He chuckled, a deep, happy and healthy rumble as his arms tightened around her.
Reuniting with the cowboy of her dreams. She couldn’t ask for a better dream come true.
* * * * *
If you enjoyed REUNITING WITH THE COWBOY,
look for these other wonderful stories
full of cowboys and ranches:
THE RANCHER’S HOMECOMING by Arlene James
TRUSTING THE COWBOY by Carolyne Aarsen
THE RANCHER’S FAMILY WISH by Lois Richer
THE COWBOY’S TWINS by Deb Kastner
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Keep reading for an excerpt from FALLING FOR THE SINGLE DAD by Lisa Carter.
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Dear Reader,
Take my theory that the best marriages consist of two people who really like each other, my love for stories about best friends who become more and an old dream of being a vet.
Mix it all together and you get Ally and Cody, a couple who’s been running from and denying their feelings for each other for ten years.
Until Cody moved back to town. With a crew of furry friends at stake and still reeling from her dad’s death, Ally was determined not to need anyone. Not even God. While she had to overcome her staunch independence to let Cody near, he held a secret that forced him to keep her at arm’s length. Cody had to make life-altering decisions, and before Ally could trust him with her heart, she had to learn to trust God again.
Ally and Cody’s story is my first friendship-into-romance tale and I think I’m hooked. As an animal lover and rare breed—equally a dog and cat person—the thought of putting a beloved pet to sleep stopped me from pursuing a veterinarian career. Yet I got to live that old dream vicariously through Ally.
I hope you enjoyed reading their story as much I loved writing it. This book launches a new series, so watch for the story of Ally’s jilted cousin in the future.
Shannon
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Falling for the Single Dad
by Lisa Carter
Chapter One
“Excuse me? Excuse...meeee...?”
Startled, Caroline Duer gazed to the left, then right, before coming to rest on the heart-shaped face of a little girl tugging on her sleeve. “Were you talking to me?”
The child’s shoulder-length tangle of red hair bobbed as she nodded. “Would you help me find a book?”
Her enormous blue eyes inspected Caroline for a second. And as if an afterthought, she added, “Please.”
Caroline’s eyes skittered around the Kiptohanock Library. “Um...”
Moments before, a librarian had been reading to a cluster of children on the big green rug. Obviously, one of her charges had wandered.
“I don’t see her right now, but...”
Where was a librarian when you needed one?
“Uh...” Caroline wasn’t good with children. Sea creatures, yes. Little girls, no.
This was what happened when you put off what needed to be done. You got roped into over-your-head situations.
“I’m not—”
“But I said the special word.” The little girl cocked her head and waited.
Special word? What in the name of fried flounder was a special word? A secret children’s language to which Caroline wasn’t privy? “I’m sorry, dear...”
The little girl scowled.
“Dear” must not be a special word. Where was the librarian? Caroline cut her eyes over to the child.
The little redhead planted her fist on her hip. And jutted it. “I need you.”
Just Caroline’s luck. A tyke with attitude.
The little girl needed her? A clear case of mistaken identity, but it had been a long time since anyone needed her. In fact, the last time she’d been needed, she’d failed everyone so completely.
She was perhaps the worst person on earth anyone needed to need. Caroline swallowed. Where was the librarian? Better yet, where was this child’s mother?
Even Caroline understood children required a lot of time. More time than she as a thirty-five-year-old marine veterinarian was willing to pencil into her schedule. If you couldn’t spare the time, don’t have ’em. She drummed her restless fingers on the wooden surface of the librarian’s desk.
“I want books like that.” The little girl pointed at the illustrated Eastern Shore bird-watcher’s field guide in Caroline’s hand. “Books about turtles and dolphins, too.”
Caroline glanced from the book to the little girl. “This is a book my sister, Amelia, illustrated. Illustrated means—”
“She drew the pictures.” The little girl fluttered her hand as if shooing sand fleas. “I know all about that.”
Caroline’s lips twitched. Okay, the redhead was a smart little girl.
“Are you going to check it out?”
“I don’t live around here.” Caroline’s gaze darted out the window overlooking the Kiptohanock square. “Not anymore. I don’t have a library card.”
The little girl dug a plastic card out of the pocket of her jeans. “I do.” She held up the card. “I’ve had my own library card since I learned to read when I was four. My daddy says I’m a reading machine.”
Caroline stifled a laugh. The same could’ve been said of her as a child, too. She passed the book into the little girl’s custody.
The redhead grinned at Caroline. “Thanks.”
Caroline shifted to move past her. “You’re welcome.”
“Aren’t you going to help me find the book on turtles?”
Caroline studied the expectant little face. “You’re not going to leave me alone till I do, are you?”
The little girl smiled. Tiny lines feathered the corners of her eyes. An indication she was a happy child? Caroline hoped so.
“All right. Come on, then.” Racking her brain for what she remembered of the Dewey Decimal System, Caroline headed into the stacks. The little girl followed close on her heels.
Ten minutes later, Caroline’s arms bulged with picture books and the surprisingly adult volume on aquatic life the child herself selected. Caroline marched toward the checkout station. Still, no sign of the librarian.
She bit back an inward sigh. “You’ll have to wait—”
/> The little girl lugged Caroline toward a pint-size monitor. “Self-checkout. I do it every week after story time. I’ll show you.”
Caroline plopped the books onto the counter. The child scanned her card under a red-eyed laser beam. A beep sounded every time she ran the bar code on the back cover underneath the beam. A final printout scrolled out of the printer, and the child tore it free with a flourish. “This way you don’t have to wait in line.”
What line? The library appeared deserted. Not so different from Caroline’s childhood. She had whiled away many pleasant hours here in the library while Lindi dated, Amelia went fishing and Honey played house. Caroline figured old Mrs. Beal had probably long since retired.
“Good.” Caroline slung the strap of her purse over her shoulder. “Happy read—”
“Wait.” The child caught her arm and halted Caroline’s bid for freedom. “Maybe we could read one of the books before you leave.”
Caroline pursed her lips. “Don’t you have somewhere you have to be?”
The child shook her head.
A sense of panic mounted. Caroline wasn’t good with children. “Won’t your mother be looking for you?”
“My mother’s dead.”
“Oh...” Caroline’s heart thudded. “So is mine,” she whispered.
The child entwined her arm through the crook in Caroline’s elbow. “Just for a minute.” Her face scrunched. “Please...”
Caroline bit her lip. “The special word?”
The child nodded.
Caroline caved. “Okay...”
The child let out a whoop and then slapped a hand over her mouth. She giggled. Caroline giggled, too.
Finger against her lips, the little girl pulled her toward the sitting area near the entrance. And somehow Caroline found the both of them ensconced in a comfy leather armchair.
“My name’s Izzie.” The little girl extended her hand, adult-like. “For Isabelle.”
Caroline shook her hand. “I’m Caroline.”
The little girl curled into her side while Caroline read the short depictions and flipped the pages of a picture book about turtles.
Halfway through, Caroline glanced up to find twin pools of blue fixed on a tendril of Caroline’s hair. Which had come loose from the practical chignon she’d wound on the nape of her neck for her early-morning aquarium meeting across the bay.
With a tentative touch, Izzie fingered the strand of Caroline’s hair, a thoughtful expression on her small face. “I wish my hair was as pretty as yours.”
At the child’s plaintive words, Caroline laid the book across her slacks. Izzie’s hair was a mess. Did her father never take the time to brush it?
“My hair was about the same auburn shade of red as yours when I was your age. It darkened when I got older.”
She feathered a springy coil behind Izzie’s petal-shaped ear. “I always wanted beautiful, curly hair like yours. Mine is straighter than most sticks.” And she poked Izzy in her belly with her index finger to demonstrate.
Caroline’s breath hitched. Where had that come from? You didn’t go around touching children. Especially children who didn’t belong to you. Further proof she was no good with children.
But Izzie doubled over and laughed. “You’re funny, Caroline.”
Since when?
Lindi had been the pretty Duer girl. Amelia the tomboy and Honey the sweet one. Caroline had been known as the brainy sister.
Izzie flipped the book right side up. Her finger jabbed the page. “That’s where you stopped. Finish...” She snuggled closer, practically in Caroline’s lap. “Please...”
What parent left a child alone this long, even in a library? Somebody should’ve taught Izzie about stranger danger. According to the evening news, child abductions were on the rise. Not to mention serial killers.
Though unless things had dramatically changed since Caroline was a girl on the Delmarva Peninsula, those crimes rarely occurred on the isolated strip of land separating the Chesapeake Bay from the Atlantic Ocean.
But she couldn’t deny a frisson of pleasure as the top of Izzie’s red head scraped her chin. She inhaled the little girl scents of sea air, coconut oil and sunshine clinging to Izzie. Caroline propped the book so they could both see better.
Not such a bad way to spend a May morning. Anything to stall the coming confrontation she dreaded with her family. Put off the inevitable with her sisters and dad.
Because despite having returned to her Eastern Shore birthplace, Caroline feared she’d never truly be able to go home again. Not after what she’d done.
* * *
Weston Clark hunched over the blueprints spread over the table at the Sandpiper Café. His friend, and the former executive petty officer at the United States Coast Guard Station Kiptohanock, Sawyer Kole ran his finger across the etchings Weston had created in what would become Weston and Izzie’s new home.
After buying the decommissioned lighthouse and keeper’s station from the Coast Guard and after six months of remodeling, he—not to mention nine-year-old Izzie—was anxious to move into the new quarters. He’d promised Izzie one of the two rooms in the tower.
“Don’t worry, Wes.” Sawyer rested his forearms across the renderings. “It’s going to be fabulous.” He smiled. “With the ocean on one side. And the tidal marsh on the other.”
Weston sighed. “It’s a money pit is what it is.”
Considering some lighthouses sold at public auction around the United States in the million-dollar range, he’d bought the property situated on a neck of Virginia land at a bargain price. This spit of land and the lightkeeper’s station held special meaning for him.
His grandfather had been one of the last of the light-savers. History come full circle, preserving Izzie’s heritage and finally establishing the home Izzie’s mother had longed for. The home he’d been too self-absorbed and rootless in his upwardly mobile Coast Guard career to provide. Until too late.
Weston swallowed against the unexpected rush of feeling. It surprised him sometimes how grief engulfed him without warning like a rogue wave.
He checked his watch. Izzie would still be occupied at the Saturday story hour. He took a sip from his coffee mug. “How’s Honey?”
Sawyer’s arctic blue eyes lit at the mention of his bride of six months. Weston tamped down a prick of envy at his friend’s happiness. A hard-won happiness the onetime foster kid truly deserved. Unlike Weston.
“Honey’s good.” Sawyer’s lips curved as if he was reliving an especially sweet remembrance. “We’re good.”
An aching emptiness consumed him. At thirty-six, Weston believed that kind of joy had passed him by forever. Everything that happened between him and Jessica was his own fault.
Sawyer fiddled with the Shore-famous Long John doughnut on his plate. “I promise I’ll finish the lighthouse remodeling well in advance of the foster kids camp.”
“Everybody seaside knows you have the work ethic of ten men, but don’t put so much pressure on yourself. Izz and I are making do in the lightkeeper’s quarters.”
Weston warmed his hands around the mug. “A few months—give or take—won’t matter. I understand Keller’s Kids Camp needs to be your priority.”
He’d been on a cutter during most of Jessica’s pregnancy with Izzie. But he’d never allow Izzie to suffer again. Not because of him.
Weston cleared his throat. “Is the baby doing okay?”
Sawyer placed his arm across the back of the seat. “Honey swears the kid is practicing for the rodeo in utero.”
The ex-cowboy Coastie had only recently completed his enlistment and returned to civilian life to oversee the kids camp where siblings separated by the foster system could reconnect for one week a year. Sawyer also helped his wife run the Duer Fisherman’s Lodge.
“Any gender news to share? Or aren’t you telling?”
Sawyer rolled his eyes. “Are you kidding me? Honey had to know. There was a nursery to decorate. Baby registries to fill out.”
“Izzie got her invite to the baby shower last week. She’s killing me wanting to go shopping.” Weston grinned.
“Appreciate the warning.” Sawyer laughed. “We’re having a girl.”
Weston reached across the booth and play-punched his friend’s arm. “Way to go, Coastie.”
“Ex-Coasties.” But Sawyer smiled.
Wes glanced at his watch. The hands hadn’t moved an inch. He tapped the watch face with his finger. Nothing. “Oh, no...” Panicked, he grabbed his cell off the table to check the time. Weston shoved out of the booth.
Sawyer rolled the blueprints. “What’s wrong?”
Weston fumbled in his jeans for his wallet. “My watch stopped.”
Sawyer motioned him toward the exit. “I got this today. Your turn next time. Another thing I’ve learned from my beautiful wife—never keep a lady waiting.”
“Thanks. See you later.”
With no time to stop and chat, Weston gave the ROMEOs in the adjacent booth a quick wave. The Retired Older Men Eating Out—grizzled Shore watermen and the volunteer Coastie auxiliaries—catcalled as he swung the glass-fronted door wide. The overhead bells clanged.
“Hot date, Commander?”
“Don’t let us keep you.”
“Give ’er a kiss from us.”
He ignored them and charged across the village square toward the brick Victorian, which housed Kiptohanock’s local library. His heart pounded. Izzie would be worried.
It was just Izzie and him. They counted on each other. They depended on each other. Each other was all they had. And he’d let her down.
Weston raced up the broad-planked steps of the library. Izzie wasn’t a crier, but imagining twin rivulets flowing down her cheeks, he felt his gut clench. Frantic, he twisted open the brass knob on the stout oak door and dashed across the threshold inside. He froze at the sight that met his eyes.
Reuniting with the Cowboy Page 20
