Courting the Cowboy

by Carolyne Aarsen

  He hesitated but then returned to chopping at the weeds, using more force than was necessary.

  If she needs to talk to you, she’ll come here.

  He kept working, the warm afternoon sun beating down on him as questions he wanted to ask her pounded through his head, as well.

  She’s leaving. You don’t need to know what’s happening.

  But at the same time he couldn’t turn his back on what he knew had been growing between them.

  If there’s even the smallest chance...

  He worked in the garden for another twenty minutes. Finally he couldn’t stand it anymore. He leaned the hoe against the fence and wiped his face with his hankie. Then he straightened his shoulders and headed to the trees separating the two yards. Might as well find out for sure what was happening. Get some closure.

  He knew he was fooling himself. He wasn’t going to forget someone like Ella anytime soon.

  Just as he stepped into the grove, he saw her entering at the other end. They saw each other at the same time and they both stopped. Just for a moment, then they walked toward each other meeting halfway. She was carrying a large plastic bag with something square inside.

  Going-away present for the kids?

  “So, how was Calgary?” he asked her.

  “Interesting,” was all she said, her expression unreadable.

  What conclusion was he supposed to draw from that?

  She fiddled with the plastic bag, avoiding his gaze. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about losing the baby,” she said.

  “No. I’m sorry. I didn’t have any right to expect—”

  “Maybe not,” she continued. Then she looked up at him, her gaze direct. “But I think we were at the point that I should have been the one to tell you. You shouldn’t have found out from my mother.”

  Cord wanted to pull her into his arms and tell her it didn’t matter but he had no idea what was happening in her life. Instead he gestured to the bench tucked off to one side. The one his father had built many years ago.

  “Sit down. We can talk here.”

  She perched on the edge of the bench, swinging the bag between her legs, looking away from him as if gathering her thoughts.

  “I told you a little of my marriage,” she said. “That it wasn’t good. You knew Darren was abusive but I hadn’t told my mother. I finally did.”

  Cord put a hand on her shoulder, an unexpected anger rising up. “Again, I’m so sorry.”

  She blinked and drew in a shaky breath. “I hid it from my mother because she and Darren were business partners and, well, I was ashamed. I wanted to leave him but I was afraid, which made me feel weak. Plus I had this idea that you had to stay with the man you married. For better or for worse. I just had no idea about the worse.”

  Cord heard the pain and the shame in her voice. He slipped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close.

  “I’m glad he’s not in your life anymore,” Cord said, his voice hard.

  “I felt so guilty at how relieved I was when I heard about his accident.” Ella kept her shoulders stiff. She stared straight ahead, still not looking at him and he sensed there were more layers to the story. “Regardless, I should have left him long before that. I should have left him when I got pregnant.”

  “But that would have been a hard decision to make,” Cord said.

  “I know. But I might...might have kept my baby.” Her voice shook and her hands tightened around the bag, her knuckles growing whiter.

  “I don’t understand.”

  Ella swallowed again. “I was eight and a half months pregnant. I was trying to get a couple of paintings done for a showing in a gallery in Victoria. They weren’t coming together. My life had been a struggle and I’d been thinking about leaving. Just wasn’t sure when to pull the plug. Anyhow, I was frustrated and tired and he kept pushing. Finally I got angry and yelled at him. I’d had enough. I told him I was leaving him. My studio was on the second floor of our house. I got up and left. He followed me and grabbed me and slapped me. I stumbled and fell. Down the stairs.” She stopped, and Cord guessed what happened next but Ella continued. “That’s when I lost the baby. Darren brought me to the hospital and I went into early labor. But he was stillborn. He was a little boy. A perfect little boy.”

  Her voice broke, her shoulders shook.

  And Cord was undone.

  Wordlessly he pulled her close, tucking her head against his neck as once again her tears flowed. “It wasn’t your fault,” he whispered. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  She dropped her bag and clung to him, her tears flowing silently. He stroked her head, shushing her, encouraging her, letting her release the sorrow that she had obviously held on to all this time.

  Finally she drew back, releasing a humorless laugh as she sniffed, swiping at her cheeks. “Once again I break down in your arms.”

  “I’m glad I could be here both times,” he said as he gently thumbed her tears off her cheek. He cupped her face, and tipped it up to look at him. “You were stuck in a bad situation. Losing your baby was tragic, but that’s not your fault.”

  She looked deep into his eyes as if seeking absolution there. “That’s why I couldn’t tell you. I fought so hard with guilt. With feeling like it was my fault I lost my son.”

  “And that’s why you had such a hard time with Oliver?”

  “At first. Yes. He reminded me of who I lost. Of the child I should have taken better care of.”

  “Don’t say that. Just like Lisa was the one who was driving, Darren was the one who made you lose your child. You did nothing wrong.”

  Her tremulous smile was like sunlight breaking through the clouds.

  “That might take me some time to process.”

  “I think we each have our burdens we slowly have to release to God. Let Him take them off our shoulders.”

  “I think you’re right.”

  He smiled at her, thankful she had finally shared that part of her life with him. But another part of him wanted to ask. To find out what was next.

  “As for the job, I have to apologize for that too,” Ella said, bending over to pick up the bag she dropped.

  Cord’s heart skipped its next beat, ice slithering through his veins.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I couldn’t take your well-meant advice,” she said. “I couldn’t take the job in Montreal. I couldn’t go back to being the artist everyone wanted me to be. I wanted to move away from the darkness.”

  “So—”

  “I’m not sure what’s next, but I’m going to keep painting the things that I enjoy painting.”

  A surge of pure joy flowed through him, and he was about to tell her how he felt when she opened the bag she had been carrying.

  “And I have a gift for you,” she said, pulling out a small canvass and handing it to him.

  Cord glanced down at it and he couldn’t help a gentle smile.

  His little boy, Oliver, stared back at him, a smear of dirt on his face, his hair sticking up, smiling as he clutched Oreo in his arms. The sun made a halo of his hair. He looked like an angel in overalls.

  “This is amazing.”

  “Painting it was cathartic. It made me realize that he is his own person. That he may be the same age as the son I lost, but he’s not my little boy.”

  Cord held the picture, questions and thoughts bouncing in his mind.

  “And I was hoping I could rent the cabin for a while longer,” Ella continued. “If you would allow me to paint your children. Your life. I’m so inspired here. It’s been a place of healing for me.”

  Cord looked back at her, heard the yearning in her voice and knew what he needed to do.

  “That would be great,” he said. “But I am really hoping that some day you would be will
ing to stay longer.”

  She frowned at him. “Pardon me?”

  Then a shy smile slipped over her face and she touched his cheek. “So, what are you really asking me?”

  The teasing tone in her voice encouraged him.

  “Well, I’m thinking that I would like you to make your stay here permanent. I’m thinking that I would like you to consider marrying me. Being my wife. Mother to my kids. In that order.”

  Ella’s smile wavered and he thought she was going to cry again.

  Then she threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. “I would love to be your wife,” she said, then kissed him hard. “And I would love to be a mother to your children.”

  He returned her kiss, a few thoughts slithering through him as her comment hovered. “You’re okay with taking on three kids?”

  Her smile blossomed. “I love your kids. All three of them. I would love nothing more than to take them on.”

  Cord’s heart grew so full he thought it would burst out of his chest. “That is so excellent,” he said, pulling her close in a tight hug. “So excellent.”

  They shared another kiss and then, reluctantly, broke apart.

  “We should go tell the kids,” Cord said.

  “Together,” Ella said.

  “It’s the only way this is going to happen.” Cord gently pulled her to her feet. “We’re in this together.”

  “I like the sound of that,” Ella said, tucking her arm into his.

  Then, together, they walked back to the ranch house to give the news to the kids.

  That they were going to be a family.

  * * * * *

  Read on for an extract from HER LAKESIDE FAMILY by Lenora Worth.

  Dear Reader,

  Ella had a lot to deal with in her life and her way of coping was to withdraw. The only way she had to express the pain of her loss was through her art. But cutting herself off from people also meant cutting herself off from life. It wasn’t until she was forced to deal with Cord’s children, and eventually Cord himself, and open herself up to potential pain that she was able to finally create. That she was finally able to truly express herself.

  I know that sometimes, when things are hard, it’s easy to retreat into oneself. To keep people away. But letting people into our lives is what brings light and life. God himself promises that we can find refuge in the shadow of his wings even as he brings life and light into our lives. I pray that you may find your refuge in him. That you may open yourself to the light he promises to shine even in the darkest places of our lives.

  Carolyne Aarsen

  P.S. I love to hear from my readers. Write to me and let me know what you thought of Cord and Ella’s journey. You can contact me at caarsen@xplornet.com. Or you can visit my website and sign up for my newsletter to receive a free book. www.carolyneaarsen.com

  Her Lakeside Family

  by Lenora Worth

  Chapter One

  “Lucia, stop aggravating your sister! Adriana, hurry and get your backpack. Daddy’s late for work. And where did your brother go?”

  A screaming cyclone whizzed by, all dark curls and giggles.

  Nate.

  Santo Alvanetti grabbed his two-year-old son and tried for the third time to get his shoes on. But Nate wasn’t in the mood to get dressed so he kept running away, taking off an article of clothing each time. Now he was down to his little blue jeans and one shoe.

  “Daddy, the school bus is coming,” Lucia—the oldest, who’d just turned nine—screamed from the floor-to-ceiling front windows. “I’m gonna miss it again.”

  Santo sent her a pleading glance. “It’s okay, honey. I’ll drop you off at school.”

  The school was in town, near Millbrook Lake. Completely out of his way but he was already late. Thirty more minutes wouldn’t hurt. His cell rang, indicating his being late had already cost him money. Alvanetti Imports moved at a fast pace. He needed to do the same, but these days every morning had become a challenge and a race against time.

  Adriana stomped a booted foot. “I can’t find my purse, Daddy.”

  “She has a purse?” he asked Lucia. His middle child was only seven. But then, her late mother had loved expensive purses.

  Lucia’s dark eyes opened wide. “Duh. We both do. Mom bought them for us a long time ago, before...” Her eyes went dull. “We need Mom back here. She knows how to find purses.”

  Santo wasn’t sure how to answer that. His wife Althea was dead. She’d died a horrible death about a year ago, in a showdown with his sister Rikki and a police detective. While Santo both mourned her and resented her for betraying him, her children still missed her. Althea had tried to be a good mother but something had gone so wrong in their marriage.

  Raising three children and trying to run a business made Santo too tired and stressed to try to figure out what had happened to bring his life crashing down around him. He thought of happier times with Althea, when they were younger and she still loved him. He’d pushed away his anger and pain for a while now, but his children had been acting out. They all needed help.

  Nate started crying.

  Santo wanted to cry right along with him but he couldn’t do that. He had to be strong. He had to get to work. He needed every ounce of strength just to make it through each day. The import business the Alvanetti family had been running for decades was legitimate now and finally back in the black.

  Because he’d put every waking hour into making it work.

  So he grabbed Nate again and managed to get him dressed, but the boy didn’t want to go to the day care.

  “I want Mommy,” the little boy cried, kicking to get out of Santo’s arms.

  Nate probably didn’t remember Althea all that much but he always echoed whatever his older sisters said. The counselor had warned Santo to let his children talk about their mother but each time they mentioned her, his heart hurt with a pain that rivaled a jagged cut. It was a tear that would never heal. Promising himself he’d never go through that kind of pain again, Santo gritted his teeth and focused on his children.

  The doorbell rang, the chimes echoing over the fifteen-foot-high ceiling and the modern, wood-and-steel open staircase. Outside the spring sunshine glistened on the infinity pool and the bay below the bluffs. Santo had a stunning view thanks to the wall of glass across from the living room and kitchen.

  There had been a wall of glass between him and Althea, too.

  But he didn’t even notice the view anymore and the guilt he’d felt at not knocking down that wall between them had long dissipated like a morning mist over the water. He’d be so glad to get out of this house. Too many bad memories for him and too many memories of her for his children. They all needed a fresh start.

  “Daddy, the bus!”

  “Daddy, the doorbell!”

  “I want Mommy.”

  He prayed the new nanny—one of many his sister, Rikki, had hired since Althea’s death—had arrived. He hadn’t met the woman but Rikki and Blain had vetted and cleared her, stating she had impeccable credentials. Santo hurried to the door and opened it while he held Nate’s squirming, screaming little body against his heart.

  The woman standing there didn’t look like the typical nanny. She had strawberry-blond hair that shot out in chunky layers around her face and chin. Her eyes were an ethereal green, like the bay waters in the early morning. She wore a plaid button-up shirt, worn jeans and...work boots.

  “Hello,” the woman said. “I’m—”

  “I’m so glad you’re here, Mrs. Brownlee,” Santo interrupted, shoving Nate into her arms. “The instructions are on the counter in the kitchen. The girls go to Millbrook Elementary and they usually catch the bus or ride home with a neighbor. I’ll take them to school and call the neighbor to pick them up this afternoon. Nate
has day care but now that you’re here, let’s just keep him home today.”

  He kissed his sobbing son. “C’mon, girls.”

  Nate started crying all over again. But the woman standing there marched right on in and said something soothing in his son’s ear. Nate hiccupped and stopped crying, his misty brown eyes glued on the woman holding him.

  She smiled over at Santo. “I’m sorry but—”

  “I want my purse,” Adriana said on a scream, her long brown curls falling over her purple tunic and matching leggings. She looked at the surprised woman. “I can’t leave without my purse.”

  The pretty nanny looked at Adriana with sympathetic eyes. “Of course not. I never leave home without my—”

  “Found it,” Lucia said, shoving the shiny purple shoulder bag at her little sister. “Now can I please get to school?”

  Santo let out a sigh and nodded to the woman. “You don’t have to apologize but please try to be on time from now on, okay?”

  The woman’s green eyes flared with something akin to mirth. “Mr. Alvanetti, I don’t think you understand. I’m not—”

  “I’m here.” A shrill, laughing voice came from the open door. “And not a moment too soon from the looks of things.”

  Confused, Santo turned to find a plump, smiling woman with short auburn hair and black-framed, crystal-encrusted glasses standing on the threshold. “I’m Virginia Brownlee. I’m your nanny.”

  Santo looked from the smiling woman at the door to the bemused woman still holding his son. “Then who are you?”

  “I’ve been trying to tell you that for the last five minutes,” she said, passing Nate back to him. “I’m Davina Connell. I’m here to help you get this house in shape to sell. I’m the contractor.”

  * * *

  Davina almost felt sorry for him.

  Santo Alvanetti exuded power and assurance, his tailor-made suit, his hair crisp and dark and falling in touchable curls around his face and neck much in the same way as his son’s. But right now, the man’s expression filled with realization and panic, his onyx gaze darkening even more.