by Alexis Gold
Abby looked up at Jasmine and gave her the large, toothy grin that always warmed her heart and exclaimed, “Yes! I just found out today. I’m going to be a mom and Calvin is going to be a dad. You’re going to be an aunt.”
Jasmine screamed happily and ran in to give her a huge, squeezing hug. A lump formed in her throat as she recalled the first day she met Abby – a young, hopeful girl with a mind full of dreams and parents who would never support her. She took her in as a friend and, eventually, as a sister-in-law. Looking at her now, the mother of her niece or nephew, she felt her heart fill with emotion, as the sweet girl instantly turned into a wonderful woman right before her eyes.
“I’m so proud of you. Have you told Calvin yet?” Jasmine asked as she reached up to wipe a tear from Abby’s eye.
“No, he doesn’t know yet.”
Suddenly the bells started to ring from the doorway, alerting her of a new customer. She had decided to keep the bells as a callback to The Morning Bell, where she started her journey as a café owner. Although the bells did not match well to the cabin-esque theme, she felt as though the diner was missing something when they were not hung above the door. She walked out into her beautiful, comfortable diner and found Calvin standing in the lobby with a bouquet of daisies.
“Oh, who are those for? Are they for your dearest sister?” she teased him.
He laughed sarcastically then rolled his eyes. “No, you don’t need flowers. You’re my sister, which means you have to like me. I actually have to work to earn the love of the girl in that kitchen.”
“You better work harder because I’m pretty sure she has a surprise for you that vastly outweighs the surprise of your simple flowers.” She winked at his quizzical expression. Then, she watched as he disappeared into the kitchen, knowing that he was about to get the most shocking and wonderful news of his life.
When she turned around, she found Matthew, who entered in behind Calvin, kneeling to give his two children big hugs. She recalled the first time she met him, back when he was Mason rather than Matthew. He was a “bad boy” with a lust for adventure. She thought he was in a gang and he always acted with a cocky attitude – the same arrogance that caused her to hire him in the first place. Sometimes, when she thinks back on that day, it makes her laugh to think of how much things changed later.
She always hired the craziest chefs, but as her mind wandered, she realized that everyone can be a bit crazy at times. Everyone deals with tragedy, love, and loss, regardless of how “normal” one acts. She would have laughed if someone had told her ten years prior that she would have become the owner of a café that was later burned to the ground by a criminal organization, which was ultimately brought down by her boyfriend who ended up being in the CIA and had to leave because he had gotten her pregnant with twins. Life never goes according to plan; there is no GPS software to tell you which turn to make and when. Only time could tell what the future holds, so she realized that she just had to cross her fingers and hope for the best. So far, it has worked out pretty well for her.
Matthew looked up at her and smiled, revealing his single dimple on the side of his face. His nose was red from the outside cold, as it was deep in the winter and frequently freezing. He scooped up both children in his arms and carried them over. She smiled at the explosions of laughter that occurred at his game. He then set them down and gave Jasmine a warm embrace, wrapping his arms lovingly around her waist. He kissed her neck and she closed her eyes as she breathed in his scent that smelled more like mint rather than tobacco these days.
Suddenly, she heard a squeal and looked over to find Rose and Thomas pointing out the window and jumping up and down. The twins held hands and tried pushing on the door, but it was too heavy for their small arms. Jasmine walked over and asked what was going on and why they were so excited. Their faces were lit wildly with joy.
“It’s snowing, Mommy! Look!” Thomas smiled widely. Matthew smiled back and pushed open the door, letting out their two children to go play in the falling snow. Jasmine stepped outside to watch over their safety and smiled warmly when she felt her husband wrap his arms around her and hug her from behind.
Together, they watched the snow fall from the sky and laughed as their two young children ran around the lawn wildly to catch the snowflakes on their tongues. Each snowflake, unique in its beauty, seemed to symbolize the millions of blessings that occurred in her lifetime; she felt lucky to have so many innumerable reasons for gratitude.
She sighed as she felt Matthew’s whisper in her ear, “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“Always?” he asked.
“Always,” she answered.
THE END
Book4
MR. COWBOY
ALEXIS GOLD
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places or events are entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2016 ALEXIS GOLD
All Rights Reserved To ALEXIS GOLD
ABOUT THIS BOOK
Delaney Hart hated living with her alcoholic Uncle and she always wished someone would walk into her life and sweep her off her feet.
That day arrived when local Cowboy Wade Oliver walked into her diner one beautiful summers afternoon and asked her out on a date.
However, whilst Wade was initially besotted with Delaney he did have an ulterior motive for dating her and soon she would have a very, very tough choice to make...
Chapter One
The storm howled outside, masking the sound of the old man coughing. He lay on the couch, a blanket tucked up under his chin. He was sick, but not tired. There was too much to think about. Wade was out checking on the cattle, and the old man wished he could be out there, too. The storm didn’t scare him; he’d faced much worse in his time. This had been his ranch for thirty years, and he’d never been so sick that he couldn’t get up and check on his cattle. Another coughing fit overtook him, as the wind banged against the windows like an unwanted intruder.
It had been ten years since Wade had wandered onto his property, a lost, skinny boy, no taller than his chest. Wade was now a grown man and had been taking on more and more responsibility around the ranch. The old man was dismayed when he realized, in truth, that Wade had been running it all single-handedly since he’d gotten so sick he could barely make it off the couch for more than a couple of hours a day.
Though he didn’t say it often enough, the old man was more proud of Wade than he was of his own son, who was off in Boston or New York somewhere becoming a businessman. His son had no interest in learning how to become a cowboy. He’d rejected the lifestyle since he was a young teen, and, at the time, it had broken the old man’s heart. That is, until Wade came along, with his scraggy red hair and his aptitude and love for riding horses.
The old man coughed into his blanket, and worried at how much effort it took just to breathe. He was in his seventies now, and not getting any younger. Betty, his late wife, had passed away two years ago last April, leaving just the old man and Wade to handle the ranch. And now, all the hard work fell to Wade. The old man worried about what would happen when he would inevitably pass on and join his wife.
What would happen to Wade? Would he want to stay on the ranch? He couldn’t do it all by himself. No one could. There was a small hope that Wade would finally find himself a woman and settle down, but the boy was as stubborn as a chunk of coal. He would spend days out on the land with the cattle and not talk to a single soul. The old man was deeply familiar with cowboy life; he knew what being out on the land like that could do for your soul, but he also knew how lonely it could get.
The back door rattled open, and the sound of the storm magnified.
“Evening, John,” Wade called from the other room, slamming the door shut.
“How are the cattle?” He could hear Wade take off his jacket and boots.
“Good,” Wade said as he walked into the living room, his hair wet and his face smeared with dirt. “I got them all rounded up.”
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sp; “Couldn’t have been easy out there in the rain,” John remarked. “You were out there for hours.”
“Well, cowboys don’t get breaks. You taught me that.” Wade smiled. It was rare, but when he did, it lit up his whole face. He strode from the doorway to the fireplace in three large, agile steps. “The storm got them all spooked.”
John watched as Wade stoked the fire, and then threw on a log.
“What are you doing letting the fire die down like this?” Wade asked. “It’s freezing in here.”
“I dozed off, and when I realized it needed it, I was too tired to grab another log.”
Wade disappeared into the other room, and came back with a bundle of six or seven logs in his arms. He threw them down next to the fireplace and looked over at the old man, who coughed uncontrollably into his blanket.
“You’re getting worse,” Wade noted. “A lot worse. We need to get you to the doctor soon.”
“No, no, I’m fine. It’s just a chest cold.”
“It’s more than just a chest cold, John. I’ve never seen you this sick before.”
“Leave it alone. I’ll be fine.” John crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ll be fine, I tell ya.”
“I’m just worried about you.”
“I know you are, son, but trust me when I tell you that I’ve been through much worse,” the old man said softly, thinking of his wife.
The storm raged outside; the wind wailed like a siren, and the rain blasted against the windows in intermittent downpours. Wade noticed how old John was beginning to look, so wizened and frail. His hair was thinning, and his skin hung off his face in pale folds.
“You know,” the old man said, “I don’t think we’ve had a storm this bad since the night you showed up here, remember?”
“Yeah, I remember. I was soaked to the bones, and freezing. I’d been walking for days,” Wade recalled. “When I noticed you standing there in the rain, with a shotgun strung over your shoulder, I nearly ran away.”
“But you didn’t!”
“No, I didn’t.”
John had taken to recounting Wade’s early days on the farm, when he was still a boy, as if it would somehow turn back the clock. Wade did his best to oblige him, but he didn’t much enjoy talking about it. He had run away from home when John found him wandering aimlessly through the Montana grasslands.
“When I brought you inside, Betty made you up a plate of leftovers, and the way you ate! It was like you’d never seen a plate of food in your entire life.”
“I was hungry!” Wade affirmed encouragingly.
“You sure were.” John chuckled, but it turned into yet another coughing fit that didn’t subside. Wade rushed to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, concerned for the big-hearted and dependable man who had become a father figure to him. By the time he returned to the living room, John had his hands on his chest, and his eyes were closed.
Deciding it was better not to bother him, Wade set the glass down on the coffee table near enough for John to reach if he needed to. Then he grabbed his sleeping pad, which he stored behind the couch, and laid it out in front of the fire.
After Betty, John’s wife, passed away, John had been sleeping in the living room, complaining that his own room felt unbearably empty; and since he had fallen ill a month or so ago, Wade decided to sleep in the living room with him. He felt better that way. Being close to the old man made him feel safer. If—God forbid—his illness worsened or something bad happened, Wade would be right there for him.
Wade stretched out on his sleeping pad, and gazed upon the fire. He listened to the tumultuous storm outside, and prayed the cattle were safe. He’d worked hard to get them rounded up and steered back toward the stables. He always worked hard, but tonight, with the storm, it was particularly taxing.
Exhausted, Wade put his head down, and fell asleep, envisioning vast open spaces, golden meadows, and rolling hills. Although just before he woke up, he dreamed of his father, his menacing, alcoholic father, yelling at him for something that wasn’t his fault. He was a little boy again, clutching his red fire truck to his chest and closing his eyes as tightly as he could in anticipation of a blow to the head, hoping the yelling would stop. Wade woke abruptly, breathing heavily and with sweat beading on his forehead. He shook his head to rid himself of the awful dream.
John was snoring noisily, but not as loudly as the roosters crowing right outside the window. Wade was always surprised how the old fart could sleep through anything. Wade stretched his arms up overhead and mentally prepared for the day. He rolled up his sleeping pad and stored it behind the couch.
Making his way to the kitchen, the smell of coffee wafted around him. Even in his old age, John prepared coffee every night. He said that every good cowboy should start the day off right with a cup of black coffee first thing in the morning. And that’s what he did, even though he was sick.
Wade was grateful. After working so hard yesterday, in combination with his discomforting and troubled dreams, he needed a strong cup of coffee. He drank a few sips, and poured the rest into a thermos that he’d carry in his saddlebags along with some snacks. John was still asleep when he left. Wade smiled at him and silently wished him to get better, then walked out into the bright morning.
The sun blazed down after the long night of stormy turbulence, drying the grass and shining mercilessly in the cloudless sky. On his way to the stables he looked up and saw three or four black birds solemnly circling in the sky. His stomach tightened. No, he pleaded to himself, not again.
He hurried to the stables and saddled up as fast as he could. He feared the mornings when he saw those ominous birds—crows and buzzards—not because he had a particular distaste for them, but because it usually meant one of his cattle lay dead somewhere out on the land.
Wade walked his horse, Whinny, out of the stables, and pulled himself up into the saddle with ease. His cattle were nowhere to be seen, which wasn’t especially alarming because they usually roamed far, but the birds gave him a bad feeling. He galloped as fast as he could in their direction, hoping for a miracle, but what he found made his heart sting. An older cow was stuck in a bog, her leg obviously broken. She wailed and flung her head back as Wade approached.
He slipped off Whinny’s back and she began grazing a few meters away; she was trained to not go far. Wade crouched down by the poor cow and rubbed her head with his hands. She looked up at him with big, dark brown eyes, and his heart broke. There was only one thing he could do for her. He called Whinny over and took his shotgun out of his saddlebags. Wade said a short, silent prayer, then put the innocent cow out of her misery. There was nothing that could have been done for her. This was the only part of his job that he dreaded, but it had to be done.
Whinny’s head shot up—she looked toward Wade, startled by the boom from the shotgun, but she didn’t run. She was a good horse, trusting and patient. Wade was lucky to have her, and he told her so every day. He nuzzled her nose and leaned his head against her strong neck, recovering from the terrible thing he had had to do. Looking up at the sky, he realized it was still early, hours before noon. Shaking his head, he returned the shotgun to his saddlebag, and hopped onto Whinny’s back.
She waited for his command. He tightened his thighs, and she calmly set off. Wade did not look back. He rode well into the day, surveying the scattered cattle. He left the cow where she was. With the buzzards and the crows and the wolves, there wouldn’t be a trace of her by tomorrow morning.
Although it was a sad day, Wade couldn’t help looking out across the vast Montana landscape, soaking up all its beauty. The hills, green after the spring rains, and the endless blue sky were what he lived for. That’s why he did this. That’s why terrible mornings were worth it—to be out here, free and wild, one with the land.
As the sun splintered past midday and sank lower into the west, Wade decided to head home. He’d done all he could do for the day. Whinny was just as tired as he was by the time they reached the stables; Wade led her
straight to the water. Her chestnut coat glistened with sweat as he brushed it out and massaged her sore muscles. Returning Whinny to her stable, his belly grumbled noisily, and he realized how hungry he was. Poking his head inside the house, he hollered, “Hey John, I’m going to Sally’s, you want anything?”
“No thanks,” John yelled back from the living room. Wade wondered if he’d even gotten up today, but he didn’t want to wait around long enough to find out the answer.
“All right then, see you later tonight.” He left quickly, shutting the door behind him. He wasn’t ready to talk about the cow they’d lost that morning.
The rusty old pickup sat in the driveway waiting for him. He hopped in and put the keys in the ignition. He was off to Sally’s, his favorite diner in all of Montana.
*
Wade went to Sally’s Diner at least twice a week. He either ordered the BBQ chicken sandwich or the chili. When he was particularly hungry or in a particularly good mood, he’d get a slice of pie as well. Sally’s had great pie.