Single Dad Cowboy

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)

Questions for Discussion (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter One

The farmer stood his ground, his jeans loose, his button-down shirt frayed, with one button missing. Harmony Cross didn’t back down, though. She couldn’t back down. She also couldn’t explain why the horse in his corral mattered so much to her. But the skinny Appaloosa, black with a smattering of white on its rump, mattered. Possibly more than anything had ever mattered in her whole life.

She needed this horse. She needed something to pour her heart into, something that would love her in return and maybe, just maybe, help her find a way back to the person she used to be.

“I don’t know why you think I’m not taking care of that animal.” The old farmer, with a gray grizzled beard and sunken, hazy brown eyes, scratched his chin, as if he really didn’t get it. “I just rode him in the rodeo last night.”

“No, you didn’t,” Harmony countered, nearly smiling, yet not. “I’ll give you double what the animal is worth.”

“I’m not selling that horse. He’s a national champion.”

Harmony glanced at the skin-and-bones animal. “No, he isn’t. I’ve been driving by here for a week, and every day that horse is reaching across the fence trying to get one blade of grass. He’s starving.”

He pointed a finger at her that trembled. “I don’t care if you are Gibson Cross’s kid. You aren’t going to talk to me that way, missy.”

So, he knew who she was. Even though she’d tried to keep a low profile since she showed up in Dawson, Oklahoma, a week ago there would always be talk. There would always be people wanting to help. There would always be people who thought they knew where her life had gone wrong and what she needed to do to get back on track.

She’d come here looking for a place to hide, to get her life together because no one knew how much she hurt inside. The physical pain was nothing compared to the heartache of losing her best friend, the guilt that plagued her daily, and the nightmares.

At twenty-six, finding herself didn’t come easy.

At twenty-six, she had a list. Not a bucket list, but a list for moving forward. First, stay clean. Second, be physically whole again. Third, find a place to be herself, without everyone trying to help. Fourth, stay clean. And fifth—somehow come to terms with the fact that Amy would never call her again.

The horse had been an impulsive thing; it didn’t really fit into her plans. Each time she drove by the farm, she saw the animal. And each time her heart got a little more involved. This time she’d stopped. She looked from the horse to Mr. Tanner.

“Look, the horse is just in that corral doing nothing but grazing rocks and dirt.” She softened her voice to one of sympathy. Because she did feel bad for the farmer who lived in the tiny square of a house, the front porch sagging on one end. He looked as hungry as his horse. Selling the animal to her could mean money he didn’t have, maybe buying groceries he needed. So why was he being so stubborn? She wanted to ask, but knew the question would set him off again.

“I know what that horse is doing. He’s waiting for my grandson to come home to work with him. I’m not selling.”

“Maybe your grandson has outgrown the animal. It happens. They start looking at girls, driving cars, and horses lose their importance.” It had happened to her. She tried not to let the memories slide back into her mind, memories of losing herself. Somewhere along the way, she’d lost the horse-crazy girl who loved to run barrels, build a bonfire and sing in church. The girl who knew herself.

That girl had lost herself in a life far from Dawson.

The old man, Mr. Tanner, shook his head and moisture filled the hazy brown eyes. “Get out of here.”

“Mr. Tanner, I just want...”

He moved toward her, taking a quick step, grabbing her arm with a hand that shook. “Get back in that shiny car of yours and go. The horse isn’t for sale.”

Time for a new tactic. “Then I won’t buy him. I’ll take him to my place and feed him. Your grandson can come and see him if he decides he likes horses again.”

Mr. Tanner brushed at his eyes and shook his head. “Terry died in Afghanistan.”

Harmony closed her eyes briefly as a wave of grief slid through her heart. “I’m so sorry.”

A truck pulled up the drive. A dinged and dented extended-cab truck that she didn’t recognize. It rolled to a stop. The man inside sat there a minute, his hat pulled low over his eyes.

“Just what we need is a Cooper showing up and butting into my business,” Mr. Tanner growled, giving her a narrow-eyed look.

“I didn’t invite him,” she tossed back.

Harmony turned toward the truck and the cowboy getting out. She was suddenly tired, and her body was starting to react to standing for so long. She hadn’t thought this would be so difficult, buying a skin-and-bones horse. Nothing had been easy since the accident a little less than a year ago.

New Year’s Eve would mark the one-year anniversary. It wasn’t an anniversary she wanted to celebrate. New Year’s Eve would never be a fun-filled holiday again. She would never bring in another year without thinking of that phone call, asking her best friend to pick her up because she was so drunk she couldn’t drive.

“Dylan Cooper, been a mite too long since I seen you in these parts.” Mr. Tanner’s words shook her back to the present. She looked up as Dylan Cooper walked with a slow, easy gait in their direction.

Harmony wanted to groan but didn’t. Dylan Cooper was the last person she needed to see. She’d heard he was living in Texas. Of course he would be home now. Of course he would still be the best-looking Cooper of the bunch, with his lean cowboy frame and country-boy grin. He was tanned from summer sunshine. And his dark hair curled beneath his white cowboy hat.

With a dozen kids in Angie and Tim Cooper’s family, calling him the best-looking was saying something. In this new life she didn’t have time for good-looking, smooth-talking men. She had two relationships she was focusing on. With herself, and with God.

“Bill.” Dylan Cooper adjusted his cowboy hat and shifted to look at her. Harmony lifted her chin a notch and stared right back at him. The hazel eyes she remembered from so long ago were less teasing, less sharp. He had gone from boy to man in the years since she’d seen him last.

The teenage Dylan had been a flirt. He’d been too cute for words and he’d known it. She had steered clear. But then one year she’d taken a walk down by the creek with him. He’d kissed her, told her he didn’t like spoiled little girls and then walked away, leaving her mad enough to spit.

“Harmony Cross, I didn’t expect to see you here.” His gaze lowered to the cane in her right hand and then eased back to her face. “How are you?”

“Good.” She stopped herself from being sarcastic. She’d had a wreck that nearly killed her and did kill her best friend. She’d been in rehab. She’d overcome addiction. She was great. “How are you?”

“Been better.” He shifted back to Bill Tanner. “You doing all right, Bill?”

“Been better.” Bill smiled just a little as he repeated Dylan’s words, but Harmony saw the moisture in his eyes.

“I just came to pay my respects. I’m real sorry, Bill. If there’s anything you and Doris need, you let me know.”

“I appreciate that, Dylan. We’re making it, though.”

“What’s Miss Cross doing here?” Dylan didn’t look at her. He adjusted his white cowboy hat and kept his gaze fixed on Mr. Tanner.

“She’s trying to buy Terry’s horse.” Mr. Tanner sighed and shook his head. “All of this fuss over a horse.”

“Mr. Tanner, at least let me buy you some hay.” Harmony made the quick offer, thinking now would be the time to escape.

“Why are you keeping that horse, Bill?” Dylan’s tone was easy, friendly. Harmony shot him a look, doubting he was really on her side in this matter. More likely he was on the horse’s side.

Mr. Tanner looked away from them, back to the horse in the corral. The animal, as if he knew they were discussing his future, moved to the fence to watch. It was mid-September and a breeze blew, feathering the horse’s dark tail in the light wind. For a minute the animal was almost pretty.

“I keep thinking he’ll come home.” Mr. Tanner finally answered, the words hollow and sad.

Dylan’s hand rested on the farmer’s shoulder. “Terry wouldn’t want his horse kept that way.”