by Pamela Tracy
Contents
Other Titles from Serenade Books
Title
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Dear Reader
Special Delivery Sample
O Little Town of Bethany Sample
Other Titles from Serenade Books
Copyright
Other Titles from Serenade Books
Taste of Texas Series
The Art of Falling (Book 1) by Julie Jarnagin
Kiss the Cowboy (Book 2) by Julie Jarnagin
The Wedding Barn (Book 3) by Julie Jarnagin
Cowgirl in the Kitchen (Book 4) by Julie Jarnagin
Heart of the City Series
Reclaiming Brynn (Book 1) by Susan Crawford
Saving Justice (Book 2) by Susan Crawford
Redeeming Cade (Book 3) by Susan Crawford
Pies, Books & Jesus Series
Firefly Summer (Book 1) by Kathleen Y'Barbo
Autumn Skye (Book 2) by Kathleen Y'Barbo
Seaside Romance Series
Special Delivery (Book 1) by Gayle Roper
Seaside Gifts (Book 2) by Gayle Roper
Lone Star Brides Series
The Bluebonnet Bride (Book 1) by Pamela Tracy
The Bull Rider's Bride (Book 2) by Vickie McDonough
The Butterfly Bride (Book 3) by Lacy Williams
Journeys of the Heart Series
The Gentleman's Quest (Book 1) by Camille Elliot
The Road Home (Book 2) by Winnie Griggs
The Trail Boss's Bride (Book 3) by Erica Vetsch
Single Titles
Secondhand Cowboy by Lacy Williams
A Matter of Trust by Winnie Griggs
Love's a Stage by Rene Gutteridge & Cheryl McKay
O Little Town of Bethany by Rene Gutteridge & Cheryl McKay
Rhinestone Cowgirl by Denice Christensen
The Chef Next Door by Lenora Worth
Anthologies
Journeys of the Heart: An Anthology by Camille Elliot, Winnie Griggs, and Erica Vetsch
The Boy Next Door: An Anthology by Lenora Worth, Susan Crawford, Gayle Roper, Kathleen Y'Barbo, Rene Gutteridge & Cheryl McKay
Second Chances: An Anthology by Julie Jarnagin, Susan Crawford, Rene Gutteridge & Cheryl McKay
The Cowboy Collection by Julie Jarnagin, Lacy Williams, Kathleen Y'Barbo
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The Bluebonnet Bride
By Pamela Tracy
To Kim Arnold, I miss the many hours we'd sit on the couch, watching television and laughing as we crocheted to the tune of friendship.
Chapter One
No One's Fool gave a hefty leap—not bad for a bull weighing almost two thousand pounds—and Daniel Starr felt his legs rise a good two inches from where they needed to be: securely pressed against the bull's sides.
Before he had time to regain his position—get his rear back on the bull's back, press in with his knees—No One's Fool leapt again. This time with a whiplash-sharp turn.
Daniel didn't go toppling to the dirt. Still, he came down so hard his teeth racked together and he tasted blood.
Daniel shifted to the left and kept his seat. His heart pounded. He could feel wind on his cheeks. Even though his tongue hurt like a big dog, he couldn't stop grinning. The horn sounded, applause erupted, and Daniel jumped to the ground, fell to one knee, and then popped up again to jog to the side while the bullfighters in brightly colored clothes did what they did best: divert the bull.
The score was announced, and he didn't care if he'd bit the edge of his tongue so hard it would leave a scar. The score gave him hope. Maybe today he'd walk away with both winnings and an advancement in ranking. There were only two more riders. If he outscored them...
Exiting the arena, he looked to his left. A buckle bunny gave a come-hither smile. He shook his head. To his right, the men he'd competed with today shouted congratulations. He and his twin brother were well-known. Dusty for his ability, Daniel for his persistence.
Before Daniel cleared the gate, Dustin—called Dusty—joined him. Dusty had been the second competitor and was currently in first place. For four years they'd been competing against each other. Dusty was in the top twenty right now; Daniel's score didn't surpass his, not even close.
But at least Daniel had a shot at Nationals.
Right now, though, all he wanted was a mirror so he could evaluate the damage to his tongue.
Dusty followed him into the bathroom. "Man, you rocked, from the moment you left the chute. I thought for a minute…You all right?"
"Bwit mwy towyn, harwd."
"I hate when that happens." Dusty pretended to sympathize.
Dabbing at the blood and realizing it felt a lot worse than it looked, Daniel could only nod. He knew what was coming next.
"Man up. It's just a tongue." Dusty, younger by four minutes, wasn't one to miss an opportunity to tease. "After all, you don't need a tongue to ride. Maybe this will give you the edge you need to catch up to me."
"I'm nwot twying to cwatch up to you. Right nwow, all I want is to qualify."
"True. But, if you ever stop trying to figure out what the bull's going to do next and just ride him, then maybe I'd have to worry."
Daniel was too busy with blood and napkins to speak aloud, so he made a face that said more than words could.
Dusty grinned. "You sure you're okay? You look a little pale. Do we need to get you to the doc?"
For the last few years, the pro rodeo association had had a doctor at every event. Daniel'd had his ribs tapped, his side stitched, and his shoulder popped into place. He wasn't going to stick out his tongue at no doctor.
"I'll bwe fine." He'd be even more fine if he could catch up to his brother and start winning his own money, enough money to pay back his student loans, pay back his grandmother, and maybe start thinking about opening up his own business somewhere down the line.
The sounds of Dusty's laughter followed Daniel to the locker room, where he snagged his phone before heading back to the arena to watch the rest of the competition.
Someone—probably one of the competitors' wives, since they always watched out for the bachelors—handed him a cup of ice. He quickly slipped a cube into his mouth and let it melt against the offending area, hoping this was a one-day-only affliction.
His tongue was soon the least of his worries. The last competitor outscored him. Instead of placing fifth, Daniel would leave this Arizona rodeo as the bull rider who'd just missed out. It was one more reminder that he wasn't on the top of his game. He needed…
Before he could complete the thought, his cell phone sounded. It rang so seldom that it took him a minute to realize it was his ring. He checked the caller ID, didn't recognize the number, but did recognize the area code: Home.
It took him another minute to separate himself from the crowd so he could actually hear the caller, a female, who sounded annoyed at him.
Lately, every female he came in contact with was annoyed with him.
#
Amy Benjamin tilted her head so she looked at the hospital room's ceiling and told herself to be calm, rational, not bossy.
"We're at the hospital in Texarkana," she said. "Your grandmother's got a broken ankle and a pretty good bump on her head. She's a little disoriented. Because I'm not family, they won't give me any information."
"What?"
Not the response she'd wanted
. This wasn't going to be easy. She'd seen pictures of Daniel and Dusty Starr, both grinning at the camera as if they were bigger than life.
Cowboys.
She'd been there, done that, and sold his belt buckle on eBay.
Choosing her words carefully and practically shouting, she said, "I'm a friend of Shirley's. I stopped by to see her today because she didn't show up for church."
Not that Amy went to church.
Actually, Carol Lamont, Shirley's best friend, had called Amy from the foyer of the church in Pecan to tell Amy that Shirley hadn't shown up to church and wasn't answering her phone. Amy had dressed in under two minutes and driven over without brushing her teeth. That's how important Shirley was to her.
"I found her on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. The bannister'd broken, and she tumbled and hit her head. Then she couldn't get up because of her ankle."
"What dwid you say youwr name is?"'
Name? He wanted to know her name, as if that were the most important detail? And was he slurring his words? Was the man drunk while competing at a rodeo? No, not a chance. No bull rider got on the back of a two thousand pound killing machine while intoxicated. That would be suicide. He must have finished his ride and was now celebrating.
"Amy Benjamin!" She rolled her eyes again. It sounded like Daniel Starr had hit his head today too.
"Benjamin, I down't remembwer anyone with thwat name in…"
Amy could hear cheers in the background. Clearly the man was distracted. She'd called him five times today, left messages, and was more than annoyed. She already knew how his grandmother rated compared to the rodeo.
She'd been in Pecan—population fifteen thousand, three hundred and two—for just over a year. Alongside her aunt, who was thrilled to have someone to share it with, she'd explored the town. First, the historic main street that curved three blocks long with newer businesses branching off to the north and south like the arms and legs of a lizard. Her aunt's shop—now hers—was right where the lizard's left leg started. Then, they'd driven outside city limits, where the ranches and farms were located. Some looked like they'd been built in the last year or so. Others had messages like Established in 1886 or Family owned since 1903 carved on wooden plaques.
What a family bond. The idea of one generation taking over for the next did something to Amy's heart, created a longing, a wish to be part of something cohesive. Her Aunt Abigail had chosen to settle here for the same reason.
Daniel Starr hadn't a clue what he was missing. Oh, she knew he came back now and then. She'd seen him and his twin from a distance last year at Christmas, but that hardly counted.
"I'm fairly new," she told Daniel. "How long I've lived in Pecan is not the issue. Your grandmother fell. She lay on the floor for hours, alone and unattended."
"Wait..." Daniel said slowly. "Is, is Gramma awll right?"
Finally, she'd gotten through to him.
"They're keeping her overnight and doing some more tests in the morning. If you care about her at all, if you have a heart, you'll come home."
Silence. Then, he murmured a "this is serious" that was more wonder than question or statement.
"Probably," she admitted. "When can you get here?"
Silence again. Shirley had begged Amy not to call Dusty. He could win it all, she'd protested. She'd hesitated when Amy'd pressed to call Daniel. It had been enough to convince Amy he was the right choice to contact. There was another brother, Luke, but Amy hadn't a clue how to get ahold of him. Shirley didn't know where he was.
"I'll leawve right away," Daniel said.
Her opinion went up a tiny notch, minuscule really. He should have been checking on his grandmother, calling at least once a week instead of once a month.
"We're in room two-eleven."
He blustered a "Thanks" and disconnected.
"I told you not to bother him. He's got things to do, and I've twisted my ankle or hit my head plenty of times. We Starrs are hardheaded." Shirley Starr's voice was weak, and Amy wondered how long she'd been awake. Not for long, or she'd have insisted on taking the phone and telling Daniel not to come. She'd already declared the hospital visit a waste of time and money. Now she let out a low moan and pushed on the hospital bed's adjustment button to raise herself up so she could look at Amy.
Frown at Amy.
Amy didn't scare that easily. "I'm more worried about that ankle than your head. And Daniel can't have anything more important to do than make sure you're all right. You raised him, didn't you? He should be here. His brothers too."
Shirley gave a half laugh. "They sure filled up my house. Hank used to get so annoyed by all the Legos, food wrappers, and half-completed homework that littered our living room. Then, after the twins left, he complained because Luke didn't make enough noise."
"Wish I could have met your husband," Amy said.
"He was a good man. He wanted a dozen children, but we just had the one. After the accident..." Shirley hesitated. She'd never shared with Amy exactly what had happened to their son Taylor and his wife all those years ago. "Well, let's just say Hank was all bark and no bite and set on doing it right."
An orderly came in then, delivering a tray and asking Shirley if she needed anything. Amy scooted her chair back, giving them space and thinking about Hank doing it right. The Starrs—Shirley and Hank—made sure their ranch was a home filled with Saturday morning baking, Sunday morning church-going, and homework at night before play. Amy had seen the photos scattered throughout the home. The older ones showed Shirley and Hank with their only son Taylor, a Dennis-the-Menace looking boy who always had food smeared on his face, ripped jeans, and a happy smile. The more recent photos—from the last ten years or so—had three Dennis-the-Menace looking boys. One always had food smeared on his face, and the other two always had ripped jeans. They all had happy smiles. Daniel, Dusty, and Luke. It was the kind of life Amy had dreamed of growing up. She didn't know her father, not even a name, and she couldn't count on anything her mother told her. All Jasmine would say was, "I wanted him to stay. He tried and hated me for keeping him from what he loved."
Amy's mother had never shared what Amy's dad had loved, only that he hadn't loved them. Closing her eyes, Amy pictured her mother, beautiful, free-spirited, and self-centered, whose friends of the moment said she was great fun until they realized she wasn't one who planned for tomorrow or chipped in to pay for today.
Growing up, Amy had lived a let's-sneak-out-tonight-because-the-rent's-due-tomorrow kind of existence. Were Amy the one in the hospital right now, neither Shirley Starr nor any of Amy's many Pecan friends would be able to find Jasmine to tell her.
At least Daniel Starr had a cell phone, paid the monthly fee, and could be found. Didn't mean he really wanted to be found, though.
"When will Daniel be here?" Shirley didn't look happy about her grandson's return, but at least she seemed to accept it was necessary.
"I forgot to ask where he was," Amy admitted, scooting her chair closer now that the orderly had left. "I probably could do an online search and figure out what rodeo he'd entered."
"Figures he'd be competing today," Shirley said. "But I wish he'd put church first."
"We all have our priorities."
Shirley gave her a look which Amy interpreted to mean if Daniel weren't competing, he'd be in church. You, on the other hand... Shirley didn't say it, though. Instead she said, "Speaking of priorities. I need you to take care of all my critters. You're young and have the energy."
Young, maybe. Energy? She wasn't always sure. "Oh, they'll be fine."
Shirley shook her head. "No, they won't. The chickens need feeding. I've some watermelon in the fridge. Give it to them as a treat. Just lay it out. And don't make that face. It's not hard. Peppermint needs his ear medicine. Make sure you wrap him in his favorite brown towel, all snug, before you do anything else. Plus, Butterscotch doesn't do well alone. Will you take him until I get home? Walk him and give him attention."
Be responsible f
or someone, make that something, else? A dog? Amy had never had so much as a goldfish. She was half terrified she wasn't capable of taking care of another living being—her late aunt being the exception. Even after all these years, six since she had run away from her mother, Amy still occasionally woke up in the middle of the night, heart racing, thinking she'd be heading down the stairs and out the door, leaving, taking nothing with her.
One who was constantly leaving should not have pets.
"Please," Shirley said.
"All right." The words felt a little rough coming out, but Amy couldn't say no. She loved Shirley. When Aunt Abigail had died and left Amy—who could barely sew a stitch—the yarn and fabric store, Shirley had stepped in as friend, surrogate aunt, and sage advisor.
"I'll go right after you finish your meal," Amy said, knowing Shirley wouldn't eat were she left alone.
"Harrumph."
The phone rang just as Shirley finished her last bite of red Jell-O. Maybe hospital food had changed, because Shirley had eaten every bite. Amy picked up the receiver and handed it over.
After realizing that the call was a church friend, Amy grabbed the list of ranch chores she and Shirley had created and waved goodbye.
Peppermint and Butterscotch weren't the most time-consuming items on the list, either. There were plants to water, chickens to feed, people to call, as well as tidying up to do in Daniel's room.
Shirley had been adamant. Daniel should feel welcome, and the only way he would is if his room was clean and airy and his favorite chocolate chip cookies waited.
Amy would clean the room, but she would burn the cookies.
Chapter Two
The Pecan Place, as his grandfather called the home where Daniel had grown up, hadn't changed in the last seven years. That was Daniel's first thought. His second was, Yes, it has. First there were no bikes, Nerf guns, or discarded sneakers and jackets littering the front porch. And then there was the silence. No voices called hello from the front door. No laughter echoed.
