“Andie, we’re going to figure this out. I don’t know how, but we will.”
She nodded. “We should go.” Andie glanced away, but Ryder touched her cheek, forcing her to meet his gaze. She stared up at a smile that curved into something delicious.
That smile was her downfall. She should turn away. But his eyes were dark and tempting, like chocolate.
“We should definitely go,” she whispered.
“I know, but there’s one thing we need to do before we leave.”
His lips touched hers in a gesture that was sweet and disarming. Then he paused and rested his forehead against hers.
“We shouldn’t have gone there,” Andie said.
“Andie, at least give me a chance to figure this all out before you give up on me.”
“I’ve never given up on you. But I have to make the right decisions, now more than ever.”
“And you think turning down my proposal was the right decision?”
“Yeah. It was sweet of you, but it was spur-of-the-moment and this is something that we should take time to think about.”
Spur-of-the-moment was definitely a bad idea.
BRENDA MINTON
started creating stories to entertain herself during hour-long rides on the school bus. In high school she wrote romance novels to entertain her friends. The dream grew and so did her aspirations to become an author. She started with notebooks, handwritten manuscripts and characters that refused to go away until their stories were told. Eventually she put away the pen and paper and got down to business with the computer. The journey took a few years, with some encouragement and rejection along the way—as well as a lot of stubbornness on her part. In 2006 her dream to write for the Steeple Hill Love Inspired line came true. Brenda lives in the rural Ozarks with her husband, three kids and an abundance of cats and dogs. She enjoys a chaotic life that she wouldn’t trade for anything—except, on occasion, a beach house in Texas. You can stop by and visit at her Web site, www.brendaminton.net.
The Cowboy’s Sweetheart
Brenda Minton
Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need.
—Hebrews 4:16
Dedicated to the readers, for the wonderful e-mails, letters and prayers.
To the editors at Steeple Hill, for the opportunity to write the books that I love and for encouragement along the way.
You’re the best.
To my family, for all of the love and support you’ve given me.
To God, for giving me the desires of my heart.
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
Epilogue
Letter to Reader
Questions for Discussion
Chapter One
You have to cowboy up, Andie. Get back on, even if it hurts.
Andie Forester swiped a finger under her eyes and took in a deep breath. She hit the control on the steering wheel to turn down the radio, because it was the fault of Brooks & Dunn and that song of theirs that she was crying. “Cowgirls Don’t Cry.”
Whatever.
The song made her think of her dad pulling her to her feet after a horse had thrown her. She remembered her world when he was no longer in it. And the song reminded her how it felt to have a sister so perfect the world couldn’t love her enough.
Andie even loved Alyson. How could she not? Alyson had come to Dawson and back into her life, soft smiles and sunshine after a twenty-five-year separation. Andie was home just in time to help her sister prepare for her wedding to Jason Bradshaw. A beautiful wedding, with the perfect flowers, the perfect dress.
At the moment Andie wanted to throw up because she was Andie Forester and she didn’t think like that. She didn’t think sunshine and lace. She thought leather boots and saddles. She thought hard and tough. She was a tomboy. She knew how to hang with the crowd, with cowboys and stock contractors, and guys from Dawson, Oklahoma.
But her dad had been wrong. Brooks & Dunn were wrong. Sometimes cowgirls did cry. Sometimes, on a dusty road in Oklahoma when there wasn’t anyone around to see, cowgirls sobbed like little girls in pigtails.
Sometimes, when her best friend had hurt her in a way she had never thought he could, a cowgirl cried.
But she’d get it out of her system before she got to Dawson, and she’d be fine. Ryder Johnson wasn’t going to get to her, not again.
That was another thing about Foresters. They learned from their mistakes. She shouldn’t have made this mistake in the first place. That’s what really got to her.
She downshifted as she drove through the tiny town of Dawson, all three businesses and twenty or so houses. The trailer hooked to her truck jerked a little and she glanced in the rearview mirror, smiling because even Dusty was glad to be home. The dusty gold of his nose was sticking out of the side window, his lips curled a little as he sniffed the familiar scents in the air.
Home was where people knew her. Yeah, they knew her secrets, they knew her most embarrassing moments, but people knowing her was good. The folks in Dawson had shaken their heads, sometimes laughed at her antics, but they’d always been there for her.
The end of September was a good time to return to Oklahoma. The weather would be cooling off and in a month or so, the leaves would change colors.
She
