The Cowboy's One and Only: The Brothers of Thatcher Ranch, #1

Prologue

Logan

Seeing her was a spike of clarity straight into his veins, a combination of hot and cold overcoming him as his gaze drank her in.

Her hair the same intensity as red swirls of the wild strawberry jam he put on his toast every morning, eyes so blue, they must have taken the sky’s pigment for themselves.

Lips curled into a sly, beam as if she knew something that Logan didn’t and oh, how he wanted to know.

She sat with her legs swinging haphazardly, leaning forward just enough to make him question what she was doing there—was she about to say hello or spring to her feet and walk away without a word?

Seeing her brought him back to a place he’d never been.

Yet there they were…

Chapter 1

Logan

One Day Earlier

Almost.

Logan sucked in air through his nostrils as he felt his right bicep shuddering, failing. He gripped hard onto the rock with the slightly curved toes of his climbing shoes, swinging his other hand to the pencil thin handhold—just as his first hand lost its grip.

His entire body shook with the effort. Above, the next handhold was a long lunge away. If he missed it…

Quickly, he shook off the thought. There was no room for missing it. Logan semi-ducked into a near crouch, launched his body up and—

Got it!

The impact nearly winding him, Logan scrambled up and over to safety. On all fours, he caught he paused for a moment to catch his breath. Adrenaline ripped through him and his eyes traveled downward to take in the scene below.

Would you look at that! That’s why I do this. This makes it all worthwhile.

Staring off into the expanse, he felt indestructible, exhilarated.

Hundreds of feet below him was Sagebrush Texan ground or as Logan called it, reality.

With only a Petzl harness, belay, and double pulley, Logan had climbed the sheer rock face. He had summited the first mountain of the Potest range.

He’d been practicing for months, just to conquer the harrowing pass and now, he’d finally done it.

Logan spread his limbs and reclined onto his back, letting the mountain air lap coolness on his body. It was much cleaner up there, away from the emissions of below.

Overhead, the sky was a striking teal, the shade reserved for Photoshopped advertisements of Bahamas resorts.

Logan found himself wondering what the sky would ask if it could talk.

Is it asking me when I’m heading back down?

The reality that scraped at the edges of his consciousness were still gratefully out of range, even with the thought, at least for the time being.

Logan turned his head slightly so he could toss a glance down again, toward the speck that was his home. With the distance and range between them, it seemed abstract, insubstantial.

If Logan kept climbing and never looked back, or just climbed down another side of the Potest range, kept walking wherever his legs took him, he’d never have to go back. That reality would cease to exist for him

It would be that easy.

Logan shut his eye, blocking out the speck, even as he knew in no way would it be that easy. He’d never be able to just walk away.

As much as he wanted to, every time he came out here to the mountain range and tested and battled and conquered himself against the infallible rocky indifference, he knew.

He’d have to go back home, sooner or later.

He had responsibilities.

Almost on cue, a voice crackled nearby.

…looo! Hel-lo?

It took Logan a few seconds to clue in that it was his walkie-talkie coming alive to life in the pocket of his cargo pants. Stifling a sigh, he took it out in time to hear the question.

What the heck, Logan? the disembodied voice demanded again.

Logan reclined back and lay there for a few more seconds, inhaling the mountain air, eyeing the shimmering mountain-bordered sky, as if he could stay like this forever.

Abruptly, he sat up, the sweet reverie shattering. Reality was calling after all.

He pressed the walkie-talkie talk button and spoke in a rush of breath.

Coming.

Shoving the device back in his pocket, he ambled to his feet and began the descent down the mountain. The radio buzzed a few times, no doubt another brother reaming him out, but Logan didn’t care. They’d got what they wanted already. He was on his way home.

This was exactly the reason he didn’t like bringing the walkie-talkie with him on climbs. Being tethered to home with an electronic box that could buzz to life anytime was not his idea of freedom. Yet his mother wouldn’t allow him to leave without it and it saved him from having to listen to his brothers’ endless complaints so the walkie came, despite Logan’s inner annoyance.

Logan forced his mind off that and trained his focus on the sights around him.

The way down was never what it was going up. It had a different allure, details no one noticed on the ascent; a chance pool of crystalline water, a scissor-tailed flycatcher eyeing him with an alert carefulness as she perched on her stick-jabbing nest, a curving sit-worthy Southern oak.

But Logan wouldn’t get to enjoy that, not this time. He’d have to go fast, too fast to notice anything other than where the next foothold or handhold would be.

His brothers were waiting and they didn’t like waiting. The longer they anticipated Logan , the louder they’d complain. He knew it was better to get down there and get this thing over with.

Logan spotted them long before he was in their earshot. Chance and Chase’s twin dark heads leaned against the side of the rock as they passed a plastic bag of something back and forth, Garrett’s muscular form standing to the side, his blond head craned up to watch as Logan scrambled down.

Only when Logan’s foot touched down on the soft mash grass, did Chance salute him with mock respect.

Nice of you to grace us with your presence.

Chase smiled to indicate he wasn’t overly annoyed, popping a gummy bear into his mouth and Logan suddenly realized what had been in the plastic bag. It struck him funny that his tough, cowboy brothers were sharing a bag of gummy bears. Before he could laugh out loud at them, Garrett strode over to Logan.

Listen, I know you don’t like this anymore than we do, but you can’t just do that, okay? Garrett grumbled. Leftover adrenaline thrummed through Logan’s veins. His brother was right. He didn’t want to do this but there he was, swallowing his words as he took off his climbing gear and let words float stagnantly in the air between them.

He wanted to walk, to move. He wanted to do anything but this.

Garrett grabbed his forearm.

Hey, you hear me? You can’t just go running up the rock wall like that.

Hey, lay off, Garrett. Chase waved Garrett away with his tan cowboy hat before replacing it on his head.

Always the peacemaker, Chase has to be, Logan thought.

I’m sorry, man, Logan mumbled, not meeting his brother’s eye. I just wanted to think.

Liar, a little voice taunted him. If anything, that was the problem—overthinking was what he wanted to escape.

Think about what? Garrett let go, used the hand to rake through his short blond hair. It’s happening, whether we like it or not.

I know, Logan sighed.

This is terribly touching and all. Chance jumped to his feet, digging into the almost empty plastic bag to grab the last few gummy bears. But the gummies are as good as gone, and I got bored of this an hour ago.

Chase snorted as he grabbed the bag and looked inside with a raised eyebrow.

You were practicing on Jim Shoulders an hour ago.

Hey! Chance grabbed for it back, but he was too late. Chase was grinning as he popped the last of the candies into his mouth.

Garrett had already stalked away toward the house, shoulders tense. Logan lagged behind, but his oldest brother still addressed him.

You know she’s been planning this for years. Before we were even born.

Logan didn’t respond. Garrett would keep on talking, either way, regardless of what Logan said.

It would be selfish to try and stop her. To keep her here just for us. We’re dang grown men, Logey.

That nickname…

Logan’s upper lip curled with disgust. The moniker had been one of Chance’s lingering gifts to him. When Logan was young, he’d spoken slowly and drawling, like Yogi bear. Chance had dubbed Logan, Logey Bear. The name and it had stuck—with his whole family, the school kids, and, in the end, all of Sagebrush.

Are you even listening to me? Garrett stopped walking, swung him a simmering look, daring him to not respond again.

Yeah, I am. Logan glared back at him. And I know, I get it. I’d never try to stop her. I want her to be happy as much as the rest of you.

Garrett shoved his hands in his blue jean jacket pockets and continued walking.

Then why in the heck—when she’s about to sit down and tell us the details—did you wander off all the way to your precious mountain and…

The rest of what he said blurred away in Logan’s mind. Ma called it his defense mechanism, how a haze settled over Logan’s mind in times like those. He didn’t know what it was, only that when things got to be too much, he tuned it out. He didn’t do it on purpose, necessarily, it was just how things worked.

Ever since that day, at least.

Dang it, Logan! Don’t you go off on me! Garrett’s voice pierced through, drawing him back to the present. Behind them, Chance whistled low and chuckled, while Chase muttered something that sounded like, Come on now, boys.

Right, I get it, she’s going, Logan snapped at Garrett. Just wanted to put it off, I guess. Is that so hard to understand?

He stormed the rest of the way to the ranch, his climbing shoes smashing so hard into the dew-wet dirt that they stuck in places. Normally, the sight of the red stone and white gables filled him with warmth. The same with the spread of blooming gardens in front of it and beyond, the rolling hills and their thick sage scent.

But now, it only registered as a pit in his stomach, a settling of something into some airless, lightless place.

Yes, there would be no putting this off anymore.

It was truly back to reality.

Chapter 2

Frankie

For Pete’s sake, Frances Eileen Mills, you get back here this instant!

Halfway into the barn, Frankie froze and groaned inwardly.

He caught me!

Elmer, she breathed.

"Don’t you Elmer me. I ain’t no friend of yours, It’s Uncle Elmer to you."

Frankie ground her teeth and tried again.

"Uncle Elmer, Gus—"

I don’t give a dang what you named that ugly stray cat.

But he’s hungry.

And feeding it ain’t gonna get you nothin’ but a beatin’.

Frankie sighed as she straightened her body and brought proffered hand back toward her, ducking the piece of bacon behind her back. Uncle Elmer wasn’t serious about a beating, but she still didn’t want him riled up. His temper was infamous, even in her household, back in Richmond.

She’d been there less than a week, and their daily quarrels ranged from her sock choices to her feeding the stray cat she’d found a few days ago. Each squabble was starting to wear on her nerves, leaving Frankie feeling like she couldn’t do anything right in her uncle’s eyes.

Look at me when I’m talkin’ to you, girl! Elmer insisted.

Frankie eyed Uncle Elmer’s face, studying it as if for the first time. His features were wrinkled with set-in rage, pierced with two heavy-lidded warnings for eyes, and riddled with a furious flush from where his chin disappeared into his Santa beard all the way up to his ever-shiny bald head.

To Frankie, he looked as forbidding as ever.

He’s all bark and no bite, she reminded herself but it was hard to believe it with flames shooting from his eyes. He put his oversized hands on his hips and glowered mercilessly, his diatribe not concluded.

You’re in my house, so you’ll go by my rules. And that’s that.

The cat will die if I don’t feed him something. I just can’t leave him here hungry, Frankie insisted.

Uncle Elmer shook his head sternly, then raised his squint to the sky in an imploring expression.

"You