Her Unexpected Cowboy (Unforgettable Cowboys Book 1) Read online

  “The subject? You deducted all of that from little smudges on the ground?”

  He shrugged again.

  “You a cop?”

  His eyes shot to her. “You think so?”

  “Most people don’t say things like subject and can read signs like that.” She looked back up the road and to the marks on the ground. “What kind of trouble are you in?”

  “I don’t know...”

  After Homer returned, and the nameless cowboy got into clothes that fit him much better, Sydney had him follow Homer around for the rest of the day. She kept herself busy with checking on the mama goats who had already had their babies. She kept them in the pen next to the barn. The three kids had already outgrown their wobbly legs. She stroked one of them while amazement washed over her. Such little miracles.

  Her mind floated back to the early morning they had been born. The spring storm had whipped through the cracks in the barn, and the whistling sound it made caused the hair on her arms to stand on end. She stayed with them through the night as they labored. When Homer arrived at his usual time that morning, relief washed over her for the two mamas finally began pushing their babies out, both at the same time.

  Watching the kids being born had always fascinated Sydney. Even first time mamas seemed to know exactly what to do, how and when to push, how to coddle and lick their babies after birth, how to feed them and nurture them as they grew. The one she helped birth, Sierra, had twins—two boys.

  She playfully nuzzled one of them before its brother rammed into him, and the two pounced away. She didn’t name the boys. Those were the ones she had to sell. Every few years Uncle Joe would pick one of the males to liven up the breeding stock, but her breeding males were doing just fine right now. Her heart squeezed before pulling away from the playful kids to focus her attention on the milking pen.

  “Maah,” the tan-colored goat bleated as Sydney neared the pen with the milking goats.

  “Yes, Faun. I know you are full. I’m coming.” She let her nuzzle under her arm as she opened the gate.

  Warmth filled her while she hugged the goat. These animals had become her solace, both as a young girl and now. She shook her head. Never had she thought she would have been lucky enough to have the life she did.

  Faun happily munched on the oats while Sydney tugged on her teats in a rhythmic motion. She smiled remembering when her hands used to cramp and scream. Now the repetitive motion only soothed her.

  The milk pail slowly filled with each squirt.

  She thought about how she would use this particular pail of milk. After finally perfecting the cheese making process last year, she now sold goat cheese locally in the town’s grocer and at the farmer’s market. In fact, the Mountain Valley Farm Day was coming up in a few months. It was one of her biggest sales days. Between the cheese sales and selling off the males, she made a pretty decent living. Enough to pay off the yearly property taxes and live on for sure, and that was all she needed.

  ~*~

  Homer didn’t talk much. Which was fine by him. The cowboy had plenty to think about, and found he didn’t fancy himself a talker either. With a few simple instructions, the older man would leave him to finish a task. Some things really pulled on his shoulder and kneeling to mend the fences was quite awkward with his gimpy leg, but there was no way he would complain.

  He knew he was lucky to find someone to give him a place to stay while he figured out what to do. Normally the first thing to do in his situation would be to call local law enforcement, yet he couldn’t shake the foreboding feeling that overwhelmed him every time he thought of it. Something didn’t feel right.

  He stood from the last fence post and stretched, scanning the land around him as he did. When his eyes fell on Sydney playing with the goats in a pen, he couldn’t look away. Something about that woman pulled him in and made him forget that he was a nameless man in probably a boat load of trouble. He had no right to even have a thought about her, yet he couldn’t stop them.

  “Hotshot!” Homer yelled from the water trough he struggled to fix.

  He nodded and headed towards the older man who eyed him with a sharp, distrustful gaze.

  “You here to work or to ogle?” Homer asked him as he came alongside the trough.

  He gave the older man a sharp glare as he bristled inside and his fists clenched. Being talked to like this felt foreign, and it did not set well with him.

  “That girl there needs someone she can rely on. Now, if you’re ready to work, you have a lot to learn. Starting with lifting this and scrubbing out the bottom.”

  Though he seethed, the man knew it best to keep his mouth shut. Besides, the foreman was right. How would he treat a man showing up out of nowhere to take over his position? Especially a man who couldn’t keep his eyes off the pretty boss.

  ~*~

  Sydney was brushing Guardian when Homer started up his quad and waved farewell. As he left a trail of dust down the drive to his place, she glanced at Nameless. He scanned the woods around the clearing, the house, and the barn before looking towards her. What was she going to do with this stranger?

  He took off his hat as he joined her on the porch.

  “That’s a lot of fur,” he said as she pulled another handful of white hair from the brush.

  “Yes, it is.” She laughed. “Shedding season is not a clean time around here—one reason why he’s an outside dog.”

  “I saw another one like him out in the field.”

  “You’re observant. That’s Thor. He’s the goat protector. He stays with the herd.” She scratched the dog’s exposed belly as his tongue hung out in pleasure. “Guardian here, he took a liking to me and never left my side. Hence the name.”

  “You always lived out here?”

  She gazed up at him. Was he trying to be pleasant or did he really want to know? His green eyes found hers and held on tight. He looked as if she were a puzzle to figure out.

  “No, this was my Aunt and Uncle’s ranch.” She sat up and stretched her back. Guardian took the chance to move further away from the brush. “I spent summers here as a kid. When they...when they passed on, they left it to me.”

  “I’m sorry.” His voice sounded sincere, nothing like the men from her past...focus, girl.

  “Me too.” She cleared her throat and gathered up the large mass of fur. “Need a pillow tonight?”

  “I’ll pass,” he said with a laugh. It was the first real laugh she heard from him, a pleasant, deep rumbling.

  “Suit yourself.” She shrugged. “Bet it would be softer than that straw.”

  “It actually wasn’t that bad.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t think you actually felt much last night.”

  “Could be.”

  “I’m going to make some dinner. You eat pork chops?” She caught his blank stare. “Ugh, sorry.” Would she ever remember not to ask him questions he doesn’t have answers to? She rose to go inside, leaving him shifting his weight on the porch. “You might as well come in.”

  “If you’re sure.” He took off his boots and followed her into the house, looking around the small space.

  “It’s not much, but it’s home.”

  “It’s perfect,” he said, touching little photos hanging on the walls. “This your aunt and uncle?” His thick finger brushed her favorite picture and it came loose. He fumbled it a few times before it finally crashed to the wood floor, glass shattering. “Blast it, Jameson!” He quickly began carefully picking up all the glass.

  Sydney rushed over and tried to put the frame back together. Tears threatened and she blinked to keep them back. The photo was unharmed, and she brought it gingerly to her. The frame on the other hand was irreparable.

  “I’m sorry, Sydney.” His piercing eyes met hers over the mess.

  Knowing the picture was undamaged helped ease the loss of the frame. Frames could be replaced. As she looked in his eyes though, his words finally processed through.

  “Did you hear what you said?” sh
e asked.

  “Yeah, sorry if that word offends you. I will do my best to refrain from it in the future.”

  “No, not that word. You said, Jameson.”

  “I did, yes,” he said as he eased back, sitting on the floor, his injured leg stretched out awkwardly. “Jameson.” He met her eyes with a wide smile. “I have a name!”

  “Well, it’s nice to finally meet you, Jameson!” She held her hand out to be engulfed by his massive one. A surge of tingly warmth shot through her, and she found herself wishing her hand would stay hidden in his much longer than it did.

  The memory of his name seemed to ease Jameson. His shoulders relaxed and his movements had more fluidity rather than rigidness. He didn’t stand quite so tight, and he even laughed easily throughout dinner. It sure helped knowing how to address him. Hey you, Handsome Stranger, or Nameless just never seemed acceptable.

  They kept a light conversation going, mostly about the ranch and the animals. Sydney never knew how difficult small talk could be with someone who had no memory. At a lull in the conversation, she realized the weirdness of this situation. She had cooked dinner for a man that arrived at her doorstep with no memory and a severely bruised and banged up body. Then, a question came to mind that pulled her in. It shot out of her mouth before she had time to think better.

  “Jameson—“

  “It’s so good to have a name again.” He smiled and sat back in his chair.

  “Why haven’t you asked about a husband?” Sydney waited for several moments, watching him, wondering if he would just ignore the question that caused her cheeks to burn slightly.

  “Why do you ask?” Jameson did his best to keep his mouth tight, but the corner twitched.

  “That’s everyone’s first question.”

  “Everyone’s?” He leaned forward, resting his one good elbow on the table.

  “Yeah, nosy neighbors, delivery people, vets, cops, anyone who comes by really.”

  “Huh.”

  “Guess no one thinks a woman can run a ranch without a husband. Though I would have a hard time doing it without Homer.” She met his eyes and realized they held an intensity that she didn’t quite understand. Her heart quickened and she fiddled with a fork. “Are you going to answer my question?”

  “Do you really want to know?” His tone had evened out, becoming almost official.

  “Yes.”

  “When I arrived late last night, your house was quiet besides your sweet voice, talking to yourself or to your animals.” He reached down and stroked Mr. Paws who sat on the chair between them. “The tire tracks on your driveway matched the old truck’s at the barn. The single, dusty car in your carport hadn’t moved since the last rain.”

  “But that could mean anything. I don’t drive my car much anymore. My husband could have been asleep or out.”

  “The boots by the door were too small to be a man’s. The spot next to them was clean, no evidence that there ever had been boots there at all. You came out, with a gun cocked and ready, looking able to do what was necessary to defend your land—and yourself.” He shrugged and sat back again. “Plus, you have no ring on your finger nor indentation of one ever being there, and Homer confirmed it today.”

  “Who are you, Sherlock?” Her lips creased even though she fought to keep the smile at bay. “You sure you’re not a cop?”

  “I’m not sure about anything, Syd.” The nickname came out smoothly, as if he had called her that for years.

  ~*~

  I have a name. That one amazing thought played over and over as he lay on his bed made from hay. Even with the scent of animal, his makeshift quarters actually suited him just fine. Sure, a bed would be nice, but this beat wandering around, trying to figure out who he was and where to go. At least here, he had purpose, something to keep him busy throughout the day.

  Having a name eased so much of his tension. If he remembered that, then surely more would come. He loved that Sydney had caught it. If things had been different, he might have just kissed her then. Knowing his name, though, did not mean he had earned the right to want more from the gracious woman. Besides, they had just met.

  He shook his head.

  He didn’t need to be thinking of the woman who had given him refuge. He needed to be devising a plan to figure out his next steps. It’s not like he could just live here forever, hiding away from whatever his past may hold. Yet, that prospect didn’t sound too bad...

  ~4~

  The next morning, Sydney found Jameson already awkwardly mucking out Pearl and Josie’s stalls when she brought coffee to the barn. He kept his left arm tucked in the sling and used only his hand to steady the pitch fork while his right side did most the work. Doesn’t seem to mind hard work. She shook her head before clearing her throat to announce her presence, though he didn’t seem surprised.

  “Good morning, Syd.” He shoveled out the last bit of soiled hay before leaning on the tool like he had been doing this his whole life.

  “Morning, Jameson.” She handed him a mug.

  He set the shovel against the rails. “I don’t think I will ever get tired of hearing my name.” The right side of his mouth raised as his fingers briefly touched hers while taking the cup.

  Warm tingling shot through her, settling in her stomach. It’s just because he’s a man. How long had it been since she had spent time around a man besides Homer, especially such a strong, handsome one? Almost two years? That’s if she didn’t account for Wil’s advances. She shook her head to rid herself of the memory.

  “You like it black?” she asked to distract herself.

  He took a sip. “Seems good, almost like a pleasant memory.” His eyes unfocused for a moment before narrowing.

  “Something?” she asked, holding her breath.

  “Fleeting only. Flashes, but nothing I can hold on to.”

  “That must be really frustrating.” Empathy surged in her.

  He shrugged and stood tall. “So, what now?”

  His quick change of subject and demeanor threw her for a moment. “Feeding the penned goats, horses, and chickens, collecting eggs, and then breakfast. Then the day really begins.”

  “Every day?” he asked.

  “Every day, rain or shine, sleet or snow, though hail is the worst.” She shook her hand, remembering the pain of the last hail storm. Ice chunks almost as big as golf balls came down, leaving her bruised and swollen. One had hit the back of her hand so hard she feared it had been broken for several days before the swelling finally went down.

  “You’re hardcore, aren’t you?”

  A full out laugh burst from her. She couldn’t hold back the continual force as she laughed like she hadn’t in years. After wiping the tears from her eyes and taking a deep breath, she finally met his amused gaze.

  They worked the morning chores together, and an easiness settled between them. Sydney hadn’t felt this comfortable with a man since, well, not ever. Uncle Joe and she had a relaxed working partnership, but she couldn’t compare the man next to her to him. No, the feelings Jameson evoked could never be compared to Uncle Joe.

  ~*~

  Jameson couldn’t keep his eyes off of Sydney as she talked him through all the morning chores. Without knowing what his past held, it was hard to say, but he felt like she was different than any other woman he had ever known.

  When he had grasped her hand earlier, he noticed the strong grip and roughness of her hands. It hadn’t turned him off. More like it affirmed the hard worker she portrayed herself as. She definitely had feminine qualities. In fact, she moved with a grace and sureness that left him helpless to turn away.

  He did his best to pay attention to her directions so that he could do most of the chores the following morning. Her soft voice, though, held him in a trance, and all he wanted to do was become lost in it.

  It would feel better lost in her, than lost in the wanderings of his mind. Was anyone looking for him or missing him? More than likely he had family somewhere, a job, someone out there that ha
d noticed he had disappeared. Would they find him here, on a goat ranch in the middle of nowhere?

  Sydney drew his attention back to the tasks at hand. Part of him wasn’t sure he wanted anyone to find him. He continued to watch all Sydney did, memorizing her movements and the graceful way she moved even in the midst of chores that required a tough strength.

  ~*~

  Sydney walked to the house for breakfast in an effortless discussion with Jameson of the difference between store-bought eggs and fresh-out-of-the-coop eggs. As they entered, her eyes strayed to the missing picture of Aunty Mag and Uncle Joe. Her routine had a missing piece that left a tightness in her heart. She had paused just a fraction of a moment, but Jameson ground his teeth and his body slightly tensed.

  “Anyway,” she said to relieve the tension while rinsing the eggs in the sink. “I don’t have a store bought egg to compare, but farm fresh eggs are brighter. When you scramble them, they are more yellow than store bought eggs. They taste better, and they’re more nutritious, especially since most of these are fertilized eggs.”

  “Fertilized?” He sat at the table at the end of the small kitchen.

  Having a small house had its perks. It meant she could easily have a conversation even if the other person sat in a different room.

  “Yeah, you know, like the birds and the bees,” she teased.

  He furrowed his brow and shrugged his shoulders.

  “The rooster did his part,” she said and glanced at his blank stare. “If left alone, this egg would have turned into a chick.”

  His face paled. “You mean we’re eating a chick fetus?”

  “Ugh, I can’t think of it that way.” She shook her head. “Just know that it tastes better and is better for you. Let’s just leave it at that.”

  Memories of Aunty Mag trying to explain the same thing to her as a young girl filtered through. She hadn’t eaten eggs for the rest of that summer. To this day, if she thought too much of where all of her food came from, she could lose her appetite. In the end she knew it was more nutritious, and she had notice a remarkable difference in her health.