Oklahoma Sky

by Jillian Neal

  Oklahoma Sky

  A Holder County Novel

  Jillian Neal

  Photography by Golden Czermak / Furious Fotog

  Cover Model Maverick Willett

  Edited by Happily Editing Anns

  Copyright © 2019 by Jillian Neal

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  ISBN: 978-1-940174-52-5

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2019918527

  To all of my fans who so patiently waited on me to climb back in the saddle. This one’s for you. Let me be the first to say—Welcome to Holder Ranch.

  Contents

  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

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Jillian Neal

  Chapter One

  "I need a clean break," Callie Monroe reminded herself as she slowed her Honda behind an old truck with heaped hay bales in its bed. "Just a breather." She needed to put some distance between herself and Derrick. Nothing else had worked. It was better this way.

  It was not at all the way her mother had done this. Callie had tried a dozen times to tell him that she wanted to end their relationship. Eventually, he had to understand. Once he got used to her not being there to remind him to eat, and he learned to pair his own socks, he'd be fine. She was tired of being the replacement for his mother's maids anyway. That wasn't what love was supposed to be.

  Going back to the farm would be good. She missed her grandparents so much she swore the pain held a physical mailing address in her chest. The absence stung her throat. She pressed the accelerator harder, focusing only on seeing her grandparents, and not on having to live all of the awkwardness that would surely come when Derrick finally realized she wasn't returning to California. She just needed to rip the bandage off. Easing it away slowly was not working.

  A few weeks back on the farm would give her a fresh start. That's all she needed. From there, she could plan her move to New York. On her own. By herself. She shoved those terrifying thoughts to the furthest recesses of her mind.

  Stopped at one of the very few traffic lights in Holder County, the only consolidated city-county in Oklahoma, she used the seconds to wind her long blonde hair into a messy topknot with the band she kept on her wrist. Memories washed over her like a warm bath as she rounded the old square. Everything still looked the same, and that suited her just fine.

  A small portion of the stability she'd always longed for slipped back into place beneath her the same way it had every summer when her grandfather had come to Tulsa to retrieve her. Cattle ranchers were still leaned up against the porch railings of Carraway's Feed Store. Three old dogs were lounging on the cool concrete platform in the shade of the old train depot, and the rusty water tower, that loomed in the distance, still declared its panther pride for Maxwell High in fading paint.

  The red-brick courthouse stood proudly in the center of town. Its battlements and spires announced Holder County's pride of placement to all of Oklahoma, and the clock tower clanged the arrival of three o’clock.

  When she was a little girl, Callie used to pretend the courthouse was a magical castle complete with a prince who would rescue her from her parents’ endless arguments and the heavy hand her father wielded when his temper got the best of him.

  But she no longer required a prince to rescue her. She could do that all on her own. Maybe.

  Yep, it was good to be home. This was the best decision she'd made in a long time. With that mental reassurance, she turned off the square and headed to the outskirts of town. A grin lifted her cheeks as she passed the Lucky Strike. She secretly couldn't wait to hear her grandmother admonish the discreetly tucked pool hall and bowling alley where the waitresses wore slightly higher skirts and lower-cut tops than her nana thought appropriate.

  She glanced at her Canon Rebel tucked in its case in the seat beside hers. She'd never photographed Holder County before. Somehow during her summer visits, she'd missed all of its comfortable grace and calming reassurance. In the throes of adolescence, the familiarity had become mundane. It was a backdrop for the play of life she often pretended she was really living. Since she'd never attended school in Holder County, she was forever an outsider. But she'd spent her summer days pretending she lived on the farm full-time and grew up the way all of the cattle ranchers’ kids did. The appreciation Holder County deserved had slipped through her young grasp. She needed to capture those feelings through her lens before she set off again.

  On one side of the two-lane, a few oil pumps, scattered every few yards, tried to coax begrudging oil out of the endless expanses of land. On the other, wind turbines rhythmically stirred the air high above.

  Another few miles passed until she finally arrived where the blacktop ended. She turned down the gravel road that would eventually carry her all the way home.

  Her grin had expanded to the width of her face when she pulled up in front of her grandparents’ tiny two-bedroom house, and just like always, her nana was on the front steps awaiting her arrival. "There's my girl. I was getting worried."

  Flinging herself out of the car, Callie raced up the steps. "I told you I'd be here before dark. I'm early."

  "I know, but I worry about you. Scared me thinking about you driving halfway across the country without anyone to look after you. I'm so glad you're here, honey."

  "Me too." Callie drank in her grandmother's hug like it was her life source. Perhaps it really was. She let her eyes trail over the redbud trees out in the field, and even knelt down to run her fingers over the cool concrete porch steps where she'd pressed her handprint when she was a little girl. "Where's Pops?" she asked her grandmother.

  Nana's forehead creased and worry displayed in her kind eyes. "Oh...he uh, had a meeting at the bank in town. He'll be back in time for supper. Let's get you in and settled."

  "Is everything okay?" If her grandparents needed money, her bank accounts weren't going to be of much help. She couldn't exactly ask Derrick's family for money since she was effectively leaving him, but she'd think of some way to take care of her grandparents.

  "It's fine. Everything is fine," Nana assured her. For a woman who prided herself on never lying, Callie was pretty su
re she'd just told a whopper.

  After Callie had her suitcases and camera equipment shoved in her old bedroom, she joined her grandmother at the ancient kitchen table and once again reveled in how little had changed since she'd left for California.

  Nana plied her with herbal tea and studied her cautiously. "Was Derrick okay with you traveling alone? What's he going to do in California without you?" She shook her head. "I remember when your Pops and I first married, and I went to help my sister when she had her first baby. By the time I got back home a few days later, your Pops had burned up half of my pots and had taken to eating with the neighbors for all his meals."

  Eight tons of compressed emotional air evacuated Callie's lungs in a single breath. She was home. "Derrick will be fine. He's a grown man. He just...needs to remember that. I'm not so certain I'm going back to LA anyway. I don't think Derrick and I are quite as meant to be as I thought we were a few years ago."

  "I'm shocked at that. You used to insist that you were going to get married someday."

  "Yeah, I know." Thank god we didn't, Callie thought to herself. Not that Derrick had ever gotten around to asking. "He was more of a bad habit than anything else. Someone who was there so I didn't have to be alone, and now...I need a fresh start."

  Sympathy broadcast from her nana. She squeezed Callie's hand. "Was he unfaithful? Our church has a reconciliation program for couples who've been hurt by infidelity, so you can forgive and strengthen the relationship."

  Callie did not want to forgive, and there was nothing left to strengthen other than her irritation. Besides, what Derrick had done didn't quite qualify as cheating in the normal sense of the word. It was just the stupid icing on the stupid cake of their stupid relationship, but then sticking with things long past the point of any logical reasoning was probably one of her best traits. She fought not to roll her eyes at her own ridiculous mistakes. "I promise I'm fine. Want me to help you fix supper?" She would've agreed to doing most anything to avoid further discussion of Derrick.

  "It's a little early for that yet, but if you're hungry, I'll make you a sandwich. Your Pops picked the last of our tomatoes this morning."

  She hated to ask her grandmother to fix anything for her, but eating one of Nana's sandwiches was awfully tempting. Soft white bread slathered in mayo with three slices of cheese, two slices of a ripe juicy tomato, a little onion, and a little salt, all grilled in butter on an iron skillet that was four decades older than Callie herself. Yes, please. Maybe two. It never seemed to matter how she fixed them herself, even when she followed her grandmother's methods to the letter, they just were never as good as when Nana made them. "I'd love one of your sandwiches, but I don't want you to go to any trouble."

  Pursing her lips at that, Nana whisked to the counter. "Feeding my girl makes my day. You know that. I even got you some of those potato chips you like so much."

  After Callie had devoured two of her grandmother's sandwiches and a small bag of Lay's potato chips—because they're a snack not a meal according to Nana—she swore more than her belly was full. Her soul was as well.

  While the ladies were catching up on Nana's soap opera, Callie's grandfather returned from the bank. Springing off the sofa, she attempted to hug him until she eased the worry lines around his mouth. But when she finally released him, his smile was distant and distracted.

  "How's my Calico girl?"

  Chuckling at that, Callie rolled her eyes at her real name. Her mother had been born about a decade too late to have been a hippie, but that didn't stop her from trying. "I'm so glad to be home. How are you? What's all that?" She gestured to the stack of file folders Pops had set on the nearby table.

  Her grandfather beamed at her. “I see you’re still my curious Calico kitten.” He chuckled. It was true she'd never been able to resist asking questions about most any topic, even if she was being nosy. "It’s nothing much really. Your daddy says we've got to put a new roof on the barn, so I'm just trying to come up with the money. Same song, second verse for any farmer. I went to the bank to see if I could borrow some against the back few acres. They'll let me know in a week. Ain't looking too good though since I still owe on the loan we took out two years ago."

  A vivid memory speared through Callie, and a chill shot up her spine. "Nana, I thought you told me you gave Dad the money to replace the barn roof when I was home last year."

  "I told you, Harold," Nana reminded.

  "I just don't recall that," Pops shook his head.

  "I remember it because the barn roof looked fine to me," Callie insisted.

  "Maybe he asked for the money last year, but I didn't have it then either."

  "Would you mind if I took a look at those papers?" As far as Callie was concerned, her father was synonymous with distrust.

  "Be my guest, sweet pea. Maybe you can make heads or tails of it all. I'm going to fix some coffee. He's going to be irritated when he gets here in a little while. I don't have the money today."

  Dread coiled in Callie's stomach. She'd known she wouldn't be able to hide from her father long, not when he still lived on the same farm as her grandparents, but she'd hoped for a day or two at least. "When's he supposed to be here?" scraped from her throat.

  "He's been working out at the power station. Usually stops by on his way home around four."

  Callie didn't know much about the specifics of power stations, but she highly suspected most workers did not get off work that early.

  Checking the clock on the oven, she debated. "Let me take these. I'll go to the library and go through them." A slightly different version of the same desperation to escape that had come over her in California took root in her again.

  "You've been gone too long, baby girl." Pops flipped on the coffee maker. "Library's closed on Mondays. The desk you used to do your homework on is still in your room. Why don’t you use that? I hate for you to go so soon. I haven't even got to hear about that boy who ain't even worth yesterday's weather report."

  "Harold," Nana admonished, but Callie beamed at him.

  "I'm getting rid of him," she mouthed so Nana wouldn't hear.

  "You always were a smart girl."

  Callie scooped up the stack of bank records. "I'd rather not be here when Dad gets here if it's okay with you.”

  "I know you don't much like your daddy, but that roof hasn’t been replaced and it's needing it. If I'd paid to have it done last year, it wouldn't need to be redone now."

  Callie told herself to give her father the benefit of the doubt. Not that he deserved it. "I'll figure it all out, and maybe I can help you pay for the new roof somehow."

  Her grandfather snuck a few of the remaining chips from her bag. "I’m not taking your money, little one."

  As Callie grabbed her bag, she decided what she really needed was a drink, not her father's bullshit slathered on top of Derrick's.

  She climbed in her car and drove back to the square. Rusty’s Spur, Holder County's own loud, proud honky-tonk was relatively quiet since it was still early. Perfect.

  Chapter Two

  Ford Holder's eyes refused to leave the blonde seated in the back corner of Rusty’s. She was at a table in a honky-tonk surrounded by file folders and some kind of paperwork. He tapped into the guilt he had no real reason to feel anymore to keep him from joining her on the other side of the booth. He desperately, and probably stupidly, wanted to know what she was studying while she munched on the stale peanuts the restaurant kept in metal buckets on the tables, and downed drink after drink.

  While most of the patrons scattered the broken shells on the hardwood floor to be swept up at closing, she stacked the broken shells, one half inside of the other, neatly in a small corner of her table, as if she might be able to somehow put them back together at some point. She'd been tucked in that corner for two hours. Every time she looked at her phone her sips of shit whiskey became longer and more determined.

  He recognized defeat in her eyes because he'd seen it in his own for the past year and a half,
minimum. Worry bubbled in his gut right along with the beer he'd been nursing for the past hour. Could she not afford a meal? If he offered to buy her one, would Meritt even care?

  He shook his head at his own ridiculous thought. He'd signed divorce papers in the courthouse at noon to finally bring an end to the entire debacle that was his life. He swore his pride ached worse than his ass that had been on that hard barstool since the blessed event that afternoon. Meritt had been cheating on him for years, so his self-imposed cattleman's code of honor made no sense at all.

  "Ford." Cal Rickets took the stool beside Ford and gave him the same sorrowful nod every cowboy in Holder County had offered him as of late. The one he was sick to death of receiving. Ford forced a polite nod, more out of habit than any desire to be polite. He said nothing. God knew Cal never needed any encouragement to start jawing. "Saw you and Meritt coming out of the courthouse 'round lunchtime. I knew she was bad news for years, but you know, what was I gonna say? I hate you're taking it hard though."

  Ford contemplated that statement. Was he taking it hard? Shouldn't he be upset? The deeper into his own admittedly wounded pride he dug the only thing that ever seemed to surface was relief. That seemed like a fucked-up thing to say out loud though, so he continued to take slow sips of his beer and to discreetly check the woman in the back corner. Long messy waves of blonde hair teased at the ample swells of her breasts. The long skirt and tank top combo she was wearing made her look like she stepped right out of a '69 war protest, a misplaced flower child caught up in the wrong place at the wrong time.