The Cowboy's Sweetheart

“Don’t invite him for tea, Etta. I’ll take care of this, but he doesn’t need to hang out here.”

“Nonsense.” And Etta stormed off, like a wise grandmother who had dealt with her share of lovesick kids. Andie shook her head and unhooked the gate. She wasn’t lovesick.

She was mad at herself. And mad at Ryder.

“Off you go, Dusty. Eat some green grass and I’ll be back later.”

She watched, smiling as her horse made a dash around the field, bucked a few times and then found a place to roll on his back. And then she couldn’t put it off any longer. She turned, and there he was, walking toward her, his hat low over his eyes. She didn’t need to see those eyes. Brown, long dark lashes. He had a dimple in his chin and a mouth that flashed white teeth when he smiled. He had rough hands that could hold a woman tight and a voice that sounded raspy and smooth, all at the same time.

Those were things she had just learned about him, eight weeks ago. Before that he’d had a voice that teased and hands that held hers tight when they climbed fences or arm wrestled. He had been the person she told her secrets to and shared her fears with.

More than anything she was mad that he couldn’t be that person right now. Instead, he was the person she needed to talk about.

He was tall, a cowboy who wore faded jeans, ripped at the knees, and button-down shirts, plaid with pearl buttons. He was her best friend. They’d been friends for twenty-five years, since his family moved to Dawson from Tulsa. His dad had done something right with the stock market. His mom had inherited a chunk of cash. It hadn’t been a perfect life though, and a little over five years ago his parents had died in a car accident.

She’d been there for him.

He’d buried his face into her shoulder and she remembered her fingers on soft, brown hair.

She remembered waking up weeks ago, knowing her life would never be the same. One night, one mistake, and her world had come unraveled.

And then God had hemmed it up again. She’d been running from God longer than she’d been running from Ryder. God had caught her first.

Ryder watched the changing expressions on Andie’s face and he wondered what kind of storm he was about to face. Would it be the summer kind that passes over with little damage, or the other kind, the kind that happens when hot air meets cold?

He had a feeling that it was the hot-meets-cold kind. She had gone from something that looked like sad, to pretty close to furious, and now she was smiling. But the coldness in her eyes was still there. She had latched the gate and she was strong again.

She stood next to the barn, looking a lot like she had the last time he’d seen her. She was a country girl, born and raised in Dawson. Her idea of dressing up was changing into a new pair of jeans and boots that weren’t scuffed. She was tall, slim, with short blond hair and brilliant blue eyes.

And she had every right to be angry.

He slowed a little, because maybe this wasn’t a hornet’s nest he wanted to walk into. It was going to get worse when she found out who was in the house waiting for her. She leaned back against the barn, the wind lifting her hair, blowing it around her face.

“Did you forget how to use a phone?” Yep, she was mad. Her voice was a little softer, a little huskier than normal.

“Nope. I just thought I’d give you a few weeks to get over being mad at me,” he said.

“I wouldn’t have been mad if you had left a note, called, maybe met up with me somewhere.”

“I know.” He cracked his knuckles and she glared. He took that to mean she wanted more than an easy answer. “I’m not good at relationships.”

Understatement. And it was an explanation she didn’t need from him. His parents had spent his childhood fighting, drinking and socializing. The ranch here in Dawson had saved him. At least he’d had horses to keep him busy and out from under their feet.

Away from his parents had usually been the best, safest bet for a kid.

He’d had Andie to run with and Etta’s house as a safe haven. Right at that moment Andie looked anything but safe. Standing there with her arms wrapped around herself, hugging her middle tight, she looked angry, sad, and about a dozen other female emotions he didn’t want to put a name on.

“Relationship? This isn’t a relationship, Ryder. This is us. We were friends.”

“Oh, come on, we’re still friends.” He slipped an arm around her shoulder and she slid out of the embrace. “We’ll go out tomorrow, maybe drive into Tulsa. It’ll be like old times.”

“Nope.” She walked quickly toward the house. He kept up.

So, the rumors were true. “This is about church, isn’t it?”

She stopped abruptly and turned. “No, it isn’t about church. You think that going to church would make me mad at you? Don’t be an idiot.”

“Well isn’t that what people do when they feel guilty?” He winked. “They get right with God?”

“Shut up, Ryder.”

She took off again, arms swinging, boots stomping on the dry grass.

“We’ve been friends forever.”

“Right.” She stopped and when she glanced up, before she could shake the look, he thought she looked hurt.

The way she’d looked hurt when he’d turned eleven and she’d been about ten, but not quite. He’d had a bunch of boys over and she hadn’t been invited. He’d told her it was a guys-only party and she’d wanted to be one of the guys, because she was his best friend.

Now he realized that best friends shouldn’t be easy to hold or feel soft in a guy’s arms. Or at least he thought that was the case. He didn’t want to lose someone who had always been there for him. He didn’t want to turn her into his mom.

He sure didn’t want to be his dad.

He wanted them to stay the way they were, having fun and hanging out. Not growing up, growing angry, growing apart. He didn’t want to think about how selfish that sounded, keeping her in his life that way.

“Andie, I didn’t plan for this to mess up our friendship.”

“Neither of us planned for that. And this isn’t about…” She looked away. “This is about you not calling me back.”

“Because I didn’t know what to say.”

“Ryder, you’re almost thirty and I’ve heard you talk to women. You always know what to say.” She looked down, shuffling her feet in the dusty driveway. “But you didn’t know what to say to me?”

“I’m sorry.” He hadn’t known what to say and he still didn’t. With other women, he just said what felt right at the moment. And man, he’d had a lot of nasty messages on his answering machine over the years, because he’d said what felt right, not what mattered.

“You don’t have to apologize. We’re both responsible.”

“I know, but we made a promise. I made a promise.” A promise to keep boundaries between them. “I don’t know what else to say, except I’m sorry.”

“You should have called.” She had shoved her hands in her front pockets and she stared up at him, forcing his thoughts back to that. That night in Phoenix he’d found her standing behind her trailer, crying because she’d been rejected by her mother. He’d never seen her like that, hurt that way.

He shook his head, chasing off memories that were more than likely going to get him in trouble again.

“Come on, Andie, give me a break. You know me better than anyone. You know that I’m not good at this. You know that we were both there. We both…”

“Stop. I don’t want to talk about what we both did. I want to talk to you about us.”

Heat crawled up his neck, into his face. “Andie, you sound like a woman.”