by Vivi Holt
Shanice’s laughter echoed down the line. “He’s fine. He’s a nice guy. He’s just not my type. Way too…square for me. But he’d suit you.”
“Wow, thanks,” Kate said, her voice deadpan. “So, in your mind I suit the too-square type, huh? I’ll have you know, I can be kooky and quirky and whatever is the opposite of square.”
“Don’t I know it? I live with you, girl.” Shanice laughed again.
“I mean it. Please don’t set me up with anyone. I’m enjoying the single life right now, taking time to get to know myself and…”
“Get to know yourself? Honey, you’ve had twenty-five years to get to know yourself. If you ain’t done yet, there’s nothing gonna help you.” She chuckled at her own joke. “It’s time you got over that lousy former fiancé of yours. So, he cheated on you, that don’t mean that every guy you meet is gonna do the same. You’ve got to step out and trust again, or you’ll end up old and alone surrounded by cats. And let me tell you, cats don’t care whether you live or die. Is that what you want?”
“I know you’re right.” Kate sighed. “And I want to find someone. Eventually. I’m just not ready yet. Plus, it’s not like there are great guys waiting around every corner. Last time I looked, there was a distinct shortage of them in Atlanta.”
Shanice exhaled sharply. “Shoot! You’re right about that. I keep telling you, just come on back to church with me. That’s where all the good men are. I know we can both find someone in church. In fact, that can be our New Year’s resolution—to go to church together and find us a pair of good men to date.”
“Sounds like a plan.” It was the last thing Kate felt like doing. She hated the dating scene. Meeting someone, the awkward introductions, the first date where both parties did their best to ask the most banal questions possible, and then waiting for the phone call that might or might not come afterward. It was almost as bad as trudging around Atlanta in an attempt to secure a showing of her paintings in one of the many galleries scattered throughout the city—then waiting for the call that might be either life changing or soul crushing. She shuddered. After New Year’s, she’d just have to find a way to let Shanice down gently.
“Let me know what time you’re flying in, and I’ll come pick you up from the airport.”
“Okay, thanks.” Kate pushed herself off the sofa and wandered over to the tree. She eyed each branch—the carefully strung popcorn, the ornaments her grandmother had given her each year for Christmas when she was still alive, the drooping tip of the tree that refused to house her star.
She frowned, setting a hand on her hip. “I’ll call the airline shortly to set it up, but I have to deliver a few more Christmas-Grams over the next couple of days.”
“Are you still doing those?”
“Yep. They pay the bills. I’ve only got three to go this morning, and then two more tomorrow and three the next day, and I’ll be done. Apparently an elf delivering singing telegrams is the hot ticket holiday item this year.” She chuckled then hugged herself. If only it were true. She’d barely make enough to cover gifts for her friends and the extra on the heat bill to get her through the coldest part of winter.
“Well, take care and stay safe. You never know who you’re gonna meet going house to house and singing to strangers,” Shanice warned.
Kate picked the star up off the floor and aimed it at the drooping tip of the tree again. Maybe this time it’d stick. “Ain’t that the truth.”
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Excerpt: Dalton
Cowboys & Debutantes
Chapter One
Dalton Williams scanned the crowd packed into the arena. Wide eyes peered through fence rails, button-down checked shirts and blue jeans crammed the rows of stadium seating. Eager mouths chomped on burgers, hot dogs, corn dogs, fried pickles and cotton candy and exclaimed over the spectacle below. The glare of stadium lighting illuminated the entire arena with an eerie glow.
Dalton’s gaze drifted to land on the cowboy sitting astride a bronco in the bucking chute. The man adjusted his seat, locked his gloved hand around the leather strap and nodded. Stuart “Buck” Handley was the man to beat. He’d won the National Bronc Riding Championship trophy five years in a row – something no one thought could be done.
But last season Dalton had won, against all odds, throwing the whole circuit into a spin. Dalton had ridden against Buck for years and never come close to beating him. But last season had been different – he’d been at the top of his game after years of focus, practice and strength training. His dream of winning the championship had finally come true. Pundits were certain it was the start of a new era, one with Dalton at the helm.
But when the circuit started up again after the summer break, he’d torn a rotator cuff at the first event of the year. Now Buck Handley was back in the lead.
Dalton watched the bronc jump out of the chute, bucking and twisting, its hindquarters almost vertical above its head, ears laid back against its neck. Buck held on tight, his body flexing with the movements of the animal, one hand high in the air.
The buzz of the eight-second timer rang out and the crowd erupted into cheering and catcalls. Dalton shook his head and spat in the dirt as the announcer went wild, his voice echoing loudly through the cool night air.
“You ridin’ tonight?” asked a soft feminine voice behind him.
He turned and nodded. “Yup.”
Carrie Finnick stood there, her torn denim short-shorts and knotted flannel shirt leaving little to the imagination. “I’ll be cheerin’ for you,” she said, laying a perfectly manicured hand on his forearm.
He glanced at it, then smiled. “Thanks, Carrie. I sure do appreciate it. I’ll need all the support I can get.”
“Oh, you’re gonna win for sure – everyone knows that,” she drawled, letting her fingers trail softly down his arm. His skin goose-pimpled beneath her touch.
He cleared his throat. “Well, I don’t know about that. Buck just had a good ride that’ll be hard to beat. But I’ll sure try.” He hated to be rude, but he had no interest in Carrie. She followed the circuit whenever they were in Texas and had hit on him every season. He’d taken her out to dinner once after a breakup, but hadn’t felt any kind of spark. Not being the kind of man to lead a woman on, he’d left it at that. But she didn’t seem to take ‘no’ for an answer – not where he was concerned, anyway.
The truth was, he hadn’t dated anyone seriously since Jodie left him back in Chattanooga. If he was honest with himself, he hadn’t given anyone a chance. But there was no time to think about that now. His ride was coming up and he had to get his mind straight. “I’d better go get ready,” he said, touching the brim of his hat with his fingertips and nodding in her direction.
“I’ll be lookin’ out for you,” she called after him.
He strolled over to the bucking chute and surveyed the animals corralled behind it, ready to go. He got to pick the one he wanted to ride and by now knew them all pretty well. The red roan was a solid performer, but tended to travel in a straight line with a standard bucking style. If he wanted to beat Buck’s score, he’d need a horse with more of a twist to its stride.
His eyes landed on a gray quarter horse named Benny. At first glance, Benny looked like a mild-mannered old boy, but he knew differently. He pointed to Benny, and the cowboy with the rope nodded in acknowledgement. That done, now he just had to focus, to concentrate on what he had to do.
A group of children ran past with a bucket of popcorn, spilling kernels on the muddy ground as they went. They laughed and chattered amongst themselves, excited that the rodeo was in town and they got to watch the cowboys, arguing about who would win and who would be thrown. Dalton remembered doing the same with his friends when he was a boy in Chattanooga. He’d loved the rodeo and never missed it if he could help it.
He’d always wanted to be one of the cowboys who got to ride the wildest broncos around, and when he started on the circuit it was all he could do to keep from pinching himself. He could
n’t believe he could ride for a living and have people cheer for him, look up to him, admire him.
But lately, things had been different. Ever since Jodie called to tell him she was through waiting for him to come home and had fallen for someone else, the spark had gone out of everything. The rides, the crowds, the bright lights – none of it filled him with the same excitement any more.
Buck stepped through a gate nearby and brushed off his chaps with both hands, dust swirling around him in a soft cloud. He spotted Dalton and grinned. “How’d ya like that, huh?”
“Sure was a good ride, Buck. It’ll be hard to beat.”
Buck raised an eyebrow. “But you’re gonna try, I bet.”
Dalton chuckled. “I sure will.”
Buck leaned back against the fence and crossed his ankles. “How’s yer shoulder?”
Dalton lifted his arm and circled it around a few times, stretching out his shoulder with a grimace. “It’s been better.”
“Well, good luck to ya.”
“Thanks, Buck. You staying to watch?”
“Ya bet. Wouldn’t miss it.” Buck’s eyes glinted and he tipped his hat. “Gotta watch ya lose, boy.”
Dalton laughed and strode toward the chute where Benny awaited him. He and Buck always teased each other that way. But after each event was over, they were first and foremost friends and usually ended the night playing blackjack over glasses of coke, each balancing bags of ice on the various body parts that hurt the worst.
“You ready?” asked a cowboy in a black Cowboy hat.
Dalton nodded, his eyes focused on the gray in front of him. The horse stamped a foot and pranced as far sideways as he could within the confines of the fence palings, breath expelling from distended nostrils clouding the cool fall air. He’d done this so many times before, he knew what was coming, and Dalton saw the whites of his eyes as he snorted and shook his head.
With a deep breath, Dalton climbed the rails of the chute and swung a leg over the animal’s shivering back. His heart pounded and adrenaline coursed through his veins, exaggerating every sensation. Colors seemed brighter, every sound was amplified and the rough inside of the glove covering his hand as he clenched tight to the leather strap scratched at his skin.
Time stood still.
Then the gate swung open, Benny leaped forward and Dalton dug his heels into the horse’s sides. Benny swung left and spun in a circle, his heels kicking high above his head. Dalton held on tight, leaning back and forth, rotating with the movements of the animal beneath him. The noise of the crowd cheering him on swelled in his consciousness.
Then the eight-second buzzer sounded. The loudspeakers declared that it was a good ride and Dalton released his breath in a huff of relief. But as he loosened his grip on the strap, Benny spooked and bucked harder than ever as he swiveled to the right, crashing against the railings of the arena fence.
Pain shot through Dalton’s leg and he cried out, grabbing it as the horse galloped out from under him. He felt his head spin, and everything faded to black as he landed with a thud on the grass to the gasps of the crowd.
Dalton’s eyes flickered open and he glanced around the room. He was in a hospital bed, surrounded by four white walls. A vase of fresh-cut carnations sat on a square table beside his bed, along with his cell phone and a horse magazine. He grimaced and lifted a hand to feel his head. It throbbed, and his throat was dry. A nurse strode past the room, then a cart piled with dirty food trays squeaked by on noisy wheels in the opposite direction.
“Hello?” he croaked. He cleared his throat with a cough and tried again. “Hello?”
A nurse poked her head in with a smile. “Did ya need somethin’, hon?”
“Could I get some water, please?”
She nodded and disappeared.
His thoughts wandered back to his ambulance trip to the hospital. Two paramedics arrived in the arena after he regained consciousness, a big man with a handlebar mustache and a petite blonde woman. They’d rolled him onto their stretcher and carried him to the ambulance, making chitchat the whole way while he writhed in pain. They hadn’t bothered with the lights or sirens for the journey, since he was stable, and they’d given him a whistle to suck on, which had made him loopy.
He grinned and rubbed a hand over his stubble. He had a feeling he’d asked one of the paramedics out on a date. He hoped it was the woman.
His leg was stretched out in front of him, encased from hip to ankle in a hard white cast. He frowned. Six to eight weeks, he’d been told – that’s how long he had to wear it. Even when it came off, the doctor had warned him he shouldn’t ever ride broncs again, not unless he wanted to risk permanent damage.
The nurse bustled into the room with a jug of water in one hand and a plastic cup in the other. “Here you go, cowboy,” she said with a smile. “You just let me know if you need anythin’ else. There’s a button right here on your bed – if you press it, I’ll come as soon as I can, okay?”
He nodded. “Thanks.”
She set the pitcher and cup on the table beside his bed and left.
Dalton leaned over to grab the cup and heard his phone vibrating. It bumped around in a circle on the hard surface of the table, buzzing quietly. He picked it up and ran his finger across the screen. “Hello?”
“Dalton, honey, you’re awake.” His mother’s chipper voice echoed shrilly through the speaker.
He grimaced, laid it back on the table and sipped his water. “Yeah, I just woke up. I haven’t seen a doctor this morning, but I’m assuming the surgery went fine, seeing as how I have a great big cast on my leg.” He chuckled and took another sip, enjoying the feeling of the cool liquid as it traveled down his parched throat.
“That’s good to hear,” she replied, her voice catching.
“Are you okay, Mom?” He heard a sob. Susan Williams hardly ever shed a tear. The sound shook him. “Mom?”
“Yes, hon. Sorry … it’s just that I have some bad news. I didn’t really want to burden you right now, but I think you’d want to know …” She sobbed again.
His chest tightened, and he set the cup on the table and straightened, staring at the bright screen of the cell phone where it lay. “Mom, what is it?”
“It’s Pa – your Grandpa Joe. I’m afraid he passed away last night in his sleep.” His mother choked up and she sobbed again.
“Oh no! I’m so sorry, Mom. I know how much you loved him. He was always so good to us, especially after Dad died.” Dalton frowned, and he lay back on the pillows stacked behind his head with both hands pressed to his eyes. Grandpa Joe was strong and fit, the life of any party. It was hard for him to believe the old man was gone. He listened to his mother’s strained voice fill in the details of Pa’s passing as a lump formed in his throat.
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Also by Vivi Holt
CONTEMPORARY SERIES
Make-Believe
Make-Believe Fiancé
Make-Believe Wedding
Make-Believe Honeymoon
Make-Believe Husband
Cowboys & Debutantes
Dalton
Eamon
Parker
HISTORICAL SERIES
Cowboys & Debutantes (Historical)
Della
Hattie
Pearl
Paradise Valley
Of Peaks and Prairies
Winds of Paradise
Lost in Laredo
Cheyenne Reckoning
Forgotten Trails
Cutter’s Creek
The Strong One
The Betrothed
Cherished
Season of Love
Captivated
Beguiled
Orphan Brides Go West
Mail Order Bride: Christy
Mail Order Bride: Ramona
Mail Order Bride: Katie
Mail Order Bride: Holly
Visit my website at www.viviholt.com for an updated list of my books
About the Author
; Vivi Holt was born in Australia. She grew up in the country, where she spent her youth riding horses at Pony Club, and adventuring through the fields and rivers around the farm. Her father was a builder, turned saddler, and her mother a nurse, who stayed home to raise their four children.
After graduating from a degree in International Relations, Vivi moved to Atlanta, Georgia to work for a year. It was there that she met her husband, and they were married three years later. She spent seven years living in Atlanta and travelled to various parts of the United States during that time, falling in love with the beauty of that immense country and the American people.
Vivi also studied for a Bachelor of Information Technology, and worked in the field ever since until becoming a full-time writer in 2016. She now lives in Brisbane, Australia with her husband and three small children. Married to a Baptist pastor, she is very active in her local church.
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Copyright © 2018 by Vivi Holt
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