Prodigal Cowgirl

by Lacy Williams

  Face hot, Courtney followed the other woman from the noisy gymnasium through the hallways lit only by emergency lighting, as the overhead lights back here hadn't been turned on for the meeting.

  "You've struggled with reading your whole life?"

  Courtney nodded. She'd hid it from everyone, especially with Jake always being at the top of his class and even skipping grades. In high school, she'd made an art of cheating on tests—enough to get by with a C average anyway.

  But she'd promised herself a new life, and she didn't want her learning issues to affect Lily.

  "Have you ever been testing for a learning disability? Like dyslexia?"

  "No." Dyslexia. If she had something like that, wasn't it just another reason for folks to look down on her?

  As they reached her classroom, the teacher went inside and flipped on the overhead lights, leaving Courtney blinking in the bright fluorescent lighting.

  She paused just inside the door, reaching out to touch Courtney's forearm. For the first time, Courtney saw compassion on the other woman's face.

  "If you do have a learning disability, there are tools that can help—different ways of learning that will make it easier on you. It doesn't mean you're stupid. Not at all."

  Courtney's eyes filled with tears.

  Somehow, her admission had won Lily's teacher's loyalty. But she couldn't help but be aware of Eric's absence. Now he knew. What would he think of her?

  10

  Eric hadn't seen Courtney for three days. He'd been on the clock for most of those hours, since one of his deputies had been out sick.

  That was the reality of his schedule, working in a small department.

  He'd thought she understood how his career affected his schedule, but she hadn't answered any of his texts in the last days.

  He could understand a lost phone or dead battery for a couple of hours, but for her to ignore him this long...

  But he wasn't a patient man. And so he'd driven to her place of work in Weatherford.

  He was still in uniform, but in deference to the day of the year, he carried a dozen red roses.

  The fast food restaurant's parking lot was empty, which was a godsend. The place was deserted inside, too, except for one couple sitting across from each other in the far corner. The twenty-something manager was minding the register, and when Eric asked for Courtney, his eyes bugged.

  * * *

  Courtney knew Eric picked up his nieces regularly on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. She'd made an art of waiting until the last possible moment before jumping out of her car and joining the pickup line—so she wouldn't have to look like she was avoiding him. Even though she was.

  It hurt too much to hope.

  Which is why she was shocked when the afternoon manager pulled her from cleaning the industrial flat-top grill and told her to take a break.

  And she found one sheriff standing in front of the counter. The fast food restaurant was nearly empty.

  She started shaking.

  "What are you doing here?" She pushed her hair behind her ear, where it had slipped free from the visor that was a required part of her uniform.

  She moved around the counter to the dining room, intensely aware of her manager's stare and that from the girl working the drive-thru.

  But their surprise was nothing compared to hers when Eric leaned in and brushed a kiss on her cheek. His hand came to her waist in a proprietary hold, and he nodded to her manager. "Thanks for letting me borrow her for a few minutes."

  She allowed him to nudge her toward a table for two in the opposite corner from the other restaurant patrons. This close, she was aware of the musk of his cologne. She she was very aware that it was losing the battle against the scent of grease emanating from her clothes, skin, and hair.

  When they reached the table, he stepped back and pulled his hand from behind his back. She froze. Roses?

  "I couldn't let Valentine's Day go by without bringing these by. Unfortunately, I'll be working tonight."

  She didn't know what to say. The flowers were heavy in her hands, and their fragrance drifted to her without even having to bend her face to them. He motioned her to sit down and because her legs were so wobbly, she did.

  His smile faltered just slightly. "You haven't answered my texts the last two days." He pushed his fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry I had to leave so abruptly from the PTA meeting."

  He was apologizing?

  Her crazy emotions seesawed, and tears pricked her eyes.

  And he stopped talking. His hand closed over her elbow. He didn't draw her closer, just held her with a steady presence.

  She cleared her throat. "I thought—" Her voice broke. She whispered instead. "I thought you wouldn't be interested anymore."

  His forehead creased and then cleared. "Because of the reading thing?"

  She nodded. Lily's teacher had spent over an hour with her, discussing dyslexia and giving her a list of resources, including a place nearby where she could be tested. She'd also offered to tutor Courtney a couple of afternoons a week.

  It had been surprisingly freeing to know there could be a solution. That she wasn't stupid, but that there were tools that could help her learn, even after all this time.

  There still wasn't an easy solution to the in-class reading issue, not with other perturbed parents and the principal involved, but Courtney had Mrs. Sanders on her side.

  And yes, she'd thought Eric would be disgusted by her confession.

  Looking at his face, though, she saw no judgment.

  "Honey, the way I see it, it was brave of you to admit that. You could've gone on hiding, but you didn't. I don't think it defines you."

  More tears clogged her throat and burned her eyes. She ducked her head and blinked to keep them from falling.

  "What's the matter?"

  She shook her head. "I don't...I don't know how to trust that you'll stay. Except for Jake, everyone has either left or been taken from me."

  He gently took the flowers from her hands and set them on the table beside them. Then he pulled her into his arms.

  She rested against his chest, trembling.

  She wanted, so much, for this to be real.

  But she was still afraid.

  He held her tightly and spoke into her hair. "If you can't believe me now, then I'll keep proving it every day until you can."

  Her heart leapt. Was he for real?

  11

  April

  This was a bad idea.

  Breaking and entering? Into a sheriff's home?

  It wasn't just a bad idea. It was nuts.

  Except Eric had once told Courtney where the spare key was. At the time, he'd needed her to pick up a forgotten favorite stuffed bunny for Piper. So technically, it was simply entering, right?

  Courtney's hand still shook as she turned the key in the deadbolt.

  "C'mon, Mommy. This stuff's heavy."

  Lily's verbal nudge overcame her hesitation, and she swung the door open, moving out of the way for Lily to go inside with her paper bag of groceries.

  "Don't touch anything, yet," she called after her daughter.

  Courtney replaced the key in its hidey-hole and returned to the car for the two additional bags. She'd parked on the curb two houses down, in front of a pickup truck. Not much of a hiding spot for someone as observant as Eric was, but she also didn't want to risk one of his neighbors calling in about suspicious activity.

  No, Mrs. Edwards having called the sheriff's department on her was quite enough, thank you very much.

  She jogged across his yard and quickly went inside, shutting the door behind her.

  Lily was already unloading her grocery bag onto the kitchen table. "What's first?"

  Courtney placed her grocery bags on the table, too, and surveyed the ingredients Lily had set out. "First, I brown some hamburger meat. You want to start cutting onions?"

  Lily wrinkled her nose at her mother. "I'm not allowed to use sharp knives."

  Court
ney pulled the girl's pigtail, gently. "I know. What about buttering the bread, squirt?"

  Lily spluttered at her use of Eric's nickname—it had stuck, much to the girl's consternation—but agreed to the task.

  Fifteen minutes later, Courtney had the meat browning in a skillet and tears running down her cheeks as she chopped that darn onion.

  She tried to force out her anxiety with the saltwater. She could trust Eric not to break her heart. She was sure of it now, and tonight, making dinner for him, was her way of expressing that trust.

  And if she got up the guts before the night was over to tell him she'd fallen in love with him, then that was bonus points.

  Her hope-flower had blossomed into huge, vibrant blooms.

  The past two months had been more settling in. More hard conversations with Jake as she'd explained her reading disability. Her brother had been hurt and angry that she'd never confided her problems to him. And then he'd offered to help in any way he could.

  She'd gotten an official diagnosis. Dyslexia.

  And she'd started learning how to cope with it. She'd started from scratch, re-learning how to look at words and how letters worked together. She'd made some good progress. Maybe by the time Lily hit the second grade, she'd be able to keep up with the girl's homework.

  She'd been promoted to assistant manager at the restaurant. That had been a good day.

  But the best days were the ones spent with Eric. Eric and Lily. Eric and Lily and Jake and Stevie—family fun days.

  One starlit picnic by themselves, huddled together beneath a blanket because spring wasn't supposed to be so cold—and then kisses under the moonlight.

  Even though he was often overworked with his job, he made time for her. He was a steady presence in her life.

  And she was ready to believe him.

  Now she just had to tell him.

  * * *

  Another overtime shift. Eric wasn't as young as he used to be, and getting home at midnight had lost its luster—even if he had got the bad guy.

  Grit stung his eyes as he stumbled up the walk and unlocked the front door.

  Something was off.

  He came fully alert as he pushed open the door, right hand coming to rest on the weapon at his hip, though he didn't unholster it. Even in a sleepy small town like Redbud Trails, he'd learned to watch his back.

  He stepped one foot inside. It smelled funny. It smelled good. Something Italian mingled with the scent of...buttery bread.

  The lights were out in the living room, but a faint light emanated from the kitchen. He was near-silent as he scanned the room and made for the kitchen, but maybe his clothes rustled.

  Someone sat up from the couch, visible in the soft lighting.

  He recognized the tousled blonde head and exhaled his tension, hand coming off his service weapon.

  "Courtney?"

  "Shh."

  She was shushing him in his own house? His exhaustion contributed to his confusion, but then he stepped closer and saw her disentangling herself from Lily, where both of them had apparently been wrapped up in a blanket he recognized from his hall closet.

  She grabbed his hand and towed him into the kitchen. In the brighter light, he could see the flush in her face and a line creasing one cheek.

  "What time is it?" She yawned, dropping his hand to cover her mouth. She got a glimpse of the microwave clock and her eyes widened. "Oh, no. We made dinner and then thought we'd wait for you, even though you were late... I didn't mean to fall asleep—at least, not for this long!"

  He had some trouble following her rapid-fire words and stalled her with a hand raised in front of his chest. "You...made dinner?" He thought he'd heard that much.

  "Yeah." There was a softness to her answer, one that he couldn't read in his bleary-eyed state.

  All he knew was he'd blown her surprise, big-time. His work had gotten the best of him—again.

  He put his palm to his forehead, blowing out a breath and trying to regain his equilibrium. How long could he expect her to put up with his crazy schedule? With absences when she cooked a special dinner? With him not being able to call and her not knowing what was going on?

  "I'm real sorry, honey," he said, because apologizing was the only thing he could do.

  "It's okay. The lasagna makes good leftovers."

  He was glad she could find a silver lining in the situation, because it was too big a task for him.

  He dropped his hand, getting a good glance at her for the first time since the sleepy look. Something was different about her. Her eyes were shining—in a good way.

  "I won't complain about your job," she whispered, tilting her head to remind him Lily was asleep on the couch not far away. "Since it's something I admire about you."

  She admired the job that required such long hours and dedicated commitment?

  "I thought a special dinner might pave the way for me to tell you...something."

  That sounded promising. His exhaustion slipped away with his self-recrimination. He edged closer, letting one hand settle at her hip and the other come up to tilt her chin slightly.

  "You want to tell me...something?"

  Her eyes fluttered closed, and he let his thumb brush along the line of her jaw. He really wanted to kiss her, but he also wanted to hear what she had to say. Wanted it really badly.

  She opened her eyes, and he saw the determination in their depths. "I'm falling in love with you." Her whisper brushed his chin with warmth, and then her words registered, and his heart thumped hard in his chest.

  "Yeah?"

  She nodded slightly, not dislodging his hold on her.

  "I've been falling for awhile," he whispered back. "Haven't opened my parachute yet—was waiting for you to join me."

  Tears winked in her eyes, but only for a second before she closed them and reached up for his kiss.

  He obliged her. He wasn't stupid.

  He kissed her breathless and then some more, because he could. Because she was starting to believe in him, believe in them.

  They were in for a lifetime of adventures together. Today was just the start.

  Dear Reader

  Thanks for reading the Heart of Oklahoma series. I hope you enjoyed each love story!

  For a taste of the Cowboy Fairytales series, please turn the page…

  * * *

  Connect with me online:

  lacywilliamsbooks

  www.lacywilliams.net

  lacy@lacywilliams.net

  Once Upon a Cowboy sneak peek

  Just keep smiling.

  Princess Alessandra, second in line for the throne of Glorvaird, meandered through the crush of bodies as the Who's-Who of New York City society mingled on the sidewalk outside a ritzy hotel. Inside the ballroom would be even worse, stuffy with the heat of so many people. The icy air chilled her skin where the slinky dress she wore didn't cover nearly enough beneath her designer coat, but inside she'd be grateful to shed her outerwear.

  She detested events like these. But her royal duty demanded her presence. Her sister, the crown princess, had tasked her with forging alliances with two powerful dignitaries, which she would attempt when she could get inside. Two hours, and she could return to her own hotel, several blocks away. And rid herself of the awful, pinching heels her stylist had provided.

  Paparazzi snapped pictures from behind a cordoned-off line, the flashes from their cameras whisking her to the present and out of her thoughts. Hired security milled around, looking bored. After years of being in the public eye, she was used to the presence of both.

  It didn't mean the press weren't as annoying as gnats, constantly buzzing in her ear.

  One misstep, one faux pas, could follow her around on the Internet for a year.

  She smoothed her skirt unobtrusively and kept the smile fixed on her face.

  A hand on her elbow made her pause amidst the crowd.

  Her bodyguard. Tim was dark-haired and fair-complected, bulky, and more than a head taller than she. He
usually faded into the background.

  The fact that he'd moved in close had her pulse speeding.

  "What's—" wrong?

  She didn't get both words out before a pop echoed above the rumble of the crowd.

  Tim's body jerked.

  He fell into her. Knocked her off the precarious heels. They tumbled together. Her elbow scraped against the pavement.

  The crowd rumbled. Feet shuffled in the periphery as the other high society types didn't seem to know whether to move closer or farther away.

  Alessandra struggled to separate herself from Tim, but he weighed close to a hundred pounds more than she did, and his body was heavy and unmoving. Her coat had fallen open when he'd landed atop her, and they seemed to be tangled together.

  Why wasn't he moving?

  "Stay—down," he gasped.

  Someone screamed.

  And she realized the hot, sticky substance that covered her hand where she'd tried to push him off was blood. His blood.

  "Tim!"

  Blind panic added strength to her scrambling, and at last she was able to push him off. He rolled to his back, his suit coat falling open to reveal his white shirt stained red.

  "Someone—" She looked up at the blur of faces surrounding her. There was no one she recognized.

  She pressed her hands to Tim's chest to try and stop the flow of blood, but more seeped up between her fingers. No!

  "Please, is there a doctor?" she called out. In the cacophony of voices, she couldn't make out a distinct answer. "Can someone call for help?"

  But as she looked down on the man bleeding out beneath her hands, she realized it was too late. Tim's eyes had gone glassy and unfocused.

  He was gone.

  Someone had shot him.

  He'd died protecting her.

  Her fright didn't recede as she glanced at the faces surrounding her. Some sympathetic. Some crying, panicking now that they realized the nightmare was real. Two of the hired policemen edged through the crowd and knelt beside her.