Heart of a Cowgirl Read online

  The smile on his face faded when he recognized her.

  "This is our brother, Weston," Claire introduced brightly, somehow missing the tension that had Melody grinding her molars together.

  The girl's glance ping-ponged between Weston and Melody, and her gaze turned almost pleading.

  Maybe she hadn't missed the tension after all.

  2

  Live with abandon.

  Puff, puff. January first wasn't cold enough for Melody's breath to make clouds in front of her, which was a good thing, or she might not be doing this.

  First day of the rest of your life.

  She kept her eyes focused on the lightening sky at the horizon, tried to concentrate on each breath of fresh air.

  Her running shoes slapped against the gravel road heading out of town. The bungalows had given way to long stretches of winter grass with an occasional farmhouse. The words of her favorite Christian pop songs played through her mind, reminding her why she was doing this, working on another item on her bucket list.

  Because this was so not fun.

  Maybe she should have left off run a marathon.

  But there was a part of her that reveled in the exertion, in the sweat rolling down her back.

  Because she could do it. She was physically capable. And she hadn't always been.

  A mile back, she'd unzipped the jacket she'd thrown on over her tank top and running pants—something she'd normally never do, but no one was out this early on New Year's. And who would've expected it to be almost fifty degrees in the dead of winter?

  Her song—the one she'd chosen as her mantra—circled back through her head. Maybe tomorrow she'd remember her headphones, so she could loop the song over and over.

  She wanted to live with abandon.

  But she wasn't sure she knew how. Her first try at doing something bold had blown up in her face last night with Weston.

  When he'd come upstairs to check on his younger sisters, he'd seemed almost angry to find her talking to them, though he hadn't actually accused her of anything.

  She didn't understand why a man would be angry that she'd asked him out. She'd tried to make it low pressure. Say she wasn't interested in something long-term. Didn't men want flings?

  Although her two best friends had recently gotten engaged—and Anna's wedding was coming up in six weeks—Melody couldn't imagine being with someone for the rest of her life.

  Maybe because she was just now learning to live independently.

  She knew her parents meant well, but their constant overprotectiveness had done plenty of damage. It had taken her going to an out-of-state college and months of therapy to understand the unhealthy relationship that had been cultivated. And the fear that still dogged her sometimes.

  That fear was the reason she'd set up shop so far from home—a good three hours from her parents—and why she stayed, even when anxiety tried to get the best of her.

  Her running shoes crunched on a different material, and she looked down. She hadn't been paying attention, wrapped up inner own thoughts. She didn't recognize this farm lane that had changed from gravel to dirt in the last several yards.

  A farmhouse stood not far off the road. The barbed wire fencing was falling down, and long grasses had grown up, giving the place a slightly dilapidated look, though a new black truck was parked beside the house.

  She slowed to a walk and glanced at the combo pedometer and GPS at her wrist. Six miles. And she wasn't doubled over in pain. She even thought she could get back to town at a decent pace.

  Maybe a marathon was in her future.

  And then the cramp hit.

  * * *

  From his vantage point along the fence line, Weston saw the jogger approaching. Even from a distance, he knew it was a woman—couldn't help appreciating the slender shape, even if he couldn't make out her face.

  Who was running out here?

  Joggers, runners, dog walkers. He saw them all the time near his downtown condo in the city, but in Redbud Trails? Not so much.

  He paused to appreciate the graceful economy of her movement as she jogged by, then returned to his work.

  He worked the posthole diggers into the hard winter soil again, keeping the runner in his peripheral vision.

  The fence was falling down. It should've been replaced years ago. The whole property should've been replaced.

  He wasn't used to this kind of work anymore. He kept himself fit by hitting the gym weekday mornings, but maybe he'd been sitting at a desk too much, because he was sweating through his long-sleeved T-shirt, and he'd barely begun.

  He still had the entire fence line to go. He would've ignored it, but his buddy Ben Taylor had a barn full of rescued horses—animals that had been neglected or abused—and had asked Weston to board a couple of the animals. The question had been presented in front of his sisters, who'd immediately jumped on the idea and ran with it before Weston had agreed.

  He hadn't been able to deny them, not when they'd turned those puppy dog eyes on him. He'd been manipulated by the girls, again. But how could he have turned them down?

  They'd known their share of hardships. At fourteen, they were probably more grown up than they should have been, just like him. Growing up fast was required when one lived with Karly Moore.

  He just wished he'd known how much work it would be to get the property ready for animals again before he'd agreed.

  The runner slowed to a walk near the rutted driveway that needed to be graded. Probably turning around.

  And then she went down. Looked like she fainted.

  Suddenly aware of how far out of town they were, his heart pounded. He left the posthole diggers behind and rushed toward her. When he got close, he jumped the ditch, his boots making little puffs of dust on the dirt road.

  She wasn't out cold. She sat up, propping herself up with one hand while the other reached toward her leg.

  Relief pounded through him as he crossed the last few feet to her. He was about to call out when he caught sight of her face.

  Melody Carter again.

  What the heck? Memories of last night and how much he'd wanted to say yes to her pressed in on him and made his voice a growl.

  "What are you doing out here? You stalking me or something?"

  Her head jerked up, her eyes widening almost comically. She must be in pain if she hadn't heard his approach.

  A flush spread up her collarbone and into her neck, leaving a pale white line exposed. A perfectly straight line of scar tissue, just above the collar of her tank top.

  "I'm on the road. It's a free country," she snapped. Her mouth was lined and pinched white. She was in pain.

  And that made him feel like a heel. "What's wrong?" He squatted, coming down to her level.

  "I didn't even know you lived out here," she muttered. Her head was down, and her fingers probed at her thigh.

  "What's wrong?" he repeated. "Do I need to call for help?"

  He prayed it wasn't anything vital, but he couldn't help but wonder about that scar across her collarbone. The volunteer fire department, with a paramedic on board, would take awhile to get this far out.

  "It's just a cramp," she muttered again. He thought he heard go away emerge from between her clenched teeth, but he couldn't be sure.

  "You sure? Are you even supposed to be running?"

  She looked up at him, her brows drawn in confusion.

  He pointed to the scar.

  The pink blush that stained her face turned crimson, and she forgot about rubbing her leg as both hands reached for the zipper of her open sweatshirt.

  "Hey," he said when her fingers fumbled.

  She ignored him.

  She must've been running awhile, because her sweat had combined with the dirt from the road, and she was getting grubby fingerprints all over her black sweatshirt in her hurry to zip it up.

  When it was closed so tightly it might have choked her, she used both hands to push up off the ground.

  He was too close and ha
d to straighten and step back or get knocked onto his rump. He stepped back.

  "I'm fine," she said through gritted teeth. She favored her right leg.

  "I can see that."

  She wobbled, and he shook his head at her stubborn independence. When she glared at him, he raised his eyebrows and his shoulders. What?

  And then her face crumpled. She wobbled again, this time reaching out with both hands.

  He caught her hands in his. The thought of her bursting into tears terrified him.

  "What do you need?" he asked.

  "Just hold me up for a minute." Her snappish tone and even her embarrassment had disappeared in the pain.

  She released her grip on one of his hands, and he stepped closer in case he needed to grab her. She hissed as she reached down and grabbed the ankle of her injured leg, pulling her shoe nearly to her derrière in a stretch he recognized from his time at the gym.

  "That helping?"

  She shook her head, biting her lips.

  From this close, he could see the tears standing in her eyes, though she was keeping them at bay for the moment. He could also see the rim of her contact lenses.

  He'd thought her eyes had been unique. They'd certainly given him a punch in the gut. Was violet even her natural color?

  She lowered her head, letting her forehead rest on his chest for the briefest moment. It was enough to knock off the headband that had kept her crazy curls out of her face. The headband slipped down around her neck and her curls burst free.

  "Pink?" he asked.

  There was a single hank of pink hair right in front. Her bangs maybe. It hadn't been there last night.

  She glared at him, which probably didn't have the effect she was going for, since she still had tears standing in her eyes.

  "I did it last night after I got home from the party." She said the words almost like a dare. Like she wanted him to comment about her hair or the party or something, but he'd spent enough time with his sisters the last few months to know when to keep his trap shut with an emotional woman.

  "I like to change my hair to suit my mood."

  "I've noticed." He'd seen her sporting a bright, unnatural shade of red once. Once she had a streak of green through her hair.

  He found all of her looks cute. But couldn't help wondering...

  "What's your natural color?" he asked, because it seemed weird not to make conversation considering they were standing so close, he could smell her toothpaste when she exhaled.

  She shrugged. Not telling him.

  She released her leg, and her foot dropped to the ground. She took his empty hand again and moved into a squat.

  He pretended he felt nothing when they touched.

  But Melody Carter was a whole lot of complicated.

  And while normally he liked a challenge, a complicated woman in Redbud Trails—that was more challenge than he was willing to suffer.

  He'd been there before. And he wasn't going back.

  * * *

  Weston had been silent long enough that Melody started to squirm.

  She hadn't thought she could be more uncomfortable.

  Was there such a thing as dying of humiliation?

  He'd seen her scar.

  She took such pains to keep it concealed, and of all the people in town, he had to see it. The person she'd humiliated herself in front of.

  Okay, and the first guy that she'd been attracted to in years.

  Talk about humiliating.

  The cramp in her quad loosened, and she was able to take her first full breath in five minutes. She shook her leg out slightly and let go of Weston's hands.

  Humiliation multiplier: she liked holding his hands. He had a strong, sure grip. Like he was a confident guy.

  Too bad he wasn't interested in her and, now that he'd seen her scar, he never would be. Getting a glimpse of her scar had sent past dates scurrying for the safety of a healthy woman.

  "What're you doing running all the way out here anyway? You need a ride back to your car?"

  She shook her head. No way was she extending the humiliation.

  "I'm training for a marathon," she said grudgingly. "And I'm fine."

  "A marathon?" At the lilt in his voice, she couldn't help but look up.

  Was that admiration in his gaze? "When?"

  "When I'm ready."

  Some of the admiration faded at her hedging.

  "It's on the list," she said with a shrug. She didn't go around publicizing the list, but it wasn't a secret either. Anna and Lila would get a laugh out of the fact that she'd actually written down her list, since they often teased her about her OCD tendencies.

  "Like your New Years' resolutions?" His lips twisted like he disdained that idea.

  Not that she cared, but she corrected him anyway. "Like a bucket list. Things I want to do before I die."

  His gaze slipped lower. Thank God she'd covered up with her jacket, even though she was sweating through it. "I thought you said—"

  "There's nothing wrong with me. I just have a long list. It will probably take decades to get through it all."

  There. That sounded brave. Bold.

  Not like the scaredy cat she really was.

  3

  Afternoon sunlight slanted through the store's front windows. Three hours until closing. Main Street had been slow today.

  Melody had kept her head down in the week since the disastrous New Year's Eve party and early morning non-injury. Too afraid to humiliate herself again.

  She'd changed her running route, even though her normal, non-holiday schedule meant getting up to run at five a.m. before opening the store.

  She hadn't had a chance to talk with Anna and Lila since the party, which was probably a blessing. Anna had been busy getting Mikey back into his school schedule and juggling wedding plans. Lila had been called on by the county to rescue a horse and had been scarce.

  The bell over the front door jangled, and she looked up from the inventory report she'd been reconciling.

  "Claire. Hi!"

  "Hi." The teen came slowly over the threshold, looking around avidly, almost shyly.

  Melody was proud of what she'd done with the store. It wasn't huge, but the wall racks and freestanding floor racks showed off the trendy clothes to their best advantage. The glass counter had a small selection of mid-range specialized jewelry locked inside, and a few smaller displays of costume jewelry took up space throughout the store.

  Chase ducked through the door behind Claire with a second jangle of the bell.

  "Hi, there!" Melody said in surprise.

  Chase only grunted. Although she couldn't hide how her gaze tracked the room like her sister's had. Same as the last time she'd seen them, they were dressed completely differently. Claire wore a trendy sweater, a cute knee-length skirt, and tall boots. Chase had on a baggy T-shirt and baggy jeans.

  "What's up, you two?"

  "Just hanging out after school."

  A glance at the clock. She hadn't realized it was late enough in the day for school to have let out, but it was almost four.

  Don't ask, don't ask.

  "How's your brother?" The words slipped out anyway, much to Melody's consternation.

  Chase looked over her shoulder from where she played with a counter display of beaded bracelets. "Why do you want to know?"

  Claire glared at her sister, pink rising in her cheeks. She offered an apologetic smile to Melody. "He had a meeting in Oklahoma City today. He'll be back by dinnertime."

  She didn't even know what he did. Or why he'd come to Redbud Trails.

  She watched Claire pass Chase, whispering something that Melody couldn't hear. Chase shook her head tightly. Claire circled several clothing racks and then moved close to the navy dress in the window display—the same one that she'd gushed over the night of the party.

  "So what brings you in today?" Melody asked. "Seems like I heard there was a school dance coming up...?"

  She'd been thrilled when a couple of other teenage
girls had come in during the week and bought dresses to wear to the Valentine's Day dance. The fact that they'd shopped local and not gone down to Oklahoma City made her proud of the work she was doing. And she needed a little confidence booster after a mid-week phone call with her mother that had left her feeling down.

  "Are you two going to the dance?"

  Chase snorted, but Claire shot her another glare, then turned back to the rack of belts she was examining.

  "Maybe...I don't know," Claire said.

  "She wants Eli to ask her." Chase offered. Melody might have thought the girl was finally warming up to her—she had no idea why Chase was so cool toward her—if not for the one-up look Chase sent her sister.

  Color rose in Claire's cheeks, but she didn't deny it. "Well, you'd like it if Jeremy Warren asked you."

  Chase glowered.

  Melody moved away from the counter and approached Claire where she stood gazing at the dress. The price tag that had previously been artfully tucked in the armpit dangled free. Claire must've looked at it.

  "I still have an opening for a part time cashier," she said softly.

  "Weston said I could get a job."

  "He didn't say you could get this job," Chase muttered.

  Melody ignored her, unable to deny the joy shining on Claire's face. "Hang on."

  She went behind the counter, pulled out a blank employment application, and pushed it across the glass-topped counter to the girl. "Fill this out. I looked online. This is the form the school will have to sign. If your brother agrees, you can start on Monday."

  Claire leaned across and threw her arms around Melody.

  The edge of the counter cut into Melody's ribs, but she patted the girl's back.

  She well remembered those tumultuous times, as well as what her parents had done to her. She would give the girl a chance.

  If Weston agreed.

  * * *

  Thursday evening, Melody counted the beaded bracelets on the countertop display for the third time. Thirty-two.

  But the printed thirty-four still glared up at her from the inventory list lying face up next to the display. She made a practice of taking inventory once per quarter. Not only did it help with the books at year end, but when she reviewed the sales reports, it helped her see trends in what her customers were buying.