COWBOY FOR SALE--A Second-Chances Spicy Romance

by Janet Wellington

  Then it hit him. “Cory? Cory Wells?” He watched her eyes widen under now sharply raised brows, and he could see her cheeks color even in the moonlight.

  “Tillie’s your aunt?” she asked in a hushed voice.

  “She’s my great-aunt, actually. What are you doing here?”

  “I moved back to Faythe to help Tillie...her health...the house...”

  “Where is she? Is she still asleep after all this racket?”

  Jake watched as Cory took a deep breath, then returned his stare with a rock steady gaze.

  “I’m so sorry, Jake, to be the one to tell you. Tillie passed away over a month ago...she went peacefully, in her sleep.”

  Jake stepped back, the trunk of the tree meeting his shoulder with a painful thud.

  Meow.

  Jake stared at the cat in his arms, his mind racing. Too late. He was too late. “I...I was in London...I didn’t know...she asked me to come, but I’m later than I thought I’d be and...”

  “Jake, why don’t you come in and I can explain--”

  He broke off her invitation by handing her back the cat, then he shook his head. He needed some time to adjust to what he’d done...no, what he hadn’t done. How could this have happened? Anger and regret pumped through his veins, burning his soul with the realization that he hadn’t been there when Tillie had needed him most.

  “Jake--”

  “Is the Lakeview Motel still open between here and Ellison Bay?” he asked over his shoulder, already turned away and on his way back to the car. His breath came in ragged bursts as he battled the panic that was building inside him, panic that he was about to break down, lose control of his emotions in front of Cory.

  “I think so. Jake, why don’t you meet me at the attorney’s in the morning at ten,” she called after him. “Al Weismann’s office is above the hardware store--I’ll let him know to expect you. I’m sure you have lots of questions, and he’ll be able to explain things and read you the will, tell you why I’m...”

  The frantic sound of Cory’s voice faded, drowned out by the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears. When Jake reached the car, he slid into the seat and, with shaking fingers, managed to get the key into the ignition and start the engine.

  He didn’t look back at her or the house as he drove away. Instead, he put all his effort into one thing: suppressing the threat of hot tears by shutting down the flood of grief. He’d bury it deeply for now, deal with it later--a skill he’d perfected in his childhood.

  With each deep breath he pushed his grief deeper and deeper until he felt numb, a wall safely built between it and his heart.

  A stab of pain pulled Jake’s index finger to the side of his head to rub in deep circles at his left temple where a tension headache had already begun.

  He stopped hard at the four-way; a hand-painted sign nailed to the wooden post offered the comfort he sought: The Java Hut. Open ‘til midnight. Turn left on Cherry Street.

  His old street. Perfect. A jolt of caffeine would help his headache if he could ingest it in time, and, more than that, he needed to stop and think.

  As he drove, the thought popped into his head of how ridiculous it was for a trendy coffee place to share the block with his old man’s ramshackle clapboard house. Well, Pop, things change...whether you like it or not.

  Jake turned onto his old street and then into the parking lot of The Java Hut. He jammed on the brake, blinked hard, then twisted his neck to look over his shoulder, then back again to search for address numbers, finally finding brightly colored blue and yellow tiles above the shiny red door. Seven thirty one.

  His Porsche Boxster was parked exactly where his old bedroom should have been. To his right he should be looking at an ancient gnarled cherry tree--and not a Dumpster camouflaged by a white picket fence on which was painted a steaming cup of coffee and The Java Hut in bright red letters.

  It hit him that the coffee shop was sitting precisely where his childhood home should have been.

  As Jake stepped inside the shop, he watched an older woman look up from wiping down the espresso equipment. More than ever he was counting on his charm to discourage her from glancing toward the clock and noticing it was closing time.

  He drew his mouth into a well-practiced killer smile. The woman returned with one of her own, then tucked an errant gray hair behind her ear.

  She tossed her cleaning rag on the back counter and said, “Now, you, young man--you look like you need something strong enough to put some hair on your chest. How ‘bout I make you one of my special cappuccinos. It’ll give you a little kick to get you through whatever it is you’re trying to get through, or maybe help you get away from whatever you’re trying to get away from.”

  Jake nodded. “You’re a mind reader. Sounds perfect.”

  While the woman concocted her miracle drink, he settled onto a tall stool at a nearby table. Too many surprises. Too many unknowns to deal with in the middle of the night.

  The woman set the cup on the table in front of him and Jake offered her another cultivated smile. “Have you worked here long?” he asked as he brought the steaming cup to his lips, then took a sip. C’mon caffeine, do your stuff.

  The woman grinned, one eyebrow lifting. “You from around here?”

  “Used to live here--actually right here.” He emphasized his point by tapping a finger against the red and purple mosaic tabletop. “This shop is sitting exactly where my house used to be.”

  “That right? Well, I’ll be damned. You’re Ralph Randall’s kid, aren’t you?” She broke into an open, friendly smile and joined him at the table.

  “Jake,” he said, extending his free hand to her.

  “My, my, you sure have changed.” she said putting her hand in his. “When you came in I pegged you for a big city executive-type who got himself lost. Felt sorry for you and figured the least I could do was get you a cup of coffee. I’m remembering you left Faythe for Chicago the minute you graduated--that right?”

  “You know what happened to my house?”

  She studied him for a moment before she answered. “Not that I really blame you much for not asking, but don’t you want to know what happened to your father?”

  Jake opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Truth was, he really didn’t give a rat’s ass what had happened to his old man--but he couldn’t quite say the words out loud. He had Tillie to thank for that too. She’d insisted on manners and a civil tongue, especially around women.

  “Your dad got sick,” the woman began, “a few years ago. Then he got so he couldn’t stay alone anymore--Alzheimer’s.” She paused, her brows pulling together. “You know about your Aunt Tillie?”

  “Just found out.”

  “She was a hell of a nice woman. An institution here, you know. Faythe won’t be the same without her.”

  Jake nodded.

  “Anyway, your dad’s property ended up being sold. Out-of-towners bought it. They demolished the building and built this place. The money from the property’s in an account that pays for your dad’s care.”

  “Where?”

  “He’s over at Miss Mabel’s on the north end of Main Street. She turned her house into a board and care place for people...like your dad. You come home to stay?”

  The cup of cappuccino froze in mid-air at the idea of coming home to Faythe to stay, and Jake shook off the feeling as he shook his head no. “You know anything about the woman in her house?”

  “I know Tillie hired her to help out with the house and the cats. And Tillie told me last year she was having good days and bad days, and she got so she didn’t want to be by herself. I heard at Tillie’s service she even put that woman in her will. Al Weismann’s who you’ll want to ask more about--”

  “--so I heard.” he interrupted. “Hey, thanks for this. You’re a goddess of liquid magic.” He took another sip, then added, “Much better than the big city stuff. Now I know where to send someone for a decent cup of coffee.”

  The woman got up and returned
to her cleaning while Jake drank his cappuccino in silence.

  His great-aunt had looked fine in December when he’d seen her last. Frail, certainly, but mentally sharp and as feisty as ever. Just like always, she’d gotten someone to bring her into the city, and then she just showed up at his office unannounced. She knew he’d drop everything to go to dinner and an evening performance of The Nutcracker with her. After their evening together was done, he’d call Smart Cars and order her a limo ride home.

  She did it every year around the holidays as though she knew it was the only celebrating he did. God, how he hated the ballet. But he went happily, just to be with her and listen to her say how darling the children were and how she wondered why she’d never taken up dancing, how she sure had the legs for it. Then she’d laugh at herself and her under-five-foot stature and the silliness of impossible dreams.

  And it would be wonderful. She’d compliment him on his accomplishments and all he’d done with his life in spite of everything. And then she’d ask him why she only got to see him a couple times a year.

  Regrets soured Jake’s stomach along with the strong coffee. His cup now empty, he put a twenty on the table next to it and blew a kiss to The Java Hut miracle woman as he left the coffee shop.

  “Don’t be a stranger, now.” She smiled and waved at him.

  Fortified, he headed out of town knowing he’d probably be up the rest of the night in his motel room, but at least he’d be headache-free.

  ***

  Cory pulled the thin blanket to her chin. With at least one cat sleeping on each side of her and usually one on her feet, she rarely needed the bed’s heavy quilt even though the nights were still cool.

  Tonight it was Amber and Oscar who snuggled against each hip, with escapee-Max at her feet. Since Tillie had passed away, shy Amber still only showed up at night, staying well-hidden during the day, seeking human companionship exclusively after the lights were out.

  Inhaling deeply, Cory concentrated on her heartbeat, and tried to stop its racing. The thudding had started the instant she’d recognized Max’s rescuer.

  It had taken a while. In fact, she hadn’t really figured it out until he’d said her name and she’d looked deeply into his eyes as he’d cradled Max in his arms. The last time she’d seen Jake his dark blond hair was well past his shoulders. Now he wore it short with stylishly applied blond highlights, a no-nonsense business style so different than the wild and free style of his youth. He’d been dressed “expensive business casual.” Something her ex-husband had been good at wearing too. Nice car, nice clothes. By the looks of it, Jake had done more than all right for himself since he’d left Faythe.

  What had been even more surprising was that he’d recognized her first. She’d worn her wavy hair layered short in high school; cutting it had seemed the only way to tame the unruly curls. Then when she’d met Ed in college, he’d kept mentioning how much he liked long hair, so she’d let it grow. She’d discovered it was more manageable that way, so she’d kept it long even after he was gone.

  So, with her hair flowing in cascading waves to the middle of her back and sans Coke-bottle-glasses, thanks to her only self-indulgent post-divorce splurge of getting her eyes lasered, she knew the image of her now had no place in Jake’s memory. But he’d recognized her first anyway.

  Jake Randall.

  She never thought she’d see him again as long as she lived...let alone back in Faythe.

  Mew.

  “Come on up, Leona.” She patted the extra pillow next to her head and soon the tawny kitten was curled up in the middle of it, her tiny motor humming.

  Cory forced her eyes closed. There was nothing she could do now. Morning would come and Jake would hear for himself why she was in Tillie’s house. He’d have to believe the attorney. It was in the will.

  Tillie had thrown her a life raft, and she intended to use it. Earning half the value of the house would allow her to stay in Faythe. It was a way of achieving the impossible. With no other nursing jobs anywhere close to the small town, she was destined to return to Chicago--or some other big city--and all the pressures she’d left behind. Half the value of Tillie’s house after it sold would buy her time. She’d be able to afford to buy a small house with the money, perhaps, and at the very least, she’d have the luxury of time to figure out a way to have it all. A home. Maybe a new, less stressful way to make a living. Maybe even more. Most importantly, Tillie had taught her to dream again.

  Even if she spent the rest of her life an old maid-divorcee, she intended to make Faythe, Wisconsin her refuge. Her home.

  But, Jake was Tillie’s great-nephew. What if it changed everything? He could easily contest the will, couldn’t he? She sighed from the strain caused by the string of questions speeding through her mind. He’d changed everything once before for her. What made her think it wouldn’t happen again?

  And why, in heaven’s name, did just the sight of him make her feel like she was eighteen all over again?

  It was embarrassing.

  “And ridiculous,” she whispered to Leona as the kitten kneaded the down pillow with her paws.

  He’d walked away from her once. She should hate him.

  ***

  Jake jerked hard in his sleep, waking himself up.

  He’d been dreaming of high school. And her. He’d had the dream hundreds of times, so much so that it had become somewhat of a comfortable habit with him, even though he felt unsettled every time.

  He wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

  Cory.

  He’d noticed her as a new kid in junior year at Faythe High School, but she hadn’t spoken to him until the following September when she’d asked him if he had any change for the pay phone to call her dad in Chicago.

  Cory’s family had been one of those who’d come to Faythe to escape the hustle and bustle. She would move on, he’d suspected even then, as soon as daddy picked the right college for his little princess. She was smart, and from a family who had great expectations for her. He knew the only boy her father would approve of: someone intelligent, worldly, college educated, and preferably from a wealthy family. Birds of a feather.

  And everything he wasn’t.

  Cory. Pretty Cory.

  But she’d been persistent, finding excuses to talk to him, to ask him questions.

  Finally, he’d confronted her. She should have been hanging out with the cheerleaders or the smart kids, and it hadn’t made any sense to him why she wanted to associate herself with the class playboy, the biggest goof-off in school.

  But she’d stared straight into his eyes and with just the slightest tremble in her voice she’d declared she simply wanted to get to know him better.

  And he’d believed her. For once in his miserable life, he’d listened to his heart, giving in to her brown, puppy dog eyes...and he’d believed her.

  It had been his biggest mistake.

  And it would always be his biggest mistake...to let himself fall in love with a girl he could never have.

  Chapter Two

  Jake stopped on the sidewalk outside the Faythe Hardware Store and looked up, just long enough to read the gold gilded lettering on the second floor window: Alan Weismann, Esquire. Established 1970.

  He reached for the knob on the door that led up the stairs, opened it and climbed the steps two at a time. In his motel room he had finally fallen asleep at four, had slept through his alarm, and now was thirty minutes late for his appointment with Tillie’s attorney. He hated being late.

  Rapping sharply on the door at the top of the landing, he paused a few seconds, then let himself into what seemed to be a waiting area. A tiny brass bell at the top of the wooden door jingled his arrival. The area inside was small, with only enough room for two wooden chairs and a brass coat rack. No Cory there for him to explain why he was late. Was she inside? Or maybe she had gotten tired of waiting and had already left.

  After pausing another moment Jake stepped up to the office door, his hand poised to knock o
n the frosted glass, when the door opened.

  “And you must be Jacob Randall, Tillie’s great-nephew?”

  Jake nodded at the man who opened the door. He looked like he’d stepped out of a spaghetti western, with a crown of silver hair and matching handlebar mustache, and wire-rimmed half-glasses perched low on his narrow nose. He wore a starched white shirt, black string tie, and a buttoned maroon brocade vest complete with a gold watch fob that draped to a tiny pocket. The only thing missing was a six-shooter and a star.

  The man smiled, removed his glasses, and extended his hand. “Al Weismann. Good to finally meet you.”

  Jake grasped the man’s hand firmly and said, “I must apologize that I’m late--”

  “Nonsense, this must be a difficult shock for you--come in, come in.”

  The attorney gestured Jake into the office. The room was meticulously tidy and a somewhat curious blend of business and pleasure. In one corner a Tiffany-style floor lamp stood guard next to an overstuffed leather chair that’s permanent seat depression showed its frequent use. Several books were stacked on a small, round side table next to the chair and Jake pictured the man reading away the day, waiting for clients to appear. Or, maybe wishing they wouldn’t.

  “You’ve come in from Chicago?”

  Jake felt the man’s hand on his arm, his thoughts interrupted. “Yes, but I’ve been in London for the last two months on business.”

  “Ah, I see. Before she passed away, Tillie had told me you would be coming to help with the house and had been expecting you at any time, but.... Where are my manners--please, sit down. Ms. Richards is already here.” Weismann made a sweep of his hand toward two tall wing-backed chairs that sat in front of the massive mahogany desk that dominated the room.

  Richards? If she was married, what was she doing at the house alone?

  As Jake followed the attorney toward the desk, the scent of lilacs in the air would have tipped him off anyway that Cory was already there. He breathed deeply to calm his nerves and to steel himself for his second meeting with her. Think of this as just another business meeting.