Her Winning Ways

by J. M. Bronston

  “Well, I’m not coming home for lunch, if that’s what you mean. I’ll be here at least till about four.”

  “Oh, good.” She seemed to catch herself. “I mean, good that I’ll know not to fix lunch for you.”

  “Liz, you’re being weird.”

  “No. Just a little bit overworked. You know how it can be. But that’s fine. I’ll see you tonight. When you get home. Bye.”

  And Annie was left standing there, looking at the silent phone in her hand and shaking her head.

  “Well, whatever.”

  And she forgot all about Liz’s call.

  She ordered a pizza and went back to work.

  A half hour passed. The pizza was half eaten. She gave no more thought to the gorgeous day. A box full of Horse Sense binders had been donated to the library, and she was concentrating on cataloguing them. She took a minute to leaf through some of the pages. It was a nice little local newspaper out of Salt Lake. Too bad it folded. But someone had liked it enough to collect a full set. And thank goodness for libraries, where such treasures could be preserved.

  Another half hour passed. The sun had moved on and the room was in half shadow. She was finishing up the donated papers, and considering packing up for the day. She could go back to the ranch for dinner, but there were days when it was hard to be with the family when she was feeling—well, almost like an outsider, when she felt so unnecessary to their busy activities that she’d actually prefer to be by herself. Being alone too much wasn’t good for her, either. She knew that. But maybe she could think up some other project to keep her there for just another hour or two

  So, what to do?

  And the silent library gave her no answer.

  She could almost listen to her own breathing.

  Go home? Or more work?

  And then a voice behind her said, “Do you have room for a new student here?”

  Not the voice of a student. This was a man’s voice.

  She sat up straighter. She tried to breathe. She knew that voice. But it couldn’t be.

  “Annie?”

  Her breath caught in her throat. She felt herself beginning to cry.

  She turned and yes, it was Bart, and she was out of her chair and into his arms, all in one motion and yes, she was crying and he was saying, “Don’t cry, honey. Don’t cry. Everything’s going to be okay. Really. I’ve fixed everything and it’s all going to be okay. And I’m not going to be a horse’s ass any more. Really!” And that made her laugh and cry at the same time, so when he kissed her, her tears were all salty in his mouth, and he was laughing, too, and he felt so good in her arms, she knew that yes, everything was going to be okay after all.

  They were like that, like two idiots, for long, delicious minutes, and then they calmed down and he held her a little away from himself and looked at her with all the love he was feeling and he took the pencil out of her hair and let all that beautiful blond hair gather around her face and he buried his hands in her hair and was almost crying himself, he was so glad to have her back. And she thought, he really does look a little like Prince Harry, but she’d never tell him that and she loved his sweet smile and his crinkly hair and she loved that he was still bossy enough to have fixed everything—whatever that meant.

  There were couches in the reading room, comfy enough for them to curl up close to each other. His arm held her close to his chest and he could brush the top of her hair with his cheek.

  “You should have known I couldn’t stay away from you. I was no good to anyone after you left and the captain told me I’d better get my head straight or he was going to send me to psych services. He told me to take some time off and get some rest and figure out what was going on. So I did something even better. I went and talked to my mom. She made me realize I’d let a lot of dumb stuff get in the way of what you and I had going for us. Male ego, or something, I guess. You did a spectacular job, finding Lindy when the rest of us couldn’t, and I love you for it. I really do. And by the way, my mom thinks you’re not only a super person. She said she knew you were the right girl for me the minute she met you.”

  “She did?”

  “Her words were, ‘I thought now here’s a girl who’s good enough for my Bart.’ It was like she wished she could hand you to me like a present, all wrapped up in tissue paper and red ribbons. And here I’d gone and driven you away. So dumb.”

  “I really like your mom, too. Where would we be without her?”

  “We’d be two very sorry people. And I couldn’t let that happen.”

  “So?”

  “So here’s what I’ve done. Are you ready?”

  She took a deep breath. A wary deep breath.

  “I’m ready.”

  “Okay. Here it is. I made some inquiries, I wrote some letters, I jumped through a few hoops. And I got myself a job as the newest member of the Laramie police force!”

  “You what!”

  “Yep. I filled out a bunch of forms. I flew out to Cheyenne when you weren’t looking and took some tests and got myself interviewed. And they thought I’d do just fine. I said I thought they might be able to use a big-city cop, a sergeant with five years’ experience, and they said, ‘Well, we’re just a bunch of small-town country boys out here, but we might still have a few things to teach you,’ and we all laughed. They had my number right away.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Well, don’t say anything yet. I’ll tell you the rest.”

  He pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head. She closed her eyes.

  “Go ahead,” she said.

  “After I got myself certified in Cheyenne, I came out here to Laramie. I managed to stay out of sight—from you, that is—and I did some quick research and rented a little house up at the edge of town. Just temporary, of course, till we work things out. Then I went back to New York. I’d already resigned from the New York force and I convinced them it was time for Lindy to retire. He’s fifteen years old—and he’s earned a rest. They agreed and I was able to buy him back. He was always sort of the Hardins’ horse, anyway. I bought a horse trailer, and got a hitch for it, and I’ve brought him out here so he can smell the air of the place where he was born, and run free in the fields, and not have to be in danger any more. He won’t have to pose for tourists and do tricks for theater people. Of course, you can whistle that song for him any time you like.”

  He kissed her hair again.

  “God, I love the feel of your hair,” he said.

  “I still don’t know what to say.”

  “There’s more,” he said. “I got here—with Lindy—this morning. I went to the ranch, thinking I’d surprise you, but you’d already left. So I talked to Liz and Craig—super people they are—and I met the boys, too, and they were a hoot, seemed to think I’m a big deal because I’m a cop. And Liz and Craig offered me a deal—they offered to board Lindy on your property, as long as I promised to marry you and take good care of you, and if ever I don’t, they’re both going to come and kill me. It was an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

  She was staring at him wide-eyed. Stunned. With tears brimming up.

  “Are you proposing to me?”

  “I think I just did.”

  She was trying to catch hold of this whole whirlwind that had just descended on her.

  “But Bart, all this summer, while you were making all these arrangements, without telling me, how could you be sure I hadn’t already met someone else, gotten involved? Maybe even gotten married? I had no word from you at all. You had no way of knowing I hadn’t found someone else.”

  He looked at her in amazement.

  “How could you have found anyone else? You were already in love with me.”

  And now the tears were falling, and she burrowed into his chest to hide them.

  “Oh, Bart, you are such a sweet, sweet, fool.”

  “But I’m not a horse’s ass, am I?”

  Still burrowing into his chest, she shook her head. “No, not at all.”
/>   “So is that a yes? You’ll marry me?”

  “Oh, you knew it all along, didn’t you? You knew I would. Even when I didn’t know it.”

  “So say yes.”

  She looked up at him and smiled at him through her tears and said:

  “Yes, Bart. Yes. Of course. Of course I’ll marry you.”

  Epilogue

  Happily Ever After

  Labor Day

  The town wouldn’t let them get away with a quiet, private wedding.

  The hullaballoo over Annie’s return from New York had finally settled down, but then it got started up all over again when news got around that the horse Annie Cornell had rescued, and the hero cop from New York who owned him, a fellow named Bart Hardin, had come to live in Laramie. Folks sniffed out the romance right away and fell in love with the whole story. Reporters came from all over the state to do a piece on them, local TV stations wanted them for interviews, school children were brought round to look at them, and every club wanted them to join. Poor Annie and Bart, they couldn’t find a moment’s peace. They tried to hide out at the cute little house Bart had rented, where they could plan a simple wedding—and spend what they called “quality time” together. But neighbors kept coming round to visit and people would stop their cars out front to take pictures of their home.

  At first, Annie thought Bart couldn’t possibly give up his beloved New York, but Bart was having so much fun, learning to be a westerner, pointy boots, cowboy hat and all, she finally stopped worrying. Between them, they agreed that any time he really needed to, they’d manage to find a way to go back for a visit, walk its streets, ride its subways, visit Sergei and eat a hot dog, cross the bridge to Brooklyn, and breathe in the city’s special atmosphere, its mix of pollutants that ought to kill its residents but somehow doesn’t.

  “And will you love me even though there isn’t enough humidity here to fluff up my hair,” Annie said.

  “Oh, honey, I’m going to love you when your hair is all gray and stringy. And mine is all gone. I do love your hair, Annie, but that’s not why I love you. You better know that.”

  “And why do you love me, Bart? Tell me again.”

  “I love you because even though you look like an angel, you have a will and a backbone of iron, and even though you have an iron will and an iron backbone, you still need to be taken care of. And I love you because you’re willing to let me be the one to take care of you.”

  Annie wore flowers in her hair and a lovely white gown from one of the local bridal shops in town. She’d had enough fussing over clothes to last a lifetime and she loved the traditional white dress she found at Miss Mae’s Brides on Second Street. The town loved the romance of their story, what with her being such a celebrity and all, and Bart, following her all the way from New York City to marry her. There was no way Laramie would let them have the quiet, simple wedding they’d planned, so they gave up and made a big barbecue wedding on the Cornell ranch, with Craig giving her away, and Max coming out to be best man. Liz was her matron of honor and, because the boys made a fuss, each one wanting to be the ring bearer, they each got to carry a ring—Brandon for Bart and Buckley for Annie.

  Bart’s mom was there, crying a couple of tears of happiness, and the Malones came down from their ranch up by Sheridan, eager to meet Bart’s bride, and delighted that the New York branch of the family was finding its way back to God’s country.

  Troop B sent a great framed photo portrait of the whole group with each rider mounted, signatures all over. Captain Simon sent a warning that Bart better learn to rope steers, because that little slip of a thing he was marrying had a mind of her own and he better not let himself be bullied. He also wrote that the local theater community was donating a plaque to be put up over Lindy’s stall to honor a valiant and beloved horse.

  Mitzi sent a gorgeous crystal bowl, and Sylvie Pilard, on behalf of Galliard’s, sent a sterling silver Champagne cooler which, had Annie and Bart known its cost, would have been wrapped up and placed in a safe deposit box. Fortunately, they did not realize its cost, so it was destined to live permanently on the counter in their kitchen, right next to the toaster and the food processor. Marge Webster sent a full service of sterling flatware from Lady Fair. She also wrote that the magazine wanted to do a follow-up on their amazing story. Bart thought it might be fun, but Annie and Liz nixed that idea.

  Lindy also had flowers in his hair—in his mane, that is. And, as the barbecue happened right there on the ranch, he was able to be close by as Annie and Bart said “I do” and exchanged rings. And afterwards, when the band played the Wyoming fight song, Lindy tossed his mane and danced all around the field, doing steps no one had ever taught him, a Lindy version of pure pleasure and gratitude, because he’d been brought back to the high country of his birth where he could breathe its sweet air and run free over its endless terrain. And, God willing, there’d be little ones again who’d teach him tricks and climb up on his back and ride him bareback just for fun.

  And so they all lived happily ever after.

  Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek at

  J.M. Bronston’s next contemporary romance

  SUMMER ON THE CAPE

  coming in May 2016 wherever e-books are sold!

  Chapter One

  Damn Adam!

  Allie’s fury was almost audible.

  How did I allow him to talk me into this!

  The little plane dropped several feet, wobbling as the pilot righted it, and a weak cry escaped from Allie’s lips. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, her hands gripping the edge of her seat.

  I should never have agreed! Adam knows perfectly well I have important projects coming up.

  The tiny commuter plane pitched and slogged along its course, like a toy powered by rubber bands, and Allie’s fingers dug deeper into the seat.

  Two new commissions and a couple of possible new clients. And there’s the show at the Whiscombe Gallery in July. I have no business being away from New York for the whole summer.

  The bouncing plane bucked a heavy headwind, and it helped her steady her nerves to lay the blame on Adam. She had completely forgotten that the night before, when he set up this trip, she had been enthusiastic and eager to participate.

  If he was right about it—and Adam was always right—it would be a real money maker. And it would be a big career move for her, too. That’s what she’d thought last night. Now, the only thing she wanted was to get this awful flight over with and be safely on the ground again.

  She took a couple of deep breaths, opened her eyes and forced herself to relax and let herself look around. She hadn’t known commercial planes could be so small. The cramped cabin space wasn’t any bigger than the kitchen of her little apartment back in Manhattan. The aisle running between the nine little bucket seats was so narrow that even a slim woman like Allie had to twist uncomfortably to get to her seat and, although she was only an inch or two above average height, she had to bend her head and hunch her shoulders as she walked through.

  Right in front of her, the pilot and copilot were chatting comfortably with each other, apparently at home with the mysterious panel of switches, winking lights, and quivering dials spread out before them. Allie took little comfort from their breezy manner and wished they would just pay attention to flying this little crate all the way to Cape Cod without incident. She was willing to bet that the other two passengers were, like her, clutching silently at their seats and praying that the fates would deliver them safely back to solid ground.

  She forced her mind back to this scheme of Adam’s, wishing she knew more about it. Last night at dinner, he’d been pretty cagey about the details, saying that he wasn’t yet “at liberty” to disclose more than the barest outline. He’d taken her to a fancy little bistro over on the East Side that was one of his favorite places for twisting her arm and talking her into doing things she didn’t want to do. And just about all she could get out of him, over the perfectly chilled Taittinger and the e
xquisite caviar, was that some big-shot clients of his would need promotional artwork for a major development project. Instead of her usual portraits, he wanted her to spend the summer at his place on Cape Cod so she could put together a portfolio of seascapes.

  And then he’d said an odd thing. He’d said, “You’re a good American, Allie. This project should appeal to your patriotic spirit.” And that was all she could find out.

  “You sly devil,” she’d said to him, as the waiter filled their glasses. “You’ve got something up that well-tailored sleeve of yours.”

  “Nothing nefarious, my dear, I can assure you,” Adam had said in that patrician way he had, as he spooned caviar onto small points of toast. “And you can turn off that suspicious glint in your gaze,” he said fondly. “Your eyes are much too gentle for such hard looks.” Adam’s cool smile always softened when he talked to Allie.

  Allie brushed her bangs back. “So this scheme of yours is not at all improper?”

  “No, Allie, this is straight business. The plan is still in a very preliminary stage, and all I can say at this point is that some clients of mine are interested in a land development project on Cape Cod.” He sprinkled a drop or two of lemon juice over the caviar and handed her the toast. “Have you ever been to the Cape?”

  “I’m a working girl, Adam, and Cape Cod is for the rich and famous. And anyway,” she nibbled at the caviar, savoring its nutty oiliness, “I’m also a city person, born and bred. What would I do on those barren beaches and sandy, windswept shores? Without the city’s traffic and racket around me, I’d probably shrivel up and blow away.”

  “You won’t shrivel up. You’ll get a little sun and some streaks in your hair.” He contemplated her honey-colored hair, reaching just below her shoulders, the full, rich waves glowing in the soft light of the little restaurant, beautifully set off by her pale silk dress and the pearls he’d given her on her birthday. “With your coloring,” he said approvingly, “you’ll look wonderful. And you’re wrong about the rich and famous. Plenty of ordinary folks live on the Cape, too. And Provincetown, up at the tip of the Cape, has been an artists’ colony for many decades. A very famous one.”