The Cowboy's Bride

“You must be kidding.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Honey.” Jenna’s voice took on that patient older-sister tone that could still rub Rebecca the wrong way. “You stay away from anyone in this town with the last name of Brewer. They are nothing but trouble.” Jenna took another breath, and Rebecca sensed that a unwelcome sisterly lecture was coming on.

“Well, I think I scared him away,” Rebecca said, interrupting her. “He could hardly wait to get out of here.” Rebecca tapped a pen on her desk as she remembered how quickly Joe Brewer had left. “What can I do for you?”

“I just wanted to see how things are going.”

Rebecca resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Dear Jenna meant well, but she was a tad overprotective. “Things are going fine. This is only my second day on the job, after all.”

“I know that. I was just thinking about you and thought I would give you a call.”

“That’s nice.” Rebecca closed the file folder in front of her and set it aside. “But I should be getting back to my job, Jen. I’ve got a stack of work ahead of me and only so much time to do it in.”

“You don’t have to make a good impression on your boss, Becks.”

“Having my brother-in-law as my manager shouldn’t make any difference to my work, Jenna,” Rebecca reminded her as she tucked the phone under her ear, and reached for a new file.

“I know, but don’t forget that you also came here to recuperate.” Jenna paused as if to let that sink in.

Rebecca shook her head, wet her finger and flipped open the file. “Look, I’ve really got to go, Jen. I’ll see you tonight.”

Jenna said her goodbyes, and Rebecca laid the phone on its cradle wondering if taking on this job in Wakely was a mistake.

But she knew she came here to get help reaching her goal. As she thought of the alternative—living at home with parents who hovered even more than Jenna—she decided she could probably handle her sister.

Joe leaned forward, arms resting on the steering wheel of his semi, his eyes staring sightlessly at the line of tractor-trailer units ahead of him at the weighing station. Not for the first time he winged up a prayer that his load would come underweight, and not over, as he suspected it was.

Tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, he bit his lip in frustration. He had a Super-B full of six-by-six lumber that had to go to a resaw mill in Penticton, and he didn’t want to look at his watch to see how late he was.

He pulled out the worn piece of paper that Dale had given him. Each time he thought about the choice between losing his plan to open a training arena or taking over the ranch that held absolutely no good memories for him, he felt almost ill. As he looked at the figure on the paper he remembered all too clearly Miss Rebecca Stevenson’s perfectly shaped eyebrow lifting oh so slightly when he refused their generous offer. He was still angry with Lane for maneuvering him into that awkward situation.

Joe folded the paper and set it in the folder on the seat beside him, wondering at the direction of his life. Trucking was the only thing he knew. He had started driving as an escape, a way to see the world.

Well, he hadn’t seen the world, he thought, staring sightlessly at the line of trucks ahead of him, but he’d seen enough of the highways of North America to realize that running from one end of the continent to the other had merely become a job. A way to save for other plans.

Spending lonely evenings hunched over the wheel of his semi, his world narrowed down to the beam of his headlights, then pulling over on an empty stretch of highway to eat truck-stop food and get some sleep was not how he wanted to spend the rest of his life. Lately he yearned for a home, for a certain comfort and routine in his life. The same routine he once scorned.

But what did he have?

Other than his acreage and a small mobile home, his only asset was his innate knowledge of horses. He had gotten started with the help of Allister McLure, one of the local vets.

Allister had fostered and encouraged Joe’s gift for working with horses. As an overworked and angry young man, Joe would periodically drop everything and go to the home of Allister and his wife, Lorna. It was Allister who showed him faith in action and Allister who showed him what a father’s love should be.

He got Joe started in horse training, recommending people he met in his practice to take their problem horses to Joe Brewer.

Every few months Joe would purchase a few unbroken one-year-olds from the auction mart and keep them, working with them when he had time and selling them for a decent profit once they were trained. It gave him extra money and established his growing reputation.

He began to dream of starting his own training facility. But until he had his own place, he couldn’t afford to quit trucking. And as long as he worked as a truck driver, he didn’t have time to expand the business.

He had lost more than he wanted to admit that afternoon in the bank.

He thought once again of Rebecca, allowing himself a moment to appreciate her delicate features, her calm demeanor that both pushed him away and intrigued him. He wished he had been a little more gracious around her. Not that it would have gotten him anywhere, he thought wryly. She was far beyond him. Besides, it looked as if Dale had staked a claim, and he was in a better position to maintain it than Joe was.

A blast from the air horn of an impatient driver behind him made him jump.

Joe put his idling truck into gear and with a chuff of brakes eased his unit forward, closing the gap between him and the truck on the scale. He couldn’t resist a quick glance at his watch, which showed him that he was well behind schedule. To get this load to Penticton on time would mean running the risk of a speeding ticket, which he could ill afford. He felt his stomach begin the all-too-familiar tightening as he tried to relax, tried to remind himself that rushing only caused accidents. But he also knew that if he didn’t get to the business on time, it would be closed, and he would have to find a spot to lay over, and that meant he would be late for his next pickup in Langley and…

He eased his truck to a halt to wait some more and forced himself not to think about the consequences. Break it down, he reminded himself. First get this truck weighed, then head out, then see what happens. But even as he went through the routine, he couldn’t stop his hands from clenching the steering wheel, his shoulders from hunching with tension, something he was doing more and more often.

Taking a deep breath, he dropped his head back. He closed his eyes. “Okay, Lord,” he said quietly, “I’m stuck at this weigh scale, and You know I get uptight when I’m behind. But I’m giving You the rest of this day. It’s Yours, and I’ll live with whatever comes my way.” As he quietly continued his prayer, he felt God’s peace wash over him.

Slowly his hands lost their grip, and his shoulders fell. He still had to get his load to Penticton on time, he still faced the possibility of an overload charge, but his tension eased. He had reached beyond the tiny confines of his truck and his life, and events were put into perspective.

Half an hour later, Joe was on the road. His load had come in just under. He was still late, but it didn’t matter as much as before.

With a quick jab of his finger, he turned on the radio. Immediately songs of heartbreak and sorrow wailed above the engine’s whine.

Joe slipped on his sunglasses. One song drifted into another as the pavement rolled along under his wheels, the dotted line clipping by, power poles slowly marking his progress. Joe couldn’t help but pull a face as he listened to the lyrics of yet another song about a lonely trucker far away from his family, trying to make a living. Given his current mood, the last thing he needed was to listen to some rich country and western singer making yet another million writing songs about the hard work and low pay Joe was trying to escape.

He hit the power button, cutting off the singer mid-sob, his mind mulling and worrying over his problems.

If he had to shelve his dream of setting up an arena, he still needed to find other work. But trucking and training horses were all he knew. The first gave him a job that earned money, and he had been counting heavily on the latter to help him get away.

He felt as if he was pushed into a corner he had been trying to escape, and he didn’t know how to get out.

Chapter Four

Joe rubbed his eyes as he leaned against the wall beside the phone at the truck stop, the receiver clamped against his ear. He had driven most of last night and needed sleep more than conversation.

“Hey, Tonya,” he said when his renter’s wife picked up the phone. “How are things?”

Joe stifled a groan as Tonya began her usual litany of complaints. Her nasal voice in one ear was a sharp counterpoint to the sparse hum of conversation inside the dimly lit café. “I know it’s not a palace, Tonya,” he said when she was done, “but it’s cheap.” Too cheap, he often thought. Kevin and Tonya lived there free and in return took care of Joe’s horses and boarded their own for nothing.

“Cheap doesn’t mean it has to be such a dive,” she complained.

Joe clenched his jaw, keeping his temper in check. Tonya squeezed in one more complaint then Kevin got on the phone.

“Hey, Kevin,” Joe said by way of greeting, stifling an urge to yawn. “Just called to see how things are going.”

“Well…” Kevin paused. “I… I need to tell you something.”

He sounded nervous. Joe knew he had to bide his time. Rushing Kevin only made him stutter.

“It’s your new horse, you remember her?”

As if Joe could forget. He had paid more for that two-year-old than he cared to admit to anyone. “Talia.”