Last Chance Cowboy Page 23

  She thought of everything that had happened today, her disappointment in Derek coupled with her happiness for Grey. With more clarity about Jared’s death, and a newfound belief in Grey, her memories, all of them, could be laid to rest. She didn’t need to make her childhood poverty or her parents’ rejection the focal points of her life.

  She could have gone back to her mom and dad the morning after she’d talked to Doc, begged them to change their view, as she’d felt tempted to do five years later. Or maybe she couldn’t have. Either way, she was confident that she had always tried her best for Ava. Now, she would do that for herself and Grey.

  She let her gaze drift from the Circle H toward the boundary of his ranch, then made another decision. She had no idea how he might respond, but it was more than time for her to show him she believed.

  “I say my house in town is too small for the three of us. If it’s all right with you, Ava and I will move to Wilson Cattle.”

  “That’s where the horses are.” He framed her face in his hands and took a deep breath. “But are you sure? I know how you feel about the ranch.”

  “How I felt,” she said. Her treasured independence no longer seemed as important as it had for the past ten years. And with today’s revelations, her connection to this place could finally begin to heal. Still, what Grey said next stunned her.

  “Maybe you have too many bad memories there. I’ll sell Wilson Cattle if that’s what you need. We can buy a bigger house in town. You and Ava are more important to me than a piece of land.”

  “It’s more than land. It’s your family’s heritage,” Shadow said, shocked—but touched—that he would make that offer. “It will be Ava’s, too.” He had truly set aside his pride, yet she couldn’t ask that of him. “I’ll always remember Jared died there and I’m sorry that may have been because of Derek—if it was, it was an accident. But I want to make new memories. You love the ranch, Grey. So does Ava, and that will help me to heal. I’d do anything for you and our daughter.”

  Afraid her emotions would get the best of her, she tried to lighten the mood. “How could I deprive her of her horses?” With that, Shadow had no more doubts. “I’ll warn you, though. I have plans for that house. It hasn’t changed since the day your mother left. It’s time to freshen things up.”

  “That’s what Liza always says.” Grey grinned. “You can do whatever you want. As long as you’re with me.”

  He nodded toward the band and the wooden floor in the middle of the Circle H lawn, where Logan and Blossom were ending their first dance in a loud flourish of sound. “One good thing about a ranch—there’s plenty of space. The neighbors won’t complain about the noise.” He added in a too casual tone, “You know, we did pretty well with the rehearsal dinner. And this wedding makes me think of...weddings. How’d you like to plan another?” He took a deep breath. “I love you, Shadow. I know I asked before, but you didn’t answer. Will you marry me?”

  “Finally,” she said and gazed into his eyes, giving him her trust and all of herself at last. “Yes. I love you, Grey. I never stopped.” She smiled a little, enough to let him know she was teasing even when her next words were true. “You’re still the cowboy of my dreams.”

  He kissed her, and then once more, his kiss warm and just as true, before he led her from the trees out onto the dance floor and into his arms for another song.

  Their friends’ wedding reception was in full swing, but Grey and Shadow were just beginning.

  All over again.

  * * * * *

  If you enjoyed this Heartwarming story by Leigh Riker, you’ll also love THE RELUCTANT RANCHER, the first installment in her KANSAS COWBOYS miniseries, and MAN OF THE FAMILY, a touching romance featuring a single dad.

  Find all of Leigh’s books on Harlequin.com.

  Keep reading for an excerpt from HIS TWIN BABY SURPRISE by Patricia Forsythe.

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  His Twin Baby Surprise

  by Patricia Forsythe

  PROLOGUE

  INSIDE THE RESTON COUNTY sheriff’s station, Fred Jepson was wondering about the wisdom of having eaten a whole meat pie for lunch.

  Mary Alice made them down at the café and he couldn’t resist them. They were huge—flaky pastry stuffed with meat and potatoes. Enough for two people, but he always ate the whole thing. Why let it go to waste? Why hurt Mary Alice’s feelings? And that chocolate cake she made? It was enough to make a grown man weep. He’d had to have a piece of that.

  What Fred didn’t doubt was the wisdom of bringing in the McAdams boy. Ben was in the holding cell in the next room, eating the sandwich Fred had brought back for him. The cell had a cot, a sink, a toilet and nothing else. Worked out fine for the usual lawbreakers and the drunks who didn’t need to be on the road on a Saturday night. A little stark and scary for a twelve-year-old, but the kid had to learn a lesson about hurting other people, about obeying the law. Better to have him here overnight now for shooting Mrs. Crabtree in the butt with a stone from his slingshot than in jail for months or years down the road for a felony.

  As the sheriff, duly elected by the citizens of Reston County, he felt an obligation to set the boy on the right path.

  Fred snorted. Who gave their kids a slingshot anymore? Jim and Helen were pushovers. That kid of theirs got everything he wanted just by grinning and showing his dimples.

  He leaned back in his chair and loosened his belt. That was a little better. He glanced around to make sure he was alone, though he knew that all but one of his deputies was on patrol or at lunch. Deputy Earl Flake was out back, tinkering with the engine on an old cruiser, sure he could make it run again.

  The office receptionist, Anita Sturm, had decided the refrigerator in the break room was disgusting and was cleaning it out. When he’d peeked in earlier, she’d been half wedged inside the freezer, scrubbing to her heart’s content. Fred knew better than to get in her way when she was in a cleaning mood. He’d thoughtfully closed the door to the break room so she could work in peace and could say as many angry things as she needed to about the unsanitary habits of certain men she knew. He’d told her he’d answer the phone if it rang, but he didn’t expect any calls. The town was pretty q
uiet at lunchtime.

  He unsnapped his pants and slid down the zipper just to give his gut room to breathe for a few minutes. He’d fasten himself up again as soon as he heard someone at the outer door.

  He’d gained weight in the past few months. He knew it and he was going to do something about it soon, probably tomorrow. If he had to chase down a runner, he’d be screwed. His uniform was too tight and he could barely fasten his belt, even on the last notch, but he refused to buy a larger size. He was going to lose weight and get back in shape soon.

  He returned to thinking about Ben. The boy was in the sixth grade now, big for his age and eager to play football. Football was a religion in Reston. Jim McAdams, Fred’s old high school rival, had been its deity during his school days. He wanted the same for his son.

  Jim would have that if Ben didn’t end up in juvenile detention first. The family didn’t realize it, but Fred was doing them a favor by scaring some sense into their boy right now.

  He was still considering that when the door to the outer office was thrown open, reverberating against the wall. Startled, Fred jerked upright. No one came in, but he craned his neck to see five kids scuffling in the dirt, fighting, clawing and kicking. Their howls echoed into the jail as they shrieked and tumbled.

  Fred pushed his chair back and lumbered to his feet, forgetting about his pants as the weight of his utility belt dragged them down and they started to slip.

  His horrified attention was on the kids. There was something wrong with their faces. Their features seemed to be smashed in. It was several seconds before he realized they were all wearing stockings over their heads. One kid had a pair of pantyhose over his, the legs tied up in a kind of crazy ponytail that bobbed on top of his head. Or her head. Fred couldn’t tell.

  “Hey, what’s going on here? Stop that right now. You can’t be fighting like that.”

  They ignored him, continuing to punch and kick as they howled and screamed, kicking up dust and knocking over a trash can. They banged up against the side of the building as they called each other names, the yelling so loud and crazy he couldn’t make sense of what they were saying.

  “Stop! Stop!” Fred bellowed. He started around the side of the desk, forgetting about his pants, which immediately fell to his knees, hobbling him. He tripped and went down like two hundred and fifty pounds of wet cement, face-first. Instantly the fighting outside paused and he heard footsteps running toward him.

  “Sorry, Sheriff Jepson,” one of them growled in an obvious effort to disguise his voice. “Just...just stay down, okay?”

  “What? Stop. What are you doing?” Fred couldn’t get up and he couldn’t turn over because of the way his pants had twisted around his knees.

  “Get the key! Get the key!” the kids were shouting in unison from where they crowded around the door.

  He could hear one of them scrambling through the items on his desk, opening drawers and riffling through.

  “I got it!” the kid shrieked.

  Fred couldn’t tell who it was—who any of them were. He groaned when one of them crouched on his back to keep him down. Blackness was closing in on him. Mary Alice’s meat pie threatened to make a second appearance.

  He managed to turn his head to the side enough to see one of the kids run toward the other room. He heard the rattle of the key in the lock of the holding cell. A moment later that same kid ran past with Ben in tow.

  The boy was yelling, “Are you crazy? My dad woulda got me out.”

  The kid who was pulling him responded, “Shut up and come on. We’re heading for the border. My uncle Lester’s been in jail for years and Grandpa says he’ll never get out.”

  “I’m not your uncle Lester. How come you think you’re the boss of everybody?”

  “I’m standing up for my friend,” the kid insisted. “You gotta think about your future. You don’t want to be a criminal.”

  “I ain’t a criminal, and you didn’t let me finish my sandwich.”

  “Oh, quit thinking about your stomach.”

  “I don’t need you to—” Ben started to say but the other kid jerked him out the door.

  Fred heard feet running away, and the one sitting on his back jumped up, freeing him. Pushing himself up onto his elbows, he cursed.

  His prisoner was in the wind.

  Copyright © 2017 by Patricia Knoll

  ISBN-13: 9781488012266

  Last Chance Cowboy

  Copyright © 2017 by Leigh Riker

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