Winning the Cowboy

by Emma St Clair

  When Easton crawled into bed with his parents, wanting his mama to soothe the ache, his father had no patience for it. He would stomp off to the guest room, dragging a sleep-weary hand over his jaw, grumbling about the commute he would have in the morning.

  Easton and Mama would hold their breath until he was gone, then she would smile, her teeth bright in the low light from the hallway. A Cheshire Cat grin. She would rub Easton’s legs until he fell back to sleep. She would sing, songs whose melodies now escaped him. She, too, had been a poet. More of a songwriter, though she had rarely made time for her gift. Those moments with Mama soothed the growing pains.

  The ache in his ribs was like what he remembered of those times. Except, he thought, as he watched Elton disappear into the house, carrying Adele, these weren’t growing pains in his chest. This ache, dulled by nothing, not even time, was guilt. It was being stuck. And there was no one to soothe the ache.

  No, love would not come for him. Easton didn’t believe in it. Did not deserve it. He’d been foolish to think he might.

  Easton walked back to his truck, ready to head back to the farm where he needed to check on the horses and the emus. The roads were dark and quiet as he drove. It was strange to see the snow beyond his windshield.

  He had missed farming. After his family had sold most of their land for a ridiculous sum, Easton had felt that loss of acreage like a loss of his own flesh. He had been a teenager then, so he wouldn’t have used those words for it. He could still feel their loss.

  But time revealed their truth. Being on Cilla and Pax’s farm, taking care of it until they returned, made him realize how much he had missed their land. Maybe he wouldn’t have love, but he could have a farm. Animals. Acres. He could feel the closeness to God in the way his back ached after mucking stalls. The way his fingers blistered as he built and fixed the rotting fences.

  In the smell of earth, newly turned. The distinct smell of leather and horse.

  That would be his joy. His love.

  It’s not good to be alone. The verse was like a nagging whisper in his mind.

  Yes, he was familiar with that verse. But he also knew verses about singleness and how it was good. Single didn’t mean alone. It meant single in purpose. Focused. Not split between caring for another person and for God.

  And, Easton thought to himself as his gut twisted, being single meant you’d never have to endure the pain of seeing those wedding vows broken.

  Easton thought again of his mama. Of her kind face streaked with tears that last day. Of vows, secretly broken. Of truth’s light that made the shadows flee. Even before he learned that his parents had died, Easton had been crushed with grief like none he’d ever known. He lost his innocence and his parents on the same day.

  The only moment almost as terrible as realizing his parents were gone was the moment when he realized that he would have to carry their secret to his grave.

  Shaking his head, Easton chuckled darkly. Even if he could bring himself to hope in love again, he was far too moody. Or brooding. Probably both. He was dark enough to put a damper on anyone’s joy. Once, Elton had called him Eeyore, and he truly wasn’t far off.

  When Easton turned into the driveway of Pax and Cilla’s emu farm, a truck even more beaten up than his was in the driveway.

  Frowning, he got out of the car. No one else should be here. The house was still dark, and the night held the hush of newly-fallen snow, even if it was only a dusting. The truck must have just arrived, as there was no snow on its rusted hood. He placed his hand there, and it was still warm. The engine ticked.

  The sharp sound of dogs barking startled him, and Easton walked toward the barn, where all the lights were on. His heart picked up speed, adrenaline beginning to course through him. Though he’d just come from a wedding, his revolver was tucked neatly into the holster inside his jacket.

  What looked to be a pack of dogs burst out of the barn as the door slid open. Easton paused, his hand moving to the gun as they charged him. It wasn’t the handful of small yippy dogs or even the large, slow-moving white dog at the back that made him nervous. It was the black and white shepherd dog leading the group, focused and intent as it sprinted toward him. His hand rested on the metal, but he did not unholster the gun.

  “Tallulah! Dogs! Heel!”

  A woman ran after the dogs. With the lights from the barn against her back, Easton couldn’t make out her features. Her voice had a melodic quality, even as she shouted.

  Just before it reached him, the shepherd’s lip curled away from its teeth. Easton had never been bitten by a dog, but he braced himself for that to change.

  Instead of biting him, the dog fell at his feet, wriggling, showing him its neck in a sign of submission, even as it still bared its teeth. The other dogs reached Easton, maybe six in all, swarming around him. The smallest ones jumped until he could feel their little paws on his trousers. The Saint Bernard shoved its large head under his hand, forcing him to scratch behind its ears before it sat down on his foot.

  As the woman finally reached him, breathless, the shepherd slunk over to her, the only dog showing any remorse for its behavior. The rest continued to practically assault him. A tongue found his hand and small teeth tugged at his pant leg.

  “Sorry,” the woman said with a quiet laugh. Almost a giggle. “Clearly, my lessons on stranger danger haven’t been working.”

  She giggled again, and Easton felt a slow warmth expand in his chest at the sound. It wasn’t the kind of vapid giggling that comes from flirting, but more a slight, bubbling sound like water in a brook as it moved over small stones.

  Easton knew he was staring. But considering he had no idea who this trespassing, giggling woman was, he didn’t feel too badly about it.

  Her hair was almost white, tied up into a messy ponytail with little pieces escaping everywhere. He couldn’t make out her eye color in the dark, but snowflakes caught in very blonde lashes.

  Easton fought to find the words he might use to describe her in a poem. To say she looked angelic was too trite. And not quite right. She didn’t look perfect or beautiful, which is what people often meant when they called someone angelic. No, angel wasn’t the right word. Maybe fairy?

  She seemed to exude magic. In the music of her voice. In the way her hair was so light that it was impossible to see the snow as it landed there. Her skin, so pale it almost glowed. Her upturned nose, almost too tiny for her face, sealed it. Definitely a fairy.

  A wingless fairy in a dirty coat, surrounded by a pack of dogs.

  The shepherd nosed its way toward him again, teeth bared.

  The woman giggled. Did she ever do more than giggle?

  With one eye still on the black and white dog, Easton watched the way her breath left her mouth in a tiny cloud, dissipating in the night air. Magic.

  “Tallulah just smiling at you. That’s how she says hello.”

  So, the dog wasn’t attacking him. He put out his hand, palm open. The shepherd pressed its cold, wet nose into his hand, insistent and demanding. He bent slightly, scratching behind its ears and running a hand over its rough coat. The other dogs, jealous, pressed in even closer to him.

  “You must be Easton Boyd,” the woman said.

  He realized that he hadn’t yet spoken. All his words had been inside his head. Lines of terrible poetry rolling around in his mind. He cleared his throat. “I am.”

  “Sorry to show up like this.” The woman blew on her hands. Her pursed lips were full and pink as she tried to warm her fingers.

  The ache began again in his ribs. Easton met her gaze, though it was hard to look away from her soft mouth.

  “I’m Quinley. Albert should have told you that I was coming. From the look on your face, I’m guessing that didn’t?”

  Easton shook his head. Albert had sold the farm to Pax. He was supposed to call Easton and tell him about the animal care and the farm itself. So far, the man had all but disappeared after sending a single email with a few names and basics about the
farm.

  “The vet? He did mention a Quin.”

  “And you assumed I’d be a man?” Her tone was teasing, and it made his neck hot.

  “I guess so.”

  She grinned, stuffing her hands in her coat. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  Easton was anything but disappointed. At least, not with her. He was beyond dismayed with himself, however. Hadn’t he just been reminding himself that love always failed? That he should embrace being single?

  Now he could hardly take his eyes off this woman. He was composing poetry about her in his head, for crying out loud. If he didn’t believe in love, he certainly didn’t believe in love at first sight. Definitely not in magic or fairies.

  “Sorry to drop by so late,” Quinley said. “Had to birth a calf. So, you’ll excuse me if I don’t shake your hand. You probably don’t want to know where my hands have been.”

  She laughed, finally. It was a loud, inglorious sound. Completely unlike the melody of her voice or the sweetness of her giggle. It almost sounded horsey. Like her muddy boots, it was incongruous with the rest of her. And somehow, completely endearing.

  She leaned closer, giving him a conspiratorial wink. “Spoiler alert: my hand has been inside of a cow.”

  A shocked laugh tore from Easton, as though she had stolen it. Which, really, she had. The Laugh Thief. That would be the name of his poem about her. His fingers itched for a pen. Or to tuck away the messy white-blond strand of hair that blew across her cheek with a sudden gust of wind.

  Quinley laughed again, then turned and ran toward the barn, all the dogs but Tallulah following. “Come on! It’s too cold out here. Even if you’re overdressed for a barn.”

  Easton looked down, laughter still tumbling from his chest. He was still in his suit. Definitely overdressed.

  Easton hesitated. Not because of his suit, which was already marked with muddy paw prints, but because of Quinley.

  You’re just going into the barn with her to talk about emu care, probably. Not a big deal.

  But the moment felt, somehow, heavy. Weighted with magic as the snow continued its soft descent. Tallulah nipped at his heels, like the dog was urging him to follow her mistress.

  Though it was likely dangerous, definitely unwise, and made his ribs ache, Easton found himself chasing after the fairy-angel woman with the awkward and endearing laugh.

  Want to read Easton’s story? Check out Taming the Cowboy’s Twin! Available in Spring 2020.

  A NOTE FROM EMMA

  Writing this book was a delight. I have been so excited about it since I first thought of Sy and Pax and had those football boys come home to Katy, Texas. You see, when I first moved to Katy, I worked in a church doing youth ministry. And two of our youth were twin boys whose parents had renovated the barn so the boys could sleep with the horses. As someone new to Texas, this felt SO Texas to me.

  Twin boys in their Wranglers and boots, living in the barn.

  Welcome to Texas!

  Funny enough, one of those boys is now married with a few kids and goes to my current church. And I’m still living in Katy, though not in a barn.

  Maybe one day …

  I hope you loved Adele and Elton as much as I did while writing them. (Side note: In hindsight, I would NEVER name two characters Elton and Easton again because of how easy it is to mix them up when writing. Even if those are believable real-life twin names.) I thought Adele and Elton were so much fun with their push-and-pull, their arguments, and flirtations, all revealing the passion and love they had for each other.

  This is nothing like the relationship I have with my husband—we both avoid conflict and are pretty peaceful—but I think it really fit them.

  Let’s talk about Fatty McGinger Bottom.

  I wanted that name to hold a little humor but, names aside, Adele’s story is really my own. In eighth grade, I suddenly found all the guys I was friends with shouting names at me during lunch. Because they were junior-high boys, it took me a day or so to understand what they were saying, and that it was directed at me. The name was Sboob Gib. Big boobs spelled backwards.

  Geniuses, right?

  Anyway. It was humiliating and awful and felt just like Adele describes it. I was furious that these guys who hung out with me and played cards with me during study hall would gang up and shout things at me during lunch. About my body, no less.

  I switched seats at lunch to face them, not knowing that it would shut them up. I just couldn’t take it happening literally behind my back. It was highly empowering, but their actions really did stick with me. Not as something painful still, but just as a harsh reality.

  We’ve got another cowboy to go! And maybe a lawyer. Ben and Kat grew on me in this book. I sometimes have unplanned side characters that bloom into people with stories I can’t wait to tell.

  Did Easton’s epilogue get you excited?? It got me fired up. I wasn’t sure I knew what Easton was hiding in his broodiness this whole time. But I have a better sense of it now and am excited to let his truths come to light in Taming the Cowboy’s Twin.

  If you’re ever in Katy, you should check out Haven! It’s a real church. Nathan Cotton is the pastor, serving alongside his wife Alisa. (He does have a brother, but nothing like Ben.) It’s a fabulous church meeting in Bona Fitness right across from the In N Out Burger. You’d be totally welcome. Even in your gym shorts. Or with an ankle monitor. Sometimes they have nights out at No Label Brewery. Also a real place.

  Want to connect? I’ve got a reader group where I share sneak peeks and teasers. Find that HERE.

  You can also get notifications about new books and suggestions for what to read next by signing up for my email HERE. You’ll get a free book as well! Bonus.

  Love my books? Tell a friend. Leave a review. Share in a Facebook reader group. Word of mouth really does help authors.

  Thanks so much for reading!!

  -e

  WHAT TO READ NEXT

  The Billionaire Surprise Series

  The Billionaire Love Match

  The Billionaire Benefactor

  The Billionaire Land Baron

  The Billionaire’s Masquerade Ball

  The Billionaire’s Secret Heir

  Sandover Island Sweet Romance Series

  Sandover Beach Memories

  Sandover Beach Week

  Sandover Beach Melodies

  Sandover Beach Christmas

  Not So Bad Boy Sweet Romance Series

  Managing the Rock Star

  Forgiving the Football Player

  Winning the Cowboy

  Taming the Cowboy’s Twin

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks so much to Judy of Judy’s Proofreading for proofing! A big thanks also to Jenna for being an early reader, even with everything going on in your life.

  And oh my goodness. My ARC readers! You guys are epic. Your comments and reactions really do help make my books stronger.

  Thanks to Lissa, Stephanie, Lyn, Donna, Sandy, Marsha, Barb, Rita, Priscilla, Jane, Jillian, Deanna, Gina, Victoria, Nicole, Lisa, Valerie, Bernie, and Catherine.

  If you don’t see your name here, I might have jumped the gun and written this before I got your emails. Know that I appreciate you so very much!