Every Good Cowboy Deserves A Second Chance

by Maggie Miller

  “If you must know, I brought a whole picnic basket of food, mostly desserts,” I say. “Mom said she’d handle the vegetables and Dad insisted on staying up most of the night tending to his secret Brunswick stew recipe. That left the sweet stuff to me.” I wave a hand at the picnic tables. “The Phillips family is represented well here today.”

  He pulls back slightly and winks at me. “Did you by any chance make my favorite?”

  “If you’re talking about German chocolate cake, then yes I did. I figured Matthew would drag you to church decoration today.”

  He chuckles, pleased by my answer. “Did you make the cake on my account?” he asks, knowing the answer. “What about your sweet potato casserole with pecans on the top? Did you bring that too?”

  “Maybe,” I say slowly. “I thought you might enjoy your favorites one last time in your life before you head back to Nashville.”

  “Who says I’m in a hurry to go anywhere?” he asks, suddenly serious. “Right now, this is the only place I want to be. You want to grab a plate and go find a place to sit down?”

  “Sure. You’d better go straight to the dessert table if you want some of that cake. It’ll go fast.”

  Lacing his fingers through mine, he leads me over to the end of a long line of people standing by the paper plates and cups of warm lemonade. “Thank you for saving me today,” he says while we wait. “I don’t know what happened up there. I’ve never choked on stage before. I couldn’t have gotten through the song without you.”

  “How did you know it was me singing?”

  “Are you kidding? I would never forget the sound of your voice. Not as long as I’m breathing. I knew it was you standing behind me before you even opened your mouth. I could sense you were there.”

  I don’t ask him to elaborate because I know what he means.

  “Don’t worry about choking up,” I reassure him. “You’ve got a lot going on with your dad. You wouldn’t be human if it wasn’t ripping you up inside.”

  “For some reason, I feel better already,” he says, squeezing my hand. “I always felt good when I was with you. It was the two of us against the world, strong, unbeatable, invincible.”

  “Or double trouble, as Mom used to call us.”

  “I don’t know why your parents put up with me,” he says. “Always getting you into trouble when we were little kids then keeping you out past curfew when we were teenagers. They should’ve kicked me to the curb. They didn’t appreciate me taking Dad’s truck and teaching you how to drive when you were twelve. I thought I was doing them a favor. Saving them time.”

  I smile up at him. “Mom told me years later that she always knew that I was safe with you. That you would protect me no matter what.”

  “She had more confidence in me than she should’ve,” he says. “I drove way too fast at times, trying to show off.”

  “They don’t need to know any of that now,” I say, glancing over at my parents, who are standing several feet away. Mom catches my eye and cheerfully waves at us. “Our secrets should stay between us.”

  “Like our picnics up on Brasstown Point?” Luke asks with a sly wink. Brasstown Point was our favorite spot far at the end of an old logging road in the middle of the woods. We never saw another person in all the years we went there. Not a single soul, going or coming.

  The clearing in the woods was completely and utterly private. When we were there, we were the only two people in the world. Sometimes, we would take a blanket and spread it out in the bed of his pick-up truck. We would lie on our backs and gaze up at the bright stars, naming the constellations and talking about our dreams. My parents would’ve thrown a fit if they’d known we were up there alone. In small towns, a girl always has to protect her reputation.

  I slap him lightly on the arm. “Shh…hush now,” I scold quietly. “Don’t forget we’re at church. Behave yourself. We don’t want to cause a scandal.” I glance around to see if anyone is listening to us. As far as I can tell, they’re not. “People in this town have big ears and like to gossip,” I say. “Besides, we don’t want to give our secret spot away.”

  “It took a four-wheel drive vehicle to get up to Brasstown Point, so I’m not too worried,” he says. “If a young couple is as dedicated as we were to finding a place to be alone, then they can have it with my blessing.”

  “You have a valid point,” I say.

  “What are you doing tonight?” he suddenly asks. “Are you working?”

  “No, I’m off tonight. This is a rare weekend when I don’t have to work at the pharmacy.”

  “I’ve ordered a rental car to be dropped off this afternoon at the house. Do you want to take a drive with me later?”

  “I’d love to,” I say without hesitation. We both know things have changed between us. There’s no point in playing coy and pretending it hasn’t.

  “Whew,” he says, letting out a long breath. “I was worried you’d turn me down again and then I’d have to keep asking over and over. We’ve wasted enough time as it is.” He picks up a sturdy paper plate from the stack on the picnic table and hands it to me. “Point me to the food. If it’s as delicious as it smells, I might have to write a song about it. I can see it now. My next album will be titled Dinner on the Grounds, with every song being about a different church potluck dish.”

  I raise my eyebrows at him. “You would sing about cornbread?”

  “Sure! Along with biscuits and gravy, German chocolate cake, and fried green tomatoes. Now that I think about it, it might not be a half-bad idea. I could publish a cookbook to go along with it. Maybe even start a cooking show on the food channel. I can see this going somewhere big!”

  He grins at me and my heart melts. After all this time, my feelings for him have never changed. All I’ve done is push them down where they couldn’t hurt me anymore. Now they’re rushing to the surface again and threatening to overflow. I’m terrified. Luke broke my heart once. I can’t bear the thought of going through that again. But I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t give us another chance.

  Luke is the one man in this world who is worth risking everything for.

  16

  Luke

  The rented vehicle I ordered has already been dropped off at the house and is waiting with the keys inside by the time we return from church.

  “You rented a truck?” Matthew asks in surprise while parking alongside the bright red vehicle.

  “Sure, why not?” I say.

  “I don’t know,” he says as he turns off the ignition. “For some reason I thought you’d be renting a fast, convertible sports car to drive around town in, not a regular old pick-up truck.”

  “I figured we could use another work vehicle,” I explain. “You’re always hauling stuff around, and I want to help out wherever I can.”

  “That’s a good idea, and I’ll take you up on it,” he says with a curt nod. “I appreciate the thought. We need to cut and bale the hay soon. Are you up for getting those manicured hands of yours dirty?”

  I grin at him. “Do I hear a challenge, big brother? You know I can work circles around you in a field when I put my mind to it. Game on!”

  Matthew lets out a rare chuckle. “We’ll see. Make sure to pick up a pair of thick gloves next time you’re in town. Otherwise the hay strings will cut your soft hands to shreds. I don’t want to be responsible for getting your guitar player’s hands ripped up. Can you claim disability for that?”

  Dad slowly climbs out of the front seat and walks over to the rental truck. “Whose truck is this?” he asks as if we haven’t just been talking about it.

  “It’s mine, Dad,” I say. “For the time being.”

  He slaps a hand on the bed of the truck. “It’s a fine truck for baling hale,” he says. “We need to cut hay soon.”

  “Yes sir, we sure do,” I say, winking at Matthew above Dad’s head. “I just need to buy a pair of gloves first.” I’m with the program now. Matthew is right. There’s no point in trying to straighten Dad out about
things. It’s a pointless and frustrating waste of time for everyone involved. It’s far better to just go along with whatever is in his head at the moment. We’re a strong family. We can get through this together. One precious day at a time. “I’m taking Ginny on a drive later,” I tell them. “Do you think she’ll mind going out in a truck?”

  “She never did mind tooling around in your truck,” Dad says, chuckling at my question. “I like Ginny. You should bring her around the house more often. She’s a nice girl. Always polite and sweet.”

  It pleases me that he still remembers her.

  “That’s the plan,” I say. “I’m glad that you approve. It means a lot to me.”

  After spending the afternoon playing in the backyard with Lily, I shower quickly and head over to Ginny’s house. On the way, I swing by the grocery store. Before I go in, I don a pair of dark-tinted sunglasses, pull my hat down low over my forehead, and roll down my shirtsleeves. With any luck, I won’t run into fans inside the store. I’m not in the mood to have another date with Ginny ruined.

  Second chances can’t be taken for granted.

  After grabbing a grocery cart, I quickly stroll up and down the aisles, picking out a few things for a picnic along with a cooler to store it in. I’m not sure what Ginny likes so I grab her old favorite fixings for a sandwich: loaf bread, bologna, and mayonnaise, along with three kinds of potato chips. She always brought bologna sandwiches for lunch when we were in middle school. I hope she still eats them. With my luck, she’s probably vegan and I’ll strike out again.

  The picnic supplies seem pathetic for a date with a girl I want to impress, so I make my way back to the deli and grab a box of fried chicken, potato salad, and coleslaw to go with it. When I can’t decide between chocolate cupcakes or pecan pie, I pile them both into the grocery cart.

  My last stop is to grab an assortment of soft drinks and water. I’m standing in line at the checkout when I realize I’ve forgotten the plates and silverware. It’s been a while since I’ve had to take care of life’s mundane details. My personal assistant usually does everything for me. In a rush, I abandon my cart and hurry back to get them along with a small blue-and-white checked picnic blanket. I should’ve put more thought into this.

  My plan is to take Ginny away from any public place where we might be bothered. A picnic in a secluded spot is the only thing I could think to do at the last minute. When I’m satisfied we’ll have enough food to feed a small army, I check out and pay with cash.

  The exhausted cashier hands me the receipt. “Thank you and come back soon,” she says without glancing up from the scanner.

  “I sure will,” I reply, relieved that she didn’t recognize me. “You have a good day.”

  Back at the truck, I load everything perishable into the cooler and place it securely in the back of the truck. Before I pull out of the parking lot, I roll down both windows even though it’s ninety-five degrees outside and turn on the local country music station.

  I grin when a familiar song comes on and turn the volume up full blast, singing along with it at the top of my lungs. An elderly woman sitting in a car beside me at Sweet Rose Canyon’s only traffic light turns to say something nasty about me to her husband then gives me a scolding glare. I smile back and reach up to tip the brim of my cowboy hat to her.

  It feels great to be back home in Texas.

  Ginny’s house isn’t too far on the outskirts of town. She’d mentioned she wanted to stay close to her parents now that they were getting older. She’s an only child, who unlike me doesn’t have another, more responsible sibling to shoulder the family responsibilities.

  It’s hard for me to believe Ginny has a home of her own now. I’m proud of how hard she’s worked to make a good life for herself. Being able to make a decent living in a small rural town is hard. Most people in Sweet Rose Canyon struggle to make ends meet and pay their bills on time.

  Years ago, the few textile mills in the county closed, with the jobs being shipped overseas. In a few months’ time, many people in Sweet Rose Canyon lost their jobs without any other options to turn to. Most of the young people now either work on the family ranch or make the hard decision to leave for the city to find work. Ginny was smart to choose a career path where she could make a decent living and stay in her hometown too. People will always need their medications.

  I pull into her driveway and park in front of the house. For a moment, I sit in the truck and take it all in. Her house looks exactly as I would’ve expected it to. When we were younger, she’d ask me to drive by a place we jokingly called the ‘gingerbread house.’ She’d point out different things about the house that she liked and talk about how when she got older, she wanted a gingerbread house too. Now she has one. I’m not surprised. Ginny was never the type to sit around and wait for someone else to do something. She was independent and always could take care of herself.

  The house is painted light blue with bright white shutters and latticework. The front porch is covered with hanging baskets filled with colorful flowers. There’s a rock pathway leading up to the front steps lined with purple and white petunias. A huge yellow overgrown rose bush covers one entire side of the house. On one edge of the porch, she’s hung a variety of hummingbird feeders. There must be at least a hundred of the busy birds buzzing around and fighting over the feeders. I can hear their humming and angry chirps even from inside the truck. There’s plenty enough food for everyone, yet they’re fighting over one tiny feeder.

  The house is all Ginny. Full of love and her own special touches. Even as a kid, she always had a green thumb and a special way with flowers. She could take the deadest, broken plant and bring it back to life. My parents used to tease her and say she should be the rancher’s child instead of me. It was a running joke that they wanted to trade us.

  If we’d stayed together, this is how our house would’ve looked. Our evenings would’ve been spent sitting in the wood swing on the front porch drinking sweet tea and watching the hummingbirds. Our kids could’ve romped in the yard with a Golden Retriever puppy or two while I played the guitar and wrote music.

  Music that I’d never get a chance to perform in front of a crowd. The image in my mind tugs at my heart. It hurts to think about what I gave up for a musician’s life on the road. To sing to arenas filled with strangers and sleeping alone in hotel rooms. Working too hard to mask the loneliness and to fill the empty void inside me. Since I’ve returned to Sweet Rose Canyon, I’m beginning to doubt my life choices and wonder if I’ve made the right ones. I’m torn up inside.

  I step out of the truck and jog up the front steps then rap loudly three times on her front door using our old signal.

  17

  Ginny

  I pick up a dishrag and wipe down the kitchen counters for the hundredth time. I’m anxious to know how Luke will feel about my home. It’s a simple house, warm and inviting. I’m comfortable here and I hope he’ll feel the same way. My style of decorating is not overly feminine, with rooms filled with frilly lace curtains or white furniture. Instead I chose large, soft chairs and a sofa that is big enough to hold four people comfortably. Or a large man who likes to sprawl out on the sofa to watch his favorite sports team on television. Maybe somewhere in the back of my mind, I was always trying to design a home where Luke would fit in.

  Three loud raps on the front door tells me he’s here. I throw down the cleaning rag and rush to let him in. When I walk past the refrigerator, I notice a news clipping about Luke that I’d taped there a long time ago. Quickly, I jerk it down and stick it in a drawer to hide it. I don’t want to come off as another desperate fangirl.

  He knocks again, louder this time.

  “Hang on! I’m coming,” I say, hurrying to the front door. Swinging it inwards, I smile when I see him standing on the other side. The welcome sight of him rushes over me. He’s as handsome as ever in his usual outfit of worn jeans, a plain black t-shirt, and a cowboy hat. He’s also holding a big bouquet of multicolored wildflowers.


  He presents them to me with a flourish. “Flowers for my lady,” he says. “The florist wasn’t open on Sunday. You’ll have to make do with these until I can buy you the rarest of orchids from the highest mountains of Peru or wherever they come from.”

  “They’re beautiful!” I say, giving him a smile. “Where did you get them?”

  “My source shall remain a closely-guarded secret,” he replies with a wink. “A man never gives up his source.”

  I take a whiff of the sweet-smelling bouquet. The flowers look suspiciously like the wildflowers growing in the median of the highway going from town to my house. I step back to open the door wider and wave him inside. “Did you by any chance steal these flowers from the side of the road?” I ask. “Because you know that’s illegal.”

  “What would ever make you think that?” he replies with a fake hurt tone.

  “You’ve been known to do it before,” I remind him.

  “That was back when I was a poor high school kid with no money,” he explains. “And I didn’t know it was a bad thing to do then. Here’s an idea. How about I make a thousand-dollar donation to Sweet Rose Canyon’s beautification committee and we call it even? That should more than cover the cost of this little bouquet of flowers. They would’ve been dead in two days anyway in this heat.”

  “Here’s a better idea,” I say teasingly. “How about you stop stealing flowers?”

  “Yes ma’am,” he says, following me through the living room into the kitchen. “I love your house. It’s exactly how I pictured it in my mind when you told me you’d bought a home of your own.”