Once Upon a Cowboy

by Maggie McGinnis

  She smiled sadly as she pulled out the tickets and gave him one.

  “This could be the one, right? This could be our go-west ticket.”

  They both scratched away the silvery coatings, and Jess sighed as she saw the words Try Again. Really? This one freakin’ time, there couldn’t be a winning ticket?

  Grampy held his up as well, and they shook their heads in unison. “Maybe next time,” he said, sighing. Then he reached into the backseat. “I brought you something.”

  In his hand was the one book she’d ever finished—Little Women.

  He tapped the spine, where the silvery print of Louisa May Alcott’s name stood out in the morning light. “Remember how you used to say when you grew up, you were going to go west, and you were going to be Jessalyn Alcott?”

  “I was twelve, Grampy.” She sniffed, waving a hand down her dirty T-shirt and ripped jeans. “And delusional. I picked that first name out of a magazine at Mack’s.”

  “I always thought it was great that you had a new name for yourself all picked out.”

  “Well, it sure has a nicer ring than Star Smith. Can you imagine filling out a job application with my name? I might as well just write ‘Trailer-trash Tracy.’ Nobody will ever take me seriously with this stupid name.”

  He shook his head. “I like Jessalyn better, too.” He looked at her long and hard, his hand on the shifting lever. “You can get out of here, jellybean. You don’t have to be Star Smith anymore if you don’t want to be. I’m going to take you to a safe place where you can get better, get help, and get out of here forever.”

  He reached over, grabbing her hand with surprising strength. “This is your chance, honey. You run away now, you’ll live. You stay here, you’re going to die. If not your body, then your spirit. You have to go. It’s the only way.”

  She couldn’t speak, emotion clogging her throat like a gas-soaked rag. Then another wave of nausea shot through her midsection.

  She was silent as he pulled out of the parking lot and headed east. She’d been in denial for months, but Grampy was right. If she stayed here, she was going to be nothing more than a sad statistic.

  Two hours later, they pulled into a spot in front of a converted Victorian with a small sign on the front. “Safe Haven,” it said, and she tried hard to believe it was true. Grampy helped her out of the car, and she leaned on him as they climbed the porch steps. At the top, he stopped and faced her.

  “They’ll help you here. You can get better. You can have a clean slate. Nobody here knows you, nobody knows where you came from, and all you gotta do is show them where you’re going. You can leave Star Smith right on this porch and become Jessalyn Alcott, just like you always dreamed.”

  She sniffed, looking into his eyes. Was it really possible to make that kind of a change? Leave the nightmare behind and start fresh?

  “Do you really think so?”

  “I know so.” He handed her a folder. “If you want to make it legal, everything you need’s in here. Birth certificate, social security card, the works.”

  Her eyes widened. “How’d you get hold of this stuff?”

  “Your mother bowls every Monday night. And she never locks the damn trailer door.”

  She swallowed hard, trying not to let her tears leak out. “Thank you, Grampy. Thanks for picking me up—for bringing me here.”

  “I wish there was another way. I do. But I think this is the best way to keep you—safe.” He swiped at his eyes. “Damn. I’m gonna miss you, jellybean.”

  “I’m going to miss you, too.” The conversation felt surreal, but so had the past week, really. Was he really leaving her on a stranger’s porch at the crack of dawn? Was she really letting him, not having any idea what came next?

  “Will you come visit me?”

  He shook his head. “If I come, then somebody else might find out where you are. And you know who that somebody is.”

  “Will you write, at least? Or call?”

  Grampy shook his head. He put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed softly. “No, honey. I’m not going to write to you.”

  “Why not?” Her voice shook as her stomach roiled. “Please?”

  “Because, jellybean.” He took both of her hands now, squeezed them inside his big ones. “You need to break free. No strings, no ancient grandpas tying you down. Nobody back home’s got any right to know how you’re doing. Or know where you are. Nobody. And if we have contact, somebody’s bound to find out.” He took a shaky breath. “And we both know how that could end up.”

  “But Grampy—”

  “Shh. I shoulda done a lot more than I ever did, and if I’d known all what was going on, I’d have opened my damn eyes wider and gotten you out of that hellhole sooner. I just didn’t know. It kills me to say so, but it’s true. I didn’t know.”

  “I know.” She sniffed again. Dammit. “I was pretty good at hiding it.” Then she saw something in his eyes that scared her more than anything ever had. It was a finality—a feeling of defeat. He really meant it. He was leaving her here, and she had no idea when she’d ever see him again.

  “You’re sixteen. Now’s your chance to make a new life you’re proud of. I’ll find you someday. I will. But don’t you ever go back to Smugglers’ Gully. Don’t show your face in that town. Don’t let your mother ever know where you are or what you became, because she doesn’t deserve to know.”

  He took a shaky breath. “And don’t ever—I mean ever—contact that Billy again. He is bad news, and he will take you down with him.”

  “God, Grampy.” Tears were streaming down her face for real now, but she had forgotten to care whether anyone was looking.

  “This hurts me more than you, honey. You’ll understand that someday when you’re older. But this is how we gotta play this. You gotta go, and I gotta stay. And someday—someday I’ll find you again, okay?”

  He stepped toward the door, and for the first time, she noticed he put a hand out for balance. Grampy was getting older, and here she was leaving, and here he was telling her to go—but all she wanted to do was leap up into his arms like she was still three and he was still strong enough to spin her around.

  He took an envelope from his inside jacket pocket and gave it to her. “It isn’t much, but it’s what I managed to squirrel away while your grandmother wasn’t looking. You take it and use it for whatever you need—whatever, okay?”

  She wrapped her arms around his midsection and buried her head in his chest, and then sobbed as his arms came around her and held her tight.

  “I love you, jellybean.” His voice was gruff, and she knew he was crying, too. “Dammit, I love you. You go make me proud, okay?”

  She nodded miserably, her tears soaking his jacket. She looked up, and his watery eyes matched her own.

  “Thank you—for saving me.”

  He brushed the tears off her cheeks as he shook his head. “I didn’t save you, honey. You saved yourself. You called me instead of him. You didn’t go back.”

  He dropped his arms slowly, then braced his hands on her shoulders again. “Don’t ever go back, honey. Promise me you won’t ever go back.”

  Chapter 4

  Cole picked up the hose and turned it on high, filling up the water trough in the corral just outside the stable. He heard Decker’s truck coming down the driveway and shook his head. While he’d been mucking out stables and fixing the fence that Apollo had blown through yesterday, Decker’d been up at his fancy-schmancy model home, schmoozing prospective buyers in his swanky suit and shiny shoes.

  Cole looked down at the hose as he heard the truck pull to a stop. He still owed Decker for the stunt he’d pulled last week that had left Cole covered with mud and who-knew-what-else, and it looked like revenge had just presented itself in an irresistible form.

  Was it childish? Definitely. Was it tempting? Oh, yeah. He weighed the consequences for a whole quarter of a second, then adjusted his grip on the hose. He waited until he heard the truck door creak open, and then he steppe
d around the corner, aiming the hose squarely at Decker.

  First he heard the satisfying splash.

  And then he heard the distinctly un-Decker-ish squeal.

  The hose was aimed squarely at a gorgeous woman with dark hair and a white—ah, hell—white dress on. And that dress was becoming quickly transparent under the spray of water he was aiming directly at her midsection.

  Oh. Shit.

  Jess.

  Her squeals finally knocked through his skull, and he let go of the hose, dropping it to the ground. Kyla stepped out of the passenger side of the truck, mouth open comically wide. She looked at a dripping wet Jess, then at him, then back at Jess, then back at him.

  “Cole?”

  Cole stepped toward the truck, hands in the air. “I am so sorry. I thought you guys were Decker.” He took another step toward Jess, wary, but at the same time ridiculously mesmerized by the way her white dress was clinging to her yoga-toned body. “I swear, I thought you took your own car to the airport, Kyla. I never would have—oh God. Why are you driving, Jess?”

  Jess calmly closed the door of the truck, and Cole braced himself for a Ma-style dressing down. Instead, though, she walked toward him, one slow step at a time.

  “Well,”—her silky voice practically purred, and that damn smile lurked at the edges of her lips—“it’s good to see you, Cole.”

  He backed up a step. She looked like a frigging tiger coming in for the kill, one with a lacy purple bra that wasn’t doing a very good job of hiding the effect the cold water was having on her.

  She pulled the ends of her hair around in front of her chest and wrung out the strands. He winced as water dripped to the ground.

  “Here I was looking forward to one of your big hugs, and what do I get?” She looked down at her body, but didn’t appear to realize that her dress was hiding pretty much—uh—nothing.

  “I’m so sorry.” He swallowed hard, dying to put his arms around her wet, glistening body.

  She whipped her head around to the left, pointing toward the stable. “Oh my God! What’s going on over there?”

  He shouldn’t have looked. He’d had a little sister long enough not to fall for it, but before he had time to realize she was just distracting him, she ducked behind him, picking up the hose he’d just dropped.

  “You know what?” She gave him that serene, gentle smile he remembered. “Points for an original welcome, but you really should have gone with the hug.”

  And then the spray hit him directly in the chest—and shit, it was cold. And she was laughing. And Kyla was laughing, and it was all he could do to fight through the spray and get to Jess. When he did, he didn’t even bother to try to wrest the hose away from her. Instead, he got around behind her and wrapped her in a bear hug, pinning her arms to her sides.

  “Turn off the hose, Jess.”

  “Not a chance,” she answered, trying in vain to aim it backward at him.

  “You’re not going to win this round.” Her body squirmed against his, and his answered, much to his consternation. He pulled away so she wouldn’t have a clue to the effect she was having on him within two minutes of arriving at the ranch.

  She slithered out of his arms, planting her feet and aiming the nozzle at his stomach, but blessedly, she let go of the trigger.

  “I think you really need to work on your Whisper Creek welcome package, Cole.”

  He put up his hands, laughing. “I’m sorry. Why are you in Decker’s truck, anyway?”

  Kyla smirked and pointed at the truck bed. “Luggage. And she’s driving because she never gets the chance back in Boston.”

  Cole peered in, then widened his eyes at the pile of suitcases and bags. “Exactly how long are you staying, Jess?”

  “I don’t know. Kyla here thinks I should never leave.”

  His stomach jumped at her words. “Never leave?”

  “Yes.” She took one step closer to him, hose still pointed at his stomach. “She’s been talking all the way up here about how gorgeous it is all year round, how the ranch is just bustling with guests, how the—Driscoll brothers—are just about the sweetest things on the planet. I don’t know, though. I’m not sure I see it.”

  She looked down at her dress, clinging wetly to her thighs. “No. I really, really don’t see it.” Then she looked back at him, and he could swear he saw a little devil in her eyes. “But it’s all right. I’ll give it time.”

  Before he saw her hand even move, he felt the edge of the spray hit his forehead, and his Stetson flew off his head. Her face lit up when she saw the expression that must be on his, and then she bent over laughing, finally putting down the hose.

  “See you at dinner, Cole.” She turned to grab a suitcase out of the truck. “And thanks for the very—original—welcome.”

  An hour later, he was sitting at Ma’s kitchen table when Decker blew through the swinging doors, his face cracking into a grin when he saw Cole. “You sprayed her down with the hose? Really?”

  “I didn’t spray her down. I aimed the hose at what I thought was you, and then—it wasn’t.”

  “You didn’t notice that your target was five-foot-ten and gorgeous before you squeezed the trigger?”

  “The trigger was already squee—” Cole pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know what? Shut up.”

  Ma looked up from the bread she was slicing. “Who’s spraying who?”

  Decker laughed again. “Cole. Jess.”

  “What?” Ma stopped slicing. “Why in the world did you do that?”

  “It was an accident. I was aiming for Decker.”

  Decker elbowed Ma. “But Decker was ten miles away.”

  Cole could tell Ma was trying not to laugh, but she wasn’t successful. “And how did poor Jess react?”

  “Yeah, Cole.” Decker tossed a handful of peanuts into his mouth. “I’m curious, too.”

  Cole pictured her in that clingy white dress, two hands on the hose trigger, aiming at him while droplets of water fell from her chin. “She handled herself.”

  “Well.” Ma went back to slicing. “Let’s see if we can avoid soaking down the bridesmaids for the rest of the week, shall we?” She pointed at a pile of plates on the counter. “You two get that table set, will you? We’ve got Daniel and Hayley coming tonight, too. Cole, maybe put Jess at the other end of the table from you this time around.”

  Cole grabbed the plates and handed them to Decker.

  “Here. You set the table. You’ve been sitting on your butt all day up at the model home while I’ve been working my ass off.”

  Ma whacked him with a spatula. “No swearing in my kitchen.”

  “Sorry, Ma.”

  Behind Ma’s back, Decker gave him the finger, then pushed through the doors and started clattering the plates onto the long dining room table. Cole reached into the fridge and grabbed a beer, cracking it open with Ma’s ancient under-counter Coca-Cola opener.

  “You all right?” she asked.

  “Why are you asking?” Cole took a draw of the cool ale, letting it slide down his parched throat.

  “Well, Decker would probably use a more colorful expression, but you’re acting like a big ol’ bug crawled up into your nether regions.”

  “Just tired.”

  And agitated. Supremely, hugely agitated. Cole took another slug of his beer. Despite a forty-five-minute run and a cold shower, he still couldn’t get the picture of Jess in her soaked white dress and purple bra out of his damn head. All those curves and hollows, all that lusciousness, all outlined in perfect relief.

  “Well,”—Ma pointed at the silverware drawer—“tired or not, that table’s not gonna set itself. Do the silverware, would you?”

  As he set his beer down and rolled his eyes, Ma winked. “It won’t take your mind off a girl in a wet dress, but it’ll at least keep your hands busy, right?”

  —

  “How long are you staying, Jess?” Hayley’s eyes widened as she looked at Jess’s bed in the cabin, strewn with three ope
n suitcases. Her curly red hair was restrained by a pink, sparkly headband that looked suspiciously like a nine-year-old had made it, but for some reason it just made her look even more adorable than usual.

  Jess stuffed a pile of T-shirts into a drawer. “Two weeks.”

  “Good God! How much did you have to pay in baggage fees?”

  “I packed in a rush, okay? And the weather out here’s a little unpredictable, temperature-wise. I wanted to be prepared.” So far she’d found enough yoga clothes to hold three classes a day, but she still hadn’t found any underwear.

  Hayley pulled a tank dress out of one suitcase and held it up to herself in the mirror. “I wish I could rock this color.”

  “You could.”

  She smirked. “Right. Because redheads look fabulous in yellow. So”—Hayley put the dress on a hanger in the closet—“I hear Cole welcomed you with open arms this afternoon.”

  Jess laughed. “He welcomed me with something.” She pushed a pile of jeans into a drawer. “You should have seen his face, Hayls. I have never seen a more mortified man in my entire life.”

  “I might have actually paid to see that.”

  Jess pulled a hoodie out of her suitcase, but stopped before she got it onto a hanger. “I’ll kill you if you repeat this, but I somehow managed to forget how utterly gorgeous that man is.”

  “There’s a reason the Whisper Creek website gets six thousand hits a day.”

  “Is he still—”

  “A player?” Hayley’s eyebrows lifted. “You know, the more I get to know him, the more I wonder how much of a cover that is. I think, deep down, he wishes he could find somebody to settle down with.”

  “Right.” Jess rolled her eyes. “Because that’s what every red-blooded cowboy dreams of—being tied down.”

  “You asked.”

  “Idle curiosity.” Jess moved to the closet again. Right. Idle curiosity, her foot. The feel of Cole’s arms around her wet body two hours ago had ignited all sorts of feelings she was completely unprepared to deal with.

  “Well, now that you’re in dry clothes again, we should probably head up to the lodge for dinner. I heard Ma’s making your favorite.”