Lucy blinked, like she was trying to make her way back into the present. “So what about the catering job? What can I do to get you to help me?”
He studied her expensive clothes and the rigid way she carried herself. Despite the voice inside yelling at him to run the other direction, he and his dad needed the money, and Lucy needed someone to remind her where she came from. “I’ll do it on one condition.”
#
Lucy stood in front of Dylan with a rattling metal windmill in the distance. The familiarity of it all and the mention of her father were almost too much to bear. It was like a portal back to her old life. “What kind of condition are we talking about?”
She’d done her best to leave her past behind her, and she’d done a good job of it. She rarely thought about the pain of losing her father and the guilt that inevitably went with it. But shutting out those memories had required her to shut out her relationship with God. She still believed, but the ease of the faith she’d had when she was younger had disappeared.
“I’m cooking for an event a week from Saturday,” Dylan said. “You can be my assistant.”
She shifted on her toes, trying not to let him see how the heels of her boots sank into the dirt. She’d thought the shoes might lessen her distinct height disadvantage with Dylan, but like most of her plans, it had backfired. “You want me to be your sous-chef?”
He gave her a boyish grin. “If that’s what you want to call it.”
The idea of Dylan bossing her around in the kitchen sounded like Chinese water torture. “What would I have to cook?”
“Biscuits, cobbler, standard cowboy fare.”
What were a few hours of sacrifice for a shot at her dream job? She would stay focused and refuse to let the Marlboro Man distract her from her goal. “Okay. You’ve got a deal.”
He gave a satisfied nod. “I’ll pick you up at 4 a.m. You’ll need to—”
“Wait. You mean 4 p.m, right?”
That annoyingly endearing smile twitched up under his cowboy hat. “No, ma’am. I’ll pick you up at 4 a.m.”
And now they were back to ma’am. “Who are we cooking for—vampires?” Half the time she didn’t fall asleep until after 3:00.
“We’ll have a lot to do. You’ll need to wear jeans and boots.” He snarled down at her designer shoes. “Real boots.”
Was Dylan under the impression that every Texan owned a pair of cowboy boots? She’d paid far too much for these not to be considered real, but that’s what she got for shopping with Paige. “I have running shoes.”
He cocked his head at her as if she were from another planet. “I guess that’ll have to work.”
Dylan hesitated, like he had when he’d first seen her in the kitchen.
“Is there something else?” she asked. “Chaps? A holster?” She bit her lip. She really shouldn’t be so snarky, considering she had another favor to ask.
He laughed. “That’ll do.”
She blew out a breath. “Well, I have one more thing. I’ll need you to be at Wyatt and Heather’s engagement brunch this Friday.”
He ran his hand along the back of his neck. His shoulders and arms filled out his shirt in a way she wished she didn’t notice. Growing up had agreed with him. “Hang on. A brunch? I thought we were just talking about the wedding. Tea sandwiches and mimosas aren’t really my thing.”
The brunch was another Nana curve ball, but this one could be to Lucy’s advantage. Mr. Personality could entertain Nana while Lucy hid out in the kitchen where she belonged. “They want to make sure we work well together. It’ll be small. Only close family and friends at Nana’s house.”
“You expect me to go to that woman’s house and spend the morning being sexually harassed by a senior citizen?”
“I’ll handle everything. You just need to show up and do that charming cowboy thing you do so well.”
He frowned. “Do you honestly think I’m going to hang out with Nana the entire time and let you do all the cooking? What about the menu? Shouldn’t I get some input?”
Lucy gritted her teeth. He wasn’t going to do this the easy way. “Don’t worry about it. I’m happy to take care of it.”
The bottom of his chin twitched up. “I get the feeling you’re not so keen on us working together.”
Dylan was proving to be almost as stubborn as she was. Almost. “Fine. We can get together and work out the menu. Maybe tomorrow. What time is good for you?”
“How about—?”
She held up her hand. “After nine, please.”
“It’s your call. Wherever and whenever you’d like to meet.” It sounded more like a dare than a concession.
A truck engine roared. Lucy glanced over Dylan’s shoulder toward the barn and saw an old truck with faded black paint now shuddering. She was ready to escape back to the comfort of the little kitchen in her condo. “Meet me at The Oakleaf at noon. I’m doing some cooking there, and then we can talk about the menu over lunch.”
He rocked back on his heels. “I’m assuming that’s some stuffy restaurant in the city. I don’t have to dress up, do I?”
She shrugged. “It’s something like that, but no. Just make sure there isn’t cow dung on your boots, and maybe wear a hat that is”—she glanced at the dust-coated thing covering his head—“cleaner.”
His gaze moved slowly down to her shoes, and he lifted an eyebrow.
Her calves ached. Standing in a cow pasture without letting her heels sink into the dirt was a better workout than spin class. “You’re hilarious,” she said.
“I’ve missed you, Lucy.” His tone was light, almost teasing, but his gaze burned into hers.
Heat charged up her neck to her ears. “I should be going.”
“Tomorrow then.”
His deep voice vibrated through her. She’d always thought that if she ever ran into someone from that time in her life again she’d be strong enough to deal with the shadows of her past, but seeing Dylan, remembering what she’d done, she wasn’t so sure.
She gave a quick nod. After the wedding, she would put Dylan and all those memories he brought with him behind her.
#
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Bonus chapters - Secondhand Cowboy
Iris Tatum hasn’t seen her high school sweetheart Callum Stewart since he left years ago without a single word. Then she witnesses an horrific hit-and-run accident, and comes face to face with her past–and Cal’s triplets. A volunteer paramedic, Iris can’t walk away. No matter how much she wants to.
Bull rider Callum Stewart was run out of town at age twenty and vowed never to return. Only one thing could bring him back: building a future for his sons. Now, thanks to the accident that left him with a broken leg—he needs help to care for his boys. He has no choice but to accept Iris’s grudging help.
As they rediscover a friendship–and the sparks that never faded between them–Callum’s secrets are brought back with a vengeance. How can they keep the past from destroying their future?
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Read the first chapters…
#
He didn’t belong here.
Twenty-year-old Callum Stewart stood at the back of the darkened Oklahoma City auditorium, smelling of sweat and horse.
On stage, ballerinas swirled in a complicated pattern. Attendees were dressed in gowns and suits, making his jeans and boots stand out, though he stood behind most of them.
He might not belong here, but he was exultant over the purse he’d won. The prize belt buckle was stashed in the glove box of his truck, the check for his winnings burning a hole in his jeans’ pocket.
Things were finally happening for him. When he added the cash prize to the savings he’d scraped together, it was enough for a start for them. For himself and Iris. Things would be tight. They’d have to get a crappy little apartment—he’d vowed never to live in a trailer like the one he’d crawled out of—but if he kept beating the eight second clock, it was doable. He’d work whatever kind of jobs
he had to between traveling to rodeos on the weekends.
This was happening. He was going to marry Iris in one week, when she turned eighteen.
Even riding high on his win and sick with anticipation about the next week, he was conscious of the richie-rich couple on the aisle seats closest to him, the condescending glances they kept sending him. Almost like they were thinking about fetching an usher to drag him out.
But Iris had given him a ticket that morning before she’d kissed him for luck. He’d carried the memory of her kiss through the harrowing ride on the back of the bull he’d bested, and he carried it with him now.
They were young, but he’d spent his whole life wanting. In those early days, wanting a roof over his head, a real family, someone who loved him. For the last two years, that want had narrowed to a person: Iris.
He knew what he wanted, and he was going to have it.
The problem with his ticket was that it was for a seat all the way down front, in the middle of the packed auditorium. He would have to climb over twenty folks to get to it.
And his seat was next to Wade Tatum, Iris’s dad. Who hated him. Better to watch from back here than let Wade ruin his high.
There was a hush over the crowd, and the stage lights focused on a single ballerina at center stage. Prickles of awareness raised the hair on the nape of his neck as he recognized Iris in a frilly white tutu. The pointe shoes made her slender legs look even longer.
He couldn’t look away. As she began to dance, there was a noticeable difference between her skill and that of the other dancers that had been on stage before. This was the biggest, most professional dance company in the state, and she was better than everybody up there. He might be biased because he loved her so much, but he didn’t think so.
She did a long series of spins on the very tips of her toes without breaking momentum, and the crowd burst into applause, some of them standing up.
She was amazing. He’d seen her dance before, in smaller productions and at practice several times before he’d given her a ride home, but tonight she was exceptional.
#
A week later, Callum still couldn’t get Iris’s performance out of his head. Today was Iris’s eighteenth, and she’d had a dinner with her dad, her uncle, and her sister. He’d gently declined when she’d invited him. If they were leaving town together, this might be the last time she had a pleasant supper with her family. He didn’t want to ruin it for her with the tension that simmered between Wade and him—no matter what he did, how much he tried to prove he was worthy of Iris.
After her dance performance last weekend, he’d retreated to the safety of his truck and watched through the glass-walled event center as her father greeted her with an armful of blood-red roses. Cal had glanced down at the single rose lying across his passenger seat and felt again the starkness of exactly what he was asking her. The difference between what Wade could give her and what Callum could give her was like the difference between riding a bull and riding a lamb, and he hadn’t done that since he was five.
He couldn’t put words to the emotion that had prompted him to leave instead of going in and congratulating her. Or the ugly things he’d felt when he’d kept it a secret that he’d attended her performance. He’d only promised to try, and she’d assumed his rodeo had kept him from attending. He’d never corrected her.
He’d been unable to summon the same excitement for their plans all week, though he’d faked it when they’d spoken on the phone. The one night she’d been able to sneak away and see him, he’d forced himself to act like the same old Callum, so she wouldn’t know.
He was afraid they were making a mistake. That she was making a mistake being with him.
Today’s ride had him questioning himself, too. He’d been pitiful. He’d stayed on the bull’s back for all of four seconds and, when he’d been thrown, he’d landed badly on his left knee. He didn’t think anything was busted, just bruised. He rarely went out with the other cowboys, but tonight, he’d accepted an offer to go to a nearby bar. He’d kept it to one beer, but a friend flirting with the waitress had spilled a drink that soaked Callum’s shirt and jeans. He’d changed T-shirts, but the smell of alcohol remained with him.
It was late, he was tired and beat up. And he kept seesawing on what he was going to say to Iris when he saw her.
He loved her so much, he couldn’t see straight.
And that was dangerous. Didn’t he know it? He’d loved his mother with the same deep affection, and she’d left in the middle of the night. His dad had been cruel and a drunk to boot. He’d been thrown in jail after a bar fight when Callum was in middle school. He’d apparently ticked off the wrong person in the slammer, because he’d been killed in a fight among the inmates. Which had left Callum stuck in the foster system. Where he’d learned that anything he wanted got taken away.
Only Iris had stuck. She’d spent summers on her uncle Joe’s ranch with her older sister and had befriended him even though he’d rebuffed her at every step.
He loved her so much, he couldn’t imagine going on without her.
Earlier today, he and Iris had agreed to meet in their special place, under the big oak on one corner of her uncle Joe’s ranch. There was no real reason for the secrecy of their plans other than her dad would be furious when they got married at the county courthouse tomorrow. If they went through with it. Maybe…maybe putting it off was the best thing.
His headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating empty fields on both sides of the gravel road. It wasn’t far now. Through his open window, the sweet smell of growing wheat and cool air from the nearby creek rushed into the truck, knocking his Stetson back on his head until he mashed it down.
Both anticipation and dread roiled in his stomach.
What was the right thing here? When they’d daydreamed about their future together, she’d talked about working in New York City with a ballet company. He’d thought he was indulging her when he’d agreed that they would find a way to get her there after they were married.
But last weekend, seeing her on stage…
She had an amazing talent, one that he believed could put her on stage in New York or even Europe.
How was he supposed to support Iris’s dreams when his plans would barely keep them afloat financially?
For a year, since she’d turned seventeen, he’d lived off of this dream of marrying her and starting their life together. But seeing her dance had rocked the foundations of his plans. She deserved a chance to get to New York. And he wasn’t sure he could give it to her, not like they’d planned.
From out of nowhere, a huge dark shape separated from the darkness and barreled toward him, right in his path.
He stomped the brakes and yanked the wheel. The truck swerved, but there was no avoiding the collision with the horse.
#
Her past stared her in the face in the form of pixels on paper.
Iris Tatum went weak-kneed as she took in the local weekly newspaper, which had been folded to the sports page and left on the nook table in her kitchen. A prominent ad showed a smiling cowboy leaning against a huge combine tractor, one leg bent at the knee in a relaxed pose, his lips quirked in a smile that promised secrets.
Once upon a time, she’d known those secrets.
The bagel crumbs on the counter and dirty knife in the sink spoke of her older sister, Jilly’s, presence, though the house was quiet now. Had her sister left the paper open to this particular page on purpose? Surely Jilly wouldn’t be so cruel, even after all the times Iris had forced her to choke down the meds she needed.
Iris’s finger traced over the Stetson atop the cowboy’s head before she realized what she was doing and flipped the newspaper face-down on the table, removing him from her sight.
Why hadn’t Jilly thrown it away? Better question: why didn’t she?
She needed coffee. The piquant scent drew her through the morning sunlight streaming through the window above the sink and straight for the coffee maker.
She was shivering, just from seeing her high school boyfriend’s photo.
Her reaction irked her. She was over him. Completely. It had been five years since he’d disappeared from her life without a word.
But she almost sloshed coffee over the rim of her mug, and her spoon clinked noisily against the sugar bowl. She had to get herself under control.
If she were a little bit undone, at least no one was here to witness it. She clung to the counter with both hands, leaning forward and breathing noisily through her mouth.
It was only because she’d never gotten closure. That was it.
She let go of the counter and bent in half, reaching behind her calves and tucking her head to her knees in a stretch. She exhaled as evenly as she could, imagining that she expelled the negative feelings with the breath. Straightening up, she stood at the window, looking out over the spread Uncle Joe had left her and Jilly. The wheat was aging nicely, thanks to the spring rains. Cattle dotted the furthest field, and the faded red barn stood sentinel.
Three years had passed without her uncle, and the grief had faded, as had the urges to check over her shoulder in case he walked through the door.
After spending all her teenage summers here and then her senior year of high school, she’d learned the rhythm and seasons of ranch life. Now the ranch had become home.
And Callum Stewart being back in town threatened to upset the delicate balance she’d managed to rebuild after Jilly’s diagnosis and continuing battle.
Was he back?
She quit pretending that she wasn’t dying to know and plunked herself and her coffee mug down at the nook table. She flipped the newspaper so that the cowboy’s photo was back in view. A sip of coffee left an aftertaste of bitterness.
Why was a long-departed bull rider featured in an ad for a local custom harvester?
She let her eyes follow the lean, rangy lines of his picture. He looked good, but then when hadn’t he? She’d been flustered by that smile the first time they’d met, but it was seeing his vulnerability over the next summer that had made her fall in love with him.
The Art Of Falling Page 11