Ty's Heart: California Cowboys 3

by Selena Laurence

  “You know you have to move, right?” he asked after a few minutes.

  “What?” She leaned up on one elbow to see his face.

  “You can’t keep living in this house?”

  “Why not?” She searched his eyes for some hint, but all she saw was devotion and heat.

  “Because you need to be with your family. We’re all at the ranch.”

  Then her face felt like it might split in two, her smile was so wide.

  “Ty Jenkins, are you asking me to move in with you?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I am,” he said in his best cowboy drawl. “And if you play your cards right, I’ll ask you marry me sometime soon too.”

  “Oh my God,” she whispered. “Do you think Katie will be okay with that?”

  He caressed her cheek. “I think she’d be ecstatic.”

  As they melted into each once again, Jodi couldn’t help but think about that fateful day all those years ago when a plastic stick had turned pink and she’d thought her life as she knew it was over. She’d been right, but when one thing ended, other things began. Like the detritus pushed in and pulled out by the ocean, life was constantly turning over, reconfiguring, shifting in the sand. If you looked at parts of it, you could see loss, death, hopelessness. But if you looked at the total, you’d also see renewal, birth, and hope. You’d see an opportunity where once there had only been doubt. You’d see love where once there had only been fear. It might have taken her five years to see the big picture, but Jodi had learned from her mistakes, she’d fought to get back to where she belonged, and she’d won the love she so rightly deserved.

  Epilogue

  The day my parents got married was the happiest day of my life. I was six years old, and the ceremony was held in an old barn on my family’s ranch in Big Sur, California. There were flowers hanging from the rafters, bales of hay for the younger guests to climb on, and a fancy white dress for me that matched my mother’s. My parents got rings, and I got the charm bracelet that still dangles from my wrist. It has the charms my mother put on it when she was growing up, and now it has others I’ve added. My very favorite, though, is the baby rattle she added the day I was born. I didn’t see her again for years after that, but she wore the bracelet every day and looked at that rattle because, in her heart, she never left me.

  A lot of people ask how I have such a close relationship with my mom since she wasn’t around those first five years of my life. They think she abandoned me and wonder how I could ever forgive her for that. But before she came back, my dad used to tell me she loved me so much, she gave me to the best dad in the world while she went to make things better. And he was right. Over the years, she’s talked to me a lot about what she went through when she was a kid, why it was so hard for her at twenty-two to take on the task of raising an infant. My mom grew up without love in her life, and she had to learn to love herself before she could really love anyone else. But once she did, she was the best at loving us anyone could ever be.

  Even at the age of five, I knew I had two choices when it came to my mom. I could be mad at her for leaving in the first place and never get a mother, or I could forgive her and take the opportunity the universe was handing me for something I’d wanted as long as I could remember. I took the opportunity, and I never once regretted forgiving her and having her join our lives.

  The day she married my dad was the day that made it official for all of us, and it was a day to remember for those of us who were old enough to be there. My cousin Deacon, whose dad is my uncle Cade, was only a baby, so he doesn’t remember it, and his younger brother Rex wasn’t even conceived yet. My twin cousins, Ben and Chase, who are my uncle Vaughn’s sons, were still cooking in my aunt T.J.’s tummy so, they like to say they were there, but it’s really stretching the definition.

  But the one person who should have been there and wasn’t was my little brother, Jax. He didn’t come along for a few more years, and while I was sometimes envious he got our mom from day one, I always had the wedding, so it all evened out.

  The only problem with having been at my parents’ wedding was it sealed a vision in my mind of what true love ought to look like. Watching the look on my dad’s face when my mom walked down that aisle is something I’ll never forget. He’d looked at me with utter devotion for the entire six years of my life, but I’d never seen him look at anyone the way he looked at Mom that day.

  The vows they wrote together still hang in a frame on the wall of their ranch house.

  I, Ty, promise to always be your port in any storm, hold your hand even when you don’t need me to, and love you with every piece of me for the rest of my life.

  I, Jodi, promise to always hold our family in my heart, be present even when you don’t need me to, and love you with every piece of me for the rest of my life.

  They kissed, and all my aunts said it was the most beautiful ceremony they’d ever seen. My uncles tried to act like it was no big deal, but I saw the way Uncle Cade’s eyes glossed over when he watched my dad. There wasn’t a dry eye in that barn. What my parents had been through to get their happily ever after was special, it always has been.

  The problem is, when you grow up in the midst of Big Sur’s greatest romance, you tend to have high expectations in that department. I’ve spent my whole life thinking I’d grow up, meet someone, and they’d look at me like Dad looked at Mom that day.

  Stupid, stupid girl. I’ve seen a lot of different men look at me a lot of different ways, but not one has ever looked at me like that. Only problem is, I can’t settle for less. Which makes me think I’m doomed to be single forever. My mother says I’m being a drama queen, which is kind of fair since I am an actress. But she doesn’t seem to understand how special she and Dad are. Most men in my life are industry types—producers, directors, other actors. Their idea of true love involves a blow job in the back of a limo and a contract stipulating royalties, commissions, or union-wage-scale pay. Hollywood, the place that peddles visions of romance twenty-four seven, is entirely without romance of any sort.

  So, I’ve decided not to expect what my parents have. I won’t ever have someone look at me the way Dad looked at Mom all those years ago. And that’s okay. I have a career to manage and a ladder to climb. Straight to my little gold man, Oscar. Because he’ll look at me any way I want him to, and once he’s mine he won’t ever leave.

  THE END

  WAIT! Have you read Selena’s standalone hockey romance The Czar? Turn the page for an excerpt!

  The Czar

  "Smart and sexy, Selena never disappoints." - Jennie Marts, USA TODAY Bestselling Author.

  They call him The Czar, the heir to a billion dollar Vodka fortune and Chicago's homegrown NHL superstar. But when Mick Petrovich sustains a career-ending injury, life seems hopeless until he sees a blonde trying to unlock her apartment door.

  Solana Werner spent six years working for one thing--a job in marketing at Petrovich Vodka. While her mother, father, and ex-boyfriend might all have left, she knows corporations are forever, and Petrovich will never abandon her.

  Then Solana meets her new neighbor, he's hot, tortured, and none other than hockey's Czar, her new boss's son. But employees aren't allowed to date Petrovich family members, and Solana wouldn't do anything to risk her dream job…would she?

  Read an exclusive excerpt from The Czar! Just turn the page!

  1

  Mick

  "Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer's voice booms through the arena. "In your starting lineup tonight for the Chicago Norsemen, last year's MVP in the MidNation Conference, and All-Star Center, our very own native son, number 12, Mikhail Petrovich, The Czaaaar!"

  The crowd goes nuts, and I take a couple of steps on the rubber matting that lines the entry to the rink before I hop onto the ice, brandishing my stick above my head as I take a lightning fast turn around the perimeter. When I reach my teammates I twist my outside hip around and tip my skate to the inner blade edge so that a huge cloud of ice spray lifts from the fl
oor as I grind to a stop. I'm better at this than any skater I know, and I manage to send the crystals as high as my teammates’ faces.

  "Asshole," my best friend, Deke, mutters, running the back of one arm across his face to wipe away the moisture.

  I chuckle as we settle in and wait for the rest of the team to be introduced.

  Fifteen minutes later the game is underway and I'm up at the boards, fighting for the puck against Andre Romero, one of the toughest defenders in the league. He's also an asshole who's known for cheap shots and a penalty record that rivals the worst in our conference.

  I shove him off of me and manage to hook the puck as I do it. I charge down the ice, eyes on the opening I see between two of Romero's teammates. My D-men have them tied up, and I'm closing the gap fast, I know I can thread this little black disk through the tangle of bodies and into that pretty net waiting for it. But suddenly, it’s like a boulder fell from the sky. I'm slammed hard on my left side, I twist, bringing my stick up to protect myself, but my skate edge must catch a divot in the ice and I feel myself falling as the boulder, which is actually Romero, seems to fall right along with me.

  On the way down I think about the irony that it really does seem to be happening in slow motion, yet, it's at the speed of light. I hear the ligament snap as my knee twists up under me, and the pain is so sharp and sudden that the wind leaves my lungs in a paralyzing rush. I've got my lips open a bit like a fish, desperately trying to grasp a mouthful of oxygen, when things go from bad to worse. The impact with the ice is hard, but the weight of two hundred and fifty pounds of Andre Romero crushing me is worse, and the shattering pain that spreads through my hip as bone meets bone is the worst of all.

  Lying on the ice, my entire right side throbbing with horrific pain, I hear chaos—my teammates yelling, refs' whistles blowing, grunts, the sounds of flesh smacking against flesh, but my eyes are screwed shut, and when I try to move, even a tiny bit, something stabs through me like a thousand sharp knives.

  "Mick," Deke's voice comes to me and I open one eye to see his face hovering over mine, worry playing all over his bloody nose and the eye he must have just blackened against Romero's fist. It’s strange, but mostly what I’m thinking is that he shouldn’t have taken his helmet off to fight. "You're going to be okay."

  I grit my teeth as the team doctor kneels beside me and starts flashing his penlight in my eyes. "Not this time, man. I don't think I'm going to be okay this time."

  2

  Solana

  “Sol!” my roommate, Marissa, calls from the kitchen.

  “Yeah?”

  “The computer keeps flashing that you have an urgent email. You didn’t log out last time you used it.”

  I close my copy of Conquering Corporate Culture, climb off my bed in our tiny, shared bedroom, and walk to the living room.

  “Also,” Marissa says as I enter, “the moms say we have to come to Tampa for either Thanksgiving or Christmas. They won’t let us skip both.”

  Marissa is also my cousin—our moms are sisters, they moved to the U.S. from Spain together. I’m an only child, and Marissa’s the only girl, so we became kind of a package deal—we might as well be sisters, everyone treats us like we are.

  I try to ignore the pang that goes through me when I think about my mother’s move to Florida. She packed up the van and pulled out of town the day I graduated from high school, leaving me to live with Marissa’s family until college started in the fall and I could move to the dorms. Nothing quite like having your own mother counting down the days until you’re out of her home, and in many ways, her life.

  “I vote Christmas because it’s going to be freezing here by then,” I mumble, shaking off my bad memories as I grab the laptop we’ve been sharing off of the counter and bring up my email.

  My eyes scan the newest message once, twice, then a third time before I shriek, unable to believe what I’m seeing.

  “I got it! I got it! Oh my God, M, I got it!” I toss the laptop on the sofa where Marissa catches it before it slides onto the floor, then I’m screaming and bouncing and probably scaring the crap out of the neighbors.

  “Ok, ok,” she laughs. “Calm the hell down, chica. I take it you got one of the jobs you applied for?”

  I’m nearly breathless when I answer, hands gesturing like I’m a used car salesman. “Not a job, the job! The one at Petrovich. I’m the new junior marketing executive at Petrovich Vodka!”

  Now Marissa knows what all the fuss is about. Her hands fly to her mouth and her brown eyes grow big and round. “Shut the front door!” she gasps. “You got it? The big one? The one you’ve been talking about for two years?”

  She’s right. I have been talking about working for Petrovich for two years. It’s a phenomenal company—still family owned, but turning out a monstrous profit year after year, and innovative both with their product and their marketing. Hashtag career goals.

  Before I know it, Marissa is off the couch and we’re both jumping around like a couple of lunatics.

  “Woo hoo!” we shriek, holding each other’s hands and dancing in a circle like we did when we were little. A pounding vibrates the floor beneath our feet and I roll my eyes as we stop jumping and Marissa drops to the floor where she yells into the hardwood, “Take a chill pill, Herman. We’ve got shit to celebrate!”

  She stands and we both giggle breathlessly.

  “This calls for a party,” she says, skipping into the kitchen. She returns with a box of red wine, the only alcohol we have in the apartment.

  “It’s cheap but plentiful,” she says, holding the box up over her head with one hand and two wineglasses with the other.

  She pours the wine and we both raise our glasses to cheer. “To Petrovich’s newest junior marketing executive,” she says. “May you get to do lots of those marketing kinds of things that you like so much.” I laugh at her ignorance about my work. “And may you see The Czar every single day you’re at the office because nothing makes a job worthwhile like some sizzling eye candy.”

  The Czar is Mick Petrovich, heir to the Petrovich Empire. His father is the owner of the company, but rumor has it that now that Mick is no longer able to play professional hockey he’ll be working for the company as well.

  “He would be nice to look at,” I agree, taking my first swallow of wine. “I’m not sure if he’s working there or not.” I shrug. “I probably won’t see him anyway. I’m sure all the Petroviches are locked away on some super secret floor with gold bidets and dishes of caviar all over the place.”

  “Eww,” Marissa says, scrunching up her nose. “Caviar and bidets in the same sentence does not create good images in my mind.”

  “Sorry. Think about Mick Petrovich again, that’ll clear your mental palette.”

  She sighs. “Ah, yes. Those legs, that chest, the ass.” She sighs as she takes a sip of wine. “You have to promise me to get a picture if you do see him.”

  “I won’t, but okay, I promise.”

  “Good. Now let’s get this celebration underway!”

  She stands up on the coffee table while I stick my iPhone in the dock and set it to The Chainsmokers. As we begin to move to the music, glasses of wine clutched in our hands, the occasional sloshes splashing to the floor, I think, it paid off—every bit of it. I’m finally on my way to my dream—a corner office in a tall building, a corporate position, a home that no one can take from me. I’m going to be part of something bigger, something permanent. I hug my cousin and swig wine, because this is the greatest day of my life. Petrovich Vodka, here I come.

  3

  Mick

  Petrovich Vodka is one of my least favorite places in the world. Which is why I avoid it like the plague. For the last five years I’ve been able to use my job as an excuse, but now that I no longer have a job, it’s getting tougher to find reasons not to go to the evil empire my father built from scratch.

  I hobble to the large black SUV that waits for me at the street in front of my apartment building. The ank
le to thigh brace that I have to wear for my knee makes it nearly impossible to maneuver. I can’t bend it, can’t drive, can’t exercise. What I can do is go to physical therapy, and other than one-night stands and a lot of television, that’s pretty much all I do these days. My life is an endless cycle of PT, puck bunnies, and Game of Thrones reruns.

  Vanya, my father’s driver, exits the car and opens the back door for me. I’ve told him a hundred times that he doesn’t need to do that, but Vanya’s old school, he’s been with my dad since I was a small child. My dad modernizes what he has to, but the fact is he’s still a traditional Russian patriarch. He expects allegiance from his people, and Vanya, raised in the pre-wall-coming-down Soviet Union is more comfortable in that role anyway.

  “Thanks, Vanya,” I tell him as I sit on the edge of the backseat then swing my braced leg into the car with the rest of me. I have to admit that this Escalade with all the seats adjusted to provide maximum legroom in the back is a real improvement over my Aston Martin for the time being.

  After Vanya climbs into the driver’s seat he looks at me in the rearview mirror. “Your father asks that you call him, Mr. Petrovich.”

  I sigh. I’ve been avoiding my dad for days now, but I can’t in front of Vanya, it would look bad and undermine my dad’s authority. He knows this, hence the reason he used Vanya to get to me. Fuck.

  “Thanks,” I say as I take my phone out of my pocket and hit Dad’s speed dial number.

  “Mikhail,” my dad answers.

  “Hi. Vanya said you needed to speak to me?”