The Cowboy Encounter

by Kristy Tate

  Beside the barn, a red pickup that probably belonged to Uncle Will and Aunt Sally was parked. Arabian horses loitered in the pasture, lazily grazing. Becca wondered if any of them could be descendants of Ol’ Alice, and her colt.

  Climbing from her car, Becca took a ragged breath and braced her shoulders. She didn’t know her uncle and aunt very well. They lived in Pennsylvania on a five acre piece of equestrian property. In the coming weeks, they would be her go-to people for advice on managing the ranch, even though she knew her dad had hired a manager.

  The back door banged open and Uncle Will emerged. He wore jeans, a flannel shirt, and a welcoming smile.

  “Well there, howdy!” he said feigning a cowboy accent and opening his arms for a hug.

  Sobbing, Becca fell into his embrace.

  Uncle Will patted her back. “I know this is hard, but your dad would want you to be happy.”

  Becca sniffed. “I…know…”

  “Stiff upper lip and all that.”

  “I’m more wilted than stiff,” Becca said.

  She pulled away and spotted Aunt Sally standing on the porch. A minute later, she hugged her aunt and inhaled her Tresor perfume. In her Ralph Lauren jeans and Kate Spade shoes, Aunt Sally didn’t really belong on a ranch.

  Becca wasn’t sure that she belonged here, either. She just knew that she didn’t belong in her old world. So she’d try this new one on, like a pair of cowboy boots, and see if it would fit.

  Becca snuffled into her aunt’s shoulder before pulling away.

  “Do you want to see the house?” Aunt Sally said.

  When Becca nodded, Aunt Sally took her hand and led her up the porch steps.

  “Let’s go in the front door so you can get the best first impression.” She paused. “You haven’t been here, right?”

  “Not…recently.”

  “Oh, so you have been here!” Aunt Sally said. “For some reason, I thought you hadn’t.” She pulled open the bright cranberry colored door. “The original house was built in the 1870s.”

  “Oh, before that,” Becca said.

  “Really?” Uncle Will asked.

  “Yeah, I think that’s what my dad had said.” Becca stopped in the doorway, taking in the river rock fireplace and large oak mantle. If she closed her eyes, she could see Leo fussing over the fire, and Hilda stirring a pot of boiling stockings in the kitchen.

  “Of course, it’s been updated a hundred times since then,” Aunt Sally said. “You know how your father was—there’s nothing primitive about this place. The kitchen, bathrooms, and everything is state of the art.”

  “They must have added on to the original house,” Becca said.

  “Yes,” Uncle Will said. “How did you know that?”

  “Just a guess.” Becca glanced down at the wide plank floors.

  “Original floors though,” Aunt Sally said, “and most of the windows, too.”

  Becca looked through the wavy glass at the setting sun. The meadow stretched toward the towering mountains.

  “I talked to a broker, they figured we can get—”

  Becca held up her hand, stopping him. “I’m not ready to sell.” She had to smile at the shocked looks on Will and Sally’s faces. Shrugging, she said, “Not just yet.”

  “You won’t be able to rent a place like this,” Uncle Will said.

  “I’m going to live in it.”

  Her aunt and uncle both blinked at her.

  “Just for a while,” Becca said. “I’m going to get a job in town.”

  “In Trouthaven?” Aunt Sally sounded scandalized.

  Becca nodded. “Do you mind if I lay down? I’m really tired.”

  “Of course, I can show you to a spare room,” Aunt Sally said. “We haven’t touched your dad’s things.”

  “We have lots of things to discuss,” Uncle Will said, “but I suppose it can all wait until tomorrow.”

  “Are you hungry, dear?” Aunt Sally asked.

  “No—I’m just tired.” Becca turned and headed for the room where she’d spent her wedding night.

  “Where are you going?” Aunt Sally said, laughing. “You don’t want to sleep in the office, do you?”

  Becca froze. Of course, everything was different—and yet, the same.

  “The bedrooms are upstairs,” Aunt Sally said. “Follow me.”

  “Want me to get your bag?” Will asked.

  “That would be great,” Becca said, tagging after Aunt Sally. She paused at the bottom of the stairs and ran her fingers along the banister. It had a dark curvy handrail and white spindles. In Warwick’s day, there had been just a ladder to a loft. She wondered who had added the stairs, and when.

  She followed her aunt down the hall to the third bedroom.

  “There’s six bedrooms and five baths,” her aunt said. “Are you sure you want to live here alone?”

  “I’ve always wanted to have five kids,” Becca said.

  “Whatever for?” her aunt asked, clearly shocked.

  Becca grinned. “I better get started, huh?”

  “Um, no.” Aunt Sally pulled Becca in for another long hug. Patting her on the back, she said, “I know that a death can put life into a sharper focus—make you stop and take stock, reevaluate. But believe me, right now is not the time to make major decisions.” She pulled away, put her hands on Becca’s shoulders and met her gaze. “Right now, you’re exhausted. Lie down—sleep through the night. I’m sure that things will make more sense in the morning.”

  Becca nodded, deciding that she’d rather sleep than argue, and gave her aunt a kiss on the cheek before turning into the large bedroom. A four poster bed dominated the room. A rocking chair with a crazy quilt draped over its back sat by the window overlooking the meadow. Two nightstands flanked the bed, and shelves lined with books stood in the corner. Knowing that she’d have lots of time to inspect the books, Becca headed for the window.

  “Knock, knock,” her uncle said, appearing in the doorway, laden with her luggage. “Looks like you brought everything including the kitchen sink.” He set her bags down with a bang.

  “Yes,” Becca said, turning away from the view and setting sun. “I mean to stay. For a while, at least.”

  Uncle Will still looked as if he didn’t believe her. “It’s kind of remote for a New Yorker like you.”

  “Woodinville isn’t in New York,” she said.

  Uncle Leo sniffed—his closing argument.

  She crossed the room to kiss him on the cheek. “Thanks for being here—and everything. I couldn’t do this on my own.” She squeezed his hand. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  #

  Warwick came to her in her dreams.

  “I knew I’d find you here,” he said, as he climbed into bed beside her.

  “How could you?” Becca asked, as she tucked herself into his arms and wrapped her legs around his.

  He gently kissed her lips. “I knew you’d come for your dad. It was the only way I knew how to find you.”

  “I’m glad you did,” she murmured, “find me.”

  He smoothed her hair away from her face, and kissed her again. Pressing her back against the pillows, the kiss deepened. Becca was soon lost in his love.

  Sometime during the night, she woke to find his arm draped around her. I’m still dreaming, she thought. But because it was such a pleasant dream, she didn’t mind. She nestled against him, closed her eyes, and pretended that he would always be near.

  CHAPTER 13

  Becca woke the next morning to find Warwick stretched out beside her, his eyes closed and his mouth open. Sitting up, she shook his shoulder.

  “What…” he mumbled, blinking open his eyes. He smiled when he saw her. “Morning, angel.”

  “You’re still here!” Becca whispered as loudly as she dared.

  “Hmmm,” he closed his eyes again.

  “How?” Becca poked his shoulder with her finger. He felt real enough. She looked out the window. The wavy glass distorted her world view.

/>   He sat up. “I told you, once I found myself in the twenty-third—”

  “Twenty-first. It will be important to get that right.”

  Ignoring her, he continued. “I came straight here looking for you. Once I found out that Trouthaven used to be Everwood—”

  “Trouthaven used to be Everwood?”

  “Yeah, seems they changed the name around the time that Teddy Roosevelt was setting up all the national parks. The Everwood folk thought the nameTrouthaven would increase tourism.”

  Becca shook her head. “How?”

  “Well, I guess that with a name like Trouthaven—”

  “Not that! I don’t care about Trouthaven!”

  “You don’t? Do you want to live somewhere else? I think your dad’s ranch being the same as my ranch is pretty miraculous.”

  “I think your being here is miraculous.”

  He gave her his slow grin. “Me, too.”

  “You found the well.”

  He nodded. “It wasn’t hard to find once I got to Woodinville. Everyone in town seemed to know where it was.”

  “And it brought you here?”

  He nodded again.

  “But I thought…”

  “Believe me, I thought about trying to go back to save Mary Kate, but I didn’t know how any of it worked. And honestly, what if I went back, and I couldn’t save her? What if I had to watch her die all over again?” Pain flickered in his eyes. “I couldn’t do it. Besides, the well brought me here, to you.”

  “I’m so glad.” She bumped him with her shoulder.

  He cupped her face in his hands. “Will you marry me?”

  “Again?”

  He nodded, looking earnest. “I can’t live here on my own.”

  “That’s good, because I don’t think I can either. Will you manage the ranch for me?”

  He grinned and dropped his hands. “Your aunt and uncle think I’m the ranch manager.”

  “Really? How did that happen?”

  “They found me out with the horses and made assumptions.”

  “Lucky us.”

  “Lucky us,” he repeated as he pulled her against his chest.

  She settled in his arms and closed her eyes. After a moment, she asked, “Warwick, how do you feel about kids?”

  EPILOGUE

  Joel sat at his desk, his chin propped up in his hands. He stared at the letter in front of him, trying to process his emotions. How could Becca Martin go to Colorado, meet a cowboy, and get married all within a week?

  He had known her since she was a kid, and had planned on spending the rest of his life with her. Not that he had been passionately in love. He didn’t believe in that sort of thing. What he did believe in was partnership, shared interests, and rapport.

  Marriage, he thought, should be less about hormones and more compatibility. It was like software. In a marriage, two partners should be capable of getting together with each other without requiring anyone to change. They should be able to share their lives on another computer without making any changes. No one should require special modification or conversion.

  That’s how he foresaw his future with Becca Martin. They were both scientists, dedicated, and involved in meaningful work. He had always planned on telling her how he felt when the timing was right. But then that disastrous kiss at the Witching Well happened. What was that about? And then she went to Colorado, met some cowboy, and got married in less than week.

  “I guess I dodged a bullet,” he muttered, pushing away from his desk.

  “What’s that, Dr. Fleur?”

  Joel spun around.

  Cambria Brandt stood in the doorway holding her tennis racquet, smiling at him in that knowing way that he found so frustrating on a seventeen year old girl. She always looked at him as if she could read his thoughts, which would be disastrous for his position at the school if she really could.

  “Ah, Cambria, I hadn’t heard you come in.”

  “I think I left my book in here.” She looked past him and pointed to her fifth period chair. “There it is.”

  Smiling, she moved past him, smelling earthy and sweet. The air around her moved. He could practically feel the molecules rearranging themselves, welcoming her into his space. Typically he didn’t notice what women—girls, he corrected himself—wore, but he found Cambria’s too short tennis skirt and a tank top hard to ignore.

  Because he couldn’t indulge in thoughts about Bree—or any of his students—Joel went to his microscope. The bottle of water from the Witching Well sat on the counter. He had forgotten about that. He picked it up, intending to throw it away.

  “I heard your sister is getting married,” Cambria said, pausing beside him.

  Joel cleared his throat. “Yes.”

  “And that she’s going to be running the dress shop out of your grandmother’s house.”

  “Yes,” he repeated, adjusting his glasses so that he could see her better. Damn. Why did she have to look like that? Long red curly hair, damp with sweat. Flushed pink skin. Shining eyes.

  “I just think it’s so cool. All the girls love Delia’s Dress shop. I can’t wait to see her wedding dress. Celia is so talented.”

  Joel nodded, cursing himself for social ineptitude, and his inappropriate thoughts. She’s a kid, he berated himself. Get a grip.

  Waving her hand in front of her flushed face, she nodded at the water bottle in his hand. “Can I have a drink? Do you mind?” She reached for it and her fingers brushed his. Tingles shot up his arm.

  Cambria unscrewed the lid. “The water fountain on the courts is still broken.”

  “Um, that’s not—” Joel began.

  But Cambria didn’t stop to listen. “Don’t worry. I won’t put my lips on it,” she said. Tipping her head back, she poured the water from the Witching Well into her mouth.

  The tennis racquet and book fell with a clatter as Cambria vanished.

  Damn.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  What started off as a novella has turned into a whole series of novels. Please look for Cambria and Joel’s story coming soon to all e-reader book retailers. If you would like to be notified of its release, please sign up for my newsletter on my blog at kristystories.blogpsot.com. The signup form is on the top, right hand side.

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