A Good Old-Fashioned Cowboy

by Maisey Yates

  “I can give you another full day tomorrow if you could use the help. I’m bringing my own lunch though.”

  “Really?” she asked, walking toward the door with him.

  “Sausage and cheese and a Coke is not my idea of a lunch.”

  “No, I mean the full day thing.” She grabbed his hat off the weird hat rack and handed it to him.

  “Sure. Long as you need it.”

  She chewed on her bottom lip, which was when he realized they were standing a shade too close. And he was staring at her mouth.

  He remembered exactly how it felt to have his hand on her hip, no matter how lightly. To have those hazel eyes fixed on him like she wasn’t so sure of herself. He could forget who she was—a Riley, his friend’s baby sister, his surrogate mother’s daughter—and just see and feel Pru. He could forget who he was supposed to be, and just be him.

  The bell tinkled and Pru jerked so hard she nearly tripped over her own feet. Her cheeks turned a bright red. As if she’d been thinking the same kind of thoughts he had.

  Without jerking or blushing, he turned to face the intruder. It was one of her friends. Hope. The one with the failed wedding and the candy store.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” she said.

  “Not at all,” Grant replied. He slid his hat on his head. He didn’t look back at Pru, but he offered a wave. “See you tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow. Tomorrow he’d remember to keep his distance.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  PRU BLEW OUT a slow, steady breath. Boy, had her imagination gone off in a very bad direction. Because there could not have been a moment where Grant’s gaze had dipped to her mouth.

  Ha! Ha. Ha. Ha. Not in a million years.

  But Hope’s eyebrows were raised. “What did I walk into?”

  “Nothing,” Pru said, and knew she sounded desperate to believe it.

  “Didn’t look like nothing. Especially considering how red your face is. I thought you didn’t want a man.”

  Pru wanted to blame the churning of her stomach on the hangover, but she knew that wasn’t it. “I don’t. I really don’t.”

  “Okay, so—”

  She couldn’t let Hope talk. Or joke. Or anything. She had to make this go away. “I’m just hungover.” She waved her hands, knew the gesture was a little too wild, but couldn’t seem to help it. It was silly to get this worked up over a look. To let that flutter in her chest lie to her. “He just puts me off balance.”

  “That’s not such a bad thing. James never put me off balance. I always thought I had everything under control. Then...” Hope made exploding noises and mimed things blowing up.

  Pru laughed, some of the panic leveling out at Hope’s joke. “I’m glad you can do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Make a joke about it and mean it.”

  Hope shrugged. “I wasted a lot of time on him. On that life.”

  “Not anymore.” No more wasted time. She swallowed because that caused a strange bubble of panic to center itself in her chest. But panic could be dealt with. You stepped back. You took everything one day, one hour, one minute at a time. She’d maneuver Hope away from this conversation, and everything would be fine.

  “So...” Hope slid onto the stool Grant had sat at for lunch. He’d sat there and eaten lunch with her and batted ideas back and forth and it had been...

  Best not to think on that.

  “Let’s talk about Grant.”

  “Nothing to talk about. He’s been helping me out.” That was all. With time, she could convince herself of it.

  “You danced with him.”

  “Well, yeah, that was my slip. Ask someone to dance.”

  “But you chose him.”

  “Because I knew he wouldn’t think anything of it. Just because I think he’s hot, doesn’t mean I’m interested.” Pru forced herself to relax. To be flippant. Bored. Not all churned up. “Grant’s a whole thing, Hope. Think of the mess I am and multiply it by like a hundred. Man’s a wreck.”

  Hope tilted her head, studying Pru in a way that told Pru she’d said something wrong, but Pru couldn’t think what.

  “Why would I think you’re a mess, Pru?”

  Because I am such a damn mess. Pru breathed in deep then forced a smile. “I just mean in general, you know. We agreed to come here because we weren’t happy, right? That was the pact.” Her heart was thundering in her chest, but she had to pretend it wasn’t. Had to pretend...

  “But you acted like...like you were doing it for me. For the pact. Not because you weren’t happy enough in California.”

  “Enough being the operative word.” This was leading somewhere she hadn’t anticipated. She had to nip it in the bud. “Look, I don’t want to talk about—”

  “Pru.” Hope’s hand curled around her arm. There was a look of confusion and hurt on her face and Pru didn’t know what to do but stare at it. “What haven’t you been telling us?”

  “I tell you guys everything.” As close to everything as anyone in her life.

  “Clearly not. If you think you were a mess. If you’re saying you weren’t happy. That’s not what you told us when you agreed to this. You mentioned being a little dissatisfied in your job. Not being unhappy.”

  “All I had was my job.”

  “That’s not what you told us. You had friends. Dates. You were playing beach volleyball of all damn things.”

  “I did. I was. For a while. The last year or so... I didn’t. I just sort of pulled myself in. Gradually. Without noticing it. I just stopped wanting to do any of it or be involved in that sort of thing.”

  “You were depressed?”

  “No. Not like that.” She pulled away from Hope. This was getting out of hand, but Pru was failing at being clear. “Not clinically. I didn’t want to hurt myself. I was just sad.” Had she realized that? Had she admitted it to herself?

  God, she didn’t want to. She needed to power through and change the subject. “I don’t know why. So, congratulations, your wedding imploding fixed my problem. I haven’t felt sad here. This store...” She looked around, but the emotions swamping her weren’t going away. And, as only ever happened with her friends, words she wanted to keep inside tumbled out. “It wasn’t what I wanted, or thought I wanted, but it feels exactly like what I’ve needed.”

  “You should have told us.”

  Pru thought about that. She had never felt like she was lying or keeping something from her friends. She wasn’t sure she understood what she’d been doing or feeling until she’d left it behind. “I didn’t know how.”

  “‘I’m sad.’ That’s all you needed to say.”

  That sounded horrible. Terrifying. Why would anyone tell people they were sad? Then you had to deal with it, when life would probably come along and fix it well enough on its own. She’d come home because of her friends and happenstance, not because she was sad. “Did you ever tell us you were unhappy with James?”

  Hope wrinkled her nose. “Point taken.”

  “Sometimes you just don’t...know.” That wasn’t exactly right. She’d known...something. She just hadn’t had the words for those feelings. And talking about them would have made it worse, she was sure. This here wasn’t helping anything. She felt like her heart was going to beat out of her chest. Or worse, that she might start crying.

  “But now you do. We do,” Hope said. “So, if it happens again, you tell us.”

  Pru nodded. She didn’t agree, not fully, but this wasn’t just about Pru. It was about Hope. Hope hadn’t been happy and she hadn’t said it or acknowledged it... She needed to believe that was the answer, and for Hope it might very well be.

  It definitely wasn’t for Pru.

  “And in the here and now you tell me what’s going on with Grant.”

  “I think I like him,” Pru said, even though she didn’t want to ad
mit it. But the words just fell out. “A little too much. For a little too long.”

  “Why’s that so bad?”

  She had a litany of reasons, but they would all get more commentary from Hope than Pru wanted, so she used the easiest one that couldn’t be refuted. “He doesn’t look at me like that.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure. He was looking at you when I walked in.”

  Pru chewed on her lip. She didn’t hope for that or anything. Or if she did it was only because it was embarrassing to be the only one feeling something. Which was the only reason she wanted confirmation. “Really?”

  “Big time. I mean, he might not have looked altogether sure of what to do about it, but he was looking.”

  Pru laughed and shook her head. It had loosened something inside her, but it was still ridiculous. Even if he looked, Grant wasn’t going to touch. Not Beau’s little sister. And anyway, she didn’t want him to, right? She wanted to make this store work. That was all she could think about.

  “Come on, let’s go home,” Hope said, nodding for the door. “Charity has us going to some church potluck thing.”

  “No. No. I can’t stomach salmon. I can’t bear it.”

  “That’s what the potluck is for. Other people have to eat the salmon.”

  * * *

  JUNE ROLLED INTO JULY, the Fourth seeing Grant actually attending the big Jasper Creek Fourth of July celebration with Cade and his family. Grant had caught a glimpse of Pru with her friends and done his level best to avoid her. He spent more and more of every day helping her at the store, and was careful to keep his distance from her everywhere else.

  By mid-July, they’d finally gotten most of the clear-out taken care of, and were now working on putting shelves and bins together. Pru was ordering things and figuring out when to have her soft open.

  He didn’t question whether she still actually needed his help. It worked—weekdays at the store, weekends at the ranch. Why it worked and when it would end wasn’t worth thinking about.

  But every weekend at the ranch, he found himself worrying about the time coming when he’d have to be back to it full-time. When he’d have to face the weight of what his father had asked of him that he’d been shirking for weeks.

  But a strange side effect to spending more time off the ranch was that he enjoyed the time he did spend there with his family. It was why, no matter how many Sunday nights the guilt started to creep in like his father’s ghost was hanging out in the corner, Monday morning he got up and went to Pru’s.

  To avoid the guilty feelings this Sunday, he offered to handle the dishes while everyone else scattered to various chores. As he was finishing up, all five of his brothers entered the kitchen.

  Grant looked at them. When they didn’t say anything, just stood there with their arms crossed as they blocked the exit, Grant dried his hands on a towel. “What’s this?”

  “An intervention,” Tate said.

  “What do I need an intervention for?”

  “The past few weeks you’ve been scarce. Off our backs. Doing exactly what we’ve been asking you to do for like five years.”

  Grant looked at each of them like they were crazy, since they clearly were. “So, I give you guys what you want for a few weeks and suddenly I need an intervention?”

  “I saw you smiling,” Adam said with a shudder.

  “I caught you whistling,” Mac said, as if it were on par with running through the house naked and on fire.

  “The girls said you made cookies with them yesterday.” Cade threw his hands in the air. “Cookies.”

  “Aren’t those all good things?” Grant asked.

  “Are you dying?” Ford demanded. “Because that isn’t cool if you’re keeping it from us.”

  “I’m good. I’m fine.”

  “You started with good. You.”

  “He’s got to have a woman,” Mac insisted. “You don’t magically start acting nicer and looking healthier without a woman’s influence.”

  “Where would his sour face come up with a woman?” Adam retorted.

  “Well, if you guys are going to talk about me like I’m not here, you really don’t need me for this conversation.” He tried to move, but his brothers only tightened the circle around him.

  “He’s been spending a lot of time at Pru’s store,” Cade said softly, studying Grant with a careful eye.

  “He danced with her at the Rusty Nail a few weeks ago,” Tate added, nodding thoughtfully. “Awkward as hell. But they danced.”

  “Little Prudence Riley?” Adam scoffed.

  “Little? She’s my age,” Cade retorted.

  “Yeah, your age. In other words, too young.”

  “I’ve had two wives and I’m about to have a third kid. I wouldn’t call it too young.”

  “The point isn’t you. It’s Grant,” Tate said firmly. “What fixed you?”

  “Was I broken?”

  “Yes,” they all said in unison.

  “For years,” Cade said, and he didn’t sound...mad about it. This wasn’t an accusation, even if that was how it seemed. This was concern. Maybe even hope.

  A hope Grant had forgotten how to recognize. How to feel. He wasn’t sure why it was coming at him now or what had changed exactly. It had been so gradual he hadn’t fully noticed it himself until his brothers seemed surprised to find him smiling, whistling, or enjoying time with his nieces.

  “I’m not fixed. I just...” Grant rubbed at his chest. He didn’t think people just got fixed, but while he’d been busy getting off the ranch and not thinking about their dad and his responsibilities, something that had been tied tight around his lungs for years had eased. “I just...”

  “Got out for a while?” Mac supplied. “Stepped away from Dad’s ghost? And look. It didn’t kill you. It made you happy.”

  Happy. After their dad had died, happy hadn’t mattered, only making sure everyone was okay. But his brothers were okay, and the ranch was good. Even with him spending time away. Grant shook his head. “Look, I don’t know why you’re all surrounding me. Things have been good. Why question it?”

  “Because the good is directly stemming from you not being here,” Tate pointed out.

  Grant felt a stab of guilt, then that familiar pressure in his chest, around his lungs. He was going to have to give it up, start pulling his weight here again. It was the right thing to do. The thing Dad had asked him to do. “I’m sorry. I’ll start putting more hours in. The ranch needs—”

  “You misunderstand us, Grant,” Mac said with a certain gentleness his brothers rarely trotted out. “Did it occur to you that not working the ranch might be what you need?”

  “How could I not work the ranch? Dad—”

  “Isn’t here,” Tate said firmly. “He’s gone. I know you blame yourself. But we don’t.”

  “And he had six sons,” Ford added. “I’m pretty sure five of us can handle it. This store stuff seems to interest you more. Maybe try that.”

  “Running a store?”

  “Or working at Pru’s,” Cade said. “Even just part-time. You’re not expendable here, but we can certainly step up and fill your shoes if they’re shoes you don’t want.”

  Grant had never thought of the ranch as being a choice. That wasn’t how he’d been brought up.

  “So?” Ford prodded.

  “So what?”

  “What do you want?” Adam asked, and all his brothers looked at him expectantly. Grant hadn’t allowed himself to answer that question in years. Not once since his father had died. Even before then. Ed Mathewson had been devoted to his family. Everything was about the good of the family—not the individual.

  Grant wasn’t sure he’d ever seen himself as one of those. Wasn’t sure the word individual even made sense. How could he know what he wanted if he didn’t think about the ranch and his brothers?


  But maybe that was it. The thing that had unlocked that suffocating cloud of grief weighing on his shoulders. He’d wanted to solve an unsolvable problem. Not for himself. But for his brothers. For his family.

  A family that was more than fine, even with his absence.

  If he thought about himself and himself alone, he wanted something very different. Away from the responsibility his father had left him. While dying. Not while alive and having a normal conversation.

  “I don’t...know.”

  Cade slapped him on the shoulder. “You’ve got time to figure it out. We just wanted to make sure it was happiness. Not like...”

  “Terminal illness,” Ford finished.

  “No. No illness.”

  “Good, then. We’ve got it covered here while you figure it out,” Tate said.

  “Because we want you to be happy, Grant. Not a martyr to this place,” Cade added.

  Eventually his brothers scattered, but everything they’d said stuck with Grant as he tried to sleep, as he got ready for the following day.

  He had been a martyr to the ranch. In a way, that had been his grieving. There was part of him afraid to leave it behind.

  But there was another part of him that couldn’t stop turning over and over what Cade had said. We can certainly step up and fill your shoes if they’re shoes you don’t want.

  They’d asked him flat out, what did he want? At first it had simply been to change, to stop feeling the way he had been. But something had opened up.

  He pulled up in front of the feed store. There were pots overflowing with blooms on either side of the door, and he could see the goat’s creepy head staring at him just by glancing at the window.

  In the privacy of his own mind, Grant had taken to calling him Victor.

  He got out of his truck and simply watched. Pru was moving around inside. It looked like she was trying to set up the front where they’d both agreed the gardening section should go.

  He’d been helping her out for weeks, but he’d been careful ever since that moment when they’d stared at each other a little too long. There had been other moments like it, but he’d been careful. Stepped back. Made space. Had not made eye contact.