The Cowboy's Courtship by Brenda Minton

Author:Brenda Minton [Minton, Brenda]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Steeple Hill
Published: 2010-07-03T22:00:00+00:00

Alyson sat next to Jason as the truck bounced through the field in the direction of a copse of trees at the far edge of the field. She’d kept her gaze averted for a minute or two, but now she was watching him again.

She enjoyed watching him, had enjoyed it from the first day when he’d come around the corner of Etta’s house, a cowboy in faded jeans and a sweat-stained T-shirt. He still looked like that cowboy, rugged with that grin that hit a girl in the midsection.

She’d never met anyone like him. Maybe that was the attraction. It was just the experience, the newness of it all. Maybe it wasn’t about the cowboy at all.

Sitting next to him, she felt like the kind of woman who could be strong. She felt like she could haul hay, break a horse, and hog-tie something. She felt like the kind of woman who cooked big meals on a Sunday afternoon.

She wasn’t that woman, but he made her believe that about herself.

“You’re quiet.” He reached to turn down the radio, silencing a Kenny Chesney song about tractors and haylofts.

“I’m just thinking.”

“About?”

Anything but him. Unfortunately, it wasn’t working, this effort at distraction.

“You ask a lot of questions, but you don’t talk about yourself.”

His eyebrows shot up and he grinned. “That’s because I’m a private kind of guy.”

“Is that it?”

“Yeah, that’s it. I don’t like to share my stories.”

“But I want to know them.” She’d get to know him, bit by bit, Etta had said. That’s how you found out a man’s stories.

“I’m sure you do.” He slowed as they got closer to the trees. She could see the creek and hear the crickets, or maybe grasshoppers. He stopped the truck.

They picked their way across ground that was rough, with heavy clumps of grass and a few big rocks. The trees at the edge of the creek were small and some were topped, as if someone had chopped the tops out.

“What happened to the trees?”

“Storms. Tornadoes.” He nodded to a spot near the edge of the creek. “You can put the blanket there.”

He’d pulled a blanket out from behind the seat of his truck and given it to her to carry. Alyson spread the blanket and took the picnic basket that he’d lugged along in his right hand, hobbling with one crutch under his right arm.

“Are there fish in the creek?” She held his arm and he lowered himself down, stretching out on the blanket. And then what? Was she supposed to sit next to him? Or maybe lean against a tree?

“Sit down.” He shook his head and laughed a little. “I don’t know about you, but I’m about to starve and you want to play twenty questions. No, there aren’t any fish in the creek. My mom was probably one of the kindest women I’ve ever known, and she fought a twelve-year battle with cancer. I’m the oldest of two kids, and my dad is emotionally detached.”

Alyson bit down on her bottom lip and fought the sting of tears, because she understood now why stories should come in small pieces.

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