Wish Upon a Cowboy

by Jennie Marts

  But instead of her losing that trust, she was afraid Floyd was the one who felt betrayed. And that hurt more than anything else.

  She curled into a ball, shoving her hands into her pockets and hunching her shoulders. Her fingers grazed the folded stack of bills she’d shoved into her jacket before she’d left the house. Pushing herself up, she sat on the sidewalk and pulled the money that Logan had given her from her pocket.

  A plan emerged as she gazed at the cash. There was close to two hundred dollars in her hand—not a lot—but when she combined it with the old blue truck she had the keys to, it was enough to get her and Floyd out of Colorado.

  Chapter 8

  Harper stared at the bills. Could she really take Logan’s money? And his truck? He’d said the truck wasn’t important to him, but still. Grand theft auto, regardless of how ungrand the auto was, still held a much worse sentence than stealing a measly two hundred bucks.

  And she’d be taking more than just his money and an old truck. She’d be taking his trust. For some reason, that mattered to her. It shouldn’t—she’d only known the guy for one damn day. What did it matter what his opinion of her was?

  But she knew it did. It mattered because he’d given her a chance. He’d trusted her and let her into his home when she felt like she’d failed everyone else in her life.

  Maybe he would understand. She could write him a letter, explain about Floyd and how she needed the money, and swear she’d pay it back as soon as she was settled. Except where were they going to settle with only two hundred dollars? And how was she going to pay anything back when she had no job?

  She let out a sigh and shoved the cash back into her pocket. She couldn’t do it, couldn’t take Logan’s pickup or his money. She wasn’t a criminal.

  Oh wait, yes, she was. She’d just been released from county jail because she’d stolen money from her mom’s employer. Even though she hadn’t known what she was doing at the time, she had been a part of it. She was a criminal. But that wasn’t who she wanted to be. She didn’t want to hurt Logan. And she didn’t want to break the tenuous relationship they’d formed. He made her laugh, and they talked and got along—like friends. And he was the first friend she’d had in years.

  Although she’d never had a friend who sent heat shooting up her spine just by smiling at her, but that was beside the point. And thinking about that was not doing anything to help her current situation.

  She had to stay focused on Floyd and what was best for him. She loved that kid so much. Was she really being selfish by wanting to keep him with her? Slumping forward, her shoulders caving in, she pressed her fist hard against her mouth as she fought not to break down and weep.

  Stop it. She took a deep breath and pushed her shoulders back. She hadn’t cried in jail. She wouldn’t cry now. Those bitches in lockup had been a hell of a lot tougher than Judith Benning, and she hadn’t let them tear her down. Why was she going to let some socialite from a small town defeat her?

  Floyd was her son. She would do anything—go to the ends of the earth—for that kid. That’s what made her a good mom. It wasn’t money or a nice house. It was time spent teaching him to read and to throw a ball and playing hours and hours of Clue because it was his favorite game. It was being there when he was sick and being there when he needed her.

  She was a good mom. And she was a fighter. She needed to pull it together. This wasn’t her. When had she ever just lain down and taken it? When had she ever given up without a fight when something was important to her? And Floyd was the most important thing in the world to her.

  Maybe she wasn’t what was best for him right now. But she could be. She just needed some time. Some time to get herself together. To make a little money, get them a place to stay, even if it was only temporary until she could get them back to Kansas.

  She could do this. No matter how menial the work was, she did have a job, and she’d told Logan she wanted to be paid every Friday, so she’d have some money by the end of the week and would be able to find a place to stay.

  She needed to rein in her emotions, think clearly, and make a plan. And get up off the damn sidewalk. She pushed to her feet and brushed the dirt from her pants. Taking a tentative step forward, she put a little pressure on her knee. It hurt, but she could walk.

  Harper gave a panicked glance around her. Had anyone seen her fevered sprint away from Judith’s house? That’s all she needed—a witness to her crazed behavior.

  Tucking her chin to her chest, she headed down the sidewalk. She still had time, but she’d need to stay focused and get the shopping done quickly. Ignoring the ache in her knee, she hurried back to the grocery store.

  As she walked, she formulated a plan for what she needed to do to establish some stability. If Judith took her to court, she’d need to show she had a place to live and some income. Which meant she needed to keep this job, so no flirting with the boss.

  She wouldn’t be able to afford a place to stay until after she got her first paycheck, and even then it would be tight. She might be able to find a room to rent or a small cottage. They didn’t need much, but she couldn’t very well expect a judge to hand over her son if she was sleeping in a barn. If only she actually lived at Rivers Gulch.

  Or…hmmm…a terrible but kind of brilliant idea came to her. What if she could prove she lived in a stable place without actually living there? All she’d need is a piece of mail addressed to her and delivered to the ranch. That couldn’t be too hard.

  The post office sat across the street from the grocery store. She waited for a car to pass, then hurried across the road and into the building. It would only take a few minutes to mail a letter. Except she didn’t have a letter. Or a stamp. Or an envelope. Or the address of the ranch.

  Think. She chewed her bottom lip as she glanced around the inside of the building.

  “Can I help ya?” A tall, thin man with a pair of glasses perched on his balding head stood behind the counter.

  “I need to mail a letter but don’t have a stamp or an envelope.”

  “Ayup,” he said and nodded to the self-service machine that sat against the wall.

  Perfect. The machine had everything she needed. A small envelope cost a quarter, and a single stamp was forty-nine cents. Now all she needed was seventy-four cents and the ranch address.

  Oh. She had it. She’d driven the answer into town. “I’ll be right back,” she called and hobbled quickly back across the street to where she’d parked the blue truck. Popping open the glove box, she rummaged through the papers inside until she found what she was searching for. Ha. She knew they’d keep the truck registration in here, and the address of the ranch was printed right on it.

  On the floor of the truck sat a plastic console with two cup holders and a little storage compartment. The storage area held a box of matches, a packet of gum, three pens, assorted receipts, and some loose change.

  She wouldn’t take Logan’s two hundred bucks, but she was desperate enough to borrow three quarters. She grabbed the coins and a pen and took the registration back to the post office.

  The postman seemed unfazed by her return. Sticking the coins in the slot, she bought the supplies, then set them on the tall table next to the machine. She quickly stamped and addressed the envelope to herself, using the ranch’s address. Should she just send the envelope or put something inside? A stack of red flyers for the Creedence Christmas Celebration sat on the table. She grabbed one, folded it, and stuck it in the envelope. Did she need to include any pertinent information on the flyer? Something to show she truly lived and worked there? Or should she write a note to herself to prove it was authentic correspondence? Maybe she should put her current employer’s name on it and the date she was hired.

  She wrote the word “Logan,” then changed her mind and crossed it out. Her boss’s name and a random date wouldn’t mean anything. The envelope and the postmark were what mattered. Sh
e licked the envelope, sealed it, and held it out to the postman. “Will this still make it out in today’s mail?”

  “Ayup,” he said, glancing at the envelope, then tossing it into a box on his desk.

  “Thanks,” she said over her shoulder as she raced back across the street.

  Cheery holiday music played through the speakers of the market as she quickly moved up and down the aisles, searching for the things on her list and tossing them in the cart. She wasn’t feeling cheery. Her emotions flipped from angry to frustrated to determined, and her jaw hurt from clenching her teeth. But at least she’d done something. She’d taken a step to help herself and her son.

  Her phone suddenly vibrated in her pocket, and her heart leapt to her throat. Could it be Judith? Or Floyd? They were the only ones with this number. Maybe Judith had had a change of heart, or maybe Floyd had seen her at the school. Harper almost dropped the phone in her haste to extract it from her pocket, then cringed when she saw the screen.

  She’d forgotten that one other person also had her number, and he was the one calling her now. What could Logan want? Was he checking up on her? She let the phone ring, not willing to waste the precious minutes left on the phone by answering. If it was important, he could send her a text.

  She was starting to put the phone back in her pocket when it buzzed in her hand again. Shoot. Should she just answer it? With Judith’s threat, Harper hated to waste even a second of the phone’s remaining time in case she needed it to call an attorney or something.

  That was laughable. She hadn’t been able to afford an attorney when she was arrested, which was part of the reason she’d remained in jail so long, so where did she think she’d get the money to pay for one now?

  The only way she had to make money was this job. So upsetting her boss by ignoring his calls probably wasn’t the smartest move.

  She flipped the phone open and held it to her ear. “Is this an emergency?” she snapped.

  “Um, well, no,” Logan stammered.

  Oh my. The sound of his voice was deep and delicious and had heat melting down her spine like butter softening on a warm biscuit. Her knuckles turned white as she clutched the handle of the grocery cart and tried to even out her breathing. Keep focused.

  “I was just calling because I realized I was out of toothpaste and was hoping you could grab me a tube while you’re at the store. Are you still at the store?”

  She blew her bangs off her forehead. “Yes, I’m still in the store, but toothpaste definitely does not constitute an emergency.”

  “Depends on who you ask. Four out of five dentists might disagree with you.”

  A grin threatened her mouth, but she pressed her lips together. She didn’t have time for jokes. And was this really about toothpaste, or was he calling to see if she’d actually gone to the store or absconded with his money? Either way, the clock was ticking on her minutes. “Okay, toothpaste, got it. Any particular brand?”

  “I don’t know. My sister usually gets this stuff and stocks up. Since she moved out, all our stock is depleting. Just get what you normally use. Surprise me.”

  He made it sound as though she were the bartender and he was asking for a drink. Coming right up—one shot of fluoride and minty white freshness, on the rocks, shaken not stirred.

  Geez. Her jokes were as bad as his. Apparently neither of them was cut out to be a comedian. She’d better keep focused on her day job. “Anything else? We’re wasting my minutes.” Crud. She hadn’t meant to say that. She inhaled, then softened her tone. “I mean, if you need anything else, just text me. I’ll be here another fifteen minutes or so.”

  “Sounds good. I’m getting ready to head into town. I’ll see you at the diner in twenty.”

  “See you then. Bye.” She snapped the phone shut, mentally calculating the cost of the call. They’d been on less than two minutes, so it couldn’t have amounted to much. But she didn’t have much to start with.

  It only took another few minutes to finish grabbing the items on her list, including the toothpaste, and then she headed toward the only open register and got in line. The woman in front of her was eighty if she was a day, short and plump, with her thin lips pressed into a fierce wrinkled line.

  A huge black bag sat in the top section of her cart. A small terrier poked its head out of the bag and rested its chin on the side of the cart. It was cute, but didn’t look much friendlier than its owner, who was laying into the flustered cashier.

  “I told you I got those three items out of the clearance bin marked fifty percent off and those six items out of the bin marked seventy-five percent off. These two cans were buy one, get one free, and I have coupons for every other item. I shouldn’t be paying full price for anything.” The woman crossed her arms and stared at the young girl, who didn’t look older than fifteen or sixteen.

  The green store apron hung on the teenager’s thin frame, and she seemed to shrink under the older woman’s gaze as her shoulders sagged inward. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Scary…er, oh my gosh, I mean Mrs. Perry. This is my first week, and I’m still getting the hang of the register.” The girl’s cheeks blazed pink as she focused on the groceries, picking up one item after another, then setting it back down.

  The woman ignored the jab and peered over the teenager’s shoulder. “Where’s Martha? She’s been checking me out for thirty years. She knows what she’s doing.”

  “Martha’s out for the next six weeks. She had surgery on her foot. It was a bunion, I think.”

  “Six weeks off and surgery? For a bunion? That’s ridiculous. I’ve had a bunion for twenty years, and I’ve never taken a day off for it. My big toe is as crooked as a dirty politician, but do you hear me complaining about it? No. I just suck it up and get on with my day.”

  The girl gaped, her eyes wide as her mouth opened and closed.

  “Martha just figures out the difference, then punches the new price into the register,” the woman continued. “Didn’t they teach you basic math in school? What are my tax dollars paying for?” The dog gave a tiny yip as if he agreed.

  The girl swallowed and grabbed a calculator. She pushed her glasses up her nose as she studied it, then gave a baffled glance back at the register.

  Harper couldn’t take it anymore. She didn’t normally butt into other people’s crises, but these two obviously needed help. And if she didn’t step in, they could be there all day. “Can I help? I’m pretty good with numbers.” The cans were clearly marked with the regular price stickers, and she’d already done the calculations in her head.

  The teenager’s head popped up, and she eagerly nodded.

  But the elderly woman wasn’t so sure. She stared coolly at Harper. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Harper. I work for Logan Rivers.” Why did she bring up Logan’s name? The idea was to stay anonymous and not cause any trouble for the man. She needed to get the focus back on the groceries. “And like I said, I’m good with math.”

  The woman narrowed her eyes, studying Harper, then gave a small nod. “The Rivers are good people. I trust Logan’s judgment.” She turned back to the cashier. “Give her the calculator.”

  The cashier thrust the calculator in her direction, but Harper waved it away. “I’m good.” She pointed at the items on the conveyer belt. “The baked goods are regularly a dollar ninety-eight, but with the fifty percent off, they’re ninety-nine cents each, so punch in ninety-nine cents and hit it three times. Those taco shells are normally two ninety-five but are now seventy-four cents with the discount.” She continued with each sale item, figuring the price, then pausing as the cashier fervently hit the keys on the register. When she finished the sale items, Harper pointed at the last few things. “You can run the regular-price items through as they are, then scan the coupons, and the register will take off the correct amount.”

  “Thank you,” the teenager mouthed, then finished scanning the items and conv
eyed the total to Mrs. Perry.

  The older woman pulled a long, fat wallet from her bag. It was stuffed with cash, coupons, and what looked like every receipt she’d received since the Reagan administration. The leather was stretched and worn, and she pulled off the thick rubber band that held it closed. Thumbing through the papers inside, she retrieved a fifty-dollar bill and passed it to the clerk. “Wait. I’ve got the change.”

  Digging back into her bag, she produced a bloated coin purse and unsnapped the closure. As she pulled a wad of folded bills from the top to get to the change, one of the bills slipped off the counter and floated to the floor.

  Harper stared at the money. It was another fifty-dollar bill, and the older woman hadn’t noticed that it fell. All Harper would have to do was take a step forward and cover the bill with her foot, then retrieve it after the woman was gone. The older woman had so much cash stuffed throughout her purse that she’d never notice this bill was gone.

  A person never knew with old ladies though. They could pinch the heck out of a penny and have stacks of cash stowed at the bank, or they could be on a fixed income and make the cash from their social security check last all month by buying day-old bread and expired taco shells from the bargain bin.

  The woman wasn’t paying the least bit of attention to Harper as she pointed to the bags of groceries. “I suppose you don’t have anyone here to help me carry these to my car either. Who’s supposed to take care of that? My dog?”

  Harper thought of her own grandmother as she bent to retrieve the bill, then passed it to Mrs. Perry. “You dropped this, ma’am.”

  The woman turned and stared at the money in Harper’s hand before reaching out and snatching it back like a bird seizing a worm from the ground. She glared at Harper as if she’d stolen the money instead of trying to give it back. “Thank you,” she snapped.

  “No problem,” Harper answered. “And I can carry those bags out to your car.” She nodded to her cart, then told the cashier, “It will just take me a minute. You can take the next person in line while I run this stuff out.” She turned to the person who had come up in line behind her and was surprised to see Bryn, the waitress from the diner.