My Cowboy Valentine. Jane Porter

the sidewalk and glancing down at her. She was bleeding everywhere—her cheek and chin, her elbows and knees—but thankfully, nothing looked broken.

      “Yes, I could,” she retorted irritably, looking up into his eyes. “Cyclists kill pedestrians all the time.”

      Her fine dark brows had pulled, and she looked so cross and serious that his lips had twitched, fighting a grin. “How ’bout you? You okay?” he asked.

      “Yes,” she said, dabbing her cheek where she’d skinned it. “And you can put me down. I’m tough. I’m not your average girl.”

      He’d held her a moment longer, just because he could, and then gently he’d placed her on her feet, keeping a close eye on her in case she wobbled. But she didn’t.

      “See?” she demanded.

      “Not your average girl,” he agreed.

      And then she laughed, her light gray eyes crinkling at the corners. Her eyes looked so cool and clear, they made him think of a summer rain. He’d stared into her eyes trying to find the bottom.

      She let him look, too. She let him drink her in as if she were a refreshing glass of ice water on a humid afternoon. Until he soaked her in, he hadn’t realized how thirsty he had been.

      No, he thought, she wasn’t his average girl. She was far from average, could never be average, not in her faded yellow cotton sundress, the soft mustard-hued fabric sprigged with blue flowers, the neckline edged with tired lace. It wasn’t just because she was pretty—there was something else in her that called to him. Something about her that felt right...familiar and new, exciting, terrifying, but also right. Looking down into her light gray eyes he suddenly knew why he’d left home at fifteen to find his way in the world. He knew why he’d been through hell and back. It was for her, this girl. To love her and protect her and keep her safe...

      He’d put her bike into the back of his truck and driven her home, and he’d returned the next day to check on her, and her grandmother had invited him to stay for dinner. And he’d returned for dinner every night that he wasn’t on the road, competing.

      But later his demons caught up with him, and what started out as a drink now and then turned to drinking 24/7, and all of Cade’s good intentions were drowned out by his need for Jack Daniel’s.

      Once in one of his AA meetings, after he’d shared his story, someone said to him, “Thank God you sobered up before you hurt someone,” and Cade had nearly puked right there in the middle of the church basement where the meeting was being held. Because he had hurt someone. He’d trashed Rachel. And maybe it wasn’t a drinking and driving accident, but it was just as destructive. Maybe even more so because it was personal.

      * * *

      NEEDING TO KILL TIME, CADE stopped for dinner downtown in his favorite diner. It was still early, almost five, but the place was half-full with seniors who’d come in for the early-bird special.

      Cade ordered coffee and chicken fried steak with mashed potatoes, then picked up a paper somebody had left behind in another booth and sat back down to read while he waited for his food. He scanned the headlines before flipping to the business section, checking the agriculture report and then the NASDAQ to see where his stock closed the day before.

      His dinner arrived before he finished reading the business section, so he folded the paper and continued to read as he ate.

      Midway through his meal, a strong hand clapped his shoulder. “Cade King, it’s been a while. How are you? What brings you back to Mineral Wells?”

      Cade pushed his plate away and wiped his mouth as he looked up at Larry Strauss, a burly rancher in his early sixties. He smiled warily and extended his hand, knowing that Larry was close family friends with the Jameses. “It has been a while,” he agreed. “Care to join me? Do you have time?”

      “I’ve already eaten but I will sit for a minute.” Larry slid into the booth seat across from Cade. “Quite a year you’ve had, son. Third straight All-Around title in a row, isn’t it?”

      “Yes, sir. I’ve been lucky.”

      “That’s not luck, that’s skill. And you won easily this year.”

      “I drew some good bulls. Two of them were yours.”

      The older rancher inclined his head. Strauss Ranch was known on the circuit for their outstanding rough stock, including their bucking bulls. “But you knew what to do with them, and that’s what counts.” He gestured to the waitress that he’d have a cup of coffee, too. “So what brings you to town?” His narrowed gaze raked over Cade, his expression a little less friendly. “Haven’t seen you in years.”

      Cade noted the coolness in Larry’s tone. He wasn’t surprised. Larry would have known that Cade had callously given Rachel the boot, and Larry being the old-fashioned rancher he was, wouldn’t have liked it. “Haven’t been back in years,” he answered evenly. “But I’m meeting with one of the Jeffrey brothers from Jeffrey Farms a little later. They’re interested in one of my horses.”

      “Have you stayed in touch with any of the folks here?”

      Cade knew exactly what Larry was asking, and he shifted on the vinyl booth. “Not the way I should have.”

      “Did you hear that Sally James passed a couple years ago?”

      “Found out today.”

      “She was a good woman.”

      “Yes, she was,” Cade agreed. There were few people he’d liked as much as he’d liked Sally. She was born to nurture, and she’d been kinder to him than any of the foster-care mothers he’d known in his seven and a half years under the state’s care.

      “Rachel took her passing hard,” Larry added, glancing up, staring Cade straight in the eyes.

      Cade nodded. “I can imagine.”

      Larry’s light blue eyes bored into his. “She hasn’t had an easy life.”

      “Who?”

      “Rachel.”

      Gut knotting, Cade stretched his legs out under the table. “She seems like she’s doing all right now.”

      “Have you seen her?”

      “Yes. Today. Stopped by the house. Thought she looked great. Thinner, but still the prettiest girl in Texas.”

      “So you know what’s going on with her?”

      “She told me.”

      Larry looked skeptical. “Doesn’t bother you?”

      Cade shrugged uneasily. He didn’t want to talk about Rachel, or think about her getting married tomorrow. He was glad for her. He was. But it didn’t give him cause for celebration. “Things didn’t work out the way we’d imagined, but that’s life. You don’t always get what you want.”

      Larry’s bushy gray eyebrows lifted. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for heartless, King.”

      “Not heartless, just realistic. Things don’t always go as planned. So you move on and, frankly, things have worked out the way they were meant to be.”

      “You sound like the rest of them, judging her. But everybody makes mistakes and Lord knows, she’s had her hands full. First with Tommy, then Sally’s cancer—”

      “You’re misunderstanding me. I’m not judging her. I’m happy for her. Happy that things have turned out the way they have for her.”

      “Which part makes you happy, son?” Larry asked slowly, dragging the words out.

      Cade’s right hand clenched into a fist under the table. What was the point of this? What did Larry want from him? “I’m glad she’s found happiness—”

      “You’re joking, right?”

      Cade