The Cowboy Next Door. Brenda Minton

shook his head. “This isn’t my decision. But I don’t have anything against you being here.”

      She let it go, but she could have argued. Of course he minded her being there. She could see it in his eyes, the way he watched her. He didn’t want her anywhere near his family farm.

      

      Jay followed Lacey up the back steps of the house and into the big kitchen that his grandmother had spent so much time in. The room was pale green and the cabinets were white. His mom had painted it a few years ago to brighten it up.

      But it still smelled like his grandmother, like cantaloupe and vine-ripened tomatoes. He almost expected her to be standing at the stove, taking out a fresh batch of cookies.

      The memory brought a smile he hadn’t expected. It had been a long time since his grandmother’s image had been the one that he envisioned in this house. It took him by surprise, that it wasn’t Jamie he thought of in this house, the way he’d thought of her for nine years. He put the box down and realized that Lacey was watching him.

      “Good memories?” she asked, curiosity in brown eyes that narrowed to study his face.

      “Yes, good memories. My grandmother was a great cook.”

      He didn’t say, “unlike Mom.”

      “Oh, I see.”

      “I guess you probably do. My mom tries too hard to be creative. She always ends up adding the wrong seasoning, the wrong spices. You know she puts cinnamon and curry on her roast, right?”

      Lacey nodded. She was opening cabinets and peeking in the pantry. She turned, her smile lighting her face and settling in her eyes. Over a house.

      “I love your mom.” Lacey opened the box she’d carried in. “I want to be like her someday.”

      She turned a little pink and he didn’t say anything.

      “I want to have a garden and can tomatoes in the fall,” she explained, still pink, and it wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

      He didn’t want to hear her dreams, or what she thought about life. He didn’t want to get pulled into her world. He wanted to live his life here, in Gibson, and he didn’t want it to be complicated.

      Past to present, Lacey Gould was complicated.

      And she thought he was perfect. He could see it in her eyes, the way she looked at him, at his home and his family. She had some crazy idea that if a person was a Blackhorse, they skipped through life without problems, or without making mistakes.

      “It’s a little late for a garden this year.” He started to turn away, but the contents of the box she was unpacking pulled him back. “Dogs?”

      “What?”

      “You like dogs.”

      “I like to collect them.” She took a porcelain shepherd out of the box and dusted it with her shirt.

      “How many more do you have?” He glanced into the box.

      “Dozens.”

      “Okay, I have to ask, why dogs?”

      She looked up at him, her head cocked a little to the side and a veil of dark brown hair falling forward to cover one cheek.

      “Dogs are cute.” She smiled, and he knew that was all he’d get from her.

      He didn’t really want more.

      

      Dogs are cute. As Jay walked through the front door of his house the next morning, he had a hard time believing that Lacey could be right about dogs. He looked down at his bloodhound and shook his head. Dogs weren’t cute. Dogs chewed up a guy’s favorite shoes. Dogs slobbered and chewed on the leg of a chair.

      “You’re a pain in my neck.” He ignored the sad look on the dog’s face. “You have no idea how much I liked those shoes. And Mom is going to kill you for what you did to that chair.”

      Pete whined and rested his head on his paws. Jay picked up the leather tennis shoe and pointed it at the dog. Pete buried his slobbery face between his paws and Jay couldn’t help but smile.

      “Crazy mutt.” Jay dropped the shoe. “So I guess I keep you and buy new shoes. Someday, buddy, someday it’ll be one shoe too many. You’re too old for this kind of behavior.”

      The dog’s ears perked. Jay walked to the window and looked out. A truck was pulling away from the house at the end of the dirt lane. Two days after the fact and he remembered what the Chief had told him: keep an eye on things at Lacey’s. Well, now it would be easy, because Lacey was next door.

      He turned and pointed toward the back door. Pete stood up, like standing took a lot of effort, and lumbered to the door. “Outside today, my friend. Enjoy the wading pool, and don’t chew up the lawn furniture.”

      One last look back and Pete went out the door, his sad eyes pleading with Jay for a reprieve. “Not today, Pete.”

      Jay walked across his yard, his attention on the house not far from his. A five-acre section of pasture separated them. He could see Lacey standing in the yard, pulling on the cord of a push mower.

      He glanced at his watch. He had time before he had to head to work. Pushing aside his better sense, he headed down the road to see if she needed help.

      “Good morning, neighbor.” She stopped pulling and smiled when he walked up. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

      “No, thanks.” He moved a little closer. “Do you want me to start it for you?”

      “If you can. I’ve been pulling on that thing for five minutes.”

      “Does it have gas in it?”

      She bit down on her bottom lip and her hands slid into her pockets. “I didn’t check.”

      He would have laughed, but she already looked devastated. Mowing the lawn was probably a big part of the having-a-house adventure. He wouldn’t tease her. He also wouldn’t burst her bubble by telling her it wouldn’t stay fun for long.

      “Do you have a gas can?”

      “By the porch. Cody brought it. I just figured the mower was full.” She went to get the can of gas. Cody was a good guy to bring it. Jay liked the husband of one of his childhood friends, Bailey Cross.

      Jay opened the gas cap, pushed the machine and shook his head. “No gas. He probably filled the gas can on the way over, so you’d have it.”

      “Of course.” She had the gas can and he took it from her to fill the tank.

      “I can mow it for you.”

      “No, I want to do it. Remember, I’ve never had a lawn.”

      The front door opened. Lacey’s sister stepped out with the baby in her arms. The child was crying, her arms flailing the air. Corry shot a look in his direction. He tried not to notice the eyes that were rimmed with dark circles, or the way perspiration beaded across her pale face. He looked away.

      “She won’t stop crying.” Corry pushed the baby into Lacey’s arms.

      “Did you burp her?” Lacey lifted the infant to her shoulder. “Corry, you have to take care of her. She’s your daughter. You’re all she has.”

      “I don’t want to be all she has. How can I take care of her?”

      “The same way thousands of moms take care of their children. You have to use a little common sense.” Lacey made it look easy, leaning to kiss the baby’s cheek, talking in quiet whispers that soothed the little girl.

      He could have disagreed with Lacey. Not all moms knew how to take care of children. He’d been a police officer for five years. He’d seen a lot.

      “I should go. I have to work today, but I wanted to make sure you have everything you need.”