The Cowboy Next Door. Brenda Minton

      “You’ve never held a baby?”

      “Never.” Jay’s heart did a funny dance as he held the baby in his arms. He couldn’t stop looking at Lacey. And she had the nerve to laugh at him.

      “Sit down before you drop her. You look a little pale,” Lacey said.

      Jay sat, still clutching the tiny little girl in his arms. He smiled down at her, and she smiled back, her tiny nose scrunching up.

      “Now aren’t you something else.” He spoke softly and the baby smiled again. “You’re a little charmer. I think I’ll buy you a pony.”

      “She wants a bay,” Lacey said, still smiling. “Ready to go?”

      He handed the baby over, still unsure with her in his arms. As he looked at Lacey, she was one more thing that he was suddenly unsure about.

      Jay held the front door and let Lacey walk out first because he was afraid to walk next to her, afraid of what it might feel like to be close to her with a baby in her arms and a smile on her face.

      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 Love Inspired 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.

      The Cowboy Next Door

      Brenda Minton

      Truly my soul silently waits for God;

       From Him comes my salvation.

      —Psalms 62:1

      This book is dedicated to my mom,

       Rosetta (Kasiah) Cousins. (May 1937–November 1980). She taught me to dream and she encouraged me to use my imagination. She put up with baby birds and mice in the house, numerous wild kittens, possums, ponies, goats and puppies. And to my dad, Don Cousins, who is still excited by every accomplishment. You taught me the value of hard work, even when I didn’t appreciate it. I love you.

      And to the memory of Patsy Grayson,

       encourager, friend, blessing.

      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

      Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

      Questions for Discussion

      Chapter One

      “Lacey, when are you going to go out with me?” Bobby Fynn hollered from across the dining room of the Hash-It-Out Diner.

      “Maybe next week,” Lacey called back as she refilled an empty coffee cup, smiling at her customer, an older woman with curly black hair and a sweet smile.

      “Come on, Lacey, you can’t keep turning me down.”

      Lacey smiled and shook her head, because Bobby wasn’t serious, and she wasn’t interested.

      “Ignore him,” Marci, the hostess, whispered as Lacey walked past.

      Lacey shot her friend a smile. “He doesn’t bother me. I’ll be back in a minute. I need to get a pitcher of water.”

      She hurried to the waitress station, set the glass coffeepot on the warming tray, and grabbed the pitcher of ice water. The cowbell over the door clanged, announcing the arrival of another customer. She hustled around the corner, pretending her feet weren’t blistered and her back wasn’t aching from the double shifts she’d worked for the last week.

      If it wasn’t for the perfect piece of land she wanted to buy…

      Two strong hands grabbed her arms, stopping her mid-stride and preventing a near collision. The pitcher of ice water she’d carried out of the waitress station sloshed, soaking her shirt. She looked up, muttering about clumsiness and met the dark gaze of Officer Jay Blackhorse.

      Gorgeous, he was definitely gorgeous. Tall with black hair and brown eyes. All cowboy. All rugged and sure of himself. But not her type. He’d been back in Gibson, Missouri, for a month now, and she already had him figured out. He was too serious, not the kind of customer who chatted with a waitress, and she was fine with the knowledge that they weren’t going to be best friends.

      Several men called out, offering him a chair at their table, as Lacey moved out of his grasp. Not only was he the law, his family also raised cattle and horses. He hadn’t lived in Gibson for the last seven or eight years, but he still fit in on so many levels that Lacey didn’t know how he could do it all.

      She was still trying to find something other than round holes for her square-peg self.

      She was the girl from St. Louis who had showed up six years ago with a broken-down car, one hundred dollars and the dream of finding a new life.

      Jay waved at the men who called out to him, but he didn’t take them up on their offers to sit. Instead, he took hold of Lacey’s arm and moved her toward the door.

      “Lacey, I need to talk to you outside.”

      “Sure.” Of course, not a problem.

      She set the pitcher of ice water on a table and followed him to the door, trying hard not to remember her other life, the life that had included more than one trip in the back of a police car.

      It would have been a waste of breath to tell Jay she wasn’t that person any more. He didn’t know her.

      He didn’t know what it had been like to grow up in her home, with a family that had fallen apart before she could walk. Jay had a mom who baked cookies and played the piano at church. Lacey’s mom had brought home boyfriends for herself and her daughters.

      Instead of protesting, Lacey shot Jay a disgusted look—as if it didn’t matter—and exited the diner at his side. When they were both outside, she turned on him, pushing down her pain and reaching for the old Lacey, the one who knew how to handle these situations.

      “What’s this all about, Blackhorse? Is it ‘humiliate the waitress day’ and someone nominated me to get the prize?”

      He shook his head and pointed to his car. “Sorry, Lacey, but I didn’t know what else to do with her.”

      “Her?”

      The back door of the patrol car opened.

      Lacey watched the young woman