With Love, Cowboy [Love Letters from Cowboy] Read online

  Contents

  Title page

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

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  Title page

  With Love, Cowboy

  by Lacy Williams

  Copyright

  With Love, Cowboy: © 2014 by Lacy Williams. Cover design © Lacy Williams. Cover photograph © Kim Killion | hotdamnstock.com.

  Prologue

  She was alive.

  Ryan Michaels repeated the refrain mentally as he stood on the threshold of Ashley's room at Walter Reed. Behind him and standing beside the nurse's desk, the military doctor was updating Mrs. Reynolds, Ashley's mom, on her condition. Ryan could hear the low rumble of the man's voice, but he couldn't make out the words.

  Ryan couldn't wait any longer to see the woman he loved. No matter what she looked like, or what she'd lost, she was alive. That's what mattered right now. When she was less critical, he was sure there would be adjustments. A lot of them.

  He held his breath as he stepped over the threshold and approached the hospital bed.

  The room was dark except for soft, under-counter lighting along one wall. He let his eyes adjust. It smelled sanitary, like a hospital should, but the antiseptic scent burned his nostrils. He wished he were home, out in the pasture, smelling the sweet alfalfa.

  And that she were with him.

  There was no sound of welcome, just the soft swish and beep from the plethora of machines surrounding her bed.

  Her face was exposed, but most everything else was covered in bandages. Her eyes were closed, her lashes dark fans against her pale cheeks. She looked like a ghost of the summer-tanned Ashley he remembered.

  Was she sleeping? The doctor had told Ashley's mom she'd been in and out of consciousness, that she was aware of her injury. He supposed she'd been lucky when that roadside bomb exploded and overturned the transport she'd been riding in. She'd lost an arm, but she was still alive.

  He burned, knowing that no one she loved had been beside her when she'd found that out. He could've taken a red-eye and been here sooner, but her mom was still a little fragile after the mild heart attack she'd suffered three weeks ago, and he'd wanted to help Mary navigate the unfamiliar Baltimore airport and ease what stress he could.

  Had Ashley cried? He couldn't picture it, not when he knew how stoic Ashley tended to be when she got bad news—really, when anything hurt her.

  "Oh, Ash," he sighed as he came near her bedside.

  Her lashes fluttered, and her eyes opened. She looked at him with those intense blue irises that he would never forget.

  "Am I dreaming? You never call me that…"

  Because she would always be Ashley to him.

  Her voice was a rough whisper. He'd been warned it would take awhile to return after they removed the ventilator.

  He couldn't resist. He clasped her good hand in his, noting how small and cool it was against his rough farmer's mitt. She didn't pull away. She was either willing to accept his comfort or too tired or hurt to move away.

  She licked her lips. They looked dry and cracked, and he made a mental note to talk to her nurse about getting some lip balm.

  "What are you doing here?" she asked, again in that terrible whisper.

  He hesitated. How much did she know about how things were at home? He'd written her the truth in his letters, but he didn't know if she'd actually read them. If she didn't know about her mom's condition, he wasn't going to tell her now, not like this.

  "Your mom needed a travel buddy." He nodded toward the hall. "She's still talking to the doctor." He hoped it was enough explanation. As soon as Ashley saw her mom, she'd know that something wasn't right.

  But she didn't need to worry about that now. The doctor had said there was still a chance of infection, and Ryan didn't want her worrying about things that couldn't be changed. He just wanted her well.

  "So you… came to annoy me… into getting better?"

  "Whatever it takes, Sweet-Pea." He crooked a smile at her.

  "You look… terrible."

  He glanced down at himself. The Wrangler jeans had seen better days. He'd slept in his T-shirt on the plane, and his chin desperately needed a razor. She was probably right.

  His chin still tucked down, he grinned up at her. "You look too beautiful for words." It was true. Even beat up and covered in gauze bandages, she was a sight he never wanted to forget. Before she could protest, he rushed on, "You want a drink?"

  He helped her take a few sips of water, careful not to lean on the bed, afraid of hurting her.

  "Can you… check on Atlas?"

  For a moment he had no idea what she was talking about. And then it hit him. Her dog. Her Military Working Dog. Her partner.

  Had they been out on an assignment together? If Ashley had almost died, was there a chance the dog had survived?

  Thinking about how close he'd come to losing her brought a hot thickness to his throat. "I'll find out."

  Her eyelids fluttered closed, and he took her hand again. More for him than for her, this time.

  He'd come here to offer support for her mom. He'd thought, after Ashley had been away so long, after she'd never answered one of his letters, that the distance had diminished his feelings for her.

  He'd been wrong.

  Seeing her like this was a wakeup call.

  He still loved her. He'd known it when she was sixteen and he fourteen. He knew it now as a twenty-six year old man, deep in his gut and reverberating throughout his body.

  There was never going to be anybody else for him.

  When she got through this, when she was back home in Redbud Trails, Oklahoma, back on her feet and re-building her confidence, as no doubt she would need to, that's when he would make one thousand percent sure she knew about his feelings.

  He would woo her.

  He would prove he was the man for her.

  He would make her fall in love with him, too.

  Chapter One

  Six weeks later

  Ash Reynolds released both her white-knuckled grip and the breath she'd been holding as the plane touched down and slowed to ground speed.

  She didn't mind flying. Had been all over the world as part of her military career. But she hated landing.

  "All right, boy?" she asked her flying companion.

  Atlas, the huge German Shepherd Dog lying at her feet glanced up, panting. One of his ears cocked to beautiful attention. The other was only half-there, a visible reminder of the terror they'd survived. Just like her empty shirt-sleeve.

  She was looking forward to her homecoming today. And she was dreading it. She wanted to see her parents. Her mom had been there in the early days after Ash's amputation and had told her it was time to come home. Her dad's Alzheimer's was getting worse, and they needed Ash.

  She needed the direction. But things with her parents were…difficult.

  After high school graduation, Ashley had found out the truth. She'd been adopted as an infant. The fact that her parents hadn't told her after a lifetime of opportunity had broken her heart. How could they keep something so important from her?

  Over several months, that hurt had festered until she had seriously questioned her identity. Who was she, really?

  She'd found herself in the Marines. As a soldier, as a MWD handler. She and her partner, Atlas, had been responsible for saving countless lives.

  And now she'd not ju
st lost an arm, she'd lost that identity—Ashley the soldier.

  Her parents needed her. Maybe she could help in the family feed store.

  Was that who Ashley was now? Small-town girl.

  The moniker fit like a coat two sizes too small.

  And…

  Everything would be different now.

  Everyone in Redbud Trails—people she had known all her life would look at her. And have questions. She dreaded the questions.

  She'd started to come to terms with her condition. Her handicap. She was an amputee.

  It didn't mean she was less of a woman. She just had to work harder to do certain things than the two-armed population.

  Sometimes, in the dead of night when she couldn't sleep, when the arm that wasn't there anymore ached, she got a little bitter about it. Why had this happened to her? Why did she have to fight so hard for everything? As a child, she'd worked so hard to fit in, not knowing why it felt so difficult. As a soldier, she'd struggled to get her counterparts to accept her in a male-dominated field. Then, for survival. And now, sometimes just getting through the day was a battle.

  It was a battle she would fight, though. And win. She was no quitter.

  She just had to figure out what to do with her life now. Before her injury, she'd thought she would be career military. That dream had disappeared with her arm. In combat situations, her amputation prevented her from both carrying a weapon and controlling her dog—and she refused to put her partner in danger. So here she was.

  Back home, where everything had started.

  She and Atlas were on the emergency exit row, so he'd have more room at her feet. As a MWD, he was allowed in the cabin. But he was retired now, like her. Discharged because he'd lost hearing in his injured ear.

  At least she'd been allowed to keep him. He'd been a big part of her life for the last several years. They'd trained together, been at war together. Those kinds of things bonded you. And… almost dying together? They were linked, that was for sure.

  The seatbelt light blinked off, and it took twice as long to unbuckle her belt with only one hand to release the mechanism. She stood, and took care to settle her carryon bag over her shoulder and adjust the strap before she picked up Atlas's leash and moved into the aisle. If it started to ride down her arm, she would have to completely stop and settle the dog before she could fix it. Limitations.

  In the terminal, passengers streamed along in an unchoreographed dance. Businessmen in suits with rolling luggage. Soccer moms trying to corral their kids. Young people with backpacks slung over their shoulders. None paying a bit of attention to the returning veteran.

  Until Ashley stepped out of the secured passenger area and into the public terminal. A crowd had gathered around. Several people were waving flags. She wasn't three feet beyond security when they started clapping and whistling. Her face flared hot. Her hand tensed on Atlas's leash, and he looked back at her, waiting for instructions, just like always. Asking her with those warm brown eyes if this was a situation they needed to control.

  She reassured him with a smile. This wasn't dangerous—not in the way he understood danger, anyway.

  In front of the crowd was a tall figure holding a handmade sign written on poster board that read, "Welcome home, Ashley" and was signed "Love, Cowboy." Her heart sped up for one intense moment. But the incorrigible grin and dancing eyes beneath his brown Stetson made it hard to believe anything Ryan Michaels said—or wrote.

  She spared a thought for the packet of letters she'd tied with a ribbon and stowed at the bottom of her bag. Unopened.

  She should've known he was behind this fanfare. Her parents never would've done something like this.

  Her feet moved toward him on autopilot, Atlas at her side. She was still scanning the gathered crowd for her parents when she reached him.

  "Where are Mom and Dad?" She almost had to shout to be heard over the still-applauding group.

  A shadow shifted behind his expressive brown eyes. Blond curls peeked from beneath his hat. "They sent me to get you."

  It wasn't the whole story. But maybe now wasn't the time to push for answers, not with all these people watching.

  And chanting.

  Chanting?

  It started low, with only one or two voices calling out, but then the crowd picked up the refrain and the hum became audible.

  "Kiss her! Kiss her!"

  Ash's face flamed even hotter—burning like the hot sands in the desert where she'd been stationed.

  "Don't you dare," she growled at Ryan.

  The shouting might've drowned out her voice, but she would bet he could read her lips. He grinned and shrugged, affecting a what can you do? air. He stepped closer, and Atlas looked up at her again, probably confused by her uncertain body language.

  She used a hand command to make the dog sit but the moment of lost focus meant that Ryan was that much closer when she looked back up at him.

  "Kiss her! Kiss her!"

  His hands came to rest gently on her hips. She held up her arm to fend him off, lips parted to protest, and that's when he did it.

  Kissed her.

  Right there in public.

  His lips were cool, and she felt the very faint scrape of stubble when his chin rubbed against hers. His Stetson brushed the top of her hair, and he smelled so good—like man and leather and cowboy…

  He smelled so good that for a moment, she got lost in the kiss. Somehow her hand tangled up in his shirt—she hadn't really clenched her fist to hold him there, had she?

  And then he was looking down on her, his brown eyes dancing.

  Though she couldn't hear him over the cheers and wolf whistles of the crowd, she saw his lips move. "You wanna get out of here?"

  The military had trained her to make quick decisions. Working with Atlas on missions where discovering explosive devices happened too often to count, sometimes she had only a fraction of a second to decide a course of action. The way she saw it, she could pay a very large sum of money to take a taxi back to Redbud Trails—if she could even find one that would drive that far. Or she could ride back with the man who'd just knocked her socks off with that kiss.

  If she had had cash on her, she would've opted for the taxi.

  As it was, she sighed and muttered an assent.

  #

  Ashley had steamed him up with that kiss.

  She'd kissed him back.

  And judging by the way she was marching ahead of him toward the baggage claim, she was steamed at him. At least she'd been polite to the assembled crowd, shaking hands and accepting well wishes before the small group had dispersed.

  "I didn't tell them to say that," he told her.

  She iced him with a glare.

  "That's not how I pictured our first kiss," he tried.

  Now her expression turned incredulous, and he hastened to explain. "I mean, I have thought about it a few times…"

  She shook her head, a cute blush on her cheeks. "You always did have a crazy imagination."

  "So when can we do it again?"

  Her glare came back, but he laughed. He was thrilled that she was finally here. He'd been planning this homecoming for a week, ever since her mom had told him about it. It couldn't have gone better, not in any of the dozen ways he'd imagined it.

  "Let me take your bag," he said.

  She kept juggling the leash and her duffel, without a second hand to help her adjust. "I've got it."

  Well, maybe in his imagination, she'd been a little happier to see him.

  "Really, I'd like to carry it for you."

  "Really, I've got it." She sighed. "I've got some checked luggage, though. You can get a cart." Her grudging allowance maybe wasn't all he'd been looking for, but he had a two-hour drive with her in the cab of his truck. And a couple of surprises up his sleeve.

  He loaded her huge suitcase and two good-sized boxes onto a cart and pushed it through the sliding doors into the sultry, Oklahoma summer air. It was only beginning of May, but temperatures
had hit the nineties yesterday, and today looked to be the same.

  She walked slightly behind him, the dog between them, and he heard her huff of surprise as she crossed the threshold out of the air conditioning and into the outdoors.

  "How was your flight from San Antone?" he asked conversationally. He knew she'd gone back to an on-base apartment after the military hospital had released her.

  She grunted.

  Maybe if he tried another tack…

  "Your mom and dad are really excited to see you," he said. "But I have some bad news."

  He waited until she looked up at him.

  "They're throwing you a welcome home party. It's supposed to be a surprise, but I know how much you like those, so I thought I'd give you a warning now."

  He was rambling. That's how excited he was. He was like a little puppy, tail wagging and begging her to love him.

  Love him back.

  She hadn't even commented on his sign. Had she recognized the reference to how he'd signed the dozens of letters he'd sent her while she'd been stationed overseas?

  She looked at him askance. "You're kidding, right?"

  He shook his head. "Sorry, Sweet-Pea. They've invited pretty much the whole town. Closing the store an hour early. Food. Big banner. You're the guest of honor."

  She groaned, and her dog's ears—both the good one and the one that was only half-there—stood at attention.

  She made some kind of kssh noise in her throat and the dog relaxed again. If just a little groan could get that kind of reaction from the dog, what must it look like facing a real threat? More importantly, how had the dog learned to read her so well?

  She and the dog were that attuned to each other.

  Ryan was a little jealous.

  He nodded to his truck, glad he'd parked in the more expensive terminal lot so she didn't have to walk quite so far in the oppressive heat.

  "You're still driving this old rust-bucket?" she asked incredulously.

  "It's a Ford," he said. A little defensively. "They last a lifetime. Or so." He patted the side of the truck comfortingly.