Czytaj książkę: «Cowboy in the Making»

For Jennifer Jacobson

Without your support, encouragement and musical expertise this book never would have been written. You are such a shining example of God’s love here on earth, and I’m so blessed to have you in my life.

And thanks to the Starbucks crew at Custer and Renner in Richardson, especially Jason, Angel, Susan, Christine, Ashley (both of them!), Derek and Nate for keeping me caffeinated while I wrote this one. You’re the best!

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

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

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

“I heard the bad news about the Philharmonic letting you go. How’re you doing?”

James Westland’s hand tightened around his cell phone as he tried to shove aside his growing irritation at his friend Connor’s comment. What he wouldn’t give for a call from a charity asking for a donation or a wrong number. He’d even be thrilled with an obscene call. Anything but a call from another friend or relative asking how he was holding up.

How the hell did everyone expect him to be when his career was becoming a distant spec in his rearview mirror? Of course he was pissed. At first he’d tried drowning his anger in a bottle of Jameson, but all that did was leave him with a bad hangover. Now he’d reached the not-sure-what-the-hell-to-do stage.

“I’m fine. I’m assessing my options.” He almost laughed. Right. You’ve got so many of those to choose from.

Unlike his siblings, Jamie had never excelled in school. He’d studied twice as hard to earn low B’s and C’s. For their paltry efforts, his sisters had scored straight A’s. One now possessed an MBA and the other a degree in engineering. Education that offered them more options, while he’d put all his career eggs into the music basket, leaving him little to fall back on now.

“My sister teaches at a private school in Manhattan,” Connor said. “I could see if she knows of anyone who’s looking for a music teacher.”

“Sure,” he said mainly out of ingrained politeness and because he couldn’t afford to rule out any ideas at this point.

How could a simple Sunday morning bike ride have ended up turning his life upside down? He still had trouble letting go of the what-ifs.

What if I’d slept in? What if the guy in the parked car had been as concerned about the world around him as his coffee? Would he have opened the door and knocked me to the ground? What if I hadn’t tried to break my fall? Would I have hurt my hand so bad?

“I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t play the cello anymore,” Connor said, breaking through Jamie’s thoughts.

There it was. The barely veiled invitation to spill his guts and say how angry he was or how he was falling apart. If anyone else hinted he was concerned he’d do something stupid like jump off the Brooklyn Bridge, he might throw his phone off said bridge.

His left hand cramped and he switched his phone to his right, staring at the offending appendage as if it should look different. How many people would be thrilled to have the mobility he possessed, and yet for him, it wasn’t enough. “It’s taking some adjusting to, but I’m managing.”

“Maybe you should get away. Take some time to clear your head.”

Or at least get away before the well-intentioned people in his life drove him insane. He considered visiting his parents in Philadelphia, but tossed the idea aside. While he loved them, they were planners. They analyzed a situation, determined the risks and probability of success for each option and then acted. That’s what they’d want to do with this situation—provide him with a feasibility study. He couldn’t take the in-person seminar right now. The phone version had been bad enough.

A picture of his grandfather’s small ranch in the Rocky Mountains flashed in Jamie’s mind. A simple two-story house straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting with a big old-fashioned porch with rocking chairs perfect for thinking. Going to Colorado was what he needed. There he could clear his head and sort things out.

Mick would understand what he was going through because he’d experienced the same uncertainty when he’d returned from Vietnam after shrapnel from a land mine had torn up his right leg, arm and hand, ending his own musical career. While he’d understand, Mick wouldn’t pry. Nor would anyone else in Estes Park, because very few of the town’s eight thousand residents knew more about him than that he was Mick’s grandson.

Except Emma, but then, last he’d heard she was living in Nashville.

“Jamie, you still there?” Connor asked. “I wish there was something I could do.”

Out of patience now that he had a plan, Jamie thanked his friend for checking about the teaching possibilities, ended the conversation and called Mick. When the old man answered, Jamie said, “Mind if I come for a visit?”

“The door’s always open to you.”

“Great. I’ll be on a plane tomorrow.”

“You know I’m not one to ask a lot of nosy questions, and tell me if I’m outta line doing it now. It won’t hurt my feelings none, but I hear something in your voice so I gotta ask. Is something wrong?”

Unlike when others asked, Mick’s question didn’t irritate Jamie. “When you got hurt and couldn’t perform, did everyone keep asking what you were going to do with your life?”

“Your hand didn’t heal right,” Mick said in a matter-of-fact voice.

“The doctor says everything looks fine, but when I play my hand doesn’t work like it used to. My fingers get knotted up. The dexterity and flexibility just isn’t there.” Jamie explained how music he’d once played without conscious effort now proved difficult. To the untrained ear he might not sound too bad, but unless things changed, he wouldn’t be returning to the Philharmonic anytime soon. “The doctor says there’s a chance my hand will get better. He says strengthening may be all it needs.”

Keep telling yourself that so you can hang on to the hope that your career isn’t over.

“Nothing will do that better than good old-fashioned hard work around the ranch and the restaurant, and I’ve got plenty to do at both places. In fact, I could use a bartender.”

“Making mixed drinks is an art form nowadays. That’s out of my league.”

Mick laughed. “Maybe in New York City, but most folks that come into my place aren’t big on fancy mixed drinks. They order a beer on tap or in a bottle. Other than that it’s pouring whiskey or making margaritas for the ladies. I can show you how to do that.”

“I think I can handle that.”

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow. Let me know when your flight gets in. I’ll pick you up at the airport.”

Jamie thought about telling Mick he’d rent a car, but right now he’d rather avoid the expense. He had some money in savings, but only enough to last a couple of months. Considering his uncertain future, best to be frugal.

“For what it’s worth, I know what you’re going through, and I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy,” Mick said. “It really knocked my feet out from under me for a while.”

That’s right where Jamie was. Flat on his back trying to figure out what to do once he found the energy to stand again.

“People didn’t realize playing and singing were a part of me,” Mick continued. “When I lost that, it was like a part of me died, and I had to grieve. Until I did, I couldn’t move on. Most people didn’t get that. They wanted to help, but their concern most times made it worse.”

“Concern I can take. It’s the pity that’s pissing me off.”

“Don’t let this get you down, son. I know it seems bad now, but an unexpected blessing can find its way into situations like this.”

Jamie shook his head. If there was something good in the midst of this mess, fate was doing a damned good job hiding the fact.

* * *

EMMA DONOVAN STARED at Molly, the fiddle player in her band, Maroon Peak Pass, standing in the doorway of her office at the Estes Park animal shelter.

There’s a woman with bad news to deliver.

“I can’t do this anymore, Em.”

Emma tried not to cringe. This couldn’t be happening again. Every time she thought her musical career would take off and she’d land a record deal, something happened to snatch defeat out of the jaws of victory.

“I’m in the middle of preparing for a volunteer orientation today. Can we do this later, Molly?”

As in possibly never, since I don’t think I’m going to like what you have to say. I definitely don’t have the energy to deal with it today.

“This can’t wait,” Molly said. The look in her gaze only confirmed Emma’s suspicions of impending doom.

As she tried to quell the unease churning in her stomach, Emma motioned for Molly to have a seat in the wooden chair on the opposite side of her less-than-impressive desk. Ah, the joys of working for a nonprofit agency. Rickety, cheap furniture.

“It’s Dave, isn’t it?” Emma said. Since Molly’s marriage six months ago, she’d changed, showing up late for rehearsals and wanting to leave early. When she was there, she was distracted and unprepared. “He’s pressuring you to leave the band, isn’t he?”

She knew what that was like. Emma, you need to grow up. Playing in a band is fine for a hobby, but it’s not a real job.

“It’s not him. He’s supportive of my musical career.” Molly picked at the strap of the purse sitting in her lap. “It’s me. I’m tired of putting my life on hold hoping for a career that’s a one-in-a-million shot.”

“What’re you trying to say?”

“I’m leaving the band.”

There was the blow Emma had been expecting, but even though she’d braced herself, it still left her reeling. All she could think was thank goodness she’d been sitting. Otherwise the news would have leveled her. Her mind scrambled to process the chaos Molly’s decision created. No, she couldn’t go there, refused to accept bad news until she knew she couldn’t change it. “You can’t quit. We’re so close. I feel it. Hold off a little longer. At least until the state fair contest.”

This year the Colorado state fair was having a music competition with the winner receiving a consultation with Phillip Brandise, one of the top movers and shakers in country music.

“I want to have kids. My biological clock’s ticking so loud I’m going deaf. I’m afraid if I don’t make some changes now I’ll wake up one day and it’ll be too late. I’ll have given up everything that really matters, and for what? Nights spent on the stage in two-bit restaurants and bars. I’ve taken a job as an orchestra director at a private school in Denver, and Dave’s requested a transfer. We should be able to buy a house in a few months, and hopefully soon we’ll be pregnant. The movers arrive this weekend to pack everything up.”

Emma stared at the other woman, someone she thought she knew fairly well, as if she’d said she was going to take up brain surgery. “How can you give up now?”

“I’ve found something I want more. I’ll still have music in my life. It just won’t be the center of my universe.”

Now that Emma’s shock had subsided, her anger kicked in. How dare Molly bail on the rest of the band? People who had counted on her, who thought they’d shared the same goal. “We’ve got appearances scheduled and the state fair is less than a month away. What’re we supposed to do? Do you know how long it will take to find a replacement?”

“I meant to talk to you when I applied for the teaching position, but the time never seemed right.”

“Really? I seem to remember a lot of opportunities that would’ve been perfect. How about when we talked about signing up for the state fair contest, or when we were planning career strategies for next year to increase our visibility and presence on social media? Those would’ve been pretty good times to mention you were thinking about quitting.”

Molly nodded and clasped her hands in her lap. “You’re right. The truth is I didn’t want to face you. I didn’t think you’d understand.”

She was right about that. Emma didn’t understand how someone could let go of a dream she’d spent years working toward, especially when they were so close.

How could they find another fiddle player, integrate that person into the band and be ready for a performance at a major contest in less than a month?

She’d manage that because she had to. Sure, she enjoyed her job at the shelter, but she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life as a volunteer coordinator. Music was her life. Playing the guitar, singing and writing songs wasn’t what she did. It was a part of who she was, but playing in local bars and at weddings wasn’t enough. She wanted more, and no way would she let this opportunity pass her by. She’d do whatever was necessary to keep her dream alive. Nothing else mattered.

“I won’t lie. I don’t understand how you can say teaching music to children will be enough for you, but if you think that’ll make you happy, then that’s what you have to do.”

I just wish your decision wasn’t throwing my dream into a tailspin, but if you don’t want this as much as I do, then it’s a good thing you’re leaving.

As she watched Molly leave, Emma thought, six months. That’s all it would take before Molly called to say she’d made a mistake leaving the band. Life could sidetrack people with dreams. Parents got sick. Keeping a roof over their heads or wanting to eat food other than ramen noodles got in the way, but ambitions like theirs never died.

She glanced at her notes for her volunteer orientation and training but couldn’t focus. As day jobs went, hers as volunteer coordinator for the Estes Park animal shelter was a pretty good one. It had its perks, the biggest of which being on tough days like today she could hide in the kennels and play with puppies until she could face the world. Yup. A little puppy therapy was the only thing that kept her going today.

* * *

TWENTY MINUTES LATER Emma looked up from her spot on the kennel floor when her best friend and boss, Avery Montgomery, walked in. “You’re playing with puppies. What’s wrong?”

“Some days it doesn’t pay to get out of bed unless you cuddle puppies.” Emma pulled the wiggling black bundle closer to her chest as she gave Avery a quick rundown of her conversation with Molly. “Unless we find a new fiddle player, last weekend’s performance may have been Maroon Peak Pass’s swan song.”

“What’re the chances you can find a replacement relatively quickly?” Avery asked as she settled onto the floor beside Emma. One fluffy, roly-poly pup crawled off Emma’s lap and waddled over to her friend.

“It’s harder than you think. Talented musicians who are serious about their craft are already in bands and most aren’t looking to change.”

“Can you go on without a fiddle if you can’t find someone else in time for the state fair contest?”

“It’s hard enough to stand out among all the country acts. Adding Molly helped define our sound. Now all of our arrangements and the new music I’ve written are for a band with a fiddle. I don’t want to think about how long it would take to rework everything. We’d definitely have to cancel our upcoming engagements.”

“I’m sorry, Em. I know how much the band means to you.” Avery scooped up a pup and scratched him behind the ears.

Avery was one of the few people in her life who truly understood how her need for a career in country music drove her. Emma wished her family understood better. They couldn’t grasp why she wasn’t content with her job at the shelter. It was stable and provided her with a paycheck every two weeks. She could play musician on the weekends. Why did she want more? She couldn’t put her need into words. She only knew she couldn’t settle for less than giving a music career her best shot. Not now, when she was older and wiser than when she’d dashed off to Nashville at eighteen all full of hopes and dreams but not much common sense.

“I wish Molly had waited a little longer to quit. Even a day. I could’ve handled it better. Why did she have to tell me today?” Emma bit her lip and tried to ignore the ache spreading through her. “He turns seven today. Between that and Molly’s bombshell, it’s too much to take.”

Seven years ago she gave birth to a son and watched the nurse walk out of the room to hand him to someone else to raise.

Chapter Two

Emma didn’t even know her son’s name.

The pain that enveloped her after she’d given him up for adoption had been overwhelming. Looking back she had no idea how she’d gotten through those first few months, but somehow she had. While the sting had lessened over the years, her emotions still flared up at times. Certain days were worse than others—Christmas, Mother’s Day and her son’s birthday. Each year they became easier to get through, but something was different with his birthday this year.

“I’m sorry, Em. I forgot what today was. I can’t imagine how tough this is for you every year.”

“I think of him a lot, but I’ve been doing that more than usual lately. Sometimes I wonder what he looks like and what he’s doing. Does he like sports? Is he taking piano lessons?” The list of questions was endless. Did he have her dark coloring and green eyes, or Tucker’s golden hair and brown eyes? Had he inherited their musical ability?

The puppy she held snuggled closer to her chest all warm and fuzzy, full of endless energy and unconditional love. While puppy kisses couldn’t fix all the world’s problems, they definitely helped. “The questions I understand, but it shouldn’t hurt this much. It didn’t last year. I don’t get what’s going on.”

“Have you contacted—” Avery paused for a minute, lines of concern evident on her beautiful face.

Emma recognized the awkwardness. It showed up whenever anyone considered saying a certain phrase to her.

“It’s okay. You can say the word. Parents. Have I contacted his parents?”

“Have you? Maybe they’ve changed their minds about the closed adoption. Could be they’d agree to send you photos or updates on how he’s doing. Then you wouldn’t have to wonder.”

“You know me. I’m an all-or-nothing kind of girl. When I quit dating a guy I can’t be friends. How could I be happy with emails and a few pictures?”

“I wish I had an answer for you.”

Emma did, too. It would be so much easier if life came with an instruction manual. Then, during the rough spots, she could flip the book open and read the directions. For this type of life problem, do A, then B and everything will turn out great.

“I bet Tucker never thinks about me or our son.” He’d barely thought about her when they were living together. The familiar anger welled up inside her—at him for his wandering eye, and other body parts for that matter, as well as at herself for her schoolgirl foolishness. “His band with that trailer-trash Miranda Lambert imitation has a top-ten album. They’re on a world tour, performing in front of thousands of people while I’m playing weddings and anniversary parties.”

And working a day job to pay the bills.

She and Tucker had been high school sweethearts and the star vocalists in the choir. The fall after graduation they’d packed up their belongings and headed for Nashville. Soon after arriving, Emma had discovered there were hundreds of other young hopefuls who’d done the same thing, and breaking into the industry was tougher than they imagined.

Her relationship with Tucker hadn’t gone according to plan, either. Things grew rocky between them within a week and got steadily worse. Then, two days after she’d told him she was pregnant, he’d waltzed into their dumpy studio apartment and announced he didn’t love her anymore. Just like that. No buildup. No preparation. No warning. Since by that point she wasn’t all that crazy about him either, it was a horrible relief when he moved out.

“Hearing about how well his career is going has to be tough,” Avery said.

“I don’t begrudge him his success—”

“You may not, but I sure do. He didn’t earn it. Not when the song that got him noticed and led to his recording contract was yours, too.”

“I’ve changed my mind. You’re right. He doesn’t deserve it.” When Emma had stumbled across a video of him on YouTube, she’d discovered the ass had taken one of the songs they’d written, though he swore he wrote it alone, changed the lyrics slightly—emphasis on slightly—and performed it with his new band. The song’s video had received over a million hits and landed him a recording contract.

That blow had broken Emma’s spirit. Skinny because her morning sickness lasted all day, broke and depressed, she’d hit rock bottom, packed up her meager belongings and headed home to patch up her wounds. “How could I have fallen in love with such an ass?”

“Cut yourself some slack. You were young, and he was your first love.” Avery released her squirming pup, who bounded off and tackled one of his siblings.

Age and lack of experience explained her mistake with Tucker, but what about Clint? She couldn’t say the same for him, since she’d made that blunder two years ago. How could she have missed the fact that he was nothing more than Tucker version two-point-oh?

“We need to make a Tucker voodoo doll,” Avery said.

“Now, why didn’t I think of that? The idea has definite possibilities.”

“I wonder if he’d lose his voice if we stuck pins where his vocal chords are.”

“Better yet, let’s harpoon him in another more private area and hope he loses use of that little piece of equipment.” That would serve him right for hooking up with every blonde who could carry a tune—even if she needed a bucket to do it—when they were together.

“That’s the spirit. All guys aren’t like him, you know.”

Avery had always believed in love and happily ever after. Even after her high school sweetheart had left for Stanford and broken up with her via email. Then, a year ago, Reed’s brother was deployed to Afghanistan and he returned to Estes Park to stay with his teenage niece. After a bumpy ride, the pair had cleared the air, fallen in love all over again and married soon after that.

“If you want to take the day off, I can handle things around here.”

Emma shook her head. “Thanks, but no, thanks. I’d rather be here and stay busy. If I go home all I’ll do is throw on sweatpants and crawl on the couch to eat Häagen-Dazs Chocolate Chocolate Chip ice cream while I watched Thelma and Louise. That’s just a pathetic pity party, and I refuse to do that.” Not now. Not when she’d come so far. “But you can help me make that voodoo doll.”

* * *

MICK HALLIGAN STOPPED when he walked into his restaurant. For a minute he stood and surveyed what he’d built. With the Formica tables, industrial-style chairs with the plastic padded seats and the country memorabilia, some people would call his place a hick bar, but looks were deceiving. His restaurant was so much more. People came to Halligan’s to connect, to celebrate special times with family and friends. Everyone, staff and customers, knew each other and their lives were interconnected. They meant something to each other.

“I’ve got a plan, but I need your help,” Mick said to his friend of almost fifty years and fellow Vietnam War vet, Gene Donovan, when he walked into the kitchen.

“Is it something for the business?” Gene asked as he stood chopping onions for the marinara sauce for the meatball sub sandwiches.

“This has to do with family. Mine and yours.”

“You know whatever it is, I’m in.”

“I knew you would be, but I thought I’d ask anyway.”

Mick sometimes wondered how he would’ve made it through the hell of Vietnam if Gene hadn’t been there in the trenches with him. They’d kept each other sane through the madness. Then, when shrapnel had torn Mick apart and he’d lain in a heap bleeding like a stuck pig, Gene had literally saved his life. Risking his own neck under heavy gunfire, Gene had made his way to Mick and dragged him to safety.

“I’ve been thinking about what matters in my life. It’s family, friends, my ranch and this place. What good is having land and a business if I don’t have anyone to leave them to?”

“You’ve got your daughter.”

A daughter who’d written him off along with the rest of her past. Having a cowboy, Vietnam vet father who ran a country-western bar didn’t sit well with Kimberly or her hotshot corporate executive husband.

“Fat lot of good that does me.” When he’d realized Kimberly wouldn’t visit him for fear of her husband learning about her wild-child past and the son she’d given up for adoption, Mick had offered to come to California, but she always had an excuse why that wouldn’t work. They were moving or remodeling the house. Her husband was in the middle of a big deal at work. While he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, Mick had finally got the message and stopped asking.

“If I leave everything to Kimberly, all she’ll do is sell what I’ve built and pocket the money. I’m not about to spend eternity rolling over in my grave because a developer built condos or a resort on my land, and I don’t even want to think about what she’d do to this place.”

Gene nodded in agreement. “That would make for an unhappy afterlife. What do you have in mind to do about it?”

“I’ve been thinking about Jamie. He understands the way I feel about the land and this place.” Mick smiled at the memories and the wonder in his grandson’s eyes when they’d ridden around the ranch for the first time. The kid had taken to being on a horse like he’d been on one all his life. Some things were just in a man’s blood, and Mick knew the land was in Jamie’s. “I want to leave everything to him.”

“Then do it.”

“I intend to, but I miss having family around. I miss Jamie. He’s my only grandchild. Hell, my only real family other than you.” Since his wife, Carol, had died five years ago, the loneliness had settled into Mick’s bones and his soul.

Mick glanced at the clock on the wall. The other staff wouldn’t arrive for at least a half hour. Good. He didn’t want anyone overhearing what he was about to say to his old friend. “I’m going to tell you something, but you’ve got to promise not to tell anyone.”

“Haven’t I kept more than one of your secrets over the years?”

“You sure have, but this one’s different. It’s not my secret.”

Gene glared at him. “Like that makes a difference to me.”

“Jamie’s hand didn’t heal right.” Mick explained about his grandson’s troubles. “I keep thinking about when I had to give up music. It damn near killed me. This place, your friendship and the love of a good woman saved me.”

“Are you getting to the point about the plan and needing my help anytime soon?”

“Hold your horses. I had to tell you all this before I could get to my idea,” Mick said, taking his time despite his friend’s good-natured ribbing. “Jamie and your Emma would be perfect for each other. Who knows what would’ve happened between them if he hadn’t gone back to Juilliard at the end of that summer. Hell, they might even be married by now.”