Cowgirl Come Home
a montana born fair novella
Debra Salonen
Tule Publishing Group
Cowgirl Come Home
Copyright © 2014 Debra Salonen
Kindle Edition
The Tule Publishing Group, LLC
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental
ISBN: 978-1-940296-55-5
Dedication
With heartfelt thanks to Jane Porter—brilliant visionary, warrior woman, gifted writer, humble saint and…best of all, friend. Jane’s kindness and generosity prompted a few us to award her the title: Jane of the Giant Heart…and Great Hair. You rock, Jane. Thanks for inviting me to the Tule party.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Dear Reader
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
The Big Marietta Fair Series
About the Author
Dear Reader,
I hope you enjoy Cowgirl, Come Home. I can’t tell you how thrilled I was when Jane Porter invited me to be part of Tule Publishing’s Montana Born summer series, The Big Marietta Fair. I live in a small town in the Sierra foothills of California, and the annual fair is a big deal. Dreams are made—and sometimes dashed—during the course of the fair. My heroine, Bailey Jenkins, couldn’t wait to leave her hometown of Marietta, Montana, where she’d spent most of her life picking up after her reckless, larger-than-life father, OC Jenkins. She worked hard to earn the title: Fair Queen, along with a college rodeo scholarship. Unfortunately, her big break was anything but clean. Bad timing, bad luck and an excruciating choice that broke the heart of Paul Zabrinski, the sweetest boy she’d ever known, made coming home a non-option. Until fifteen years later when Bailey was out of options. And Paul Zabrinski is there to meet her plane. Gorgeous, sexy and successful, a single dad living the life she could have had if she’d stayed. What they both learn is a forever love doesn’t forget, and forgiveness doesn’t have a time limit.
As with every book, I turn to experts for advice. Since I haven’t been a ten-year old girl in a very long time, I asked Morgan Lettice and Calli Butler to share their love of horses, riding and fair experiences to help me better understand my hero’s daughter, Chloe Zabrinski. Both Calli and Morgan agreed it was pure foolishness on Chloe’s part to try a dangerous trick on her horse—something neither of them would do. My thanks, too, to Donna Lettice for being such a good mom—and friend.
Writing a book in a multi-author connected series can be tricky, but the six “Big Marietta Fair” authors are consummate professionals who also love to laugh. Ladies, you made this experience a pleasure I’d repeat in a heartbeat. My thanks to Nancy Robards Thompson, Katherine Garbera, Yvonne Lindsay, Bronwyn Jameson and Barbara Ankrum, along with the fabulous Tule Publishing team!
And last, but very far from least, I confess I have a girl-crush on the coolest editor ever—with the hippest name, too—Sinclair Sawhney. Sinclair, you helped me find my writing mojo and I truly can’t thank you enough!
Deb
Prologue
The noise from the carnival midway struck Bailey Jenkins as an ironically festive backdrop for the decision being discussed at the top of the Ferris wheel. The garishly bright bulbs made Paul Zabrinski’s face appear years older than seventeen. Mature. Serious. Furious.
“If you do this, Bailey Jenkins, I will hate you forever. And I’ll call on my great-grandmother to curse you. She was a gypsy witch, you know.”
Everyone in Marietta, Montana, knew the story of Hilda Zabrinski’s supposed curse that bankrupted an unscrupulous banker who tried to screw her family out of their dry goods store. Some credited fortuitous timing of the collapse of the banks in 1929 for the man’s fall from grace, but no one in the Zabrinski family doubted Hilda’s powers.
“I’m doing this for both of us, Paul.”
“Yeah, right. You’re killing my baby because you love me so much.”
The bitterness and cynicism in his tone burned. She half-expected the highly flammable white and gold ribbon stretched diagonally across her chest to burst into flames.
The past four days as Fair Queen should have been the happiest of Bailey’s life. Instead, she was late. Her highly regular body failed to produce the cramps, bloating and menses she normally cursed.
Paul drove her to Bozeman yesterday to buy an over-the-counter test kit. She’d used one of the predictors right after the Fair Queen ceremony last night. The high point of her life cut short by a small blue reality check. One minute little girls were begging for autographs, the next she had to tell her boyfriend of ten months she planned to get an abortion.
“I do love you, Paul. But you’re seventeen. You have your whole senior year ahead of you. I just turned eighteen in January. I’m supposed to leave for Fresno State next week. You know how much this scholarship means to me. How hard I worked for it.”
They’d taken precautions. She’d been on the pill for six months…except when she’d had the flu so bad she couldn’t keep water down. The chance she’d get knocked up was like one in a hundred thousand. She didn’t need Paul’s gypsy great-grandmother to put a curse on her—Bailey already had the worst luck on the planet.
“My parents will help.”
Paul reached for her hand, but she pushed him away. His touch did things to her that robbed her of the ability to think straight. Hormones were her enemy.
“You told your folks?” she shrieked, thankful for the high-pitched screams from the teenyboppers in the carts on either side of them.
The Ferris wheel moved a space or two, jerking and rocking in a way she normally enjoyed. Now, her stomach twisted and heaved. Nerves? Pregnancy? Or a taste of the guilt she knew she’d have to live with if she went through with her plan.
“Not yet, but I know they’d let us live with them until we saved up enough money to get a place of our own. I’ve worked after school and on weekends at the store forever. I’ve got a pretty good nest egg saved up.”
An image of setting up house in the Zabrinskis’ basement strengthened her resolve.
“I have to do this, Paul. I’m sorry.”
Her sweet, gentle, easy-going boyfriend leaned across the gap between them, his eyes narrowing. A black coldness that looked every bit as dangerous and scary as her father on a bender matched the intense fury in his tone when he said, “Oh, yeah. You’re going to be sorry, Bailey. You’re going to be sorry for the rest of your life.”
Bailey slid to the corner of the ride, arms wrapped around her knees. Strangely, Paul’s anger made her ambivalence disappear. She’d already endured two days of browbeating from her father who somehow intuitively guessed she was pr
egnant. The test only confirmed her fear.
“You will get rid of it. End of story,” OC had shouted last night when he staggered home after one too many beers. “Your mother and I worked too hard, sacrificed too much, to let you ruin your life by getting tied down in Marietta with some snot-nosed kid who sells screwdrivers for a living.”
If Paul couldn’t even discuss her feelings without resorting to threats, then he was not the right person for her—or the right person to father a child. She’d lived with OC Jenkins’ autocratic bullying her whole life. She wouldn’t do that to her kid.
The Ferris wheel began to turn. Their basket rocked like a baby’s cradle. Nausea rose in her throat. Bailey felt Paul’s fury, his barely contained urge to hurt her. She’d been hit before. Big hands, as fast as a horse’s kick.
Her heart pounded painfully in her chest, her breathing shallow. As they crested another circle, she kept her gaze on the moonlit skyline of the Copper Mountains. On Monday, her mother would drive her to a clinic in Bozeman. Bailey would do what her father demanded, what Mom agreed was “probably for the best.”
In a few weeks, Bailey would start college in California. Ask anybody and they’d tell you, “Marietta Fair Queen Bailey Jenkins has big plans.” And a bright future didn’t include getting knocked up on the eve of her grand exit.
She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. Life wasn’t perfect. She’d known that for a long, long time. She’d have to live with this decision for the rest of her life. But that life—good or bad—wasn’t going to happen in Marietta. Paul Zabrinski and his crazy curse could stay the hell in Montana because Bailey Jenkins was never coming back.
Chapter 1
Bailey Jenkins gazed out the small oval window, squinting through the double panes of airplane Plexiglas, for that trademark Montana skyline she hadn’t seen in six years. That trip—her first since leaving for college had been a fly-by to give her mother a little support when Dad’s diagnosis came back positive for prostate cancer.
But despite his doctor’s grim predictions, Oscar “OC” Jenkins—Marietta, Montana’s larger than life outdoors guide and fisherman—managed to beat a probable death sentence to continue to be a burden to Bailey’s long-suffering mother, Louise. He carried on hunting, fishing, tromping through all kinds of bacteria-filled water, failing to replace a pair of worn-out boots in a timely manner, and—worse—choosing to ignore an ingrown toenail that became infected.
Until one night six months ago, when Mom crawled into bed and smelled something unpleasant. “Did a mouse die in the wall behind our bed?” she’d asked her husband of nearly forty years.
“Might be my toe. Got a bit of infection.”
More than a bit. The great and powerful OC Jenkins had waited too long. Despite several rounds of antibiotics, the toe had to be amputated.
Then, rather than following his doctor’s orders, OC rushed back to work. And refused to stop drinking and smoking. The infection spread. He lost another toe. And another. His appetite disappeared. He slept twenty hours a day. Depression set in.
Finally, Mom found the backbone to make an appointment with a specialist in Bozeman. The doctor wound up amputating his leg, mid-calf.
He was due home from rehab tomorrow, and once again Mom called, pleading. “I’m sorry, honey. I know you’re still doctoring…and grieving, but I have to go back to work. Our bills are mounting and I don’t know if…when…Oscar will be back on his feet. Come home, Bailey. Please? For me?”
“Home,” Bailey murmured, her gaze on the iconic Montana skyline. The place from which she’d spent every waking day of high school crafting her escape. And when her big chance came—a scholarship at Fresno State, she’d nearly blown it. She’d let love undermine her resolve.
A crackling voice on the plane’s PA reminded her to return her seat back to the upright position. Her three-hundred-pound seatmate grappled with the armrest between them, somehow managing to kick her right foot in the process.
Shards of white-hot daggers shot up her leg, making her cry out.
“Sorry ’bout that.”
Sweat broke out across her lip. Her breathing went fast and shallow.
She pictured Maureen, Bailey’s favorite physical therapist and friend, coaching her through the pain. “Breathe, girlfriend. Big breath. Tell the pain to take a hike.”
Like I’ll ever be hiking again.
A sour taste in her mouth made her poke through her purse for a stick of gum. Anything to kill the craving for a pain pill.
Bailey knew all about dependency. She’d spend her childhood making excuses for her mother’s classic co-dependency on Bailey’s father, who drank beer every day and polished off a fifth of Jack Daniels on weekends—a combination that made him dangerously unstable.
Bailey’s need for control most likely contributed to the accident that killed her husband and left her a cripple. A cripple with a potential drug problem. Not exactly the glorious return she’d imagined when she left Marietta.
Once the majority of the other passengers were gone, Bailey stood, shouldering her small backpack—her only carry on. She’d paid extra to have her luggage go through baggage. Although her ankle throbbed like hell, she managed to walk the entire distance to the front of the plane without limping.
She couldn’t make the same claim by the time she reached baggage claim. The cluster of people pressed together around the conveyor belt was enough to make Bailey plop her butt on an open bench and fish out her phone.
She’d told her mother not to make the drive from Marietta until Bailey’s flight was on the ground. Bad weather in Denver had delayed her connection, and Bailey hadn’t wanted to cause her mother any unnecessary stress. There will be enough of that once OC comes home from the hospital, she told herself.
How would a physical disability change OC, she wondered? Or would it? She’d met several amputees at San Joaquin Valley Rehab. Doubles. Even one quad. Some navigated the new, uncharted waters with more grace than others, but not a single person pretended their lives would carry on without change. From what Mom told her, Dad was fervently, emphatically in denial.
As OC is about anything that implies personal culpability.
“Bailey?” a man’s voice asked cutting into her thoughts.
Bailey’s chin shot up—and up farther. A tall man in a white Stetson, jeans, boots and blue short-sleeve cotton work shirt with the name Paul machine-embroidered above the chest pocket stood a foot or so away.
“It is you, isn’t it?” His eyes, the color of a Montana summer sky, lit up. His tentative smile sent her heart galloping across the open prairie on the time-travel express. “Girl, you’re skinny as a rail. Don’t they feed you in California?” He made a face. “Oh, crap, don’t tell me you’re a vegan?”
“Paul Zabrinski?”
The last person she expected to see today. But when your luck sucked as bad as hers, anything was possible. “What are you doing here?”
She tapped her forehead.
“Dumb question. This is an airport. You’re meeting someone. Hey, you look great. How long has it been?”
Even dumber question. She knew exactly how long it had been. Life-changing drama had a way of leaving an indelible mark.
She held out her hand, which felt stupid and forced, but she honestly didn’t have the oomph to stand and hug him—which probably wasn’t the right response, either, given their history.
His smile dropped. He wasn’t the boy she’d kissed till their lips were chapped. He’d added a couple of inches of height and twenty pounds that filled out his shoulders and gave his face more character. Cute? Not anymore. Now, he was handsome. His blue eyes the stuff they wrote romance novels about.
“Coming up on fifteen years in August. Hard to believe, huh? Did your mom tell you there’s a new director of the Chamber of Commerce in Marietta? The fair’s going to run for two weeks this year.”
He chuckled in a manly way that made the woman inside her—the woman Bailey thought died wit
h Ross—ache for a pair of strong arms around her. Even for a moment.
She pushed the foolish, pointless yearning aside. Her husband had been dead for over a year, but the tender feelings between them had been gone even longer. “No. Mom didn’t tell me. We’ve mostly talked about Dad. And the business.” Which, apparently, is on the skids.
Paul’s sandy brows pulled together. “Tough break about your dad. I was putting the finishing touches on the handicap ramp for his wheelchair this morning when Louise asked if I could meet your plane. She’s afraid to leave him alone. I guess he’s been pretty depressed lately.” He looked toward the thinning crowd. “Which bags are yours? I’ll grab them for you.”
The question sent a syringe of panic straight into her spine. She sat upright, clutching her backpack as if it held superpowers. She’d have jumped to her feet and raced back to the plane, demanding they let her in, if she could walk that far. “Did you say you’re here to meet…me?”
You hate me, she didn’t add.
“Your mom’s been tutoring my daughter. She knew I was coming to Bozeman today to drop off the kids. Californians aren’t the only ones who do carpooling, you know.”
“But…how come you’re not at the hardware store? Mom said you’re running it now.”
“The boss can take off when he wants. That’s the only good part about being the boss, believe me.”
Although his tone seemed a bit less idealistic than it had in high school, she doubted he was giving up on Zabrinski’s Big Z Hardware. He was too stubborn, for one thing. And he’d had tons of plans once he took over from his dad. “This place is going to be more than just a hardware store when I get done with it, Bailey. You’re not the only one with dreams, you know.”
And, from what little news her mother had shared over the years, Zabrinski’s Big Z had carved out a niche market that held its own when the big box stores moved into the area.
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