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His Kind Of Cowgirl
Karen Rock
Would he still love her… if he knew?Tanner Hayes smashed Claire's life to pieces when he chose the rodeo over her ten years ago. And now he'd wrecked her truck! Fantastic. She’d lost her husband, the family ranch was mired in debt, her father was recuperating from a stroke, and her son was being bullied. Why not throw a reckless bull rider into the mix?All she’d wanted was a safe, stable life. But with Tanner back in town—and staying on her ranch—nothing was safe, or under control. Not the feelings she’d fought so hard to forget. Not the son she was determined to protect. And certainly not her long-held secret…
Would he still love her...if he knew?
Tanner Hayes smashed Claire’s life to pieces when he chose the rodeo over her ten years ago. And now he’d wrecked her truck! Fantastic. She’d lost her husband, the family ranch was mired in debt, her father was recuperating from a stroke and her son was being bullied. Why not throw a reckless bull rider into the mix?
All she’d wanted was a safe, stable life. But with Tanner back in town—and staying on her ranch—nothing was safe, or under control. Not the feelings she’d fought so hard to forget. Not the son she was determined to protect. And certainly not her long-held secret...
A man wearing a cowboy hat hunched over Claire, his features blurred.
“I called the dispatcher,” he said. “The fire department’s on the way.”
She heard a wail in the distance and Claire wanted to shriek with it.
Her special day. Her anniversary. The last one spent cruising her hometown roads before they moved. Ruined. No. Demolished by this...this...
She squinted upward and focused. A dark swirl of hair brushed across the tall man’s forehead; a light scar zigzagged down his square jaw.
It couldn’t be...
“Tanner?”
“Hello, Claire.” His mouth went up, just a fraction—the same ready-for-anything smile that had once undone her.
She closed her eyes, heart thudding. Ten years since she’d vowed never to see him again...and now here he stood, two for two in wrecking her life.
Dear Reader (#ulink_fdcdca2c-0f6a-526c-a885-8c8ef34cc362),
I have a confession. I almost flunked kindergarten. Had it not been for my “Tiger Dad” who insisted I really was smart, I would have started my schooling with a mark against me.
Why did I nearly fail? I couldn’t concentrate. Couldn’t sit still. Or pay attention for long...or at all. Nowadays, they have a label for it and medication that works: ADHD and Ritalin. Back then, we had lectures, time-outs and Fs on report cards. I couldn’t even settle down to learn to read until fourth grade! If someone had said to me, “Karen, you see all of those books you’re crying over? Someday, you’ll write a few,” I would have choked on a Tater Tot.
In His Kind of Cowgirl, Tanner Hayes also has ADHD, flunked a grade in school and was told by his frustrated teachers he’d never amount to much. Bull riding gives his energy an outlet. It’s a profession he excels at and it gives him pride. In my research, I found that many bull riders shared my hero’s story. Bull riding takes guts, skill and a smidge of insanity. Yet what it gives—a sense of accomplishment, pride and community—is invaluable. An organization that is dear to my heart, Warriors and Rodeo (WAR), funds veterans who want to bull ride. To learn more or donate, visit their home page at warriorsandrodeo.org (http://www.warriorsandrodeo.org).
Karen Rock
His Kind of Cowgirl
Karen Rock
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
KAREN ROCK is an award-winning YA and adult contemporary author. She holds a master’s degree in English and worked as an ELA instructor before becoming a full-time author. Most recently, her Mills & Boon Heartwarming novels have won the 2015 National Excellence in Romance Fiction Award and the 2015 Booksellers’ Best Award. When she’s not writing, Karen loves scouring estate sales, cooking and hiking. She lives in the Adirondack Mountains region with her husband, daughter and Cavalier King Charles spaniels.
KarenRock.com (http://karenrock.com)
To all those with ADHD or other learning disabilities who’ve ever struggled to accomplish their goals. Your achievements are all the sweeter for the challenges you’ve overcome.
Contents
Cover (#u13923951-cbad-565c-bf2f-520a886c7171)
Back Cover Text (#ueccb4fde-caea-5ab1-a929-e5d67f8058eb)
Introduction (#u8cfea83a-9b17-55a7-91ee-0f0e4b2284b6)
Dear Reader (#ud3d13625-ee46-5e78-b16c-df9ea4bea2dd)
Title Page (#u97c81894-9ef0-56c0-9ac4-432fd5913a20)
About the Author (#u3d68069f-de33-5b90-9bac-b27e803fdc52)
Dedication (#u4ed7ad23-c5a0-5f30-bebd-efee79da5b2c)
PROLOGUE (#ua379fc34-0182-56ab-835f-64a7e6858fbb)
CHAPTER ONE (#u8afa7dcf-03fc-537f-8679-8618a67a84a0)
CHAPTER TWO (#uc4dda691-4029-5928-b341-e6893fa07f82)
CHAPTER THREE (#u15b3a771-3e22-5c46-828a-80d64314b1f2)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u79f87665-ae64-5c69-89d1-c48263a0e6be)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u89a62a64-1aad-5210-a1c6-f19f3d42fd2c)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE (#ulink_65d0935c-eaac-5222-9448-823bd0639238)
“JONATHAN RILEY SHELTON, you’re taking longer than a month of Sundays. Now get back in your seat.”
Claire Shelton flipped another pancake then pointed the spatula at her wayward seven-year-old. He twirled beneath the living room’s overhead fan, his freckled face pointed to the ceiling.
On the griddle, butter splattered and steam rose in vanilla-scented puffs. Her stomach growled, the traitor. She’d already eaten a peanut butter egg, a handful of jelly beans and the ears and tail off of Jonathan’s Easter bunny this morning. When would she learn to resist? She and her scale would not be friends tomorrow. Maybe they needed a break...
“Goblins are going to eat your breakfast!”
A giggle floated from the cottage’s front room. “You always say that!”
She peered at him through her galley kitchen’s archway. Sunshine lit the air around Jonathan’s small frame as he bashed through Lego bridges and elaborate battlefields of plastic soldiers. Even the speed of light couldn’t keep up with him, she thought, amused. Most days, neither could she...though she tried. And tried. And tried.
“Only when I see one.”
He whirled and the gap from his missing tooth flashed in a pirate’s grin. “Is it Guff?”
“Nope. Lottie. And she’s dyed her hair purple. Come see. You might catch her this time.”
“I want purple hair!” He grabbed his disheveled red mop and pulled, fingers tangling. Probably hadn’t brushed it since he woke up. She’d have to lasso him to a chair and bribe him with Oreos to comb it later. When he turned away, his shoulder blades poked through a superhero T-shirt. She squinted at it and recognized the one she’d sneaked into the hamper last night, the same shirt he’d insisted on wearing all week.
Stubborn boy.
What would she do with him? Then again, what would she do without him?
A long breath escaped her when he rose on tiptoe and pressed his face against the window. Must be eager to get out in the warm spring day. Bolt down the road a piece before she noticed he hadn’t picked up his room or done his homework.
She switched off the gas burner and let the inside of the pancake settle. Of course, she’d been just as mischievous at his age. She smiled, recalling her escapades growing up on her family’s bull ranch. Momma saying she wouldn’t sit still for any more of Claire’s shenanigans. Her grin faded. What she’d give to hear those lectures again. She hadn’t stopped missing Momma since she’d passed ten years ago. It was like waking with a stomachache every day.
She transferred the pancakes to the table and pulled open the fridge, hunting for juice. What advice would her mother give her now? Single parenting. Ten times harder than it looked, a hundred times more difficult than Claire had imagined. She was so busy she felt like twins.
If only she had backup. A husband at home instead of halfway around the world. Someone to remind Jonathan that peanut butter was for humans, not for dogs. That potatoes would grow out of his ears if he didn’t wash them. Corn, at least. And that parents didn’t negotiate bedtime with seven-year-olds, though she wound up doing it every night anyway.
She shook a near-empty carton of orange juice, filled Jonathan’s glass and dribbled the rest into her own, topping it off with water. Breakfast of champions.
Thank goodness Kevin’s year-long tour of duty ended this week. He never let new potato chip flavors distract him from buying the juice. And he handled Jonathan better than she. Kevin disciplined; she caved, but that’d end soon. Her chest loosened. He’d be home from Afghanistan in a few days. Safe. Back to work at his auto repair shop. Their family intact again. Life how it ought to be. Sweet as stolen honey.
“Come on now, son. Time to eat.”
Jonathan pivoted. Eyes wide. “Momma, soldiers! They’re wearing Daddy’s uniform. The fancy one with the shiny buttons.”
The small hairs on her arms rose and she forced herself to put the cold syrup in the microwave. To stay calm. Breathe. This could mean anything. Or nothing. Not the worst thing. Not what kept her up most nights since Kevin’s Texas National Guard unit deployed.
“On the road or in our driveway, honey?” She injected a casual note in her voice. No alarm bells ringing. None but the ones in her head.
She and Kevin just video chatted on Skype yesterday. Had talked about finishing his vintage truck restoration when he got home. That they’d cruise up and down Main Street for its first official drive then stop at Harrigan’s for cherry-dipped vanilla cones. Her mouth had watered and Kevin had said he’d been dreaming about it...and her, his voice deepening.
She’d blushed at that, imagining...
And he’d mentioned a quick trip into a US-controlled town today (or was that yesterday his time—she never could keep it straight). He wanted to buy a gift for Jonathan...the son he’d raised from birth as his own. Nothing could be wrong. Nothing at all.
“One just stepped on our flowers! Can I open the door? Can I?”
Jonathan bounced on the balls of his feet, his T-shirt rising over his belly.
“No!” she wanted to holler.
“I’ll get it,” she said instead, and pressed her fingers to her temples.
Get hold of yourself, girl.
But her feet stuck to the ground. Forgot how to move. If she didn’t answer the door, maybe the men would go away. Take their news with them. It wouldn’t be real then. Her stomach tensed.
Kevin worked as a mechanic. Didn’t see combat. Had a safe job, he’d reassured her when his group got called up. Any time Claire imagined losing him, a silent, primal scream would get trapped in her throat. She’d made a conscious choice, years ago, to avoid relationships that involved danger.
Maybe this had to do with the unit’s homecoming...a date change. A delay. That was all it was.
Please let that be all this was...
The doorbell rang. And rang. And rang.
“Momma!” Jonathan yanked on her tank top.
Her fingers trembled on the knob. When she swung it open, the hat-holding officers’ sober expressions said everything she didn’t want to know. An icy thread of fear curled in her gut.
“Jonathan, go to your room.” She tried to smooth out the jagged edge in her voice.
Her child peeked around her waist and looked up at the men. “Do you know my daddy? He fixes cars, only now he does humzees. I have a picture.”
“Humvees,” one of them corrected, a man with fair hair clipped short enough to show his reddish scalp. He swallowed hard and looked sideways at his partner.
The other, older man folded his arms and studied Jonathan with sympathetic eyes, muscles in the corners of his jaw knotting. “We didn’t have that honor, son. Heard he was a good man.”
Was.
Was.
