Walker: The Rodeo Legend (Harlequin American Romance)

[Dalyia]

Product Description
Out of nowhere, Walker Cody swoops in and saves Paula Olsen's toddler son from a dog bite. Before she can properly thank him, the handsome Iraq War veteran fades into the crowd.
Walker's in training to retake his World Champion Bulldogger title. The practice rides are bruising, but still don't knock thoughts of a certain beautiful young widow and her little boy out of his head. And Paula's shocked to realize she has a bad case of Pervasive Walkeritis.
Survivors' guilt and ghosts from their pasts stand between them. Walker's need to prove himself on the rodeo circuit runs deeper than bragging rights. But can Paula risk her healing heart on a troubled man who deliberately puts himself in danger?

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[Dalyia]

Chapter One
May 1
“Clay!” Paula Olsen screamed in horror. One second her little blond two-year-old
had tumbled headfirst out of the Red Flyer wagon onto the asphalt. In the next
second, a stranger plucked him away as a snarling black Lab in the town’s Dog-
Walkathon lunged forward to sink his teeth into her little boy.
It was all over in an instant. The man more or less thrust Clay into her arms,
giving her a glimpse of darkly lashed green eyes. She looked her son over. Except
for a red bump on his head from the fall, she didn’t see a mark on him. “How can I
ever thank you?” she called out to the man.
But he’d disappeared without saying anything, making it impossible for her to thank
him properly. It was no use calling him back. He moved like the wind and was
already gone.
She heard a male voice in the crowd say, “Ooh-eee! I believe that was J. W. Cody’s
son! I thought he was still over seas!”
Two and a half years ago a pregnant Paula had done the master plan for the
landscaping of John Walker Cody’s spectacular new ranch house, the latest addition
to the famed Cottonwood Ranch built on their 600,000 acre spread outside Markton,
Wyoming. The fabulously wealthy Codys were the premier family of rodeo in the
northwestern part of the state. She was aware he had a daughter and four sons, all
rodeo champions, but she’d never met any of them.
If her recollection was correct, one of them was an officer in the Marines. Could
that be Clay’s rescuer? If so, he was out of uniform.
He’d been tall, maybe six foot two or three and in his late twenties, but she only
caught a brief view of chiseled male features. For some strange reason she couldn’t
get rid of the fleeting impression that he’d looked…haunted, and not just because
of the incident.
“Oh, Paula—” her friend Angie Gregson spoke behind her, holding Danice. She’d been
pulling her two-year-old in a wagon right in front of Paula. “Talk about a close
call!”
“It was,” Paula whispered in a shaken voice, hugging Clay tighter. The man had a
familiar build and midnight-black hair, like J. W. Cody, so she figured the
stranger had to be a Cody. While everyone else stood there frozen, only someone
with his quick instincts and skill could have pulled Clay away from those gaping
jaws in time.
“Listen, Angie… I’m going to take Clay to the car and get the stroller. Without a
restraint, the wagon’s just too dangerous.” The thought of what would have happened
without the stranger’s masterful intervention refused to leave her mind.
“I’ll go with you. Some of the big dogs are scaring Danice anyway.”

Paula nodded. “I’m pretty sure it was that huge black Lab that frightened Clay, but

when he fell out of the wagon, he ended up scaring the dog.” Together they pulled
the empty wagons down the sidewalk and around the corner to Paula’s car.
For the families living in Markton, Wyoming, a town of 997 people, the First of May
was a big deal. The annual dog parade drew people from all the surrounding
communities, including nearby Cody where she and Angie lived in the same apartment
complex.
The two of them had made a special trip over here for the fundraising event showing
off people’s own dogs as well as those from the Humane Society. Paula wished she
could laugh about it, but the close call—even though all the dogs were on leash—
could have sent Clay to the hospital to be stitched up. After losing her husband,
Brent, in the war in Afghanistan eighteen months ago, she couldn’t fathom anything
serious happening to Clay.
“Are you all right?” her brunette friend asked after they’d loaded their toddlers
in the strollers.
“I will be in a minute.” If that man was a Cody, she knew where to find him and
thank him.
An intuitive Angie touched her arm. “If you want to go home, we can.”
“Don’t be silly.” After eighteen months of grieving for Brent, she would have
thought she was getting past the worst of it, but for some reason this incident
brought her emotions to the surface once more. “We’ve been looking forward to
this.” She wasn’t about to let what happened ruin their plans. “It’s getting warmer
out. Let’s drop in the ice-cream store on our way back to the dog parade.”
“And then let’s walk around Old Trail Town. I’m craving one of those Wild Bill Cody
chili dogs.”
“Sounds good to me.” Maybe the walk would bring back Paula’s appetite.
MOMENTS AGO WALKER CODY had left the motel on foot only to run into a dog parade,
of all things. To see so many animals at once brought out children’s excited cries
and laughter from the adults, but Walker’s attention had been captured by a blond
toddler in a little wagon who was frightened by them. It reminded him of his own
fear of horses as a child.
He noticed the boy start to stand up, then topple out, drawing the big Lab’s
attention. When it growled and bared its teeth, a woman’s terrified cry followed.
It was the kind he’d been trying to block from his subconscious since leaving Iraq.
Acting on pure instinct, Walker had torn through the line of onlookers and swooped
the boy away before the person holding the leash could get control of the dog. But
to his horror the incident brought on one of his flashbacks. While hugging the
wailing child to his body, pressing him against his plastic-surgery scars, he’d
broken out in a cold sweat.
Get away, Cody! Don’t hurt anyone. Please, God, don’t let me hurt anyone.
Blindly he handed off the child to the frightened woman standing next to him. Among
the cacophony of sounds coming from the dogs and the crowd, Walker took off on a
run. The last image in his mind had been of a pair of hot blue eyes turning to him
in gratitude.
Her words had been spoken in English, not Arabic, which only added to his confusion

and stayed with him all the way down the next block, where he found a bolt hole.

Once in the men’s bathroom at the Spotted Horse Saloon, he vomited.
Nothing came up but bile. He hadn’t had an appetite since he’d flown home from
Bethesda Naval Hospital three days ago. While he’d escaped the full blast of an
IED, his two best buddies had taken the brunt. They would never get the chance to
come home and live in a walking nightmare.
Post-traumatic stress disorder. That’s what every guy in his outfit thought about,
whether they admitted it or not. It was what they dreaded if their maimed bodies
made it back. He’d had three episodes in the hospital where he’d been for the past
two months, but this flashback had come when he couldn’t pull out the dime he kept
in his pocket.
He reached for it now and pressed it in the palm of his hand. His counselor at the
hospital told him, “When you feel unreal, disoriented, ‘crazy,’ like you can feel
your mind slipping away, hold that dime in your hand very tightly and say to
yourself, ‘I am not crazy. I am not in Iraq. This isn’t really happening now. I am
safe now,’ over and over again. Be very sure you tell yourself, ‘I am safe now. I
am not in Iraq.’ The feeling of safety is crucial during the flashbacks.
“Also tell yourself, ‘I am not going to hurt anyone.’ Many returning vets suffering
flashbacks are afraid they’re going crazy and they’ll hurt people. They’re not
crazy, but the danger to yourself is real, because sometimes you might try to
rationalize the situation by believing that it’s better to hurt yourself than to
hurt anyone else. You need that spoken reinforcement to help you regain your
feeling of being in control of yourself.”
Walker reached in his pocket and pressed the dime into his palm, repeating the
words like a litany. He was no longer aware of time or place. When he eventually
became cognizant of his surroundings, he staggered over to the sink. No sooner had
he rinsed out his mouth than he saw the reflection of a wizened cowboy in the
mirror behind him.
The man in the cowboy hat and boots stared at him with a measure of curiosity and
compassion. Walker knew he looked like hell. Fearing the stranger would ask him
what was wrong or worse, offer to help him—forcing Walker to tell him to mind his
own business—he put the dime back in his pocket and left.
To his chagrin, the bartender nodded to him. Walker had no choice but to go over to
the bar. He asked for a bottle of water. When the other man handed it to him, he
put down a five-dollar bill. “Keep the change.”
Outside the doors he rested against the wall and drank the contents before he went
back to the motel. En route he stopped at the convenience store for a pack of gum.
After the furnace he’d lived in for the past twenty months while deployed in Iraq,
Markton’s seventy-five-degree temperature felt cool to him.
The tail end of the dog walk was passing by farther down the street. Volunteers
followed to do the cleanup. This was one event that must have been thought up while
Walker had been in the military. After leaving his motel room earlier to get some
fresh air, the kind you could only get at a 6,200 feet elevation, nothing could
have surprised him more than walking into a dog parade.
Minus the six years he’d served in the Marines in various parts of the world, and
the four years before that spent in Missoula, Montana, getting his college degree,
he’d lived his whole life on the Cottonwood Ranch outside Markton. He knew the town
as well as any other local, yet he’d never stayed at the old Rocking J Motel

located around the corner before.

[Dalyia]

Built in the forties with few amenities, it would hardly be noticed, but it was
exactly the kind of place Walker had wanted and needed on his return. For the
moment all he required was a bed, a shower, an old TV that still worked to blot out
the fragments of horror flying loose in his head, and no family except Jesse who’d
always been his hero.
Thanks to the cooperation of his superiors, no one knew he’d been wounded, let
alone that his service in the Marines had come to an end. That was the way he
wanted it.
Once back in his room, he reached for the house phone. One of these days he’d be
forced to get a cell phone, but not yet. He couldn’t bear to be reached by anyone.
Though he’d e-mailed the family to stay in touch, his older brother, Jesse, was the
only one he’d talked to over the phone, the only one he’d felt like talking to.
Jesse was the ranch cattle manager and had their father’s toughness, but he also
possessed an innate kindness reminiscent of their mother. When the boys were
growing up, Jesse was the one Walker looked up to and trusted. Over the years, that
had never changed. Of course he loved his twin brothers and his sister, but they
were younger. Right now he needed Jesse’s wisdom and understanding if he was going
to survive.
Answer it, Jesse. Please, God.
“Hello?”
His prayer granted, Walker sank down on the side of the bed in sheer relief. The
familiar, forthright voice caused him to swallow hard. “Jesse? If you’re not alone,
don’t give me away.”
After a long, distinct pause, Jesse said, “I’m by myself in the truck on the way to
the barn. Is it really you, Walker?” He heard joy in Jesse’s words. It humbled him.
“Who else?” What’s left of me.
“Where are you calling from?” Jesse asked.
The flashback had left his body trembling. “The Rocking J Motel.” He couldn’t
believe there were still some old framed United Airlines Posters hanging on the
maroon-and-yellow-flowered wallpaper.
More silence while his brother assimilated the news. “You’ve got to be kidding me!
You’re not really in Markton, are you?”
Walker eyed the motel key sitting on the bedside table. “Come to room fifteen and
find out.”
Jesse let out a low whistle. “You’ll never know how much I’ve missed you.” His
voice shook. “I’ll be right there!”
Walker closed his eyes tightly. Everything else in his world might be in chaos, but
Jesse never changed, thank heaven.
After twenty minutes of pacing, he heard the sound of a truck pull up in the
parking space outside the door. Walker moved a corner of the curtain aside in time
to see his good-looking brother climb out of the cab wearing the white Stetson and
checked shirt that were his signature. The thirty-year-old bull rider in the family
didn’t look any older than the twins!

His throat swelled with emotion as he stepped to the door and opened it. Their eyes

met. Jesse’s startling blue gaze examined him from head to toe, silently noting how
the years had taken their toll on Walker.
“Go ahead and say it. It won’t hurt my feelings. I look like somebody’s idea of a
nightmare.”
Jesse’s eyes glistened with tears he couldn’t repress. “You came home. That’s all
that counts.” He caught Walker in a fierce bear hug, causing his hat to fall off.
“Are you back for good?” he asked in a thick-toned voice.
Walker’s breath caught. “Maybe.”
“What does that mean exactly?” Jesse demanded, relinquishing his hold.
He averted his eyes. “It means I’m out of the service. As for anything el—”
But Jesse didn’t give him a chance to finish the sentence. He just hugged him
again, harder. Though he was a couple of inches shorter than Walker, he could pack
a wallop. Walker always thought his brother was bigger than life.
When they let go of each other, he noticed more lines of experience around Jesse’s
eyes and mouth, but thankfully everything else had stayed the same. With his short
silvery-blond hair, another legacy from their mother, his older sibling always did
stand out in a crowd. The ladies loved him, yet he’d managed to stay single. In
that regard, he and Walker were a pair.
“I like the buzz.”
“Ditto,” Jesse answered with a smile, eyeing Walker’s Marine cut before picking up
his hat. He sat on one of the chairs set around the table and squinted at Walker
while he twirled it in his fingers. “I take it no one knows you’re home but me.”
Walker snagged the other chair and flung a leg over to sit with his arms against
the wooden back. “You’ve got that in one. I can’t be around people yet.”
“Understood. Hey, you know Grandfather Walker’s cabin up on Carter Mountain is
vacant. Is that far enough away for you?”
Jesse was reading his mind. Walker nodded. “But I won’t step a foot in it if you
don’t agree to let me pay rent. I want that official and documented.” He didn’t
need his father accusing him of not paying his own way.
“I’ll leave a rental agreement on the table for you to sign.”
“Thanks.”
“What are you doing for transportation?”
“I’m taking care of it.”
“Then you better pick up a couple of propane lanterns. The generator still works.
I’ll bring you the key later today along with anything else you might need.”
He shook his head. “The key will be fine. I’ll handle the rest.”
His brother’s expression sobered. “When did you plan to tell the folks?”
Walker made a noise in his throat. “I don’t know.” He looked away, then asked, “Are

you competing somewhere tonight?”

“At the Stampede in Bakersfield. Dex and Dusty already drove the horses down. Dad
and I are going to fly there late this afternoon and meet them. We’ll fly home on
Monday.”
“In that case Dad won’t appreciate a surprise from me right now.” Live or die, the
rodeo was the be-all and end-all of his father’s existence. “I think it’s best if I
lie low until next week.”
Jesse believed it, too. That’s why he muttered in agreement. Walker loved him for
that.
He cleared his throat. “How’s everyone?”
“Good,” Jesse said vaguely. “Walker—don’t hate me, but you look ill,” he blurted
unexpectedly.
“Hey—I’m the walking wounded,” he mocked. “You should see the ones who can’t.”
Jesse blinked back more tears. “Play the game with anyone but me. You used to weigh
two hundred and twenty pounds. I can tell you’re nursing your chest the way I did
after Screwee Louee stomped on mine a few times. After that I started wearing a
vest. Let me see what you’ve done to yourself.”
“You wouldn’t like the view. IEDs do a different kind of damage.”
His brother’s face lost color. “I knew it. Come on, little brother. It’s time for
show-and-tell.”
Walker stood up and peeled off his white T-shirt. The cotton fabric was the least
abrasive material against the skin grafts over his torso and left hip.
Another low whistle came out of Jesse. “How long were you in the hospital?”
“A couple of months. They’ve healed, but I keep thinking they haven’t.”
With a grimace, Jesse jumped to his feet. “What about the wounds on the inside?
Who’s seeing about those?”
Nothing escaped his brother. He put his shirt back on. “I’m scheduled to talk to a
shrink at the VA clinic in Powell next week.”
“Good.” He chewed on his lip. Walker could tell he wanted to say he’d go with him,
but thought better of it.
Time to change the subject. “How are you doing in the standings right now?”
“I had two pretty good nights last weekend at the Mesquite Championship.”
“How pretty good?”
“An eighty-seven and an eighty-eight.”
Walker slapped his brother on the back. “Not bad at all.”
“We’ll see what happens tonight.”

“Who else is in contention that can measure up to you?”

“Robby Tedesco from Phoenix and Jake Seaton from Greeley, two younger dudes you
don’t know who are damn good. And then of course there’s Mark.”
Mark Hansen, a big, black-haired local from Markton who was part Lakota, had had an
intense personal rivalry going with Jesse since their high school days. Some
rivalries could be good-natured fun, but not theirs. “So he’s still nipping at your
heels after all this time?”
“Yup. He scored a ninety last week in Mesquite.”
“I guess he’s never been able to handle the fact you were world champion four years
ago.”
“He’s figuring to beat me out before going all the way to the finals in Las Vegas
come December.”
Walker’s brows lifted. “He can try, but it isn’t going to happen.”
Suddenly Jesse gave him another bear hug. “That’s the kind of talk I’ve been
needing to hear. Thank heaven you’re back home.” He finally released him. “I’ve got
to go, but I’ll be by later with the key.”
“If I’m not here, just leave it with the office.”
He saw more questions in Jesse’s eyes, but he held back from asking them. “Got it.”
“You’re saving my life right now. You know that, don’t you?”
Jesse nodded. “Look, Walker…I realize you don’t want to see the family yet, but
when I get back we’re going to spend time together. I’m usually at the old arena
before anyone else is up. I don’t have to tell you what it would be like to
practice with you again.…”
“Maybe,” he whispered. Walker hadn’t been near an arena in over six years. The need
to get away from his father had been all consuming. He’d decided to take his pain
out of the country where he could try to blot it from his consciousness. The fact
that several months before he’d gone overseas his best friend Troy, one of the top
steer wrestlers in the state, had died in the box from a fatal concussion, had made
it easier to leave.
“At least think about it. If nothing else I’d like you there giving me pointers
only you can give. You’ll be good luck against Mark.” Jesse smiled when he said it,
but Walker saw shadows in those blue eyes and was convinced Mark had burrowed
deeper into his brother’s psyche than anyone knew. The thought troubled him. “It’ll
be like old times.”
No. Nothing could ever be like the old times. Guilt consumed him that he had to
think way back to remember when he’d been truly happy. “I can’t make any promises.”
Not even for you, Jesse.
So what kind of a monster did that make Walker?
“Right.” He shoved his hat on his head in seeming resignation before heading out
the door.
Once his brother had gone, Walker left for West Yellowstone, Montana, in his rental
car. Instead of flying into Yellowstone Regional airport in Cody, he’d flown into
the airport there three days ago. At the time he’d placed an order for a new black

Ford Super Duty F-450 truck, which was now ready to pick up.

[Dalyia]

He didn’t mind the two-hour drive from Markton to do business, not even with the
steady stream of traffic. Until he talked to his parents, it was necessary to keep
a low profile, and that meant staying away from the airport too close to home.
Once he’d taken possession of his truck, he bought all the items and groceries he’d
need to move into the cabin. By midafternoon he was ready to head back to the
ranch. On his way out of West Yellowstone, he stopped at a drive-through for a
malted milk with a double cheeseburger and fries. The doctors had told him to force
the calories in order to put on the twenty-five pounds he’d lost.
Though he couldn’t finish all his lunch, he figured he was making progress. By the
time he’d reached the ranch, taking the private road used by the Spurling Natural
Gas Company to fill their trucks on land the Codys leased to them, he still hadn’t
thrown up. To his amazement he even tolerated a Snickers bar. The chocolate tasted
good. It surprised him, considering how sick he’d been after his flashback.
His out-of-the-way approach to the cabin via the dirt road reminded him he’d
returned to God’s country. There were times in the past six years when he’d
wondered if he would ever see this vista again. Its beauty robbed him of breath.
Twelve-thousand-foot Carter Mountain jutted in the air ahead of him. He’d climbed
it countless times with his brothers as each raced to get to the top first. The
boundary of the ranch ran all the way up into the Shoshone National Forest near the
summit where the water drained into the south fork of the Shoshone River. Above the
highest peak, the sky blazed as brilliant a blue as the moisture-filled gaze of the
woman at the parade.
He’d recently left a land of people with dark eyes and hair. In the sun, her hair
swirled ash-blond with a sheen like fine corn silk. The feathery cut brushed her
neckline, a style he decided suited her curvy figure, even though he’d only
glimpsed her for a moment.
She’s a mother and someone else’s wife or significant other, Cody. Forget what you
saw.
Until he got a grip on his PTSD, he wasn’t fit company for himself, let alone a
woman. No female would be thrilled to learn he’d been exposed to a chemical agent
and might possibly be sterile.
Once Walker reached the cozy two-bedroom cabin nestled in the firs at nine-thousand
feet, he jumped down from the cab, startling a white-tailed deer that pranced off
into the pines.
His grandfather Walker, who’d died a year before Walker was born—and for whom he
was named—had built this place in the ’40s to enjoy nature with his family. It
included a loft where the little kids could plop their sleeping bags and pretend
they were camping out. He’d refused to put in electricity, clearly a man after
Walker’s heart.
He remembered his grandmother with affection. Joanne Cody had lived until he was
eight years old. She was the one who’d helped him spot bobwhite quail and track the
raccoons. When the antelope appeared, she’d round him and Jesse up so they could
watch their movement through the binoculars. In the fall she’d point out elk and
mule deer to their delight. The memories continued to bombard him. Ghosts from the
past.
There was still an hour of daylight left. Before he got busy settling in, he took a

long walk around the property to breathe in the remembered essence of his

surroundings. The spruce trees in the front yard had grown taller and fatter. A
family of jackrabbits heard him coming and leaped away, causing him to chuckle. He
couldn’t remember the last time he’d been even slightly amused.
From this altitude, which was more like being in a low-flying aircraft, he could
see 2,500 head of Angus cattle grazing and take in part of the ranch’s layout far
below. The paved roads connecting the barns and arenas formed an interesting
crisscross pattern he’d always found fascinating. With its dozens of outbuildings,
including an airstrip bisecting the property, it resembled a small city. But
dominating it all was the new fifteen-thousand-square-foot ranch house.
Like a pharaoh who’d ordered a pyramid constructed to his glory, his father had
outdone himself. His mother had e-mailed him pictures, but seeing it in person for
the first time left him at a loss for words.
The best he could come up with was that it reminded him of an immense, modern
version of a baronial mountain lodge he’d once seen in Bavaria. Its common rooms
rose in the center three stories beneath timbered beams. Most spectacular were the
huge, diamond-shaped windows. They achieved a geometric amalgamation of dark honeycolored
wood and glass.
With two floors of living quarters including eight bedrooms and an equal number of
bathrooms, his father could assemble the entire family and entertain the world of
rodeo aficionados in a style unequaled anywhere.
What truly impressed Walker were the grounds that had been left natural and
provided the seamless blend between civilization and nature. If the landscaping had
been pretentious, the whole picture would have been ruined.
Beyond his vision on the other side of the spread, fifty thousand acres were
devoted to the natural-gas wells. It all looked perfect and beautiful, a testament
to his father’s incredible savvy as the ultimate rancher and businessman. No one
could do it better. If the first Cody could see how Walker’s father had taken care
of his legacy, the tributes would be unending.
Walker chewed on a piece of sweet, wild grass as the sun slipped behind the
mountain portending the advent of night, the time he dreaded most. Everything
worked because his siblings revered their father and made it work. Every one of
them worked hard and contributed to J.W.’s dream of being the greatest rodeo family
of Wyoming.
Everyone except Walker…
Chapter Two
May 2
“Good morning, ma’am.”
“Good morning.” Paula smiled at the friendly, white-haired man who was probably the
owner of Whittaker’s Tackle and Gift Shop and had to be eighty at least.
“That’s a mighty cute tyke you’re holding.”
“Thank you.”
“Here’s a little pinwheel on a stick for you, feller.” He handed the toy to Clay
who lost interest in the buttons on Paula’s blouse and reached for it. “Now what

can I do for you, young lady?”

She chuckled, not having been called that in a long time. “I’m looking for a gift
that could be used as a paperweight, or maybe a good-luck charm of some kind.
Possibly something in turquoise or another stone?”
Paula had been on her way to the Cottonwood Ranch when she’d seen the shop off the
highway, patriotically bedecked with the Wyoming State flag and the U.S. flag in
various sizes. On a whim, she’d pulled into the parking area.
“Is it for a man or a woman?”
“A man.” An exceptional one in her opinion. That is if she could find him. She
hoped she wasn’t on a wild-goose chase.
“You might want something like this.” He reached inside the counter and brought out
a dark emerald-colored stone attached to a gold chain. It was shaped like a small
leaf. “What you see here is genuine Wyoming jade made by a member of the Eastern
Shoshone Tribe. You wear it around the neck for luck. Is this what you had in
mind?”
It was the color of the stranger’s eyes. She would never forget their unique hue.
In fact she doubted she could reproduce it on canvas. The green would be like the
color of the forest outside this man’s store when the sun’s rays no longer
penetrated.
She noted the reasonable price on the little box before rubbing her thumb over the
smooth surface. Clay tried to grab it with his other hand. “It’s perfect.” So
perfect she couldn’t believe it.
He beamed. “Shall I gift wrap it for you?”
“Please.”
“Gold or silver paper?”
“Gold. Maybe some green ribbon?”
The man nodded. “How come you’re clear out here?” He was a talker, but she didn’t
mind. He reminded her of her grandfather.
“I’m looking for a man who might live out this way.”
“I know everybody in these parts and have outlasted most of them. What’s his name?”
“I wish I knew, but I think he might be a Cody.”
“Ah—you’re talking one of J.W.’s sons. There’ve been Codys in Park County since
1904. They settled the choicest part of the South Fork Valley of the Shoshone.
Cattle, coal mining—you name it, but between you and me they made their big fortune
in natural gas. Nowadays they breed quarter horses.”
Little did the old man know she was well acquainted with the mind-boggling Cody
résumé, but she wouldn’t have dreamed of interrupting him. He sounded like a
publicist for the legendary Codys, whose ancestors had made their indelible mark
here.
“Maybe you didn’t know they’re one of the first rodeo families west of the
Continental Divide. John Walker was a champion until he got his leg stomped on. Now

he has to use a cane. Tough as a buzzard. Keeps those boys of his in line. The

daughter, too.”
If Paula wasn’t mistaken, one of his boys with short-cropped black hair and a lean,
hard-muscled body had prevented a crisis yesterday, but boy was a misnomer. He’d
met her criteria of a real man.
In case she’d been right and the stranger was a Cody, she hoped to meet him for a
few minutes this morning so she’d have a chance to give him this small token in
appreciation for what he’d done. But if she was wrong, she didn’t want to bother
J.W. or his wife, Anne, unnecessarily. She could find out the information she
wanted by inquiring at the ranch office.
“Here you go.” He put the package on the counter. She gave him her credit card.
When the transaction had been made, he slipped the box in a sack and handed it to
her. “Hope you find the Cody you’re looking for.”
“So do I. You’ve been very helpful.”
“That’s what I’m here for. Come back again.”
“You can count on it.”
In another ten minutes Paula turned into the entrance of the Cottonwood Ranch,
passing beneath the giant arch of elk and deer horns. She hadn’t been out here
since late fall, but everything looked just as immaculate and prosperous as before.
New buildings or old, she had to admit it took an iron hand to keep this ranching
empire preserved in such A1 condition year after year. J.W. fit the role of the
quintessential patriarch.
She drove to the parking area in front of the ranch office and turned off the
motor. “Out you come again, Clay.”
Leaving the pinwheel behind, Paula pulled her son from his car seat and looked
around. There were half a dozen cars, trucks and rigs, some with horse trailers,
parked on either side of the gravel drive.
She set Clay down with a kiss in his sweet-smelling blond curls and grasped his
hand. Together they started walking toward the remodeled, log-cabin-style
bunkhouse. After years of being exposed to the elements, the weathered gray wood
formed a dramatic contrast to the backdrop of shiny, green-leafed cottonwood trees.
In the distance she could see the original homestead in the same log-cabin style up
on a rise overlooking the river. More pockets of open-crowned cottonwoods maybe a
hundred feet tall grew in clusters from thick gray trunks along the shore.
The first time Paula had noticed them, her thoughts had flown to the early pioneers
who’d crossed the Great Plains needing the shelter and fuel these trees provided.
She could only imagine their joy at discovering them. Surely the magnificent sight
had inspired the first Cody drawn to this area.
If Paula had lived back then and had come upon this view, she would have said X
marks the spot and immediately put down roots. In her contemplative mood, she
hadn’t realized Clay had stopped to pick up stones, making for slow progress. While
she indulged him, it gave her a chance to concentrate on the rugged landscape
rather than yesterday’s close call that could have been an ugly, painful incident
for her son.
Her gaze took in spectacular spires and pinnacles above sweeps of meadows as far as

the eye could see. If she turned in the other direction she feasted on rolling

[Dalyia]

foothills and forests of evergreens. Snowcapped peaks beyond the Shoshone River
took her breath.
All of it belonged to one family.…
A mix of cowboys was coming in and out the door. Two different men gave her an
assessing glance and tipped their hats to her on the way to their vehicles.
“Morning, ma’am.”
She nodded before lifting Clay in her arms. “Let’s get rid of these, shall we,
little sweetheart?”
After removing the stones from his fists, she carried him up the steps and entered
the reception area of the office with its rustic fireplace. Though she’d been in
here before, she was struck once again by the showy, luxurious Western interior
that demonstrated John Walker’s power and wealth.
A collection of Western landscapes and rodeo paintings all in oils dominated two
walls. Beneath them was a grouping of oxblood leather couches and a huge coffee
table atop a massive buffalo rug.
While she waited to talk to the receptionist seated at the big desk on the other
side of the room, she wandered toward one particular painting that had caught her
eye before. The artist, whose name wasn’t familiar to her, had captured the same
view of the snowcapped peaks Paula had seen after getting out of the car. However,
the painting’s foreground showed a winter scene. There was no hint of the many
summer greens hiding beneath the snow.
She shivered, glad it wasn’t winter.
Her glance darted to the wall behind the receptionist, where she saw a large oil
painting of two people. She hadn’t paid that much attention before, but she did
now. Her gaze narrowed on the plaque beneath it. Mark Cody 1870-1925 and Catherine
Alder Cody 1880-1960.
Alder. Brent’s folks in nearby Garland had neighbors who were Alders. Their
ancestors had emigrated from Germany. This Alder woman in the painting, obviously
the first matriarch of the Cody clan, had brownish-gray hair and looked liked many
of the women of that early period who’d given everything to carve out a life here.
Widowed, she’d lived thirty-five years longer than her husband.
Paula couldn’t help but wonder if the same fate awaited her.
A full black beard and moustache camouflaged a portion of Mark Cody’s strong-boned
features. Probably from England or Wales—she didn’t know for sure—he was a big hulk
of a man who wore a fringed buckskin jacket, reminding her more of a mountain man
than a settler.
She studied him for several minutes, intrigued by the spirit inside him. Few people
had the vision to build a dynasty in this rugged country, an area once populated
more by Plains Indians than the white men who began to intrude on their remarkable
culture.
Clay started to squirm. “Okay, I’ll let you get down.” She lowered him to the floor
and they moved closer to the desk.
“Good morning. Can I help you?”

“I hope so. I’m Paula Olsen and—”

“That name sounds familiar,” she broke in, “but I don’t recall meeting you before.”
“No, we didn’t meet. I was the landscape architect when the Codys built the new
ranch house a few years ago.”
“Of course. You did a wonderful job.”
“Thank you. As a matter of fact I’ll be doing a little more work for Mrs. Cody this
month. She wants me to find her a place where she can plant a garden of bulbs.”
“She loves flowers.”
“Don’t we all.”
“That’s a darling little boy you’ve got.”
Paula smiled. “I’ll keep him. In fact it’s because of him I’m here.” Without
preamble she launched into her story of what had happened at the dog parade the day
before. “I heard a man in the crowd say that it was John Walker’s son who
intervened. I tried to run after him and thank him, but he disappeared.”
“No wonder you’re eager to find him.”
“The trouble is, I never met J.W.’s sons and don’t know his name.”
“Well, it had to be Jesse or one of the twins, Dex or Dusty. At the moment they’re
in Bakersfield at the rodeo stampede. What did he look like?”
“He was lean, maybe six foot three with the same black hair as his ancestor’s in
that painting behind you, but he wore it very short.”
The woman looked puzzled. “That description would fit Walker, but it couldn’t have
been him because he’s in the Marines fighting somewhere in Iraq at the moment. Was
this person heartbreakingly handsome?”
All Paula saw in her mind was a dark, brooding image of a man with secrets. But she
supposed that if he ever smiled, he could be described that way. “He was
attractive,” she murmured.
“Now you’ve got me intrigued. They say everyone has a double.”
Paula closed her eyes for a second. Maybe the receptionist was right. “That must be
the explanation,” she said, yet she didn’t quite believe it. Maybe Walker Cody was
back on American soil and this woman didn’t know about it yet. The man in
yesterday’s crowd had sounded certain the stranger was a Cody.
If he’d been in Iraq, then he’d seen and experienced unspeakable things. She’d
gotten a tiny taste of it during her first phone call from Brent, but in subsequent
calls and e-mails he’d refused to open up to her. It still hurt that he’d
deliberately kept that hellish part of his life apart from her. She’d wanted to
share it with him as they’d shared everything else, but it didn’t happen.
“Sorry I couldn’t have been of more help,” said the receptionist, bringing Paula
back to the present.
“But you were. Thank you for your time.” Other people had entered the office and

were waiting. “Sure.”

After coming all this distance with Clay, Paula was disappointed not to have caught
up with the man, whoever he was, but there was nothing more to be accomplished
here. Right now Clay was getting restless.
As soon as she got back to her apartment, it would be time for his lunch and
afternoon nap. He would need a good one. After he woke up, she and Angie were
taking the children to the park. Later on, Angie’s younger sister, Katy, was going
to tend them while Paula and Angie went to an early movie, their first in ages.
AS HE’D HOPED, WALKER only noticed a handful of people in the Markton cemetery at
five in the afternoon. With his brothers and father in California, he didn’t need
to worry that someone would recognize him.
He’d been one of the pallbearers for his best friend’s funeral six years ago and
knew where to find his grave on the east end. Once he’d seen him buried, Walker had
wanted to put the sorrow of loss behind him and hadn’t revisited the cemetery.
Later on he’d left for officers’ candidate school, so he never saw the marker.
Coming closer to the area in question he spied a light granite stone with the
outline of a rodeo rider on his horse. Troy Anderson Pearsoll, Beloved Son. Beneath
Troy’s name were the dates of his birth and death.
With tears in his eyes, Walker hunkered down and put the jar filled with baby blue
eyes against the marker. A whole hillside of the wildflowers grew at the back of
the cabin. They wouldn’t last long, symbolic of his friend’s life having been cut
short the night of the Cody Roundup. But while he’d been alive, he’d brought color
and excitement to Walker’s life.
“What happened to you wasn’t fair,” he said, hoping Troy could hear him. He
swallowed the sob in his throat. They’d been friends from elementary school on.
A myriad of memories flooded his mind. How many times had he and Troy practiced
their steer wrestling before riding their horses up to the old cabin with a
girlfriend hugging their waists?
They were crazy and cocky back then, and thought they were hot stuff. There were
moments of pure joy, the kind you experienced in those teenage years when you
believed you were immortal. That time would never come again. Thank heaven for
those precious memories.
“I’ve missed you, buddy.”
“I’ve missed you, Captain Cody,” came a gentle voice behind him.
Startled, Walker looked over his shoulder to see Troy’s mother holding a large pot
of yellow mums. “Ruth!” He sprang to his feet.
The dark blonde woman studied him with moist, loving eyes. “I looked forward to
every e-mail you sent, but seeing you here is the best thing that’s happened to me
in six years.”
He took the flowers and placed them next to his before hugging her. She
reciprocated with surprising strength. It was all he could do not to break down.
She wiped her eyes. “When did you leave the hospital?”
“Four days ago.”

“So the Marines won’t be seeing you anymore?”

“No.”
“That’s good. You’re thinner and drawn, but somehow you’re even more handsome. Once
you’re bulldogging again you’ll be better than ever.”
If he thought it would help him get back to some kind of normal, he’d do it. Walker
darted her a brief smile. “And you’re prettier than ever. How’s Leslie?”
“You know my husband. He’s still at work and keeps busy.” Troy’s father owned the
Markton Feed and Grain Store. “We both do now that Lynette’s just had her third
baby. A girl this time.”
“That’s exciting.” If Walker could be thankful for one thing, Troy hadn’t been an
only child. His parents hadn’t lost everything when they’d lost him.
“Your parents must be overjoyed you’re back.”
His body tautened. “They don’t know yet. I’ll call them tomorrow. Jesse’s the only
one I’ve told.”
“You always were closest to your older brother.” Her expression sobered. “Would you
tell me something honestly?”
“Of course.”
“Once a long time ago, Troy overheard his father say something to me that I’ve
regretted and I’m afraid he told you.”
He drew in a deep breath, knowing exactly what it was. “You mean the rumor he heard
floating around the feed store about my dad having had an affair after he and Mom
were married?”
Her face was a study in pain. “Then Troy did tell you. Oh, Walker, I’m so sorry
about that. I’ve suffered over it for years, fearing it colored your thinking about
your dad.” She put her hands on his arms for a brief moment. “Neither Leslie or I
would ever have said or done anything to hurt you. You always will be like another
son to us.”
“I know that, Ruth, and I’m honored by it, but I won’t lie to you. It did affect
me, but only because I’ve had issues with my father from the time I took my first
steps and he insisted I could ride a horse. He had and still does have this dark
side to him that doesn’t allow for weakness in other people. Everything must be his
way. He’s a driven man where the rodeo is concerned. All or nothing.
“One night we had a rousing fight. I told him I didn’t want to enter a certain
bulldogging event because I had plans with Amy for the Riverside High School prom.
He lit into me about letting girls get me off track.
“I was so angry, I took off riding with Troy. While I was spouting my venom for the
hundredth time, poor Troy was trying to help me understand my dad’s psyche. That’s
when he told me about what he’d heard. It shed a whole different light on the
dynamics in my family.”
Ruth looked stricken. “But it was only a rumor.”
“Was it?” he fired at her.

“You mean you’re still not sure one way or the other?”

[Dalyia]

He shook his head. “No. I’ve never discussed it with anyone, but I’ve had six years
away to think about it. There’s definitely something wrong between my parents.
They’re not like you and Leslie. Theirs isn’t an easy relationship even though they
appear devoted to each other. Dad’s so rigid, I have to believe there’s a hidden
reason.”
“I feel terrible about this.”
Walker put an arm around her shoulder. “Please don’t torture yourself about it
anymore. I happen to know neither you or Leslie has a mean bone in your body. Troy
wouldn’t like it to see you this upset over something that wasn’t anyone’s fault.
Life’s too short.”
She sniffed. “You’re right. I’m so glad I saw you. What a coincidence! After
spending the afternoon with my cousin out this way, I decided now would be a good
time to visit.”
He smiled. “It was meant to be.”
“I think so. Thank you for being here to remember him. It means the world to me.
When you find a minute, please drop by the house. Leslie will be thrilled to see
you.”
“I promise I’ll come. You take care.” He kissed her cheek before he left her to
commune with Troy in private.
Walker strode toward his truck in a distinctly different frame of mind than when
he’d driven down from the cabin. The thing about his father that had been festering
deep in his soul for so many years had now erupted into an open wound. By no means
could he ignore it.
Before he left for the cabin, he had one more errand to run in Cody. J. J. Callahan
carried cowboy hats and boots. If he was going to start steer wrestling again, he
needed both. In fact he’d better begin by breaking in a pair tonight.
“WHAT DID YOU THINK of the movie?” Angie asked as they filed out of the theater
onto the street.
“A bit cheesy.”
“What do you mean ‘a bit’?”
They both chuckled. “I don’t mind. It was nice to sit through something for two
hours with no interruptions.”
“Amen.”
They had to walk down to the corner to reach Angie’s car. Before long they’d passed
several storefronts. In the distance Paula glimpsed a tall, lean cowboy in a black
cowboy hat coming out of Callahan’s. He was headed toward a black truck parked
right outside and was obviously in a hurry. There was something about the way he
moved…
Her heart beat faster. “Mr. Cody?” she called to him. He checked his stride to
glance her way. So he was home from Iraq! “Just a minute. Please—”
She darted up to him, noting his dark blue button-down shirt and jeans. He was even

taller in cowboy boots, powerful looking. His five o’clock shadow added a

sensuality to the hard lines of his facial structure, yet he had a gaunt, almost
forbidding appearance that intimidated her. Beneath the rim of his Stetson, his
eyes looked black beneath black brows.
“Y-yesterday you didn’t stay long enough for me to thank you the way I wanted to,”
she stammered like a fool. “If you hadn’t grabbed Clay when you did, I don’t even
want to think about what would have happened.”
“Neither do I,” he muttered in a deep masculine voice that reverberated to her
insides. “I’m glad any injury was averted. Now if you’ll excuse me—”
Before she could take another breath, he’d climbed in the cab with unconscious male
agility and started the powerful engine. In another few seconds he’d backed out and
had taken off. “Whoa.”
She turned to Angie. “Whoa is right. I realize he was in a hurry, but I’m beginning
to get a complex. That’s twice now.”
“It’s not you. Trust me,” her friend assured her, “and I meant ‘whoa’ as in, have
you ever seen anyone as incredible? Drop-dead gorgeous doesn’t even come close.”
That’s what the receptionist at the ranch office had said yesterday, but long, tall
and deadly might be a better description. Unfortunately Paula was too upset by his
swift dismissal to process everything. Maybe his behavior hadn’t been of a personal
nature, but she’d felt very much de trop just now.
They finished walking to Angie’s Honda and got in. With people still returning to
their cars after the film, she was glad they were leaving. Somehow she couldn’t
pass off the incident as nothing.
“Want to talk about it?”
She sucked in her breath. “There’s nothing to say. I got his message. He’s been
thanked and from now on, no more thanks, thank you very much.”
“What about the gift you bought him?”
“Absolutely not. The man made his feelings so clear I’m still reeling. I’ll put the
jade away in a drawer as a gift for someone else one day.”
“I understand.” Paula appreciated Angie not arguing with her. “You worked with J.
W. Cody a few years ago. Do the two of them seem alike?”
She stared blindly out the window. “No, but then his father was probably on his
best behavior around me. I wouldn’t know what he’s really like except that he’s
myopic when it comes to the rodeo. If his son takes after him, then I guess there’s
a dark, primitive side to J.W. I’d just as soon not know about.”
“Primitive? That’s a pretty strong word.”
“That’s how he came across to me tonight.” Yesterday he’d been a hero. Tonight he’d
been…someone else, disturbing her on an elemental level that was unnerving. Was it
something the war had done to him? Would Brent have come home affected in the same
way? She shuddered, needing to put this whole incident out of her mind.
The fourplex where they lived was located on the east side of Cody. They’d left the
west strip, but it was fairly slow going with all the traffic. Paula was anxious to

get home to her son. Right now she needed his sweet, safe, unqualified love.

A sigh came out of Angie. “Don’t dwell on what happened tonight.”
“I won’t. I’ve got to work up a design for the vice president of the Spurling
Natural Gas Company. He wants the grounds around their headquarters relandscaped.
After I put Clay to bed tonight, I’m planning to get busy on it. When I’m immersed,
everything else goes out of my head.”
“Lucky you.”
Worried for her friend, Paula said, “Is your boss still giving you problems?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“She’s threatened by you.”
“I know, but I need a job so I’m trying to keep a low profile. No matter what I do,
it’s wrong.”
“Then you need to find another one, Angie.”
“Actually I’m thinking about going back to college in Laramie to finish up my
nursing degree.”
“Good for you and horrible for me.” They smiled at each other.
“If I can get a student loan, I might do it. As you know, my sister Marla lives
there and would help me out with Danice. I’m going to have to make a decision quick
if I hope to start summer semester.”
“What about Ken?”
“I guess I didn’t tell you he’s got a new girlfriend.”
He’d divorced Angie after getting involved with another woman. It was too pathetic.
“I’m glad you’re starting to think about your life and what’s good for you. I’ll
help out any way I can.”
“You already held me together through my divorce. What would I do without a friend
like you?”
“I was just thinking the same thing about you.” The thought of Angie moving made
Paula’s heart ache. Besides Paula’s family, her friend had been there for her when
Brent had left for Afghanistan. After the military had come to her door, Angie had
seen her through her grief. They’d shared so much. Paula loved Danice.
“What about the Western Art Show in July? Have you started on something for it?”
“Not yet. No inspiration.”
Angie turned to her. “That doesn’t sound like you.”
“I’ve been going through a dry spell. It’s called artist’s block,” she joked.
“It’s called you’re depressed and don’t have anything exciting going on in your
life.”
“I thought we did something pretty exciting tonight and look what happened.”

They pulled up into Angie’s parking stall. “You said you weren’t going to think

about the mysterious Cody son anymore.”
“I’m not.”
“Liar. Something tells me that man has broken a zillion hearts. Be careful he
doesn’t steal yours when you’re not looking.”
“Didn’t you notice? He’s not interested, and mine died.”
Angie undid her seat belt. “One of the most amazing things I learned during my
first year of nursing was the power of the body to regenerate after a loss. My
husband left me, and yours got killed. Our hearts underwent a mighty wallop, but
they’re resilient, Paula. They’re still beating, which makes them vulnerable
again.”
Paula got out of the car. “That’s the last thing I want to be.” The pain of losing
Brent had been too devastating. “Spare me going through all that again. I couldn’t
do it.”
“When I first found out Ken had been unfaithful, I felt like you. But not anymore.
Life was meant to be lived. I intend to live it and not look back.”
“I’m glad you feel that way, Angie. With your positive outlook, I know you’ll meet
someone wonderful.”
She smiled at Paula. “I live in hope. Shall we find out if our little angels are
sleeping?”
They went inside Angie’s apartment. Within ten minutes Paula was back upstairs in
hers. Clay had only wakened for a moment, but the second she put him in his crib he
was out again. After kissing his cheek, she went into the kitchen for a soda.
Too strung up to go to bed yet, she checked her answering machine for messages.
There was one from her mom, another from her brother, Kip, and one from her latest
client.
“Hi, Paula. It’s Matt Spurling. Not having to be in the office this morning has
given me some free time at home. I thought over what you said about there being
three votes before any work goes ahead on the landscaping, mainly yours, mine and a
third party’s. So I sat down with our vice president, Bob Javitz.
“Between the two of us we came up with that wish list you were talking about. You
said to dream all we wanted and have fun making it. That’s what we did.”
Paula had already done the planning for the project with an engineer. But until she
went over Matt’s list, she couldn’t draw up the design.
“I’m wondering what night you’re free. I’d like to take you to dinner and discuss
it with you. Maybe this Friday? Call me at your convenience. I’m looking forward to
working with you. Talk to you later.”
There were working dinner dates and then there were working dinner dates with more
in mind than the business at hand. She was quite sure Matt’s suggestion fell in the
latter category. He was dark blond, good-looking, maybe mid-thirties and divorced.
Nice. Tomorrow she would phone him to make arrangements, but it would be for
business only.
Still unable to settle down, Paula almost wished Clay were awake. She longed to

hold him and sing to him until his eyelids fluttered closed. She needed a reminder

[Dalyia]

of Brent to blot out another image that seemed to have taken over. One that was so
arresting, she found she could hardly catch her breath.
Chapter Three
May 4
Tuesday morning Walker rolled out of bed after another nightmarish night, realizing
he couldn’t put off the call to his mother any longer. It wasn’t fair to Jesse, who
was having to keep Walker’s homecoming a secret from the family.
Before he did that, however, he needed to confirm his Wednesday appointment at
11:00 a.m. at the VA Clinic in Powell. It would only take a half hour to get to the
college town northeast of Markton.
He made some instant coffee before straddling the bench of the pine picnic table on
one side of the kitchen. While he looked out the picture window at the Indian
paintbrush just coming into flower, he made his first call on the cell phone he’d
purchased yesterday in Cody. Only the word Unknown would show up on the caller ID.
The receptionist told him he’d be seeing a Dr. Bader for a psychiatric workup per
the arrangement with his physician at Bethesda. Just hearing that caused him to
break out in another cold sweat.
I’m a nut job!
He slammed down the phone not realizing his strength. It cracked the display and
made a little gouge in the varnished tabletop. When he tried to get a dial tone,
nothing happened.
“Oh hell!”
He shot up from the bench and paced the red linoleum. His hand went to his face,
reminding him it hadn’t seen a razor in a week. He’d looked like the devil the
night the blonde woman from Markton had singled him out in front of Callahan’s. He
looked even worse now. After making his purchases, he’d hurried back to his truck
for fear someone would recognize him and tell the family.
It had shocked him to hear her call out his last name. Ever since that episode,
he’d wondered how she knew. Once again he hadn’t given her the time of day. Guilt
gnawed at him that he’d been forced to be unconscionably rude to her, especially
when he was more troubled than ever by the soulful look in those fabulous blue
eyes.
In his gut he was positive they’d never met before or he would have remembered. You
didn’t forget a face and body like hers. He had no way of knowing if she was a
local, or had come from somewhere else in Wyoming or out of state to vacation or
visit relatives.
She wasn’t wearing a ring. He hadn’t noticed her with a man either time, but that
didn’t mean there wasn’t a husband or a lover in the background. Her little boy was
evidence of that. Walker didn’t like the fact that he couldn’t get her off his
mind. The odds were against him ever seeing her again in passing, so to give her
any more thought was absurd. He had something else pressing on his mind.
With his phone out of commission, he had no choice but to drive down to the ranch
house and get this reunion over with in person. If his father was there, too, so be

it.

He made a bologna-and-cheese sandwich with mayonnaise, consuming it on the way to
the bathroom. A half hour later he emerged clean-shaven from the cabin in his new
cowboy boots. He’d dressed in Wrangler jeans, two sizes smaller than he used to
wear and a long-sleeved navy plaid shirt.
Another month of growing his hair out and he wouldn’t look like the Marine’s poster
boy anymore. A cowboy hat had its uses. He’d always been partial to black. Jesse
preferred white. Walker couldn’t help but wonder if that’s how their father saw his
two oldest boys. No doubt when he discovered his number-two son had been back since
last week without informing them, his estimation of Walker would degenerate to a
new low.
Walker started up the truck and descended to the 7,500-foot level before the dirt
road came out on pavement. He made a left turn and headed for his parents’ ranch
house magnificently situated on an undulating rise. Evergreens spotted the
landscape. Closer now he saw ornamental trees and a profusion of flowers bordering
the emerald grass outside the front entry. Once again he marveled at the perfection
of the landscaping. It was as if the house had sprouted from the earth as naturally
as the flora.
He pulled his truck into the parking area around the side next to a couple of cars
and a new silver Chevy Avalanche. Something told him that was the truck his mother
used to get around the ranch these days. Hopefully it meant she was inside.
His dad never drove anything but a Dodge Ram with the Cottonwood Ranch logo. He
could be anywhere, but was probably at the office. If the family still operated the
way they used to, the front door would be unlocked.
Sure enough it gave when he opened it. The first thing he saw was a larger-thanlife-
size bronze figure of a male rodeo rider on a horse. His father, an example of
human hyperbole, had to have been the one who’d dreamed this up. Walker had already
decided the landscaping was perfect, but the focal point of the massive, slatetiled
foyer was over-the-top.
He walked around it, then paused on the bottom step of the prominent staircase. It
divided two-thirds of the way up to reach the east and west wings of the second
floor. In a quandary, he realized that if he searched for his mother, it would
startle her too much. Rather than ring the doorbell he called out, “Hello? Anyone
home?”
Within seconds the sound of someone running broke the tomblike silence. In
anticipation that it was his mother, his heart pounded harder. Soon the housekeeper
who’d been with the family for years came hurrying out of a hallway behind the
stairs. When she saw him, she came to a standstill. “Walker Cody—”
He smiled at the wiry, brown-haired woman who had a few more streaks of gray since
he’d last seen her. Taking a step, he put an arm around her. “How are you doing,
Barbara? You look well.”
“I’m fine,” she said, giving him a hug back, “but you’re too thin. If your mother
doesn’t know you’re home from the war, you’d better let me go upstairs to the
bedroom and tell her so she won’t have a heart attack.”
“I’ll follow you and wait outside the door.” She nodded before starting up the
stairs ahead of him. “You’ve stayed nice and trim, Barbara. Must be from having to
keep this mammoth place in running order.”

When they reached the east wing she smiled at him. “This house and three others.”

“What do you mean?”
“Well, after your folks moved in here, three of the kids remained at the old
homestead, and then there’s Dusty’s apartment over the barn and of course Tom’s and
my cabin beyond the old arena. These days I have a couple of maids to help.”
There’d been changes.…
She led him along the hallway to the first door that was slightly ajar and tapped
on it.
“Come in, Barbara.” The sound of his mother’s voice took Walker back years. It had
a soothing quality, easy on the ears.
“Are you prepared for company? There’s someone here to see you.”
“You mean someone’s downstairs?”
“Not exactly.”
Walker couldn’t wait any longer before he entered the bedroom. His mother was bent
over the side of the king-size bed where she’d laid out a paper quilt pattern to
stencil onto fabric. She was famous for her homemade quilts. He’d watched her do
this many times before.
Annie Cody, as everyone close to her called her, was a lovely woman, still trim in
her jeans and Western shirt. Her hairdo was the same as before, a chin-length bob
with heavy, forward-swept bangs from a deep side part. The only change he could see
was that the color was more silvery-gray than blond now.
When she raised her head and their eyes met, she let out a heartfelt cry. Dropping
her marking pen, she ran around the bed. He tossed his hat on the nearby table and
met her halfway, picking her up to rock her in his arms.
“Mom…” he murmured, closing his eyes as he breathed in the familiar scent of the
almond lotion she always wore. They hugged for a long time.
“Oh, Walker—” she broke down weeping “—I can’t believe you’re home at last.” She
clasped him harder. “It feels like you’ve been gone forever. Did you already stop
at the office to see your father?”
“No.”
“He’s going to be overjoyed. Tell me this isn’t just a visit. Tell me you’re home
for good.”
“I am.”
“Thank God!”
After he lowered her to the floor, she cupped his face in her hands. “Let me look
at you.” Her concerned blue eyes studied his features. “Even with the weight loss,
you’re still the most handsome thing alive. Thank heaven your life has been spared
to come home to your family.”
“As you know, a couple of my buddies didn’t make it back.”
“But you did!” She hugged him again. “Your room is ready for you down at the end of

the hall. I tried to create your old—”

“Mom?” he interrupted her. “Before we do anything else, I’d like to talk to you for
a minute. Please sit down.”
“All right.” She eased out of his arms. After wiping her eyes, she sat in one of
the chairs near the huge diamond-shaped window. Their bedroom gave out on the same
view he could see from the front of his grandfather’s cabin. Only the elevation was
different. Her hungry gaze examined him.
“Don’t take this wrong, Mom, but I can’t live here. You know that.”
She clasped her hands together. “Because of your father.”
“Because of him, because I’m twenty-eight years old and need a place of my own.
Because I’m no good to anyone right now. For the time being I’m renting Grandpa
Walker’s cabin.”
Surprise broke out on her features. Before she could ask how that had come about he
said, “I called Jesse last week and he set things up for me.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “Jesse knew all this time?”
“I’m sorry. I asked him not to tell anyone until I’d talked to you.”
She sniffed. “I guess I’m not surprised you turned to him, but honey—the cabin’s
off the beaten path.”
“You know I’ve always loved the cabin. I’d rather be there than anywhere. It’s got
propane and the big generator to keep everything running. That’s all I need.”
“But there’s no one to take care of you. After returning from years of being in the
military and all you’ve had to face, you shouldn’t be alone. You need good food and
someone to fix it for you. You need help to get back to your old life!”
“I’m aware of that, Mom.” This was the hard part. “I just don’t know about anything
yet. I’ll be getting therapy at the VA clinic in Powell on a regular basis. For the
time being I can’t tolerate being around other people. I was in a hospital for a
couple of months before I flew home.”
She blanched. “What happened to you?”
“I was injured in an explosion. Nothing serious or I wouldn’t be here.”
His mother looked horrified. “Why have you kept everything to yourself instead of
letting us help you?”
“You couldn’t have done anything. For what it’s worth, the best way you can help me
now is allow me to stay away until I’ve had time to adjust to being back. I get
nightmares and other things.”
“Don’t try to spare me. You can say the words, Walker. You’re suffering from PTSD
and have flashbacks.” The trained nurse in her was talking. “The worst thing you
can do is isolate yourself.”
He grimaced. “Give me time, Mom. Beyond my therapy, I’m doing a little fishing and
hiking until I can figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life.”
“Understood, but don’t you forget the whole family wants to help you. They love

you, Walker.”

“I love them.”
“You’re going to need to talk about what happened to you.”
“I know that, but for a while I have to be on my own.”
“Will you at least let me give a party next week so we can welcome you home? How
about Wednesday night? Just the family? They’ll be here between rodeo events.”
Walker knew it had to happen sometime. “Sure.”
She took a deep breath. “When do you plan to tell your father?”
He shifted his weight. “I was hoping you’d do that for me.”
His mother rose to her feet. “I’ll do it, but I don’t understand why you can’t. If
you only knew how he’s been waiting for you to come home. He loves you and is so
proud of you.”
“Maybe that would be true if I were like the boys and Elly who have his same vision
of things. But as you and I both know, I’m the proverbial black sheep in this
family.”
“That’s not true! I don’t ever want to hear you say that again.”
“Spoken like a mother.”
“Yes,” she fired back. “One who loves you to pieces.”
“I feel the same way about you, but we’ll talk later.” He made a move to leave.
“Wait,” she cried as he reached for his hat.
“What is it?”
“I just remembered something. Doris told me Paula Olsen came by the ranch office on
Sunday looking for you.”
He frowned. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”
“Perhaps you don’t remember my sending you an e-mail about the landscape architect
from EarthDesigns in Cody. She worked with us and the architect while we were
building the house. Doris didn’t tell me until Monday. Paula wanted to thank you
for saving her little boy from being bitten by a dog at the walkathon in Markton on
Saturday. Is that true?”
Stunned by the news that his parents knew the mystery woman so well, he turned
toward his mother. “It wasn’t anything. I just happened to be walking on the
sidewalk when I saw him tumble out of his wagon.”
“Don’t be modest, Walker. It wasn’t a little thing.”
“I wonder how she knew who I was?”
“I have no idea. Doris told her it couldn’t have been you because you were in Iraq.
She suggested Paula had seen your double and Paula left agreeing with her. Now it
all makes sense. Of course she was grateful to you. After losing her husband, who

died in Afghanistan, can you imagine her fright if her son had been bitten?”

[Dalyia]

She was a widow?
“I’m sure she’d appreciate a call from you, but of course that’s up to you.”
“Thanks for telling me, Mom.”
He started to leave, but she grabbed on to him. “Walker… Before you walk out the
door, won’t you tell me what happened to make you push your father away so many
years ago? I’d hoped that when you came home things would be different. There has
to be an underlying reason for this breach. Can’t you bring yourself to confide in
me?”
His mother had finally given him the opening he needed. He looked down at her. “Let
me ask you a question first.” It was time to be up-front. Nothing else would do.
“Anything.”
“Was Dad always faithful to you?”
Rather than a cry of righteous indignation in his father’s defense, or even an
instantaneous answer in the affirmative, the silence that followed Walker’s
question told him everything. Oddly enough, knowing the rumor had turned out to be
true made little difference to him at this point. He’d lived with the possibility
of it far too long.
It was no trick of light that her face suddenly paled and she averted her eyes.
“Where did that come from?”
“If the answer is yes, it doesn’t matter. If the answer is no, it still doesn’t
matter because the person who repeated the rumor to me is dead and buried.”
To hurt the mother he loved without qualification was killing him, but she’d wanted
the truth and so help him, he’d felt she deserved to hear it. Otherwise she’d
always try to fix something that couldn’t be fixed. With no more secrets, they
could live and let live.
“I love you, Mom. Your loyalty to Dad is astounding. As far as I’m concerned you’re
a saint. Don’t ever forget that. You know where to find me.”
“Walker?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t forget Wednesday.”
He’d been positive she was going to say something else, then thought the better of
it. At least his father’s infidelity was no longer a matter of conjecture. That was
something anyway.
“I won’t.” Giving her another hug, he left the house, his thoughts reeling with the
knowledge that the person responsible for the landscaping was none other than the
woman whose image hadn’t left him alone.
Not wanting to run the risk of seeing his father, he took the road back to the
cabin, but once he’d pulled up in front, he didn’t feel like going inside. His
mother’s words still rang in his mind. Paula Olsen’s husband had been killed in
war.

Walker didn’t want to think what her loss must be like. He’d seen Troy and two

Marine buddies die and still felt the impact of those losses. But he hadn’t lost a
spouse. Her grief must be a constant well of pain.
After she’d gone to the trouble to try to thank him, the least he could do was seek
her out and convey his sympathy. He had the strongest premonition that if he put it
off, his psyche would find another reason to give him fits during the long hours of
the night.
Without hesitation he started the engine and headed for Cody, taking the back way
around the property to avoid people. Besides Jesse, Barbara had seen him and now
his mother knew he was home. It wouldn’t be long before the whole family buzzed
with the news.
No doubt his mom was on the phone to his father, apprising him that Walker had
returned. He had no idea if she would include the fact that their son had heard
about the affair his father had covered up all these years. But if she stayed true
to type, and he believed she would, she probably wouldn’t say anything to him.
Though Walker had finally confronted her, he had no desire to discuss it with any
of his siblings in the event they were clueless. In their case ignorance was bliss.
Ruth Pearsoll wasn’t the only one who wished Troy had never overheard the rumor and
repeated it.
“PAULA? MR. CODY FROM the Cottonwood Ranch is here to see you. He doesn’t have an
appointment. What would you like me to tell him?”
Her heart did a swift kick. Did the receptionist mean J.W. or… Except that J.W. had
never come to EarthDesigns. She’d always met him and his wife at the construction
site of their new ranch house.
“Give me five minutes, Louise, then send him in.”
If it was Walker Cody, she’d given up on ever seeing him again. Flustered, she
reached for her purse and reapplied lipstick before giving her hair a quick brush.
It was a coincidence that he’d found her in the office. She’d only come in long
enough to meet with a new client and would be going back to the apartment in a few
minutes.
With Angie home from work today, the two of them were trading off babysitting. When
Paula got home, she would tend the children so her friend had some free time.
She’d barely put her purse back in the drawer when the attractive, disturbing man
who’d filled too many of her thoughts walked in her office. Paula noticed he’d worn
another shirt of mostly dark blue. Navy seemed to be his preference. No sign of a
beard this morning.
As he removed his hat, she realized she’d been caught staring and got to her feet
on unsteady legs. “Mr. Cody? This is a surprise. Won’t you be seated, or are you in
too much of a hurry?” The words had slipped out of their own volition, causing his
facial muscles to tighten.
“I deserved that,” he muttered in a grating voice without making a pretense of
sitting down.
“It was rude of me to remind you,” she apologized.
“I was rude,” he came right back, “but it wasn’t intentional.”

“I—I’m sure it wasn’t.” Her voice faltered. “I take it the receptionist at the

ranch office told you I’d come by to find out if you were the man at the dog
parade.”
He cocked his dark head. “Not directly. My mother was the one who conveyed the
information. The e-mails I received from her while I was overseas contained nothing
but praise for your work on the landscaping. Today I could see why. The monument my
father erected would have failed if the setting hadn’t been perfect. You have a
gift, Mrs. Olsen.”
The loaded statement told her so much she was aghast. One thing was perfectly
clear. Walker Cody wasn’t a man who would bother with a compliment unless he meant
it. “Thank you.”
He studied her through enigmatic eyes. “Forgive me for dropping in without an
appointment and interrupting your work. I’d like a chance to talk to you, but not
here.” Since he wasn’t a client, she didn’t want it to be here, either. “If you’d
give me your phone number, I’ll call you.”
Her pulse quickened. It appeared she was going to get the opportunity to thank him
properly after all. She wrote her cell-phone number on the back of her business
card and handed it to him. He took it without looking at it and slipped it in his
shirt pocket.
“Until later,” he murmured before striding out of her office on those long,
powerful legs.
She sank back down in her chair, drained by a force she’d never come up against
before. In her dazed condition, it shocked her when Louise’s voice sounded through
the speaker.
“Line two for you, Paula. It’s Matt Spurling.”
Who?
She shook her head to clear it. “Thanks, Louise.” She pressed the button and picked
up. “Hello, Matt.”
“Good morning!” For this early in the day, he sounded too excited to talk to her.
“I thought I’d better catch you to remind you about dinner Friday evening.”
“I haven’t forgotten.” Angie’s sister had agreed to babysit again. She was earning
her money for her pep-club uniform in the fall. “I’ll meet you at the Sunset House
at six.” It would probably be her luck that Walker Cody would choose that time to
phone her. “If you have any more items for your wish list, bring them.”
“I will. See you then. I’m looking forward to it,” he added in a quieter voice.
“Designing the right landscape for a client is always exciting for me. See you
then.” She hung up after intentionally keeping the conversation professional.
It wasn’t what he’d wanted to hear, but the truth was, she still felt as if she was
married and Brent was just away on a long trip. Paula’s mother had told her she’d
get over that feeling with time, but Paula couldn’t imagine it, not after the kind
of happy marriage she’d had with Brent.
As for Walker Cody, his appearance at her office had thrown her off balance because
it was so unexpected. By noon she discovered she couldn’t concentrate. Maybe she’d
do better at home. Too full of adrenaline to sit there any longer, she grabbed her

purse, turned off her computer and went out to the front desk. “Louise? I’m headed

for home if Ralph is looking for me.”
The older woman nodded. “I’ll let the boss know. Was Mr. Cody here on business for
his family?”
“Yes,” Paula lied to avoid undue speculation.
“I didn’t know a man that gorgeous was real.”
Neither did Paula. The fact that she’d never heard Louise comment on any man
before, despite the hundreds who’d come through these doors while Paula had worked
here, didn’t help her chaotic emotions. “His parents are attractive people. I would
imagine it runs in their family. See you later.”
Paula hurried out to her Toyota, not wanting to get into a further discussion of
Walker Cody’s looks. Louise had shown a lot of compassion after Brent died, but she
had a tendency to gossip. Around the office, Paula preferred to keep her private
life to herself and intended it to stay that way.
En route to the apartment her cell phone rang. She clicked it on without checking
the caller ID and said hello. Though she doubted it would be Walker this soon after
his visit, her heart rate sped up only to subside when she heard her mother-in-law
on the other end. Alice wanted her and Clay to drive to Garland on Saturday and
spend the day with the family.
Normally Paula would have said yes, but because she didn’t know when Walker would
phone and want to meet, she asked if she could get back to her. After they chatted
for a few more minutes and said goodbye, Paula realized that in putting Alice off
she was behaving exactly like a teenager hung up on a guy.
In those brief seconds when Walker Cody had acted at the dog parade, Paula had to
admit something out of the ordinary had happened to her. With hindsight she
recognized it for what it was. Widow’s hormones. She’d heard about them—the
insidious phenomenon that made fools of women whose baser instincts came out of
hiding during their grief.
Strong physical attraction had a lot to answer for.
It couldn’t be anything else. They’d barely met! Even so, it seemed an
unconscionable betrayal of Brent’s memory. Filled with guilt, she drove faster,
anxious to get home to Clay.
AT THE END OF THE TWO-HOUR appointment on Wednesday, Dr. Bader wrote out a
prescription and handed it to Walker. The mild-mannered psychiatrist, probably in
his fifties, with thinning dark blond hair, had come as a pleasant surprise to him,
probably because he didn’t look like Walker’s idea of the stereotype. “These are
what we call a beta-blocker to cut down on the adrenaline when you sleep. They
should help you get the nine or ten hours you need.”
Walker couldn’t imagine sleeping that long, but at this point he was ready to try
anything.
“I’m here to help you and be your support, but I need to warn you about something.
You may suffer from PTSD for the rest of your life, not to the degree or intensity
you’re experiencing now, but certain memories will stay with you for the rest of
your life.
“The strategies I’ve suggested in this session will eventually help with the number

and severity of your episodes. No smoking, no drinking, no tea, no coffee, no

recreational drugs. Your nervous system and bloodstream need to be a hundred
percent free of chemical agents that automatically set you off.”
Walker nodded. He despised any kind of tea. Drugs and smoking had never been a
problem. Denying himself a beer would be a form of deprivation, but he’d go along
with the doctor for a while. Coffee was another matter. There was no substitute for
it.
“The hiking you’re doing is excellent. Keep it up. You’ve indicated your plan to
get back to the rodeo. That will facilitate your recovery in a big way. The
important thing is consistent exercise that gets your body moving. Don’t forget
five healthy meals a day in portions you can tolerate until you’ve put on the
weight you lost. You ought to explore yoga and meditation. There are several places
in Cody where you can sign up for classes.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Take a chance and try it. You might like it and find it relaxes you. Besides our
weekly sessions on Wednesdays, I’d like you to attend our support group for vets.
We meet on Tuesday and Friday nights. Since you’re living alone, it’s important you
meet often with others going through the same thing so you don’t think you’re the
only freak on the planet.” Bingo.
“Walker, you mentioned you’re close to your older brother. Stay in touch with him
every day. You need that bond with a loved one, even if you’re not ready to open
up. Keep in mind that through him the rest of the family will be helped. By doing
this, you’ll be relieved of a lot of guilt.”
Guilt’s my middle name.
“I’m giving you two drawing tablets and a couple of packs of pastels to get started
on your art therapy. You’ll eventually know if you’d rather draw with something
else like pen or paint, even crayons.
“The point is, always keep one tablet for the cabin and one for your truck because
there’ll be times when you’ll be driving and something will trigger a flashback. It
might be a smell, a noise, an accident of some kind. At that moment you’ll need to
pull off the road to get control of yourself. One of the best ways to do this is to
express what you’re feeling on paper.”
“I’m no good at art.”
“You don’t have to be. No one’s going to judge anything. It’s a form of expression
to release the emotions inside you that you can’t explain or put into words yet.
“When you’re at the cabin and restless, start drawing what you see when you think
of Iraq. Maybe it’s a camel, or a desert, or a house or a native. Then color inside
the outlines to get out your fear, your rage, your helplessness over the women and
children you couldn’t help.”
He felt all those emotions and more.
“Every Wednesday when you come to your appointment I want you to bring these
tablets and we’ll examine what you’ve done. Don’t throw anything away. We’ll walk
through the pictures so your right and left brain can start talking to each other.”
Walker shook his head. “I can’t see doing it.”

“That’s what everyone says until they go through the motions and it begins to take

[Dalyia]

hold. We’ll work on getting you reintegrated so you retain your skills. You need to
become a whole person again and look at every aspect of your personality with
appreciation and respect.”
That would be the day.
Dr. Bader stood up. “We’ve accomplished a lot today. Let me know if you can make
Friday’s session. We start at 7:00 p.m. and quit at nine. Your family, your
brother, or anyone else close to you—a friend or girlfriend—all will be welcome to
join us. It’ll be well worth your time.
“Keep one more thing in mind. Until you’ve decided on a career, the best way to
make use of your time is to give service to any number of organizations or to one
person who could use your individual help.”
“I’ll think about it.” Walker rose to his feet and shook the other man’s hand.
“Thank you for your help, but I’m afraid you’re working with a lost cause.”
The older doctor eyed him compassionately. “That’s what most returning vets say on
their first visit with me. One of my patients came home from Iraq after surviving
an ambush that took out eight of his buddies. In a word, he’s an exploding ball of
hate. But with therapy, he’ll do much better.”
With that sobering revelation, Walker left the clinic needing relief after the
heavy session he’d had with the doctor. Paula Olsen’s image always hovered in the
background of his mind. His first act of service would be to offer his condolences
to the widow whose husband didn’t make it home.
Pulling out the new cell phone he’d been forced to buy, he reached for his wallet
where he’d put her business card. With an urgency that surprised even him, he found
himself calling her.
Chapter Four
May 5
Paula had just put Clay down for his afternoon nap on Wednesday when she heard her
cell phone ring. Every time the music played she wondered, even though she’d
ordered herself not to think.
Tiptoeing out of his room, she hurried to the dining room where she’d left her
phone next to her computer. The caller ID said Unknown, which meant anyone could be
on the other end.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Olsen? Walker Cody here.” His deep male voice penetrated to her insides.
Her pulse raced. “How are you, Mr. Cody?”
“I’ll be better if you call me Walker. After learning you’re on a first-name basis
with my parents, it shouldn’t be that difficult. Mind if I call you Paula?”
She clutched the phone tighter. “No. Of course not.”
“Good. I’ve been in Powell and will be driving into Cody in about ten minutes. If I
came by your office, would you be able to get away for a quick lunch so we could

talk?”

So far she’d discovered him to be a spur-of-the-moment man. Now you see him, now
you don’t. If she wanted to spend even five minutes with him to give him the gift
she’d bought, she needed to act immediately or live to regret her hesitation.
“I didn’t go into the office today. Fortunately for me I do eighty percent of my
work at home so I can be with Clay. Since he’s just gone down for his nap, would
you like to come by my apartment? I was just about to make myself a tuna-fish
sandwich. How does that sound?”
It felt like a lifetime before he said, “I haven’t had one of those in years.”
“I take it that’s a yes. I live in a fourplex on East Oak, number 368, south side
of the street. My apartment is upstairs on the right.”
“I’ll be there shortly.” He clicked off.
Galvanized into action, Paula hurried into the bedroom to change into a fresh
cotton top in a pale pink color with short sleeves. She’d leave on her jeans.
Luckily she’d showered and washed her hair that morning while Clay was still
playing in his crib.
After applying a frosted pink lipstick and running the brush through her hair, she
hurried over to the dresser where the little gift sat in the drawer. She took it to
the kitchen and started fixing lunch. When everything was ready, she set the dropleaf
table with two place mats and put his gift next to his glass.
Paula heard his knock and appreciated the fact that he didn’t ring the bell and
wake up Clay. She knew she was flushed as she walked to the front door and opened
it.
No cowboy hat shielded his cloudy green eyes today. He’d dressed in a gray T-shirt,
jeans and cowboy boots. Paula decided that whatever he wore didn’t matter. It was
the man who captured her attention. Every time.
But no matter how attractive she found him, he wasn’t Brent.
“Come in, Walker.”
“Thank you.” He moved past her, causing their arms to brush. She felt the contact
as if she’d come up against a live wire. Shutting the door, she watched his tall,
lean body move around the living room as he examined the landscapes done in
watercolor covering the walls. They represented years of working at her hobby. None
were framed yet.
She’d signed all of them so there could be no doubt who’d painted them. Brent had
urged her to display them in a gallery, but when she realized he was never coming
home, she lost interest in her artwork and concentrated on her career.
Walker finally turned to her, studying her even more intently than before. “With
talent like yours, you could pretty much do anything. For the sake of my father’s
geometric monolith, I’m glad you went for a degree in landscape architecture.”
A chuckle escaped. “So am I. Designing something for your parents was an exciting
challenge.”
In a deft move he reached for the framed, eight-by-ten photograph of Brent propped
on one of the end tables. She’d taken it while he’d been dressed in his army
fatigues before being deployed. His gentle smile and dancing blue eyes followed her

wherever she walked.

“America’s finest,” Walker muttered before putting it back on the table. He turned
to her with a haunted look marring his striking features. “Mother told me he was
killed in Afghanistan.”
She nodded, dry-eyed. “Time has helped me get over the worst of it.”
“The hell it has,” he challenged, rubbing his chest absently as if he needed to do
something with his hands. His eyes looked savage. “The spouse of a fallen soldier
suffers trauma no one who hasn’t been there can begin to understand.”
He’d bludgeoned through to the truth so fast, she gasped and turned away from him.
“I’ve said too much.” His voice grated in self-abnegation.
The next thing she knew he’d bolted for the entry. She couldn’t let him go. Acting
on pure instinct, she placed herself between him and the door. “You didn’t offend
me, soldier,” she said in a stern voice. His tormented face was only inches from
hers. “In fact you’re the only person I’ve met with the guts to call it the way it
is. Don’t leave…”
They stood there like two out-of-control combatants trying to catch their breath
while they regrouped. He backed away from her as though he’d been stung.
“I’m not safe to be around,” he whispered in a deadly tone.
“Why? Because you’re honest?”
His jaw hardened like a piece of granite.
Paula had to think fast before he disappeared and never came back. “Clay’s all I
have left of Brent. I’m grateful the warrior in you came out on Saturday. Before I
could grab for him, you snatched him away from danger.” She smiled. “You were
awesome.”
Maybe she was getting through to him because the wild look slowly left his eyes.
“On the phone you said you wanted to talk to me.”
He shifted his weight. “Actually, I thought you might want to talk to me. When my
mother told me you’d lost your husband in Afghanistan, I was reminded of the wives
of two buddies in my unit who were killed in Iraq. They needed to talk to someone
who’d been there.
“I may not have known your husband, but we all faced a common enemy under similar
circumstances. If you’re like their wives, then you need someone to scream at, or
to cry to. I wanted you to know I’m available.”
“Thank you. That means more to me than you could know. Eighteen months ago I would
have taken you up on your offer. My initial rage has passed, but just knowing
you’ve been to war like Brent makes it easier for me to be myself around you.” And
more wary of your incredible appeal. “I don’t know about you, but I need to eat.”
Paula started walking toward the dining room that led to the kitchen. It reminded
her of the time when she was ten years old and her father had given her a new pony.
She’d used every trick to get it to follow her. In the end she just walked away,
and then the miracle happened.
The next time she looked, he was standing next to the high chair and taking up most

of the space in her tiny kitchen. Relieved he’d made it this far, she filled their

plates with sandwiches and potato chips and put them on the table. “Please sit
down.”
She waited until he did her bidding. “What’s your preference? Tea? Coffee? Water?
Juice? Milk? Chocolate milk?”
His black brows lifted in surprise. “You actually have chocolate milk?”
Aha. “Clay likes it. Of course I only give it to him once in a while. Today’s your
lucky day, Walker Cody.” She pulled the carton from the fridge and poured them both
a glass before sitting down.
On a whim she lifted hers in his direction. “To a brighter future.” As she took a
sip, he flashed her an inscrutable glance before he drank the entire contents of
the glass in one go.
He proved far too fascinating for her peace of mind. She took a bite of her
sandwich while he devoured his. It amazed her they’d made it this far and he was
still here in her apartment. “Maybe my toast was premature and you’re only home on
leave.”
After a moment he said, “I resigned my commission. Right now I’m living in my
grandfather’s cabin on the ranch.”
So he wouldn’t be going back.… The news shouldn’t have mattered to her, but it did.
She wondered why he’d gotten out of the service, but she’d never know unless he
volunteered that information.
She watched his gaze drop to the package. “I’ll always be grateful for what you did
for Clay. There’s no way to repay you, but I bought you a little gift anyway.
Please…open it.”
Wordlessly, Walker reached for the box and undid the wrapping. After removing the
lid, he drew out the stone.
“It’s a good-luck charm of Wyoming jade made by the Eastern Shoshone tribe. Your
presence brought Clay luck. I’m hoping the charm will do the same for you.”
When he lifted black-lashed eyes to her, they reflected the deep green hue of her
present. “I’ve never worn jewelry. This will be a first. Will you put it on me?”
Her lungs constricted. When she’d bought it, she’d hoped he might wear it
sometimes, but she never imagined doing the honors. Getting up from the table, she
walked around and took it from his hand. There was an intimacy in the process of
fastening the chain around his neck.
As she struggled with the catch, her fingers brushed his skin. He was such a
beautiful man, her awareness of him was almost overpowering. “There.”
Paula quickly moved to the counter and put some cookies on a plate, which she
brought to the table. She didn’t dare look at him for fear he would be able to tell
how affected she was by what had just happened.
How could she be this strongly attracted to him when Brent had been her whole
world? She despised this unexpected weakness in herself. “If I’d had enough time, I
would have made a pie or something,” she added lamely.
He bit into a cookie, then ate half a dozen. “I haven’t had an Oreo in at least six

years. Between these and the delicious lunch, you’ve put me in touch with some

happy memories. When I left the VA clinic earlier today, I didn’t know that was
possible.”
That’s why he’d been in Powell. She was glad to hear he was getting help. If Brent
had made it home, that’s probably where he would be getting therapy, too.
“Watching you drink your chocolate milk will be a happy memory for me,” she
confessed. For the first time since she’d known him, he smiled.
Was this person heartbreakingly handsome? the receptionist at the ranch office had
asked.
Right now Paula couldn’t find the words.
Too soon the moment was gone. “I think I can hear your little boy.” He got to his
feet, signaling he was about to leave. She realized she didn’t want him to go, but
what he chose to do or not to do was out of her hands. The war had taught him how
to survive. Now he was a man in flight from himself.
After clearing the table, he paused in the doorway. “Thank you for the gift and for
putting up with me.” He darted her an oblique glance. Then like a gust of wind that
had blown itself out, he disappeared.
BEFORE WALKER LEFT CODY, he stopped at a local supermarket and picked up a couple
of half gallons of chocolate milk. It could never replace coffee, but nothing had
tasted so good to him in ages.
On the way back to the ranch Walker found himself feeling the smoothness of the
jade piece several times where it rested against his chest. He didn’t need the dime
anymore. The talisman Paula had given him would serve much better. When she’d hung
the chain around his neck, he’d felt the warmth from her body seep into him,
bringing his senses to life.
In that moment while her fingers brushed against his skin as she fastened the
clasp, he forgot she was still in mourning for her dead husband. All he knew was an
overwhelming awareness of her femininity and his susceptibility to her touch. If he
hadn’t picked up the sound of her boy making noises, he might have grasped her
hands and pulled her arms around his neck in order to feel more of her. How
terrifying would that have been for her?
Throughout his military career Walker had enjoyed relationships with his share of
available women, most recently a nurse at the hospital. But knowing they could
never mean anything more to him when his roots were in Wyoming, he’d only seen them
as distractions.
Paula Olsen came from another category altogether. She was a widow who was
emotionally unavailable since burying her soldier husband. He’d seen the signs in
his buddies’ wives. This former wife had a son to raise. Her husband’s son.
Any man wanting to get involved with her would have to deal with the ghost between
them. Walker wasn’t that man, particularly not when he was damaged goods.
Yet this out-of-control stranger had wanted to turn around and go back to her
apartment because there’d been moments with her when he’d escaped from himself.
Ironic that for a precious few seconds she’d made him feel safe when no place was
safe. Explain that if you can, Dr. Bader.

His shrink had told him to stay in touch with Jesse every day. It put a lot of

[Dalyia]

responsibility on his brother. Too much. He’d set up Jesse to be the go-to person
in the family for information. How fair was that?
Rather than engage him in conversation, Walker would go back to the cabin and email
him, letting him know he’d gone to Powell for his appointment. That would
appease Jesse’s fears.
As long as Walker was at it, he’d e-mail Dr. Bader and tell him he’d decided to be
at the support group Friday night. If he were honest with himself, it wasn’t a
meeting he was looking forward to, but he knew he had to try and cope now that he
was home.
ON FRIDAY EVENING PAULA let herself in the apartment and made a beeline for Clay,
who was moving around on his sturdy legs from the chair to the couch. She plucked
him from the floor and kissed him.
Katy got up from the couch. “He’s so cute. I just love him.”
“So do I. Thanks so much for sitting.”
“I’m glad to do it.”
Paula reached in her purse to pay her. “How did things go?”
“Just fine. He ate part of a banana and some Cheerios.”
“You’re such a big boy.” She kissed her son again while she walked Katy to the
door.
“Oh—I forgot. Soon after you left, someone rang your doorbell, but I didn’t answer
it.”
“Smart girl.”
“When I looked out the window, I saw this really hot guy get in a black truck and
drive away.”
Walker.
To her chagrin, her heart pounded off the charts. “It sounds like it was Mr. Cody
from the Cottonwood Ranch where I’m still doing some landscaping,” she said,
attempting to sound businesslike. “He knows my number and can call me.”
The rational part of her decided it was better that he’d come while she’d been at
dinner with Matt Spurling. It was better for her peace of mind that the man who’d
dominated her thoughts had come by the apartment while she was gone.
Her client had asked her out for next Friday night, but she’d told him she would be
in Garland with her in-laws. On the drive home from the restaurant, he’d warned her
he wasn’t giving up.
“Well, I guess I’ll head out,” Katy commented, bringing Paula back to the present.
“See ya.”
“Be careful driving home.”
“Don’t worry.”

After she left, Paula gave Clay his bath and put him to bed with a bottle. She was

glad Matt had given her his wish list. It provided her with plenty to do to keep
her mind occupied, but by ten after nine she gave up trying to concentrate and
decided to go to bed with a good book.
When Walker had left her apartment the other day, she’d wondered if she would ever
see him again. Though part of her thrilled to hear that he’d come by this evening,
another part of her knew it was better to stay away from him.
Paula had been married to the love of her life and had lost him. She had no
interest in getting involved with someone else and going through that again. And
she had Clay to think about. Whatever reason had brought Walker to her door this
evening, she told herself she was glad she hadn’t been here.
No sooner had she turned down the covers than her cell phone rang. In case it was
Walker, she waited until the third ring in order to sound composed. “Hello?”
“Paula? It’s Walker.” Her breath caught without her volition. “I know it’s late,
but since you weren’t home earlier, I thought I’d take a chance you were still up.”
“I just got back from dinner.” He didn’t need to know it was for business with a
client. It would be better if she didn’t explain anything.
“Then you’ve had a long day. Under the circumstances I won’t keep you. I came by
earlier on my way to Powell for a group-therapy session with my psychiatrist. On
Wednesday he gave me an assignment, but I didn’t know where to start. Do you know
anything about art therapy?”
Actually she did.
But she’d already had the talk with herself about the dangers of widowhood and her
powerful physical attraction to Walker. Despite the fact that she’d been the one to
start all this in order to thank him, she couldn’t allow anything else to go on or
she might start to care about him. He had baggage. So did she. She didn’t want to
deal with it or him, not when she would always love Brent. Already her guilt for
fantasizing about Walker was eating at her.
Clearing her throat she said, “No one needs pointers for that as I’m sure you found
out tonight. I hope the session went well for you, Walker.”
A caustic laugh came through the phone. “Forgive me for disturbing you. Good
night.”
Her eyes closed tightly. Wrong thing to say to him. He’d just come from therapy. If
Walker had needed to share some of his war experiences and had decided to seek her
out, then she’d just shut him down.
As the line went dead, Paula clapped a hand over her mouth. What had she done?
FEELING AS THOUGH SOMEONE had thrown a double punch to his gut, Walker turned on
his laptop and saw that Jesse had e-mailed him back. He leaned over the kitchen
table to read it.
Hey, bro. I’m glad you’ve got a place to go in Powell where you can be with guys
who understand you. I probably know you better than anyone, but I realize none of
us at home can know the kind of hell you’ve lived through.
Everyone’s dying to see you. I’ve told them you need your space, but I won’t lie to
you. Dad’s having a hard time waiting for you to come to him. I realize that

couldn’t be news to you. I’m just preparing you for next Wednesday night’s dinner.

I’ve caught Mom crying twice when she didn’t know I was watching her. When they
decorated the new house, she took special pains to make sure your room was exactly
the way you’d want it. I could have told her she was wasting her time, but I didn’t
have the heart.
I’m not trying to lay a guilt trip on you. One thing I do know about a returning
vet, only straight talk counts for anything, so that’s what you’ll always get from
me. Love ya, bud.
Walker groaned before sending him a reply.
Love you, too, Jesse. You’re the best.
He moved over to the sink and took his pill with the last of his chocolate milk.
Stan, one of the vets from nearby Ralston who’d also had an appointment with Dr.
Bader, suggested he try hot, sugar-free Tang as a replacement for coffee. He’d been
home six months and it worked for him. Tonight when the session was over, Walker
had picked some up at the store and would try it in the morning.
After brushing his teeth, he got ready for bed and turned off the lantern. It was a
beautiful night. The stars would be out soon. He settled back against the pillow
with one arm behind his head. His other hand went to the jade piece at his throat.
He fingered it for a long time, willing it to bring him a modicum of peace, but not
believing it.
You’re not in Iraq, Cody. You’re back on the mountain among all that’s familiar, so
why in the hell do you feel like a child whose nose is pressed against the glass,
looking inside at a world you don’t feel a part of? How could that be when this was
the only world he wanted?
His turmoil grew more acute because he knew if he didn’t integrate here, then he
belonged nowhere. The cold sweat he dreaded broke out on his body. He threw off the
covers, allowing his skin to breathe until he knew nothing more.
Saturday came. He hiked until he was ready to drop in the hope he’d pass out when
he went to bed. It might have worked, but a rainstorm came up during the night.
Around four in the morning a series of thunderclaps brought on a flashback. He flew
into the living room breathing like a crazed animal before he realized he was in
the cabin, alone and safe.
This latest flashback pretty well shattered any fantasy he might have had about
bringing Paula Olsen up here. All she had to do was witness one and it would shock
the hell out of her. After last night’s fiasco of a phone conversation, the best
thing to do where she was concerned was go cold turkey and never see her again.
While he was at war with his emotions, he heard a noise. One of the shutters on the
other bedroom window was banging. The wind must have pried it loose. He got dressed
and lit a lantern while he hunted for some tools. Then he went outside to take a
look at the damage.
The storm had baptized the earth. Right after it rained, the smell of lupines and
baby blue eyes was particularly strong. As he breathed in the fragrance, family
memories assailed him from the most heartwarming to the most bittersweet, bringing
his thoughts full circle to that black moment when the legs had been cut out from
under him.
Just the possibility that Walker’s father had been unfaithful to his mother had

been so incomprehensible to him, so shattering, he’d been driven to leave the

ranch. The instinctive need to lose himself had prompted him to join the military.
Jesse had begged him not to go, but he didn’t understand the agony Walker had been
in, and Walker couldn’t tell him. He couldn’t tell anybody. Jesse had assumed
Troy’s death had been at the root of his unrest, and Walker had let him think it.
The disappointment in his father if the rumor were true had created a demon that
had gotten a stranglehold on him. It was the same demon that had worked on him
during the war. Hearing the truth from his mother had torn him up all over again.
Using more force than necessary to make certain the hinge on the shutter was
secure, he drilled some holes and drove in new screws, then he went back in the
cabin for a shower and shave. After Walker got dressed in clean jeans and a Tshirt,
he made himself some Tang. It was tolerable. He couldn’t see it becoming a
habit, but for now it would do.
Dr. Bader had spoken the truth. If you went home and dwelled on the things you
couldn’t change, you could plan to die emotionally. It was your choice if you
wanted to live in the here and now.
For Walker to do that, he had to figure out where to start. Getting back to the
rodeo was something familiar. It would feel good to get on a horse and see if he
still had what it took to throw a steer, but that couldn’t be the whole of it.
Remembering an idea he’d had in college that had caused him to switch from mining
to natural-gas engineering, he got in his truck at sunup and took a drive to the
other side of the ranch. When he reached the gas wells, he parked off road and got
out to walk around.
The Cody family depended to a great extent on the revenue from these wells. They’d
been doing their efficient job for a long time, but he’d done measurements with an
expert as part of his senior-year project and learned that one day soon, the supply
of natural gas in this field would be exhausted.
When that time came, their family needed to have plan B already in the works if
they hoped to continue the lifestyle to which they’d become accustomed.
His brain teeming with ideas his father wouldn’t find of value, Walker eventually
got back in the truck and drove the length of the field to the untouched rangeland
beyond. He sat there for a long time gazing out at the landscape, wondering what
lay beneath it. Eventually hunger broke his concentration, forcing him to drive
back to the cabin.
One good thing: his appetite had returned. Dr. Bader’s list of dos and don’ts was
working. The only thing it didn’t have on the don’t side Walker had already figured
out for himself.
Don’t let Paula Olsen into your life.
“LOOK AT ME, CLAY,” the photographer called out, dangling a cute little duck in his
hand. “Give me a smile.”
Clay wouldn’t look up even when the man made it quack. Paula groaned. When she and
Angie had decided to meet at Wal-Mart after work to get pictures taken of the kids,
she’d thought it was a good idea, but the place was crowded and Clay refused to
cooperate. It was a shame because he looked so adorable in his new turquoise-andwhite
shirt and shorts with the fish on them.

She shot Angie a vexed glance. “How come Danice was an absolute angel through the

whole shoot?” Other mothers were standing in line with their toddlers, anxious to
get their pictures taken.
Her friend laughed. “They sure pick their days.”
“Well this one has already done me in.” She kissed Clay. “Come on, sweetheart. Just
a little smile for me?”
“I have an idea,” the photographer said. “Hold him while I get something out of the
back room. This usually does the trick when all else fails.”
She and Angie exchanged amused glances while Clay kept pressing kisses to her face.
Within seconds the man returned with a black bear bigger than her son, the kind
sold in every tourist trap throughout the state.
“Here we go! With Mommy’s help you can ride him.”
Clay took one look at it and let out a terrified shriek. Suddenly he was hysterical
and tried to bury his face in her neck. His little heart was beating triple time.
He clutched her so hard she didn’t think the skin on her shoulder beneath her
blouse would ever be the same.
“Sorry,” the photographer muttered, looking helpless.
By now everyone in the store assumed she was abusing her child. “It’s not your
fault.” She turned to Angie in panic. “I’m taking him home.”
“As soon as I pay for Danice’s picture, I’ll see you back at the apartment.” Paula
nodded.
“It’s all right, sweetheart. It’s all right,” she murmured as she hurried down the
aisle to the entrance with her screaming child. Once outside, she practically ran
through the parking lot toward her car. She had some treats and a bottle in her
baby bag.
Footsteps were gaining on her. “Paula? What can I do to help?”
Her heart gave a loud thump. Walker? What were the chances of him showing up in
time for another crisis with Clay?
“If you would open the passenger door for me, I’ll let him sit with me for a minute
until I can get him calmed down.”
As soon as she sat with her jean-clad legs still outside the car, Walker hunkered
down in front of her and removed the gold chain from his neck. Without saying a
word to Clay, he swung the jade piece back and forth until he captured her son’s
attention.
In another minute the tears stopped gushing down his blotchy red cheeks. It was
like a miracle. His breath caught several times and pretty soon his little hand let
go of her upper arm and he reached for it.
“You like that?” The second Walker asked the question in a velvety voice, Clay put
it to his mouth and bit on it. A deep chuckle rose from Walker’s throat. It
resonated to every cell of Paula’s body.
She looked at him in awe. “I’m impressed.”

His sober gaze flicked to hers. “I don’t know much about children, but I’ve been