The Cowboy's Fate (The Govain Cowboys Book 1)

by Janalyn Knight

  After two years of close friendship, he understood her well enough to pick up on her mood. "I'm sorry. I am tired and out of sorts, I guess. I'll go home early. I'm sure a nap will set me to rights."

  "Why don't I drop by later and bring you some dinner? I insist. I won't stay if you don't want me to."

  Some company might do her good after moping around since coming back from West Texas. "That sounds nice. Thanks, David."

  "I'll see you around seven."

  A TEXT MESSAGE WOKE Eve. She blinked her eyes several times. Crap, it was late—six thirty. Picking up her phone as she sat up, her gaze froze on the screen. The text was from Caleb. Her heart pounded. A buzzing started in her ears. She'd only just begun to go an hour at a time without thinking of him. Her misery would start all over.

  Laying the phone on the bedside table, she went into the bathroom and stared herself in the face. She saw a woman with dark circles, chalky skin, and frown lines. What had she done to herself? Looking deep into her eyes, a different, more mature woman peered back at her. A woman who had loved a man and felt his loss.

  Splashing cold water on her face, she considered the phone and what it held. The text would open her wound. She stared at the thing for a long minute.

  Tossing the hand towel on the sink, she strode to the phone and punched up the message, her pulse racing.

  Eve, I tried so hard not to write this. You made it clear that your life can't include a rancher like me, stuck in the wilds of West Texas. But I miss you completely, horribly, desperately. You're all I think about. You distract me every minute of my day, and keep me from sleeping at night. In our short, but amazing, time together, I fell deeply, hopelessly in love with you. Though I respect your decision to go, you must know—I'll love no other woman. You're my one. I'll be waiting for you. For as long as it takes.

  The phone slipped from her grasp and dropped to the floor, her heart shattered. She wanted to go to him this very minute—run into his arms and never leave. But what good would that do? Her life was here, managing her business. She couldn't, wouldn't, give that up. Life was so unfair.

  Picking up the phone, she replied:

  I miss you terribly. My heart is so sore. I haven't been sleeping well, either. I don't know what the answer is. I haven't been happy but pray that I will be eventually. I worked so hard for this dream—my business. I can't bear the thought of giving up on it. But, giving up on you—I don't seem to be able to do that, either, pretend husband. You're the most wonderful, loving man I've ever met and I'm a fool to be here in my house, writing this to you. I never said I was smart. Eve

  Her heart soared. Hearing from Caleb had freed something inside her. A dam had broken, and love spilled into her, warming her, bringing back the joy she’d felt as she made love to him. She tapped her screen and brought up the picture of the two of them. Seeing him made him real again. Holding the phone to her heart, she closed her eyes. He was there, and she was here, and that was the way it had to be. Her happiness faded, replaced by an intense sadness.

  A few minutes later, she headed into the kitchen, and poured a glass of iced tea. Since learning of the torn condom, she’d restricted her alcohol intake. It wasn’t an easy thing with her nerves constantly on edge. After a long swallow, she walked into the living room. Her maid had been in while she was gone, so the house looked fine. Time to get a move on if she were going to change before David arrived.

  David couldn't be more opposite from Caleb. Tall, dark-haired and brown-eyed, he was always in a suit—a well-tailored, expensive one. His businesses took him around the world, and she was sure women fell all over the handsome, wealthy man. Why he asked her to attend these functions with him was beyond her. Surely, he had his choice of beautiful women, and she and David were just friends. Possibly he liked the fact that, with her, he didn't have to put up with the usual back and forth games involved in a date.

  Dressed casually in a flowing yellow pants set, she drew back the curtains in the living room just as the doorbell rang.

  As she opened the door, David stepped inside and gave her a one-armed hug. "I brought Mexican. Tell me you're hungry."

  She smiled. "Thank you. You're the best. Let's go to the dining room. Would you like a beer?"

  "Of course."

  As David set the food out, she carried plates and silverware in. "This smells fabulous. I just realized how hungry I am. I haven't eaten today."

  He stopped moving and grinned at her. "What? Eve Owen passed up food for a whole day? I don't believe you."

  She laughed. "Seriously, I did. I haven't been hungry lately. I'm glad you brought dinner."

  He watched her through narrowed eyes as he took the last container out of the bag and set the tray on the table. "We're having a talk, you and I. You're going to spill the beans."

  She sighed and dished some Spanish rice on her plate, then filled a tortilla with beef fajita meat. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

  Adding borracho beans on top of his rice, he grabbed a tortilla. "Try me."

  Was she ready to talk? Spooning guacamole and salsa on her fajita, she took a big bite. "Ah, this is fabulous."

  David frowned. "Quit stalling. Speak."

  Maybe she should. The whole thing was tearing her up inside, and David was a good friend. "I had a job in West Texas a couple of weeks ago." She took another bite and chewed.

  "Yes?"

  She glanced at him and then back at her plate. How could she explain her four-day love affair and make sense of her feelings? "Something crazy happened."

  He nodded. "Okay."

  She looked up again, and he raised his brows. She swallowed. "I fell in love."

  David jerked his head back and blinked. "You what?"

  "I fell in love with the rancher I went to advise, and he fell in love with me. It all happened so fast. I didn't expect it—didn't want it. I knew I was coming back to my life here in Dallas, but, right then, I didn't care. I loved him." Oh, this sounded all wrong. How could she make David understand the depth, the intensity of her feelings for Caleb? How wonderful he was?

  David's mouth hung open, revealing the chewed-up fajita inside. He stared at her like she'd lost her mind. Had she? She didn't feel like it.

  He closed his mouth and swallowed, then took a long drink of beer, never taking his eyes from her. "Maybe you just think you love him."

  She sighed and turned away. "No."

  "What are you going to do?"

  "Nothing."

  "Nothing?"

  She picked up her tea and took several swallows, as if to drown the sadness attempting to overwhelm her. "My business is here. I've worked too hard to give that up now."

  David gusted out a huge breath. "You're hurting. I can see that. I'm sorry, Eve. If it means anything, I think you made the right decision."

  Had she? The facts told her she was right, but her heart cried out that she was wrong. She pushed her plate away.

  David said, "Eve, you've got to eat. Try for me, won't you?"

  She stood, looking down at her plate. "I'm sorry, David, I can't. I'm afraid I'm terrible company tonight. Do you mind if I head to bed?"

  He went to her, pulling her into a quick hug. "I'll go. You rest. Time, Eve. I've found that time always makes these things better."

  She didn't move as he let himself out.

  After putting the food in the fridge, she showered and headed to bed, though it was still early. Probably because of her nap, she was wide awake. Her phone still lay on the bedside table and she picked it up. There were several new texts. Opening the app, she immediately saw that one was from Caleb. Her heart thumped hard and sped up. What else was there to say between them? She clicked on Caleb's text:

  Is it horrible of me that I'm happy you're sad—that your heart is hurting? It means you still care for me, and I thank God for that. Then I think of your pain, and the opposite is true. I can't bear it. I'm a mess. Mom has seen me moping around and wants me to go to you and do whatever it takes to bring you
back. I told her that's not the answer. West Texas isn't the place for you. I wish with all my heart that it was. It's so good to talk with you, even if it's only by text. I must look at your picture—you remember the one we took—at least a hundred times a day. I hope you can sleep tonight. I hope I can dream of you, and that it's a happy dream. Your pretend husband, Caleb.

  She clutched the phone to her chest, hugging it. Finally, she typed:

  I pray you sleep well, PH.

  She hesitated, then added a large heart emoji and hit send. They were treading dangerous waters, keeping up contact. They were supposed to forget about each other. But that hadn't worked out well for either of them.

  She held the phone, feeling closer to him than she had since she drove away from Govain Ranch. This had been a good day after all. And, tomorrow would be amazing. She had her first flight lesson.

  Chapter Seven

  EVE HAD TO BE AT ROCK Wall Airport, ten miles outside of Dallas, at eight this morning for her lesson.

  David called her on the way there, and she put him through on the speaker in her SUV. "Hi. What's up?"

  "Just checking in on you. Feeling any better today?"

  "Yes, actually. I heard from Caleb."

  There was a pause, then he said, "Really. That was unexpected, wasn't it?"

  "Yes, but I'm glad. I slept like a baby last night."

  He was silent for a moment. "Well, you needed a good night's sleep. I hope you continue to do well. The other reason I called is to confirm whether you want to go to the charity gala next Friday. It's black tie. As always, Cici will send over a dress, if you decide to come."

  She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. Life was looking much better today, and he was her only true friend in Dallas. "Sure, I'll go. Text me the details."

  He laughed. "Great, love. I'm happy you can come. I'll see you then."

  She looked forward to meeting her instructor at American Flyers, the company that had come out on top in her research of flight schools. He was a former fighter pilot. She’d heard he was pretty old but that also made him really experienced. That's what she wanted. A lot of instructors nowadays were young guns, and she'd go for experience any time. She learned, too, that she'd fly a Cessna 152 in her lessons, and that it took forty hours of flight instruction to get her license. Getting her instrument certification would be her next goal.

  Turning her blinker on, she pulled through the gate, and drove to the FBO, fixed base operations lounge, that her instructor was supposed to use and waited outside, as instructed.

  An old man and a young guy came out the door. The younger one gestured with his arms, talking animatedly. The older man seemed to be ignoring him, and the dour look on the old guy's face said he thought the young one was a punk.

  She eyed the old man. He was dressed in a faded, worn-thin olive-drab flight suit and an old, shiny olive-green nylon flight jacket, both covered in pockets and zippers. Was this sour pus her instructor? He looked like Clint Eastwood in Million Dollar Baby, and by the expression on his face, he probably acted like him, too. She'd wanted experience but not like this.

  As the two men neared her, the old man turned to the other guy and said, "Beat it," and walked over. Looking her up and down, he said, "And you would be?"

  Holding out her hand, she said, "Eve Owen. Are you Jet Anderson?"

  Setting his hands on his hips, he screwed up his face in disgust. "Just what the world needs. Another wannabe girl pilot. Tell me, after your first flight, will I ever see you again?"

  She groaned inwardly. Hadn't she dealt with enough irascible old men for a while? "You will. I promise."

  He snorted. "Now, where have I heard that before."

  She needed to steer this conversation back on track. "Mr. Anderson—"

  "Jet."

  She nodded. "Jet, I'd like to get my license as quickly as possible—"

  He made a rude noise. "Don't they all."

  Gritting her teeth, she continued, "I'm self-employed, but I do travel frequently. I'd like to make an arrangement, if it fits your schedule, where I take a lesson each day that I'm in town, until I attain my license and earn my instrument certification."

  He narrowed his eyes. "So, you want to fly by instruments, too. I can teach you that. The question is, can you learn? I won't promise to teach you instruments until I see how you fly, missy. And don't bother begging. It doesn't work on me."

  Begging? Holy hell, was this old fart for real? She narrowed her eyes. "You'd better be good, Jet Anderson."

  He scowled at her "Or what, Eve Owen?"

  "Or nothing." She shoved out her hand.

  This time he shook it.

  As they arrived at the plane, Jet handed her a preflight checklist which was completely over her head. Raising her brows, she stared at him.

  "What, you never check the oil in your car?" He gave her a sour look. "Or, does the little lady ask someone else to do that for her?"

  When she didn't answer, he let out a disgusted sigh. "That's what I thought. A pilot's got to be willing to get his hands dirty. And that means spoiled little girls, too."

  She pressed her lips together to hold back a retort. "I can do that, once somebody shows me how. I'm not afraid of dirt. I was raised on a cattle ranch."

  He said, "Wing and rudder could fall off. Ever hear of Murphy's Law? Anything that can happen, will happen. That's why we do a preflight. Want to quit? You still have time, little girl."

  She narrowed her eyes. "Never. You're not getting rid of me that easy."

  Thirty minutes later, she'd completed the preflight check to Jet's satisfaction, and the Cessna sat in the center of the runway, ready to take off.

  Jet motioned for Eve to add power.

  She put her hand on the throttle and paused.

  He said calmly, "Now, as you add power, you steer with your feet. You'll need more right foot than left foot. Use those feet to keep us right on the center line here. Got it, girl?"

  Eyes wide, Eve said, "Me? I thought you were going to fly this th—"

  Jet dropped his hand over hers and shoved the throttle. The plane tore down the runway.

  Frantically, Eve tried to remember what he'd told her, using her feet, attempting to keep the plane on the center line. Out of the corner of her eye, a calm Jet stared out the windshield.

  He said, "Pull back on the yolk." He’d said that was what the steering wheel was called.

  She did, and they were airborne!

  BY THE TIME HER FIRST flight was over, her head was so full of new things to remember she thought it would explode. Jet was good. She'd figured he'd be a bastard, but she was wrong. He was tough, but he was patient and knew how to deliver information so a student could remember it. He didn't compliment her when she got something right, but he wasn't too hard on her when she got something wrong, either. And he had time for her daily lessons when she was in town. She'd asked if they could do two-hour lessons, and he said to show up at seven from now on. Flying was everything she'd hoped it would be. Her dream had come true.

  CALEB SAT DOWN IN HIS chair in his office and entered his password. Opening the internet, he searched for the florist in Ft. Stockton he used to send his mother flowers from time to time and then dialed them. When they answered, he identified himself and said, "I'd like to send a bouquet to Dallas. Two dozen roses in all different colors. I don't know her favorite." He gave them the address and phone number of Eve's office. Sadly, he didn't have her home address.

  "Did you want to send a card, Mr. Govain?"

  "Yes, I do." Picking up the note he'd written, he dictated it, line by line, and waited as the clerk wrote each sentence down.

  She asked, "How did you sign that, your ... what?"

  Hell. "Your PH. P as in pony, H as in house."

  "Oh, that's interesting."

  He sighed. "Isn't it." They had his credit card on file, so he hung up. Glad that he'd sent the bouquet but worried about its reception, he paced the floor. The clerk had said it would be
delivered by five. Eve had told him that she usually worked until sixish when she was in the office. He prayed she hadn't gone out of town this morning. Their texting conversation hadn't covered mundane things like that last night.

  His mother walked in and caught him pacing. "Eve?"

  He nodded. "I sent her flowers just now."

  Millie gave him a hug. "There's not a woman alive who doesn't love getting flowers. Good for you. Don't give up on that girl, Caleb. I have a feeling about her."

  Clenching his jaw, he looked his mom in the eyes. "No chance of that."

  Millie curled her arm around his and led him out of the room. "Annie's just made some brownies. I've never known my eldest son to turn down a good brownie."

  He laughed, better now after talking to her, as his mother knew he would be.

  Later, as he and Bobby, one of the hands, searched for a herd in one of the Reeves county pastures, he kept checking his phone. Had Eve received his flowers yet? It was getting closer to five and he still hadn't heard anything. Maybe she had gotten them and was unhappy. Maybe he'd crossed a line in sending them. Damn, he hated waiting like this.

  Then his Bad to the Bone ringer went off, and he had a new text. They were going over some nasty terrain so he couldn't read it and drive. He turned to Bobby. "I'm pulling over for a minute.

  Bobby stared at him like ... what?

  Caleb had to read the thing now. He hit the brakes and, as soon as the truck stopped, threw it in park. The first thing he saw when he opened the text was a beautiful bouquet of roses. They'd turned out just as he'd imagined. Scrolling down, he read:

  They're fabulous! I love the colors of spring and summer. You really surprised me, and your card ... you speak your heart so well. Thank you, Caleb. More later. Your PW

  His heart took off like a Quarter Horse down a straight track. His PW? She loved his flowers? He hadn't overstepped. It was all right. And, damn, she'd write again later. He shoved his hand at Bobby for a high-five. "This is a fucking fantastic day!"