by Cindi Madsen
Table Of 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
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Classic Italian Lasagna
About the Author
Country Hearts
Copyright @ 2019 Cindi Madsen
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereinafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Print ISBN: 978-1-947892-66-8
eBook ISBN: 978-1-947892-67-5
www.hallmarkpublishing.com
To my smarty-pants son, Brody,
who read one of the classroom scenes and told me
“Mom, I like this. I’m going to read this whole book when you’re done.”
Chapter One
This is what I get for saying I wanted an adventure.
“Wanted” sounded much better than “no other alternatives.”
When whisperings of budget cuts became a reality, the principal of the school Jemma had worked at for three years had called her into his office. He told her that the administration was sorry, but they had to lay her off. Considering her limited options, she’d had to smother her panic, roll with the punches, and take a risk.
As she sat in the living room of the cottage she’d been renting for all of a day, she experienced a pinch of loneliness. Add her worries about the raging storm outside, and she struggled to maintain the optimism she’d kept a tight grip on since taking the temporary teaching position. In a tiny Colorado town she’d never heard of before finding the job posting, no less.
The truth was, she did need something new. A bit of a shakeup to get her out of her funk. While she could handle a classroom full of kids like nobody’s business—partially because she understood occasionally losing focus and the importance of making learning fun—she was working on taking control and being less of a hot mess in her personal life. On being bolder and having the courage to meet new people and take more chances.
Surely seizing the opportunity to live somewhere besides the city where she’d grown up would help with that, even if it was a forced sort of help.
A crack of thunder vibrated the window panes, and a little shriek escaped. Since she’d nearly spilled her tea, Jemma set her favorite extra-large mug on the coffee table and tightened her fuzzy fleece blanket around herself. It’s an adventure. It’s an adventure.
When people said they wanted an adventure, usually exotic locations or rollercoasters came to mind. Bungee jumping. That kind of thing. Whereas she shuddered at the idea of trusting a rickety man-made machine or flinging herself off a bridge. What if something went wrong? Did people really trust a cord to catch them? Because she certainly didn’t.
It wasn’t that she was the type of person to need her entire life mapped out or for everything to go according to plan. No, as a third-grade teacher, she’d forever be disappointed if she let curve balls get to her. If there was one thing you couldn’t plan for, it was what would pop out of a kid’s mouth next. But she needed to be more organized and less idealistic, and the next time she was in a relationship, she wouldn’t be the only one aware it was happening.
How could I have been so clueless? Why didn’t I confirm we were dating instead of hanging out?
It definitely would’ve saved her a lot of frustration and sorrow. It made her feel delusional to mourn the loss of a boyfriend who’d turned out to only be a friend. Especially since in the beginning, she’d passed up a more-secure position to stay at the school where Simon worked so they could grow that friendship into more.
Maybe I should just give up on guys altogether and embrace the idea of being single forever.
The wind outside picked up speed, rattling the shutters on the window, and her heart rate kicked up a few notches. She glanced at the large black-and-white bunny at her side. “You’ll protect me, won’t you, Señor Fluffypants?”
Her former students had helped her name him, settling on Señor Fluffypants because of the black patch of fur over his nose that looked like a moustache. She’d had him since he could fit in her palm, but he’d grown into a four-pound snuggly floofball.
At the next grumbling burp of thunder, he jumped off the cushion next to her and rushed under the couch. So much for her knight in fluffy armor.
No need to be scared. Surely this house would’ve blown away long ago if it was that fragile.
Or maybe the years of decay will catch up now that I’ve decided to move in.
With its cheery blue trim and shutters, and the faint remains of vines crawling across the white exterior, the country cottage had looked so idyllic. Like she could spend her weekends curled up on the couch with her tea and a book and get lost for a few hours.
Now she felt lost in the way that she didn’t know anyone, her bunny had abandoned her, and she couldn’t concentrate on her book with the storm raging outside. Who knew thunder could be that loud?
The sky lit up outside, a streak of lightning making the world bright before it went dark again.
Man, I wish I could call up Randa and beg her to come over. Her fellow teacher had started out as Jemma’s mentor, but they’d quickly become best friends. When Jemma had freaked out over being fired and asked how on earth she was supposed to pay her student loans and bills, Randa had talked her down from the ledge. She’d reminded Jemma of all the times they’d tried new activities—like the time Randa had convinced her to eat at the new Indian food restaurant and Jemma had found a new spicy dish to love, tingling lips and all. Or how they’d accidentally made a wrong turn and ended up completely lost but laughing until they were crying.
They called their mishaps adventures, and because of those adventures, they’d tried out more interesting restaurants and had funny stories to tell in the teachers’ lounge and at parties.
With that in mind, Jemma had pulled up her bootstraps and cast a wide net as she’d searched for a new position. Even with good references and Randa’s connections, no one was hiring—not mid-year, when most contracts were already filled.
But then Jemma had found a listing to cover for a third-grade teacher on maternity leave. She’d applied on a whim, and when Principal Alvarez had called for an interview and they’d hit it off, Jemma had become convinced this was the position for her.
And when she’d experienced a bit of trepidation over moving to the small town of Haven Lake
where she didn’t know anyone, she’d told herself it’d been a while since she’d had a real adventure and that she was going to embrace this one.
She lifted her phone and pulled up her dictionary app—she was always puzzled when people were surprised she used it so often. Why wouldn’t you take advantage of having a dictionary at your fingertips?
Thanks to being in the middle of nowhere, it took forever for her phone to spit out the definition.
ad·ven·ture noun
an unusual and exciting, typically hazardous experience or activity
“Wait. Typically hazardous?” Jemma’s voice pitched higher. “Why didn’t I read this definition before moving here? Señor Fluffypants, did you know about this?”
Her bunny stuck his furry head out from under the couch, but the loud bang on the door made him skitter back underneath. It also made Jemma jump enough that she dropped her phone. She stared at the wooden door as if she had X-ray vision.
Who’d come knocking when she didn’t know anyone yet? Especially in this storm?
The loud rapping noise came again, and there was something odd about it. It sounded low and almost…metallic?
Jemma gripped her phone in case she needed to call the cops—who knew how long it would take them to get all the way out here?—and padded across the room. There wasn’t a peephole because of course there wasn’t.
She swung open the door, and a large horse snout darted inside.
She fell back on her bum, her mind struggling to make sense of the image in front of her as her tailbone throbbed from the impact. The falling sleet around the white horse served as a dreary background, and the creature whinnied, the sound even louder than the raging storm.
“I’m not sure what you want,” she said, because this had been a weird day and she might as well cap it off by talking to a horse.
The horse stomped a foot, the metallic cling of its shoes making her go ah, that was why the knock sounded like that. It didn’t magically tell her why there was a horse on her porch, though.
Just how backwoods was this town?
Jemma pushed to her feet and cautiously approached the horse.
The cold air was rushing in, making her wish for the blanket she’d left on the couch, but when the horse sniffed her hand, she couldn’t bring herself to pull away and slam the door in its face. He—or she—was beautiful. White, all except the black nose and gray speckles across its face. Sleek and muscular, with a long, snowy mane blowing in the wind.
Out of the corner of her eye, Jemma caught movement, and a dark figure materialized as whoever it was strode closer. More details stood out as he stepped into the pool of light the open door sent across the porch.
Male, tall, strong jaw, and cowboy hat.
Jemma reached up and smoothed a hand down her hair, sure it was messy from all the unpacking and furniture rearranging.
“I’m sorry,” he said, sliding a bridle on to the horse’s large head. “I tried to catch him, but he was off and running before I could get out the door.”
Their eyes met for a brief second, and an unfamiliar swirl went through Jemma’s gut.
Mr. Cowboy ran his hand down the horse’s neck as he secured a rope to the bridle with his other hand. “I’m assuming you’re the person who’s renting Mrs. Klein’s cottage.”
“That or I broke in before the horse could beat me to it,” she said.
Mr. Cowboy laughed, and the swirl in her gut grew stronger. He tugged the rope and pulled the horse a few feet back so its hooves were no longer breeching the line between the doorway and her living room floor. “I’m Wyatt Langford. I live just yonder.”
Yonder? People actually said yonder? “Jemma Monroe.”
Wyatt reached up and adjusted the tan cowboy hat on his head, seemingly unbothered by the sleet dripping onto his long coat. “Anyway, Mrs. Klein used to feed Casper carrots, and he’s not getting the message that she doesn’t live here anymore. Or that he’s supposed to stay in the barn, especially on cold nights.” Wyatt used his grip on the reins to twist the horse’s face toward his. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear you’re trying to make sure I catch my death. Then who’d feed you, huh? Did you think about that?”
She smiled at the affectionate way he “scolded” his horse. It was a tactic she sometimes used in her classroom.
“Anyway, we’ll get out of your hair.”
A bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, followed closely by a rumble of thunder, and they both glanced toward the heavens as the horse clomped back a couple of anxious steps.
“I didn’t realize lightning and thunder could accompany snow,” Jemma said. “Or sleet or slush or whatever this is.”
Wyatt tipped his head toward the right, and she caught a glimpse of sandy-blond hair. “It’s the lake effect. We had an unseasonably warm day for winter, but then a cold front came in off the lake. Once they clash, you get crazy weather like this. I hope you’re prepared for lots of snow. This is just the beginning, and one of the milder storms at that.”
She wanted to say she’d dealt with snow before, but the fact of the matter was she’d never dealt with it very well. She didn’t like that it interfered with her preferred choice of footwear, or how the floors were always muddy. But it was regularly cleared by snowplows, and life went on. Still, something about his warning made her think about that “hazardous” part of an adventure.
Then again, judging by the pair on her porch, maybe it wouldn’t all be hazardous. “Would you like to come in for a bit? You could warm up and we could cha—”
“Sorry, I’ve got to get back. Nice meeting you,” he said, tipping his hat, but what she heard was I’m done talking to you.
He led the horse down the porch steps, and she closed the door.
A shiver racked her body, and she rushed back to the couch and wrapped herself with the discarded blanket. Like earlier when she’d heard the knock, she glanced at the door, and her mind conjured the image of the cowboy and his horse walking away.
She’d hoped for a slightly warmer welcome, both temperament and temperature-wise.
All her worries rose up again, and she told herself that she just needed to settle in, first into her cottage and her routine and, in two more days, into her new job.
Sure, maybe this adventure didn’t feel quite as fun without her usual copilot. But with any luck, there would be other people who’d take time to get to know her and chat.
Even if it clearly wouldn’t be the cowboy next door.
Chapter Two
“Bailey Rae!” Wyatt’s footsteps echoed through the living room as he burst inside, stomping snow off his boots and doing his best not to track in mud, which was a losing battle ‘round these parts, no matter the season. “We’re gonna be late!”
With the grass dried up and buried under snow, wintertime meant all the animals needed to be fed first thing in the morning, the harvesting machinery needed tuning up as soon as he could get to it, and the cows were getting nice and fat, ready to have babies come spring.
Although, there were a few heifers he was already watching, because a handful of calves inevitably came before expected, usually during a horrible snowstorm.
Each season seemed busier than the last, work piling up faster than he could get to it, and there was always so much to be done. Since there hadn’t been school for the past two and a half weeks as they’d celebrated Christmas and New Year’s, Bailey had fallen into old habits of staying up late and sleeping in. He’d woken her up before heading to the barn, and to try to gauge where his eight-year-old daughter was in her getting-ready routine, he glanced at the table.
At least the dirty bowl, the cereal box, and the carton of milk she’d left out yet again meant she’d eaten breakfast. “You’ve got to put away the milk, or it’ll go bad.”
It wasn’t the first time he’d reminded her, and he highly
doubted it’d be the last.
Bailey Rae rushed into the room, one strap of her backpack in place, her blond curls sticking up in every direction.
Dang it. I forgot to braid it last night. Evidently they were both out of practice on the school routine.
When he’d pictured his life as a father, he never would’ve guessed there’d be so much shopping for clothes and learning how to style hair. But once his ex-wife had decided she wanted a city life—a single one—his list of daddy duties had doubled.
“Sorry about the milk, Daddy.” His daughter looped her arm through the other strap of her backpack. “I was just trying to put together the perfect outfit.”
“And you’ve succeeded,” he said, eyeing her zebra-print shirt, rainbow-striped skirt, and heart leggings. Plus the sparkly pink cowboy boots she never went anywhere without. He’d thought she might outgrow wearing all the colors and prints at once, but the fashionista was strong with this one.
As strong as her cowgirl side, and for as young as she was, she was actually a lot of help.
After she woke up and did some primping, that was. But since she worked hard, both on the ranch and at school, acing her homework and tests to the point they’d put her in a few advance classes, he was glad she remained a kid in some areas.
Wyatt motioned her closer, swiping his hands on his jeans before gathering her hair and wrestling the strands into a semi-tangled ponytail. Braiding it before bed helped tame the frizz and kept out the snarls, but sometimes you just had to make do.
If they didn’t hurry, she was going to be late, so he decided to forgo trying to find anything in her messy room and pulled a rubber band out of the junk drawer.
“Do you think my new teacher will be nice?” Bailey Rae asked, wincing as he secured the band.
“I’m sure they will be.” Anna Lau, the teacher she’d had the first half of the year, had started her maternity leave shortly before Christmas break, so the school had hired another teacher to fill in for the first couple of months of the year.
