The Cowboy's Sweetheart

At the moment Andie wanted to throw up because she was Andie Forester and she didn’t think like that. She didn’t think sunshine and lace. She thought leather boots and saddles. She thought hard and tough. She was a tomboy. She knew how to hang with the crowd, with cowboys and stock contractors, and guys from Dawson, Oklahoma.

But her dad had been wrong. Brooks & Dunn were wrong. Sometimes cowgirls did cry. Sometimes, on a dusty road in Oklahoma when there wasn’t anyone around to see, cowgirls sobbed like little girls in pigtails.

Sometimes, when her best friend had hurt her in a way she had never thought he could, a cowgirl cried.

But she’d get it out of her system before she got to Dawson, and she’d be fine. Ryder Johnson wasn’t going to get to her, not again.

That was another thing about Foresters. They learned from their mistakes. She shouldn’t have made this mistake in the first place. That’s what really got to her.

She downshifted as she drove through the tiny town of Dawson, all three businesses and twenty or so houses. The trailer hooked to her truck jerked a little and she glanced in the rearview mirror, smiling because even Dusty was glad to be home. The dusty gold of his nose was sticking out of the side window, his lips curled a little as he sniffed the familiar scents in the air.

Home was where people knew her. Yeah, they knew her secrets, they knew her most embarrassing moments, but people knowing her was good. The folks in Dawson had shaken their heads, sometimes laughed at her antics, but they’d always been there for her.

The end of September was a good time to return to Oklahoma. The weather would be cooling off and in a month or so, the leaves would change colors.

She would get back to normal. Home would do that for her.

Andie took in another deep breath, and this time she didn’t feel the sting of tears. She was done crying. Her pep talk to herself had worked.

She slowed as she drove past the Mad Cow Café and pretended she wasn’t looking for Ryder’s truck. But she was. It was an old habit. She consoled herself with that thought. And with another one—his truck wasn’t there. Hopefully he was still on the road. She didn’t want to run into him, not yet.

They’d both been going in opposite directions as fast as they could, putting distance between them and their big mistake. He’d gone back to riding bulls or steer roping, whatever he was doing this year. She’d taken off for Wyoming and a rodeo event she hadn’t wanted to miss. Even her trips home had been planned for the times she knew he’d be gone.

The last time Ryder had seen her, well, she’d done a lot of changing since then. She wasn’t ready to talk to him about any of that.

At least Dawson hadn’t changed. That was something Andie could count on. Her hometown would always be the safe place to land. Jenny Dawson, the town matriarch whose grandfather had started this little community, would always be in her front yard wearing a floral print housedress, digging in her flower gardens, a wide-brimmed hat shading her face from the Oklahoma sun. Omar Gregs would forever be in the corral outside his big barn, a shovel in hand, and that old dog of his sniffing at a rabbit trail.

And Granny Etta would always be at home, waiting.

She slowed as she drove past the Johnson ranch, past the drive that led to Ryder’s house. Her best friend. Her heart clenched, the pain unfamiliar, sinking from her heart to her stomach. He’d never been the one to make her feel that way.

The truck jerked a little, evidence of a restless horse that had been in a trailer for too many hours. Andie downshifted as she approached the drive that led to the barn. It felt good to see the yellow Victorian she’d grown up in. It looked just the way it had the last time she was at home. Flowers bloomed profusely out of control. The lavender wicker furniture on the front porch was a sign that all was well in the world.

As she turned into the drive, Andie noticed a big sedan on the other side of the house, parked in the driveway that company used. Company, great.

Etta walked out the front door, waving big.

Andie’s grandmother had hair that matched the furniture on the porch, kind of. It was the closest the stylist in Grove could get to lavender. And it clashed something horrible with Etta’s tanned skin. A Native American woman with Irish ancestors didn’t have the complexion to carry off lavender hair.

But tall and thin, she did have the ability to carry off some wild tie-dyed clothes. The clothing was her own design, her own line, and it sold nationwide.

Andie drove the truck down the drive and parked at the barn. Etta was fast-walking across the lawn, the wind swirling the yellow-and-pink tie-dyed skirt around her long legs.

Andie hopped out of the truck and ran to greet her grandmother. Andie was twenty-eight years old—almost twenty-nine—and a hug had never felt so good. When Etta wrapped strong arms around her and held her tight, it was everything.

It was a bandage on a heart that wasn’t broken, more like bruised and confused. She hadn’t expected it to take this long to heal.

“Sweetheart, it’s been too long. And why that serious face and no smile? Didn’t you call and tell me things were good?”

“Things are good, Gran.”

“Well, now why am I not buying that?”

“I’m not sure.” Andie smiled as big as she could and her granny gave her a critical stare before shaking her head.

“Okay, get Dusty Boy out of that trailer and let’s go inside. I bet you’re hungry.”

“I am hungry.” Starving. She’d been starving for the past few weeks. She was just sick of truck-stop and hotel-restaurant food. Even when she’d stopped in with friends, it hadn’t been the same. Nobody cooked like Etta.

Andie moved the latch on the trailer and stepped inside, easing down the empty half of the trailer to unhook Dusty. He shook his head, glad to be free and then backed out, snorting, his hooves clanging loud on the floor of the trailer.

“Come on, boy, time for you to have a run in the pasture.”

“Where’d you stay last week?” Etta was standing outside, shading her face with her hand, blocking the glare of the setting sun.

Andie held tight to the lead rope, giving Dusty a minute to calm down. His head was up and his ears alert as he snorted and pawed the ground, eager to be back in the pasture with the other horses.

“I was at Joy and Bob’s.”

“You were in Kansas? Why didn’t you just come on home?”

Because she didn’t want to face Ryder and she’d heard he might be home. She’d planned her timing lately so that she was home when he wasn’t. But how did she explain that to Etta?

She shrugged, “I was looking at a mare they have for sale.”

Not a lie.

The roar of a truck coming down the road caught their attention. Dusty dipped his head to pull at a bite of clover, but he looked up, golden ears perked, twisting like radar as he tuned into the noises around him. He snorted and grabbed another mouthful of grass. Andie pulled on the lead rope and his head came up.

The truck slowed at their driveway. Etta beamed. “Well, there’s that Ryder Johnson. He’s been down here three times in the past week. He says he’s checking on me, but I think he misses his running buddy.”

“I’m sure. If he missed me that much…” He would have called. Two months, he could have called. He hadn’t.

Etta shot her a look, eyes narrowing. “What’s going on with you two kids?”

“Well, first of all, we’re not kids. Second, he needs to grow up.”

“Oh, so that’s the way the wind blows.”

“This might be Oklahoma, but the wind isn’t blowing, Etta.” Andie turned toward the barn, Dusty at her side. He rubbed his big head on her arm and she pushed him back. “Bad manners, Dusty.”

“Where are you going?” Etta hurried to catch up.

“To put my horse up.”

“Well, I guess I’ll make tea.”

Tea was Etta’s cure for everything.