The Cowboy's Valentine Bride

by Patricia Johns

  Brody was marrying a whole family, too, and he had no doubt they’d be on his doorstep—just as quickly as he’d be on Andy’s—if he ever did wrong by Kate. But that wouldn’t happen. He’d promised to show her just how much he loved her, and it would take a lifetime to demonstrate.

  Her dress was a pale ivory that clung to her narrow waist. It was a shorter dress, calf length, reminding him of the ’40s styles he’d seen in family photos, and it made his overly serious Kate look even lovelier. A simple green ribbon was tied around her waist, matching the green-and-white bouquet in her hands. The very sight of her left him breathless, and he knew he was beyond lucky to be able to claim her as his. Mrs. Kaitlyn Mason...but she’d always be his own Kate. He couldn’t wait to slide the diamond band onto her finger and say his I dos.

  Brody might not be an army, but to one woman, he was the whole world. He’d make a vow to her—to support and love her for as long as they both should live. He’d promise to put her happiness before his own, and he’d honor that...every day of his life. And when he saw a smile light up her face, he’d know he was doing something right.

  Don’t call him a hero—just call him grateful.

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from A COWBOY IN HER ARMS by Mary Leo.

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  A Cowboy in Her Arms

  by Mary Leo

  Prologue

  Joel Darwood tried to take in what Mrs. Bradshaw was saying about his daughter, Emma, being disruptive to the class, causing the teacher to have to reprimand her after she bonked Jimmy Slater in the head with her baguette during lunch. He knew exactly where this conversation was heading. This was the third preschool his daughter would be expelled from, and she wasn’t even five years old yet. What would happen when she was in regular school?

  “Fortunately, no one was hurt during the attack,” Mrs. Bradshaw said, looking as though the baguette could have caused immeasurable damage.

  “It was a baguette, still fresh from this morning when I picked it up at the bakery down the street. I hardly think we could consider it a weapon.”

  “Maybe so, but she struck him.”

  “Jimmy is a full two inches taller than Emma, and if I have the story right, he swiped her Juicy Juice box and was taunting her with it.”

  Mrs. Bradshaw grinned, seeming self-righteous as she intertwined her fingers, then rested her hands on the desk in front of her. “That’s hardly a reason to smack him with her lunch. Plus, as you know, this isn’t the first time Emma has disrupted the class. There were two other incidents that were far worse.”

  “I wouldn’t call asking for seconds on orange slices or refusing to go outside for recess when it was windy and snowing disrupting the class.”

  “It might not have been so bad if she had simply told her teacher she didn’t want to go outside, but she inspired the entire class to rebel. Her behavior is quite unacceptable. Emma needs to learn how to follow rules, and so far, your child demonstrates signs of becoming a rabble-rouser, something we cannot abide here at Mission Academy. Therefore, I’m afraid, Emma is no longer welcome at the academy.”

  “So you’re expelling her?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

  “No need to be afraid. We’ll leave peacefully. I already ate my baguette on the way over.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Joel stood as a grin tightened his lips. “There is no excuse for you or this restrictive school. Good day, Mrs. Bradshaw. Oh, and by the way, I’d rather my daughter be a rabble-rouser than a complacent doormat. And if that’s what it takes to be part of Mission Academy, you can take your school and...”

  But he didn’t finish the statement. Instead, he widened his grin, spun on his heels and marched out of the room, careful not to slam the door behind him.

  As he walked to his SUV, all he could think of was how he and his daughter needed a change...a big change. One of those start-over kinds of changes that inspired new beginnings in new surroundings. Heck, he needed it as much as his daughter. Neither of them had any reason to remain in Boise, especially now when Joel’s position at his dad’s accounting firm seemed to be going nowhere fast.

  Unlike his dad, Joel had never been all that interested in crunching numbers. He only majored in accounting in college because his dad had expected him to. Joel had found his job incredibly tedious and would try to avoid doing anything too complicated by handing off some of their best clients to one of his contemporaries. Joel was more of an embarrassment rather than the prodigal son who would one day inherit the business.

  A change of venue might be exactly what the doctor ordered.

  Chapter One

  The cream-colored stallion whinnied and stomped his heavy hoof, eager to get this show on the road. It took all of Callie Grant’s riding skills to keep Apple Sammy from taking off before it was time to begin the parade, which stretched out for at least three blocks behind them, including all the side streets.

  Lawn chairs had been set out along the route as placeholders for the townsfolk the night before. Every child under the age of ten had an undisputed spot at the front of the sidewalk, joined by seniors over the age of eighty, especially the town’s elderly military heroes. Anyone who had served in the military was considered a hero in this small town nestled in the Teton Valley, and was treated as such. No one spoke of these rules. They were simply woven into the tapestry of everyday life here in Briggs, Idaho, home of the mighty russet potato.

  Now that the parade participants were lined up and eager to go, the sounds of their excited chatter echoed off of each shop and residence along Main Street. The teens in the marching band, dressed in gold, red and white, the official school colors from Ronald Reagan High School, readied themselves directly behind Callie. They seemed about as anxious as Apple Sammy. Fortunately, their director, Mr. Harwood, head of the music program at the school, knew how to corral his fifty or so students much better than Callie was able to control one determined horse.

  Apple Sammy pulled back and whinnied once again as Mr. Harwood gave the direction for the band to begin its first tune, “The Star-Spangled Banner,” which just about blew out Callie’s eardrums. Sadly, she’d forgotten her earplugs.

  It was Western Days in Briggs, Idaho, which meant the only Miss Russet, Callaghan—Callie—Grant, who had won the coveted title for her hometown, took the center s
pot between the Misses, directly in front of the marching band in this year’s parade. Not that Callie wanted the hallowed position, nor did she still particularly enjoy the title. The Miss Russet sparkly tiara had long lost its appeal and riding in the annual parade dressed in her best cowgirl wear no longer generated any excitement.

  After ten years of participating in countless parades and community events, she would gladly hand over the reins to any other Miss Russet her fair town could produce. Unfortunately, no other contestant from Briggs had won the coveted title since that fortuitous day.

  Callie hadn’t even entered the pageant the year she’d won. Her sneaky sister Coco was responsible for that effort, and once the die was cast, Callie had no choice but to go along with the program. Her family was much too delighted at the prospect of a win for her to back out. Could she help it if her biggest competition that year was Helga Schnook, whose yodel sounded more like nails on a chalkboard than an actual yodel? Callie had tried to downplay her own talent, playing the piano, by picking “The Minute Waltz” by Chopin, thinking it was a relatively short and uncomplicated piece compared to some of the others she’d played in previous recitals and competitions. Unfortunately, that year, Helga and the other contenders had woefully failed to deliver any real talent, so the judges had unanimously chosen Callaghan Grant, from Briggs, Idaho, as Miss Russet, solidifying her now long-standing title...a title she now wished she had never won.

  The biggest reason for her disenchantment for participating in the parade this year happened to be her age. At twenty-eight and twenty pounds heavier than when she picked up her title, she felt awkward sandwiched in between paper-thin sixteen-year-old Jackie Winslow, the current Miss Russet who hailed from Firth, Idaho, and equally thin seventeen-year-old, Nellie Bent, Miss Briggs. Then there was the lovely and svelte Miss Idaho on the outer right flank, who hovered somewhere in her very early twenties, and the rough-and-tumble Miss Rodeo Queen, who didn’t look a day over eighteen riding an obedient black stallion on the far left.

  Callie had wanted to ride alongside the mayor and the president of the local Rotary Club, who were both much older than her, but the mayor wouldn’t hear of it.

  “Your place is with the reigning monarchy of Idaho,” said Mayor Sally Hickman, a blond-haired, fortysomething beauty with a straight-talk, natural-born-leader disposition that had won her the last three terms, when Callie had approached her with the idea.

  “But I haven’t held the title in ten years! I shouldn’t even be in the parade anymore. Who made up this rule, anyway? It really needs to change.”

  “You know very well the good people of Briggs expect to see you in the parade. You’re the idol of every young girl in Briggs who hopes to grow up and follow in your footsteps one day. You certainly don’t want to disappoint them, now do you?”

  “Of course not, but—”

  “Good, then, short of a personal catastrophe, I’ll expect to see you in your usual place this year.” And she dismissed Callie for her next appointment, which happened to be with Callie’s older brother, Carson, who was grand marshal of this year’s parade.

  Carson had won the National Saddle Bronc Riding Championship in Las Vegas the previous December, and the town more or less worshipped him for it. Unlike Callie, Carson had no trouble accepting the town’s accolades, which were well deserved.

  Callie, on the other hand, wanted no part of it...at least not this year. She was starting her new position at Briggs Elementary in a few weeks, taking over as kindergarten teacher for Miss Sargent, who had retired last spring, and she wanted to be taken seriously. Not that winning the Miss Russet title wasn’t a serious accomplishment, it was. But her pageant days were so far over that her tiara was beginning to rust.

  Now her only hope was the current Miss Briggs, Nellie Bent, who needed a good solid talent in order to win the coveted title of Miss Russet. Sadly, suspicions on the street had it that Nellie couldn’t hold a tune—at least no one had ever heard her sing—she couldn’t play a serious musical instrument, nor could she dance. What had secured her title as Miss Briggs was her ability to jump rope, not exactly the kind of talent the Miss Russet judges were looking for, but then Callie hadn’t seen the performance. Perhaps jumping rope took on a whole new cachet when Nellie did it.

  Callie also knew Nellie had won a small scholarship to Idaho State, in Pocatello, a fine university if there ever was one, and Callie’s alma mater. Surely Nellie wanted to add to that scholarship fund by winning Miss Russet, which came with a college scholarship of its own. Nellie could slip right into Callie’s position in the Western Days parade and everyone would cheer her on, including Callie.

  What young woman didn’t want that?

  According to Mayor Hickman, every young girl in Briggs did.

  Just as Callie was about to ask Nellie about entering the contest, once the marching band took a breather, she spotted someone in the crowd that sent a chill up her spine. When she craned over Nellie, first leaning forward in the saddle, then back to get a better look, that person had vanished into the crowd.

  Or was never there in the first place.

  “Is everything okay?” Nellie asked as she waved and smiled at the enthusiastic crowd who cheered and whistled as the Misses trotted by, their horses almost in sync with each other, heavy hooves click-clacking on the roadway. “You look a little pasty.”

  Callie settled in the saddle, grasping the horn as if her life depended on it. “I...I thought I saw someone I knew, but I must’ve been mistaken. He doesn’t seem to be there now.”

  “An old boyfriend?”

  Callie grinned at Nellie, amazed that she could be that insightful. “Yes, a very old boyfriend, from college. A boyfriend who I’d rather never see again.”

  Callie’s heart still pounded against her chest at the thought of seeing Joel Darwood. She’d practiced what she would say to him if their paths ever crossed, but at the moment, all those well-crafted words seemed elusive. Her brain had turned into instant mush as soon as she thought she’d spotted him standing in the crowd.

  “I have an ex-boyfriend like that,” Nellie said. “He lives in Chubbuck now, and every time I see him I want to sock him in the gut. He cheated on me with a girl who can’t even ride a horse or rope a steer.”

  Nellie couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred pounds soaking wet, was no more than five foot two inches tall and seemed as delicate as a dandelion. “You can rope a steer?”

  “I can do almost anything with a rope. I grew up with four older brothers.”

  Her jumping-rope abilities just bumped up a few notches. “Have you ever thought about entering the Miss Russet contest?”

  “Actually, I—”

  But Callie had stopped listening. She’d spotted that guy in the crowd again...that guy who looked exactly like Joel, only without his scruffy beard and long dark hair. This was the clean-cut version. Look-alike Joel’s head had bobbed out between a group of people she didn’t recognize. This false Joel had pulled a young child off his shoulders, and in doing so he’d looked down so Callie couldn’t get a good look at his face, at his eyes. She’d know if it was really him once she could see his dreamy eyes. The real Joel Darwood had the kind of long dark eyelashes any girl would swoon over, and eyes so blue you’d swear they were part of the sky itself.

  She jerked the reins a bit to slow Apple Sammy as she watched look-alike Joel take the child’s hand, a girl from what she could make out, with features that looked familiar...too familiar.

  As he made his way through the crowd, he glanced up, but not enough so she could get a clear shot of his face. He slipped a light gray cowboy hat on his head, tipped it forward on his forehead and he and the child made their way up the crowded sidewalk.

  The Joel she knew would never wear a cowboy hat, so it couldn’t possibly be him. The Joel she knew was more of the laid-back, chillin’ type, rather t
han a working cowboy, and in these parts of Idaho, if a male of any age wore a cowboy hat, that meant he was a down-in-the-dirt, hardworking, hay-hauling, calf-roping, horse-breaking cowboy.

  His walk...that swagger...no one had a sexy swagger like Joel Darwood and sure as the sun rose over the mountains every morning, this false Joel had that swagger.

  “Hey, watch where you’re going,” a teen holding a tuba yelled as Callie sidestepped Apple Sammy.

  Her horse had drifted back into the middle of the marching band without her being aware of the intrusion.

  “Sorry... I’m sorry,” Callie repeated over and over again as she tried to guide the ornery creature away from the group.

  Unfortunately, getting Apple Sammy to mind her wasn’t exactly working, especially now that the band had started playing again. The loud music seemed to spook the poor creature and he didn’t know which way to go to get away from it. His ears kept twitching as if the sound was so annoying he was trying to somehow muffle it by flattening his ears as best he could.

  Now more band members yelled at her along with Mr. Harwood, their leader, who tried to grab on to the reins, which made Apple Sammy rear back, away from his touch.

  “Get that horse out of here,” Mr. Harwood yelled over the eardrum-piercing music.

  Callie directed her horse to what she thought was out of the way of the band, when she nearly ran right into the Idaho potato float. The float veered away from her a little too quickly, causing the roly-poly potato people to literally bounce off the float and careen down the street with their hands and feet poking out of their costumes in a vain attempt to stop themselves from smacking into the crowds on the surrounding sidewalks.

  “Save yourselves! Run for the hills,” Callie yelled as the townsfolk scattered out of the way of the swirling potato people heading straight for them.