Cowgirl for Keeps Read online

  Cowgirl for Keeps

  Heart of Oklahoma

  Lacy Williams

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader

  Jingle Bell Cowgirl sneak peek

  Also by Lacy Williams

  Prologue

  "I'm sorry I'm late..."

  The unexpected female voice preceded a willowy young woman attempting to sit in Anna Brown's lap. Barely.

  "Excuse me—" Anna grunted beneath the unexpected weight.

  The formica tabletop wobbled as the other woman realized her mistake, her knee bumping the table and nudging the coffee-shop booth back with a grating screech. The two full coffee cups wobbled precariously, but Anna's friend Melody reached out to steady them from her seat across the table.

  When the slender woman stood up, Anna got a good look at her. Dark hair was pulled back in a tight French braid. She had blue eyes and a flash of freckles across her nose. Vague recognition flared.

  "I'm so sorry," the woman mumbled.

  "It's you!" Melody's expression showed her surprise.

  Still standing beside their table, the newcomer's head had been swiveling as she looked around the interior of the coffee shop, but at Melody's words, she focused back on the pair in the booth.

  "It's me," she said on an exhale.

  Anna looked between the young woman and Melody. "It's...?"

  "The gal I loaned a gallon of gas," Melody said.

  "Lila Andrews," the newcomer said at the same time.

  "That was you?" Two days ago, Anna had seen the bright red classic car—she couldn't say what kind—stopped along the side of the road with the hood up, but she'd been rushing to pick Mikey up from baseball practice and hadn't been able to stop.

  Lila rubbed a spot on her forehead. Color rose high in her cheeks. "Yes, that was me, Anna Campbell."

  At the slightly snarky remark, Anna remembered. They'd gone to elementary school together, until Lila had been shipped off to boarding school around eighth grade. Lila had been a grade younger.

  "It's Anna Brown now." Saying her married name still made her thumb run over the bare spot on her ring finger. She'd taken off the wedding ring at the last anniversary she'd celebrated alone.

  "Do you want to sit down?" Melody offered.

  Lila took another glance around the coffee shop. Spring rains had pushed most folks off Main Street—not that Redbud Trails boasted much of a shopping hub—and more booths were filled than usual, but apparently, whomever she'd been running late to meet wasn't there, because she perched gingerly on Melody's side of the booth with a mumbled, "Thanks."

  When Lila stretched her neck—again—Anna wrinkled her nose at Melody. This was their only time to grab coffee and have girl chat. Between Anna's responsibilities on the family ranch and her work corralling her two kids, time was tight. But Melody, who owned a dress-shop in town, had to have one of the softest hearts of anyone Anna knew, so it wasn't surprising she would invite Lila to sit.

  "So you're back in town?" Anna asked.

  "The prodigal returns. Or something like that." Lila's fingertips drummed on the tabletop. Nervous? "What does your husband do?"

  Anna's throat closed up, but she soldiered on. "I'm a widow."

  Something in Lila's demeanor softened. "I'm sorry."

  So was Anna. It had been three years, but her grief remained.

  "This is our weekly girl time," Melody said.

  Lila's expressed cooled. "I'm sorry to have interrupted."

  She started scooting toward the edge of the booth, and something in the vicinity of Anna's heart twinged. Lila's nervousness, her admission that she was the prodigal coming home... maybe she needed a friend too.

  "Wait," she said.

  "Stay," Melody agreed.

  Lila considered them, a grain of vulnerability visible beneath her cool expression. "Okay. I guess you guys could use a friend like me."

  A laugh bubbled out of Anna at the outrageous statement. A new friend.

  A new start?

  1

  "Mo-om!"

  "Gina's telling!"

  Rolling her eyes even as she ignored the shouts of her children, Anna Brown kicked a soccer ball through the front hall and into the coat closet, where the mishmash of winter boots, baseball mitt and bat, child-sized lariat, and who knew what else wobbled precariously before she slammed the door shut.

  Afternoon sunlight streamed through the skinny windows bracketing the front door, and she squinted against it as she kept moving. Feet pounded on the stairs. Dinner was barely over. Couldn't they wait five minutes before picking a fight with each other?

  Her arms full of a pair of backpacks, a teddy bear, a stuffed dog toy, and two pairs of outgrown cowboy boots, she rushed through the living room and into the home office that had become the catch-all room. Her gaze went to the barn, visible through the wide window. How she'd love an evening ride.

  But reality intruded. Bills were piled on the desk, tall enough that they obscured the bottom part of the window. Gina's ballet gear was piled on the sofa. And on the wall, she carefully kept her gaze averted from the calendar with one upcoming date circled in red. Her birthday.

  This room had become the heart of the house.

  There was a time that honor had belonged to the kitchen—her favorite room of the house—but not for several months, since the contractor debacle.

  But hopefully today would change that.

  She dumped her armload on the sofa next to the door and whirled back to the hall, closing the door with a snap just in time to catch the two human whirlwinds that plowed into her.

  "Oof!"

  She put a hand on each of their shoulders and drew them apart.

  "Mikey kicked me!"

  "She punched me first—"

  "Only because he stole my doll!"

  "Guys!" She clapped her hands once, loudly, and they froze, their almost-identical blue eyes wide.

  Three and a half year old Gina bounced on the balls of her feet.

  "Do you need to go to the bathroom?"

  Gina shook her head vigorously.

  "What's going on?"

  When they started talking over each other, she had to clap again. "Mikey first."

  Words burst from the eight-year-old. "Gina wouldn't let me change the TV to my superhero show. Then she threw the remote behind the couch."

  She waited out his quick-stepping ramble.

  After a moment, he ducked his head. "And then she punched me, and I kicked her."

  She hated using the TV as a babysitter, but she had company coming—right now!—and had allowed a half hour after their quickly-consumed supper so she could clean up.

  It was important company. She'd finally broken down and asked for help. Her preacher said he knew someone who could manage her kitchen problem.

  Just then, someone knocked at the front door.

  The kids' heads swiveled, but before they could race down the hall, she rested her hands on their shoulders again.

  The minister would have to wait.

  She squatted between the kids. "What's the golden rule? Gina?"

  Her daughter gave a very convincing set of puppy dog eyes as she answered, "Tweet others as you want to be tweeted."

  Lip twitching with the smile she had to hold back, Anna nodded. Then she turned her attention to Mikey.

  There came another knock at the door. She sighed. The minister or her childrens' obedience? There was never enough of her to
go around. She thought wistfully of the horses in the barn and the ride that would never be. She did have to visit the barn later, but only to care for the animals.

  Both children glanced toward the door again, but Anna went on stubbornly.

  "Mikey, were you using the golden rule when you were fighting with your sister?"

  "No." The eight-year-old's lower lip stuck out in a petulant frown.

  "So what should you say?"

  "I'm sorry," he grumbled.

  "Sowwy," Gina echoed.

  It wasn't a perfect apology, but it would have to do. "Okay."

  The bell rang again, ad this time both Gina and Mikey took off, their boots pounding against the wood floors and exacerbating Anna's headache.

  She followed behind, just slow enough to come up behind as Mikey opened the door.

  There stood Paul Brookstead, the preaching minister at her church. And slightly behind, a man she'd hoped never to see again.

  Kelly Matthews.

  What was he doing here? Her mind whirled with possibilities, but she couldn't make sense of his presence on her front step.

  "Hi, Mr. Paul!" Mikey greeted. He registered the stranger. "Who're you?"

  The words yanked her out of the shock that had held her immobile.

  The caramel brown eyes had more lines around the corners than she remembered. It was her first thought, because his eyes registered that first inkling of a smile.

  Then his lips lifted, spread, in a devastating grin, and her heart thumped once, hard. She clutched the door.

  "I'm Gina! I'm three years old." Her little girl piped up before anyone else had spoken.

  Anna registered Gina now dancing from foot to foot.

  "Gina—"

  "I gotta go!" Gina didn't even glance backward as she sprinted down the hallway, her gait lilting because she'd just had a growth spurt and, mostly, because she was three.

  Anna wished she could follow her daughter. Disappear.

  Only instead of running back, like she knew Gina would in a few minutes, she wanted to stay gone.

  Blindsided.

  What was Kelly doing here? Why was he with Paul? Was this some sort of trick?

  "My name is Kelly," he said to Mikey, and his voice was the same smooth baritone she remembered from their college days.

  Paul stepped back a little, allowing Kelly to step forward and shake Mikey's hand. The men were still standing on the stoop.

  She was so flustered, she hadn't even invited them in.

  She held the door open, the only invitation she could offer.

  * * *

  Kelly Matthews stepped over the threshold, half his attention on Anna's son and the well-constructed, if dated, foyer. The other half was on the woman herself.

  Anna hadn't changed much in the nine years since he'd seen her last. She'd filled out a little, now with a woman's curves more so than a teen's, but her copper-colored hair and those snapping green eyes were the same ones that haunted his dreams even now.

  She wasn't happy to see him.

  He'd skipped supper because of the tangled knot of hope and anticipation in his stomach. And now it seemed it was just as well, because the knot rose to his throat, threatening to choke him.

  He'd known this would be difficult. There was a reason Anna was the last visit on his list. He hadn't exactly been jumping for joy to humiliate himself to the woman he'd once loved.

  But he'd made a vow to go through with it, one that he couldn't break.

  He still had a fifty-fifty shot of this visit ending on a positive note. Or so he told himself. If the ice blasting from Anna's eyes was any indication, it might be more of a ten percent chance.

  "Kelly is a general contractor," Paul was saying.

  Nice guy. Kelly had tooled into town Monday morning and found himself on his knees in the empty church sanctuary, desperate for wisdom about how to reach out to Anna. Paul had found him there, and they'd struck up a conversation. Kelly had been honest about his motivation for seeing Anna, and it had gotten him this far, into her living room.

  Furniture filled the room, and the three adults stood in the center. Would she ask them to sit down?

  "Paul said you've got some problems with your kitchen."

  Anna's expression darkened, but before she could respond, there was a tug on his right pants pocket. He looked down at the tot who was a carbon-copy of her mother, except for those bright blue eyes. Those came from her father. She must've tiptoed up behind him, because he hadn't heard her return after running off before.

  "Our kitchen is broke," the little girl said, her eyes wide and serious.

  "Mom can't cook in there no more," Mikey said. "We ain't had no brownies in months."

  Kelly glanced at Anna, whose lips were pinched in an expression he was sorry to recognize—disapproval. That the kids had shared about the kitchen, or that Kelly was here? "That sounds like a pretty big problem," he said. "What else have you been missing out on?"

  "Her lasagna—"

  "And mac 'n cheese," Gina interrupted her brother.

  "—and tacos and chili—"

  "And mac 'n cheese!"

  "—and pot roast," Mikey concluded glumly.

  "Sounds pretty awful," Kelly said.

  Growing up, his mama had thrived on having a hot supper on the table. He could only imagine how Anna felt being without her kitchen, because she wasn't offering up her feelings.

  The living room was comfortable, lived in. A pair of couches faced each other, a low table in between. On one wall stood a television and next to it, a bookcase loaded with kids books of all shapes and sizes. That didn't surprise him. Anna had always loved to read.

  Beyond the living room, a dining room was filled with a long table and six chairs. The lights were out, and although evening sunlight slipped through the blinds, he couldn't see into what must be the kitchen beyond.

  "Can I see it? The kitchen?" he asked.

  She hesitated.

  "You asked me to find you some help," Paul said.

  Her pinched expression made it clear she wasn't happy for the reminder.

  "When Kelly told me he used to know you and what his vocation was, I figured we might have a solution for you."

  "Hmm." Her lips flattened, turning white around the edges. It was clear she wasn't comfortable with Kelly here, in her home.

  But if he could get into that kitchen, if he could explain... maybe she'd give him a chance to make things right.

  He lifted the notepad of gridded paper. Had his trusty tape measure clipped to his belt. "I can draw up some sketches, see what we can do about your kitchen."

  "Why don't you show him, Anna?" Paul said. "It's been awhile since I've had time to talk to the kids. They can tell me all about their big plans for the summer."

  Mikey and Gina latched on to the minister as he sat down on one of the couches.

  Anna watched the kids for a moment, but he wondered if her mind weren't elsewhere. The memories were so thick in the room, it was a wonder the minister and the kids could hear each other over them. Which ones were flitting through Anna's mind right now? Because she certainly wasn't listening to the kids' jabbering, not with that look on her face.

  After a deep breath—and if he could guess, a prayer—she lifted her gaze to his, nodded once, and turned. He followed her through the dining room into the kitchen.

  She flipped on the light, and he couldn't help whistling at what he saw.

  Someone had ripped out the countertops and most of the linoleum flooring, leaving the cabinetry open from the top. The electric stove had been disconnected and moved away from the wall. It now stood in the center of the room. The sink had also been removed and a gaping hole left in the cabinets beneath the sink, pipes exposed.

  All of it had been done poorly. Old glue remained on the floor where it should have been scraped away. The cabinets had been banged up, damaged. One door hung off its hinges.

  But it was all fixable. With enough time.

  "So your co
ntractor abandoned the job?" Paul had told him so, but he wanted to hear it from her.

  "Yes."

  "Did he leave behind any supplies? Have you purchased anything?"

  "No." Could she sound any more reluctant to answer him? Probably not.

  So the man, whoever he was, had done some demo and got out.

  "What kind of work do you normally contract for?" She crossed her arms, remaining in the doorway as he stepped into the room and took out his tape.

  "Commercial, mostly. But that doesn't mean I don't know my way around a kitchen."

  He took measurements, and she fell quiet as he stretched the tape and scribbled in his notebook, sketching out a rough footprint of the kitchen. His mind was whirling—probably a defense mechanism—imagining what it might look like if he shifted the fridge a couple feet to the left and installed a dishwasher that was noticeably missing.

  When he was done, he looked up to find her arms still crossed, a defensive posture if he'd ever seen one.

  "I can't afford to pay a contractor's fee all over again."

  She meant to scare him away. The tactic was so blatant that he leveled a gaze on her.

  At least she had the grace to blush.

  "Are you pursuing restitution from small claims court?"

  Her chin came up again. "Yes, but I may not ever get my deposit back. That's why I asked Paul if he could find me someone who could at least get it back in working order—for cheap."

  He turned a slow circle in the kitchen. "It's a great space. It'd be a shame to just make it livable." He spread his hands, gesturing to the long wall where the fridge and the cabinets remained. "I can see this as the main workspace. New backsplash, maybe a butcher-block counter. Or granite."

  "I can't pay you."

  She'd been just as proud and independent as a freshman in college. It was one of the first things he'd noticed about her, and it sparked unexpected joy in him to realize those characteristics were still there.

  "I'll do the work for free, if you can afford the supplies."

  Her eyes narrowed. "Why?"

  Breath caught in his chest. This was it. The moment he'd been waiting five years for. Confession time.