The Last Cowboy by Crystal Green

Author:Crystal Green [Green, Crystal]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Contemporary
ISBN: 9781426839948
Publisher: Silhouette
Published: 2006-04-01T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

D ays later in Wycliffe, a weekend crowd filled the old Western streets, buying souvenirs and chambray shirts, hats and hand-tooled leather belts.

Felicia herself was tending to her own business.

Crocheting magazines, she thought, walking out of a crafts shop. Felicia had been so busy with Bobby, the Hanging R and her last cowboy that she hadn’t been keeping up with her newest hobby—something that kept her anxious hands busy and served to relax her.

Doilies and delicate sweaters. Felicia sighed. They still wouldn’t take her mind off what Rip was enduring. While visiting Bobby these last few nights—spending time with the child had become a habit as ingrained as eating dinner or saying a bedtime prayer—she’d noticed smudges etching their way under the elderly rancher’s eyes.

Though he pretended to be as lively as a new pup around her, she knew he was struggling more than ever. The realization concerned her enough to literally beg Rip to accept monetary help from his neighbors, but he always made light of her suggestions, repeating over and over, “Come hell or high water, McCains will always float to the top.”

As Felicia sauntered down Main Street to her car, parked near Woodrow’s, a bustling bar that the locals favored, she thought that, at the very least, Bobby was doing well. Sure, he would wipe away silent tears every so often and Felicia would do her darnedest to comfort him, but he was adjusting as well as could be expected to life on the ranch.

Life without his parents.

Yet, like a true family, even Dutch, Carter and Stoverson had banded together to welcome the child, encouraging Bobby to sit by the campfire at night while Carter attempted to relay his questionable expertise on the harmonica. And Mrs. Krauss, bless her efficient heart, was hovering over him as a grandmother would, stuffing him with treats of strudel and baked apples, homemade jams and marzipan.

Felicia was confident that things would even out at the Hanging R. They had to. If anyone could right the ranch’s troubles, it would be Rip McCain, who’d inherited the land from a long line of other McCains dating back to his horse-stealing great-great-granddad.

Having come to her car, Felicia opened the passenger’s side and slid her magazines onto the seat. As she was closing the door, a familiar voice greeted her.

“You find the most pleasant views through a bar window.”

It was Stoverson, pushing open one of the bar’s swinging doors. He cuffed back his hat so it showed his leathered face, his scholar’s brow. Twangy music from Hank Williams Jr. backed up the ranch hand as he grinned at her.

“Hey, there,” she said.

After Felicia closed her car door and wandered closer, she glanced at the bar’s stark, hazy front window. Through the thick glass, she could detect a high empty table, two deserted longnecks on either side. Though he’d obviously enjoyed company, Stoverson must have spotted her and come straightaway to the door.

“Hope I didn’t interrupt anything,” she said, ready to tease him about hiding a girlfriend in town.

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