by Cindi Madsen
She cleared her throat again since the last time didn’t take. “Look, I packed a couple of bags, dragged my pissed-off teenage daughter here—thereby ruining her whole life, as she told me multiple times during the two-hour drive. There’s gotta be something I can do. Some deal we can make.”
The leather of her seat creaked as she shifted. “I’m not asking for charity. I…” To her dismay, her voice cracked. “Well, I guess I am asking for a pinch of it. Your place came so highly recommended and has so many amazing reviews. I especially like that it doesn’t seem like a prison.”
Gruff-and-Grumpy’s brow furrowed more, making it clear she wasn’t winning any points. She really should’ve paid attention to names. Their names had all blurred together as they’d introduced themselves, her anxiety making it impossible to focus on anything besides the fact they were western-sounding names.
“What I mean is, it’s more open than I imagined,” she continued. “Admittedly, I was afraid there for a bit that I was driving to some cabin-in-the-woods type thing. An elaborate setup to lure people out here so you could murder them and dump their body in the trees or something…”
Eyebrows raised all around, the offense transferring to the elder Dawsons, who’d been halfway on her side a moment or two ago. Dammit. Her mouth never knew when to stop. Where was her filter when she needed it? Great job, Jess. Insult the people you’re begging to help you. Excellent strategy.
Maybe in this instance, in spite of things not going according to plan, she should’ve made a more solid plan.
“Shit, I’m doing this wrong,” she said, dropping all pretense that she had any clue how to go about this. Her heart beat with a thready rhythm as she scooted forward. “I have a teenage daughter who needs help.” She didn’t want to end up as a case study about how rebellious teens who became moms too early had children who repeated the pattern. “It kills me that I don’t know how to help her, but I’ve tried, and it didn’t work, and now I need help.” The squeeze in her chest made the next word come out rougher than the rest and about as desperate as she felt. “Please.”
Gruff-and-Grumpy opened his mouth, but his mom placed her hand on his arm and aimed a kind smile at Jess. “While we’re real sympathetic to your cause, we have a large staff to support, the program isn’t free to run, and even if you had the money, we’re already runnin’ at full capacity.”
As Jess had packed in a wild rage, the scent of the jail cell she’d bailed her daughter out of still lingering, along with the image of her sitting there with that smug teenage boy who’d gotten his hooks into Chloe, she’d been so sure that all she needed to do was drive to Silver Springs. She thought if she could just meet the people who ran Turn Around Ranch, she could get them to take in Chloe. Usually she was pretty good at convincing people in person. The combo of friendly and refuses-to-take-no-for-an-answer was how she’d climbed her way to the top of every job she’d had. Not easy for a girl with nothing more than a GED.
The youngest and friendliest of the cowboys thrust a clipboard toward her. “You can fill out a form and put her on a wait list.”
Gruff-and-Grumpy’s flinty-gray eyes were still on her. The way he studied her left her gut churning in a not-altogether-unpleasant way, which made no sense. Every one of them had done a double take when she’d said her daughter was a few months shy of sixteen. It happened a lot. Comments about how she wasn’t old enough to have a teenage daughter. People asking if Chloe was actually hers—most any time you put “actually” in a sentence, you should rethink it. Jess had been the age Chloe was now when she fell in love with a cute, rebellious boy with a tragic backstory. Her common sense had been left by the wayside, and she’d made bad decisions. Not so much sleeping with the guy, but not seeing through his lines until it was too late. Although, for the record, she was all for being a lot older than fifteen when it came to sex, especially in her daughter’s case.
I want her to have a better life. If this is the only way to keep her from having to go through what I did, it’ll be worth her hating me for a while. Even as she thought it, a raw spot opened up in her chest. She and Chloe used to be so close. Before the boy. Before the promotion that left Jess working extra-long hours, often late into the night.
It’s my fault. Which is why I have to fix it.
Jess eyed the extended clipboard. The guy who offered it didn’t seem to know if he should keep holding it out or not. “By then it might be too late.” By the time the ranch made it through the wait-list, Chloe could be even more entangled in her boyfriend’s web. Even if she didn’t get pregnant—because heaven knew the lectures on birth control had been lengthy—she would end up heartbroken, with nothing to show for it but a criminal record. “I know way too much about regrets and too little, too late.”
Chloe was too young to understand the way a stigma could follow you around your entire life. It hadn’t ended. Jessica still got the looks. The comments. So much judging, which she should be above caring about—and was most days. But that had changed on the night her own now-estranged mother’s words had come back to haunt her. You keep that baby, and all you’ll do is ruin both of your lives…
Jess knew she should stand up, hold her head high, and go and collect her daughter from the porch swing where she was undoubtedly still sulking. But she’d done enough research to know that this was where she wanted her daughter. A friend of a friend had sent their teen here and claimed he came back a different person. Jess didn’t want Chloe to be a different person. She wanted back the girl she’d lost about six months ago.
A hint of sympathy flickered through Gruff-and-Grumpy’s eyes, but then the firmness crept back in. He reached up and readjusted his cowboy hat, which set off some kind of wave that made the other two brothers do the same.
Seriously, why do they have to look like they belong on the cover of Ride a Cowboy Weekly?
Wait. That sounded dirtier than she meant it. Not that she’d exactly take it back.
They practically dripped masculinity, their bodies speaking to hours of manual labor, and the effect kept hijacking her jumbled thoughts. It’d been so long since she’d more than half-heartedly checked out a guy that apparently now she couldn’t even handle being in the presence of handsome men.
Back when she was in her early twenties—before guys discovered she came with baggage and a five-year-old—she used to be fairly decent at flirting her way into getting a guy to help her out with things like clearing that late fee or giving her a few more weeks on the rent. Once she’d even talked her disgruntled landlord into mowing the overgrown lawn he was harping on and on about. Clearly, she’d lost it, because the expressions aimed her way were immovable ones that conveyed disbelief in exceptions or wiggle room. Or the charity she’d shed her pride to ask for.
A spinster failure-of-a-mom at thirty-one. Well, it took fifteen years, but Mom was right. Just when she’d been so cocky about how much she’d accomplished. Now she wanted to Frisbee the employee-of-the month plaque she’d received from her boss last week, for all the good it did her.
“We’re sorry you drove all the way here only to have to turn back,” Mrs. Dawson said, tucking behind her ear the sandy-brown and gray strands of hair that’d fallen from her bun. The woman had a frail sense about her, her skinniness and the dark circles under her eyes speaking to a recent—or possibly even current—health issue. “I can give you some referrals, and I’ll see if my contacts know of a good counselor in your area.”
In a daze, Jess blinked at the woman, defeat weighing against her chest and tugging down her shoulders. She truly had failed. And curse her DNA for passing on traits she wished it would’ve held back. In a lot of ways, her daughter was too much like her: stubborn to a fault, blind when it came to guys, spurred on by the words no and can’t, and turning the word guideline into loose suggestion.
If they simply returned home, it’d be harder and harder to keep Chloe from bad influences. This pa
st year she’d struggled to fit in at school, and her solution had been to find the worst possible group of “friends.” Friends who ditched and smoked pot and encouraged Chloe to sneak out at night so she could go meet a guy like Tyler. He was two years older and a whole mess of bad influences on his own. Rebellious, disrespectful, and mysterious—the same things Jessica had been attracted to at Chloe’s age.
Not that her daughter was blameless. Chloe had made plenty of bad choices. She’d dived fully into the party lifestyle, snuck out yet again, and gone on the joyride in the stolen car while under the influence. It was a slippery slope, which was why Jess wanted her at the best place in the state.
Even the others were out of her price range. A counselor might be as well. Maybe they’d just move to a different state entirely. Leave it all behind and eat…ramen. Get a nice box hut under a bridge. Really live out the scenarios people had thrown at her when she’d refused to give her baby up for adoption.
Feeling both levels of failure, Jess shakily stood. “Thank you for your time.”
“I’ll walk you out,” Gruff-and-Grumpy said, and she wanted to shout that she didn’t want chivalry. She wanted her daughter enrolled in their program and a way to pay for it.
“It’s fine. I’ve got it. Unless you’re scared I’ll just drive away without my kid, and then you’ll have to take her.”
“Well, I am now.” An almost-smile crossed his face.
She almost returned it, but her lungs constricted more and more as she walked toward the door.
There in the corner, she caught sight of a wall of flyers on a corkboard. Along with a schedule that outlined class time, equine therapy time, and a few other events she couldn’t quite make out, she saw a neon-yellow paper with the words HELP WANTED across the top. Even better, it was for a job here at Turn Around Ranch.
“You guys are looking for a cook?” It was as if she’d stepped out of her body and someone else had taken control—someone crazy and reckless, personality traits she’d tried very hard to suppress through the years. When you had a kid who depended on you, impulsiveness went out the window, and recklessness wasn’t an option. Still, even as she told her mouth to hold up before it landed her in trouble, the next words were pushing from her lips. “You’re in luck. I just so happen to be one.”
Those dark eyebrows lowered again, only visible under the brim of his cowboy hat when he was giving the signature scowl he’d given her from the moment she’d stepped inside the office. “You’re a cook?”
“Oh, we’ve been looking for a cook for forever and a day,” Mrs. Dawson said, scooting to the edge of her chair.
Hope edged in desperation bobbed up inside Jess. She’d told her boss she needed some time off, and he’d been super understanding. He might not be as cool about her taking…a month? Two? Whatever. This was her daughter. Jobs came and went, but if she lost Chloe, she’d regret it forever. “Perhaps we could help each other out. If you let my daughter into your program, I’ll stay and cook while she’s here. The only other thing I need is a bed to sleep in. I’m not even picky as to where that bed is.”
“Under the stars, then?” the looming cowboy next to her said.
“Okay, I’d prefer a roof over my head. Like a lean-to, at least.”
That almost-smile quivered his lips, but he tamped it down. Why was he so determined to keep up the steely front? Or maybe it wasn’t a front. Right now, she didn’t care, and since she clearly wasn’t going to get anywhere with him, she turned to Mrs. Dawson. “I can have a list of references to you within a matter of hours. My bosses all love me.” At least that was true. At one point she hadn’t known how to balance books or create databases, but she’d learned. Cooking had never been high on her priority list, but she could learn to do that as well. There were Google and the Food Network, and she could make a box of mac and cheese like nobody’s business. How hard could it be?
“The job entails cooking rather large meals,” Mrs. Dawson said. “We’ve got the ranch hands, the staff of the teen camp, and the teens. We’re talking about thirty people, Monday through Sunday, morning and night.”
Holy shit. “Great.”
“Wade?” Mrs. Dawson glanced at the man standing next to Jess. Ah, yes—that was it. Wade. It fit him perfectly, too.
“Can you give us a moment?” he asked, cupping Jess’s elbow and nudging her toward the door. Perfect. The first time a hot guy so much as touched her in over a year, and it was to kick her out.
“I can start tomorrow. Tonight, even,” she added. “Just point me toward the kitchen.” So I can study it and figure out what everything is. She hoped the assumption they kept food more on the basic side was correct. If these cowboys wanted quiches, well…well, she’d figure it out.
Note to self: Google quiche and find out what exactly that is.
Wade propelled her across the entryway, his long strides impossible to keep up with. He turned gentleman again as he waved a hand toward the chairs on the wooden porch. “Please have a seat. I’ll be back shortly.”
The door closed before she could add any more special skills: she could balance a ledger, fold clothes into perfect squares for display tables, and deliver food to people who were never happy and make them smile anyway.
Chloe sat on the suspended swing, her legs idly swaying the seat meant for two, and her jaw tightened as Jess sat in the rocking chair to the side. Other than the occasional comment about Jess ruining her life, the silent treatment had been in full force during the trip and was obviously here to stay. Her daughter even crossed her arms tighter. Sometimes it killed Jess how much Chloe was like her, save the blue eyes, which was the only thing her dad had left either of them with.
Jessica opened her mouth to start spouting her list of reasons this was the right call—from how she was only doing this for Chloe’s good to how bad decisions had consequences. Then, of course, she’d add that she loved her no matter what. Since those type of remarks had gone unanswered during the drive here, she figured there wasn’t much point. Either she’d get the job on the ranch and have more time to try to get Chloe to see the light, or they’d go back home, where she’d have to find another drastic measure to employ.
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Acknowledgments
Huge thanks to Deb Werksman for saying yes to my new series, for giving it a home with Sourcebooks Casablanca, and for being so lovely to work with. Thanks to the entire team at Sourcebooks, from marketing to publicity to content and cover and anyone else who helps in the process of getting my books from my computer into the hands of readers.
I’m so grateful for my agent, Nicole Resciniti, for not only understanding the vision I had for my career but also pushing my goals to be even bigger and then helping me reach them. I adore you.
I can’t thank Aaron Huey and the rest of the staff at Fire Mountain Residential Treatment Center enough for letting me come in and ask questions and check out the treatment center. They do such amazing things for struggling teens, and the Beyond Risk and Back podcasts were also great help and something I highly recommend to parents of tweens and teens. Thanks to the teens at Fire Mountain who let me have lunch with them while I asked a bunch of questions for my book.
My family, as usual, deserves tons of praise and gratitude for putting up with deadline brain, letting me talk plot points, and for all the times you send encouraging messages as I’m locked in my office for hours on end. Thanks to my real-life hero for his support and how hard he works to help me succeed. Plus he’s superhot to boot.
Gina L. Maxwell and Rebecca Yarros, words cannot express my adoration for you both. Thank you for the plot calls and the catchup calls and for being my lifesavers in writing and in life.
Thanks, dear readers. Whether this is the first book of mine you’ve read or if you’ve read dozens, I appreciate every single one of you. You make dreams come true.
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About the Author
Cindi Madsen is a USA Today bestselling author of contemporary romance and young adult novels. She sits at her computer every chance she gets, plotting, revising, and falling in love with her characters. She loves music and dancing and wishes summer lasted all year long. She lives in Colorado (where summer is most definitely not all year long) with her husband and three children. She and her family also take their Marvel addiction very seriously, as their one-eyed cat, Agent Fury, and their kitty named Valkyrie can attest.
You can visit Cindi at cindimadsen.com, where you can sign up for her newsletter to get all the up-to-date information on her books.
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