Every Good Cowboy Deserves A Second Chance
A Sweet And Clean Billionaire Cowboy Romance
Maggie Miller
Sweet Rose Publishing
Every Good Cowboy Deserves A Second Chance
A Sweet Rose Canyon Novel
Maggie Miller
Copyright © 2020 Maggie Miller
Created with Vellum
Contents
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Introduction
Prologue
1. Luke
2. Ginny
3. Luke
4. Ginny
5. Luke
6. Ginny
7. Luke
8. Ginny
9. Luke
10. Ginny
11. Luke
12. Ginny
13. Luke
14. Luke
15. Ginny
16. Luke
17. Ginny
18. Luke
19. Ginny
20. Luke
21. Ginny
22. Luke
23. Ginny
24. Luke
25. Ginny
26. Luke
27. Ginny
28. Luke
29. Ginny
30. Luke
31. Luke
32. Luke
33. Ginny
34. Luke
35. Luke
36. Ginny
37. Ginny
38. Luke
39. Luke
40. Ginny
SNEAK PEEK: Every Good Cowboy Daddy Deserves A Bride
Matthew
Acknowledgements
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Certain passages in this book have been previously published. This is an updated, extended version.
About the Author
Maggie Miller is the alt sweet and clean pen name of a NYT and USA Today bestselling contemporary romance author. Her books frequently hit the Amazon TOP 50 as well as the Kindle Unlimited All Stars list. After much prayer and careful thought, she made the decision to follow her heart and write about small, country towns with strong, loyal cowboys.
Her books are inspirational, wholesome and clean without any cheating, cursing or explicit content. All of her billionaire cowboy romance books come with a guaranteed happy-ever-after!
Maggie grew up on a farm surrounded by horses, cows, chickens, and a 13+ pack of Walker Coonhound dogs. Her fondest memories are of childhood summers spent churning homemade ice cream on her Granny’s porch and chasing lightning bugs at dusk. When Maggie isn’t writing her next inspirational cowboy romance, she’s in the kitchen baking up a storm or filling up hummingbird feeders in her backyard.
She sends out newsletters occasionally to notify readers of new book releases or other random tidbits. If you would like to sign up, please go here.
Introduction
Seven years ago, Luke left everything he cared about behind…God, his family and the love of his life. Now he’s back in Texas and things have changed.
His father’s mind is failing fast, the family ranch is going under and his brother blames him for everything. The only constant in Sweet Rose Canyon is Ginny. His childhood sweetheart and the girl with eyes as blue as the clearest October sky. The moment Luke sees her standing on his father’s front porch, he realizes things between them were never over.
Ginny is both thrilled and terrified when Luke returns to town. In her mind, Luke will always be the handsome cowboy she has loved since fifth grade. Except now, he’s a famous Country music star with sell-out tours and number one hits. She can’t imagine how they could possibly make a relationship work and she’s unwilling to have her heart destroyed again to find out.
Luke has never been a cowboy to back down from a challenge or to give up when he wants something…or someone. Will the girl he sings about every night of his life give him one more chance? Or will they suffer a second heartbreak that will leave them both shattered beyond repair?
*Passages in this book have been previously published. This is an extended, updated revised version.*
Prologue
Luke
Homecoming Day at Sweet Rose Canyon Baptist Church…
The small country stone church sits at the top of a sloping hill. I notice the white roof of the building could use a fresh coat of paint, along with the red front doors. The stained-glass windows lining both sides of the church have lost a little of their sparkling shine, but they’re still pretty in the sunlight.
The church was built back in the early 1900s, so considering its age, it’s held up well. I wonder if I should make a sizeable donation to spruce things up, or if I might be resented for it. In small towns, you never know how the offer of money will be received. People from Texas are proud and don’t take kindly to handouts if they think that’s what you’re offering.
If nothing else, I might offer to pay the annual fee for a landscaper to mow the graveyard and clear any weeds that pop up. Then again, I could always drop a wad of cash in the offering plate when it’s passed around. Something tells me the church secretary would know exactly where it came from though, so that method would be far from anonymous. Ten years ago, I never dreamed I’d have the problem of convincing people to take my money.
Real-world problems, I guess.
Reverend Tom Smith, the elderly preacher of the Sweet Rose Canyon First Baptist Church, is standing at the open front door. He’s shaking hands with everyone passing by to go inside. He doesn’t appear much different than I remember, except maybe a little older. His hands are curled now with arthritis and his shoulders are more stooped. He also seems to have shrunk a couple of inches in height. I thought he was old when I was a kid. He must be well into his late seventies or early eighties by now.
He grips Dad’s hand in a firm handshake, and his eyes light up when he sees me standing behind him. Reaching over, he bypasses my outstretched hand and grabs me in a big hug instead. “Welcome home, son,” he says, patting my back. “Glad to see you here. Did you come to town for the church homecoming?”
“Yes, sir,” I answer with a nod. “And the food.”
He chuckles and reaches over to shake Matthew’s hand next. “The best in the country,” he says. “Go inside and grab your seat. It’ll be crowded today. Lots of new people here for Homecoming and Decoration Day.”
I follow Dad and Matthew inside the church and down the red-carpeted aisle to our regular pew. Third row on the left side. The same place we’ve always sat every single church service my entire life. It’s not as if there’s assigned seating. It’s a habit my Dad got into and never broke. Every family has their own favorite row to sit in.
Dad goes into the row first and takes a seat at the end. I plop down harder than I mean to beside him on the wooden pew, wincing when my back hits the uncomfortable seat. No fancy cushions on the pews for this church. No sir. It’s going to be a long, painful hour sitting on the rock-hard benches. Maybe that’s the point…to keep people from nodding off during the service.
Several of the church deacons make their way over to speak to Dad. It’s heartbreaking to watch. He was a respected deacon too at one time. He still is, since it’s a lifetime role. The church wouldn’t take the hard-earned title away just because someone has dementia. Except now, he’s not capable of fulfilling the role of greeting visitors and helping people to an empty seat. He doesn’t seem to notice that things have changed. Maybe that’s a bl
essing in disguise.
When it gets closer to ten o’clock, the church goers start piling in, crowding tight into the tiny room. The temperature inside is already going up. In another hour, it’s going to be miserably hot. Like so many other things, I’d forgotten the church isn’t air-conditioned. Baptist preachers want to make sure the congregation knows that the intense heat of hell is real. Glancing around, I notice that every pew is full. Several of the deacons are lined up against the walls with their hands clasped in front of them to free up space for others.
“Do you come to church every Sunday?” I whisper to Matthew, who’s sitting on one side of me.
“Yeah, it’s good for Lily,” he says with a nod. “When her mama ran off, the church ladies took extra care to give Lily attention and love. She feels at home here with her little friends. The summer Vacation Bible School starts in a couple of weeks. She’ll enjoy that and will help to keep her occupied during the mornings at least.”
“That’s good to hear,” I say. “I’m glad she enjoys Sunday School. We always did too until they kicked us out of children’s church and made us sit with the adults.”
“No cookies and Kool-Aid out here in the big church,” Matthew says with a grin. “Being an adult sucks sometimes.”
Two minutes later, the doors to the church close and the choir director walks up to the front of the room. He takes a moment to give a warm welcome to everyone while the choir members silently file in to stand on the metal stairs behind him.
My heart stops when I spot Ginny take her place on the first row. I didn’t know she would be here this morning. She scans the crowd and her eyes land on me. She smiles, lighting up the room in a way that only she can. She’s lovely in her blue dress that matches her eyes. Her blonde hair is pulled back and held with a pin at the back of her head. A single strand of simple pearls is her only jewelry. If she’s wearing any makeup, it’s not visible. She never needed it to show her beauty.
“You didn’t tell me Ginny would be here,” I mutter accusingly to Matthew.
“You didn’t ask, little brother,” he replies with a low chuckle. “She’s in the choir now.”
“I didn’t know she could sing either,” I say. “I’ve never heard her sing in public. Nothing except singing along with the radio at the top of her lungs when we were teenagers.”
“What you don’t know could fill a book,” he teases. “You’ve been gone a while. Things change, Luke. You’re missing out and don’t even know it.”
The choir director instructs everyone to grab a hymnal book tucked into the back of the pews, then leads us all in a few old-time songs. Most people know the words by heart, including Dad, who to my surprise is singing along with everyone else. At the end of the last song, the preacher steps up to the wooden podium and places his open Bible in front of him.
“That’s some mighty good singing,” he says. “But I think we can do one better. Today we have a very special guest in the audience if you haven’t already noticed. Come on up here, Luke Collins, and sing a song for us. It’s not every day the church has a big country music star in our midst.” He waves a beckoning hand toward me and the crowd breaks into applause. Oh no. I shake my head and hold up my hands. Today isn’t supposed to be about me.
“Go on, boy,” Dad says, elbowing me in the ribs. “Sing a song. I’d like to hear you. It’s been a long time, son.”
I’m a little shocked he knows what’s going on. That’s all it takes to convince me. I might not be able to help my Dad with much, but I can sure do this one thing for him. If he wants me to sing a song in church, then I’ll do my best. It might be one of the last things I ever get to do for him.
“Okay, Dad,” I say, giving his bony leg a gentle pat. His once strong legs feel so weak beneath my hand. “I’ll sing if you want me to.”
I take a deep breath and stand. Squeezing between Matthew’s long legs and the pew in front of us, I make my way into the aisle and up to the front of the church.
“I didn’t come prepared,” I tell Reverend Smith when I reach the wooden podium. “I don’t know what to sing.”
“As long as it’s not one of those country songs about whiskey and wild women, you’ll be fine,” he jokes. The crowd laughs along with him and nods encouragingly at me. “You probably remember Ethel over there on the piano. She can play almost anything. Just tell her what you want to sing. Take a minute to think about it. We’ve got time.”
I gaze out over the crowd of church goers. I know almost everyone sitting out there in the pews. Half of my life’s history is in this room. On the front row is Mrs. Johnson, my homeroom teacher who patiently put up with my pranks every morning all through high school. She’s grey-haired now and wears bi-focal glasses attached to a gold chain hanging around her neck. Catching my eye, she smiles and nods back at me.
And Mr. James, the owner of the local grocery store and gas station. In the lean months, he’d let the local ranchers open credit accounts without charging interest or putting down collateral. A rancher’s word was good enough and was all he needed. His generosity saved countless families from going under during the recession.
Near the back of the church is Ginny’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Phillips, both retired schoolteachers. When I was growing up, I spent as much time at their house as I did at my own. They never seemed to mind and were always nothing but kind to me. Even after Ginny and I broke up. If they ever thought I wasn’t good enough for their daughter, they never showed it. Now they’re both smiling proudly ear to ear, almost as if I were their own son. In a way, I almost was.
“Have you decided on a song yet?” Reverend Smith asks, interrupting my thoughts. “Don’t tell me you’re shy, because we all know you’ve played in front of a much bigger crowd. These are your home folks, so don’t worry. We’ll love you no matter what.”
“Yes, sir,” I say quickly. “I’ve chosen a song.” I quickly walk over to the pianist who I swear has been sitting on that same worn piano bench since I was five years old. I whisper my song selection in her ear. She nods in approval and begins to softly play.
Walking back to the podium, I clear my throat. This is a little different situation than I’m accustomed to. There’s not a microphone to hold or a backup singer to help me out. Not even my trusty guitar to lean on. Only me and a piano with yellowed keys that hasn’t been tuned in twenty years.
I glance across the pews and make eye contact with my father. “Dad, this song is for you,” I say. “And Mama up in heaven.”
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and start singing from my heart.
Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound.
That saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost.
But now I’m found…
I make the mistake of glancing over at Dad. He stands up and lifts one hand palm up toward heaven. He’s smiling and is mouthing the words along with me. For the first time since I’ve been back home, we’re connecting on a deep personal level. Through my music of all things. After all this time. Raw emotion crashes over me like a wave, gripping me tight and closing my throat. The truth I’ve been denying hits me hard.
I’m losing my dad and he’s never coming back.
Not the way he was before.
Because of Alzheimers, the man who has always been a legend in my life is disintegrating right in front of my eyes every day, becoming less and less of the person I knew.
A hard knot the size of a softball is lodged in the back of my throat. I’ve faced crowds of people countless times, and I’ve never choked on a song before. Now I can’t squeeze the words out past the lump in my throat. I try to sing the next line and my voice breaks.
I was blind…
I stop singing mid-line. Unexpected hot tears roll down my face, and I wipe them away with the back of my hand. I can’t do this. I’m not going to be able to finish the song. My heart is being ripped out of my chest. Every emotion I’ve pushed down since returning to Sweet Rose Canyon rolls over me. All of my regrets and
missed time with the people I love most…Dad, Ginny, Matthew, and little Lily. A quiet hush goes over the crowd while they wait for me to continue.
“It’s alright, son,” Reverend Smith says, stepping closer and placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Take your time. There’s no hurry. We’ll wait.”
I take another deep breath and try to start again. I need to finish this song for Dad. I’m wishing now I’d chosen another song. One that was easier to sing with less emotion. A song that wasn’t Mama’s favorite. I close my eyes and try one more time, repeating the previous line before I give up.
I once was lost, but now I’m found.
I was blind, but now I see…
My voice cracks and I stumble on the notes again. I’m destroying the song and making a huge mess of it. I should quit before things get worse. The church would understand.
Suddenly close behind me I hear a lone, sweet voice singing along with me, backing me up and carrying the song when my voice can’t form the words. A voice I would recognize anywhere because I hear it in my dreams every night. I don’t need to turn around to know who it is.
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