No Cowboy Required (Biggest Little Love)

by Sky, JoAnn

  Western Life. Too boring.

  Life on a Ranch. Too country.

  Call of the Wild. Too taken.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. How would she describe the ranch, the wild horse, the wide-open space? Wide open. Fit for a cowboy, not that you needed to be one to fit into Reno. Think, Grace. An image of JJ poking at his chest filled her mind, wearing his cowboy hat, just like Noah.

  No Cowboy Required. Perfect.

  She called up one last favor—a friend who managed the copy shop down the street from her apartment—and got a commitment for several vinyl banners to be delivered to the club later that afternoon.

  Grace was hanging up the last of the prints next to her and JJ’s bio when Noah’s text came through. Good luck tonight. Love JJ & Noah. She quickly typed in thanks. Should she sign it Gracie or Love Gracie? People signed with “love” all the time and didn’t mean it as an endearing pledge. She stared at the screen. She’d coordinated an entire art show and was now stressing over one simple text. Her fingers hovered over the keys. What the heck was wrong with her?

  Spencer waltzed through the club’s front doors, her vinyl banners rolled up in his arms. Grace pressed send without signing and shoved the phone in her back pocket.

  “I caught the delivery boy outside,” he said, indicating the banners.

  “Is he still here? I haven’t paid yet.” Grace started for the door.

  Spencer grabbed her forearm. “Relax. I took care of it. Besides, you’re doing me a favor. Art people love to drink. Everybody knows that.” He winked, then looked her up and down. “You look hot in that dress.”

  She leaned in for a quick hug. The smell of his signature cologne that she loved, a light musk with a tinge of citrus, enveloped her. It was nothing like Noah’s fresh-soap smell. “Thanks. The club looks fabulous. You’ve outdone yourself.”

  “Walk me through your exhibit.” He stepped back and let her lead him past the storyboards. She shared the backstory with him as they walked—their excitement at Kiddo’s birth, Socks’s loneliness as an outcast, the electricity in the air when the horses fought.

  When they finished, he took her hand in his and lifted it. “Sounds like that wide-open ranch of yours has a lot of heart.” He winked, then brushed his lips against her knuckles. “You’re a shoo-in for that grant.”

  “Are the New Day folks coming?”

  “They RSVP’d. So did the curators or art directors from every art gallery invited.”

  Her stomach jiggled. “Really?”

  “You sell yourself short. The work you’ve done under Simon hasn’t gone unnoticed.”

  She gave him another hug. She couldn’t have done any of this without him. She’d needed his support, and he’d come through. Bad-boy reputation aside, Spencer was a good guy.

  He checked his Rolex. “Let’s get these up.” He handed her a banner. “It’s almost show time.”

  The evening flew by, but by nine o’clock, she had yet to see someone from New Day. Despite being totally overwhelmed with his packed club, Spencer made a point of personally introducing her to every potential art collector—a.k.a. wealthy patrons. Was Spence always this thoughtful? Maybe she’d been so wrapped up in her career she’d never noticed. She took a sip of her Chardonnay.

  Someone tapped her right shoulder. “Grace Harper?”

  Grace whirled around to face a tall man with graying hair. “Yes?”

  “I’m Marty Allman.” He held out his hand. “From New Day Society.” They shook. “Your work is amazing.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Allman.”

  “Call me Marty. I’m glad Spencer included us tonight.”

  “I’m glad you came.”

  “The way the drawings and the photos come together and share a story,” Mr. Allman started. “Where did the inspiration for this come from?”

  “My stepbrother. JJ drew the sketches, from memory. Once I developed my shots and saw how they worked together, it seemed like a natural fit to put the two mediums together.”

  “I’d like to meet JJ.” He looked around. “Is he here?”

  “Unfortunately not. He’s back in Reno. He’s ten.”

  “Yes, I read that on the bio, and about his autism. What you both have done here is amazing. I’d like to recommend your exhibit to our board for our grant, with your permission, of course.”

  “Really? Yes, I-I mean, yes, we’d be honored.”

  “Of course, nothing can be confirmed until they approve,” Mr. Allman said. “But I think we’ve found this year’s grant recipients with you and your brother.” He flashed a sincere smile, not the typical steely New York type, and handed her his card. “Give me a call first thing next week, and we’ll set up a time for you to come and meet our board.”

  She did a jig in place as she watched Mr. Allman walk away. She couldn’t wait to tell JJ. They’d done it! Her instincts had been right. She glanced toward Spencer, holding court with a few suits. He saw her looking and raised his glass to her.

  Dear Lord, he looked dapper tonight. And sexy. She sipped her wine. Broad shoulders, confident stance, smooth moves. He was definitely in his zone amongst the movers and shakers of the city. Noah would be totally out of his element here. This wasn’t his world. But it was hers now. Spencer fit in that world. And they’d be good together. She started toward him, determined to convince her heart to follow her brain. A palm on her shoulder stopped her.

  “Fabulous exhibit, fabulous opening, fabulous food. The entire evening.” Simon grabbed her free hand and brought it to his lips for a kiss. “Utterly fabulous.”

  Grace smiled and squashed the urge to drive her knuckles into his nose. The Big City was small when it came to bridge burning.

  “I need you back, darling.”

  Grace extricated her hand gently but firmly. “You fired me.”

  “A mistake. A huge one.” He drank his red wine, slowly scanned the roomful of everyone who was anyone, and then glanced at her exhibit. “Marvelous work, dear. I must say, I’m impressed.” It sounded like envy coating his words more than pride. “You must come back. Name your price.”

  Two weeks ago—maybe even two days ago—she would’ve been thrilled to hear Simon begging her to come back. Now the words seemed hollow. “Name my price?”

  “Yes, dear, name it. We make a fabulous team.”

  Even double her salary would no doubt be cheaper for him than a new competitor. Grace raised a brow. “Team? Then you’re asking me to come back as an equal, a partner, and not an employee?”

  Simon cleared his throat, then adjusted his tie. “Well, yes, we could talk of that after things have settled down. And you’re focused. You’re finished with all of that family stuff, I assume?”

  Finished? Her neck hairs prickled. “That family stuff is my brother. I don’t see how I’d ever be finished with him.”

  “Yes, yes. That’s what I meant, of course.”

  Grace stepped back. “Listen, Simon. I appreciate the offer, I truly do. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me and taught me.” She paused, expecting a rush of panic, the feeling that always warned her when she was doing something she might regret. It never came. “I wish you the best in your future. But that future isn’t with me.”

  “I won’t ask again, dear.” He raised his glass of wine.

  She clicked his glass with hers. “I know.”

  …

  Grace followed Spencer out of the elevator and into his penthouse. “You should’ve seen his face. Poor Simon.” She giggled.

  “I did, but I wish I’d been closer.” Spencer put the key in the door with one hand and with the other snagged Grace around the wrist and pulled her to him. “You did great tonight. Your exhibit was the hit of my opening, the highlight of the evening. It totally overshadowed me, and I loved it.”

  Grace threw her head back and laughed. “No, your opening was off the charts. Your club is going to be the place to go for the next decade.”

  The door swung open, and Spencer lifted her o
ver the threshold and carried her in.

  “You’re crazy. Put me down!”

  He set her down but didn’t let her go. Then he swooped in and kissed her.

  She instinctively pushed away, confusion clouding her thoughts. This was all wrong. She hadn’t even called Noah or JJ to tell them the good news.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” She took a large gulp of air. “I mean, I don’t know. Everything.” She dug in her purse for her cell. “I have to make a phone call.”

  “Now? To who?”

  Images of Noah and JJ and the animals crowded her brain and bumped against her skull, pounding, pounding, pounding. She stared at Spencer, wracking her brain for the right words, aching to feel something more for him. Not wanting to add him to her list of those she hurt.

  “We have a lot of fun together, Spencer. And you know I think the world of you. And I’m so thankful for your help tonight, but…” She pressed her lips together. “Us. I can’t.”

  Disappointment swept across his face, covered swiftly by acceptance. He reached out and caressed her cheek, nodding, his eyes telling her he understood and that he wasn’t offended.

  “You’re a gorgeous woman, Grace.” He cleared his throat and stepped back, dropping his hand. “But I make it my business to never mix pleasure with business. And given the loan I’ve committed to…” His voice trailed off. There was no condescension, no bitterness. His tone didn’t say “never,” but rather “not now, maybe later.” So Spencer-esque.

  “I’ll call you a cab, honey.” He gave her one of those wish-things-were-different half smiles. “It’s time to get you home.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Grace sat on her bed in her little black cocktail dress and stared at her enviable collection of jewelry, scarves, and purses strewn about her cramped, little apartment. Seven years of high-fashion crap, and none of it meant a thing.

  What was wrong with her?

  JJ was settled.

  The ranch was saved.

  With the grant, Spencer’s loan, and Ricky’s partnership, her immediate future was shiny.

  Her perfect plan had been anything but perfect, yet she’d gotten everything she’d wanted. Still she felt as empty inside as her apartment felt bare.

  The exhibition was a success. The opening of her best New York friend’s bar had gone off beautifully. Said friend, one of the most eligible bachelors in the City, was ready to give her the world—and, in fact, had by helping her tonight. And she’d essentially pushed him away. The only person who’d supported her in New York, the only person who’d never asked for a commitment, never pressured—not even tonight.

  Noah was the complete opposite of Spencer. He pushed, he poked. He annoyed the heck out of her with his demands and assumptions and expectations. Expectations she’d never be able to meet, even if she wanted to, which she didn’t.

  Then why couldn’t she get him out of her mind?

  Her eyes wandered to her carry-on bag sitting on her dresser. She hadn’t even finished unpacking. There’d been too many things to do this past week to get ready for the exhibition. It had nothing to do with a nagging urge to use that dang bag again.

  Nothing.

  She forced herself up and toward the bag. She’d unpack it now, right this second, and then go to sleep.

  She started tossing the contents of the bag onto her bed and an envelope glided to the floor. Her father’s letter. How could she have forgotten about that? Easy, with years of practice.

  She eyed the envelope. She knew what the letter inside would say. It would be filled with responsibilities, with expectations. Take care of the ranch, Grace. Take care of your stepbrother, Grace. Fix the mess I made, Grace. Help me up, Grace. Don’t leave me, Grace.

  Images of her drunk-with-depression father and all the reasons she’d fled swarmed her mind. She didn’t want to open the envelope. She didn’t even want to touch it. Her eyes welled up. She snatched the envelope off the ground and ripped it open, anger replacing her tears.

  My dearest Grace,

  If you’re reading this, I imagine I’m no longer around, or at least no longer in full capacity. There are so many things I wish I could tell you. Those things could fill a notebook.

  A notebook of regret is too much for one life. It is my hope that with this letter, I spare you from the same.

  You are probably surprised to find this chest with the coins I saved for you. Maybe you’re surprised that I used your birthday on the combination lock. You shouldn’t be. Even though we haven’t spoken much these past years, you’ve never left my thoughts. But a pile of unsent birthday cards are lousy proof of a father’s love. I know this now.

  I started collecting guns when I was young, before I was married and before you were born, picking up a rifle here, a revolver there. Once I met your mother, though, she wanted nothing to do with them. So when I had an opportunity to trade them with a guy who’d saved silver dollars from the casinos, I did. At the time, it was probably a fair trade, except for that Seated Liberty. I don’t think he realized what he’d traded. I stocked it and the rest of the coins away in the attic, waiting for the right time to surprise your mother. She surprised me first. And when she left, she broke my heart. She took my soul. I was a broken man after that, and I was a broken father, too.

  Sheila and JJ rebuilt me. They pulled me out of the darkness and offered me a wonderful life. And love. I know these are things that I couldn’t manage to give to you myself, and I understand now why you ran. I failed you. I’m sorry.

  You might never be able to forgive me, but here in this chest is my attempt at redemption. I wasn’t able to give you a very good life without your mother, but now I can help you build your future.

  I know JJ loves the ranch, but it’s never been Sheila’s dream. I don’t expect she’ll want to stay there after I’m gone. So, my dear Grace, take the contents of this chest and do with it what you will. When I found out I was sick, I looked up every coin’s value. I hope you get something close to what I calculated. Do not spend it on my dreams or the dreams of others.

  I am proud of you. Go live your life, Grace.

  I love you,

  Daddy

  The letter was dated six months ago. Her father had known he was dying. He’d known she’d soon come home and find the chest. Grace stared at the cursive words. She couldn’t possibly have read them right. So she re-read them, once, twice, three times. Her heart kept pace as her eyes ran through the words. Words that never changed. Every time, the letter ended without a should’ve or need-to held over her head.

  Her heart banged in her chest, wanting out. Yes, she needed to get out of her apartment before the walls smothered her. She quickly changed into jeans, a sweatshirt, and tennis shoes, grabbed her camera, and headed for the street. She needed to walk and clear her mind. It’d be dawn in less than an hour. It’d be safe. Even the bums were sleeping now.

  Once outside, ideas flew through her mind, over and over, faster than her feet could move. Her father wanted to give her a chance at life, the life he couldn’t give her seven years ago. He wanted her to make her own decisions. He wanted her to be happy.

  She walked and thought and walked and thought, losing track of time and distance, trying to sort through what it all meant, what she felt. She looked up. She was in Greenwich Village now. Shops were opening, sidewalks being swept. She lifted her camera and snapped. How would JJ see things here? The grocery owner placing out the fresh fruit. The street vendor brewing his coffee. She kept clicking the camera button, reveling in the morning bustle.

  She’d shut out her father and Noah and everyone else. She’d built a wall so high and so thick she didn’t think anyone would get through. She’d blamed herself for being too weak to “fix” her father. She’d failed as a daughter. Then she’d spent the past seven years proving herself worthy. But worthy of what?

  Her father’s love. Something, according to the letter, she’d always had.

  Daddy’s words
pushed through. Go live your life, Grace. I love you.

  Daddy. Where the heck had that word come from?

  Grace took a deep breath. Smells of coffee and waffles wafted through the air from the street vendors. It was time to forgive. Him and herself. She didn’t have anything else to prove.

  She was free.

  And suddenly she knew exactly what she wanted from this newfound freedom. She grabbed her phone and dialed Spencer.

  He answered with a groan. “Watch stopped?” he asked sleepily. “Because you can’t possibly use that shitty time-zone excuse again.”

  Grace chuckled. “We need to talk.”

  “Come on over. But don’t expect me to be strong enough for both of us again.”

  “Actually, can you meet me at Joe’s Coffee, the one on Waverly Place?”

  “You seriously want to just talk.” He sighed. “Sure, I can meet you.”

  Twenty minutes later, she walked toward Spencer, who was waiting on the corner outside the coffee shop. Collared shirt, new jeans. He wore them almost better than his suits. He held her gaze as she approached. His eyes searched for something and then relaxed just slightly, as if they’d found it.

  Grace shoved her hands in the front pockets of her sweatshirt and elbowed his arm. “Thanks for meeting me.”

  “Anytime, babe, you know that.” He cocked his head and the edges of his lips turned up. “When do you leave?”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Eight days later, after a red-eye to San Francisco and small but very bumpy hop to Reno, Grace pulled into the Stop-n-Gas.

  Mrs. Walters met her at the counter, stoic-faced as usual. No doubt she knew Grace had left. Was the old woman surprised to see her? Grace couldn’t tell.

  Grace grabbed a bag of Skittles and held out a dollar bill.

  Mrs. Walters ignored the money. “I heard that fancy art show of yours went well. JJ was sky-high with pride earlier this week, telling anyone who’d listen.”

  Grace grinned and shoved the dollar into her purse. “Yeah, it did.” She’d called Noah and JJ the morning after the exhibit, right after meeting Spencer for coffee, and given them a play-by-play of the evening. For once, Grace wasn’t annoyed that word had spread to Mrs. Walters. She was proud of what she and JJ had accomplished.