The Cowboy's Comeback (Montana Mavericks: What Happened To Beatrix? Book 2)

  You never forget your first...

  Anyone can see why Amanda Jenkins fell for Holt Dalton way back when; the hunky rancher and former bad boy is all kinds of adorable. So is his son, Robby, their dog, Bentley, and their cat, Oliver. When Holt asks her for a second chance, it is awfully tempting to imagine them as a happy family. First, however, the charming cowboy will have to convince her that he’s playing for keeps...

  “Whoa, cowboy,” she said. “How’d we get here?”

  “I don’t regret it,” he said, looking right into her beautiful dark eyes.

  “I have to,” she said, standing up. “I’m not going there, Holt. I can’t. If I help Robby this summer, you have to make me a promise that we’ll be platonic. Don’t flirt, don’t sweet-talk me, don’t come near me with those lips.”

  He stood, too. “Well, it’s not going to be easy, but given how hectic my life is right now, I shouldn’t be trying to start something with anyone.” Especially not the one woman who could bring him to his knees. Sometimes he thought the real reason he’d left Amanda was because he knew she would have left him if she knew the truth about him, and he wouldn’t have been able to survive that pain.

  “So we have a deal?” she asked.

  “A tough deal, but a deal.”

  “Shake on it. Cowboy’s code means you can’t break it.”

  He smiled and shook, mostly just to feel her hand against his, but inside he was sweating. Because he was already dreaming of breaking that code.

  * * *

  THE MONTANA MAVERICKS: What Happened to Beatrix?

  Dear Reader,

  When single dad and rancher Holt Dalton takes his young son to an animal sanctuary to adopt a dog, he ends up leaving with a bonded pair—a dog and a cat—and the surprise of running into his first love. Ten years ago, Holt broke Amanda Jenkins’s heart, keeping his true identity a secret from her. Now he needs her help with his son and their new pets—and has to tell her the truth.

  Amanda never got over Holt, and now the gorgeous, sexy rancher and his sweet son make it impossible for her to keep her distance—especially because she longs for a family of her own. When she and Holt strike a deal, suddenly, she’s a big part of their lives and wondering if she can dare hope for a second chance...

  I hope you enjoy Amanda and Holt’s story. Feel free to write me with any comments or questions at MelissaSenate@yahoo.com and visit my website, melissasenate.com, for more info about me and my books. For lots of photos of my cat and dog, friend me over on Facebook.

  Happy summer and happy reading!

  Warmest regards,

  Melissa Senate

  The Cowboy’s Comeback

  Melissa Senate

  Melissa Senate has written many novels for Harlequin and other publishers, including her debut, See Jane Date, which was made into a TV movie. She also wrote seven books for Harlequin’s Special Edition line under the pen name Meg Maxwell. Her novels have been published in over twenty-five countries. Melissa lives on the coast of Maine with her teenage son; their rescue shepherd mix, Flash; and a lap cat named Cleo. For more information, please visit her website, melissasenate.com.

  Books by Melissa Senate

  Harlequin Special Edition

  Dawson Family Ranch

  For the Twins’ Sake

  Wyoming Special Delivery

  A Family for a Week

  The Wyoming Multiples

  The Baby Switch!

  Detective Barelli’s Legendary Triplets

  Wyoming Christmas Surprise

  To Keep Her Baby

  A Promise for the Twins

  A Wyoming Christmas to Remember

  Montana Mavericks: Six Brides for Six Brothers

  Rust Creek Falls Cinderella

  Montana Mavericks: The Lonelyhearts Ranch

  The Maverick’s Baby-in-Waiting

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  For my aunt Arlene, with love.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Lawfully Unwed by Allison Leigh

  Chapter One

  Holt Dalton had turned around for three seconds—his attention snagged by two kittens playing with a piece of hay—when his son called out, “Look at me, Daddy!”

  Holt’s gaze shot up at the sound of the voice in the cat barn at Happy Hearts, an animal sanctuary where he’d come to adopt a dog for Robby. But they’d passed by the cat section of the “Adoptable Animals” barn first, and Robby had begged to go in after seeing kittens climbing up a hay bale.

  Like kittens, like boy. Robby, seven-going-on-daredevil, was suddenly at the top of a huge stack of hay bales, swinging back his arms as if prepared to jump—onto a shallow pile of hay a good ten feet below. A few cats on varying levels of the hay bales were watching him, while others were either napping, doing a little grooming, or playing with toys and hay.

  How his son had gotten up there so fast was beyond Holt, but that was Robby for you. Look away from the forty-eight-pound whirlwind at your own peril.

  “Robby, no!” Holt called up. “The hay won’t break your fall. You don’t want broken bones keeping you from doing all your favorite activities the last month of summer and playing with your new dog.”

  “That orange cat jumped down and was totally okay!” Robby said, pointing at the tabby now grooming himself in a patch of sunlight.

  “You’re not a cat, Robby,” Holt reminded him.

  And cats supposedly had nine lives. Robby had one and was everything to Holt. He’d raised his son single-handedly since his ex-wife had left when Robby was three years old. Their marriage had always been rocky, but Holt had tried—hard—and signing the divorce papers he’d been served had felt like the ultimate failure. His ex had made it clear before they were married that she wasn’t sure she wanted kids, but they’d gotten pregnant accidentally. She now lived in Colorado with a guy named Enzo and sent birthday and Christmas cards with age-appropriate small gifts to Robby every year. Holt wished things could be different between his son and his mother, but Sally Anne had never deceived him about what she wanted.

  “Cowabunga!” Robby shouted and leaped—without looking.

  Luckily, Holt was right there with his arms extended and caught his boy, getting a kid-size foot in the gut for his trouble.

  “Thanks for catching me, Daddy,” Robby said with a huge smile, wrapping his skinny, freckled arms around Holt’s neck for a hug. Not an impish, ha-ha, you know I never listen smile of victory. Just pure happy.

  His dad caught him—and always would. Robby knew that. Holt’s own father, Robby’s gramps, would have said: You shoulda let Robby fall, splat, right on the barn floor and broken a wrist or an ankle. That’ll teach him. Being soft or coddled never got anyone anywhere.

  The problem was that his dad was right and wrong, just as Holt was both plenty of t
imes. Sometimes you had to let a child learn a lesson. And sometimes being there was the right answer. Holt’s life was a constant judging of that. Three-quarters of the time he thought he got it right. Like now.

  He gave Robby’s dark hair a tussle. “Robby, I said not to jump and that means don’t jump. If I’d missed—”

  “Like you’d ever!” Robby exclaimed, wriggling out of his arms and dashing to the glass door that led to the vestibule of the cat barn and exit.

  “Robby, wait,” Holt called, but his son was halfway up the path of the vast farm to where a bunch of cows were grazing in a pasture.

  Holt was sure a few grays hairs had sprung out in his own dark hair. He headed after his son who was already chatting away with one of the cows, a Belted Galloway. Holt stood a few feet behind, ready to catch Robby if he ran off toward the barns again.

  Of course he’d reprimand Robby for disobeying, for not following the rules about running around the animal sanctuary. But part of him always felt he needed to give his son some leeway, when it felt right, to be seven and do what was natural for him. Like running around a wide-open farm. Robby’s first grade teacher had said he was a typical child, just rambunctious and that time and a little maturity would help. She’d given Holt some great tips that had worked wonders for her in the classroom—letting Robby take breaks and “shake out his legs,” making sure he had a good snack, allowing him to use a squeeze ball that he could keep in his hand while she was instructing and listening wasn’t easy. But the director of the camp Robby had attended a few days each week this summer had complained that the seven-year-old required too much of the counselors’ attention and could he please speak to his son. That had made Holt feel like hell.

  Even if he’d been expecting it. Holt had done his research on his son’s impulsivity and consulted with Robby’s teachers and the guidance counselor and read all sorts of articles. There was such a vast pool of information, with so many recommendations, that Holt would just do his best with what made sense to him. The guidance counselor had recommended getting Robby tested for ADHD, attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, at the start of second grade, to allow him to mature some, and that was what Holt would do.

  He was about to call Robby over for a chat about following the rules—and if you break another we’ll leave—but the boy was deep in conversation with the cow.

  “I sure would love to take you home,” Robby said to the cow. “I’d name you Daring Drake after my favorite Bronc rider. Or should I name you Holt? That’s my dad and he’s my number one hero but it would be weird to name a pet cow after him, right? Anyway, Daring Drake is my number two hero. Want to know who number three is? You!”

  As Robby continued to talk to the cow, telling the ole girl about the teacher he got for second grade, which started at the end of the month, Holt relaxed. Talking to animals really seemed to calm his son down. Robby wasn’t jumping or running or trying to climb over the fence. He was just talking and fully engaged. Coming here, deciding to bring a pet into their home, had been a good idea. Holt had done his research, knew he’d be doing the brunt of the work, but Robby would have a living creature to care for and love, to talk to, to turn to.

  “Is your dad your hero too?” Robby asked the cow. “Which one is your dad, anyway?” The boy glanced around the pasture, and Holt had to admit, his heart had moved in his chest. His son might be a handful, but he was incredibly loving. Holt considered himself very lucky.

  “Awww,” said a woman’s voice. “That is sure sweet.”

  Holt turned around—and the man who thought nothing could ever shock him anymore felt his knees wobble.

  Because there was no way Amanda Jenkins was standing right there in the middle of Happy Hearts Animal Sanctuary in Bronco, Montana. He had to be seeing things.

  But he blinked and there she definitely was.

  Ten years older, yet it seemed as though she hadn’t changed a bit. The same long, dark wavy hair halfway down her back. The same beautiful dark eyes and full pink-red lips. She was petite and had been on the shy side, not one to make herself stand out. But man, did she, then and now. The minute he’d laid eyes on her that long-ago summer they’d met while working at a camp for special needs kids, there were no other girls at Camp KidPower. Let alone Montana.

  What could she be doing in Bronco, though? Neither of them was from here, though Bronco Heights was home to him now.

  “Holt?” she said on a gasp, her expression as shocked as his must have been.

  He nodded. “It’s good to see you again, Amanda.” Major understatement. He couldn’t take his eyes off her as memories of their summer together hit him. All they’d shared and talked about. The feel of her lips on his. Her soft hands on his body. It might be August, but a chill, a good one, ran up his spine. Amanda Jenkins. The woman he’d let get away.

  She didn’t respond to that. “What in the world are you doing in Bronco?” She glanced at Robby, still talking to the cow, then back at Holt. “And you have a kid. Wow.”

  He nodded and took off his Stetson, holding it against his stomach and running a quick hand through his hair. “I live here now. In Bronco Heights. My family bought a big ranch last year. Dalton’s Grange. I have a cabin on the property for me and Robby.”

  He could see her taking that in—the me and Robby. Not me and my wife and Robby.

  “You’ve been living in Bronco Heights for a year?” she asked. “I’ve been here two years. I can’t believe I haven’t run into you.”

  “Well, we never ran with the same crowd,” he said. Also an understatement.

  She narrowed her brown eyes at him. “The same crowd? We were practically the same person, Holt. Remember how we always used to say, ‘I’m you and you’re me’?” She smiled as if lost in the sweet memory, then frowned, then seemed embarrassed she’d said it. She lifted her chin. “Well, I don’t know why I brought that up. Old stuff that doesn’t matter anymore.”

  It did to him and always would. He remembered. The way they’d lie on the grass by the lake after they were free for the day—she’d been a counselor while he was on the kitchen staff—holding hands, making out, talking about everything and anything. I’m you and you’re me, she’d say, and he’d repeat it back with absolute wonder in his heart, in his gut, in every cell in his body. Those times when he was with Amanda like that, just the two of them when it felt like there was no one else in the world? Yeah, he was her and she was him. But in reality? They were nothing alike.

  He’d never told her the truth—why he’d been working at that camp, making industrial-size pots of scrambled eggs and spaghetti and vats of “bug juice” and scouring dishes and counters and mopping the huge kitchen floor. He hadn’t told anyone. She’d made some assumptions about him back then that he liked, that he was a college student on summer break, as she’d been, and he hadn’t corrected her. For those nine, ten weeks, he’d been the guy she thought he was. But that was summer. Like all good things, it always came to an end.

  “Daddy, I definitely want a dog but I also want a cow!” Robby called out as he turned and simultaneously rushed ahead, clearly having no idea his dad was right behind him. He almost barreled into Holt’s waist and legs. “Oops!” He squinted up at Holt in the sun. “See him, Daddy?” he said, pointing at the Beltie. “His name will be Daring Drake after the greatest bronc rider in Montana.”

  “Hi there,” Amanda said, extending her hand to Robby. “I’m Amanda Jenkins and you can call me Amanda.”

  Robby gave her hand a hearty pump. “I’m Robby. My principal at school always shakes my hand. I get called down to her office a lot and when I leave, she always shakes my hand. I like her. Some kids think she’s mean but I don’t. There was a girl named Amanda in my class last year. She was in the best reading group. I was in the worst.”

  Amanda seemed about to say something, but Robby beat her to it, his trademark.

  “Can we adopt
the cow, Daddy? He’s the one I want.” Robby turned and beamed at his new friend.

  Happy Hearts Animal Sanctuary wasn’t a working farm; it was a place where animals lived in peace and harmony with nature. The owner, an animal rights devotee named Daphne Taylor, rescued farm animals—and everything in between, from dogs to rabbits to guinea pigs—and gave them a home on the huge property. She adopted out the animals that would do well in forever homes, which was why he and Robby had come. To adopt a dog. Not a cat. Not a cow.

  “That cow’s a beaut—a female, by the way—but the cows at the Dalton Grange aren’t pets, they’re hardworking members of the ranch.” His family ranch, where he, his parents and his four brothers lived and raised cattle. Daphne had full respect for the ranchers in the area, and he was glad to know that someone who had the means—Holt’s father referred to her as “that hippie-socialite”—to run a sanctuary for animals had created this special place. Not all the ranchers in town understood Daphne, but Holt admired her.

  “Oh yeah,” Robby said with a frown. He turned to the cow. “Sorry, buddy. I can’t adopt you. But maybe I could come see you sometimes.”

  “That would be very nice, Robby,” Amanda said, her smile so warm that Holt wanted to reach out and squeeze her hand.

  “Can you show us the dogs now, Amanda?” Robby asked, his blue eyes excited.

  Holt glanced at Amanda. She wore a yellow knee-length dress with a short, fitted white blazer, and there were a few gold bangles on her wrist. Her shoes were flat but shiny and looked expensive. He doubted she worked here. Not in that dressy outfit.

  “Well, I’m not involved with the adoptions,” Amanda explained, “but I can find Daphne Taylor for you two. She owns Happy Hearts. I do social media for the sanctuary.”

  “Social what-ee-ah?” Robby asked, tilting his head.

  “Social media refers to websites online—on computers—that let people communicate with one another in all kinds of ways. Facebook, Twitter, chat groups, that kind of thing. I promote Happy Hearts online and around the state so that people know about the animals and adoption events and fund-raising opportunities.”