Unforgiven. B.J. Daniels
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about, but she’d always measured them against her first love and they’d always come up short.
But did she even know this Rylan? This man so full of rage and set on vengeance at any cost?
Unable to resist it any longer, she glanced in her rearview mirror.
To her surprise, she saw Rylan hit his brake lights up the road. She watched him in the mirror, waiting and praying he’d changed his mind about confronting her brother.
It wasn’t as if she didn’t understand what was driving him. But he was wrong about Carson. Her brother had loved Ginny.
For long minutes, they sat like that, both pulled off the road fifty yards apart. Both apparently debating what to do next.
“Please, Rylan,” she said under her breath, half plea, half prayer.
She let out the breath she’d unconsciously been holding as she watched him turn his pickup around and head back in her direction. She thought he might stop again, but he didn’t.
He didn’t even look at her as he roared past in a cloud of dust headed away from the W Bar G. He’d said everything he had to say, she thought as she watched him go, her heart in her throat.
What had changed his mind? Hopefully he’d realized after he’d calmed down that the stupidest thing he could do was go to the ranch gunning for Carson.
Whatever had changed his mind, she was thankful. Not that it took care of the problem. She knew Rylan was right. He wouldn’t be the only one riled up about Carson’s return. If Carson stayed here, he wouldn’t be safe.
She sat for a moment, then leaned over the steering wheel letting all the emotions she’d bottled up the past eleven years spill out. She cried for all that had been lost to her, to both their families. Finally, drained, weak with relief and regret, she sat up and wiped her eyes. She’d been strong for so long.
For years she’d told herself she could live without Rylan. She’d moved on with her life. She was happy. At least content. But seeing him, coming face-to-face with him, hearing his voice, looking into his eyes...
He’d always been handsome, but now his body had filled out. He was broader in the shoulders, his arms sinewy with muscle, his face tanned from working outside. There were tiny lines around his eyes that hadn’t been there before, but if anything, they only made him more handsome.
His hair was still thick and the color of sunshine, his eyes that honey-warm brown that she’d gotten lost in from the first time she’d looked in them. Her heart had always swelled at the sight of him. She’d never stopped loving him—just as she’d promised. Today proved what her heart already knew. She never would.
Pulling herself together, she turned the pickup around and headed back toward the ranch. Thoughts of Rylan aside, she just prayed that this new evidence would prove that Carson was innocent.
* * *
AS RYLAN HEADED home, he thought about the first time he’d laid eyes on Destry Grant. She’d come riding up with the W Bar G’s ranch foreman at a neighbor’s branding on a horse way too big for her. She would have been five at the time to his six. He recalled how serious she’d looked.
What stuck in his mind was that she’d stayed at the branding all day, cutting calves into the chute as if she was ten times her age, and later, when one of the cowboys’ hats had blown off and spooked her horse, she’d gotten bucked off and hit the ground hard. Her face had scrunched up, but she hadn’t shed a tear. She’d climbed the fence to get back on her horse and ridden off.
He’d never seen anyone so determined.
What chapped his behind now, though, was that she hadn’t changed one iota when it came to that stubborn determination and pride. He hated that, when it came to her brother, she just refused to see the truth.
He’d left eleven years ago because he couldn’t bear being around her with his sister’s death standing between them. He’d always rodeoed, but after college, he’d joined the pro circuit. It had been exactly what he’d needed—traveling from town to town across the country, never staying in one place too long. If he needed company, there were bronco and bull riders to hang out with, and if he felt in need of female attention, there were always buckle bunnies and rodeo groupies who were up for a good time.
The rodeo had helped him heal. He’d felt badly about bailing on his family, but his mother and father had two sons at home and he’d kept in touch. The only people he hadn’t wanted to hear anything about were the Grants. Especially Destry.
His family had welcomed him back with open arms and the ranch was large enough that there was plenty of room as well as work. Not that he’d have moved back into his childhood room at the ranch, even if his mother hadn’t turned it into her quilting room.
He’d moved into an old cabin on a stretch of land adjacent to the W Bar G until he could decide what he wanted to do next. The cabin had a roof he could see daylight through and that required a bucket or two when it rained, and often at night he heard mice gnawing on something under the floorboards.
Still, it was better than most of the places he’d slept in while on the rodeo circuit, and he was home.
If only he didn’t feel in such limbo. He’d saved nearly every dime he’d made rodeoing so he had options. But he feared moving ahead meant dealing with the past, something he’d put off all these years.
He swore under his breath, as frustrated with the situation between him and Destry as he’d been eleven years ago. He’d known seeing her again would be difficult. Difficult? He laughed to himself at how that word didn’t come close to adequately describing their encounter.
It hurt like hell. Like being bucked off a horse and hitting the ground with such force that it stole his breath for what seemed like forever. After that initial impact with the ground came the pain in his chest, an ache that radiated through his entire body, and for long moments, he was unable to move or breathe. A small death. Just like seeing Destry after all this time, a moment he would never forget.
And just like getting bucked off a wild horse and being anxious to ride another time, he couldn’t wait to see her again.
As he pulled up to his cabin, he saw his father’s pickup parked out front. Taylor West climbed out of the truck as Rylan cut his engine. One look at his father’s face and he knew he’d heard that Carson Grant was back.
“Where have you been, son?” he asked as Rylan got out. Taylor West was a large man, his blond hair graying around the temples. Years ago he’d been asked to do some modeling. A cowboy through and through, he’d turned down the offer, married his high school sweetheart, Ellie, and settled down to bring a daughter and three sons into the world. Rylan couldn’t have asked for better parents or a more stable family—until his sister, Ginny, was murdered.
His parents were both strong and, with the help of his brothers, had somehow managed to survive the tragedy. Probably better than Rylan the past eleven years.
“Son?” Taylor asked again.
“Just went for a ride,” Rylan said, a half-truth at best.
His father studied him for a long moment. “I know you heard the news.”
He nodded and shifted on his boots as he felt that old aching anger settle in his belly. “If there’s new evidence, then why isn’t Carson Grant already behind bars?”
His father shook his head. “These things take time. The sheriff—”
“The sheriff? Frank Curry isn’t going to—”
“Frank told me he’s just waiting for the new evidence to be run through the crime lab.”
His father was often too trusting. “And how long is that going to take?” Rylan demanded.
“We have to give Frank a chance. The sheriff mentioned that they have more resources than they did eleven years ago and that a lot of cold cases are being