Warrior Girl: A Cowboy Romance (Wild Men Texas Book 2)

by Melissa Belle

  Before I’ve even arrived home, I pick up my cell phone.

  “Hey Jamie,” I say when he answers. “I’m ready to take things to the next level. You want to come over?”

  Chapter Twelve

  The minute Jamie walks in my front door, I drag him to the couch and throw my arms around his neck.

  “Hi there,” Jamie says into my ear. “I’m happy you called.”

  His hands are all over me immediately, and before he’s even kissed me, he lifts my shirt up.

  “You have a tattoo on your breast.” Jamie stares at the red raindrop that’s showing through the thin white fabric of my bra.

  I grab the hem of my shirt and pull it back down. “Yes. It’s years old.”

  Jamie runs his hand through his short blond hair until it stands straight up. “What’s it mean?”

  Everything. But that’s not the right answer to tell a boyfriend. Okay, my…sort of boyfriend. My attempt at distraction from another man if I’m really being honest.

  God, what is wrong with me?

  I sit up and try to push away the feeling of emptiness inside me. The pain I’d temporarily forced myself to forget is rushing back far too quickly.

  “I got it one day with a friend,” I finally say. “Just one of those teenage rebellion things.”

  Jamie puts out his arms. “Come here and talk to me. You seem down.”

  I relax into his arms, but not because I want to talk about what’s going on.

  “I’m fine,” I say. “I just…I’ve had a rough week. I didn’t mean to slow things down to a crawl just now. But I’m obviously not in the mood for sexy times tonight. I wish to God I was. I’m just not.”

  “So let’s watch a movie.”

  “Okay.”

  I end up falling asleep halfway through the movie, and when I wake up the next morning, Jamie’s gone.

  But my head feels clearer. And as I get into the shower, I remind myself of what I told Ginny the other day—rather than dwelling on Logan and his love life, I’m going to focus on myself.

  First things first though—I need to sign those divorce papers.

  Two hours later, the unsigned divorce papers sit next to Vivian’s open diary at the empty bar counter in front of me.

  Every time I pick up a pen and let it hover over the divorce agreement, my stomach twists into knots and I have to fight the urge to tear the papers in half. Needing a distraction, I opened up Vivian’s diary because it seemed like a good way to do research for the backstory of my novel.

  After an hour, I’m ready to give up. My head is filled with Olde English phrases referencing Vivian’s growing frustrations with her husband, and my eyes burn from straining to decipher the faded handwriting. Before The Cowherd was allowed to hold the diary for wedding season, Mama would sneak behind the roped-off area in the Darcy Museum and use her magnifying glass to try to uncover clues. She swears that diary is why she needs reading glasses now.

  I look back down at the page I’m on— can’t help but feel a twinge of homesickness for my motherland to the part Mama always recited by heart—cattle and oil roots are everywhere on this foreign soil. This land is hot and dry and dreadful, just dreadful.

  Ginny’s incoming text is a blissful interruption.

  Wildflowers for my bouquet?

  I smile as I text her back. Perfect.

  Thirty seconds later. Mama’s agreed to let you try on other dress options. Eloise says to come by anytime.

  Thank God.

  How’s your novel coming?

  I type her back quickly. Not one word since you-know-who came back with a blond-haired sidekick. I’m afraid my creative streak went away somewhere permanent.

  A minute later. Have you read your diary yet? Specifically the Vegas part? I really think you should, Mace. Remember what I said about letting go of the past. Read the entire thing from front to back.

  The whole thing?

  Yes. Purge the past. It’s the only way to move forward.

  Maybe she’s right. I haven’t read the Vegas entry because I’ve been so busy, and have much more important things to do with my time than rehash a drunken night, and because I’m…

  Scared.

  I’m terrified to read what my subconscious said about the only “wedding” I’ll ever have.

  But maybe I can start from the beginning like Ginny said.

  I pull my diary out of my purse and flip to the first page. Re-reading about my father moving out for the first time should be harmless enough. I doubt Logan’s even in here much.

  Today is Independence Day, the day Mama and Daddy got married for the first time. I was there too, in Mama’s belly.

  This morning Mama said to me, “we’re independent women, baby, and we can stand on our own.” But she’s clearly bluffing or else she wouldn’t cry all night long.

  Mama’s never blamed me out loud, but I know what’s in her heart—if she hadn’t gotten knocked up with me, she wouldn’t be where she is now—trapped and miserable. Since Daddy moved out, I’ve been reading Pride and Prejudice to her as much as I can because it’s the only way she sleeps when he’s gone.

  Mama “discovered Jane” when her family moved to Darcy her senior year of high school and after she met Daddy, her very first boyfriend. So when she got knocked up with me only three months later, she took it as a sign that Daddy was her very own Mr. Darcy. Well, far from it, but she’d named me Austen Macey before she was sure.

  I swear I will not end up like my mother. I will never fall in love and forget I’m happy being by myself.

  Okay, this first entry is super depressing. I flip through until I reach the pages about Ben and Free’s births.

  Right in the parking lot, Mama yelled, “head, head!” Daddy was holding Riley, and he shouted at me to do something. So I stepped out of the car. Mama opened her door, and out shot Ben Jr., right through the side of her underwear, and I caught him! I held a miracle in my arms, and I will love Ben forever. Just one year later, Freedom May Henwood came along…and then Mama kept her promise and got her tubes tied. So no more babies for me to take care of, thank goodness.

  I turn the page to the year I turned ten. My breath catches in my throat as I read the opening sentence.

  I had my first kiss this summer.

  And I remember it like it was yesterday.

  I went to Logan’s house for dinner. His daddy was in a mean mood, and he’d had far too much to drink even though it was only six o’clock. Logan tried to stop me from coming over, but Mama insisted I had to so she and Daddy could have some “alone time.” Riley was at a friend’s for the night, and Ben and Free were sound asleep in their cribs. So I ate at Logan’s.

  When he laughed at a joke I made about the hamburgers and which Wild cow was I eating tonight, his father lost it. Not at me but at his son.

  He stood up, whipped his belt from his pants, and told Logan to come with him. Logan’s three brothers kept their heads down, and Mrs. Wild got so pale I swear she turned into a ghost.

  I was terrified too, but I knew that if I hadn’t made that dumb joke, Logan wouldn’t be in danger. So I swallowed my fear and walked up to Mr. Wild, making sure to get in between him and Logan. “Excuse me, sir, but if you want to get to him, you’ll have to go through me first.”

  Logan grabbed my elbow. “Macey, quit it. It’s my punishment, not yours.”

  I pushed him away, but Logan reached for me and tried to put me behind him. So I stepped on his foot and he jumped, and then I got back in front. Logan grabbed me again and tickled my side until I squealed and he could move me behind him again.

  Mr. Wild watched our exchange with glassy eyes until finally he said, “Oh, forget it! Y’all are like two fireflies darting around. Let’s just sit down and eat.” He put his belt back on, and that was it.

  Logan took my hand underneath the table. Just for a second.

  He walked me home later that night, and asked if I wanted to take a dip in the town lake.

  Nobody was
around, and I kept on my tank top and underwear. Logan wore his boxers, and we swam until it started raining.

  “We’d better go,” I said. “It may thunder.”

  “One more swing?” he asked as he climbed onto the rope hanging from the large oak tree.

  “Okay.”

  After he’d belly flopped in (why do boys do that—it seems so painful), I did my specialty. The flying-fish dive. I let go the rope looking like I was going to do a cannon ball, but at the last second, before I started dropping toward the water, I put my head down with my arms over my head and dove in.

  As soon as my head popped up from under water, Logan swam over to me and pressed his mouth to mine.

  His lips were wet from the lake, and his breath smelled like mint and chocolate from the ice cream his mama had served for dessert.

  I tried to tread water and kiss him back, but I slid under again.

  I bobbed back up to the surface and coughed and hacked while Logan patted my back and made sure I was okay.

  I can still feel his lips on mine.

  I stop reading and touch my fingers to my lips. All these years later, I remember that first time Logan put his mouth on mine—that magic of a young girl’s first kiss.

  In an instant, my writer’s block disappears.

  I open up my laptop to Ghost Love, delete the entire manuscript, and start over at page one.

  Chapter Thirteen

  When my mother steps inside The Cowherd an hour and a half later, I slam my laptop shut and shove the divorce papers underneath a dishtowel.

  Mr. Bingley jumps up onto the bar, and as hard as I try to shoo him off the counter, he won’t budge. Figuring he’s decided to stand guard, I let him stay. My mother heads across the room and waves at me enthusiastically while two strange men trail in behind her.

  Mama’s hair peeks out from underneath her “Jane Austen bonnet,” the red hat she always wears for auditions, and she has a bright green scarf tied loosely around her neck.

  The two men—one with thick black-rimmed glasses, and a blond-haired younger guy—are wearing cowboy hats. As the one with glasses stops to look around the saloon for a moment, Mama pauses and looks with him.

  “This place is hallowed ground,” he says in an awestruck tone as he scans the bar for a second time. “I can’t believe I made it here.”

  Mama leads the two men up to the bar and they all take seats on the stools. She leans across the bar to give me a kiss, and I immediately wipe my cheek where I know her bright red lipstick’s left a mark. One reason I use chapstick. The Cowherd is dimly lit, but as usual, Mama keeps her shades on.

  I reach for a wine glass and quickly start to fill it with our bar’s house red, Mama’s favorite.

  I nod to the men with her. “Can I help y’all?”

  “My name’s Skip,” the one with glasses says with an easy smile. “Skipper Scott, to be exact.”

  “Macey Henwood. I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”

  “I’m a new reporter for the Darcy Gazette, but I’m also working remotely for the Dallas Sun’s editorial department. In fact, I came down here from Dallas because of the legend of Darcy.”

  I’m immediately on guard. “You’re a reporter?” I shoot Mama a look, but she just smiles at me innocently. “And you asked specifically to cover this story?” I’m not buying this guy’s “awestruck” side for a second. He’s clearly here to uncover our town’s secrets so he can get a good story.

  He drops the act when he says in a crisp business tone, “That’s right. This is just the place to start if I want to write the best story Texas has ever heard. And I will.” He flips back to his fanboy side then with a quick smile. “It’s my dream to cover this mystery.”

  “Isn’t that fabulous?” Mama points to the Darcy Legend placard housed in the glass stand behind the bar. “If you’d like, you can read this: it’s a great summary of the legend. And though it’s not available to the public, we currently are holding the diary of…”

  “Mrs. Vivian Elmstock Haskins,” Skip says breathlessly. “The perfect villain counterpart to our heroine, Ms. Jane Austen.”

  “My Godfree.” Mama rests her hand on his arm, and I cringe as I watch her rev up her flirting routine with this newfound co-conspirator. “I’m not used to someone else being so well-informed. A lot of people around here don’t appreciate the legend, you know. I’ve been collecting information and clues about it since Macey was a little girl.”

  “Your mother was telling me about the Make Your Match contest,” Skip says to me as he tilts his head in Mama’s direction.

  “It’s more than a contest.” Mama’s hand appears to be permanently glued to Skip’s bicep.

  “Mama, please.”

  “What?” Mama says to me. “It’s about finding your love match, your Mr. Darcy or Eliza Bennet in real life, and not just in a romance novel. That’s why everyone in Darcy cares about the legend.”

  “You mean they care about the tourist dollars the Jane Austen legend has brought to our town,” I say.

  “Semantics.” Mama waves her hand. “But there is no denying our livelihood comes from the very bar Jane’s ghost frequents. I prefer to say frequents instead of haunts—I think it’s more respectful. Ghosts are living beings after all.”

  Skip tips his dust-free, clearly never-been-used-before cowboy hat at me. “My colleague, Jon, and I…” He gestures to the eager young man to his left. “We understand you know several of the contestants quite well. Mr. Logan Wild, in particular, has been mentioned as being the real Mr. Darcy.”

  “The contest hasn’t been decided yet or it wouldn’t be a contest,” I say. “My friend, Ginny, and her fiancé, Dave, are actually the local favorites.”

  Skip cocks his head. “Is that so?”

  “Yes,” I say.

  “Well, even so, we’d be honored to get an interview with Mr. Wild.”

  “He’s not here and I don’t know where he is. You’ll have to go to Wild Ranch to find him.”

  “Okay,” Skip says smoothly. “But while I’m here, Ms. Henwood, I have a special request for you.”

  “Macey,” I say.

  “Macey,” he repeats. “With the Darcy Gazette’s Special Edition coming out this summer and my contributions being published in the reputable Dallas Sun, I’d be beyond thrilled to get a photograph of you and a few comments for our special persons page. You know, as the Lady on the Inside.”

  “On the inside?”

  “The inside of The Cowherd, the place where it will all take place,” Skip clarifies.

  Jon turns his camera on me and starts snapping away.

  “I don’t think so. I’m not the right woman for any interview.”

  “I think you’re the perfect woman,” Skip says. “Your mama told me how much like Jane Austen you are—your dreams of being a novelist and your steadfast plan to stay independent and never marry. Well…” He raises one eyebrow. “To never marry again.”

  I whip my head over to Mama. “How many details did you give him?”

  “Not too many,” she says. She turns to Skip. “Wild Ranch is right across the way. Best to get going now.”

  Skip tips his hat at me again. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again soon, Macey.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  I wait until Skip and Jon have left the saloon before I turn to my mother. “Please don’t invite any more reporters into the bar without telling me first. And don’t tell them Logan and I were married, for goodness sakes.”

  “He would have found that out anyway. You know this town can’t keep a secret.” She beams. “On another note, your parents are back together, baby.”

  “I saw the yellow dress, Mama. I figured things were going in that direction.”

  She nods, waiting for more.

  “Y’all aren’t even divorced this time!” I say next. “You were just separated. So it’s not like this is a huge deal. Right?”

  But Mama’s still waiting, her face flush with hope lik
e it always is when she and Daddy reconcile.

  I sigh. “Oh, crap, Mama.” I lean over and kiss her cheek. “Congratulations.”

  I exhale silently because I know better than to hold my breath. Not for any kind of reunion that will last.

  “Thank you, Mace.” She takes a sip of the wine and then frowns at me. “Stop messing with your hair, baby.”

  I take my finger out of the pretty twirl I’ve made with a loose wave. Even Mr. Bingley’s had enough of my mother. With a loud meow, he jumps off the counter, using Mama’s lap as a halfway point to the floor.

  “Oh, Mr. Bingley, aren’t you precious.” Mama pats him fondly before he scampers off. “Mace, I have some more amazing news.” Long sip of her wine, then—“Your old mother just won the lead role in the Community Theater’s play this summer.”

  “The lead?” I ask her. “That’s great.”

  “I know.” Mama smiles broadly. “This is the original script that Deena wrote herself. It’s titled Queen Austen.”

  “God, this town has done so many Jane Austen plays, already. I mean, how many times has Pride and Prejudice been redone? Like seven times at least?”

  “Six. We don’t count that dreadful rock ballet disaster.” Mama nods. “But this one’s different. The main premise is a dialogue about love between Jane Austen—that’s me!—and a leper.”

  “That’s certainly unique.”

  “It is,” Mama gushes. “Jane’s jailed the entire time until her talk with the leper reveals that she didn’t follow her heart and lost her true love. I think that’s Jane’s real message in staying locked up so long. Whoever the heroine and hero are, they are going to have to dig deep inside themselves to know how they feel.”

  “And you and the leper are the only two characters?”

  “Oh, there are other characters that come in and out. But they all enhance the viewpoints of the leper and of Jane, who are of one mind, let me tell you, Mace.”