by Myra Johnson
If only someone else had been in the ER that day. If only she hadn’t given Payne her number, gone out with him the first time, fallen desperately in love with him—or, more accurately, with the idea of marrying a doctor just like her kind, caring, devoted dad. Because Payne Dearborn had turned out to be nothing like Erin’s dad. Why hadn’t she recognized the signs—if not before the wedding, then certainly before bringing a child into the marriage? As the years passed, Payne came to depend more and more on alcohol to relieve the stress of his profession. And the more he drank, the more his cruel side came out.
Nine years, a broken collarbone and entirely too many bruises later, Erin had had enough. Though Payne had never laid a hand on Avery, Erin could no longer take the chance. For both their sakes, she got out.
Brushing away an unexpected tear, she shoved the memories aside and concentrated on her driving. A few minutes later, she pulled into the nearly deserted school parking lot. As she glanced around for Avery, her heart plummeted. Surely, the little girl wouldn’t have accepted a ride from someone else.
Then the fair-haired first-grade teacher Erin had met when she’d enrolled Avery on Monday strode from the building, her hand wrapped around Avery’s. Spying her mom, Avery lit up with a huge grin. She broke free from the teacher and galloped toward the car faster than the grumpy cowboy’s big black horse.
Erin reached across to shove the passenger door open, then stuffed the quilt bundle into the back seat. “Hi, honey! Sorry I’m late.”
“It’s okay, Mommy.” The little girl swiped messy auburn curls out of her eyes as she bounded into the car. “While we waited for you, Miss Adams let me help her feed the gerbils.”
“Wow, gerbils—how fun!” Erin looked past her daughter to cast an apologetic smile toward the teacher now leaning in the open door. “Thank you for looking after her. I totally lost track of time.” Among other things.
“My pleasure. Avery was a big help.” With a reassuring smile, the teacher added, “And she’s doing fine. Already making friends. Aren’t you, Avery?”
“I am, Mommy. My new bestest friend is Eva Austin. She’s kind of new at school, too, ’cause she used to be homeschooled. She lives on a ranch and has her very own pony.”
“A pony. How special.” Erin returned Miss Adams’s wave as the teacher closed Avery’s door.
Apparently, just about everyone in this little Hill Country town had some connection with horses and ranching. She might have been born and raised a Texan, but her exposure to cowboy culture was pretty much limited to the TV Westerns she’d watched as a kid on the oldies channel.
What could Greg have been thinking? Her big brother had assured her that moving to Juniper Bluff could mean a fresh start, a chance to leave the past behind and figure out what she wanted to do with the rest of her life. But couldn’t she have done so just as well in San Antonio, maybe rented a small apartment near Greg’s place? If she really did have hopes of launching an interior design business, wouldn’t her prospects be a lot stronger in the city? The part-time job Greg had arranged for her at a Juniper Bluff gift shop would never pay enough to support her and Avery for the long term.
And she had to take some positive action soon, while she still clung to what few remnants of self-esteem Payne Dearborn hadn’t managed to crush.
* * *
Riding out to search again for those two stray heifers, Kent hoped getting back to work would distract him from dealing with his unexpected visitor. Because she’d sure enough distracted him. And while he appreciated a few diversions at the moment, that kind he could do without.
Recalling her reaction at the mention of the snakes, though, he allowed himself another brief chuckle. He also made a mental note to ask his neighbor LeRoy if he’d come by one day soon and help him deal with those rattlers—preferably without the use of a rifle. Kent loved ranching, but he despised guns. The mere sound of them from a nearby hunting lease could evoke flashbacks from Afghanistan that made his palms sweat and his heart race.
Another reason the letter from the historical society had him so flustered. He’d worked for ten years to preserve his quiet way of life out here on the ranch—and now they were telling him this place was one of the original Juniper Bluff homesteads. And they were planning a huge sesquicentennial celebration next year and wanted to feature his property on a grand tour.
True, Kent had known the place was a fixer-upper when he bought it—but a hundred and fifty years old? That had come as a surprise. Previous owners over the years had added modern plumbing, wiring and other basic updates. With a few minor repairs now and then to keep the place livable, it had served Kent just fine. He couldn’t imagine who’d be interested in touring a run-down old house and barn.
And spending his hard-earned cash to make things presentable for a bunch of gawkers? Uh-uh. Not happening. With fewer and fewer calves being born each year, his ranching account was dropping deeper into the red. If he hoped to keep this dream alive, every penny he could put aside had to go toward a quality registered bull to replace the old fella who’d outlived his productive years.
Thanks to a recent spring storm, though, he’d had no choice but to dip into his savings to repair the leaky barn roof. Last year, it was his septic tank, and the year before, his rattletrap of a truck needed a new timing belt.
Yep, much as he loved ranch life, it was definitely one challenge after another.
He found the strays at the westernmost border of his land. Apparently, they’d discovered a weak spot in one of his pasture fences and wandered down to drink from a burbling creek running deep and fresh from spring rains. He had to do little more than wave his hat, whistle through his teeth and keep centered in the saddle as Jasmine expertly turned the heifers in the direction of home.
Once they’d rejoined the herd, Kent rode the fence line to look for any other sections in need of repair. Finding two more trouble spots, he made quick temporary fixes to hold until he could do the job right tomorrow afternoon after his shift ended at the hardware store. Supplementing with part-time work in town gave him a little extra to live on anyway.
Back at the barn, he unsaddled Jasmine and brushed her down before leading her into her stall. He tossed in a flake of hay, refilled her water pail and dumped a scoop of feed into her tray. The mare gave a nicker of gratitude and settled in for her supper.
Kent chuckled to himself. He should have it so easy.
When he walked through his back door and into his empty kitchen a few minutes later, the weight of living alone hit him like a punch to the gut. Which was crazy, because the solitary life was exactly what he wanted—no, needed. Peace and quiet and green growing things all around him. And his animals—a trusty cow horse, a couple of gentle mares he’d rescued, a few head of cattle and the sleepy old dog, who on day one of his adoption, had claimed Kent’s easy chair and relegated him permanently to the sofa.
“I’m home, Skip.” Kent tossed his dusty felt hat onto the breakfast table and stooped to pick up Skip’s food dish. “Hungry, boy?”
A thud followed by toenails clicking on hardwood announced the yellow half Lab’s lazy approach. Kent filled the dog’s dish with kibble, and while Skip munched, Kent’s gaze swept the drab walls, bare of any adornments except for the calendar his boss at the hardware store gave out to all his customers every December. The kitchen, like every room in the house—and the outside, too, for that matter—badly needed a fresh coat of paint.
Except for the couple of times a year when his folks came down from Tulsa for a visit, Kent never much concerned himself with appearances, and why should he start now? Yeah, his mom was always on his case about how the place could sure use a woman’s touch. Every visit, she’d get busy cleaning light fixtures and rearranging his badly disorganized cupboards, while Dad puttered around outside, pulling weeds or shoring up sagging porch steps.
But standing here now, and with visions of this afternoo
n’s pretty basket weaver playing through his mind like a video on an endless loop, Kent found himself wondering what Erin Dearborn would have to say about his bleak living conditions. She clearly had an eye for beauty, not to mention a talent for creating art from what anyone else would toss aside. He could still recall the delicate feel of the little twig basket in his hand, still picture the amazingly realistic straw bluebonnets and the dainty letter A, so perfectly formed. He wondered what the initial stood for—maybe her daughter’s name?
You can ask next time you see her.
Startled by the realization that he wanted there to be a next time, Kent pulled a quick breath of air into his lungs. Seriously? He was allowing one random encounter to make him question everything about the life he’d so carefully constructed for himself? Kent had long ago decided he wasn’t relationship material anyway, not with the baggage he carried from his wartime service as a corpsman.
Nope, this bachelor cowboy had everything he needed right here. He’d stick a frozen dinner in the microwave, and after supper, he’d fall asleep in front of the TV while his dog snored in the easy chair. Tomorrow morning, he’d get up early for chores, work at the hardware store till noon, come home for lunch and then get busy fixing those fences. Routine was his comfort zone, and nobody better mess with it.
Yep, the historical society could just find some other old house to show off.
Chapter Two
“Avery, get a move on. We’re running late.” Erin scooped up her purse and keys from the kitchen table, then snatched Avery’s lunchbox off the counter. “Grab your backpack, honey. And don’t forget a sweater.”
“I’m hurrying as fast as I can, Mom.” Stomping feet echoed from the hallway. “And anyway, you should have woken me up sooner.”
Erin pressed the button to open the garage door. “I know, and I’m sorry,” she said as Avery bounded past her. “I forgot to set my alarm.”
She wasn’t sure when it began, this struggle to get anywhere on time. Growing up, she’d earned a reputation for being early to everything. Maybe it was the people pleaser in her, the same part that had kept her married to an abuser in hopes that if she was good enough, if she tried hard enough, she could eventually change him.
Now, with Payne out of the picture, apparently she’d relaxed her standards. Or else it was rebellion, pure and simple. Her way of reclaiming a semblance of control over her life.
Whatever the case, she needed to redevelop the habit of punctuality. Getting her daughter to and from school on time was important, yes, but when Erin reported to her new job at Wanda’s Wonders next week, she couldn’t expect the gift shop’s owner to overlook tardiness.
As she sped through downtown Juniper Bluff toward the school, Avery kicked the seat back. “You’re driving too fast, Mom. You’re gonna get a ticket.”
At that very moment, Erin spotted a patrol car parked where the school zone began. Guiltily, she eased her foot off the accelerator and allowed the car to coast until the speedometer dropped below twenty miles per hour. Pasting on an innocent smile, she steered past the officer and into the school’s drop-off lane.
A teacher’s aide opened Avery’s door, and she scooted out. “Bye, Mom. See you after school!”
Waving to her daughter, Erin swallowed down the lump in her throat. She still couldn’t believe her little girl would soon finish first grade. Where had the years gone? This Saturday would be Avery’s seventh birthday. Erin still needed to put the finishing touches on the basket she’d started yesterday. It wasn’t much of a birthday gift, but for now, it was something Erin could afford. Besides, Avery loved collecting pretty things—beads, rocks, feathers, leaves—and this basket would be a perfect place to keep her treasures.
Before Erin could finish the basket, though, she had another chore on her to-do list. The small three-bedroom bungalow her brother Greg had helped her purchase suited their needs just right, and the neighborhood seemed safe enough. But living on her own for the first time in her life, she couldn’t shake her apprehension. Ideally, she’d prefer to install an alarm system—another expense she couldn’t afford. Instead, she’d decided to invest in security lights for the front and back of the house. Those shouldn’t cost too much, and how hard could they be to install?
Picking up groceries last weekend, Erin had noticed a hardware store across from the supermarket. A few minutes after leaving the school, she pulled into the Zipp’s Hardware parking lot and found a space between a dirt-encrusted pickup and an older-model hatchback. The brick building with the green metal sign across the front appeared to have been around almost as long as the town itself. All kinds of intriguing gadgets lined the display windows on either side of the entrance, and Erin grew so entranced that she almost forgot why she’d come—until the door burst open and a crusty old guy in overalls and a baseball cap nearly plowed into her. He mumbled an apology, climbed into the dirty pickup and drove away.
So much for small-town friendliness. With an annoyed shake of her head, Erin marched inside. She paused to get her bearings, her gaze skimming the signage over each aisle: Plumbing, Tools, Fasteners, Electric...
“Can I help you?”
Erin turned with a start. “You?”
“You!” yesterday’s cowboy said at exactly the same time.
She backed up a step, yesterday’s butterflies returning with ferocity. “You work here?”
“I do.” One brow arched. “Did you make it on time to pick up your daughter?”
“Yes. I mean, no. But it was okay. She was helping her teacher feed the gerbils.” And why did Erin feel the need to explain herself?
The cowboy looked at her askance, one wayward lock of brown hair sliding across his temple. “Gerbils. Aren’t those just glorified rats?”
“They’re actually pretty cute. I had a pair when I was a kid. And then they had babies and Mom made me give them away—” Lips pursed, Erin crossed her arms. “I—I’m actually looking for security lights. Do you carry those?”
“Lighting’s in aisle seven.” Starting in that direction, he peered over his shoulder. “Erin, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she said, hurrying to follow. “I’m sorry. I’m terrible with names. Ken?”
“Kent.” He stopped about halfway down the aisle. “Here we go. Security lights. You want manual or automatic?”
Erin bit her lip. “What’s the basic difference?”
Slanting her a crooked smile, Kent picked up a box. “This one’s manual. That means you have to turn it on and off yourself from the light switch.”
“Of course.” With a silly-me eye roll, Erin bent to read the printing on another box. “So...automatic means the lights come on by themselves, obviously. How do they know?” She cringed at how ignorant she must sound.
“Well, there’s the kind where you set a timer for exactly when you want the light to go on and off. Then there’s this one,” he said, indicating the box she was examining, “which has a simple light sensor. On at dusk, off at dawn.”
“I like that.”
“Or there’s one other option,” Kent said, reaching for a box on a higher shelf. “This one has both a light sensor and a motion detector. If you don’t want the light on all night, you can set it to come on only when there’s activity to trigger it.”
Erin hadn’t realized she’d have so many choices. An amber warning light blinked in her brain. “That one’s probably the most expensive.”
“Yeah, they do go up in price when you start getting fancy. Where do you plan to use it?”
“Front and back porches.”
“Any reason you wouldn’t want the lights on all night? Like bedroom windows nearby, or neighbors who might be annoyed?”
Valid points. Points Erin hadn’t considered. “How much exactly is the motion-detector style?”
Kent brought a box down from the shelf. “This one’s our bestselling model. It�
�s priced at $69.95.” He must have noticed her flinch, because he returned the box to its place and chose another one instead. “Now, this one here has fewer bells and whistles but works just as good, and it’s $30 cheaper.”
Still a lot, but definitely more affordable. Erin pictured her minuscule checkbook balance. Maybe she could buy one today and hold off on the second one until after she got her first paycheck.
She felt Kent’s eyes on her. Thoughtfully, he asked, “You were wanting two, right?” When she replied with a hesitant nod, he drew a hand across his chin. “This is actually a closeout model. With the newer ones expected any day now, we need to clear out shelf space. I’ll sell you the second light for half price.”
Erin brightened. “Really? That would be great!” If things went well, she could have the lights installed before she picked up Avery from school. And maybe tonight she’d actually get a full night’s sleep instead of tossing and turning and listening for every little sound.
* * *
What was it about this woman? Clenching his teeth, Kent tucked two of the security light kits under his arm and strode toward the cash register. Good thing ol’ Ben Zipp, the store’s penny-pinching owner, wasn’t in this morning. Kent hadn’t lied about a newer model coming out—this manufacturer typically updated the line every year—but there’d been no catalog info as yet.
As for the discounted price? Kent would have to ring it up as quoted and then make the correction after Erin left the store. He’d make up the difference out of his own pocket. And maybe settle for PB&J for lunch at home instead of stopping for a sub sandwich at the supermarket deli.