Cowgirl Read online

  Cowgirl

  Synopsis

  Aren Jacobs trusts no one. Reeling from a devastating altercation with her foster family that left her scarred inside and out, she’s suddenly unemployed and all too happy to isolate herself from the world. But when a severe storm threatens her small community, Aren goes out to help and ends up saving Carol Matthews’s life.

  Carol doesn’t know who to turn to after the storm leaves her homeless and grief stricken. Taking refuge with the woman who saved her is only one of her bad options, but there’s something about Aren that makes her feel safe despite all the rumors flying around town about what really happened the night Aren returned to visit her foster family.

  The last thing Aren expects is to fall for Carol. Sharing her home is one thing, but sharing her heart means sharing the demons in her past and risking everything to keep Carol safe.

  Cowgirl

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  Cowgirl

  © 2021 By Nance Sparks. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-63555-876-0

  This Electronic Original Is Published By

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, NY 12185

  First Edition: May 2021

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editors: Victoria Villaseñor and Cindy Cresap

  Production Design: Susan Ramundo

  Cover Design by Tammy Seidick

  eBook Design by Toni Whitaker

  Acknowledgments

  I’d like to acknowledge all of the hardworking people at Bold Strokes Books who have helped me make my dream a reality. Thank you for taking a chance on me.

  Chapter One

  “Aunt Suzie, who lives on that farm across the way?” Carol asked, sitting cross-legged on the front porch swing. The porch looked out over vast green pastureland speckled with trees and edged by the dark Michigan woods on the farthest two sides. The haze of humidity had lifted with the noon sun revealing a large two-story farmhouse centered on the property Carol was curious about. The house seemed almost dwarfed by the even larger red barn looming off a bit in the distance.

  “Well, I believe a woman lives there and works that place. Once upon a time, I could have told you her name, but it escapes me just now. She was the talk of the town a few years back,” Aunt Suzie said, her words draped in a southern drawl.

  “One lady runs that entire spread all by herself?” Carol replied, straining to take in the large working farm. “Does she hire help?”

  “None that I’ve ever seen, and I don’t think she even drives a car. She rides a big ol’ brown horse everywhere to get what she needs. Sometimes, she hitches up a modified buckboard wagon and takes that to town.” Susan chuckled before taking a sip of fresh lemonade.

  “Did she always live there? I don’t remember seeing anyone riding a horse around town when I used to come out to visit you and Uncle Frank. Who doesn’t drive a car besides the Amish? Oh, wait, is she Amish? Man, that would’ve made a great paper for school, too bad I’ve already graduated!” Carol rambled on as her thoughts leapt forward.

  “No, hon, she isn’t Amish, or at least she certainly doesn’t dress Amish. Besides, she works the land with a tractor too, so she’s definitely not Amish. If I remember correctly, she used to live around here as a kid and then she went away to college, much like you did. She landed some big, fancy job down in Tennessee or Kentucky or something like that. She came back several years later when her sister took ill. I think the father had passed on the summer before or sometime around there. Anyway, the sister died shortly after. I swear, death haunts that land. I’ll never understand why she came back at all. After that night, I bet she wished she’d stayed gone forever. There’s always been a dark cloud hangin’ over that farm.”

  “A dark cloud? What are you talking about?” Carol sat up taller to get a better look.

  “There used to be a lot of drinkin’ going on over there. The mother took a liking to the booze. Back then the place was really run-down, probably should have been condemned. Story goes that she and the mother got into a big fight the night of her sister’s passin’. The mother ended up stabbed in the neck and bled out. The gal claimed the mother attacked her. Claims that she was tryin’ to get away, but the mother’s the one who’s dead.”

  “She murdered her own mother?”

  “Some say she did. Some say she didn’t. Some say she was just trying to help and ended up maimed.”

  “If it was murder, then she would have been arrested. Was she arrested?”

  “Nope. From what I heard, they interviewed her at the hospital and then dropped it. There was no proof one way or another.”

  “None of you ever went over there to help or to see if she was okay?”

  “The place was slowly cleaned up, so we saw no need to interfere.” Susan shrugged before taking the last swallow of her lemonade. Pieces of ice clanked against the glass as she lowered her arm back to her lap.

  “What if she was telling the truth? Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

  “Rumors floating around town say that she’s a bit off. I see no need in getting caught up in a mess like that.”

  “But what if she was really trying to get away?”

  “What if she wasn’t? What if she stabbed her mama right in the neck? Oh, sweet Carol, you’re so much like your mother, God rest her soul, always wanting to see the best in people. Sometimes people just are who they are. Come on now, could we forget about that lady? Let’s talk about you. What are your plans now that you’ve earned your master’s degree?”

  Carol sat back in the swing. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She’d rather talk about the lady across the street, or anything else, really. What were her plans? She’d moved out of her college apartment and sold the few tattered pieces of furniture she had to her name. Now, she found herself living out of a suitcase, searching for a job and a place to call home. Her few remaining possessions were neatly packed up in her car.

  “I honestly don’t know just yet. I always assumed I’d move back home and live somewhere close to Mom and Dad. Now that they’re gone, there’s really no reason to go back there. My friends from high school have all gone off in separate directions. So, I thought I’d come and visit you and Uncle Frank. Check out the area. See what might be here for me.”

  “Honey, you know our little town. You’ve spent a week or two here every summer for most of your childhood.”

  “I wouldn’t call that knowing the town. I know where the ice cream parlor and the penny candy store are because Uncle Frank would take me there when he’d meet the fellas for coffee in the afternoon, but I was thinking of really checking out the area. Maybe I’ll find a job here or in a neighboring town so I can be closer to you and Uncle Frank. I also have a friend from college who invited me to join her in Pennsylvania. I guess there’s plenty of opportunities for me there. I emailed my résumé for a few positions before I left campus. We’ll see what comes of it.”

  “Pennsylvania? But that’s so far away.”

  “Maybe something will open around here so I can be closer to you two. I’d prefer that since you’re the only family
I have left.”

  “Well, we love having you here. Stay as long as you want. I’m so proud of you!” Susan reached over and squeezed her leg. “Your mom, well, both of your parents, would be proud too, God rest their souls. I wish they could have seen you getting your diploma!”

  “Me too,” Carol said somberly. “Me too, Aunt Suzie. I miss them something awful.”

  Chapter Two

  “Hey, you, cowgirl,” Crystal, the teenage cashier, hollered. “Your horse is shittin’ in the parking lot again. Ya know you’re going to have to clean that up. We can’t have people tracking horseshit all through the store. It’s bad enough that you bring that flea ridden mutt in here.”

  All eyes seemed to turn toward Aren, who was wearing her favorite frayed Levi’s, old worn western boots, and a faded flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. A large Anatolian shepherd sat obediently at her side. Aren’s weathered Stetson hat was pulled low on her forehead and sunglasses covered her eyes. She shook her head, realizing that she’d forgotten to set her gelding up with the dung bag again. She’d have to make a note for the loft door, “Don’t forget about Wyatt’s shit!”

  “Did you hear me, cowgirl?” Crystal hollered out a bit louder.

  “Yeah, yeah, I heard ya. The entire store heard ya. Do you have some cardboard or something? I don’t have a shovel. Must’ve left it in my other saddle.”

  The other occupants in the small hardware store had stopped their shopping to watch the exchange. Some were smiling at Aren’s sense of humor while others appeared a bit nervous.

  “You are such a freak. I mean, who rides a horse into town anymore? This isn’t the eighteen hundreds. There are motorized vehicles nowadays, ya know! Why don’t you drive a car like everyone else?” Crystal asked, just as she often did, and in the same exasperated, all-knowing tone.

  Aren gathered up the small assortment of hardware she’d needed to finish the repairs on the barn and headed for the counter. She loathed her trips into town. Luckily, this was her last stop today.

  “Did you find everything all right?” Crystal hissed the required question and clearly didn’t care about the answer.

  “Yeah, and how about that piece of cardboard? That is, unless you’ve changed your mind about the shit.” Aren glanced out the window at her trusty steed.

  “That’ll be twenty-eight dollars and thirteen cents.” Crystal stuffed the items into a plastic sack, set the bag on top of a couple of pieces of cardboard, and held out her hand to accept the cash. “I’ll bet you don’t even have a checking account.”

  “Come on now, my money is green. Isn’t that all that matters?” Aren handed her a twenty and a ten.

  “What about a credit card or debit card? What are you going to do when people no longer accept cash?” she asked.

  “When they make plastic our nation’s currency, I’ll deal with it. In the meantime, I’ll just use cash. Thanks for the concern though.” Aren tapped her leg. “Let’s go, Bailey.”

  “Hey, Aren,” Maggie Hatcher, the store owner, hollered. “Hold up a second, would ya?”

  Maggie was in her late sixties, but Aren swore she hadn’t aged in the twenty years that she’d known the woman. She stood tall for a woman all of five foot two inches and still looked good in a checkered sleeveless shirt and Wrangler jeans. Maggie kept her graying hair short and tucked behind her ears. The only thing Aren had noticed different over the years was the sparkle in Maggie’s eyes had dimmed since the passing of her partner. Cancer had taken Ruby a year prior.

  “What’s up, Maggie?” Aren asked, eager to leave.

  “I’m sorry about Crystal. I’ll talk to her. New people have moved into town and don’t know the whole story, just the exaggerated tall tales that never seem to go away. She likes making a fuss and being the center of attention.”

  “It shouldn’t matter, Maggie. Explanations shouldn’t be needed to be kind. Ya know what, just forget about it.” Aren held up her hand. “It’s not like she’s the first or the last to go runnin’ her mouth, and truth is, I’d like to forget about the old days. Maybe she could just try not to gossip.”

  “How are you holding up out there, anyway?” Maggie asked.

  “The farm’s great. It’s never been the issue.” Aren turned to leave, done with the conversation.

  Several young boys were circling around Wyatt on their skateboards when Aren pushed open the glass doors. Bailey bristled with the sight and began to growl low in her throat. Wyatt stood statue still with a look of terror in his eyes. One particularly daring boy crouched down and zoomed beneath the large horse’s belly on his board. Aren quickly pushed the door open and rushed toward her horse. She could see the gelding’s nervousness growing. God damned kids, she thought. Wyatt would kick one, and they’d blame the horse rather than the stupid kid. Bailey trotted along at her side, continuing the deep low growl.

  “Hey, get away from him! Didn’t your folks teach you any manners? How about a little bit of kindness for one of God’s creatures?” She stormed toward them, ready to pluck them off their skateboards.

  “Fuck you, creepy hermit lady. Ma says you don’t even believe in God!” one of the older boys called out before leading his friends away as they continued to laugh and jeer.

  Aren walked up to her gelding’s head and stroked the side of his face. She felt such sorrow each time she was around other people anymore. There just seemed to be so much hatred and judgment, so little understanding. “Easy, fella, come on now, let’s get you home.”

  She stowed her purchases in the dusty leather saddlebag just as Crystal popped her head through the open glass door.

  “Don’t you forget to clean up that shit!”

  Aren gritted her teeth and fought to ignore her. She decided that Maggie must have retreated to her office, having said nothing to the young woman. Shaking her head, Aren continued to buckle the clasp on the saddlebag, realizing that no amount of intelligent conversation would change their minds about her anyway. They’d never understand, and she didn’t have to explain herself to anyone, even if it might have made things easier. She gathered up the two pieces of cardboard and worked the dung pile onto the larger piece, using the smaller one as a makeshift broom. The weight of the steamy wet dung was almost unmanageable on the flimsy cardboard, but Aren was able to get it balanced with both hands. She walked over to the garbage bin only to find it overflowing. Smiling mischievously, she headed back into the hardware store.

  “What in the hell are you doing?” Crystal stepped back as Aren slid the dung covered cardboard onto the counter. The expressions of those standing around the counter contorted at the strong odor.

  “The garbage bin was too full, but hey, the parking lot is now completely shit free.” Aren managed to get the words out with a straight face. She tipped her hat to the young woman before turning on her heels, leaving the stuttering store clerk with her cardboard present. Aren didn’t allow her smile to break free until she was untying Wyatt’s reins from the anchored bench. It might have been petty, but she could only take so much before she had to give a little back.

  Chapter Three

  Wyatt, a gentle four-year-old bay Percheron gelding who stood seventeen hands tall at the tip of the shoulders, was Aren’s favorite horse on the property. She had been there for his birth, a tiny light in a very dark time of her life and felt especially close to him. It had taken her some time to stretch the muscles in her legs so that she was able to mount up on any of the draft horses without a step stool. Now, after riding almost daily for the past several years, she could expertly swing herself into the old leather saddle. She was glad that she’d only needed a few small supplies today. It saved her from hitching up the wagon this morning. But poor Bailey had to stay on the long leash until they were out of town instead of being able to copilot in the wagon’s front seat. Once she was up in the saddle, Aren directed Wyatt out of the parking lot and began her long journey home.

  She always took side streets in and out of town, tryin
g to avoid traffic and the inevitable idiot who thought blowing the car horn directly behind a horse was a brilliant idea. As careful as she was on her journeys through town, she often seemed to encounter at least one horn-blowing fool, though so far today her luck was holding out. Small children reacting to the sight of a horse trotting down the street always made her smile. They’d run up to the edge of the yard and watch with bright, smiling eyes as the “big horsey” passed by.

  Just outside the town limits, Aren pulled gently on Wyatt’s reins bringing him to a stop. She slid down from the saddle and then released Bailey from her leash so the poor girl could tag along at her own pace. Aren stowed the leash in one of the saddlebags before fixing her left foot into the stirrup and swinging herself back into the saddle. Once again, they were on their way home turning west to cut through an old unused forest service road that eventually led to the back edge of her property. Wyatt’s hooves created a relaxing musical rhythm on the hard-packed earth. Aren felt the tension in her shoulders drift away with the blend of soothing sounds. Birds chirped and fluttered above, squirrels chattered and scampered. She drew in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. In these woods, she could completely relax. She knew what to expect. She felt in control of her surroundings. Aren closed her eyes and tilted her head back. From behind her eyelids, she could still see the faint flickering glare of sun filtering through the canopy of the treetops. In the dense woods, she had memories of happier times, memories of laughter. She felt at peace.

  Aren squinted in the brilliant sunshine as they emerged from the dark, thick forest. She guided Wyatt onto a two-track path, lined on either side with pasture fencing, which led them through the property to the back of the barn. Wyatt’s pace picked up a bit just beyond the perimeter gate.