Counting on a Cowboy

by Debra Clopton

  “Thanks. That might actually feel good.”

  “Hang here for a minute while I jog down there and get my truck.”

  “Sure,” she said, staring into the distance where his truck sat. “I’ll be here. No hurry.”

  Attraction needled him as he jogged away. She was pretty. But he’d sworn off dating right now. That his last relationship had ended badly still had him hesitant about dating right now, so he was taking a break. Plus, his plate was too full with work and Pops. Not to mention the irritating matter of the man-watchers all around. The big question: Was she one of them?

  By the time he got back to her, she had her purse over her shoulder and her trunk open. He grabbed her two suitcases and set them in the back of his truck.

  She paused before getting into the cab as he held the door open. “Really, you can just take me to the motel in town, if you don’t mind.”

  “I’d feel better if we knew you were completely steady before I take you to the Sweet Dreams and drop you off.” He held her elbow and assisted her as she got into his truck.

  He felt responsible for her safety now. Besides, what if she did accidentally glimpse herself in the mirror before she cleaned her face? She could faint and hit her head on something. She could end up in the hospital or worse. He couldn’t be responsible for that.

  After he started up the drive, he asked, “Have you always fainted so easily at the sight of—well, you know? It’s just plain dangerous.”

  Her expression shadowed and she looked away from him out the dark window. Even in the dim lights of the dashboard, he hadn’t missed the look of sadness that had deadened her eyes.

  “No. I . . . I had an accident and it’s been like this ever since. My doctor says it will get better one day. Time will help.”

  She didn’t sound all that sure about it. Bo wondered all the way to the ranch what kind of accident might cause someone to start fainting at the sight of blood. He didn’t ask, though. His gut was telling him it was a deep subject and one she probably didn’t share with strangers.

  But he sure was curious.

  2

  “Okay, here you go. Sit right there and I’ll get you a warm wet cloth and you can clean that bit of dried . . . off your face—or better yet I’ll do it for you.”

  “Um, no. I should be able to do it, but I might need you to direct me.” Abby gave a wavery laugh as she sat down at the kitchen table feeling out of place. If she hadn’t been so sleepy, she would have seen the cow in the middle of the road before it was too late.

  She stared around the kitchen of what Bo had said was his grandfather’s home. She knew from the interview she’d watched on TV that Pops was the Monahan brothers’ beloved grandfather and that he had been a very respected champion in the cutting horse industry, as well as one of the best trainers in his day. His grandson Tru had followed in his steps. Bo seemed to own and operate a custom stirrup business, according to the show. They’d mostly interviewed him for his thoughts on the bet that his brother and Maggie Hope were involved in.

  It felt a little odd having just met the man and yet already knowing a fairly good bit about him. She’d been so dazed and upset over the wreck that it had taken her a moment to realize who he was.

  She wondered what people would think when they learned that she’d come to town because of Maggie Hope’s column. Her therapist had gotten her started reading the column, trying to help her see positive ways to deal with trouble. Maggie had a way of giving hope in her column. Abby had needed that—still needed it. She was hoping to meet Maggie. To thank her for inspiring her in her darkest moments . . . Still, what would people think? That she was weird?

  As weird as her friends back in Houston had seemed to think?

  At the memory of her friends’ disapproval, Abby bit her lip. She tried to give them grace and know that they thought they were wanting the best for her. After all, she’d practically locked them out of her life, she’d been so withdrawn. Her moving away was hard on them.

  “Ow,” she groaned, only then realizing she’d clamped hard on the split at the corner of her mouth. She was glad she didn’t taste fresh blood.

  She watched Bo turn on the faucet then rummage around in a drawer. He pulled out a cloth and ran it under the water.

  “Pops is asleep or I’d introduce you. He enjoys meeting new people, but at about nine p.m. he starts yawning these days.” He pulled the rag from the water and squeezed it. “Okay, a nice warm rag to get rid of that blood.”

  He must have decided that the actual word wasn’t going to have her falling out on the kitchen floor, Abby thought, almost laughing it was so . . . cute. That thought had her glancing at the wall clock. “It’s almost eleven-thirty—I hope the motel is okay with me arriving so late at night. I got delayed leaving Houston.” She tried to focus on what she was saying rather than her handsome rescuer, but that was impossible.

  He pulled a chair near and sat down across from her. Their knees were nearly touching. He held the damp rag in his hand, poised to get the blood, startling her that he was so willing to help.

  “May I?” He gave a cocky smile that shocked her to her toes. “Wouldn’t want you to have to do this in the mirror and pass out on me again.”

  She nodded and sat very still as he went to lay the cloth against her skin, but when his warm fingers gently cupped her jaw, she jumped and her pulse bucked.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you jump.” He apologized and laid the cloth against her lower lip.

  Despite the soothing warmth, Abby tensed and couldn’t breathe under his gaze as she felt his gentleness.

  He lifted the cloth, staring at her as if searching for a sign that he might be hurting her, then, as if satisfied that he wasn’t, he carefully placed it over the cut.

  “Pebble usually hires help to oversee the night arrivals, so you’ll be fine,” he said soothingly. “I think Jarrod was going to call and tell them you were delayed but would be there within the hour. That way they won’t worry about it.”

  She was having a hard time concentrating on his words. Awkward didn’t begin to describe how she felt. And that, she reassured herself, was why her heart pounded and her pulse was behaving so erratically. “Good.”

  “Now, don’t look down, whatever you do. I’m about to pull this rag away, and I don’t want you seeing anything you shouldn’t.”

  He had nice eyes. Blue like hers, but a deep, rich tone with endless depth like the waters of the ocean.

  “And have you ever hurt yourself?”

  “No,” she said, as a band tightened around her heart.

  He placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. “Are you okay?”

  Abby sprang to her feet feeling as if she’d just been zapped by a live electric cord. “Could you take me to the motel now?” she asked in a rush, and saw surprise flare in his eyes. “It’s been a really long day.” The man probably thought she was a ninny or something, but she didn’t care. She needed to leave. She needed sleep.

  Needed to be alone.

  “Sure.” He carefully kept the rag out of sight as he took it to the sink.

  It took everything Abby had to walk not run to the door. This was ridiculous. But looking at Bo Monahan swarmed her with sensations she hadn’t ever expected to feel again and would rather not.

  “You’ve been very helpful,” she rattled off as she scurried out the door and made a beeline for his truck. Her insides were fluttering still . . . with unease, yes, unease, she tried to tell herself. She crossed the porch and beat him to the passenger door, which she wrenched open before he could get it for her.

  Hoisting herself into the cab, she plopped onto the seat. She was being rude.

  Weird would be a more accurate term.

  She couldn’t help it though. She needed to get to her room.

  The way her insides fluttered when he came near was not welcome.

  What had happened back there?

  With him?

  Bo had gotten all caught up in
Abby’s gaze. She’d been shaken up from the wreck and then the blood and he’d felt bad for her. But when he’d sat down, taken her chin in his hands, and touched her mouth with that cloth—he’d lost his absolute mind.

  He’d managed to ask fairly coherent questions until that point, then he’d gotten so lost in her eyes that he’d scared her. Alarmed her. That had to be what was wrong because he’d seen the exact moment of change in those summer’s-sky eyes.

  His fingers tightened on the steering wheel as silence echoed inside the cab and the short few miles to town ticked slowly by.

  She’d sensed his attraction and that had to be why she bolted up like that. It was the only explanation.

  The woman was a beauty, and he’d been sitting there staring like some dumbstruck teenager. Which he wasn’t. He was a twenty-eight-year-old man who’d seen his fair share of beautiful women and dated many of them.

  Maybe she was affecting him like this because she was the first woman to have him thinking about dating again. Despite all his reasons for stepping back for a while.

  He wondered again if she was one of the gals attracted to town because of Maggie’s advice column where she had pretty much told the entire population of Houston that his little town was a ladies’ playground. Not in so many words, maybe, but close enough since it started the day-tripping nonsense.

  He was not eye candy . . . which he had specifically been called by a couple of women who’d stopped to watch him loading his truck up with feed at the feed store.

  They’d stopped just short of catcalls . . . The ridiculous whole thing remained a little bit of a sore spot between him and Maggie.

  He glanced over at Abby. She was staring out her window, but he saw her reflection in the darkness. Was she crying? He tensed and every other thought vanished. He yanked his eyes away, thinking fast . . . “I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t upset you back there.” He looked at her and saw her sit up straight then swipe at her cheek with her fingertips before turning her head and looking at him.

  She didn’t exactly look him in the eye. “No. I’m fine. It’s just been a long day. And then having the wreck on top of that. Just a long day.”

  Bo paid attention to the road then shot her another look. No matter what she said, he’d seen the sheen of tears in that reflection. “Sorry about that. We should be there soon.” That was the best he had to offer at the moment. But there was no stopping his mounting curiosity about her story. What had brought her to Wishing Springs?

  She didn’t look like a woman who would come here trying to hook a husband. Those female visitors, who were walking around town and even eating lunch at The Bull Barn, the local lunch spot on the outskirts of town, had overly bright, calculating eyes on the lookout for just the right cowboy.

  Abby didn’t fit that bill.

  He found himself looking at his quiet rider again, and when she glanced his way and caught him staring, he yanked his gaze off of her and back onto the road.

  “Thank you again for doing this. I know it was your cow and you feel responsible, but still, thank you and it’s okay.”

  “Hey, you shouldn’t have had to go through this in the first place. I can assure you that Jarrod will be out there with his ranch hands before daybreak looking for how that critter got loose. If he’s not already out there searching by spotlight.”

  “Well, it’s not like the cow was let loose on purpose. Oh—is that town?”

  “Yup, the huge metropolis. Don’t blink or you might miss it. We don’t have any late-night stores, so all you see mostly are the motel lights and streetlights.” The motel sign came into view a little way down the road. “You’ll like Pebble’s place. She keeps it immaculate and prides herself in making everyone’s stay at the motel special.”

  “I’m looking forward to a couple of weeks there. Can you point out Doobie and Doonie Burke’s real estate agency as well?”

  He shot her a startled look. “You lookin’ for property?”

  “Mm-hmm. I am—at least I’m pretty sure I am.”

  Now that was interesting.

  He pointed out Burke Brothers Realty and finally pulled into the motel half a block down the road. He insisted on going in to get the key and returned with the statement, “Pebble said for you to have a good night and that you could come by the office whenever you wanted to tomorrow.”

  “That was sure sweet of her.”

  He smiled. “Pebble’s a real sweetheart. But, that’s the way it’s done around here. She knew you were tired, especially after all of this happened. I’m sure you’ll find cookies and no telling what else in your room to greet you.” He drove over to Bungalow Number Five, got out, and pulled her suitcases from the back of the truck. He met her at the door where she was inserting the key into the lock. Thankfully she looked more stable and less pale.

  She smiled over her shoulder, her dark hair swinging, and his pulse did a sudden spin-kick right into the center of his solar plexus. He almost wheezed from the punch, it felt so real.

  “The town’s attitude is why I wanted to come to Wishing Springs. It just seemed like a very welcoming place. Kind of like Mayberry. As I was reading Maggie’s column about the town I almost expected Andy Griffith and Aunt Bea to show up.”

  “You read Maggie’s column?” His guard strengthened despite his instincts telling him she wasn’t one of those husband hunters.

  “I do and I’m serious,” she said, pausing before pushing open the door. “Either Maggie is just a great writer or this town has a lot to offer in the hometown-charm department.”

  Manhunter or not, the woman was cute. “I think it’s probably a little of both.”

  As if satisfied with that answer, she pushed open the door and the scent of fresh chocolate chip cookies swamped them.

  “Told you.”

  She inhaled. “That smells wonderful.” Hurrying inside he followed with her bags, watching as she lifted the foil from a plate piled high with soft cookies that he knew from experience would be perfect in every way.

  “Cowboys have been known to fight over those cookies,” he said.

  A huge smile sprang across her face, lighting it up like Christmas. “Would you like some?”

  He set her suitcase down. “I’ll take a rain check, but you enjoy. And don’t go bleeding or anything like that. When I come to take you to your car in a few hours, I don’t want to walk in and find you on the floor.”

  She laughed then. The sound curled around something inside him, something that readily responded.

  “I’ll be careful.”

  He told his feet to move. They ignored him and stuck to the burgundy carpet like they were trapped in mud. The woman was probably starting to worry he wasn’t going to leave.

  He forced himself into motion. “I’ll pick you up at eight-thirty a.m. if that’s not too early,” he said, heading to the door.

  “Thanks, that’s perfect.”

  “See you then.” The words rang with briskness as he strode out the door, gave her a tip of his hat, and got on the road toward home.

  “What,” he asked aloud, “was that all about?”

  He felt like he’d just been blindsided by a bull. And no matter what he did, he could not get Abby Knightley off his mind as he drove back toward the Four of Hearts Ranch.

  He hadn’t been dating like he used to—the ranch he owned with his brothers had had rough times. After his parents had died in a plane crash, they’d found out his dad had very nearly gambled away the ranch his grandfather had worked so hard to build.

  His contribution to paying the debt down became the successful stirrup business he’d created. He poured every moment he had into keeping up with the demand because they needed each and every sale. Especially the first year and a half when they didn’t know if there was any way to keep the ranch despite all three of them working.

  And then there was Pops. He and his brothers wished desperately that his Pops wasn’t slipping away from them, but it was a hard fact that he was having to face. Bu
t for the most part he had a lot to smile about and that was what he tried to focus on.

  And that smile was usually why he seemed to draw women’s attention, which worked out well when he had the time. What he didn’t like was that his new sister-in-law, Maggie, practically put a bull’s-eye on his back with that article.

  He’d gotten uncharacteristically mad over it. And for good reason.

  Yes, he liked women and dating. On his timetable. Right now his plate was full.

  But he sure was interested in knowing more about Abby and why she needed to find her very own Mayberry.

  What had happened to put those shadows in her eyes and that need in her heart?

  And then there was her reaction to the blood . . .

  3

  A cup of warm green tea in hand from the small kitchenette of her motel room, Abby walked outside into the early morning light. It felt cooler this morning, a reminder that it was fall in Texas, but she knew that the day would warm again, as summer was never ready to leave without a fight. Breathing in the cooler, crisper air, she studied the Sweet Dreams Motel. It was darling—just like Maggie’s column had described. With the individual bungalows, white exteriors, burgundy shutters and doors, and window boxes full of flowers, it was so welcoming. Add to that the colorful metal chairs outside each door and it provided the perfect small-town home away from home.

  Despite all of that, Abby hadn’t slept well. She hadn’t slept well since she’d lost Landon. Her heart ached as it always did in the morning hours when her loss seemed closest—waking up without him lying next to her or sitting with her in the first light of morning drinking tea and coffee before starting their day. Oh, how she missed those early morning moments with Landon. The pain in her heart radiated through her now as she sank into a pink chair outside her bungalow’s door. She took a sip of her tea . . . alone. She struggled as always to let the peace of the morning fill her. The grief pulled at her, but the relief of knowing she’d made a step forward surged, and despite all odds, excitement hummed inside of her.