Finding Her Cowboy

by Sarah Gay

  Chapter Nine

  The morning of Jack’s grand opening, Becca had completed her own shop’s overhaul. The thought of seeing Jack caused her heart to leap, but she had to remind herself that she couldn’t literally leap as she stepped onto the top rung of the green ladder. “You got me?” Becca asked as the ladder jostled, nearly causing one of her feet to slip.

  “I don’t think you’re supposed to stand on the top step like that,” Grace warned.

  “As long as I know you’re holding the bottom, I’ll be okay,” Becca said to steady her own nerves.

  “I got you. I think,” said Grace with hesitation.

  Becca ignored her shaking legs as she reached her arm down. “Can you hand me up the basket?” She’d run out of space in her shop and the large Guatemalan, hand-woven basket would look fabulous on the wall above the white shelf that she’d piled high with colorful hand-loomed scarves. Grace pushed the basket up to Becca, allowing her to grab hold of the lip of the basket. Becca carefully lifted it onto the nail in the wall, then descended the ladder with caution. When she reached the bottom, she threw her hands in the air.

  “We did it!” Becca exclaimed. She dusted off her hands and took a step back to admire her work. “Perfect. I almost don’t want to sell anything—look how beautiful the shop is. I never want to lose these gorgeous colors on my walls.” She snapped her fingers. “Grace, when we’ve sold half of our current inventory, we’re going to Africa to purchase more. I think our customers will appreciate the variety.”

  “Ahh,” Grace drew out. “You might want to book those flights now. I posted all the videos today that I took of you painting those tables for the women we purchased from in Guatemala, Nicaragua, Honduras, and Mexico.” Her face lifted into a bright smile. “Our customers are going nuts. They not only want to buy the products,” she clapped her hands, “but get this, they want to buy your artwork. I think it’s time we buy you canvas and real paint brushes.”

  “What?” Becca clutched her hands together and brought them to her chest. “They want to buy my art, but all I’ve done is paint a few tables for women who need something to set their merchandise on.” And I was imagining kissing Jack in his garden the entire time—it was more for me than for them.

  Grace sighed as if she needed, once again, to educate Becca. “Becca, you’re an artist. People want to pay you to paint. And they want to advertise with us. I’ve already had a few online stores reach out to me to see if we’d display their products on our page because we’re getting so many hits.”

  “I really enjoy painting, more than I thought I ever would,” Becca said with a shake of her head as she sat on the stool behind the sales counter, trying to wrap her head around what Grace was telling her. “But art is not a job for me, it’s an outlet.”

  “Well,” said Grace with a laugh. “I think your outlet is about to make you a lot of money.”

  “Good morning, sunshine,” Becca’s mother sang out as she stepped into Becca’s shop. “How’s my budding artist?”

  Becca’s stomach knitted into a tight knot. She hadn’t seen or spoken to her mother in weeks. Her mom’s studio was only a five-minute walk from her shop, but neither she nor her mother had reached out to each other since her parents’ separation.

  “Grace, could you look into those airline tickets for us? I’ll be back in a few minutes. Mom,” she nodded to her mother curtly. “Do you want to take a quick walk with me? I need some fresh air.”

  “Wonderful,” her mom said cheerfully, not picking up on Becca’s intonation. “You can walk me back to my studio. The art festival is tomorrow and, as a fellow artist, you can lend me your expert eye.”

  “I wouldn’t say I have an expert eye,” said Becca, squinting as she stepped out into the bright sunshine, but the sunshine was deceiving. The cool air cut through Becca’s thin silk shirt.

  “I saw the videos today,” her mother said, taking Becca by the arm and leading her down the busy sidewalk. The clear skies had a good portion of McKinney out on the square to start the weekend early, socializing in both large and small groups.

  Becca turned her head away from her mother and coughed at her overpowering perfume. Her mom had worn the same perfume since before Becca was born, perhaps that’s why her mother had become desensitized to the scent. In small amounts, the perfume had a pleasing bouquet, but when applied in abundance, it overpowered Becca’s senses. At least her stomach couldn’t churn with nausea from the strong odor while it was still knotted.

  “Becca,” her mom said, patting her arm. “I’m sorry about what’s going on between me and your dad.”

  Becca wrinkled her brow. “Thanks,” was all Becca could get out.

  “And I can’t tell you how excited I am to see that my daughter has inherited my love and talent for art. I’m so proud of you,” she said, leaning into Becca’s side.

  Becca swallowed down a lump in her throat with the realization that for as much as she tried to bury her need to be accepted by her mother, it felt amazing that she finally was. She didn’t know, until that moment, the power her mom’s opinion had on her and that her mother’s acceptance meant something to her, meant a great deal to her. “Yeah,” agreed Becca. “I never knew how much I would love art. I hadn’t painted in forever and you’re right, I do love it, and I’m learning to accept that I have a little talent.”

  “A little talent?” her mom said, throwing a hand in the air. “You glow with talent. Anyone who’s watched the videos would have to admit that. My daughter is going to give her mama a run for her money.”

  “Thanks,” Becca said with a smile. “But I really don’t know how painting fits into my life yet.”

  “I do,” said her mom, opening her art studio’s stained-glass door. “I’m going to start displaying some of your works in my studio. In fact,” she said, motioning inside, “—how would you feel about spending some time here every day, painting at my side?”

  “That…would be great,” Becca said with a stutter, not sure how to handle her mother’s sudden interest in her, or if she could trust it.

  “Let me show you what I’m thinking,” said her mom with the biggest smile and most alert facial expression Becca had seen her mother have since…never. “See that space.” Her mom pointed to the one exposed, red brick wall; the remaining wall painted bright white to contrast her mother’s compositions. “Your paintings will hang there. That wall is protected from the natural sunlight. And you can use the studio space on the top floor any time you want to paint,” she said, leading Becca up the narrow staircase.

  Becca’s mouth dropped open as she studied the artist workshop on the second floor. “I haven’t been in here since you remodeled.” It was now one single, open room, every wall stripped bare to age-old brick, the original hardwood floor splattered with flicks of paint. The best part, several paint easels were set up in front of three large windows that overlooked the square.

  “Here, I’ll set up easels for us,” her mom said, opening a case of acrylic paints and setting it on a table between two of the windows. “You don’t have to paint if you don’t want to, but it’ll be fun for you to get a feel for what it’d be like.”

  For the next hour and a half, Becca and her mom chatted about the square as they both painted scenes of the Friday crowd that congregated for lunch. It was the first time she could remember ever having had a comfortable conversation with her mother as an adult.

  “I need to get back to my shop.” Becca stood, untied her smock, and handed it back to her mom. “But I’ll see you tomorrow night for the arts festival. I’ll stop by after I’ve locked up my shop. Okay?” she said with a smile. Being accepted by her mom had healed an invisible wound in her heart.

  Becca’s step lightened with hope as she walked briskly through the square toward her store. She glanced over at her and Jack’s tree and quickened her pace. She touched her fingertips to her lips and sighed as she stepped into her shop with a smile. “Hey, Grace. How are things?”

  �
�Great,” Grace said, returning Becca’s smile. “How was your walk?”

  “Surprisingly therapeutic,” Becca said, grabbing a few scarves off the shelf which had become disheveled and began folding them.

  Grace stepped out from behind the sales counter. “Ronny will be here in a few minutes. We can handle the store if you want to run to Dallas.”

  “Why would you think I’m itching to go to Dallas?” Becca asked, unable to suppress a smile.

  “Just go.” Grace rolled her eyes and laughed. “Our flights to Africa are next week, and by our sales projections, we are going to need more product by the time we return. If I were you, I wouldn’t spend another second away from that hunky man.”

  “If you twist my arm,” Becca said, grabbing her purse from behind the counter. “Navi,” she called to her cat.

  “Who’s taking care of Navi when we’re in Africa?”

  “My dad,” answered Becca. “Navi’s warmed up to him. They’re buddies now.”

  “Is he still staying at your house?”

  Becca lifted Navi into her arms. “Yeah. But I think he’ll be moving back home soon; he’s been slowly packing his things, but I don’t want to ask him when he’s planning on leaving and make it seem like I’m eager for him to move out, you know?” After Becca’s positive conversation with her mom today, maybe her dad would move back home soon.

  “Tell Jack congrats for me,” Grace said with a wave as she tapped away at the store’s computer keyboard.

  “You got it. Thanks, Grace. Bye,” Becca said, bolting out the door.

  An hour later, Becca pulled into the parking lot of Jack’s new garden center and parked in a spot at the far end of the lot, next to a dark blue Tesla, which made her smile, remembering the day she’d gotten her business license. Becca jumped out of her car, shivering as a cold breeze swirled up her legs. She reached back into her car and grabbed her coat to cover her bare arms. Perhaps a little black dress wasn’t the most appropriate thing to wear to a garden store’s grand opening.

  The garden center had the same wood and stone exterior façade as the McKinney store, but its blue and white trim were more vibrant, and the building appeared nearly twice the size as its sister store.

  As Becca approached the sliding glass doors, the aroma of sweet and savory barbeque happily invaded her senses, causing her stomach to rumble, reminding her she hadn’t eaten lunch, she’d been too preoccupied with getting to Jack’s store to see him.

  “Becca!” someone called to her from her right. She looked over to find a massive grill being manned by Harlan in a white chef’s cap and a long black apron.

  “Harlan,” she said through a toothy smile. “How’ve you been?”

  “Fabulous,” he said, waving his metal tongs in the air. “It’s always a party here,” he said. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. Do you want to taste my barbeque specialty?”

  All she wanted to do was sprint inside and find Jack, but she didn’t want to be rude or faint from hunger on her way inside. “Love to,” she said. “Do you know where I can find Jack?”

  “I can text him for you,” he offered as he used his tongs to transfer shredded meat from a pan on the grill onto a bun prepared on a paper plate.

  She immediately took the plate from him, picked up the warm sandwich, and took a hearty bite. The sweet, slightly spicy brisket softened when it touched her tongue, melting away as she chewed. “How did you do that?” she asked with a moan. “It’s amazing!”

  Harlan stood a little taller, his face lifting into a grin until his eyes widened, shooting past her.

  “What’s wrong?” Becca asked, looking over her shoulder, wondering if Rob had walked up behind her. Instead of Rob, a pretty, curvy woman stood, smiling at Harlan like he was the bread to her butter.

  “Hey, Harlan,” she said sweetly, tossing back her curly blonde hair.

  Becca looked between them, nodded goodbye, then quietly slipped away. She took the last bite of her sandwich, then tossed the disposable plate in the garbage on her way into the building.

  The garden shop bustled with customers, causing Becca’s chest to swell with pride. Jack had done it; he’d not only opened his store on time, he’d filled it with happy customers. The store’s ambient music stopped, replaced with a crackle of the intercom.

  “Welcome to the grand opening of our garden center,” Jack’s voice echoed through the store, causing Becca to stop in the pesticide aisle and glance up at the speaker above her head. The chemical-laced, chalky-cement odor of pesticide permeated the air around her as Jack continued, “We are celebrating our third year anniversary today and I want to personally thank each and every one of you for making the grand opening of our second store a success. In celebration of our opening, we are serving free barbeque sandwiches in the parking lot, and a few local five-star restaurants are offering free drinks and desserts this week if you mention our name. The list of restaurants is located on our website. Please enjoy your visit with us today and come back again soon.”

  Becca pulled out her phone and texted Jack. Congrats! Want to celebrate? I’ve heard you’re so popular that high class establishments are dishing desserts out for free in your honor.

  You’re here! He responded immediately. Meet me at the front.

  Sure thing, boss, she texted back.

  She bolted to the front of the store and squealed like a teenager at a rock concert when she locked eyes with Jack, not the least bit successful in containing her excitement. Jack strutted toward her, not breaking eye contact. The second he reached her, he wrapped her in his arms in a tight embrace. She dragged in a deep breath of his earthy, tiger grass scent, holding it in her chest for as long as she could. He took her by her hand, leading her into a far corner of the outdoor garden section of the store, vacant and quiet. They stopped under a garden trellis, lit with soft outdoor lighting.

  “I can’t believe you’re here,” he said, brushing her hair back from her face and staring into her eyes.

  “Does that mean you missed me?” she asked.

  His eyes fell to her lips. “You have no idea,” he said in a breathy voice, shaking his head, but didn’t lean down to kiss her.

  Becca lifted her hand and cupped the side of his face. “I do have an idea,” she said, her heart pounding out of her chest.

  “Jack!” came a man’s voice from behind them.

  “Ignore him,” said Jack, not looking over.

  Becca smiled and turned her head to Rob.

  “Hey, y’all!” Rob greeted them with a clap. “Let’s go celebrate.”

  “You’re interrupting,” said Jack with a sigh.

  “Come on,” Rob petitioned, waving for them to follow him. “Our driver is waiting out front.” He looked down at his watch. “In fact, everyone’s waiting at the restaurant to congratulate you.” He rubbed his hands together.

  “I don’t need that, Rob,” said Jack.

  “Tell you what, I’ll find you two a private booth once you’ve been seen. I’ve told my staff not to serve our group until we arrived, so we’ve got some starving people about ready to eat each other. Come on, little bro, this is your day,” he said, grabbing Jack by the shoulders. “Harlan’s already on his way there with a female friend.”

  Jack squeezed Becca’s hand. “You okay with this?” he asked her.

  “Sounds fun,” she said, taking his arm. “Let’s go.”

  “You heard the boss lady,” Jack said to Rob. “Let’s go.”

  Becca lifted a brow. “Boss lady? Really?”

  Jack shrugged. “Would you prefer empress, queen, madame,” he continued until they’d exited the store to a waiting limo. Jack whistled. “Traveling in style tonight?” He scanned his surroundings, as if making sure no one was watching him climb in.

  Rob chuckled. “Only the best to celebrate my little brother’s successes.”

  Becca had always wondered what it would be like to ride in a limo. She stepped into what was basically a moving living room, every inch covered i
n dark leather or fake wood, but it didn’t smell like leather, it held the aroma of alcohol and sweet cinnamon rolls. At least she didn’t feel overdressed anymore. She removed her jacket and cuddled into Jack’s chest. He placed his arm around her, trailing his fingers up and down her arm as he’d touched her arm in his garden.

  The quick, ten-minute drive ended in front of an Italian restaurant, the kind with white linen tablecloths and two doormen who opened the door for Becca as she stepped out of the limo.

  “Wow,” she mouthed. She’d never dined in a restaurant like that before and did the only thing that came to mind. She tilted her chin up and sauntered through the doors like she’d seen runway models do on the entertainment channel.

  “Becca?” asked Jack in an amused voice as he hurried to her side. “Where are you going?”

  She stopped and looked up at him, confusion clouding her face. “I have no idea,” she laughed out. “I guess I thought I’d roll with it.”

  He laughed. “Great,” he said, scratching the side of his face, “but when you roll with it, can you maybe roll with it…with me?”

  She lowered her shoulders. “Sorry, I guess I lost myself for a second.”

  “Or maybe you found yourself,” he said with a wink. “You walked in here like you owned the place. You should’ve seen the staff hop to attention when you walked in with Rob.”

  She wrinkled her brow. “I walked in with Rob?”

  Jack grabbed her hand. “Not exactly. It was more like, he walked in with you. I wish I could replay how powerful you looked.” He blew out a breath. “You have no idea the power and beauty that emanates out of you, Becca. I can’t believe you can’t see it.” He looked between her and Rob with an expression she couldn’t read, but it wasn’t calm and joyful—like he should be feeling, walking into a party in his honor.

  She shook her head. “That’s not me,” she said, dismissing his comment with a flick of her wrist.