cinnamon-colored sweater dress was probably hot and itchy on a day like this. Over it, she wore some kind of full-body vest in an even darker brown. In contrast, he couldn’t help recalling the way Wanda had cheerfully embraced colors—the brighter, the better.

“Forget something?” Lorelei asked without turning to look at him.

“Just wanted to say, name’s Sam Travis. I was a good friend of your mother’s. Damn fine woman.” He paused a beat, to see if Lorelei recognized his name or had any comment. Did she know what Ava suspected, that Wanda had altered her will in the past year? “I’m the one who found her. Yesterday.”

Red-rimmed eyes met his, and Lorelei swallowed, struggling to speak. “Do you think she was in pain?”

“She complained of a headache when she went to bed the night before, but no, I don’t think she suffered. Doc Singer made it sound as if it was about as peaceful as passing can be.”

Lorelei drew in a shaky breath. “Thank you, Sam.”

He nodded uncomfortably. “I won’t be back for a couple of hours, but is there anything I can bring you from town? Anything you need?”