“Sure.” Some of her irritation at him eased as she watched him saunter off in the direction of the boys’ shouts of laughter. Chance Turner might not want to pastor right now, but he’d promised her boys he’d watch them swing and he was doing just that.
Such a promise was worth more than most people could even fathom to a pair of boys who’d never had that from their dad.
Lynn didn’t want to think about that though. She took a deep breath, walked to the side of the building and watched the looks on their little faces as Chance strode their way. When their eyes lit up she had to fight the lump in her throat and a sudden flood of tears from a past that she had no intention of revisiting.
When the women’s shelter in L.A. had burned she’d been thrilled that it had relocated to the sleepy ranching town of Mule Hollow, Texas. Here the cowboys and small-town folks had rallied around them and made a safe haven like nothing she’d ever dreamed of. Her little boys had been too young to remember the life they’d been living before she’d gotten them out. Here in Mule Hollow they had role model after role model of what real men were supposed to be like. Here her sons had the chance to grow up with loving, loyal, honest men and women surrounding them.
What they didn’t have was a father. And they wouldn’t. Lynn had already come to understand that falling in love wasn’t an option she was willing to explore. The safest way to give her boys a good life was to keep it uncomplicated. Besides, she didn’t have what it took to cross that line and start looking for love. To love meant to trust and trust wasn’t in her anymore. Not trusting with her heart anyway.
But…Chance Turner was intriguing still.
Lynn’s heart fluttered as her boys squealed in delight when he said something to them. The flutter just proved that she was still a woman who could appreciate a good-looking, nice man when she saw him. And Chance Turner was a nice man. He’d be nicer if he hadn’t refused to perform Stacy’s wedding.
Intriguing or not, he was just one more friendly cowboy that her boys could look up to. He was no different than Sheriff Brady Cannon or Deputy Zane Cantrell. Or Dan Dawson or any of the wonderful, Christian men of the community who’d stepped up to be father figures for the kids at the women’s shelter.
He spread his legs shoulder-width apart and locked his arms across his chest, watching Gavin and Jack. Why was he not preaching? The question niggled at the back of her mind. None of her business though, right?
Right!
“Okay, boys, it’s time to hit the road,” she called. No use making Chance watch them swing for too long and no reason for her to stand here contemplating issues that had nothing to do with her…except she wished he would consider marrying Stacy and Emmett. It’s none of your business, Lynn.
“But, Momma—”
“No buts, young man,” she said to Gavin. “It’s time to head home.” She suddenly wanted to grab the boys and hurry away before she opened her mouth and butted in where she shouldn’t. The man had a right to preach or not preach. Besides, this was a traditional small-town church. Chance was a rodeo preacher. He moved along with the rodeo circuit, preaching and mentoring the cow boys who couldn’t make it to church because of the rodeo’s schedule. It was an honorable calling. She liked the idea of what he did…still, while he was here, couldn’t he do one wedding?
What could that hurt?
Give it up, Lynn, the man made it clear he was taking time off. Mouth shut, she headed toward her car. She had to bite her tongue again as Chance reached his truck and tipped his hat at her after telling her boys to have a great day.
“Momma, we like him,” Jack said the minute he climbed into the seat and buckled his seat belt.
“Yeah,” Gavin added, meeting her gaze in the rearview. “Maybe he can teach me how to bull ride.”
“There won’t be any bull riding for you, mister.”
“Aw, Momma. I ain’t gonna git myself kilt or anything. Chance ain’t dead and neither is Bob or Trace.”
Bob Jacobs had been a bull fighter and Trace Crawford had ridden bulls, too. Both men had survived and many other cowboys around town had, too. Still the thought of her little boys growing up to be bull riders didn’t sit well with her. “You concentrate on being a little boy and leave the bull riding to the men.”
“Aw, Momma, you ain’t got to worry. Don’tcha know I’m gonna be the best there ever was.”
The hair at the back of her neck prickled but she decided the best thing for now was to let it go. The less said on this subject the better. At least she prayed that was so.
“Well, sugar baby, I think you’re the best there ever was already.”
“What about me, Momma?” Jack asked.
She turned in her seat. “You know I’m talking about you, too. God must have thought I was pretty special to have blessed me with the two best boys in all of the world.”
Chapter Two
“So how are you? Did you get settled into the stagecoach house all right?” Wyatt asked.
Chance hadn’t wasted any time getting back to the ranch after his meeting with Lynn Perry and her twins. He’d just climbed into the saddle when Wyatt rode into the yard.
“I’m fine. And yes, I’m settled. How are you? You’re looking good. And I’m happy to see you in the saddle again.”
Wyatt had insisted on saddling a horse and riding with him. Wyatt sitting in the saddle was a good thing to see, since less than six months ago after his plane crash he’d been relegated to a wheelchair.
Wyatt’s lip hitched as he urged his horse forward. “I have the best physical therapist in the world.”
Wyatt’s wife was his PT. They’d met when she’d come to help him recover. Chance had performed their wedding just a few months earlier and had never expected to be here now. “You don’t look like you’re doing all right,” Wyatt said, shooting Chance one of his penetrating looks. “So don’t tell me you’re fine. Look, Chance, I know you feel responsible somehow for that bull rider’s death but you know as well as I do that it’s a profession full of risks.”
Perspiration beaded beneath the brim of his hat and his fingers clenched the reins too tightly. Willing himself to relax, Chance studied the flat pasture and welcomed the cold wind on his cheeks and the sting in his eyes. It gave him a barrier to the bitter chill that ran through him each time he thought of Randy. How could he sweat bullets and feel cold to the bone at the same time? Guilt, that’s how. Gut-wrenching, soul-shredding guilt could make him sick as a dog it tore him up so bad.
“Talk to me, Chance.”
“I let him die. Nothing you can say will convince me that I didn’t do what I should have done.” I’m just not ready, had been Randy’s last words to Chance before he’d climbed over the rail and settled onto the bull’s back. For the last five years Chance had held services every Sunday morning before a rodeo and then he’d stood on the platform with any cowboy who asked. Randy had wanted him there until a few weeks before his death. He’d stopped attending services and avoided him for weeks prior to his last ride. Instead of seeking
