“MAYBE WE OUGHT TO ROLL up the windows to keep from messing your hair.” Austin sat behind the wheel of his Dodge Ram, looking sexy in a black Western shirt, gray cowboy hat and boots.

      Reno had left her long hair loose. She loved the way the wind felt, blowing across her face. Almost like flying along on Plenty Coups. She would never understand why people rode in a closed-up, air-conditioned vehicle.

      “It’ll comb out,” she said. “It’s too hot to shut the windows, and you know I hate air-conditioning.”

      He laughed. “You’re an original, Reno, that’s for sure.” He eyed her before focusing on the road again. “You ought to dress up more often.”

      “You’re pretty hot yourself, cowboy.”

      At the Diamond L, the driveway was already filling. Reno felt a wave of nostalgia as Austin found a parking spot, and Wynonna—who’d insisted on driving herself—pulled in behind them. So little had changed over the years, it was like stepping back in time.

      As she and Austin strode up the walkway with Wynonna, carrying Wy’s covered desserts, Reno recalled the time she’d ridden her palomino mare to the Diamond L, where Cade was in the arena honing his bronc-busting on a practice horse—a rangy Appaloosa that bucked like nobody’s business.

      “Hey, kid,” he’d said, dusting off the seat of his pants after his intended eight-second ride ended prematurely. “What’d you do, ride that pony all the way over here just to watch me?”

      “I ride my horse everywhere. Five miles is nothing.”

      Back then, at fifteen years old, she’d often ridden from sunup to sundown. Still, Reno would’ve ridden five hundred miles to get the attention of the cowboy she looked up to….

      “Hi,” Cade said as he opened the front door now. He frowned when he saw Austin beside her.

      For a moment, a reply stuck in Reno’s throat. She’d half expected to look up and see Cade on a bronc. Not to mention she’d figured Estelle would answer the door.

      Damn. His boots made him seem even taller than six foot two. He wore a black cowboy hat, not the beat-up, everyday Resistol he’d had on yesterday, but one that looked as if it carried more than a few Xs inside the brim. The more Xs, the better the quality of a cowboy hat, and the higher the price. Cade had always had a thing for an expensive hat and boots.

      He wore a maroon Western shirt, with metallic thread and pearl snaps, and his new jeans fit as if someone had poured him into them, like melted chocolate into a mold.

      This was the man who’d abandoned her.

      And she was with Austin.

      With a brief greeting, she brushed past Cade as he held the door, then trailed behind Wynonna as Estelle called to them from the kitchen.

      The spacious room had been painted a pale eggshell since last year. The ice-blue, granite countertops were covered with containers of food and stacks of heavy-duty paper plates and disposable flatware.

      “Just set those anywhere,” Estelle said after greeting them, nodding toward Wynonna’s pans of fudge brownies and pecan pie. “We’re going to do a buffet-style food line, then eat outside. The guys have got picnic tables set up.”

      “What can we do to help?” Reno asked.

      “Not a thing,” Estelle said. “Go on outside and relax. Help yourselves to a cold drink.”

      “This way, ladies.” Ignoring Austin, Cade gestured toward the sliding doors to the patio. When Reno passed through the screen door, she got a good whiff of the cologne he wore.

      Instead of turning her on, it only irritated her. How dare he come home and act as if nothing had happened? Austin smacked her playfully on the butt as they stepped onto the deck, and she took his hand, diverting him, as they walked outside.

      “There’s beer, pop and bottled water,” Cade said, frowning as his gaze fell on their clasped hands. He indicated two large stock tanks filled with ice, between the patio and the rows of picnic tables arranged in the yard beneath a huge canvas tent.

      “Now you’re talking,” Austin said. “Can I get you a beer, Reno?”

      “Sounds perfect,” she said. She’d intended to have a pop. She caught herself just in time to keep from wiping her sweaty hands on the denim skirt. Not wearing blue jeans. But damn, her stomach felt queasy with resentment she’d thought long buried. She shouldn’t have come here.