Love Me Again, Cowboy (Second Chance Romance): Wyle Away Ranch Book 2

by Torsha Baker

  Judy had gutted the house. The master bedroom had turned into a bridal suite, a commercial kitchen was installed, and the library was knocked out to make room for a large dining hall. Fortunately, the imported black-and-white checked marble tile was spared, and it now glistened. The transformation was thorough. Skye’s childhood home, built by her grandfather, was now the hottest reception center in El Paso.

  As a child, Skye was the official sock-skating champion of this hallway. True, there weren’t any other kids in the competition, but she could out-slide even the longest-legged adult. Whether out of sentimentality or exhaustion, Skye pushed herself off and slid down the hallway. When she came to a stop she looked back and grinned. Yeah, she totally had it. Maybe there were a few things she’d miss after today.

  The bell rang for the third time. Then a fourth.

  “Hold your horses, I’m coming!” Skye called out. She arrived in the front entry. “I have plenty of other things to do besides—” She swung open the door and froze.

  A man stood on the porch holding a large manilla envelope. He was tall and broad, with dark wavy hair, a square jaw, and the most gorgeous blue eyes she’d ever seen.

  “Wow.”

  Okay, wow probably wasn’t the first thing she should’ve said. But it wasn’t every day that Clark Kent delivered the mail. He wore jeans and a white dress shirt that accentuated the muscles in his shoulders and biceps.

  Skye folded her arms over her apron, suddenly remembering the white frosting currently smeared all over her clothes. “Can I help you?”

  The incognito superhero raised his brows in surprise. “Are you Judy Stanton?”

  “I’m her niece. Is that for her?” Skye reached for the envelope.

  Clark Kent took a small step back. “Actually, ma’am, is she here? I’d like to give it to her in person, if you don’t mind.”

  Ma’am? Skye giggled. “Sure, come on in.”

  She turned, tucking another rebel hair strand behind her ear. Next time she’d check the security camera before answering the door. Men this hot should send warnings before they showed up on someone’s doorstep.

  He followed behind, his boots clicking on the tile. The freshly polished tile.

  Skye came to an abrupt halt.

  Apparently sudden stops were not one of the man’s superhero skills. He ran into her back, making an “oof” noise and dropping the envelope.

  Skye pitched forward and took a step to keep herself from falling. Her socks, however, had other ideas. Time slowed down like it always does during the most terrible moments—because time was psychotic like that—and Skye watched with wide eyes as she and the polished tile made contact. Also, she may have yelped.

  She lay face down for a brief moment. Why was there never a hole to climb into when you needed one?

  “Are you okay?” Clark Kent’s voice was a mix of concern and … was that laughter?

  It wasn’t just Skye’s face that flushed with embarrassment. Her whole body burned.

  “I’m fine.” She didn’t look up but addressed his dirt-crusted cowboy boots instead. She scooped up the envelope and hopped to her feet, nearly slipping again. This time the man caught her by the elbow.

  “Sorry, I—” Skye had no words. They must’ve fallen out when she hit the floor. She motioned to his boots. “Dirt.”

  Comprehension lit in his eyes. “I should’ve left my boots outside.” Then Clark Kent’s gaze moved down her body and landed on her feet. He pressed his lips together, as if trying to suppress a smile. “Nice unicorn socks.”

  Skye looked down. She’d completely forgotten about her sock selection. She wore bright turquoise ankle socks with little pink and orange ponies flitting happily on tiny wings around her toes. They were the only clean socks she could find that morning. She closed her eyes. Of course, this had to be the day she fell behind on her washing. Stupid dirty laundry. Stupid extra cake tier. Stupid socks she should’ve thrown away years ago.

  She had no choice but to own it. She looked back up at the man and lifted her chin. “They’re alicorns, actually.” She wiggled her toes. “Wings and horns.”

  “Alicorns.” The man leaned down, still fighting a grin as he pulled off his boots to reveal clean, normal, white socks. “Very chic.”

  Skye pressed her lips together. It figured. He could’ve at least had the decency to have a hole in the toe or something. “This way.” She took what was left of her self-respect and steered him past the sweeping staircase to the hallway.

  “You live here?” he asked.

  Skye shook her head, still not meeting his eyes. “I grew up here. Before my aunt turned it into a reception center.” She’d gotten good at keeping the disappointment out of her voice. “Now I have an apartment in town.”

  An apartment that she would’ve been happy to give him the address to, if he hadn’t just seen her nosedive onto the floor.

  She opened the doors leading into a large, cream-paneled room thrumming with pre-reception preparations. Several staff members busied themself spreading out black tablecloths and china settings. Eliza was already loading the cake onto the display table next to the door, near the three long tables topped with empty chafing dishes and platters.

  Aunt Judy stood nearby, in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the veranda and the small lake on the property. She wore a black, fitted dress that silhouetted her slim figure against the sunlight, her blonde hair swept perfectly into an up-do. People said Skye was the spitting image of her aunt, but she felt more like the messier, unkempt “before” picture to Aunt Judy’s buttoned-up “after.”

  Judy’s hand gripped a dented silver vase and her characteristic scowl was in full force as she berated one of the young servers.

  “There you go.” Skye waved a hand toward her aunt.

  Clark Kent frowned. “Guess that makes sense.”

  “Excuse me?” Skye asked.

  The man cleared his throat. “Nothing.”

  “I hope you’ve got something good to give her, because I’ve gotta warn you, she likes to shoot the messenger.”

  He sighed. “Sounds like the woman I’m lookin’ for.” Judy continued her tirade against the server, and the man clenched his jaw. “Maybe she ought to pick on someone her own size.”

  Skye’s gaze shot to his broad shoulders. Was he referring to himself? “Well, good luck.”

  “Thanks.” He turned and winked at her. “For the record, those socks totally work for you.”

  She blushed but didn’t have time to respond before he strode to her aunt. She watched him go, taking a second to enjoy the view. He might be a sacrificial lamb headed to the slaughter, but at least he was a sexy sacrificial lamb. Maybe Aunt Judy would go light on him.

  She joined Eliza at the display table. Eliza had already stacked all four cake tiers with the help of one of the other workers. Skye had made enough cakes to know exactly how to waterfall the flowers down the tiers. The larger flowers had to go first, then the smaller buds and leaves. She pushed a straw into the top tier, then added some gum paste.

  “Who’s the hottie?” Eliza whispered, handing her a flower.

  “Mail courier, I think.” Skye used tweezers to thread the rose stem into the straw.

  They repeated this process multiple times. All the while, Skye kept an ear on the conversation going on between her aunt and Superman.

  The man handed her aunt the large envelope, explaining that it was from an attorney in Bisbee, Arizona.

  Judy set the vase on a table and tore open the letter, then pulled out a sheet of paper. As she read, her lips narrowed into a thin line, her grip on the paper turning white with pressure.

  “Well, that’s not a good sign,” Skye mumbled. What was this guy doing? He was going to ruin all her plans. Whatever the paper said, it obviously made Judy mad. And Skye needed her aunt in a good mood if she was going to make a grab for Grams’s recipe journals.

  The top tier was nearly finished, with the larger flowers cascading
down the side. No one would ever guess she’d had to throw this together last minute. Which was good, because the souring expression on her aunt’s face told her that she’d need all of her expert cake-making skills—along with any other skills—to keep her aunt happy tonight.

  “Is this a threat? Are you kidding me?” Judy shrieked. Her aunt’s voice reverberated through the room. She spun on the Clark Kent look-alike, who stepped back in alarm. “They’re the ones that stole from me! If anyone is going to threaten legal action, it’s me!”

  Skye froze, the tube of gum paste in her hand. She wasn’t the only one. Everyone in the room went still until Judy shot one of the servers a dirty look and the bustle picked up again.

  The man straightened. “You have no legal claim to the necklace.”

  Eliza shot a glance at Skye, her brows raised. “Necklace?”

  “Don’t ask.” Skye rolled her eyes, then turned her attention back to the cake. She couldn’t waste time on a crime that happened a hundred years ago when there was so much flower work to get done right now. She just hoped her aunt would pull out of this tantrum quickly.

  Skye began pasting several leaves around the roses on the top tier when her aunt’s voice grew loud again. “That necklace was a gift from my grandfather to my grandmother. I have no idea how those Wyles got their grubby little hands on it, but—”

  “Now just calm down,” Clark Kent said. “I’m sure there’s been a misunderstanding.”

  The top tier was done, and Skye moved on to the next one. She’d heard her aunt moan about that necklace several times since Grams died. Skye had no idea how her aunt came to learn about the necklace—Grams never once mentioned it before she passed away—or why Judy cared so much about something that had been stolen three generations ago. Of course, it was worth a truck load of cash, and her aunt had the senses of a bloodhound when it came to sniffing out money. Somehow, Judy had tracked the stolen necklace back to Bisbee.

  Skye looked up from the cake.

  Aunty Judy’s face was a vivid red. “Tell those Wyle boys that this isn’t going to stop me from getting that necklace back. Now get out!” She snatched the dented vase from the table and chucked it.

  Unfortunately, it flew right toward Skye.

  She ducked just before the vase whirred past and ricocheted off the wall.

  It landed with a muted thunk, splattering Skye with frosting. A collective gasp sounded from the workers.

  Skye closed her eyes, hoping what happened really didn’t. Please don’t be bad. Please don’t be bad. She straightened, peeking through barely parted lids.

  Her eyes shot open. No! She blinked, then blinked again, keeping the angry tears from coming.

  The top tier was a heap of mashed cake, sugar flowers, and frosting. The vase was now half buried in the second tier. The cake was completely ruined.

  No. No. No. Skye couldn’t stop the tears any longer. Out of all the places her aunt could’ve thrown the stupid vase, it had to be at the cake? Why? Skye should’ve taken the vase in the head. A concussion would’ve been better than to see all her work wasted, on this of all days.

  She looked up through exhausted, watery eyes. Clark Kent, along with everyone else in the room, stared at her in shock.

  And in that instant, the day she’d dreamed about for two years turned into a nightmare.

  Buy The Cowboy Who Stole My Heart now!

  Buy the whole Wyle Away Ranch Series Now!

  Acknowledgments

  Anyone who knows me, knows that I’ve had a complicated relationship with my writing. It has been a long, arduous, sometimes thrilling, and sometimes devastating journey over the past twelve years. I’ve had moments of victory and moments of failure, and I’ve learned from both. I am still learning. Every. Single. Day. And I am so incredibly blessed to have amazing teachers all around me. I thank my husband of twenty years for teaching me that true love not only exists, but can be discovered in new ways over and over again through respect, dedication, communication, spontaneity, and a daily dose of laughter. I thank my children, Mikaela, Meilana, Malakai, and Kukane for teaching me that motherhood is my greatest, most difficult, and most rewarding calling and that hugs are the best medicine for a melancholy mood. I thank my mother and father for teaching me about stories and to use my imagination as much as possible, my teachers might not have appreciated that, but it has certainly proved useful as a writer. I thank my critique partners that I wrote this book with, Janette Rallison, Melinda Carroll, Ruth Nickle, Jamie Hixon, and Kelly Oram, for teaching me how to not only be a better writer, but that there are other strange dreamers out there like me—you are my tribe. I thank my dear friends who were beta readers/editors, Tammy Theriault, LaRena Mountjoy, Sandra Robinson, Cameron Lund, Meilana Baker, Mikaela Baker, who teach me that even when I make mistakes, I’m still pretty awesome—in both my writing and myself as a person. I thank my closest friends, too many to list but you know who you are, for teaching me that there is no comparable bond like the sisterhood you choose. They are my greatest confidants, they let me vent, give me needed advice, make me laugh until my stomach hurts, and if I called each of them to tell them I have a body to bury, they’d bring the shovel—no questions. And last, but certainly not least, I thank my pups, Ruger and Remington, for teaching me unconditional love. No one greets me with as much love and enthusiasm each time I walk in the door as much as my fur-babies.

  About the Author

  Torsha Shingler Baker writes romance, young adult and adult science fiction/fantasy, as well as thriller (under her pen name, Leona Nation). Torsha lives in Chandler, Arizona, with her husband, four kids, and two dogs. She is a member of the Ready, Set, Write Podcast, and the So You Think You Can Write Youtube channel. When Torsha’s not writing, she’s reading, procrasti-baking French Macarons with her business, Ooh La La Macaron, taking kids to volleyball, helping with homework assignments (unless it’s math, then she’s useless), saying the word no way too often–as is the job of a parent, and traveling to explore far off places as often as she can. She loves that her husband of twenty years can still make her heart skip with just a kiss.

  torshabaker.com