Her Kind of Cowboy

by Charlotte Douglas

  Concentrate on something else, anything else.

  He refused to experience an emotional meltdown, especially not on the quiet street of a strange town. He focused on the giant maples, thick with summer foliage, whose arched branches shaded the broad avenue from the summer heat. The neighborhood, with its century-old homes on oversize lots and surrounded by colorful beds of flowers, was a throwback to a different time, a perfect setting for The Andy Griffith Show. Ethan half expected to see a barefooted Opie come whistling down the street with a fishing pole slung over his shoulder.

  The image, conjured from television reruns he’d watched during his recuperation, calmed him. With his panic conquered, at least for the moment, he recalled another pleasant image. The pretty woman he’d found sprawled asleep in the grass behind the bed-and-breakfast had been a delightful surprise. He should have awakened her immediately. Instead, he’d taken a moment to appreciate the gracefulness of her bare arms, her short, thick hair the color of sunshine, and her cheeks flushed as pink as the roses that rambled along the split rail fence at the back of the yard. Best of all, however, had been the startling cornflower blue of her wide eyes when she’d awakened, a hue as deep and magnificent as the Carolina sky. His admiration of the woman gave him hope.

  Ethan, old buddy, maybe you’re not dried-up and dead inside after all.

  His panic defeated and his outlook more optimistic than it had been in months, he whistled a Montgomery Gentry tune, climbed into his pickup, started the engine, and backed his truck into the parking lot. He doubted the crime rate was high in this small Southern town, but he didn’t want to risk his belongings, securely stowed under a tarp in the bed of his truck, by leaving them on the street, ripe for picking.

  After positioning his truck in the space directly beneath the security light, he shut off the engine, grabbed his duffel bag from the passenger seat, climbed out and keyed the lock.

  On the front porch, a screen door slammed. The pretty woman—hell, maybe he was dead, or at least his brain, he hadn’t even asked her name—scampered down the wide front stairs, hurried down the front walk and took the sidewalk that led to the town’s main street. She’d changed into a floral dress that caught his attention, showing off her nice figure.

  Don’t get carried away. She’s probably married and runs this place with her husband.

  Disappointment engulfed him at the thought, because he couldn’t get over the impression he’d had from the first time he saw her that this woman was someone he’d been waiting for, for a long, long time.

  He hoisted his bag to his shoulder and headed for the entrance. He’d be at the B and B a few more days. Plenty of time to learn her name.

  * * *

  CAROLINE CUT THROUGH the alley between Jay-Jay’s Garage and Fulton’s Department Store and hurried across Piedmont Avenue, the town’s main street, to Jodie’s Mountain Crafts and Café. It was past the café’s four o’clock closing time, but Caroline was counting on Jodie’s still being there to let her in. Otherwise, she’d have to return home and do her own baking for her guest’s breakfast tomorrow.

  The “closed” sign hung in plain view inside the double front doors, but when Caroline pressed her face to the glass, she spotted Jodie Davidson, the owner, sitting at the counter beside the cash register and figuring up the day’s receipts. Caroline rapped on the glass with her knuckles. Jodie looked up, spotted her and smiled. In less than a minute, she had the door open and was motioning Caroline to a seat at the counter.

  “How ’bout a glass of iced tea?” Jodie asked. “I was just about to pour myself one.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Caroline had known Jodie all her life, and, with her brown, sun-streaked hair, cheerleader-fresh face, and trim figure, the café’s owner looked remarkably like the teenager Caroline remembered. But her friendship with Jodie went back even further than their teen years to the days when Jodie had bird-dogged the steps of her older brother Grant, whom she adored. Jodie had slipped away from her mother’s watchful eye one bright fall morning and appeared at the door of Caroline’s second-grade classroom. Grant had been more worried about his little sister than embarrassed, causing Caroline to develop a crush on the boy that had lasted through high school. Now Grant was married to Merrilee Stratton and they had a child of their own. All her friends had moved on with their lives. Only Caroline was stuck in a Pleasant Valley limbo.

  In a series of deft moves, Jodie scooped crushed ice into two glasses, filled them with sweet tea, garnished the rims with lemon wedges, and set them on the counter.

  “I don’t know how you do it,” Caroline said.

  Jodie laughed. “I’ve been working this counter so many years, I could serve beverages in my sleep.”

  Caroline took a sip and shook her head. “I’m not talking about just the café. You run this business, raise Brittany, and help Jeff ride herd on the boys at Archer Farm. Don’t you ever get tired?”

  The entire town had been abuzz when Jeff Davidson, the resident bad boy, had returned to Pleasant Valley after a hitch in the military. With four other former Marines, he’d opened his facility for at-risk teenage boys. Not only had Archer Farm proved a success, Jeff had married Jodie and adopted her teenage daughter.

  “I doubt I work half as hard as you,” Jodie said. “How’s your mother?”

  “In Walhalla with Aunt Mona. And I have an unexpected guest. Please tell me you have muffins so I don’t have to go home and bake.”

  “Cranberry-pecan, apple cinnamon, or blueberry-walnut?”

  “All of the above. If this guy’s size is any indicator, I’m guessing his appetite is huge.”

  “Businessman?” Jodie asked.

  Caroline shrugged. “Don’t know. He’s just passing through on a move to Baltimore.”

  “You okay there by yourself?” Concern shone in Jodie’s hazel eyes.

  “There’s a dead bolt on the door to our private rooms. I’m as safe as anyone is these days. And the police department is only a block away.” She rolled her eyes. “And nosy neighbors even closer.”

  Jodie opened the door of a stainless steel freezer, removed three packages of frozen muffins, dropped them into a plastic bag, and placed it on the counter. “I don’t know why you buy these from me. Your baking’s better than mine.”

  “Thanks, but yours take the prize. Besides, I have so little time to myself, I hate to spend it in the kitchen.”

  The bell on the front door jingled, indicating a new arrival. A tall, good-looking man with dark brown hair and matching eyes closed the door behind him.

  “Hi, Rand,” Jodie greeted the newcomer. “What’s up?”

  Randall Benedict rented the office suite over Jodie’s café for his law practice. Last October, he’d married Brynn Sawyer, another of Caroline’s lifelong friends, and had made a permanent move from New York to the valley.

  “Hi, Jodie. Caroline, I’m glad you’re here. I stopped by your house, but your guest said you’d gone to town.”

  Rand’s eyes were troubled, and thin-set lips and a tightened jaw replaced his usual rakish grin.

  “Is something wrong?” Caroline’s heart stuttered. Why would the attorney seek her out? Had her mother had an accident and he’d been drafted to break the bad news? “Is it Mama?”

  “As far as I know, your mother’s fine,” Rand assured her quickly, “but I have some sad news.”

  The skin on the back of her neck tingled, and, in a flash of precognition, Caroline
took a deep breath and waited, knowing that what Rand was about to say would change her life forever.

  “It’s Eileen Bickerstaff at Blackberry Farm,” he said. “She died last night.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  IN RAND’S LAW OFFICE above the café, Caroline fidgeted in the maroon leather chair beside his mahogany desk. The cold from the plastic bag of frozen muffins in her lap seeped through the thin fabric of her dress and chilled her thighs. She shivered with cold and grief. Eileen, despite her age, had seemed healthy and vibrant. Her death came as a shock.

  “I don’t understand,” Caroline said. “What’s so urgent that you have to tell me now?”

  Rand reached into the top right drawer, withdrew an envelope and slid it across the desk. “Before you open that, there’s something you need to know.”

  “Poor Eileen.” Tears prickled the back of her eyelids. The elderly woman had been more than an employer. She’d been a friend and confidante, a source of unconditional acceptance and affection, more loving and maternal than her own mother. Caroline had known that Eileen was ninety-eight, but the old woman had seemed timeless, and Caroline had expected her friend to be around as long as Caroline remained in the valley. She’d never considered the possibility that Eileen would die before Caroline made her break.

  “I know this is hard for you,” Rand said. “We’re all shocked by Eileen’s death. Especially Brynn. She’s the one who found her.”

  Brynn had resigned as an officer with the police department when she’d married Rand last year and moved to River Walk, the house on Valley Road nearest Blackberry Farm.

  “If it’s any consolation,” Rand was saying, “Eileen’s passing was peaceful. She died in her sleep with a smile on her face.”

  Caroline glanced at the envelope where her name was scrawled in Eileen’s elegant but spidery script. “What is it I need to know?”

  “Eileen left you a bequest.”

  Caroline swallowed hard to keep from sobbing. Dear Eileen. She’d probably provided a small contribution to what she’d dubbed Caroline’s Escape Plan.

  Rand’s next words took Caroline’s breath away. “She left you Blackberry Farm and all her savings.”

  “What?” Caroline reeled with shock. Rand had to be mistaken. “That’s not possible.”

  “I drew up the will myself last year, remember? You were there.”

  “But I didn’t know its contents. I only witnessed her signature. Why would she leave everything to me?”

  “Eileen told me you were like the daughter she never had. She had no living relatives, and she knew you would appreciate Blackberry Farm with its long history in the valley.”

  Guilt stung Caroline as deeply as grief. As the reality of Eileen’s bequest had sunk in, her first thought had been to sell the property. The thousand-acre farm, complete with two houses in addition to the main farmhouse, would bring more than enough money to finance Caroline’s move west and buy the ranch she’d always wanted. Eileen, however, had apparently left her the place with the hope that Caroline would remain in the valley. But her friend’s expectation didn’t make sense. Eileen, more than anyone, had known Caroline’s dreams of owning a ranch out west, far away from Pleasant Valley.

  “Are there conditions to the bequest?” she asked.

  Rand hesitated. “Not exactly.”

  “Not exactly what?”

  “The property and bank account are yours, free and clear. But there’s the letter Eileen left you. She must have sensed she was dying, because it’s dated yesterday. She left me a copy.”

  Caroline’s gaze fell on the envelope again.

  “Read it,” Rand said. “It explains everything.”

  With trembling fingers and conflicting emotions, Caroline opened the envelope and withdrew the letter that Eileen must have produced on the printer that sat beside her well-used computer on her living room desk.

  My dear Caroline,

  If you are reading this, it means that I am gone. Don’t cry for me, child. I’ve had a long and interesting life, and your delightful friendship was one of its high points. I’m happy to leave Blackberry Farm to you. Yes, I know you’re itching to escape the valley, and eventually, if you wish to sell the property and head west, I’ve no objections. But before you go, I have two favors to ask.

  I hadn’t expected to make my exit so soon and have other plans in the works that I need you to carry out for me. First is Hannah, Daniel’s little sister.

  Caroline glanced from the page to Rand. “Daniel? At Archer Farm?”

  The likable teenage boy had been the greatest success of Jeff Davidson’s social experiment. A good kid who’d fallen in with the wrong crowd, Daniel had blossomed under the care and guidance of Jeff’s Marines. He’d become a responsible worker in Jodie’s café, made the Dean’s List at Pleasant Valley High and turned his life around. With his juvenile record sealed by the courts, Daniel was well on his way to becoming a productive citizen.

  “Daniel came from a single-parent home,” Rand said. “His mother’s recent death left his nine-year-old sister alone.”

  With dread settling like bricks in the pit of her stomach, Caroline turned back to Eileen’s letter.

  Rand has made all the arrangements for me to serve as foster mother to nine-year-old Hannah, so she can be near her brother, her only living relative. Hannah is scheduled to arrive next week. You are under no legal obligation—and Blackberry Farm will be yours, regardless—but I’m asking as a favor that you take over guardianship of Hannah, at least until Daniel graduates from high school next year. I’m certain Rand can take care of the legal technicalities.

  Caroline eyed Rand with dismay. “I don’t know anything about children!”

  “Believe me, I can relate,” Rand said with a wry smile. He’d taken custody of his two-year-old nephew last year after the death of Jared’s parents in a car crash. “You have to keep in mind that all first-time parents are new to the experience. It’s a learn-as-you-go proposition.”

  Stunned by Eileen’s first request, Caroline was almost afraid to read the second.

  If the prospect of Hannah hasn’t scared you off, my second request might seem easier. I want you to honor the year-long lease I signed recently for Orchard Cottage.

  Orchard Cottage, Caroline recalled, was the small house at the edge of Blackberry Farm’s apple orchards. Included in the complex were an ancient barn and numerous outbuildings.

  I’ve rented the place to an artist who wants the barn for his studio. He will arrive in a few days. He’s counting on this, and I’m hoping you won’t disappoint him. His payments will provide you some extra income.

  “A tenant,” Caroline said with relief. “That’s not a problem.” Especially compared to a resident nine-year-old.

  Rand lifted his eyebrows. “Keep reading.”

  Leery of what she’d find, Caroline returned to Eileen’s letter.

  As part of the lease agreement, I have promised to provide lunch and dinner daily to the tenant. I had originally figured the arrangement would provide company for me and free his time for his artwork. I hope you can honor this facet of the lease.

  Caroline stifled a groan. A guest for lunch and dinner every day? She might as well be running her own bed-and-breakfast. Then she gave herself a mental shake. How could she not honor Eileen’s wishes after the woman’s incredible generosity in leaving her Blackberry Farm? An ironic twist of fate had left her with both the means to make her i
mmediate escape from the valley and obligations that would keep her here another year.

  “Well?” Rand had been studying her face. “What do you think?”

  “I’m still in shock.” She quickly read the remaining lines of the letter and choked back tears at the warm words of affection. “I’ll need to think about Eileen’s requests and let you know.”

  Rand followed her to the door. “I’m sure you’ll do the right thing.”

  “Will you notify me about the funeral arrangements?”

  “You’ll be first on my list.”

  Caroline thanked him and hurried down the stairs. Easy for Rand to say she’d do the right thing. She was the one who had to figure out what the right thing was.

  * * *

  ETHAN SPRAWLED on the porch steps of the old Victorian, his elbows on the stair tread behind him, his feet crossed at the ankles on the bottom step. Contentment, an alien emotion, settled over him, eased his breathing and slowed his pulse. For the first time since making his decision to move from the city where he’d spent his entire life, he felt at peace with his choice. He missed his parents and sister, but he couldn’t endure another Sunday supper with Jerry’s chair empty, his place setting forever removed. The vacant space chided Ethan louder than any words of blame. The absence of his brother’s grinning mug across the table had been a painful reminder of Ethan’s inadequacy, his failure to be there when Jerry had needed him most.