The Truth About Cowboys

by Jones, Lisa Renee

  I stop just in front of him. He straightens, towering over me, his timing pure strategy, of course. “What are you up to, Jessica?”

  “Cookies. Lots of cookies.”

  “What?”

  “Okay, so when we were at the diner the other day, we sold-in some cookies. Martha and I have this idea to sell her cookies. Right now it’s just a hobby, but she’s excited and honestly, so am I.”

  “About cookies at the diner?”

  “Not just the diner. I sold them in all the way to Riverland today. People tasted the Flying J Bakery cookies and they wanted more.”

  “Flying J.”

  “Yes. Enough orders that we’re going to bake here early Monday morning before I go deliver the orders.”

  “How many are we talking here?”

  “A thousand cookies.”

  “That’s an expensive habit.”

  “I funded it.”

  “I thought you were broke?”

  “My book advance is coming in and my ex—he owes me money, enough to live on, so I can use my book advance to do this with Martha.”

  “And what happens when you get tired of an expensive hobby or leave? We both know you’re going to leave.”

  “I’m glad one of us knows what I’m doing, because I don’t. Right now, I don’t know what comes next for me, but I hope that it’s writing books, which I can do anywhere. And—cookies. We, your grandmother and I, both feel like we have a purpose now, Jason.”

  His eyes soften. “I get that, but I don’t want her hurt. When you leave—”

  “Why are you pushing me to leave? I have months before my lease is up, and I hope you won’t kick me out when that happens. I mean if you plan to, I need to know, so I can find another place nearby. I’m not leaving the cookie business because you need your office back.”

  “I’m not going to kick you out, but I won’t have to. You’ll leave, Jessica, and I don’t want my grandmother to be led to think otherwise. The anniversary date is coming up.”

  “When?”

  “October fourth. A month from now.”

  “I’m not going anywhere but home to write that book I just got paid for.” I walk to my door and glance at him. “Did you want to ride on the hood or did you have something else to say to me?” I open my door.

  He closes the space I’ve put between us and steps close, really close. He steps around the door, trapping me between the car and his big body. “You make her happy.”

  “She makes me happy.”

  “Until you leave, Jessica,” he repeats. “I love the hell out of that woman. I’m asking you now not to live in the bubble that will burst, and don’t forget that you have a life outside of Sweetwater. She doesn’t.” He presses his hand on the door.

  “What if I don’t?”

  “What if you do? You’re becoming her granddaughter at a time when she’s grieving the loss of her daughter. She seems strong, but I saw her after they died. I saw her weak and frail. Tread cautiously.”

  “And this is why you don’t play ball, Jason. You think you can’t be there for her if it’s not here. That’s not true.”

  “In other words, you plan to leave and kid yourself that a little old lady will matter.”

  “If you play ball—”

  “Stop with the ball talk. I’m talking about her.”

  “And she wants you to play ball. She wants that more than this ranch. You want her last years to be great? Keeping her in her own bubble isn’t the way.”

  His eyes burn through me, unreadable, and then he’s gone, walking away. I take a step toward him, but I stop myself as several of his men are present nearby. I have to let him go. It’s then that I realize I was burned and bruised by a man that I didn’t love. Jason was injured, cheated on, and suffered the loss of his parents. That’s a whole lot of hell. That’s a big wall he’s erected around him and his grandmother. I head home, and Kelly greets me with all kinds of sing-song meows and purrs. Apparently she approves of the cool air and so do I. I snuggle with her and decide that letting her go back to Shelley will be hard.

  I sit down to a TV dinner, a glass of wine, my computer in front of me, and Kelly beside me, feeling the emptiness of the cottage. I need to embrace being alone, I remind myself. I will not end up with another man just to be with someone. If I go down that path, I’ll feel passionate about him and him me. He’ll be my friend, too. I think of Jason, and his wall, his story, his friendship. Our passion. The divorce guide is on my screen, but I pull up the romance novel I started writing about the girl who fell in the mud. This time I write about the man who lost everything, including himself, until a woman loved him enough that he found not only her, but also himself again.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Jessica…

  I get wind under my sails, and not only do I write three chapters of the romance novel, I write part of the divorce guide, too, and it’s not quite as jaded as before. When I wake to an email from my agent asking to see the first three chapters, I happily send it and, as a bonus, three chapters of The Truth About Cowboys. She can hate it if she hates it, but I don’t even come close to hating it.

  Since I’m going nowhere soon, no matter how much a certain cowboy believes differently, I need a routine and a slimmer waistline. In other words, I do what any self-respecting girl who enters the cookie business does: I sample a stash of the product and then head out for a jog. With the guidance I was given by Martha, I walk to the trail Jason had told me about. Earbuds in place, I crank up some Kane Brown and get a Texas-style run going on with the story I’ve been working on playing out in all kinds of ways that has me thinking about Jason. It’s painful how long it’s been, but the burn in my body feels good. I need this.

  I’m about three miles into the run, about to circle back and start walking, when I spy a barn. Didn’t Martha say Jason practiced at a barn? Surely not this one, but then, Martha knows everyone. Someone could have told her. My heart racing just a little bit faster now, I run toward the barn, and as I turn a corner, I see it, Jason’s truck. He’s here. He’s throwing balls. A thrill at seeing him throw, up close and personal, darts through me. I hurry toward the door then slow, keeping quiet. Flattening to the wall, I inch around the doorway to find Jason with a net and not one, but four, buckets of balls. He throws. Holy crap, he throws and it’s so damn fast. He throws again. And again. I think he’s faster now than before, if that’s even possible.

  “Are you here to tell me I suck and you see why I’m not playing?”

  I round the door, and he looks over his shoulder at me and then throws another ball. “You’re pulling left. Is that intended?”

  He smiles and grabs another ball that goes right before he turns to face me, giving my leggings and sneakers a quick, but no less heated, inspection. “I can throw that damn ball wherever I want, whenever I want.”

  “Wow. So damn arrogant. Almost like I’m speaking to a pro pitcher who knows he belongs on the mound.”

  “I know my way around a ball. What are you doing here?”

  “Running off your grandma’s cookies before I deliver her product to a few places here in Sweetwater.” I sit on a bale of hay, and he comes and joins me, sitting next to me, engaged enough to angle toward me, for once, and despite me finding him pitching, he’s not angry.

  “I don’t want my grandmother to know this yet, but I’m going to start a baseball camp here at the ranch.”

  My eyes go wide. “Really? So, you’re really not going to play again?”

  He turns away from me and looks skyward, seeming to struggle before he gets up, grabs a ball, and throws it. And another. And another. I grab a bucket, fill it with loose balls, and bring it back to him. He keeps throwing. I’ve just set another full bucket beside him when he squats and presses his fingers to the dirt. I squat with him. It just feels like the thing to do. He rotates to face me. “The
y want me to throw some balls.”

  “They?”

  “Fuck. Yeah. I guess it would be good if I told you who, but this goes nowhere.”

  He’s trusting me. That’s huge. “Friends,” I say. “It’s between you and me.”

  “I asked the Rangers to invest and support the camp. They asked me to throw some balls this weekend. They’re holding the support captive.”

  I have to force myself not to jump up and down for him. “Captive?” I ask, sounding remarkably cool and calm. “It sounds to me like they’re offering you your dream back and a camp here at the ranch.”

  “My grandmother, Jessica.”

  “Wants this for you very badly. She and I can come see you play. When you’re rich and famous again, you can fly us to our favorite cities.”

  He gives a small smile. “You have an answer for everything. You are an attorney.”

  “I’m an author. I sent my first chapters to my editor today.”

  “And?”

  “And I’m afraid to check my email to see what she thinks, but I wrote them.”

  “Which book?”

  “Both. I’m writing both. Good to have options that don’t include divorce.” The alarm goes off on my phone. “Oh crap. I have to get home and shower and make the deliveries.” I pop to my feet, and in all my expected glory, trip over the bucket.

  Jason catches me, and my hand lands on his chest. “Thanks,” I whisper. “You’re always saving me.”

  “Is that what I’m doing?”

  “Yes. You just don’t seem to know. And you’d save me if you gave me a ride. I’m really late.”

  He yanks his keys from his pocket. “Let’s go.”

  I turn in his arms and almost fall again. He laughs and catches my waist, leaning in close to say, “I really do need to keep you close.”

  He’s right. He does. He takes my hand and pulls me forward, and that’s romantic. That gets me in a way nothing else has. He opens my door, and I climb into the truck. “When do you go to Dallas?”

  He starts the truck and sets us in motion. “Monday.”

  “Then I hope you’re going to be throwing balls every day until then.”

  “I am. You going to be running?”

  “I am,” I say. “Well, every day but Monday. Monday is delivery day for the cookies. I have to go to Riverland.”

  “Your voice lifts when you talk about that. You’re really excited.”

  “I am. So is your grandma.”

  He pulls us to the drive in front of the cottage. “Thank you for the ride. Wish me luck.”

  “Luck.”

  I climb out and peek back inside. “You belong on the mound. All the rest will work out. Believe that or you can’t make it work.” With that, I shut the door and rush toward the cottage. I can feel him watching me walk, and when I reach the door, I turn and wave to him.

  He doesn’t immediately respond, but then he lifts his hand and drives away. I don’t think he wanted to leave. I didn’t want him to leave. And yet he did.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Jessica…

  The deliveries go well, and Martha and I agree that I will spend the rest of the day writing. I need to be ready for a busy week next week. Plus Sunday feast is not something to take lightly. I plan to help her bake tomorrow. And so I grocery shop and head to the cottage, where alone is bittersweet, though Kelly disapproves of the term “alone,” and to prove her point, she jumps on my keyboard, making it impossible to work. She also hates my keyboard cover, thus tries to fight it to the death. She wins. It rips. The good news, though, is that words flow.

  Finally she sleeps and I log into my email, my stomach fluttering as I see a message from my agent.

  Jessica—

  I’m in the airport so I can’t call but I just read your chapters—both books. I love everything. I’m going to show the romance to a few editors next week. Stay tuned. You’re a rock star.

  Laura

  I grab my phone and dial Jason. “Jessica. Everything okay?”

  “Okay? Oh yes. I didn’t mean to call you. Ignore me. You’re actually very good at that.” I hang up. He doesn’t call back.

  I swallow hard. Obviously I misread this morning. My eyes pinch. Oh God, my eyes pinch. I want to cry over a man that doesn’t even want me, again. This is proof that I have no business getting involved with Jason or any man right now. When a man can turn a non-crier into a crier, he’s the wrong man.

  I set my computer down, walk to the kitchen, and grab a cookie and inhale it. So much for jogging. Why do my hips matter? I’ve sworn off men officially. I can get big hips and a big everything and I will love it. Cookies don’t judge me. Cookies don’t want another woman. There’s a scrape of boots on the doorstep, which I assume will be the supplies I ordered. I take a bite of the second cookie, set it down, and walk to the door. I open it and jolt to find Jason there. “What’s wrong?”

  “What?”

  “There was something wrong on the phone and then you hung up on me.”

  “Because you acted like you didn’t want me to call you—”

  “So you did mean to call me, but pretended you didn’t because you thought I didn’t want you to call me?”

  “I refuse to answer that question.”

  “I was standing with two of my men, and one of them was pissing me the fuck off when you called.”

  “And you still answered.”

  “Well, you do seem to get in trouble and need rescuing a lot.”

  “I do not need rescuing.”

  “Look, sweetheart, I have to go deal with the same problem I was dealing with when you called. I know something is going on. Have mercy on me and tell me what.”

  I feel silly telling him about my agent now, and he’s in a rush. “It was—nothing. I just—nothing. Can’t a girl just call a friend and tell him he throws like a rock star?”

  “That’s not why you called me.”

  “It was nothing important.”

  He leans in closer. “Friends don’t kiss friends, right?”

  “Right,” I say, feeling breathless, so very breathless.

  He lowers his lashes, his jaw clenching before he pulls back. “See you tomorrow morning. Call me later if you decide you want to tell me why you called.” He reaches out and strokes my cheek before hurrying down the stairs. He throws like a rock star and his butt is a rock star in those jeans.

  I back into the cottage, shut the door, and lean against it, a smile on my lips. Maybe I won’t swear off men just yet, and I won’t eat another cookie. Not until tomorrow.

  …

  The next morning, I wake for my jog with Jason on my mind, and how could I not? I have a “friend” date with him. I make this about me, though, about the run, about feeling good again. About my new life. I turn on Kane Brown and Jason Aldean, and I sing and sing as I pound out the run. And then I’m there, at the barn. I step through the entryway and Jason blasts a ball into the net. Over and over, he throws a ball, and I don’t even speak. I’m his ball girl and I love it. He’s ready for Monday. So very ready. This man was born ready.

  He’s a good two buckets in when he finally turns to me. “How was the run?”

  “Good. Your grandma went to Pilates, but the run helps me think.”

  “About what?” he asks, grabbing a bottle of water and drinking, his throat bobbing with the action, water dropping over his lips that he wipes with his hand before he offers me the bottle.

  “Do friends drink after friends?”

  He steps closer, towering over me. “They do now.” He takes my hand and presses the bottle into my palm. “Drink.”

  I don’t take orders well, but I have this fear that the only way I get my mouth on his mouth again is by way of that bottle, so I drink. It’s cold and refreshing while his body, this close, is hot and ar
ousing. “Thank you,” I say, and when he reaches up and wipes the water from my lips, I’m pretty sure I melt at least a little bit.

  “Why’d you call me yesterday?”

  “It wasn’t important and you were working.”

  He snags my hand and leads me to the hay where we sit down. I’m not sure all this hand-holding is the way friends work, but I’ve never actually had a man I consider a friend. Jason I do. “Tell me.”

  “My agent liked both books. She’s sending the romance novel out to some editors.” I shrug. “Maybe nothing comes of it, but I’m excited.”

  “I’m proud of you.”

  “Thank you. I didn’t tell your grandmother. I think she’ll get so excited for me that if it doesn’t happen I’ll get even more disappointed.”

  He arches a brow. “Is that right?”

  A lightbulb goes off. “That’s how you feel.”

  “You’re the only one I’ve told about the Rangers. I’m going into business with Roarke and I haven’t told him.”

  “With Roarke?”

  I listen as he explains the way he believes the camp can connect dots between him and Roarke. “I think it’s an amazing concept. Why not tell him about the Rangers?”

  “I don’t need a bunch of hype about me playing again. I’m focused on the camp.”

  “And yet you’re throwing balls.”

  “I throw balls all the damn time. It’s my thing.”

  “I told your grandmother if you want to play again, you will. That she needs to let you decide what makes you happy.”

  “And she said what?”

  “She agreed. Are you going to play again, Jason?”

  “I don’t know, and that’s the first time I’ve said anything but ‘no’ out loud, so I really don’t fucking know. The camp is happening. I have enough industry support that, one way or the other, I can get it off the ground.”