A Cowboy's Courage (The McGavin Brothers Book 5) Read online

  A Cowboy’s Courage

  The McGavin Brothers

  Vicki Lewis Thompson

  A COWBOY’S COURAGE

  Copyright © 2017 by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  ISBN: 978-1-946759-18-4

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Ocean Dance Press, PO Box 69901, Oro Valley AZ 85737

  Cover art by Kristin Bryant

  Visit the author’s website: VickiLewisThompson.com

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  But Wait, There’s More!

  Also by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Trevor McGavin parked his truck in front of what used to be the Campbell house but now belonged to Olivia Shaw. The outside looked about the way he remembered it from years ago. The screened-in front porch had been freshly painted but it was the same shade of brown.

  Grabbing a carton of eggs from the passenger seat, he climbed out and walked through a patch of wild grass that crunched under his boots. Out of habit he pushed back his hat and glanced up. Not a cloud in sight. Damn.

  Southwestern Montana desperately needed rain, but the October sky was an unrelenting blue. As a backdrop for red, yellow and orange leaves, it was a stunner. A hard downpour would end that display, but Trevor had spent the past two months training as a volunteer with the Eagles Nest Fire Department. He and his buddies at the station would gladly trade fall color for a gully washer.

  He took the cement walk to the porch. The hinges on the screen door squeaked. As a kid, he hadn’t noticed things like that. Now he had the urge to grab a can of WD-40 and fix it.

  He almost expected to see toy trucks strewn around. He and Bryce had gone to school with Jeremy Campbell and they’d spent a good bit of time out on the porch playing with their trucks. The redwood furniture was the same but the cushions were different.

  Olivia must have heard him coming because she opened the front door before he could knock. “You brought eggs from Kendra!”

  He tugged on the brim of his hat. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “On top of you fixing my drywall, too. That’s above and beyond. Thank you, Trevor.”

  “Mom’s enamored of those chickens. She feels obliged to spread the wealth.”

  “I appreciate it.” She took the eggs and ushered him inside. “Fresh eggs are a luxury.”

  “That’s what Mom says.” Olivia looked different, although she had on her glasses and wore her long, dark hair pulled back with a clip like he normally saw it.

  But whenever she came to Wild Creek Ranch she dressed in a blouse and skirt that made her appear businesslike. Then again, accountants were supposed to project that image, right? Otherwise people wouldn’t trust them to sort out their finances.

  Evidently when Olivia was off-duty she preferred jeans and a sweater. The moss-colored knit fabric draped her breasts in a way he shouldn’t be noticing. Besides being the McGavin family accountant, she was the least flirtatious woman he’d ever met.

  His mom believed it was because she’d lost her soulmate. Although it had been three years since Edward’s death, she likely wasn’t over it and might never be. Trevor had met the guy a few times and had liked him. Ogling his widow when she showed zero interest was just wrong.

  Better to focus on the house. The outside might look the same, but the inside sure didn’t. Before the dominant color had been beige. That had been replaced with bright colors and lots of plants. The place even smelled different, like citrus.

  He glanced around. “Are you burning a scented candle?” After his firefighting training, he was less tolerant of lit candles.

  “It’s a diffuser.” She pointed to where it sat on a side table.

  He grinned. “Let me guess. You bought one after getting a massage from April.”

  “I did.”

  “I swear half the town is diffusing essential oils these days thanks to her. Not that I object. They’re safer than candles.”

  “That’s what I decided.”

  “I just think it’s funny that everywhere I go, there’s a diffuser.”

  “I love mine. Let me put the eggs in the fridge and then I’ll show you the wall.”

  “Sure. No rush. I don’t have anything else going on this afternoon.”

  “And lucky you,” she called over her shoulder as she went into the kitchen, “you get to do a maintenance chore for me instead of relaxing with a beer.”

  “Happy to do it.” Until recently he and his brothers had used any spare time to work on the second barn at Wild Creek Ranch, but that was finished. Between firehouse duty, his job with Paladin Construction and the barn project, his days had been packed.

  He’d joked with his mom that he didn’t know what to do with a free Saturday afternoon. She’d promptly sent him over to repair Olivia’s wall. That would teach him.

  But it was okay. Olivia was always looking for ways to keep the ranch from paying too much in taxes. His mom adored her.

  “I hope this won’t take too much of your time.” She reappeared and started down the hall. “The hole’s not very big. It’s in my bedroom.”

  As he followed her, he glanced into the room that used to be Jeremy’s. It was an office now. The house seemed a lot smaller than it had when he was a kid. “Didn’t there used to be three bedrooms?”

  “There were. We took out the wall between the third one and the master so we could have a master suite. Did you know the Campbells?”

  “Bryce and I are the same age as their son. We used to hang out with him.”

  “They seem like nice people.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You have beautiful cowboy manners, Trevor, but the way you call me ma’am makes me feel ancient.”

  “Sorry, I just—”

  “I know. Kendra taught all her boys to be polite. I love that.” She walked into the room and turned to face him. “But how about calling me Olivia?”

  Simple request. But it knocked him off kilter and gave him ideas he likely shouldn’t be entertaining. “I can do that.”

  “Thank you.” She pointed to an inside wall. “The damage is over there.”

  “Huh.” He crossed to a hole that could have been made by a short guy putting his fist through it. He’d bet the keys to his work truck that wasn’t the explanation. “If you don’t mind my asking, how did this happen?”

  “I kicked it.”

  Dumbfounded, he turned to her. “While you were doing what, exactly?”

  “Practicing my kickboxing.”

  “Kickboxing.”

  “It’s great exercise.”

  That would explain how toned she looked under the jeans and
sweater. “I’ve never seen it done so I’ll take your word for it. They teach kickboxing classes somewhere in Eagles Nest?”

  “No. I drive to Bozeman once a week and practice at home in between lessons. I was really into it one night and I misjudged how close I was to the wall.”

  “Did you hurt your foot?”

  “Fortunately not. I was wearing running shoes with a thick sole.”

  “That’s good.” He would love her to recreate the scene for him but figured asking was inappropriate. “Is it anything like karate?”

  “Somewhat.”

  “Then it’s probably good for self-defense.”

  “It could be, I guess.”

  “Then I can see why you’d want to learn something like that since you live alone.”

  She smiled. “This is Eagles Nest. One of the reasons Edward and I moved here was the incredibly low crime rate. For two people born and raised in Chicago, it was a big selling point.”

  “So you only do it for exercise?” He wasn’t buying it.

  “Well, that and for…anger management.”

  “Seriously?” He nudged back his hat. “I can’t imagine you needing such a thing.”

  “Me, either, which is why I didn’t recognize an emotion like rage. It was so unlike me. Then one night in the kitchen I started screaming and smashing dishes.”

  “I’m having so much trouble picturing this. You’re—”

  “Quiet? Reserved?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I used to be very quiet, but after Edward died my outward calm was an act. Inwardly I was furious. It wasn’t fair. I was mad at him, mad at the world, mad at the doctors who’d failed to save him.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, that makes sense. It wasn’t fair. He was too young.”

  “Exactly. Kendra’s the only person I ever told about my meltdown and she suggested I start doing something physical, preferably where I’d get to pound on things. Kickboxing lets me do that.”

  He glanced at the hole in the wall. “Are you still angry?”

  “No, thank goodness. The kickboxing worked great and once I faced what was wrong with me, I got some counseling. This truly was an accident. I didn’t go into a rage and kick the wall in.”

  “Good to know.”

  “How long will it take to fix it?”

  “Not long. Less than an hour. I’ll get my stuff from the truck.”

  “I told Kendra I’d pay you.”

  He shook his head. “No, ma—” He cleared his throat. “No, Olivia.” He liked saying her name. It wasn’t one he came across every day. “I’m grateful for the outstanding job you do for Mom and the ranch.”

  “She pays me for that so I should pay you for this.”

  “Still not taking it. Be right back.” He touched the brim of his hat and left the room.

  Whew. Olivia was nothing like the cool, collected accountant he’d pegged her as. Smashing dishes. Kickboxing. His mom could have warned him.

  But no, she wouldn’t have. His mom had received that information in confidence. He wouldn’t go blabbing it, either, and he was kind of flattered that Olivia had entrusted him with it.

  Then again, she had a hole in her wall and she might have decided telling the truth about it was her best option. She wouldn’t have had to add the part about anger management, though. Or smashing dishes because she was furious that her young husband had up and died on her.

  But she’d been open with him and he was more motivated than ever to give her a nice repair job. After strapping on his tool belt and hauling his toolbox out of the truck, he loaded his other supplies into a plastic tote and carried both back to the house.

  She was at the door and held it for him. “I really appreciate this. I’ve looked at that stupid hole for two weeks and it bothers me. The rest of the room is beautiful, but the hole just ruins it.”

  “It’ll be gone as of today.” He followed her down the hall. This time he was more aware that they were headed into her bedroom. Before he’d been too distracted by their conversation to take much note of the space other than the damaged wall. Did she have a picture of her late husband on a nightstand? He’d look.

  “I got out the paint just now, but I’ll handle that after you’ve finished the patch. It probably has to dry for a while.”

  “Not as much as you might think. I brought a fast-working compound and if you have a hair dryer, we can get the whole thing done, paint and all.”

  “With all this hair, you know I have a hair dryer.”

  Now that she’d mentioned it, he paid more attention to the luxurious hair captured by a silver clip. It hung in glossy waves nearly to her waist and rippled with each step she took. Hair that long took a while to grow. Three years?

  A paint can and brush sat beside the wall. “Lucky you still have the same batch.”

  “I was pretty sure I did. I repainted about six months ago when I redecorated the bedroom.”

  “Ah.” That made the project less creepy. He shouldn’t care if the room looked the way it had when she’d shared it with her late husband. But he was more willing to admire the color scheme if it was new.

  Setting down his toolbox and his materials on the hardwood floor, he took a quick look around. The walls were a warm pink that picked up the dominant color in a large abstract piece of artwork hanging over the bed.

  He’d never understood pictures that didn’t look like anything specific, but this one drew him in for some reason. For want of a better word, he’d say it was arousing. The curtains and bedding were ivory, and she’d added some throw pillows to the bed in various shades of pink. No picture of Edward anywhere.

  He turned to her. “You did a great job.”

  “It’s super girly.”

  “I wouldn’t say that. I think of girly as ruffles and lace everywhere. I’d call this womanly.”

  “Hm.” She glanced around. “I like that.”

  “I forgot a drop cloth to protect your floor. I have one in the truck.” He started out the door.

  “Never mind. I have one you can use. I’ll get it.”

  “Thanks.” After she left he crouched down to see if the paint color had a name. Most of them did these days and this shade was unfamiliar to him. Turned out it was called Eros.

  Standing, he gazed at the shades of pink in the picture hanging over the bed. Even though abstract art didn’t have to represent anything, maybe the artist had been thinking of a flower. A rose.

  He studied the pink swirls. Not a rose. Damned if the soft-focus pattern didn’t remind him of a very special place on a woman’s body, one of his favorites. Okay, he was just going there because of the name on the paint can.

  Olivia came back with the drop cloth, and he whirled away from his close examination as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

  She handed him the drop cloth. “Do you like abstract art?”

  “Not usually. But I like that.”

  “Me, too. I was drawn to it even though normally I’m into primary colors. Once I bought it to go over the bed, I went a little pink crazy.”

  “Interesting name for your paint.”

  “Isn’t it?” Her cheeks flushed. “I wanted to bring out the color in the artwork and then it had that hokey name. I took the paint and ignored the name.”

  “Just a marketing gimmick.”

  “I know, right?” She hesitated. “Anything I can do to help?”

  “Just keep me company.”

  “Sure thing.” She sat on the edge of the bed.

  God help him, he took his time with that repair. He could have been finished in under an hour, but he dragged it out from the estimated one hour to two. She didn’t call him on it, either.

  Instead she kept him company as he’d requested. She wanted to hear about the six months he and his twin Bryce had spent in Texas working cattle. He surprised himself by telling stories that he’d never bothered to share with anyone.

  When he got tired of talking about himself, he asked her what it
was like growing up in Chicago. She mentioned the cultural things—museums, art galleries, live theater. But it turned out she didn’t miss them enough to move back there. Eagles Nest was her home, now.

  Their conversation was outwardly casual and friendly. Yet the entire time he battled sexual tension. He blamed the picture and being alone in a bedroom with the fascinating woman who’d bought it. He had no idea if she had a similar reaction to him. Repairing the wall required him to keep his back to her and he couldn’t read her expression.

  While he used her hair dryer on the patch, they couldn’t talk at all. She stayed on the bed, though, and had to be watching him. His body heated up right along with that patch.

  Eventually he sanded the patch, applied two coats of Eros and the job was done. He began packing up. “That should do it.”

  “The wall looks great. I can’t thank you enough.”

  “You’re welcome.” He glanced at her. Was that a gleam of interest in her eyes? Or was it a reflection from her glasses? Wishful thinking could get a guy in trouble.

  “Could I at least offer you a beer?”

  He was so damned tempted, but when he relaxed with a beer he tended to let down his guard. He might say the wrong thing and ruin whatever might or might not be developing. “Thanks, but I’d better take a raincheck. I promised Bryce I’d stop by the Guzzling Grizzly on my way home and he probably wonders where I am.”

  “Goodness, it’s later than I thought. Time flies when you’re repairing a wall.”

  “I took a little extra care.” He surveyed the room. “You did a great job in here and I wanted to make sure the patch blended.”

  “Which it completely does.”

  “I have to ask, though, do you have any idea if that painting is supposed to represent something?”

  “Not that I know of. Hang on. I might have the name.” She crossed to her bedside table, opened the drawer and took out a small white card. Then she blushed. “I’d forgotten this. It’s called La Séduction.”