The Last Cowboy

by Pat Dale

  “So I heard from her mom. I think she’ll find it in her heart to forgive us.”

  “I hope so. I asked her to marry me last night, and she said yes. But then she found out about contract offer and went ballistic. She didn’t keep, so I don’t know what to think. I hope we’re still a go, wedding-wise.”

  Ozzie laughed. “A go, huh? I love the way you young folks phrase things these days. For what it’s worth, I sure hope you’re a go, too. Sal and I always figured you two would end up together. I know she’s always wanted a family.”

  “Yeah. I want kids, too. Samantha’s kids. One or a dozen, it doesn’t matter to me so long as they’re hers.”

  “Now that sounds like true love. First, we’d better find her, though.”

  Troy followed the Turners home, hoping to settle things with Samantha. The house was unoccupied when they arrived. Sally returned from upstairs with a frown.

  “She’s gone. Her bags are gone, along with some of her clothes. She left the bridesmaid dress for Rose to return. No note. No explanation where she’s headed.”

  She began to cry as she dropped onto a settee, burying her face in her hands. Ozzie went to her, trying to comfort her as best he could. Troy stood across the room, watching and wondering what the best thing to do was.

  He cleared his throat. “She’ll call as soon as she gets to wherever she’s going. I’m sure of it. We’ll just have to wait her out, I’m afraid.”

  Ozzie turned to him. “You’re probably right. Samantha marches to her own drummer. I just hope she’s not marching over a cliff as we speak.”

  “Samantha? She’s the most level headed person I know. No way is she going to do something stupid, Ozzie.”

  “I hope you’re right, son.”

  “Yes, sir. Anyway, if you want, I can take a drive and look for her. Surely, she’s around these parts somewhere.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Troy. She’ll contact us when she’s ready. My guess is, she’s doing this to teach us all a lesson. And I must confess, I feel guilty for doing what we did. I should have handled the publishing thing differently.”

  Sally wiped tears from her eyes and scowled at him. “You mean, we could have done it differently. It’s really my fault for sneaking a look at her writing in the first place. I should never have taken the liberty of submitting her work without her knowledge. I really did have the best of intentions.”

  “As did I.” Ozzie shook his head. “Well, what’s done is done. Now we’ll have to wait for her to surface.”

  Troy said, “I hope it’s soon. I need to tell her how much I love her, and make her believe it. I can’t wait to marry that woman.”

  Sally got to her feet and pulled Troy into a bear hug. “We all want that day. And it will happen. Samantha loves you so much, she’d never even look at another man.”

  “I hope not. Well, I’d best get on home, on the off chance she did leave a message there, I’ll call and let you know.”

  They went out onto the porch to wave goodbye to him, standing arm in arm. He waved back and beat a path to his house, where he found no note. No message on the phone. Nothing. He didn’t have the heart to call the Turners with bad news. In the morning, he’d begin a search if she still hadn’t turned up.

  * * *

  It was raining when Samantha awoke. Not a downpour but a steady stream; the kind of rain Sally loved to have for her flowers. Her chest tightened as she thought about her mom. Tempted to pick up her phone and call, she held back. There were many more miles to put between her and her past before she sent any kind of message to anyone.

  When she was ready, she’d reassure them she was okay. Would she also send word to Troy? Her breath caught in her throat as his image floated through her mind. The man she’d always loved, but one so bull-headed he made her want to scream. Yes, she’d send him a message all right. She knew exactly what she wanted to say to him.

  Maybe, in a year or two, she’d regret what she was about to do, but it was what she had to do. No turning back now. And no regrets.

  She returned to the same restaurant for a quick breakfast sandwich and then she was off. Sam headed south and west, again on secondary roads that required lower speed, but offered less chance of being spotted even in a car that was rare in these parts.

  Her destination was near Tyler, Texas. A private little lake, with a dozen homes scattered along its shore. One home, a short distance from the entrance to the lake, was where she was headed. Built originally as a grand prize in a national contest, the photos showed several levels and lots of privacy for its residents.

  Marybeth and Wilson Werner, who presently owned the place, were published authors in their own right. Older than Samantha by a couple of decades, they’d dedicated their lives to fostering good fiction writing. The retreat was a brainchild they’d developed over several years. To be accepted for residency, one had to have completed at least two manuscripts and have a viable chance at publication. She certainly fulfilled those requirements. The other one was that the resident had no obligations such as family. Well, she fitted that to a tee. Especially now.

  She rolled into Tyler just past noon and took a slow tour of the town, getting her bearings. After a stop at a fast food haven, she located the road that led to the retreat and headed east. She’d picked up a few snacks when she’d stopped for gas earlier in the day. One thing she was not sure of was food arrangements at the retreat. It was several miles out to the lake, not too far but clumsy if you were one who wrote and ate simultaneously. She’d never done that, but thinking about it had an appeal all its own.

  As she pulled onto the long drive, she tingled with anticipation, and a bit of apprehension, as well. She had the brochure on the seat, but what if there no vacancies. Dropping in unannounced was not the best way to handle this kind of thing.

  Before she got out of the car, a middle aged woman who bore a strong resemblance to the woman in the brochure, walked up to the driver’s side of the car. Samantha lowered her window and smiled. “Hello. You must be Marybeth Werner.”

  The lady smiled back. “Guilty as charged. And you are?”

  “Samantha Turner. Samantha got out and shook hands. “I am a writer and I’m hoping you have an opening for me. I have the brochure you sent me last spring. Sorry I didn’t at least call you ahead of time but I’m here under unusual circumstances.”

  “Kicked out of your home? Anything like that?”

  “Not exactly. Let me explain and I think you’ll understand. But first, do you have any openings?”

  Marybeth nodded, her smile brightening. “I already like you, Samantha. No nonsense, and you’re pretty as a picture, I swear. Yes, we have an opening at the moment. Did you read the part about the cost of residency?”

  “I did, and I’m prepared to pay whatever you need. I just received a contract offer from a major publisher for my historical romance with an option for another three books, and I need a place where I can concentrate on getting them done. I have three completed, other than rewrites, edits, and such. The fourth is a work in progress, but not yet complete.”

  “Well, you’re sure a lot further along than most of the folks who come here. We try to offer whatever assistance we can in getting’ your work accepted. Since you’ve already done that, you’ll probably want a lot of quiet time to work. Ya bring clothin’ with you?”

  “Yes. I packed enough for a week or so. I figured I’d shop nearby for anything else I need. I did wonder about food.”

  Marybeth laughed. “Food, I guess. We have two options on food. One, you can cook for yourself in your apartment. It’s fixed up with a small range and oven, sink, fridge, and a nuke box. Or, you can pay an additional fee, and good old Dub Dub‘ll cook the most delicious southern food you ever bit into.”

  “Dub Dub?”

  “My husband, Will. I’ll let him explain that one himself. Anyhoo, you’ll not starve while slavin’ away over your manuscripts.”

  “Southern sounds good, though I’ve never be
en south of Missouri before.”

  “Guess I shoulda asked where you’re from, Samantha.”

  “My folks live in a little town near Branson. Flanders. Dad is editor and owner of the paper there and I worked for him as a reporter and assistant editor.”

  “Your mom work?”

  “No. Well, yes, at home she does. My parents are very traditional, so Mom keeps house and Dad earns the money.”

  “Nothin’ wrong with traditional, dearie. They sound like very practical people.”

  “Very. I love them dearly, but I’m closing on thirty and need some space.”

  “Well, you’ve surely found it here. Why don’t I give you a quick tour of the place and show you where your apartment will be?”

  “Sounds good. I’d like to get settled in today so I can begin writing in earnest tomorrow. Are there any formal classes you require?”

  “We have classes. We don’t require you to attend ‘em. Mostly for beginnin’ authors who need to learn the basics of formattin’ and such.”

  Samantha followed Marybeth into the house, marveling at the homey furnishings inside. The main room was a faux log-lined room with a huge stone fireplace and hearth as a focal point at the far end of the room. There were several chairs and settees around the room, allowing for more than one group to sit and visit.

  Marybeth led her upstairs and showed her the loft, where there were three small apartments to one side, and a lovely master suite on the other. “These are occupied now. You’ll probably want to take the other unit for now, anyhoo. It’s out in the boathouse.”

  “Boathouse? Really?”

  “Yep. This place came equipped for a big family, with additional living quarters for family to come home from time to time. So, we use it for our own little writin’ family. Out there, you’ll have more space and a whole lot more privacy than in here. We all kind of end up in the main room in the evening. Of course, even if you live out there,” she pointed through a window to the boathouse, “you’re welcome to be part of our gang.”

  “You have a lovely home here, Marybeth. Are your kids grown up?”

  The woman’s face wrinkled into a painful image of sadness, her mouth turned down. “Only our writin’ kids. We were never able to have our own, so we dote on the young folks who come here to write.”

  “I’m sorry. You sound as though you really wanted kids. I-I’m kind of engaged.”

  “Hmmpf. Kind of engaged?” Marybeth glanced at her hand and then stared directly into her eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re goin’ to bring your fiancé here with you.”

  “Oh, no. I may not have a fiancé anymore, so that won’t be a problem.”

  “You have a fight or somethin’ like that?”

  “Something. It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later if you want to hear it.”

  “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” Her eyes twinkled. “But if you’re in the middle of a lover’s quarrel, this here’s probably not the place for you to be right now.”

  “Nothing like that.” She hesitated, but saw the scowl on Marybeth’s face. “Oh, okay. I’ll tell you. My mom started it all, going into my room and finding my manuscript. She read it and I caught her in the act. She said I wrote beautifully and should send it off to a publisher. I wasn’t ready to do that, but she and my dad went ahead and sent it to one of his old college chums who is a publisher.

  “The man liked it and sent me a contract offer. So I still haven’t submitted anything on my own, but I have a valid offer for four books.”

  “Four?” Marybeth’s eyes bulged. “And that upsets you?”

  “That, and the fact Mom let Troy read my work without my knowledge. I mean, who does that?”

  “Troy bein’ your fiancé, I suppose. Well, young lady, that’s one I hadn’t heard before. But I assume you let ‘em know where you are, so you can get your work all polished up and sent off.”

  Samantha lowered her focus to her feet. “Not exactly.”

  Marybeth clapped her hands, cackling. “Lordy, girl. Have you just run away and not told them nothin’?”

  “More or less. But I’ll tell them now I’m here.”

  “Well, I should hope you do, though I don’t make it a rule of thumb to go messin’ ‘round a person’s private affairs. I just hope your young man’s the patient type.”

  “Troy, patient? Not exactly.”

  “Oh my goodness. Well, darlin’, it’s your life. I bet there wasn’t a dull moment when you were growin’ up, either.”

  Samantha couldn’t help laughing, relieved to have shared her sad story with this positive woman. She’d bet there was not much that would rattle the likes of Marybeth Werner. Hopefully her husband shared her optimism. She figured she’d know soon enough.

  Before she had a chance to respond to Marybeth, a tall lanky man strode into the middle of their conversation. “Did I hear somethin’ ‘bout a dull life?”

  Marybeth guffawed. “You sure did. This little gal’s up to her ears in gettin’ away from dull. Came to us hopin’ to find a good hideaway from her boyfriend.”

  Samantha turned on the older woman. “I did no such thing.”

  “Easy, girl. I’m just funnin’ my hubby. Samantha, I’d like you to meet Will Werner. Will, this here’s Samantha Turner. “Well, Miss Samantha, howdy and welcome to our little abode. You a writer?””

  “I am. Regency historicals, and I have a contract offer from a major publisher.”

  “Congratulations on that. Not easy to get published these days, let me tell you. Beth and I work pretty hard to keep ‘head of things.”

  “I know. From your brochure, I see that you’ve published twenty books between you. That’s pretty impressive.”

  “Twenty four now, and we’re obligated for half a dozen more. One thing you should know goin’ in, it don’t get any easier after your first book comes out.”

  Samantha nodded, wondering why Marybeth had given her hubby a stern look when he said that. “I can well imagine.”

  Marybeth broke into the discussion. “What he’s tryin’ to say is, you can’t rest on your laurels. You accept a contract, especially one like yours, and you’re on a treadmill ‘til you fall off.” Turning to Will, she said, “Samantha here has got a contract offer for four books.”

  His eyes shot open. “Really! That’s pretty impressive for a novice author.” Looking deep into her eyes, he added, “You did say you’re a novice, didn’t you?”

  “I didn’t. But I am. My dad’s a newspaper editor and his college friend is Fred Upton, publisher of Bountiful Books.”

  “Bountiful, huh? Holy smokes! I’ve never met Mr. Upton, but I’ve heard lots ‘bout him. Little lady, you may not know this either, but that man’s ‘bout as hard to approach as a unicorn surrounded by longhorns. You’re one lucky lady and we’ll do our best to help you reach your goal.”

  “I appreciate that. Now then, I’d better get unpacked. I understand that you’re one fantastic cook.”

  He grinned. “Yep. Best dern grub you’ll find this side of Tyler. Maybe points beyond that, too.”

  Marybeth laughed again. “He’s funnin’ you now, Samantha.”

  She smiled at the man. “What’s this I hear about you being called Dub Dub?”

  He chuckled. “That there’s my nickname. Texas has already got one Dub so Marybeth here started callin’ me Dub Dub. Dub is for the initial W. I got two of ‘em, so…”

  “Oh! I get it. That’s funny.”

  “Marybeth thinks so, too.”

  Samantha looked from one to the other and laughed with them. “I’m glad I came here. Thank you both for taking me in, and I’ll try not to disgrace you.”

  Will winked at her. “Back at ya, Samantha. We’ll do our best to not disgrace you. You’ve got a foot in the door and, if your writin’ is as good as I expect it is, you’re on your way to some best seller lists.”

  The blush caused her face to flush without warning, and a big lump formed in her throat. Just how big was the man he
r dad hooked her up with in the publishing world? From the reaction of this pair, BB Books must be big indeed. I guess I’ll know soon enough what I’m dealing with.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Once in her room, with her clothing stowed and her computer on the desk, Samantha started to text a message to her dad, explaining her disappearance. Halfway into it, she stopped. Unsure whether he would be able to trace her whereabouts from the email, she decided to let it go for a few days. She could call her mom with a throwaway cell phone from a discount store.

  She’d made a choice and acted on it. This was no time to let homesickness trip her up. She was safe, in a secure setting, and the Werners were very welcoming. Her work could go forward now without disruption from her parents or her fiancé. She supposed that maybe he was still her fiancé.

  For a fleeting moment, memory of the hours she’d spent in Troy’s arms his bed caused her heart to flutter. Was she being stupid to shut him out of her life this way? The thought of his smile and the way his eyes crinkled at the corners tempted her to pull out her smart phone and call him. Then she remembered the betrayal and slammed the phone back into her purse.

  No! She was having none of that stuff. She’d call them in her own time and in her own way. If they didn’t like it, they could lump it. All of them, including Troy.

  * * *

  Ozzie stared at his desktop, hoping against hope that there would be a message from Samantha. No such message appeared. His daughter had vanished, like the mists of an early winter morning. She was an adult with her own car and bank account, and with no evidence of foul play. It was hardly a case the police would consider.

  Just as he was prepared to take umbrage at the girl’s brazen treatment of her family, he recalled his own actions that triggered her disappearance. Even egged on by Sally to intervene in Samantha’s writing career, he should have known better. She wasn’t a child to be pushed into anything she was not ready for, nor was she an adult who would tolerate what they’d done.