It's In His Heart (A Red River Valley Novel)

by Shelly Alexander

  Ella finished organizing the pantry and started on the kitchen. With both hands planted on her hips, her eyes raked the cluttered countertops. She breathed deeply. This was going to take a while. As she plotted her plan of attack, the landline rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, sweetie,” her mom’s voice sang through the receiver.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Obviously, you got to Red River in one piece.” Her mother’s usual sweet Southern drawl turned to a scold.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t call.” Ella paused. “I’ve kinda had my hands full since I got here.”

  “Is everything alright, hon? Do you need money?”

  “No! Mom, I’m fine. I already told you and Dad that Bradley had plenty of life insurance, and I got a fortune for the house.” Not to mention the royalties from her book, which had already made her as rich as Midas.

  Deafening silence made her shift from one hot-pink running shoe to the other. Like a six-year-old wanting to get out of time out, she offered a halfhearted explanation. “It’s just, you know . . . I’m trying to get settled in. How’s Dad?” Ella changed the subject.

  “Oh, he’s as ornery as ever, honey. When’re you movin’ home?”

  She cringed. “I told you I’ll come for a visit in the fall, but I’m not moving back to Texas, Mom.”

  “Why not? There’s plenty of teachin’ jobs around here. You need to be back with your family now that you’re alone. We can’t take care of you when you’re way out there.”

  “I don’t need anyone to take care of me, Mom,” Ella ground out. “I’m a big girl.”

  “Well, now you’ve got your sister, Charlene, madder than a hornet,” her mother harumphed.

  “What did I do wrong this time?” Ella asked with resignation, because she’d always done something wrong.

  Her mother snorted her disapproval. “You’ve got your niece, Kendra, wantin’ to follow in your footsteps. Says she’s movin’ away. Applying to colleges out of state.”

  Ella stilled. If her churchgoing family found out about her new profession, they’d likely not want her around her nieces and nephews at all. Moving home would be a disaster if the truth came out, because she’d be banned from the entire dry county by chapter three of book one. Once they got to chapter ten . . .

  Oh, thank the angels in heaven for pen names.

  “Your father and Henry, Jr., just walked in from checking the cattle,” her mom said, and Ella was never so happy to change a subject. Except for maybe when her mom tried to give her “the talk” on her eighteenth birthday, as if Ella hadn’t already figured out where babies come from.

  The cattle. Oh, joy. “Tell them I said hi,” said Ella, guilt threading through her. Those cattle had supported their family and put her through a bachelor’s degree, but then her dad had insisted she become a veterinarian and help work the ranch.

  Ella shuddered.

  Working in cow dung in hot, humid temperatures just hadn’t been her dream career. Seemed more like a nightmare to her.

  Her mom repeated Ella’s message to her dad and brother and then got back on the phone. “They want to know when you’re movin’ home.”

  Ella rolled her eyes.

  “Listen, I’ve got to run. I’ll call soon.” Ella had to get off the phone before she said something she’d regret. She loved her family, but every phone call was charged with disappointment and her failure to become what they expected her to be. And the incessant demands for her to move back to East Texas drove her insane.

  “Isabella, your dad said we’ll drive out there and help you move back. Just let us know when.”

  Wow. Some of her family came to Albuquerque when she graduated from UNM. That was the only time in seven years they’d visited her in New Mexico until Bradley’s funeral.

  Ella glanced out the picture window over the sink. Coop shuffled toward the cabin in muddy rubber boots, a string of trout in one hand, a fishing pole in the other, and a scowl on his face.

  “Gotta go. A storm is headed my way, and I need to prepare for it. Love y’all!” Throwing in a “y’all” always earned a few brownie points and eased her mom’s disapproving tone.

  Her mom sighed, issued a discontent farewell, and Ella pressed the End button.

  Ella stared out the window at the storm in question. Right. A wicked-hot storm by the name of Cooper Wells. How in heaven’s name was she supposed to prepare for that?

  The next morning Coop took Atlas for a long run to work off some tension. Tension also known as Ella Dennings. During the few days she’d been in Red River, the cabin had started to transform into a feminine nightmare. He couldn’t find half his stuff because the entire downstairs had been rearranged.

  Taking the steps onto the porch, he adjusted the waistband of his nylon running shorts and reached behind his neck to grab a handful of T-shirt. He pulled it off to wipe the sweat from his face. His breaths still heavy, he stood in front of the back door and sniffed the air. What was that smell? His forehead creased, and he opened the door.

  The sterile odor of cleaning products nearly singed his nose hairs.

  Atlas bounded in and joined Winston in the den. Coop looked around the room. A vase filled with fresh-cut wildflowers sat in the middle of the table. He rolled his eyes, surprised the flowers hadn’t wilted from the ammonia fumes that filled the air.

  Bright yellow placemats adorned the table with matching cloth napkins that were gathered into fans and tied with artificial pieces of straw. Each mat and napkin was perfectly aligned. No way would he use something that . . . dainty to wipe his mouth. Paper towels worked just fine.

  He swiped at the perspiration on his face again and tossed the damp shirt onto the table. The shirt tumbled across two of the placemats and sent the mats and napkins sliding askew. He smiled. Better.

  An awful bellowing sound that was an apparent attempt at singing came from the kitchen. He recognized the lyrics, but the tune was so far off-key it didn’t resemble a real song. Coop peeked over the bar.

  Oh, this was just too good to pass up. He walked around the bar into the kitchen and leaned against the cabinet. Arms folded over his bare chest, he crossed his legs at the ankles and watched Cinder-Ella cleaning under the kitchen sink. On all fours. Wearing cutoff denim shorts. With an iPod and earbuds blocking out the real world, she howled a Blake Shelton tune.

  Now that wasn’t something Coop saw every day. Or heard. Thank God.

  Coop wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to listen to his favorite country singer again. The sound of Ella’s unpleasant voice could have scarred a man for life and caused PTSD by the end of the song.

  She bawled out the chorus, and Coop’s head jerked back. Atlas whimpered.

  Her butt wiggled in rhythm to the music only she could hear, and a tiny swatch of her blue silk panties made an appearance from under her shorts. Coop’s mouth went dry. His head involuntarily angled toward his shoulder, and he took in the view.

  Yep. Too good to pass up.

  With the toe of his running shoe, he nudged her foot and recrossed his ankles. Ella glanced over her shoulder, and her eyes turned to saucers. She jerked up, her head connecting with the plumbing.

  “Hells freaking bells!” she yelled. Really loud. Grabbing her head, she scooted backward out of the cabinet and collapsed onto the floor. A tank top that rode up just above her belly button revealed a flat stomach, heaving in pain. Legs pulled up, an elbow rested on each knee, yellow rubber-gloved hands clutched at the top of her head.

  She looked up and glared at him, a sexy shade of pink seeping into her cheeks.

  “Sorry,” he said. Except for the knot she was going to have on her head, he really wasn’t all that sorry, but it seemed like the appropriate thing to say.

  “What?!” she yelled with earbuds still in.

  One corner of Coop’s mouth slipped u
p, and he pointed to his ear.

  “Oh!” she yelled and pulled the earbuds out. Her voice returned to its normal volume, her eyes darted away from him. “Um, you scared me.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that.” Not really. “What, no pepper spray this time?”

  The pink in her face deepened, a stark contrast to the black smudges of grime streaking her cheeks. And Coop had a sudden urge to take his thumb and wipe her creamy skin clean. Softly and gently with the pads of his fingers.

  He coughed.

  “I’m considering a holster for my Taser.” She tried to get up, but her bare foot slipped on the damp floor that she’d apparently just mopped, and she slid back onto her bottom. “So don’t sneak up on me like that again.”

  Coop pushed himself off the counter and held out a hand. “Let me help. And I didn’t sneak up on you.”

  She studied his hand for a second, then took it with a reluctant expression. He pulled her to her feet, grasping her rubber-gloved hand.

  “Do I want to know what’s on that glove?” he asked and released her hand.

  Ella looked at both palms. “I don’t think I want to know. Have you ever had this place cleaned? I mean really deep cleaned?” She looked up at him; a few messy strands of hair escaped her ponytail and hung across her eyes. She swiped at them with her forearm, but missed because of the cumbersome gloves. Then she blew at them, but they settled back into the same spot.

  Coop shrugged. “A few times. Maybe.”

  Ella’s silky brow arched.

  “Okay, once.”

  Her brow went higher.

  “I think.”

  Coop’s gaze anchored to the stray locks that dangled over her face. He reached out and grasped one before he could stop himself and tucked it behind her ear. Her eyes went soft. And dropped to his lips. Then those green emeralds slid lower and took a nice long tour over his bare chest. He found himself holding his breath.

  “You’re . . .” She swallowed. “You’re all . . . sweaty.” Something flared in her eyes. Something akin to . . . physical attraction? Yeah. He’d been with enough women to recognize that look. But seeing it in Ella’s eyes shocked him. And seemed to shock her even more, because she took a step back. Her eyes still roamed his chest, though.

  “I’m busy, did you need something?” Her tone gone hard, she turned away from him and snapped off the gloves.

  “Nope.” He went to the pantry. Every item was lined up in perfect order. “What’d you do to my stuff?”

  “Organized it.” She sprayed the already-spotless counter and wiped it down.

  “I can’t even make toast because I can’t find the bread,” he huffed.

  “It’s in the section labeled B.”

  He turned a frown on her.

  “Just kidding.” She marched over to the pantry and gave him a miniscule push to move him out of the way. “And you say I need to loosen up.” She lifted some sort of wood contraption with a small roller door and shoved the bread at his chest.

  “What is that, and where did it come from?”

  “It’s a bread box that keeps our bread fresher. I got it at the market when Cal and I shopped for groceries. I picked up a few other things to brighten the cabin up, too. This place could use it.”

  “This place is fine.” Coop popped some bread into the toaster and got out eggs and bacon. “Want some breakfast?” He’d never had a problem with the cabin, why should she?

  Ella bent and started replacing cleaning supplies under the kitchen sink in precision rows. “No thanks. I already ate cereal.” She stood just as Coop turned to put something in the sink and they bumped into each other.

  “You’re in my way,” she ground out.

  “I was here first. Remember?”

  “That’s real grown-up, Coop. Are you going to stick your tongue out at me, too?”

  Maybe. He inhaled. “Look, I just need to fix something to eat before I go to Cal’s summer school parent-teacher conference.” Maybe he should ask her to make a schedule for taking turns in the kitchen. Although why she’d need to spend much time in the kitchen was beyond him, because coffee and a bowl of cereal seemed to be the extent of her culinary skills.

  Her expression went blank. “You go to Cal’s conferences?”

  Coop stepped around her and got out two frying pans for the bacon and eggs. “Of course. I helped Dad raise him since Cal’s mom didn’t stick around.” Coop tossed two slices of bacon in the pan and cracked some eggs into a small bowl. Since he was so much older than Cal, he’d stood in the gap where a mother was glaringly absent.

  He looked up to find Ella staring at him.

  “That’s . . . really nice.”

  Coop shrugged. “Don’t most parents do the same thing?”

  She snorted. “No. Actually, they don’t. I’m a teacher, Coop. Trust me, I know.”

  He scrambled the eggs with a fork. “It’s not the same as having a mom to orchestrate a birthday party, or participate in the PTA, or show up at his Little League games with homemade cookies decorated to look like baseballs.” He poured the eggs into the pan and turned on the burner. “But I try.”

  “Sounds like the voice of experience.” Ella tucked the mop and bucket inside the pantry all nice and neat.

  Coop’s jaw hardened because it was none of Ella’s business that his mother hadn’t been around.

  “I could get cleaned up and come with you. Since I’m a teacher, I might be able to offer some insight into Cal’s learning disability. It might be a good idea for his summer school teacher and I to collaborate since I’m tutoring him.” She snatched her phone off the counter and thumbed at the screen. “I’ll have to rearrange a few things on my schedule, but it’s no problem to do that for Cal.”

  Oh, no. There wasn’t much he could do to stop her from invading his space in the cabin. She owned half the place, after all. But he wasn’t going to let her take over his responsibilities with Cal, even if she was trying to help. She could stick to tutoring his little brother. Coop and his father could handle the rest.

  “You have to rearrange your schedule?”

  She glanced at her phone. “Well, yes. Today is cleaning. Tomorrow is laundry. The next day is—”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me?” A schedule? In Red River?

  She crossed her arms over her bare midsection, and the tank top pulled taut over her bustline. Coop’s tongue darted out to lick his lip and he bit down on it. Ow. That kinda hurt. But he had to stay focused.

  “You know what? It’s probably not a good idea for me to go with you. The point is to focus on Cal.”

  Fine by Coop. Mission accomplished. He didn’t want her at the conference.

  “I’ll just let Butch and Cal know that I can meet with his teacher on my own, if it would help.”

  Wait. But before he could inform her that there was no need for her to meet with Cal’s teacher, she stomped down the hall, into the bathroom, and slammed the door. The shower turned on.

  The toast popped up, and the smell of burnt eggs chaffed his nose. He snatched the pan off the burner. He stared at the empty hallway, then back at his browned eggs. With a deep exhale, he tossed the pan in the sink. Now she was even hogging the bathroom. Maybe one of her silly schedules would come in handy so he could actually have some time in the shower when he needed it.

  Chapter Six

  Finally, the road dried out enough for Ella to drive her car into town. She tooled down Highway 578 through Carson National Forest with the sunroof open, enjoying the clear blue sky and crisp mountain air.

  She’d made good use of the five days she was homebound by cleaning and organizing the cabin. Butch called a few times to check on her and ask if she needed anything.

  So far, sharing a cabin with Coop hadn’t been the hurricane-force disaster she’d expected. Since he gave her a wide berth like he would a
skunk on a country road, she’d had the place pretty much to herself, but it was time to get out and explore a little.

  She slowed her speed. With summer vacation season in full swing, the souvenir shops lining Main Street brimmed with tourists. Vacationers in comfortable tennis shoes, sun hats, and T-shirts from every university in Texas and Oklahoma ambled along the worn sidewalks and crossed at every intersection.

  Texans and Okies loved Red River. It served as a year-round playground where they could escape the harsh summer climates of their home states and enjoy the winter wonderland of the southern Rockies from November to March. There were probably more Texans in Red River than there were in Texas, and it kind of reminded her of home.

  Flipping the blinker, she sat at the four-way stop that ran down the side of Joe’s, where Butch offered to meet her for lunch. A two-story building with a red barn facade, it sported a neon sign that flashed its name and several brands of beer. A family wearing University of Texas paraphernalia moseyed through the crosswalk, giving her a friendly wave. She waved back, and they stepped onto the sidewalk, then she eased into the gravel parking lot behind the building.

  She got out of the car, and the fresh air filled her lungs, the atmosphere so crisp it almost crackled. She walked around to the front of the building and ascended the wooden staircase that bent to the right. Reaching the top, she stomped a little mud off her hiking boots against the planked, covered porch that lined the front of the restaurant.

  Ella walked into the darkened entryway. A waitress scurried by. “You can sit anywhere,” she said.

  Ella blinked, trying to bring the interior into focus. The cavernous room tripled as a restaurant, bar, and dance hall. A few hours past lunch, only a dozen or so diners filled the red-checkered tables and booths. She picked out an empty booth in the back corner and headed for it. Peanut shells crunched against the old wood flooring with every step.

  As she walked toward the back, she passed two ladies sharing a booth, their heads together, bodies leaning in to whisper. Each held a book. One of the books was closed, and the title Southwest Sizzle glared up at her, the author’s name, Violet Vixen, emblazoned across the bottom in scarlet letters.