The Cowboy's Sweetheart. Brenda Minton

her face from the Oklahoma sun. Omar Gregs would forever be in the corral outside his big barn, a shovel in hand, and that old dog of his sniffing at a rabbit trail.

      And Granny Etta would always be at home, waiting.

      She slowed as she drove past the Johnson ranch, past the drive that led to Ryder’s house. Her best friend. Her heart clenched, the pain unfamiliar, sinking from her heart to her stomach. He’d never been the one to make her feel that way.

      The truck jerked a little, evidence of a restless horse that had been in a trailer for too many hours. Andie downshifted as she approached the drive that led to the barn. It felt good to see the yellow Victorian she’d grown up in. It looked just the way it had the last time she was at home. Flowers bloomed profusely out of control. The lavender wicker furniture on the front porch was a sign that all was well in the world.

      As she turned into the drive, Andie noticed a big sedan on the other side of the house, parked in the driveway that company used. Company, great.

      Etta walked out the front door, waving big.

      Andie’s grandmother had hair that matched the furniture on the porch, kind of. It was the closest the stylist in Grove could get to lavender. And it clashed something horrible with Etta’s tanned skin. A Native American woman with Irish ancestors didn’t have the complexion to carry off lavender hair.

      But tall and thin, she did have the ability to carry off some wild tie-dyed clothes. The clothing was her own design, her own line, and it sold nationwide.

      Andie drove the truck down the drive and parked at the barn. Etta was fast-walking across the lawn, the wind swirling the yellow-and-pink tie-dyed skirt around her long legs.

      Andie hopped out of the truck and ran to greet her grandmother. Andie was twenty-eight years old—almost twenty-nine—and a hug had never felt so good. When Etta wrapped strong arms around her and held her tight, it was everything.

      It was a bandage on a heart that wasn’t broken, more like bruised and confused. She hadn’t expected it to take this long to heal.

      “Sweetheart, it’s been too long. And why that serious face and no smile? Didn’t you call and tell me things were good?”

      “Things are good, Gran.”

      “Well, now why am I not buying that?”

      “I’m not sure.” Andie smiled as big as she could and her granny gave her a critical stare before shaking her head.

      “Okay, get Dusty Boy out of that trailer and let’s go inside. I bet you’re hungry.”

      “I am hungry.” Starving. She’d been starving for the past few weeks. She was just sick of truck-stop and hotel-restaurant food. Even when she’d stopped in with friends, it hadn’t been the same. Nobody cooked like Etta.

      Andie moved the latch on the trailer and stepped inside, easing down the empty half of the trailer to unhook Dusty. He shook his head, glad to be free and then backed out, snorting, his hooves clanging loud on the floor of the trailer.

      “Come on, boy, time for you to have a run in the pasture.”

      “Where’d you stay last week?” Etta was standing outside, shading her face with her hand, blocking the glare of the setting sun.

      Andie held tight to the lead rope, giving Dusty a minute to calm down. His head was up and his ears alert as he snorted and pawed the ground, eager to be back in the pasture with the other horses.

      “I was at Joy and Bob’s.”

      “You were in Kansas? Why didn’t you just come on home?”

      Because she didn’t want to face Ryder and she’d heard he might be home. She’d planned her timing lately so that she was home when he wasn’t. But how did she explain that to Etta?

      She shrugged, “I was looking at a mare they have for sale.”

      Not a lie.

      The roar of a truck coming down the road caught their attention. Dusty dipped his head to pull at a bite of clover, but he looked up, golden ears perked, twisting like radar as he tuned into the noises around him. He snorted and grabbed another mouthful of grass. Andie pulled on the lead rope and his head came up.

      The truck slowed at their driveway. Etta beamed. “Well, there’s that Ryder Johnson. He’s been down here three times in the past week. He says he’s checking on me, but I think he misses his running buddy.”

      “I’m sure. If he missed me that much…” He would have called. Two months, he could have called. He hadn’t.

      Etta shot her a look, eyes narrowing. “What’s going on with you two kids?”

      “Well, first of all, we’re not kids. Second, he needs to grow up.”

      “Oh, so that’s the way the wind blows.”

      “This might be Oklahoma, but the wind isn’t blowing, Etta.” Andie turned toward the barn, Dusty at her side. He rubbed his big head on her arm and she pushed him back. “Bad manners, Dusty.”

      “Where are you going?” Etta hurried to catch up.

      “To put my horse up.”

      “Well, I guess I’ll make tea.”

      Tea was Etta’s cure for everything.

      “Don’t invite him for tea, Etta. I’ll take care of this, but he doesn’t need to hang out here.”

      “Nonsense.” And Etta stormed off, like a wise grandmother who had dealt with her share of lovesick kids. Andie shook her head and unhooked the gate. She wasn’t lovesick.

      She was mad at herself. And mad at Ryder.

      “Off you go, Dusty. Eat some green grass and I’ll be back later.”

      She watched, smiling as her horse made a dash around the field, bucked a few times and then found a place to roll on his back. And then she couldn’t put it off any longer. She turned, and there he was, walking toward her, his hat low over his eyes. She didn’t need to see those eyes. Brown, long dark lashes. He had a dimple in his chin and a mouth that flashed white teeth when he smiled. He had rough hands that could hold a woman tight and a voice that sounded raspy and smooth, all at the same time.

      Those were things she had just learned about him, eight weeks ago. Before that he’d had a voice that teased and hands that held hers tight when they climbed fences or arm wrestled. He had been the person she told her secrets to and shared her fears with.

      More than anything she was mad that he couldn’t be that person right now. Instead, he was the person she needed to talk about.

      He was tall, a cowboy who wore faded jeans, ripped at the knees, and button-down shirts, plaid with pearl buttons. He was her best friend. They’d been friends for twenty-five years, since his family moved to Dawson from Tulsa. His dad had done something right with the stock market. His mom had inherited a chunk of cash. It hadn’t been a perfect life though, and a little over five years ago his parents had died in a car accident.

      She’d been there for him.

      He’d buried his face into her shoulder and she remembered her fingers on soft, brown hair.

      She remembered waking up weeks ago, knowing her life would never be the same. One night, one mistake, and her world had come unraveled.

      And then God had hemmed it up again. She’d been running from God longer than she’d been running from Ryder. God had caught her first.

      Ryder watched the changing expressions on Andie’s face and he wondered what kind of storm he was about to face. Would it be the summer kind that passes over with little damage, or the other kind, the kind that happens when hot air meets cold?

      He had a feeling that it was the hot-meets-cold kind. She had gone from something that looked like sad, to pretty close to furious, and now she was smiling.