A Cowboy's Heart. Brenda Minton

      She remembered the first time she’d met him, a cowboy in faded jeans.

      His smile had put her teenage heart into overdrive. She’d spent the next year wrapped in daydreams of a guy that she’d been afraid to talk to.

      In search of her aunt, she finally spotted Janie, standing at the edge of the crowd at the rodeo. Next to her was a man Willow didn’t recognize. This man wore a bent-up cowboy hat. The strong angles of his jaw proved he was no longer a kid.

      Willow joined her aunt and Clint Cameron. He took off his hat, revealing sandy blond hair, a five o’clock shadow and a slow, easy grin.

      He wasn’t a gangly teen anymore. And her heart still did that funny dance when he smiled at her. As a girl, she hadn’t known what to do with that reaction. Now she carefully tamped it down, because she didn’t need complications to her already complicated life.

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      BRENDA MINTON

      started creating stories to entertain herself during hour-long rides on the school bus. In high school she wrote romance novels to entertain her friends. The dream grew and so did her aspirations to become an author. She started with notebooks, handwritten manuscripts and characters that refused to go away until their stories were told. Eventually she put away the pen and paper and got down to business with the computer. The journey took a few years, with some encouragement and rejection along the way—as well as a lot of stubbornness on her part. In 2006, her dream to write for Steeple Hill Books Love Inspired line came true.

      Brenda lives in the rural Ozarks with her husband, three kids and an abundance of cats and dogs. She enjoys a chaotic life that she wouldn’t trade for anything—except, on occasion, a beach house in Texas. You can stop by and visit at her Web site, www.brendaminton.net.

      A Cowboy’s Heart

      Brenda Minton

      The Lord is my strength and my song, He has

       become my salvation: He is my God, and I will

       praise Him. My father’s God, and I will exalt Him.

      —Exodus 15:2

      To my sister Ellen Benham and my brother-in-law

       Gary. This is dedicated to you, for computers,

       for weekends away and for friendship.

      To Doug and the kids, because they love me,

       even during a deadline crunch.

      And of course to Melissa Endlich and Janet Benrey.

       Without their encouragement and belief in my

       stories, I’d still be piling unpublished manuscripts

       in the closet.

      To faithful and true friends, strong women all,

       without whom my phone batteries would always

       be charged, and I’d be a blob of insecurity. Thank

       you for listening, for reading and for always being

       there for me. Steph, Shirlee, Angela, Tonya, Dawn,

       Barbara, Betty, Janice, Lori W and Keri.

      For my number-one fan, Denise Foster Dickens.

       And Josie, for dinner, and for being the most

       amazing neighbor ever.

      To the girls at the Marionville, MO, library for

       support and encouragement.

      A deep debt of gratitude to Janet McCoy, for

       answering questions and sharing stories.

      To all of the women who struggle, hold on

       to faith and never give up. Especially to

       my new sister-in-Christ, Shirley.

       You are strong and beautiful.

      Contents

      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

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Questions for Discussion

      Chapter One

      Country music crackled from aging PA speakers that hung from the announcer’s stand next to the rodeo arena, and dozens of conversations buzzed around Willow Michaels. It was hard to discern one sound from another, and harder still to know if the queasy nervousness in her stomach was due to her bulls about to compete, or the way sounds faded in and out.

      A hand touched her arm. She smiled at her aunt Janie, who had insisted on attending with her, because it was a short drive from home, and well, because Aunt Janie went nearly everywhere that Willow went.

      “Didn’t you hear me?” Janie asked.

      “Of course I did.”

      “No, you didn’t. I’ve asked you the same thing three times.”

      “I’m sorry, I’m just distracted.” Willow slid her finger up the back of her ear. The hearing aid was at its maximum. And Janie was waiting for an answer that Willow didn’t have.

      “I said, I have a friend I want you to meet.” Janie searched Willow’s face, her growing concern evident in her eyes.

      “Don’t, Janie, please don’t give me that look. It’s the batteries, nothing more.”

      “Make an appointment with your doctor.”

      “Who’s the friend?” Willow went back to the previous conversation. At that moment, even if it meant meeting a man, Willow wanted to avoid discussing the fact that she hadn’t heard her aunt. Discussing it would only make her deteriorating hearing more real.

      “My old neighbor, Clint Cameron, is here.”

      “Clint?” Not a stranger, but a forgotten crush. Willow remembered now, and she didn’t want to remember.

      She was too old for high-school crushes, and she had experienced too much heartache to go back to being that girl who dreamed of forever.

      Her marriage to Brad Michaels had been a hard lesson