TO HOPE
A Broken Roads Romance
Other books by Carolyn Brown:
The Broken Roads Romance Series:
To Dream
To Believe
To Trust
To Commit
The Drifters and Dreamers Romance Series:
Morning Glory
Sweet Tilly
Evening Star
The Dove
The PMS Club
Trouble in Paradise
The Wager
That Way Again
Lily’s White Lace
The Ivy Tree
The Yard Rose
All the Way from Texas
A Falling Star
Love Is
TO HOPE
•
Carolyn Brown
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Text copyright ©2009 by Carolyn Brown
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake Romance
P.O. Box 400818
Las Vegas, NV 89140
ISBN-13: 9781477813096
ISBN-10: 1477813098
This title was previously published by Avalon Books; this version has been reproduced from the Avalon book archive files.
In memory of Charles Earl and Mary Belle Goshorn—“Grammy and Pappy”
CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
Chapter One
Jodie Cahill woke up cranky. What on Earth had she been thinking when she agreed to go on a three month rodeo circuit with a strange man named James Moses Crowe? She’d given her word and in her world that was as good as gold, but she sure wished she could take it back when it came down to the wire that morning.
What, or rather who, she found sitting in her living room didn’t help matters one iota. She had decided to wallow in her grumpy mood no matter where she was or whom she spent the time with. They all four sat there grinning like Cheshire cats who’d just found a bucket of mice floating in pure cream. How could she keep up her self-imposed grumpy mood when those four had come to see her off?
“What in the devil are you doing here?” she asked the four women sipping coffee at six A.M. on a cold, blus-tery January morning.
“We’ve come to send you off in style,” her sister, Roseanna, said.
Greta, Roseanna’s new sister-in-law, yawned. “You think we’d let some old man haul your grouchy heinie out of here without checking him out first?”
Jodie pointed to the door. “Go home.”
Dee, a short brunet, shook her head. “Not on your life, darlin’. I didn’t get up at the unholy hour of five-thirty and hurry over here just to be sent home. I’m not sure you can go to heaven if you get up this early. It might be one of the deadly sins, and here I am committing it just to cheer you on. Besides, Jack is watching Jaxson and I’m going to enjoy every sip of this coffee and have a second cup.”
“Face it,” Stella said. “It’s what happens when the last one of five doesn’t have a husband. They have to put up with the other newlyweds running their lives.”
“I do not want a husband and I’m in a mood,” Jodie warned them.
At nearly six feet tall and a bull rider to boot, that should have put a little fear into them. It didn’t. They kept talking and drinking coffee.
“Warm cinnamon rolls, anyone?” Jodie’s mother, Joanna, asked.
Roseanna motioned for her to bring them to the living room. “Long as we can have them in here. We’re going to see this man who’s carrying Jodie off for three months. We’re not sitting in the kitchen and missing a peek at him. I heard he can walk on water.”
“Moses, not Jesus,” Dee said. “He can part the waters and walk on dry land. You must have been sleeping in Sunday school the day they talked about Moses.”
“Must’ve been,” Rosy said. “Anyway he’s a man of God who’s coming to see if he can straighten up Jodie’s halo. Her halo and wings both have been in so many wrecks she’s having to buy high-risk insurance on it these days,” she teased.
“Oh, the bunch of you can hush,” Jodie grinned. She pulled her long, dark brown hair back into a clip at the nape of her neck, tucked her chambray shirt into a pair of tight-fitting jeans, and buckled her belt—all with one hand. If she could ride a bull with one hand in the air, she could dang well take care of herself with one hand. Some of the mundane daily chores now took twice as long as usual but she hadn’t asked for help yet, and didn’t plan to start.
“She smiled,” Stella announced. “We at least got her out of that mood before he gets here.”
“I’m warning you all. He’s a short, stocky, barrel-chested, nearly bald Native American with a big, round face and a belly that hangs over his belt like an inner tube. What do you expect with a name like James Moses Crowe? You’re all going to be disappointed when I’m right,” Jodie said.
Her suitcase, garment and boot bags, and a paper sack with snacks for the first day in the pickup truck waited beside the door. She hoped James hated cheese crackers and pretzels and that he wasn’t prone to long-winded conversations about his six kids and forty-eight pets.
Four days ago she was all excited about getting back into the rodeo and bull-riding circuit, and then she fell on a patch of ice and broke her left wrist. She’d barely gotten home from the emergency room when the phone call came from the Professional Bull Rider’s CEO to finalize plans. She’d had to tell him the news. At least she’d had the foresight to get a doctor’s release. Rules said without the release she would have paid fines for skipping each of the twenty events she’d already entered. The rules also stated that she’d have to add another ten days before she would be eligible to compete in any PBR competition after the cast was removed. With that much time lost, there was no way she could come out with enough points to compete in the Built Ford Tough Series competition in the fall. It was a heart breaker but she’d live through it.
The next day the CEO called with an offer. She refused at first and should have kept right on turning it down. But she’d been angry at the turn of events and figured she might as well be in the excitement, even if she couldn’t ride. At least it looked that way three days ago. Now she wasn’t so sure. She’d agreed to judge events in eighteen cities in the next three months, and James Moses Crowe was the man she’d be keeping company with all those weeks and miles.
Roseanna heard the vehicle and hurried over to peek out the front window. “Jodie, you are dead wrong.”
Dee joined her. “Whew! That’s not baldheaded, and he’s not old enough to have six kids. Honey, I don’t know jack squat about rodeos or bull riding, but I’ll trade places with you.”
“Oh, both of you hush,” Jodie said. “You’re just saying that to make me look and then you’ll laugh at me.”
Stella joined them. “Joanna, he’s here and you might want to give this man his walking orders before you let your daughter go off with him. He’s liable to steal her heart.”
“I’m twe
nty-six years old,” Jodie moaned. “Y’all are acting like second-graders. Get out of the way and let me see. Good God Almighty!”
Greta sighed. “Yes, ma’am. There sits thirty thousand dollars worth of car. I’d love to get that thing out on the road and open it up full blast. I betcha that’s the original paint job too. They don’t make that shade of dynasty green anymore, and I’ll also betcha it’s got a two-tone pony interior. Pretty ain’t it?”
“Maybe in your world. In the world of rodeo, he’s a dead man,” Jodie said.
Jimmy Crowe parked a vintage 1965 Ford Mustang in the front yard of the house and sat for a moment, staring at the place. It hadn’t changed much in twenty-one years. There was still a big lodge over to the left after he made the turn onto the Cahill property. Trees lined the lane to the ranch house a quarter of a mile on down the road just like they did all those years ago. The house had been painted white. He remembered it pale yellow and it didn’t look nearly as big as it did when he was a little boy.
Nothing had changed, but he had. Jimmy wasn’t a shy kindergartener anymore. He was an established freelance writer and photographer. After this trip, he’d have enough information to fill in the blanks on a mystery novel he’d been working on for two years. He already had a publisher with money in hand, ready to buy the book. Yes, Jimmy had changed. He wondered if Jodie Cahill was still the same.
Leaving his long black overcoat folded on the top of his suitcases and laptop in the back seat, he opened the door and stretched his legs, kicking his pants legs down over his shoes. He stood just over six feet tall, had blond hair that lay in curls on his shirt collar, and eyes almost the same shade as his car. He wore a dark green silk shirt tucked into pleated black dress slacks.
* * *
Jodie moaned again as she watched him make his way to the door. “He’s got tassels on his shoes. Lord, what have I gotten myself into?”
Greta almost swooned. “If I wasn’t so much in love with Kyle, I’d trade you.”
“You can have both of them,” Jodie said just before she swung open the front door. “Come in, Mr. Crowe. I’m packed and ready, and we’ve got a long way to go. I thought we were taking your vehicle, but I see I was wrong.”
“Hello, Jodie. We are taking my car,” he said.
There wasn’t a bit of recognition in her face. That was good. She had absolutely no idea. She’d been a tall child, and now she was a tall woman. He could’ve picked her out of a lineup, though. The eyes were still the same shade of aqua—not blue, not green. The braids had been replaced with a stylish cut she had pulled back into a pony tail with a clip. Jeans cinched a small waist. Jodie, all grown up, was enough to take his breath away, but he’d get over it in the next three months. Or else he’d have to buy his best friend and therapist a steak dinner.
Roseanna cleared her throat.
“Excuse me, Mr. Crowe, this is my sister, Rosy.” Jodie tried to make nice.
Rosy shook hands with him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. How did you know which one of us was Jodie?”
Jimmy thought fast. “Cast on her arm. That’s why she’s going with me and not Sawyer Carver, remember?”
Jodie was getting grumpier by the moment. “This is Rosy’s sister-in-law, Greta.”
“That is one sweet car. Is it a family heirloom or . . .”
Jimmy shook hands again. “No, I just like vintage cars. It’s nice to meet you, Greta.”
“Got a two-eighty-nine and auto on the console?” Greta almost salivated.
“You know your cars,” he said.
“She should. She drives too fast and has wrecked enough of them,” Rosy said.
“A woman after my own heart,” Jimmy smiled.
“And I’m Stella, and this is Dee. We’re just friends who came to see Jodie off to the rodeos.” She stuck out her hand.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you all. Are you ready?” he asked Jodie.
“James, I am Joanna, Jodie’s mother. Would you care for cinnamon rolls and coffee before y’all leave?”
“I’ve had breakfast but thank you very much. They smell wonderful,” he said. The rolls did smell heavenly, but he was too nervous to eat. Dee, Stella, or Jodie’s mother could recognize him any minute.
Jodie leaned against the front door. “I am ready but we are definitely not going in that car out there.”
“Why?”
“Why did you pull strings with the association and get them to talk me into going with you? Answer me that?”
“Because your insight into the rodeo world will be invaluable to me in my coverage for the newspaper and the magazines I’m working with as well as the novel I’m writing. Got to admit, I’m not much of a Western man,” he said.
“So you want to see what it’s really like to travel all those miles and miles on the road instead of flying from one event to the other?”
“That’s right,” he said.
“Then we’re going in my pickup truck. There’s not a cowboy out there who’d be riding in a vintage automobile. If I’m going, we’re taking my truck,” she said.
Stubborn as a cross-eyed mule, he thought. She hadn’t changed one bit in that respect. She’d set her heels and it didn’t look like a team of wild steers could budge her.
“Oh, get over it, Jodie,” Greta said. “What difference does it make what you ride in or he drives? Either way gets you from point A to B.”
“He wants to write about rodeos and bull riding, he’s going to do it in a truck. Or maybe you can’t drive a stick shift? Is that the problem?” she taunted.
His green eyes narrowed into slits. “I can drive anything with wheels. We’ll take your truck, Jodie. It’ll save a lot of mileage on my car anyway. Do you at least have a garage where I can park it?”
“Yes, you can put it where my truck is parked, and we’ll even shut the garage door so Greta won’t drool on it.” Jodie led the way from the living room, through the kitchen, and out the back door into the garage. She pushed a button and the doors went up. She tossed him a set of keys she picked from a hook beside the door. “Back it out and put your car in its place. You get half the back seat for your things. I’ll bring my things out the front door.”
“I’ll get your bags. You have a broken arm,” Jimmy said between clenched teeth.
“I have one broken arm. Not two,” she said.
“Have it your way.”
“Don’t take that tone with me.”
“Then don’t be so high and mighty.”
In the background she heard Roseanna giggling. It wasn’t funny, dang it all anyway. She wasn’t about to show up at a rodeo in that car, beautiful as it was. He’d blame her and whine like a girl when someone damaged the paint job. Besides, if he really wanted to see the way rodeo people lived, then he could start right now.
Jodie threw her leather bomber jacket in the back seat. Not one of those hussies she called family and friends offered to help her load her things. It had taken three trips but she’d managed without them.
Jimmy unloaded a trunkload of stuff, filling his half of the backseat to the brim. She noted a laptop, two suitcases, a bulging garment bag, and two briefcases. He locked his car, patted it on the hood, and crawled into the pickup.
“You said this was a stick shift,” he said.
“No, I asked if you could drive a stick shift,” she answered tersely.
“Give me the keys. I can see this is going to be a long three months.”
She handed them to him. “You know how to get to Dallas from here?”
“You’ll tell me, I’m very sure,” he said.
“Yes, I will. Take a left at the park entrance and go over to Davis. We’ll catch Interstate 35 there and go south to Dallas where we’ll get Interstate 20 to Mobile, Alabama. From there it’s a little more than three hundred miles to Pensacola where we catch Interstate 75 South. I can take you to the St. Lucie County Fairgrounds in Fort Pierce, Florida, with my eyes shut. Why are you here, Mr. Crowe?”
“I�
��ve already answered that. I’m here to write freelance stories and get first-hand experience so I can finish a book I’m working on. Brad told him he’d informed you of my intentions and I told you the same thing back at the house. And your job is to ride with me and give me the inside information on bull riders. In trade you get all expenses paid plus payment each time you judge an event. Did I pass that test? And the name is Jimmy, not Mr. Crowe. I’m willing to bet we are close to the same age.”
“Twenty-six on my last birthday, which was in August,” she said. She smelled a rat in the wood pile. Something wasn’t totally right and yet nothing seemed wrong.
“Twenty-six on my last birthday, which was in May,” he said.
She nodded and checked the speedometer: a comfortable five miles over the speed limit. A policeman might point at him but most likely wouldn’t pull him over for a ticket.
“Sawyer was disappointed when you broke your wrist. He’s followed your career ever since you climbed on your first bull. But then you probably knew that,” Jimmy said.
“No, I didn’t. Momma keeps all the news and magazine articles in a collection of scrapbooks. I don’t remember his name on any of them.”
“Sawyer’s pen name is Thomas Klinger. Does that ring a bell?”
She sat straight up. “The Thomas Klinger. The famous sports writer? Every time he mentioned me in an article I walked on air for days. That’s Sawyer Carver! And I missed getting to go on the rounds with him because I broke my arm and can’t ride. Now I really am cranky.”
“Sorry I mentioned it then if it’ll make you worse. I’m sure he is too, if it’s any consolation. His wife told me that he was in a royal pout. He refused to do the rodeo rounds and is opting to go to Peru for a month to follow soccer finals. I’ll be covering for him as well as freelancing for a couple of magazines while we are out.”
“He’s married?” She frowned.
“Thirty-five years and lives in New York with his wife and two poodles. They have two daughters but they’re both married and have children of their own.”
“Are you married?”
To Hope Page 1
