Her Texas Cowboy

by Jill Lynn

  Disappointment roared through Rachel as Greg walked toward them.

  He was going to reprimand them. Rachel detested that feeling. Hated the knowledge that she’d let herself get here. And for what? It wasn’t as though a relationship could happen between Hunter and her. They’d already had this conversation. Set the boundaries that she’d just flown right by without even blinking.

  “I realize you guys are adults, but just...” Greg looked away, his face mirroring Rachel’s discomfort. “Not here, okay? If I’d been one of the kids walking in, that wouldn’t have been good.”

  “You’re right. I’m so sorry.” Rachel stood. She wanted nothing more than to flee. “I’m going to go check on my girls.” Because she was the best chaperone and should get back to it. Obviously. She reached the doors of the sanctuary and ran out before either Hunter or Greg could continue the most uncomfortable conversation ever.

  Her head ached, but it wasn’t from connecting with a jousting stick. It was from the certainty that she’d messed up. Big time.

  This was why she hadn’t wanted to be around Hunter in the first place. Why she avoided him whenever she came home. Because she couldn’t make a mature decision when it came to him. Show the town how much she’d changed. Keep focused on the teens. Get to know Bree.

  How’d that plan work out for her?

  Rachel had taken a giant leap backward. She’d basically proved the opposite—that she was still the same girl. That scene with Hunter had been eerily similar to something she would have done in high school.

  It had also landed her a warning from Greg and a heart dangerously close to losing its protective shell.

  * * *

  Hunter scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck. That hadn’t gone well. It had for a few seconds, but then...back to reality. To possibly leaving things worse than when he’d first walked in here with Rachel.

  “I’m sorry.” He stood to face Greg. “That was completely inappropriate.” Seriously. Who kissed someone while acting as a youth chaperone? Him, apparently. He just hadn’t been able to resist. Once his lips had touched Rachel’s skin, he’d been as gone as a fly ball over left field.

  They’d finally been in a good place—had managed a friendship after all of this time—and now he’d ruined it all with one impetuous kiss. And until he could talk to her and apologize, he’d just have to live with the question of how much he’d messed things up. Would it take another six years to make up for this?

  And it didn’t bode well for him, either, that she’d just been whacked in the head—by him—and he’d taken advantage of the situation. Yes, she’d seemed okay. Hadn’t had any of the problems Doc Redmond had questioned them about, but that didn’t make what he’d done right.

  “Apology accepted,” Greg responded. “I’m not one to hold a grudge. I’m actually quite a fan of grace.”

  “Makes sense, you being a pastor and all. It won’t happen again.” Unfortunately, ever. Hunter headed out of the row and met Greg as they walked to the back of the sanctuary.

  “I’m guessing you wish I would have waited a few more minutes before barging in here to check on Rachel, aren’t you?”

  Amusement rose up. “In the spirit of honesty, that would have been helpful.” Hunter pushed open the door, holding it for both of them. “You’re a pastor. Are you even allowed to say something like that?”

  Greg laughed. “Since I’m also human, yes, I am.”

  After heading back to the kids, they split up, leaving Hunter to deal with the repercussions of what had just happened. He knew better than to seek Rachel out right then. If he went anywhere near her anytime soon, he had no doubt she’d find one of the jousting sticks and take it to him. At this point, he needed to leave her alone until after the lock-in, at least. Maybe longer.

  But the persistent thought running through his mind—the one he’d really like to dismiss—was, why hadn’t Rachel flinched from his kiss? Backed away? Slapped him? Instead, she’d been with him every step of the way. After the slightest hesitation, she’d been all-in.

  That plagued him the most. Because that was the Rachel he used to love. She was high and low, and sweet and snarky, and everything about her surprised him in the best way. She used to kiss him like that. Like she needed him as much as he needed her.

  If Hunter let himself dream, he could picture Rachel staying in this town. The two of them married. They’d have the occasional fight, and she’d win. No doubt. And he’d be fine with that—as long as he got to keep her. But eventually she would question if she’d chosen the wrong fork in the road. Just like his mom. Even his imagination didn’t provide a happy ending to that tale.

  On his tenth birthday, Hunter had been missing his mother. She might have been half a mom, she might not have been the most present, but she’d been his. He’d sneaked into his dad’s bedroom, tucked into his mom’s side of the bed and allowed himself some tears. Then he’d opened the drawer of her bedside table, hoping to find—what, he didn’t know. Something to remind him of her. To comfort. He’d come across a letter in his father’s handwriting. Worn, as though it had been reread numerous times. He’d put it back in the drawer and tried to ignore it. But after a minute, he’d caved. Pieces of it would forever be ingrained in his memory.

  Please don’t leave us. I love you. We need you. Stay with us.

  That was when Hunter understood why his father had turned so bitter. He’d begged his wife to stay, and she hadn’t. That knowledge had hurt on so many levels. More than Hunter had been able to comprehend at that age.

  His mom had never been happy on the ranch. And when his father had asked her to stay and she’d still left, it had shattered his dad. But instead of becoming sad and broken, Dad had turned hard. He’d shut down.

  Hunter had never admitted to his father that he’d gone snooping that day—and that really hadn’t been his intent. But the words, the pain of that letter and his mom’s reaction had stayed with him all of this time. The roots of that discovery had grown deep in him. Hunter had come to the conclusion that his dad should never have convinced his mom to marry him in the first place. To live a life she didn’t want.

  He believed his mom had tried to be there for them. That more than a few of the tears she’d cried had been over the fact that she’d wanted to connect with him and Autumn, but could never quite cross the chasm. He’d gone to his friends’ houses. He remembered gathering around supper tables, the way parents would tease each other, laugh and hug their children. Those things had happened sparingly in his home. There had been days Mom hadn’t gotten out of bed. Some snapping and moments she’d lose her temper. Apologies and more tears after. By the time she left, he’d forgotten what it meant to hope.

  Hunter refused to repeat any of that scenario with Rachel.

  She’d been very clear with him about what she wanted, and it wasn’t this town. Or to live on a ranch. Or even with him. Which was why he would never again ask her to stay.

  Even if it took everything in him not to.

  Chapter Ten

  On Tuesday evening, Rachel sat on her front porch swing, waiting for Bree. She had a book to pass the time, but so far she hadn’t made it through one page. Bree’s text had come in about fifteen minutes ago.

  Are you busy? I need to talk to someone.

  I’m at home. Want to stop by? Rachel had included directions in the text and Bree had responded that she’d be over shortly.

  Rachel was over the moon that Bree had reached out to her, but worried about what could be wrong. Was it her parents? Or an issue with a friend?

  She prayed for wisdom to know how to best be there for Bree.

  It had been an interesting last few days since the lock-in. Not a lot of contact from Hunter, which Rachel was just fine with. She felt absolutely no need to revisit their foolish kiss. Though she had beaten herself up over the infraction. Hunter had texted on Saturd
ay to check on how she was feeling. She’d replied that her head was fine. No concussion symptoms. And then she’d told him that he should stop worrying and feeling guilty. His retort of I’m just glad you’re not going to file a lawsuit had made her laugh.

  And then, to add to the eventful weekend, Rachel had come home after church on Sunday to find an unexpected guest on her porch. A speckled Great Dane. No sign of where the animal had come from. No collar or tags. Rachel had given him some water to drink and then fed him. She’d tried to get him to come inside that night, but he’d balked. On Monday morning, she’d opened her front door to find him asleep on her porch. When the shelter had opened, she’d called, but they hadn’t had a record of anyone searching for a lost dog matching his description.

  They’d also been out of space. So she’d done something stupid. She’d said she would keep him for a bit. Until they had room. Rachel had started calling him Moose because his long legs reminded her of that animal, and every dog needed a name, even if it was only temporary.

  Moose rose from his resting spot to her right, gave a squeaky yawn and stretched, then came to sit in front of the swing.

  Rachel scrubbed behind his ears. “You’re such a good boy. I think somebody is missing you.” She hadn’t used a leash to keep him at her place, but in the last three days, he’d stuck close by. Perhaps the dog food she’d bought for him had something to do with it. For such a large animal, Rachel would expect him to be rambunctious. Knock things around and cause a ruckus. But he was more partial to snoozing. She’d rinsed him down this morning—he’d been dirty as all get-out—but he’d need a real bath one day soon.

  Once he found new owners. Or his current ones. “You can crash here for a little bit, big guy, but don’t get too comfortable because I’m not staying much longer.” She gazed into his mournful eyes, hopefully communicating dog speak, wondering who she was reminding—herself or Moose.

  Dust rose up from a vehicle coming down her drive. Bree.

  The girl parked and walked up the steps. She wore denim boyfriend capris and a striped short-sleeved shirt, her strawberry blond hair down in loose, beachy curls. Moose greeted her with some sniffing, a few licks and one roo-roo—as if saying hello. His intrusion broke through the gloomy fog surrounding Bree, and she fleetingly brightened.

  “Did you get a dog?”

  “No.” Rachel shook her head with a vengeance.

  Bree eyed the stainless steel water and food bowls that were stationed at the shady end of the porch—also necessary purchases.

  “Are you dog sitting?” She sat next to Rachel on the swing, and Moose followed. Bree rubbed her fingertips along his head and back, giving in to his obvious plea for attention. After a few seconds, he settled on the strip of porch in front of them.

  “Something like that. He’s a stray. I’m just keeping him until the shelter finds his owners or has room for him.”

  Moose looked up at her with hurt in those big dark eyes.

  What? I told you I’m leaving. You should have listened and not started getting attached. Advice Rachel could also give to herself regarding so many things. Hunter, for one. The girl next to her on the swing. Even this town was growing on her.

  “So, tell me what’s going on.”

  “My dad is moving to Austin.” Bree’s words came out in a rush, like water bubbling over the edge of a boiling pot. “I know it’s not that far away, but...” Her voice dipped. Wobbled. For a second, Rachel thought the tears pooling in her eyes would spill, but Bree blinked them back. “He didn’t even ask me or my younger sister our opinions. Just told us he got a new job. We get to visit him on weekends.” Sarcasm spewed from every pore. “Because that’s what I want to do on the weekend—leave my friends to stay in another town with my jerk of a dad in some apartment.”

  “That really stinks. I’m sorry.” Rachel let the words rest for a second, wishing she could find a way to make it better. But sometimes life just wasn’t easy.

  She contemplated what to say before speaking. “I don’t know your dad, obviously, but maybe he’s just looking for a new start. Maybe he has no idea how upsetting this is to you. Do you think he would listen if you talked to him about it?”

  Bree’s shoulders inched up, then drooped as though carrying a massive weight. The faint creak of the swing’s chain filled the otherwise tranquil evening. “Maybe.” Her answer came out softly. Filled with very little hope. “I guess it’s worth a shot.”

  “What about your mom? Have you talked to her about it?”

  The girl’s head shook.

  “I understand that speaking to your parents about all of this is hard and probably uncomfortable. I get it. But I know from experience that it’s better to say something now than to wish you had after the fact.” Rachel had learned that lesson at a young age. On the morning of her parents’ deaths, she’d fought with her mom over something so stupid—when she could have a cell phone. How all of the other kids had them, except for her. She’d screamed and raged and slammed her bedroom door. She’d been a typical teenager—so she’d been told. But the rest of the story wasn’t normal.

  Before they’d left for the cattle auction, her dad had come into her room. He’d always been so good to her. Calm and loving and patient. He’d hugged her. Told her everything was going to be okay, and that once she calmed down, she should apologize to her mother.

  They’d left, and Rachel had known immediately that she should make amends. But instead of calling, she’d waited. Let her anger continue a little longer.

  She would apologize later, she’d decided.

  But not everyone got a later.

  Her parents had never come home again. The car accident that had taken their lives had seen to that.

  “Before my mom died, we fought. It was an unnecessary argument. Totally my fault. I had the opportunity to call her and say I was sorry, and I didn’t.”

  Sympathy moisture pooled in Bree’s eyes.

  “I’ve worked through it now. Someone—” Olivia “—helped me back in high school.” Rachel had come to understand that her mom had loved her. That a disagreement and Rachel’s immature behavior wouldn’t change that. And knowing her mother, she could accept that truth—the kind of limitless love her mom had had for her. “But if I could go back and do it differently, I would. Not that your situation is the same as mine, but I think it applies. Your parents don’t have any idea how you’re feeling, and they won’t unless you talk to them. You still may not end up with some perfect scenario, but it might give you some peace.”

  Bree nodded contemplatively. She pressed the toes of her simple green sandals against the porch, sending the swing into motion. “Thank you for sharing that about your mom. It helps that you’re not just telling me what to do without backing it up.”

  Rachel’s mouth curved. “I was the same way as a teenager. I needed the real deal. No canned advice for me.”

  “Right?” Bree laughed. “Adults should realize that we can sniff out the fake stuff.”

  “I couldn’t agree with you more.”

  They stayed on the swing for a while after that. Talking some. Sitting in silence for part of it.

  Before Bree left, Rachel prayed for her.

  The girl’s walk down the steps was less dejected than her way up. She even waved right before she got into her car and gave a relatively cheerful, “Thanks, Coach.”

  In the land of teenagers, Rachel would call that a victory.

  * * *

  The next night, Rachel drove to Hunter’s thirty minutes before the youth would show up to work on the float so she could help set up. She wore an old, long volleyball T-shirt that had her name and number scrawled across the back over capri leggings. Last week her cute ruffled shirt had gotten a hole in it, and Rachel wasn’t about to sacrifice another piece of her favorite clothing.

  She’d been tempted to arrive right at seven to avo
id alone time with Hunter, but she was determined to do everything as she typically did.

  She hoped if she ignored that their kiss had occurred, it would blow over and they could go back to the good place they’d been in. Hopefully Hunter wouldn’t bring it up. But what was there to even say?

  The two of them had been done a long time ago. They wanted different things, and one rogue kiss wasn’t going to change that.

  Hunter had only asked about her supposed injury since the lock-in. He hadn’t brought up anything else. Which meant maybe he wanted the same thing as her—to just move forward as friends per their original conversation.

  Which would be perfect, because then Rachel wouldn’t have to delve into why she’d let the kiss happen in the first place.

  When she entered the barn, Hunter was dragging out the large plastic totes. Tonight the group would adhere the fake grass to the trailer and then mount the other props they’d crafted. The youth would be excited to see the float finally take shape.

  “Cowboy.” She greeted him when she reached his side.

  Hunter’s dimples flashed as he nodded hello. “Teen whisperer.”

  They fell into a rhythm as they set up. No talking. No awkwardness. Relief skipped along Rachel’s spine. Maybe they really were going to just let the kiss slide into the past. They could add it to the pile of their history together.

  Hunter wore a simple white T-shirt tonight. The kind that came out of a three-pack and shouldn’t look so good on someone. If Rachel tried to wear something like that, she’d resemble a box. Hunter could star in their ad. He even smelled good—something yummy and masculine.

  This whole being friends gig would be a lot easier if he wasn’t so stinking attractive.

  At least, that’s what she told herself.

  When Rachel ran out of things to prep, she panicked. There was still fifteen minutes left before the kids would start trickling in. Far too much time for an unapproved conversation to sprout.