Just What the Cowboy Needed

by Teresa Southwick

“And?” Although she wanted to throw herself into his arms, she needed to hear the words as much as he needed to say them.

  “My father is a flawed man. I talked to my brothers and sister, and all of us agree on that. But you had a point when you said there’s a little bit of right on the other side of wrong. He’s guilty of being selfish and unfaithful, but it wasn’t his intention to abandon his children.” He told her what Tucker had said about their grandfather running him off the ranch. “I’ve been stupid and I was afraid of being like him—or what I thought he was.”

  “Now you’re not?”

  “No comment on the stupid part.” His mouth curved up for a moment, a ghost of a smile. “But I’m not afraid anymore. I would never hurt someone I love. But I am scared of losing you. I barely made it through a week after you left. No way I can go the rest of my life without you. I love you, Grace.”

  Just when she’d thought her dream would never happen, in walked this show-don’t-tell cowboy with the words that put her heart back together. “Was that so hard?”

  “Falling in love with you was the easiest thing in the world. The hard part was letting go of the past.” Logan gave her a smile that made her want to take her clothes off. Then he went down on one knee and took her hands in his. “I know buying a house of your own is what you always wanted. But if you would do me the honor of becoming my wife, I promise I will make it up to you.”

  She’d dreamed of belonging but always pictured a place, not a person. Being this happy was not something she had ever let herself believe in but here it was. And he was waiting for her answer. “A house is just a building. Wherever you and Cassie are is home. I love you, too. So, yes, I’ll marry you.”

  Logan closed his eyes for a moment, then nodded, as if he’d had grave doubts about her answer. He stood and pulled her against him, sealing their promise with a kiss. More than once growing up she’d wished for a family like all the other kids had. But the pain and loneliness of her childhood had brought her to this place, this time, in the arms of the man she loved more than anything. Worth it, she thought happily.

  Epilogue

  Three months later

  It was his wedding day and Logan was surprisingly calm. He would have married Grace that day in Buckskin Pass right after he proposed, but she insisted on waiting. School was starting soon, and she wouldn’t leave the kids in the lurch for a kindergarten teacher. Fortunately, the school board quickly found a replacement for her, and after officially resigning, she moved to the ranch.

  Most important, they needed to tell Cassie. Logan had no reservations. After all, his daughter was the one who’d asked if he was going to marry Grace, but she insisted on being sure his little girl was secure and happy about the whole thing. She was—especially the part where she got to be a flower girl again.

  Today, she would be. In the house that had been in his family for generations, he was going to marry the love of his life. But first there was something he had to do. A promise he had to keep before he swore to love her forever. He knocked on the bedroom door where his bride-to-be was getting ready for the ceremony.

  “Who is it?” That was Jamie’s voice. His sister was the maid of honor.

  “Is she decent?” he asked.

  “Have I ever been?” The joy in Grace’s voice made him smile.

  “I need to talk to you,” he said.

  “Daddy, you can’t see the bride before the wedding. It’s bad luck.”

  Impossible, he thought. Since the moment Grace had walked into this house, fate or karma or whatever you wanted to call it had been nothing but on his side. This woman had given him his life.

  “I have to talk to Grace,” he repeated firmly. “I’ll close my eyes.”

  “You’re not going to back down on this, are you?” Jamie asked.

  “No. Not unless Grace has a problem with it.”

  Her voice came from just on the other side of the door. “This is really that important to you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, then.”

  “I want to go on record as being against this.” The door opened and Jamie was standing there in a red dress with a long flowing skirt and lace sleeves from shoulder to wrist.

  “Big difference from your scrubs,” he said. “You don’t look half bad, sis.”

  She smiled and straightened his black bow tie that went with the traditional black tuxedo. “You’re not so bad yourself. Just so you know, I take my maid of honor duties seriously. I advised Grace to run while there was still time, but she refused.”

  “She’s kidding,” Grace said from behind the door.

  “How do I look, Daddy, in my flower girl dress?” Cassie twirled around, and the red velvet skirt billowed around her.

  There was a lump of emotion in his throat as he stared at his beautiful child. “You take my breath away.”

  “Is that good?”

  “Very.” He looked down at her. “Are you all ready?”

  She nodded. “I can’t wait. Now I’ll have a mom at both of my houses.”

  “That makes me so happy—” Grace’s voice broke.

  “Come with Aunt Jamie, Cass. If this goes on much longer the bride will have to redo her makeup. Hurry it up,” she ordered him.

  “Okay.”

  “Close your eyes,” his daughter ordered him.

  “Will do.” He did as requested and heard his sister take Cassie out in the hall to wait by the top of the stairs. In a few minutes the action would start, and he could hardly wait to make Grace his.

  He closed the door behind him and opened his eyes. “Sorry.”

  “It’s all right. The bad-luck thing is an urban myth.” Grace smiled up at him.

  And then he really looked at her and was afraid he’d swallowed his tongue. The bodice of her dress was white lace over satin, and the skirt was full, flowing and feminine. The delicate veil was secured with flowers at the knot of curls on top of her head.

  Logan literally could not breathe for several moments. “Wow.”

  “That’s the best you’ve got?”

  “Sorry. There are no words that would do justice to how beautiful you are.”

  “Don’t you make me cry, too.” Her eyes glistened as she smiled happily. “So, what can’t wait until after we’re married?”

  “Oh, right. I have your wedding gift.” He pulled some papers from the inside pocket of his black jacket. “My lawyer drew these up. It puts your name on the ranch title. This land and house officially belong to both of us.”

  “What?”

  “When you gave up buying a house, I promised to make it up to you. Now I have. It’s important you know that before we get married.”

  She looked at the paper, then him. The tears in her eyes slipped down her cheeks. “Logan—”

  “You have a home, Grace. It’s official. A place to put down roots. A place to belong. With me. And I belong with you.”

  “I’m doing my very best not to sob. That wouldn’t be a good look for the pictures.” She pressed her lips together, then blew out a breath. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “You don’t have long to get over that because in a couple of minutes we’re going to promise to love, honor and respect each other forever.”

  “It’s really only two words.” She threw her arms around his neck. “I do.”

  “I do, too.”

  Logan kissed her gently, then left to take his place beside the minister in front of their guests. After Grace descended the stairs and put her hand in his, they repeated those private I dos in front of friends and family, including his father. With cheers and applause erupting around them, Logan kissed his wife.

  “I love you, Mrs. Hunt,” he said. “My Grace.”

  And she was just what the cowboy needed.

  * * * * *

  If you loved this book, be
sure to check out Teresa Southwick’s next book, part of the next MONTANA MAVERICKS continuity, coming out in October 2018!

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  JUST A LITTLE BIT MARRIED

  A WORD WITH THE BACHELOR

  HOW TO LAND HER LAWMAN

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  Claiming the Captain's Baby

  by Rochelle Alers

  Chapter One

  Mya Lawson sat staring out the window in her home office as she waited for the pages she had revised to fill the printer’s tray. She was still amazed that she had come up with yet another plot for her fictional New England series. What had begun as a hobby for Mya was now a vocation since she gave up her position as college professor to become a stay-at-home mother.

  The sound of the printer spitting out paper competed with the incessant tapping of rain against the windows. It had begun raining earlier that morning and had continued nonstop throughout the midafternoon. Mya knew it was an indoor play day for Lily once she woke from her nap. An unconscious smile parted her lips when her gaze lingered on the oak tree shading the backyard. Mya lost count of the number of times she and her sister hid behind the massive trunk or climbed the thick branches once they were older while playing hide-and-seek with their mother. Although aware of their hiding places, Veronica Lawson elected to play along much to the delight of her rambunctious daughters. But as they grew older the game stopped because Veronica claimed she did not have the energy to chase after them.

  An expression of melancholy sweeping over Mya’s features replaced her smile. She and seven-month-old Lily were the last of the Wickham Falls Lawsons. What she found ironic was that neither she nor Lily shared DNA with their namesake ancestors. Graham and Veronica Lawson, after more than twenty years of a childless marriage, had decided to adopt. They adopted Mya, and then two years later Samantha joined the family.

  Mya exhaled an audible sigh. Her parents were gone, Samantha was gone, and now there was only she and her niece.

  Her sister wanted Mya to raise Lily in Wickham Falls—a small town with a population of little more than four thousand residents—even though Samantha had complained about growing up in a small town and couldn’t wait to grow up and leave to see the world. She got her wish once she began her career as a flight attendant and got to visit many of the cities and countries she had fantasized about.

  Sammie, as Mya always called her, had died a month ago and Mya was still attempting to adjust to the loss and her life without her sister. Sammie had returned to Wickham Falls for a rare visit with the news that she was six weeks pregnant. She told Mya of her affair with a New York City businessman, and despite using protection, she’d gotten pregnant. Her sister refused to disclose the name of her lover or tell him about the baby because he had been adamant when he told her he wasn’t ready for marriage or fatherhood.

  The sudden ring of the telephone shattered her reverie. Unconsciously her brow furrowed when she recognized the name of the law firm that had handled Sammie’s will. She picked up the receiver before the second ring.

  “Hello.”

  “Ms. Mya Lawson?”

  Mya nodded before she realized the person on the other end of the line could not see her. “Yes. This is she.”

  “Ms. Lawson, I’m Nicole Campos, Mr. McAvoy’s assistant. He’d like you to keep your calendar open for next Thursday because he needs you to come into the office to discuss your daughter’s future.”

  Her frown deepened. “Ms. Campos, can you give me an idea of what he wants to talk about?”

  “I’m sorry, but I cannot reveal that information over the telephone.”

  Twin emotions of annoyance and panic gripped her. She did not want to relive the anxiety she had experienced before the court finalized her adopting her niece. “What time on Thursday?”

  “Eleven o’clock. I’ll call you the day before as a reminder and follow-up with an email.”

  Mya exhaled an inaudible sigh. “Thank you.”

  She hadn’t realized her hand was shaking when she replaced the receiver in the console. Leaning back in the desk chair, she combed her fingers through a wealth of brown curly hair with natural gold highlights, holding it off her forehead.

  There never had been a question that she would lose Lily to the foster care system because her sister had drawn up a will that included a clause naming Mya as legal guardian for her unborn baby.

  A week after Sammie gave birth to a beautiful dark-haired infant, she handed Lily to Mya with the pronouncement that she wanted Mya to raise her daughter as her own. At first she thought Sammie was experiencing postpartum depression, but nothing could have prepared her for the reality that her younger sister was terminally ill.

  Sammie had been diagnosed with an aggressive form of breast cancer. Mya put up a brave front for her sister because she needed to be strong for her, but whenever she was alone she could not stop crying. The young, beautiful, vivacious thirty-two-year-old woman who was in love with life was dying and there was nothing she could do to help her.

  Gurgling sounds came from the baby monitor on a side table. Mya glanced at the screen where she could observe her daughter. It was after three and Lily was awake.

  Pushing back her chair, she rose and walked out of the office and down the hall to the nursery. Lily was standing up in her crib. She’d sat up at five months, began crawling at six and now at seven was able to pull up and stand, but only holding onto something. It was as if her precocious daughter was in a hurry to walk before her first birthday.

  Months before Lily’s birth, Mya and Sammie spent hours selecting furniture and decorating the room that would become the nursey. The colors of sage green and pale pink were repeated in blankets, quilts and in the colorful border along the antique-white walls.

  “Hey, doll baby. Did you have a good nap?”

  A squeal of delight filled the space when the baby raised her chubby arms to be picked up. The instant she let go of the railing, Lily landed hard on her bottom but didn’t cry. Mya reached over the rail of the crib and scooped her up while scrunching up her nose. She dropped a kiss on damp, inky-black curls. “Somebody needs changing.”

&nbs
p; Lily pushed out her lips in an attempt to mirror Mya’s expression. Mya smiled at the beautiful girl with long dark lashes framing a pair of large sky blue eyes. Lily looked nothing like Sammie, so it was obvious she had inherited her father’s hair and eye color.

  She placed her on the changing table and took off the damp onesie and then the disposable diaper. At thirty-four, Mya had not planned on becoming a mother, yet learned quickly. She’d read countless books on feedings, teething, potty training and the average milestones for crawling, walking and talking. She had childproofed the house—all the outlets were covered, there were safety locks on the kitchen cabinets and drawers, wires secured off the floor, and all furniture with sharp edges were placed out of the way.

  She gathered Lily in her arms and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You’re getting heavy.”

  Lily grabbed several strands of Mya’s hair as she carried her down the staircase to the kitchen. “If you keep pulling my hair, I’ll be forced to get extensions.” She had made it a habit to either style her hair in a single braid or ponytail because her daughter appeared transfixed by the profusion of curls resembling a lion’s mane.

  She entered the kitchen and placed Lily in her high chair. Opening the refrigerator, she took out a bottle of milk and filled a sippy cup. Lily screamed in delight when handed the cup.

  Mya felt a warm glow flow through her as she watched Lily drink. Her daughter’s life would mirror her biological mother’s and her aunt’s. She would grow up not knowing her birth mother, but Mya had started a journal chronicling the baby’s milestones, photographs of Sammie and a collection of postcards from the different cities and countries her sister had visited. Once Lily was old enough to understand that her aunt wasn’t her biological mother, Mya would reveal the circumstances of her birth.

  * * *

  “Giles, Brandt is on line two.”

  The voice of Giles Wainwright’s administrative assistant coming through the intercom garnered his attention. He had spent the past twenty minutes going over the architect’s rendering and the floor plan of six three-bedroom, two-bath homes on an island in the Bahamas he had recently purchased for the international division of Wainwright Developers Group.