The Last True Cowboy

by Laura Drake

  Jess is up and heading for the pole fence. I just manage to catch her arm. “He’s okay! Look at him go!”

  The parents yell encouragement as Travis gains his feet and runs down the rope to the thrashing goat. He grabs it, and despite the fact that it weighs more than he does, dumps it in the dirt and scrambles to collect its feet to tie them.

  One of the goat’s flailing back feet gets free and smacks Travis square in his face.

  He freezes, stunned, then falls on his back in the dirt, his mouth wide open as he sucks in enough air for a gale-force wail.

  Several men run into the arena but Austin beats them to Travis’s side, where he pulls the kid’s hands away from his bloody face to inspect the damage. He tips Travis’s head forward and pinches the bridge of his nose.

  Jess bolts into the arena and drops onto her knees in the dirt beside her son. I follow, but I stand behind Austin, to be out of the way.

  “Travis! Talk to me, baby. Are you okay?” Jess tries to gather him in her arms, but Austin stops her with a hand.

  “Let him be, Jess. He’s just got a bloody nose.” He looks down at Travis, who’s now just snuffling, trying not to cry. “You can’t be a cowboy without a few bloody noses. Everybody knows that. Right, Travis?”

  “I’b okay.”

  “I broke my nose, twice.”

  “You did?” It comes out like he’s talking through cotton.

  “Sure did. Feel this.” He takes Travis’s blood-smeared hand and runs his fingers over that cute bump that I always thought saved Austin from being too pretty.

  “Wow.” Hero worship replaces the tears in his eyes. “I’b okay, Bom. Cowboys are tough.” He sits up.

  “You dizzy?” Austin runs his hands down the boy’s limbs. “You hurt anywhere else?”

  “Nah, I’b okay.”

  Austin takes Travis’s hands and lifts him to his feet. “You’re going make a bada—I mean good cowboy, Travis.”

  Jess takes her son’s hand. “Maybe, but that’s enough cowboy-ing for one day. We’re going home to put some ice on that.” Holding the pressure on his nose with the other hand, she heads for the stands.

  The crowd cheers. Travis waves.

  Austin turns and walks right into me.

  “Tig!” He grabs my arms to steady us both.

  “Austin.”

  “I didn’t know you were here. Did you come with Jess?”

  “Yeah.” I glance to the stands. Jess is gone. I look to the parking lot, to see her van back up and pull out. In full-on momma-bear mode, she’s totally forgotten me. Not that I blame her. I’d’ve done the same. “There goes my ride.”

  “I’ll give you a ride home, but it’ll be a bit. This is the next-to-last event, but I have to help shut down after that.”

  “No rush. Thanks.” I’m unaware of the last rounds, lost to my thoughts. Seeing Jess and Travis tonight brought back my old dreams. That could be me in a couple of years. I realize, watching Austin with the kids…everything I ever wanted, somehow, miraculously, is still possible. Austin has put out his hand, and all I have to do is be woman enough to take it.

  It’s time to cowboy up, or sit in the stands.

  I still want Austin. I want our dream. I want that wreck of a homestead house. The babies he promised. C&A Rough Stock. I want all the hardships, heartaches, and happiness a future with Austin could bring.

  But if I want it, I’ll have to take a chance. That long-leap-over-a-deep-chasm chance he spoke of last night. Trust that the new Carly is strong enough to step into the old Carly’s life, and not become her.

  I loved Austin my whole life, but the road forked at Albuquerque, leading me here, to this bench, feeling a butterfly kick of the baby in my womb.

  I’m not blaming him for decisions I made. But I’m no longer blaming myself, either. Stuff happened. I’ve learned a lot since that naive young woman fled to the big-city lights for the oblivion of booze and music.

  I’ve learned that I can live without Austin Davis. I can face down the whole town, if I have to. So what am I afraid of? If I’ve learned anything the past months, it’s that I can bear a lot more than I thought I could. I’m a Beauchamp woman, after all. I can pick myself up, dust myself off, and move on.

  I can do that again, if things go bad.

  But if they don’t…oh, if they don’t…

  Austin has changed, too. After watching him the past weeks, and especially today, I know it, deep down.

  My lighter-than-air heart lifts, floating on the helium of hope.

  Austin yells just before the arena lights go out, “Stay where you are, Tig. I’ll come get you!”

  I sit in the dark with my uncertainty, my nerves, and whatever courage I can muster. Only my entire future, and the future of my baby, depend on my ability to articulate. And I failed speech in high school.

  No pressure.

  But beneath the jitters is bedrock that wasn’t there three months ago. One thing about surviving the worst thing that can happen to you—you have a rain gauge to measure bad by.

  It’s like swimming in a deep lake; you always wonder what’s down there, and because you don’t know, you’re afraid. Once you’ve sunk to the bottom, you find the bottom is useful, because you can use it to push off from. When your head breaks the surface, you’ll never be that afraid again, because you know where the bottom is.

  “Blacker’n the inside of a bat’s butt out here. Tig?”

  “Right here.” I slap the bleacher to give him a homing beacon.

  His hand finds mine. “Ah, there you are. You ready to go?”

  I pull his hand. “Can we sit for a bit? I need to talk to you, and if I put it off, I’m going to chicken out.”

  He sits beside me, and I hear him take a deep breath. “Okay, I’m ready.”

  “You sound like you’re going before a firing squad.”

  “Am I?”

  “I deserve that. It seems lately that if you say it’s dark, I’m going to point out some spot of light somewhere.” I take my own deep breath. “I’m sorry for that, Austin. I’ve been thinking and thinking, and other people have been trying to tell me, but I’ve just figured it out.”

  “What?”

  “I cruised through the beginning of my life. I worked hard, but lots of stuff just came to me: popularity, horsemanship, grades…you.” I turn, rest my leg on the bleacher between us. I can’t see much of his features, and I’m good with that; it’s easier, this way. “Then, when you didn’t take me seriously about wanting to get married, instead of explaining until you understood, or we came to an agreement, I stomped my foot and threw a fit. Heck, the patrons in the diner even told me that I did that every year. It’s embarrassing.”

  “Tig, I shouldn’t have needed a boot upside my head to—”

  “There’s enough blame to go around, Austin, but I’m not going there. It’s time for us to forgive; ourselves and each other. I’m trying to explain what I’ve learned from all this.”

  “Shutting up now.”

  I squeeze his hand. “Then I made that trip to Albuquerque. Looking back now, I see every mistake along the way. Because things came easy to me, I thought they always would. I never understood the most basic thing that most people learn way earlier. If my life isn’t the way I want it, it’s up to me to change it.” Saying it out loud resonates through me like the tolling of a bell. “You were right last night. I think we had to be apart to grow up—to discover the people we want to be.”

  He squeezes my hand. “Tig.”

  “Shhh. I need to finish.” Now I wish for light, so I could see his expression. His hand shudders in mine; a thrumming of nerves that my body picks up like a tuning fork. “I’ve learned that I’m strong enough to stand alone. That’s an invaluable lesson. But I also learned that I don’t want to.

  “You’re my dream, Austin Davis. You always have been. Can we start again? See if—”

  He puts a finger over my lips. “I’m sorry to interrupt. But would it be okay if I kiss y
ou now?”

  My leap of faith ends in Austin’s arms. His lips find mine in the dark, and he pulls me to him, like he’s afraid I’m going to run. No chance of that. I pull him tighter, trying to show him I’m all in, with my hands, with my lips.

  His kiss is the same, dear and sweet and warm as the kiss of the sun. But there’s also a change. Not a hesitancy, exactly, more a waiting, letting me take the lead if I want.

  I want. I drink him in like cold well water on a hot day, and just like that, we click back together. Different, maybe, but I feel the strength of the bond surging through me.

  I open my eyes to the black-velvet heavens. “Thank you, God,” I whisper against Austin’s lips.

  “Amen to that,” he whispers, pulls the ribbon out of my ponytail, and buries his hands in my hair. “I’ll always love you, Tig.” He tips my head to kiss me again.

  Epilogue

  The Unforgiven Patriot

  Goings On About Town

  January 12

  Carly Beauchamp, granddaughter of Nancy and Leroy Beauchamp, and Austin Davis, son of Marguerite and Robert Davis, were finally married on January 12, in a beautiful ceremony at the First Baptist Church of Unforgiven, with Rev. Scooter Schmidt officiating. Two triple rings were exchanged, representing the commitment to each other, and their unborn baby. The bride was attended by her best friend, Jessica Bowmain, and Troy Davis, the groom’s brother, was the best man. The bride was resplendent in an empire waist beaded bodice gown of pale yellow chiffon. The reception was held in the basement of the church following the ceremony, after which the couple flew off to a honeymoon in Galveston, Texas. When they return, they will settle into the Davis homestead house.

  We wish our hometown favorites the best, and hope this isn’t the end of their escapades; they’re just too entertaining.

  * * *

  April

  Carly

  I wake and reach across the bed for Austin, to touch cool sheets. I check the alarm clock on the nightstand—two. At the cooing and whispers from the baby monitor, I relax. I’ve got a minute.

  The moon spills in the window, illuminating our huge master bedroom in soft gleam. Being a mother is every bit as amazing as I imagined, all those years. Austin is as smitten with Faith as I am. She’s got my red hair, but I’m betting her eyes are going to lighten to ice blue. Austin says he hopes so; says she’ll be striking. He’s already bought a new shotgun for when she wants to date.

  At a lip-smacking sound from the monitor, my milk lets down. One more nightgown to wash. I throw aside the covers, toe into my slippers, and pad out the door.

  The nightlight spotlights my loves. Austin, hair tousled, is standing in his boxers, his big hands cradling our baby to his chest. His head is bent, and he’s whispering.

  He turns to me with a warm, sleepy smile. My name on his chest bows like a rainbow over Faith’s head. “You didn’t have to get up. I’da brought her to you.”

  “What, and miss this?” I step over and wrap my arms around his waist, the baby between us.

  He bends his head to kiss me. “I was just telling Bean that her uncle and his family are coming to visit for Easter today.”

  I reach for the soft drape over the back of the rocker, wrap it around my shoulders, and sit. “Hosting Easter for the first time is a big deal. I’ve got statistics homework, but it’ll wait.” Who’d’ve guessed I’d like accounting? But when I get my associate’s degree, it’s a job I’ll be able to do from home. Austin wants me to get my bachelor’s and sit for the CPA, but my dreams are smaller; a part-time accounting job, working from home while raising babies, suits me to the ground. He hands Faith to me. “I still can’t get over that Troy was the ‘consortium’ who gave us the money to jump-start the business.”

  I settle her in my arms. “Your brother is a good man. I’m so glad it’s worked out for him and Darcy.”

  “Yeah, I never thought my brother would be a ‘kept man,’ but he sure seems happy, so I’m not knocking it.” He leans back against the crib.

  I lower my nightgown, and Bean latches on. She’s such a good baby. I run my fingers over her softer-than-down cheek. “Your grandma and great-nana will be here today to spoil you spitless.”

  We talk about everyday things until Bean is dozing in my arms.

  “Tig.”

  I look up. How can a smile be tender, sleepy, and sexy all at the same time?

  “Do you know how much I love you? The woman you are is so much more interesting than the girl—even when we disagree.” His smile is soft in the moonlight. “I’ll never forget that I’m the luckiest guy in the county.”

  “If you help me get your princess back to bed, you might just get even luckier, cowboy.”

  He rushes to take her from me.

  I smile, knowing in my heart that no one could get luckier than me.

  Acknowledgments

  This Book. It didn’t come easy. Huge thank-you to those who helped carry me across the finish line. Critters Kimberly Belle and Orly Konig. Beta readers, Fae Rowen and Jenny Hansen. Head cheerleader, Miranda King. Double thank-you to my plot-angel, Orly Konig. And as always, thank you to my friend and lay-editor, Donna Hopson. Oh, and Lorelei Lynn Frank, for letting me use her name.

  Thanks to my super-agent, Nalini Akolekar of Spencerhill Associates, and my saving-grace editor, Amy Pierpont.

  A big thanks to Carly Simon, whose song “Jesse” was the original inspiration for this book.

  Nevada Sweet’s spent nearly her whole life running away from trouble. But when trouble turns to danger, Nevada heads to Unforgiven, New Mexico, which seems about the last place anyone would ever find her. And when she meets Joseph “Fishing Eagle” King, Nevada discovers a whole new kind of trouble, the kind she most desperately needs.

  SEE THE NEXT PAGE FOR AN EXCERPT FROM

  Home at Chestnut Creek.

  Chapter 1

  Nevada

  A wooden sign blows by the bus window:

  WELCOME TO UNFORGIVEN, NEW MEXICO

  HOME TO 1,500 GOOD NEIGHBORS

  AND A FEW OLD SOREHEADS.

  I knew Carly lived in the toolies, but damn.

  The bus turns onto an old-fashioned town square, with a peeling gazebo plunked in the middle of a bunch of dead grass. Most of the store windows are covered in butcher paper. Snowflakes drift from gray flat-bottomed clouds to melt on deserted sidewalks.

  This place is the back-end of civilization. A good place to hide.

  The bus turns, and I see it: an old train station with the sign CHESTNUT CREEK CAFÉ above the door.

  I pull the cord, lift my backpack, and stumble down the aisle as the bus comes to a halt.

  The driver watches me in the long rearview mirror over his head and the door opens with a squeal.

  I step out into three inches of slushy water and the bus pulls away with a roar and a choking cloud of diesel. My tennies are soaked, and the wind whips right through my denim jacket. Cora tried to get me to buy a heavier one before I left, but that would’ve been just one more thing to carry. I don’t need the weight.

  Warm light from the café spills onto the cold sidewalk. There are people inside. It looks welcoming. Yeah, like I’d fall for that.

  Besides, I could give a crap about a welcome. I need a job.

  My shoes squelch all the way to the glass door with old-fashioned gold lettering. Metal bells jingle against the door when I pull it open. I step into a hug of heat and the smell of grilling beef. Shaking off the shivers, I wipe my freezing feet on the mat and look around.

  Red vinyl booths, mostly occupied, line the windows on three sides, and in front of me, a counter with round stools covered with the butts of locals. Behind it, a serving window with a long chalkboard above, declaring the daily special. Hmmmm, meatloaf. My stomach snarls, reminding me I skipped breakfast and lunch.

  The room is full of voices and laughter. I walk across the old black-and-white-patterned tile floor to take the last open stool at the counter.

&nb
sp; A tall blonde in jeans, a checkered blouse, and a food-spattered apron steps up, holding up a steaming pot of coffee. “Cold night for a light jacket. Want some?”

  “Oh, hell yes.” I flip over the mug in front of me and she pours. I’m about to ask about Carly when the bells tinkle behind me.

  In walks Austin Davis, in a Marlboro man shearling coat, one arm weighted down by a carrier full of blanket-wrapped, kicking baby. Carly follows, laughing and shaking snowflakes out of her crazy red curls.

  Patrons call to them.

  “Hey, Austin.”

  “There they are!”

  “Carly!”

  A frail old lady with fire-engine-red lipstick bleeding off her thin lips waves bony, talon fingers. “Austin Davis, you bring that baby over here right now. I need to give her some sugar.”

  “Yes’m.” Austin stomps off his boots then walks to the booth and sets the carrier on the table.

  Carly sees me, and her mouth drops to an O of surprise.

  She rushes across the floor and wraps me in a hug. “Nevada Sweet, I hardly recognized you! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? What did you do to your hair?”

  My fingers go to my new pixie cut, and I untangle myself. “Back up off me, Beauchamp.”

  “Davis.”

  I look down at the small rock on her hand. “Cora told me he finally made an honest woman of you.”

  A lightning flick of pain crosses her face before her smile amps again.

  Damn it, I always say the wrong thing, even when I mean well. Not that I often mean well, but I wouldn’t hurt Carly on purpose.

  “Why didn’t you call?”

  “Because, if I owned a phone, I’d have to talk to people.”

  She laughs. “Same old Nevada.” She looks around the room. “Where’s Cora?”

  “Wintering in Oregon, same as always.” I know Carly from when she ran away to the rodeo, preggers and scared. Cora went to visit her newest grandkid, and left me and Carly to handle the food truck. It was rocky, but in the end, we didn’t kill each other.