The Cowgirl Rides Away (Bluebonnet Texas Book 1) (3 page)

Zack groaned again, running his hands through his hair. He had an hour to eat, get changed, drop Travis off and get to the bar. He stretched and read Hope's reply again. She was willing to relocate and she was open to a long-term relationship. He'd just have to write her back later.

He shut down his laptop, then went to check on Travis. His four-year-old son lay sprawled on the living room floor, an oversized pillow between him and the rough wool of a Navaho rug. Thumb firmly seated in his mouth, he lay watching
Space Jam
—again. Zack chuckled quietly, hopeful and curious about the woman from Utah. Travis deserved more than a slightly-distracted father, busy uncles and a cranky grandmother. He deserved a mother and siblings. Real siblings that he could grow up with.

"Trav," he said softly.

Travis rolled over and grinned up at him, pale green eyes shining. He'd inherited so much of his mother, her eyes, her sable hair and olive skin. Zack didn't have time to be maudlin, though, they needed to get moving. "Dinner in five, young man. Go wash up."

"Yes, sir." Travis nodded, speaking around the thumb still firmly seated in his mouth.

Zack headed for the kitchen. From the smell of it, his tuna noodle casserole was ready.

***

"You're late, Oak," Rowdy hollered as Zack headed across the bar's empty dance floor.

"Yeah, yeah."

Every Thursday, Friday and Saturday night Rowdy, Zack and his brother, Ty, played at the Bluebonnet Dancehall. Zack enjoyed making music almost as much as art, but didn't care much for the late nights because of Trav. The worst part, though, was Thursday's open mike night.

Stepping up onto the minuscule stage, Zack quirked an eyebrow at Rowdy and set his guitar case on the piano bench. They were nearly the same age and had the same stocky build but Rowdy's extra height made him resemble an oak tree much more than Zack did. "I'll go home...if you want."

"Hell no," Ty piped up from behind his drums. "If we have to suffer, you do too!"

All three men laughed. They'd been playing at his aunt's dancehall on and off since high school. A year ago their female lead had gotten married and pregnant in quick succession and the band had been searching for her replacement ever since—thus the open mike nights. It seemed as if every woman from Waco to the Gulf coast, whoever thought she could give Reba McIntyre a run for her money, would sing.
Or something like it.
Zack and his bandmates considered it torture, and would have gone to private auditions long ago, but the audience loved it, so Aunt Susie insisted they keep it up.

"Let's get this over with," Rowdy sighed, strapping on his bass.

Aunt Susie bustled around behind the bar that covered most of the far end of the dancehall. Waitresses hustled around setting up barstools around the outside of the dance floor and lifting benches off the long picnic tables. Before the night ended someone would dance with the wrong someone and there'd be a fight—or three. With a sigh of his own, Zack tossed his coat aside and opened his guitar case.

The singers were worse than ever, and that said a lot. There was a redhead from San Antone who thought she could sing like Kelly Clarkson. She couldn't. Then there was Trixie Barnett, a local girl who likened herself to a young Faith Hill. She breathed just fine, it was her singing that fell short. Mandy Johnson did her very own rendition of
Any Man of Mine
. She hit all the notes, it was the extras she threw in that caused problems. As it was, the band had to contend with the usual boos and good-natured catcalls to go with their aching ears. When Zack announced their last break, the unruly crowd nearly raised the roof.

He skirted the dance floor and waded through the thick crowd to the bar, ready to sit, cool off and pour at least a gallon of water down his throat. With a nod, he accepted a glass from the bartender whose flirtatious smile made him squirm.

He spun around on the stool to face his aunt, who gave him a hard-eyed stare, as if to say, "Well?"

Dressed in jeans and a red pearl snap shirt, with her long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, she looked closer to the bartender's age than her true age of somewhere the other side of forty.

He shook his head and said, "Is it me or are they worse than normal?"

"It isn't you. I've got severe hearing loss," Ty replied from his other side.

"So help me God, if I have to play one more Carrie Underwood song…" Rowdy finished with a look that made them all laugh.

"You think you've got it bad? I think my bouncers have broken up a record number of fights tonight."

"Must be the cold weather." Rowdy took a pull off his beer and eyed the crowd. "Everyone's restless from being stuck indoors."

"Well if it's gonna have this effect on the—" Zack paused to shudder "—singers, none of us are gonna last."

"Zack, sweetie, will you help me close up?"

He nodded but wasn't fooled by his aunt's sugary-sweet tone. He knew there was a lecture in his future.

Come 3:00 a.m. Zack found himself trapped in her office, helping her count cash and listening to her gentle, well-meant nagging.

"When are you going to settle down and give me some more nieces and nephews?"

"Oh look at the time," he replied, standing with a laugh.

"Now, now I was just standing here thinking what a good-looking, sweet thing you are and how you'd make some woman a fine husband."

"Do you ever say stuff like this to Tim?"

"Tim would not make some woman a fine husband," she replied with a snort of amusement. A swat on the arm and her 'get serious' brought him in line. Eyebrows raised, lips pursed, her Boudreaux-blue eyes fairly pinned him against the rickety office chair he sat in.

"Zack," Susie began again.

"Aunt Susie," he interrupted, flashing his dimples at her.

"Stop it! Now be serious. I want you to do something for me."

"Load the ice bins?" he asked hopefully.

"No, I made Tim do that earlier. His punishment for dancing with that Brenda Sue Moore." Susie shuddered, wordlessly conveying her feelings about the trashy young woman.

Zack snorted with laughter, "You did not!"

"Yes, I did. Now listen, I want you to reconsider going out with Beth Ann Murphy." Before he could protest, she held up her hands. "She's sweet, a hard worker and she's got two kids. All I'm asking is for one date."

He sighed, but before he could say another word, Susie spoke again, "Just…think about it."

He knew his aunt loved him and meant well, and she was right. Her head bartender was a very pretty, very nice woman, but he just wasn't interested.

***

With Travis staying at his grandparents' house overnight, Zack could sleep in, though he usually didn't. He'd much rather get up early and paint while it was quiet.

After a shower, he headed for the refrigerator and grabbed one last beer to wind down with. Cold bottle in hand, he came around the corner into the dining room where the computer sat. He should have used the other doorway and resisted the temptation that had hit him the minute he got home. He eyed his laptop, thinking of all those replies. It was late, and he needed to get some sleep, but ten minutes couldn't hurt. On that thought, he gave in to the urge and took the three steps necessary to reach his desk. He punched the power button, suddenly anxious to check his mail. The fan spun up and a logo appeared on the screen as he settled in the padded leather chair and stared out the now-dark window. A few clicks later, he'd logged into the personal ad site and pulled up the email from the woman in Utah.

He clicked on 'reply' and filled the email with as many questions as possible while giving away as little personal information as he could. Just in case she
was
a nut.

Another week of painting, wading through some of the crazy responses to his ad, and riding fence in cold, wet January rain went by before Hope finally wrote him back—and added a photo. He'd been really curious about the girl in Utah, despite the distance.

He read the email thoughtfully, wondering what kind of woman answered a personal ad. Not that he had much room to talk. He'd placed it.

She apologized for not writing sooner, saying she'd been busy playing catch-up after the holidays.

...Outside of ranching or farming there's not much work to be had in a town of seven thousand. So I went looking for a change of scenery. I suppose Utah might seem like a funny place to spread your wings, huh? But the weather's better here, the scenery is gorgeous and I'm closer to my godchildren, Lizzie and Frank.

He chuckled into his cup. She was right. It was funny. But the fact that she'd chosen to live close to her godchildren said a lot about her and he liked that.

P.S. I'm the brunette

He scrolled, cautiously eager to see what she looked like. Then he leaned forward and stared, thankful he didn't have a mouthful of coffee.

She was gorgeous, stunning, beautiful.

A wide-eyed Hope stood beside a blonde, a large kitchen knife in hand and a brightly decorated cake in front of both of them. Judging from the balloons and streamers behind her it was a kid's birthday party.

Dressed in jeans and a plain t-shirt, she still managed to tickle his artist's fancy. She was petite with a tiny waist, full breasts and lush curves. Her long dark hair fell loosely over her shoulders to frame a face he itched to draw. Creamy golden skin and high cheekbones gave way to full lips and straight teeth. He smiled at her slightly crooked nose, thinking the gods had apparently decided something so stunning needed at least one minor flaw. Arched, dark eyebrows and thick lashes framed summer-blue eyes. Incredible eyes, a light, attention-grabbing shade of blue that'd be hard to forget.

But something wasn't quite right. Her eyes looked...sad. Briefly, he wondered if it were possible to look sad and laugh at the same time. He typed a quick reply and attached his own picture, clicking 'send' before he turned chicken and changed his mind. She was so far away…but she'd written.

***

Zack had been distracted by thoughts of Hope all day, wondering, and yeah, worrying, about what the pretty little accountant with the big silvery-blue eyes would think of him once she saw his photo. And how she'd gotten such a crooked nose. If she still rode horses and whose birthday party she'd been at. He wasn't Tim or Rowdy, this wasn't second nature to him. He sighed as the pencil in his fingers went slack.

At this rate he'd never finish his Longhorn Cavern series.

A nudge and a small giggle from beside him reminded Zack that he had other duties to tend to before he could check his email again—an urge he'd fought against all day long.

He set his sketch pad on the floor and elbowed his son back. Travis elbowed him again with a giggle that turned into a full-blown belly laugh at Zack's low growl as he pulled his son onto his lap and tickled him till he was breathless. "Do you know what time it is, young man?"

"Bed?" Travis replied, his lips curving downward in disappointment.

"Nope! Bath first, then bed and a story." Zack stood, Travis in his arms, and carried the small boy down the hall.

"Three?" Travis begged as they stepped into the bathroom.

"Two," Zack countered. He was being played. But this was their nightly ritual—negotiations for stories.

"Deal."

Chapter Three
Jessa

"Jace, go see a movie or something." My first couple of weeks at home had been spent getting to know the orthopedist and therapist the doctors in Vegas had arranged.

Deek was my favorite. I'm sure in some former life he'd been a weight lifter—or maybe Napoleon. Now he just lived to torture us poor souls who were dumb enough to abuse our bodies to the point we needed therapy.

It was all I could do to eat, sleep and get to therapy, even with Jace's help. My dual injury made my exercises frustratingly difficult. Even simple isometrics left me near tears at first. I never would have thought squeezing your muscles could be so difficult, but I'd be damned if I wouldn't regain full use of my arm and walk without a limp.

"I can't leave you here alone." He frowned, a half-eaten piece of pizza in his hand.

Poor Jace got the less than glamorous job of carting me around, icing me down and listening to me whine and grumble after my torture sessions with Deek, but it had taken him less than a week to drive me nuts. And a month later he wouldn't even let me eat dinner at the table. That's why I was choking down half-warmed pizza in bed with two pillows tucked under my knee instead of hobbling around in my kitchen cooking real food.

"I insist." I grabbed the remote from its hiding place in the down comforter and muted the television "My treat," I added with a smile.

"What if something happens to you?" he asked with a frown of concern. "You fall or—"

"Jace! If I swear to take my pain pills and go to sleep right after dinner,
will you go?!
Aw, Jace, I'm sorry," I added softly at the hurt expression on his face. "You don't know how much I appreciate—"

"I don't want your thanks for doing my job." He set his empty plate on the nightstand with a clank and propped his elbows on his knees, a frown on his tanned face. He looked so much like Dad with his reddish-brown hair and pale blue-gray eyes.

"Jace, I love you, but little brother, you're smothering me. You need a break from taking care of me, and honestly, I need a break from—" I waved my hands, "—feeling helpless."

After an agonizing minute of silence, he finally, reluctantly nodded in agreement.

"Would you get me my laptop before you go, brat?"

Half and hour later, Jace left for the movies, and for the first time in over four weeks, I was completely alone. I could literally feel myself decompressing.