With Love, Cowboy [Love Letters from Cowboy]

by Lacy Williams

  Was she too late to make up for all she'd lost? She saw how the worry ate at her mom. Had that contributed to the heart attack?

  Ashley needed to find the right time and apologize, to ask for forgiveness. She couldn't change the past, but she was here now, and she was ready to reclaim a relationship with her parents.

  And while she'd been off on the other side of the world, apparently Ryan had been here for her parents. He must've been, because he appeared everywhere she looked these days.

  She'd gone into the store at different times, and he always seemed to be there. Except of course when he'd driven her father to a doctor's appointment in the city two days ago. She'd wanted to do it herself, but one of the big things on her rehab list was arranging for and learning to drive a modified car, one that could be operated with only one arm.

  He'd been around so much, most of the time she wasn't sure if she was coming or going.

  And he always seemed too happy to see her. And lately, he'd usually had a treat for Atlas.

  But what had happened to his dreams of owning land and raising horses? It was all he'd talked about back in high school. It had been over a decade ago, but she still remembered it. Surely he hadn't given up on his dreams for all the big bucks he was making at the feed store.

  Movement behind her, and she turned in the desk chair to see her dad walk in the door. His face softened when he saw her. She hadn't seen him since that morning, but by the look in his eyes, he must remember her.

  "Ashley-girl, what are you doing in here? Messing with my business things?"

  There hadn't appeared to be business things, at least not dated in the last year or so, in the office at all until she'd brought the financial records and inventories Ryan had given her. But she smiled anyway. "I haven't touched anything. Just thinking about… what I'm supposed to be doing now."

  He came closer, and she stood to meet him in the middle of the room.

  "What can I do for the store?" she asked. "I'd love to take some of the duties off Ryan's hands—"

  "Ryan? He's a good boy. He took on extra hours this summer when one of the other girls quit."

  She paused, unsure. From the way the other employees talked, Ryan had been acting manager for years, even before her dad had officially named him that. But her father might be caught in the past.

  "I could take over the bookkeeping from Ryan, or at least start there and see what other duties I could take over."

  "Why would you want to do that? I thought you're leaving for boot camp next week?"

  Ashley half-turned to put her missing arm further out of his line of sight. Sometimes, when he was caught in the past, seeing her as she was now disturbed him.

  "I'm staying here," she said gently. She didn't bother telling him the rest. She'd probably told him a dozen times this week already.

  It was obvious she wasn't going to get any lucid answers out of him this evening. "Do you smell that?" she said, sniffing the air. "Smells like dinner's almost ready." She turned him toward the kitchen and inched along with him.

  In the kitchen, a male voice joined her mother's, and Ashley drew up short in the doorway. Her father crossed the kitchen to sit across the nook table from her mother.

  Ryan was chopping something on the cutting board and had two pots going on the stovetop.

  "Hey," he greeted her over his shoulder.

  "What are you doing here?"

  "Making supper," came his easy reply.

  "Ryan took a cooking class a couple months ago and needed someone to try out his recipes on," her mother explained. She seemed to be doing absolutely nothing—other than sitting and visiting with Ryan. Good for her.

  "Wanna help?" he asked cheerfully.

  "I guess." She moved closer to him and registered the quantity of food spread out on the counter. "We'll never eat all this."

  "Ryan usually leaves us with the leftovers. He eats at the local café too much," her mother chided.

  Ryan didn't stop chopping but grinned, and Ashley suddenly knew what was happening. He'd found another way to care for her parents. If he cooked for her parents twice a week and left them with leftovers enough for two meals, her mom would have to spend much less time in the kitchen. Helping again.

  He glanced up and saw when she got it. He winked. Totally unruffled.

  "What do you want me to do?" she asked through the unwelcome emotion clogging her throat.

  He was making some kind of pasta dish. "We'll need to get the noodles in water once it starts boiling, and open that jar of sauce."

  She'd seen the large jar of red sauce and was way ahead of him. She opened the drawer and pulled out two of the grippy pads her physical therapist had suggested, setting one on the counter and putting the jar on top of it. She took the other pad and gripped the lid of the jar with it.

  "Ashley, let me do that for you." Ryan was suddenly at her elbow, his vegetables abandoned on the chopping block.

  "I can do it," she said firmly without taking her gaze from her task. She was still learning ways of coping with her disability, but this was something she could do. Even if it took more than one try to get the right angle, the right grip, she would muscle open the jar.

  "Aw, c'mon. It'll make me feel like a manly-man. Let me do it for you." She knew he was teasing, but it didn't change anything.

  "If you do it for me," she said quietly, "I'll feel like less of a person."

  He went still beside her.

  She half-expected him to argue or get offended, but he returned to his chopping board without a fuss.

  Same old laid back Ryan.

  It was she who was on edge.

  #

  Ryan finished chopping the mushrooms and moved on to the red pepper, trying not to show how Ashley's quiet revelation had pummeled him like a punch in the gut.

  He would never want to make her feel less than she was. So he'd stood back and let her struggle to get that jar open, even though he could've done it in a couple seconds.

  She'd always been independent. It was probably a good thing that she wanted to do the same tasks she'd done before. He'd even overheard her talking with her mom about getting a modified car so she could drive herself around.

  It irritated him, just a little bit, because he wanted her to have a reason to keep him around. He wouldn't mind if she leaned on him. He was using every opportunity to get her in the store to show how they could work together.

  "Mrs. Patterson stopped in today. Her mare's about to foal again," he told Joe as he chopped the onion. He'd put it off until last, because he hated slicing onions.

  "The big black?" Joe asked.

  That horse had been gone for several years. Joe must have been having a bad day. So Ryan didn't correct him about the horse. Instead, he said, "A chestnut. Mrs. P. is hoping for a stallion, wants to have a new bloodline in the next couple years."

  At Ryan's side, Ashley pointed to the pot that had come to a rolling boil, and he nodded to the box of pasta. She reached for the box and upended it into the water, splashing hot water over the side because she didn't have a second hand to catch it before it hit the water's surface. The droplets sizzled on the stovetop.

  She frowned. "What about you?" she asked. "I remember you wanted to have a nice-sized spread and raise horses."

  That was one of his biggest dreams, second only to his desire to have Ashley fall in love with him. Of course, she didn't know about that one. That she cared enough to remember about his horses spread warmth through his chest.

  "I'm boarding a couple horses at my cousin's place. I'm still gonna get some land when the time is right." He wasn't that old yet. He'd had more important things to work on while she'd been overseas fighting for their country.

  "Wouldn't you make more headway if you got a different job, maybe went back to school?"

  Right. She thought he was a college dropout and a flake. She was a smart cookie, and he trusted that she would figure out why he'd made the choices he had. He could be patient.

 
But deep down, it bothered him that she thought so little of him. He pushed it aside.

  "It'll happen when it's supposed to happen." He looked over his shoulder to Joe. "Bluebell is having puppies again."

  The old man chuckled. "So the Russells are in a fight again?"

  "Yep," Ryan answered.

  Ashley looked at him sideways, so he explained. "Bert Russell's been breeding prize-winning Irish Setter puppies for the last several years. Every litter, his wife threatens to leave him, because she doesn't want to clean up after their messes and deal with crying puppies keeping her up all night."

  "But she never does," Joe called out. "What's this, the third or fourth litter?"

  "Seventh," Ryan said under his breath. No need to upset Joe about his memory problems and ruin a friendly conversation. "She's threatening more than leaving him this time," Ryan said loud enough that Joe would hear. "She wants to go to marriage counseling. The way they bicker in the store, I almost thought about telling her we could charge her for forcing us to listen."

  "But you didn't dare," Joe guessed, and they shared a chuckle.

  Ryan missed having Joe around the store. He'd taken on more of the duties so Joe wouldn't have to worry about keeping track of the financials or missing out on ordering or paying vendors, but Joe had always been a friend first, especially since Ryan didn't have a dad to look up to.

  Ryan finished chopping the onion, put the knife down, sniffed a couple of times, and wiped his drippy nose with his sleeve.

  Ashley was watching him so he winked at her. "I'm a sensitive guy."

  She rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of a smile playing around her lips.

  He did a cursory wash of his hands and then dried off with a dishtowel.

  "All right," he said. "You cooking or watching?"

  "Cooking, I guess."

  He nodded her to the stove, where he'd heated a large skillet. "Let's put some olive oil in, get it nice and hot for our veggies."

  She followed his directions and drizzled some oil in, then allowed him to scrape the veggies from his cutting board into the pan.

  He pointed her to the pieces of sausage he'd sliced earlier and set aside. "Those are next."

  "Did you really take a cooking class?" she asked, looking at him curiously. She tossed the sausages in one at a time.

  "Yep. Figured if I was gonna be a bachelor awhile longer, I might as well figure out how to make some things—so I only have to rely on the cafe some of the time, right Mary?"

  Ashley's mother agreed and then bent her head to say something privately to Joe.

  "Plus, I figured it might be a skill that would help me win you over," Ryan said to Ashley, straight-faced.

  She looked panicked for a moment, then stumped, like she didn't know whether he was serious or not.

  He winked at her again and nodded to the pan, "Don't burn those onions. We want a nice caramelization on them."

  She gave the onions a stir with a long wooden spoon, then turned and pointed the spoon at his chest.

  "Don't think I don't know what you're doing."

  "What's that?" He kinda liked it when she got sassy with him.

  "You might've charmed my parents and my dog, but I'm immune."

  She looked so serious that he had to smile. She waved the spoon around like a weapon, so he put his hands up in front of him like he was in the middle of a stick-up.

  "You sure about that? I saw you checking me out in the store yesterday."

  "I was not," she protested.

  But the beautiful color flooding her cheeks said otherwise.

  She wasn't immune to him. He just needed a little more time to win her over.

  He hoped.

  Chapter Four

  Ashley stood on the second-story landing outside Ryan's apartment. There was only one small apartment complex in town, as most people lived in the small bungalows that had mostly been built in the fifties, or out on their farms.

  She had a hard time imagining him living here. Ryan was larger than life. He'd talked about horses and land so much in high school. And she knew his mom had moved out of town shortly after he'd graduated.

  Why would he choose to stay here when he could've found a higher-paying job in Oklahoma City? The job with her parents was a dead-end. Even with a small annual raise every year, it would take him years to save enough to buy land. And horses weren't cheap to care for.

  He was fun, personable, and the customers at the store loved him. She'd always considered him a friend.

  But he was going nowhere.

  And she had to find a path for herself.

  So why was she here? After a supper of laughter and stories—mostly from their teen years when they'd worked together—he'd taken his leave but had forgotten the notebook she'd seen him carrying around the store. She'd flipped through it out of idle curiosity. Notes, to-do lists, ideas for seasonal promotions, even a grocery list. Some people might carry a smart phone, but apparently, Ryan kept all his data the old-fashioned way.

  No wonder he'd written her all those letters.

  So she'd used the notebook as an excuse. She brought it to his apartment, knowing he'd need it, and hoping for the opportunity to tell him what she needed to say. She had to tell him to stop pursuing her. She wasn't interested.

  No matter how charming he was, or that he could cook, or that he had a certain way with her father, keeping him calm and telling him stories and making him feel like he was still involved at the store. That stuff wouldn't win her over.

  She wasn't interested.

  She forced herself to knock on the door.

  He opened it with his phone to his ear. His entire face creased with a smile when he caught sight of her, and her stomach swooped low. He motioned her in.

  "Just a sec, okay?" he whispered as she passed him.

  She and Atlas slipped through the doorway behind him. She settled the dog on the floor near the door and brought the book with her into the small living room, clutching it like a shield against her midsection.

  Ryan's apartment was masculine and neat. A somewhat-battered couch took up most of the living area and was opposite a large flat-screen TV. He had books strewn across the coffee table, several open and more notebooks open with pens lying across them. What was this?

  He'd paced into the kitchen but she could clearly hear his side of the conversation.

  "I can deliver an order that size, no problem. Sweet feed. And corn. Just like last time."

  She sat down on the couch, tapping his store notebook against her knee.

  "It'll have to be Friday night, 'cause I've got a class tomorrow evening."

  What class was he talking about? Another cooking class?

  Her eyes fell to the nearest book. Strategic Management.

  It was a college textbook. It looked like advanced-level coursework. The lined notebook next to it was open and full of hastily-scribbled notes in Ryan's handwriting.

  "All right. Yes. Thanks, Mr. S. I'll see you Friday. G'bye."

  He re-appeared in the archway between the kitchen alcove and the living area, squatted down with one of his homemade treats, and patted his knee.

  Atlas looked to her first, and she clicked her tongue to let the dog know it was okay. He padded over to Ryan and took the treat, licking Ryan's hand for good measure.

  "Doing business after hours?" she asked.

  "Sometimes."

  "How often?" She already knew he put in more hours at the store than anyone else.

  "Some folks don't have a truck or don't like to get out. Doesn't cost me much to deliver their orders, and the store gets their business. And sometimes a referral."

  She shook her head. He was a good guy.

  But that didn't mean she could date him. She had enough going on with her parents.

  "I noticed the sales numbers for this month seem a little flat," she said. She hadn't meant to come here to talk business, but what she had come to say was going to be so uncomfortable.

  "We'll ha
ve a spike this weekend." He stood and stepped into the living room. "You want a soda or something?"

  She shook her head and held out the notebook. "You forgot this."

  "Oh. Thanks."

  Her eyes fell on the coffee table again, and then she looked back at him. "Are you… you're taking college classes?"

  "Yep."

  She couldn't help but ask, "Since when?"

  "Since my freshman year." He seemed to know she was floundering. "I was able to go full time those first two years, then things changed"—he shrugged as if it hadn't mattered all that much—"and I started taking night classes. Takes a little longer that way, but that's okay."

  "So you never dropped out."

  He shook his head.

  But he'd let her think that at the airport, hadn't he? Or had he just handled her the way he handled her dad? He'd known she was wary and upset her first day back, tired from traveling and shaken from the other things he'd told her about her parents.

  Had he just been protecting her feelings?

  He crossed his powerful arms over his chest. "There's probably a lot about me you don't know. I'm not fourteen anymore."

  She shook her head. Didn't know what to say. "I'm still two years older than you." Stupid thing to say. How was that helpful?

  "Maybe if you read my letters, you'd find out what kind of man I am."

  She stood up. "I have to go."

  He followed her to the door. "You wanna go out this weekend?"

  "No."

  But after she and Atlas had escaped into the parking lot, she didn't know why she hadn't told him to quit asking. That's what she'd gone in there intending to say.

  But Ryan had spent years working on his education. He hadn't dropped out like she'd thought. That made her see him a differently.

  Everything he did surprised her.

  Maybe he was right. Maybe she should read those letters of his. What else would they reveal about him?

  But did she really want to know?