Her Forever Cowboy

by Debra Salonen

  Unfortunately, she hadn't realized they'd be riding together in his truck. A.J. had given Anne the keys to her mother's almost-new Toyota Forerunner, but he'd neglected to mention it had a manual transmission. Anne had driven a rental car on recent visits, and Esther had been too sick to drive, so the subject hadn't come up. Now, Anne realized she had two choices: ask Will for driving lessons or hire him as their chauffeur.

  Will hadn't seemed to notice her dilemma, apparently assuming that since he needed to sign the papers, too, they'd ride together. But Will's truck was proving more claustrophobic than the attic. The extended cab was bigger than a full-size car, but every square inch exuded testosterone--like its owner. In the built-in cup holder sat a sixteen-ounce insulated mug from "Joltin' Joe's," which sported red lips and risqué slogans she hoped Zoey couldn't read from the back seat. A visor organizer held a pen, an empty case for sunglasses, a map, and a metal tin of mint candies. A dusty cell-phone charger was clamped to the dash. As far as she could tell, the unit wasn't turned on.

  "Does your phone work in the mountains?" She pulled out hers to check for a signal. It only worked at the ranch when she was signed into the Silver Rose's Wi-Fi.

  "I hate phones," he told her. "I check the messages every few days, but I'm not much of a talker."

  They pulled to a stop at the light. Rumbling at an idle behind a luxury sedan, the truck dominated the smaller car, which was by no means little. Anne had never ridden in such an assertive vehicle.

  Will put on the blinker, then reached overhead for the mints. He flicked open the lid with his thumb and offered her one, but Anne declined, strangely unnerved by his dexterity.

  "How 'bout you, Miss Z?" He reached over the seat and gave the little box a jiggle to catch her attention.

  The stretching motion emphasized his powerful shoulders, even through his butterscotch-colored suede jacket.

  "Sure. Thanks." Zoey eagerly claimed the candy.

  "What if A.J. tries to reach you?" Anne coughed to hide the fact her voice sounded oddly breathless. "Maybe you should carry that phone. Just in case."

  The light turned green, but Will looked at Anne a second longer before stepping on the gas. "He never has." His tone sounded confused, as if the question of A.J. in distress hadn't occurred to him. "Gramps doesn't talk much. Your mother, on the other hand..."

  The gentle teasing made Anne smile. Esther had loved to gab. It broke Anne's heart to recall the number of times she'd cut Esther off to focus on work-related nonsense.

  "My ex didn't carry his phone, either," Anne said, grabbing at any straw to distract her from the grief she felt. "He was worried about his sperm." The word slipped out accidentally, and Anne peeked over her shoulder to see if Zoey was listening. Fortunately, the little girl's focus was on her book.

  Will tipped his chin to look at her over his sunglasses, which had slipped down his nose. His shock was obvious. Whether at the implied health risk or the personal nature of her revelation, she wasn't sure. Either way, embarrassment turned her cheeks hot.

  Anne went for a diversion. "Is that the place?" She glanced from the address on the stationery on her lap to a faux Colonial with two over-trimmed mulberry trees in the front yard. A discreet sign at the base of one tree read: Johnston, Johnston and Johnston, Attorneys-at-Law.

  The truck rocked as it swung into the parking lot. Before the shifter made it to P, Anne had her door open. She slid the three-foot drop to the ground and straightened her black wool jacket, which she'd added to her tan slacks and white blouse--her best stab at a professional look. After checking her lipstick in the side mirror, she reached for her purse and briefcase.

  "Open the door, Mommy," Zoey said, leaning over the front seat.

  Anne studied the glossy yellow paint job. "Where's the handle?"

  Will hurried around the truck bed. "I'll get that for you." He squeezed a cleverly hidden latch in the door frame. Zoey emerged like a princess, resting her hand in Will's as he helped her jump to the pavement.

  She stepped away from the truck and looked around with wide-eyed interest. "Funny trees. They look like Grandpa's hands."

  Will made a surprised sound. "You're right, Miss Z, they do. Arthritis seems to be an occupational hazard for cowboys. Even some of the younger guys have knuckles that look almost that knobby."

  Beaming, Zoey turned and skipped up the walk. Anne followed, pleased by Will's praise, but praying he'd overlook her gaff.

  He fell into step beside her. "Cell-phone infertility, huh? Maybe you could explain the connection to me sometime."

  The sound of mirth in his voice made her face warm a second time. "Check it out on the Internet. Barry seemed to think there was cause for concern." She kept her chin up and didn't look Will's way as she added, "And so far, Zoey doesn't have any stepsiblings."

  "How long has he been re-married?"

  "Almost three years." The day after Zoey's sixth birthday, Anne came home from work--alone, thank God, since Zoey was on a day-camp field trip--and heard Barry's message on her machine. "Anne...Zoey, I just wanted to let you know that Kiki and I got married today. It was a little impulsive. No guests, kiddo, but we'll celebrate when you come for a visit. Love you, honey. Hope everything is going well for you, Anne. Bye."

  Anne couldn't claim she hadn't seen it coming--Barry was the kind of man who needed a woman in his life. He just didn't appreciate her once she had a ring on her finger. Their divorce had been civil but fraught with tension because Barry had made noises about wanting shared custody. Why, Anne had no idea, because once the final papers were signed, he moved as far away as possible and started a new life--one that didn't include his daughter.

  "Can we get ice cream after this?" Zoey asked, hopping from one foot to the other on the building's porch.

  "Good idea." Will reached around Zoey for the door knob. "I was just thinking the same thing."

  Anne didn't believe it--she'd have pegged him as a cold beer kind of guy. But she didn't say so. She owed him that much. He could have given her a much harder time about her bizarre, personal revelation.

  He let Anne lead the way to the reception area. Although the exterior resembled a house, the interior decor cried serious business. The "living room" consisted of a receptionist's desk, a buff leather love seat and two wing-back chairs upholstered in navy plaid. In the curve of the bay window, a play area for children had been set up.

  Anne and her daughter exchanged a nonverbal question and answer, then Zoey walked to the alcove. Anne saw her dive into a beanbag chair and open her book.

  Excellent. Lately, Zoey had seemed too attached to the television and computer. Both pacifiers that Anne employed all too readily when she was swamped at work. That, too, was going to change this summer.

  She turned to the woman sitting behind the large, U-shaped desk, which sported a built-in computer stand and chest-high filing cabinets to one side. Blond. Early thirties. A bit overweight, but nicely dressed in a lavender colored sweater set that enhanced her voluptuous assets.

  The woman looked up, her gaze flitting over Anne like a bee with a choice between a weed and a big juicy patch of clover.

  "Oh, my Lord, it's Will Cavanaugh," the woman cried. She jumped to her feet with such force the chair she'd been sitting in skidded backward and hit the wall with a bang. She charged around the desk on a perfumed breeze and wrapped Will in a bone-crunching hug.

  To his credit, Will looked shock and a bit overwhelmed. Maybe such overt fan adoration wasn't common in bull riding. "Hi ... um...." Anne could tell he was searching for a name. His eyes appealed to her for help, but she didn't have a clue. The woman looked slightly familiar but she could have been one of the many mourners at Esther's funeral.

  Anne shook her head.

  "I'm sorry," he said, extricating himself from her hold. "I'm coming up blank for a name. I've been knocked on my head so many times, my memory isn't what it should be."

  The woman stepped back. Her grin said she wasn't offended. "Linda Pilster.
I married Grant Pilster. He was two years ahead of us. I used to be Linda Guardilargio when you knew me."

  Will reached out and shook her hand politely. "Linda, of course." He motioned toward Anne. "You remember Anne Fraser, don't you?"

  Now, it was Linda's turn to look confused. She smiled a hello, but immediately went back to Will. "Are you in town for the reunion?"

  Anne hadn't felt this invisible since her first board meeting, when she was a glorified gofer. She shifted her briefcase to her left hand and checked her watch. When she looked up, Will's gaze was on her.

  "Actually, Linda, we're here to see A.J.'s lawyer. Anne called for an appointment."

  Apparently realizing she was in breach of her duties, Linda scuttled back to her desk and sat down, drawing her appointment calendar into view.

  "The Silver Rose. Good grief, where is my head? It's all this crazy class reunions stuff! I'm losing it." She tapped her forehead then looked at Anne. "You're Esther's daughter, aren't you? I'm sorry I didn't recognize you. It was so hectic at the funeral we didn't really get a chance to talk. Everyone was impressed by how well you handled things. You were behind us in school, weren't you?"

  "A year," Anne said, finding it difficult to keep up with the woman's scattered thought processes.

  Linda picked up the phone and punched a button. Her acrylic nails sported little yellow flowers. She spoke into the receiver then hung up. "Dick will be right out," she said. "He's A.J.'s lawyer."

  The muffled sound of pages being turned filled the awkward silence. Linda leaned across her desk as if to touch Anne. "I want you to know how sad I was to hear about your mother. She was an amazing woman." Her smile was sincere but her perfume was so strong Anne actually backed up a step. She was grateful Zoey was across the room.

  "Thank you."

  Linda took a deep breath and let it out. "Esther helped our family a lot when my mom first got sick. You wouldn't believe how many trips it took to the specialist in Reno before they found out what was wrong. Your mother was there when they told us Mom had lupus."

  Anne winced. An old friend from college had been diagnosed with lupus. She was doing remarkably well, but Anne knew the prognosis was never great. "I'm so sorry. How's she doing?"

  Linda blinked, obviously embarrassed to have brought up the difficult subject. "Pretty good. She's in a nursing home, now."

  "Is she nearby?" Anne asked, making a mental note to send a card or flowers. Your mother would have visited, her conscience whispered.

  Linda swallowed. "Yep. It's why I moved back. To be closer to her and to help Daddy. He's lost without her. I swear, he's more helpless than my kids. At least they know how to run the dishwasher." Her laugh sounded forced, like she'd said the line many times in the past.

  Just then, a fifty-something man in a conservative suit came from the hallway to greet them. After reassuring Anne that Zoey would be safe in the waiting area, he ushered them to his office. Two bracketing generations of Johnston lawyers--one A.J.'s age, one Will's--dropped by to introduce themselves. All three were pleasant, professional, and obviously related.

  Since Will and Anne's business was cut-and-dried--just a matter of witnessing their signatures and assuring the senior Johnston that neither Will nor Anne had any intention of running his old friend's business into the ground--they were soon back in the reception area.

  Linda was nowhere in sight. Zoey got up and joined them. "I'm hungry."

  Anne ruffled her wispy curls. "When aren't you hungry?"

  They were just about to leave, when Linda caught them. "I just talked to Janice Graham, Will. She's head of the reunion committee. She said they sent your invitation to your grandfather, but we all know how hard Esther's passing was on him, so you might not have gotten it. How 'bout I fax you a copy?"

  Anne was almost positive he blushed. He scratched his chin and sighed. "I appreciate it, Linda, but don't bother. I'm here to help Gramps this summer. And Anne and I are going to be swamped once the guests start arriving."

  Anne's mouth almost hit the floor. His casual inclusion of her name gave the distinct impression they were connected in a way that went beyond business. Or had she imagined it?

  The speculative gleam in Linda's eyes told her that was exactly what she was thinking. Before Anne could set the record straight, Zoey yanked on her sleeve. "Can we get our ice cream now, Mommy?"

  Will put both hands on Zoey's shoulders and steered her out the door. "You bet, Miss Z. The Dairy-Doo is on the way to the bank."

  Anne might have lingered to explain that theirs was strictly a working relationship, but she couldn't take another minute of Linda's perfume. Besides, did it matter what people thought? She and Will were practically related. Only a complete idiot would contemplate something sexual between them.

  An idiot, huh? And who might that be?

  Anne ignored her inner voice and dashed to catch up with her daughter, who was bent over laughing. Anne's heart gave a funny stutter. When was the last time she’d seen Zoey laugh with such abandon?

  Will spotted her and gave a slight nod and mischievous wink.

  When was the last time a man's wink made my knees weak?

  Anne was honest enough to admit she didn't want to know the answer to either of those questions.

  Three hours later, Will lowered the tailgate of his truck and faced the two-dozen brown-paper grocery bags lined up like feed sacks.

  "Better to stock up now than face intermittent trips to town," Anne had announced after leading a Pied Piper caravan of clerks with carts through the parking lot. After their visit to the bank, Will and Zoey had passed the time in an arcade two doors down from the grocery store while Anne shopped for the "food items to get us by until we hire a chef."

  He'd volunteered to assist in the shopping, but Anne had insisted he'd be doing her a bigger favor by entertaining Zoey. "Zoey hates to shop for groceries, don't you, honey? And the process takes twice as long and costs three times as much when a child is along."

  Zoey had agreed wholeheartedly, taking his hand to lead the way to the arcade. Will hadn't expected her to warm up to him so fast after their awkward start that morning, but apparently little girls didn't hold grudges--although she'd extracted revenge by gleefully crushing him at every video game he tried.

  Will figured the exercise in humility had cost him about thirty bucks. Which, glancing at the bags of groceries, was about a tenth of what Zoey's mother had spent.

  Guests have to eat. And the first arrivals would checking in in three days.

  He wrapped his arms around two bags and headed toward the back porch. Anne had left the door ajar. Zoey had needed to use the bathroom right away--a possible reaction to her mega-Pepsi and double-dip ice-cream cone. The two had hurried inside without looking back.

  At times, Zoey acted like a normal kid, full of mischief and nervous energy, but at others, she seemed wilted--a delicate flower deprived of sunlight and water. Despite his intention to keep a safe distance, Will had enjoyed spending time with the little girl. And her mother.

  Unfortunately, after their stop at the law office, Anne had retreated into a distant reserve. No more slips about her ex-husband. No more shy smiles and provocative blushes. Had he ever met a woman who blushed more becomingly?

  He set the bags on the counter then returned to the truck. As he walked along the garden path, he reviewed their first day in business.

  Lawyers? Check.

  Banking? Check.

  Groceries? He wrapped his arms around a second load. Check.

  Attraction toward Anne? He hesitated. Double check.

  Will wasn't blind or completely obtuse. He knew that part of the tension between him and his new partner was sexual. But only an idiot mixed business and pleasure, especially with a child in the picture. A lovely, fragile little girl who already had a lasso around his heart.

  He trudged up the steps, feeling weighted down by something far heavier than two bags of food. For a man who'd gotten stomped on by more bulls than h
e could remember and had slept with more women than he cared to recall, Will didn't have a clue how to handle this situation. Run for the hills sounded like a good idea, but he'd just signed his name to a card at the bank that required him to endorse every check Anne issued. If he made himself scarce after the Silver Rose guests arrived, he'd cripple the business.

  "Just set them anywhere," a voice said, startling him from his musings. "I'll put things away."

  He tripped over the threshold and bumped into Anne, who was waiting to exit. "Sorry," he mumbled, trying to ignore the pleasant sensation of her arm touching his. He'd abandoned his jacket hours earlier.

  "No harm," she said.

  "There're only a few bags left. Why don't you start unpacking while I grab them?"

  She reversed course. "Good idea. I need to find the ice cream. Next time, we'll have to remember to pack an ice chest for the cold stuff."

  "Where's Zoey?"

  "On the computer." She gave a little laugh. "You'd think two hours at an arcade would have satiated the thirst for conquering lands and enslaving peons, wouldn't you?"

  He chuckled. Before petering out on the drive home, Zoey had regaled Anne with the humiliating story of trying to teach Will how to play Cossacks, a video game that defied his tactile abilities and apparently required a more bellicose nature--like an eight-year-old girl's.

  "Nothing like getting shown up by a four-foot Hun."

  Anne smiled. "Don't let it get you down." She snickered softly. "I never win, either."

  Will resisted the impulse to hug her out of sheer gratitude. He returned to the truck for another load so he wasn't tempted to admit that her admission eased the ridiculous irritation he'd felt at being beaten by a child. Maybe if he hadn't scratched eight out of the last nine times he was on a bull, something so trivial wouldn't have bothered him. But it did.

  He juggled the final three bags and shouldered the tailgate closed. Whistling the new Florida-Georgia Line tune, he entered the house. "Um, Anne, could you help me out? I got lazy and this bag..." He felt the lone plastic bag start to slip through his fingers.