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Her Cowboy's Promise
by Jennifer Hoopes

Copyright © 2017 by Jennifer Hoopes. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Chapter One

Emily White closed her eyes, praying Drew’s smile would come into focus. Nothing but darkness greeted her, not unlike the canvas currently sitting in front of her. Fighting back her frustration and tears, she focused once again on the swirling mix of blue and gray before her and then added a dash of yellow. After all, the sun had shone that fateful day. If she couldn’t remember him, she would remember the day in all its bitter glory.

The memories would come back, she told herself. His face, his smile. It was only a block. A block that coincidentally appeared right after her return to Fly Creek from attending her sister Sofie’s engagement party, back east. A visit that left the past three years of her life out of focus, and her current path not quite making sense. A visit that left her jealous of her sister’s happiness.

A tear slid down her cheek. How she could be jealous of someone she loved so much? Even if she no longer showed that love openly…

A cowbell clanged at the front door of the shop, and Emily glanced at the clock above her head. “Be right there,” she yelled, willing her heart to slow its grief-enabled race. The town talked about her enough. She didn’t need to add to their fodder with red splotches and tear-stained cheeks.

She dropped her brush into a Mason jar and wiped her hands on the towel tucked into her favorite Monet apron. Taking a deep breath, she patted her cheeks with the cloth and dropped it onto the counter.

Sliding off the stool, her turquoise and orange boots hit the wooden planks with a soft thud, and she turned, only to freeze on the spot. The visitor to her store stood a mere five feet from her.

And he was a man.

A tall, filled-out-in-all-the-right-places man. A cowboy, to be more precise. And if she was to go further down the line of deductive reasoning, she would say a cowboy who wore wranglers better than any she’d seen in Fly Creek, Wyoming, and whose mop of curly blond hair added a mischievous glint to an otherwise innocent face.

“Can I help you?” She glanced again at the clock, now over her shoulder, to confirm that it was indeed just after ten. Because in three years of living in Fly Creek, no cowboy had stepped foot in her shop at any time during the week. They were on the ranches, rustling steer, riding horses, and doing…well, she wasn’t exactly sure all they did, but she felt safe in assuming it was not shopping at an art store.

Her gaze returned, catching the quiet man’s in a raking perusal. She couldn’t take offense. She’d been far more obvious. He scanned her face several times before locking his gaze with hers. Then he looked right through her to the person hiding inside. In that moment, the shell she used to protect herself weakened.

“You have something here.” The cowboy pointed to his cheek.

The shiver was involuntary. Whose voice invaded someone like that? Creeped under a protective shell and swept along leaving anticipation in its wake. Her heart, which had finally slowed down, picked back up, galloping at a different tempo.

She couldn’t move, embarrassment and awareness bolting her boots to the wooden floor.

He removed his hat. “It’s just a splotch.” Stepping closer, he pointed to her cheek. “There.”

“Oh.” She waved her hand, batting his away. “That’s not unusual.”

What was unusual was the flailing motion that followed, which sent a stack of drawing tablets flying to the floor.

She met his gaze, heat flooding her cheeks. He smiled, and, lord have mercy, there were dimples.

“Let me help you.”

He set his hat on top a stack of colored pencils and bent to gather her disaster.

“No. I mean, it’s not necessary.”

He grinned up at her. “What kind of gentlemen would I be if I didn’t lend a hand?”

She couldn’t argue or rather wouldn’t. She just wanted the encounter over as soon as possible. Whispers about her solitary existence were one thing. Embarrassing encounters with a cute cowboy were something entirely different.

They made quick work and reestablished their awkward tableau across from one another, his gaze yet again seeing something she’d prefer no one did. Things in her world were simple. Straightforward. Monotonous. Nothing about this encounter from the fact that he was a cowboy, to the fact that she wanted to see his dimples again, to the feeling that this man knew her, made any sense.

“What are you doing here?”

His eyes widened, and she closed hers on a shake of her head. “I’m sorry. I meant to ask, how can I help you?”

He laughed and snagged his hat, threading it through his fingers. “I’m here to pick up something for Shelby Marks.”

His voice again. It spread through her until all her nerves perked up and tuned in. In less than five minutes, mystery errand man had piqued an otherwise dormant part of her. Lust she could handle. It was the sense of familiarity. The look in his cotton-candy blue eyes. As if he recognized something inside her and knew. Just knew there was more. That was a sensation she didn’t like. Familiarity meant emotions, and she’d closed the book on those suckers three years ago.

“Sure. I’ll go grab it.”

Emily spun on her boot heel and hurried toward the back of the store. She needed him, and that knowing glint in his baby blues, out of her space. Even now his gaze warmed her back. And that was a small dash of excitement in a life that until ten minutes ago only encompassed loss and grief. Excitement she didn’t know what to do with.

As her hands wrapped around the brown-covered canvas, guilt washed through her body and her knees shook. For those brief, embarrassing moments, she’d forgotten. She’d even wanted to laugh. Emily’s shoulders slumped. Drew wasn’t here to laugh and smile. Hell, she couldn’t even remember his smile anymore. Nothing about that seemed fair.

Swallowing hard and forcing the lump back down, she lifted the painting and headed back to the mystery cowboy.

He placed his hat on his head and smiled as they exchanged the package. His hands curled about the canvas, cradling it in a protective manner. Hands that while masculine, definitely didn’t seem to be the weathered sort most men around Fly Creek sported.

She glanced again at his face and noted the lack of sun lines in his features. His tan barely scratched the surface of skin she would now bet had been cooped up in an office rather than out in nature. She’d heard the rumblings of a new ranch hand over at Sky Lake, and it appeared this man fit the bill. The word elusive was linked to him, as any number of women who’d come through the store had certainly attempted to catch his eye. Apparently none of them had.

One of the many benefits of being a reclusive citizen was people talked around her, because they assumed she wouldn’t share what she heard.

It was true, but it didn’t mean she didn’t listen and take note. Kind of living vicariously through gossip. Because that was the closest to living she may ever get again.

“Make sure Shelby uses the wire attached to the back and that it’s evenly distributed across at least two nails or screws.”

He tipped his hat. “I’ll make sure it gets hung properly.” He grinned with full dimple deployment. “Wouldn’t want your talent to go to waste with shoddy hangmanship.”

She suppressed the shiver this time and told her nerves to suck it up. “Thank you.”

“Adam.”

“What?”

“My name’s Adam. Adam Conley.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. Somehow revealing her name seemed far too intimate. Like the first step on a path she’d never thought she’d trod again. And yet the pull of his presence and the familiarity in his gaze had her boots ready to two-step without her.

“Emily White.”

He nodded and gave her a dimpled smile. “See ya around, Emily.”

Another flush of awareness followed swiftly by guilt.

No, you won’t, Mr. Conley.

She watched him leave. Partly to make sure he did and partly to take in the view, which much to her guilt-ladened mind, was as fine as she’d feared.

…

Adam left the Painted Glass and took a deep breath as the Wyoming sun beat down on his black Stetson. Their first encounter was over, and while not a slam-dunk, it hadn’t been the disaster he’d prepared for. Emily White was everything and nothing he’d expected her to be. He’d expected sorrow. He’d expected matter-of-fact dealings. He’d even expected her to be pretty—although with brown, sun-streaked hair falling to her waist and hazel eyes bordering on green, pretty seemed too mild a word.

No, it wasn’t any of the things he’d expected that caused a hitch in his step. What he hadn’t been prepared for was the shot to his chest when she turned from her work and instant attraction flared between them. Not just a physical attraction but one based on a more emotional level. One fueled by a shared loss, even though she didn’t know they’d both lost someone they’d cared about.

Walking down the sidewalk toward his truck, Adam reminded himself that Emily was the last person on this planet he could or should be attracted to on any level.

He maneuvered the painting into the front seat of the truck and hopped in to head back to Sky Lake Ranch. Shelby’s request that he run this errand seemed like a much-needed kick at a six-week-long ball of frustration. He’d caught glimpses of Emily only twice in that time and neither had been a good opportunity to try and talk with her. To get to know her so he could figure out how to get her back to living a full life. But now, even two minutes out of her presence, a combination of guilt and arousal wrestled in his chest. Neither was conducive to fulfilling the promise he made to his cousin. The sole reason he’d come to Fly Creek to begin with. And with September closing in, his time to complete his dealings with her was shrinking rapidly.

Waving to a few locals as he turned left off Miller Street, Adam forced a smile. He’d fled ranching and small town life at eighteen, and only a plea from someone he loved would have dropped him smack dab back in the middle of this May-September contract at a dude ranch. Emily was not only his sole purpose for being here, she was also his ticket out of town and back to searching for a career and home that had eluded him for twelve years. There was no way a measly thing like attraction, physical or otherwise, would get in his way.

Ten minutes later, Adam carried the painting into the great lodge of Sky Lake Ranch. Shelby Marks stood in the center talking with one of the guests, arms pointing in five different directions. The woman was animation gone wild, but her enthusiasm for her ranch and this way of life was infectious. He may have run screaming from it at eighteen, but he was mature enough to admit his time so far at Sky Lake was mildly enjoyable. Hard work, long hours, but not the miserable ball of hell he’d expected when he signed his contract. Adam wouldn’t go so far as to say he would miss it when he left, but he’d leave with more pleasant memories than expected.

And he would be leaving. Fulfill promise. Hit the road.

Shelby finished up and crossed over to him. She clapped her hands in delight. “Oooh, I can’t wait. Emily’s brilliant. I’m still trying to convince her to teach an art class or two here. But well…”

Adam waited, but Shelby didn’t elaborate. He’d heard the whispers about Emily. About her self-imposed solitude and questions as to why she would be so cut off at such a young age. The ranch hands were chomping at the bit to have a shot at her, but only Adam knew the cause for her retreat. It was her grief that was an integral part of his reason for coming to town. Her inability to fully participate in life was the axis around which his promise to his cousin revolved.

Shelby unwrapped the package, and a scene unfurled in front of Adam. He could practically see and hear the buffalo stomping their hoofs, a mist swirling around their feet. Any second, he expected them to charge. The strokes, color choices, and subjects were in perfect harmony. Brilliant only seemed to touch the surface of Emily White’s talents.

“I knew it. I knew it would be perfect.” She glanced around and pointed. “I want it up there. Over the left fireplace.”

Adam nodded and set to work hanging the piece, keeping Emily’s directions firm in his mind.

He stepped back once Shelby had finished barking her “a little to the left, up, and down” orders out. The painting fit seamlessly in the main room.

“Worth every penny,” Shelby remarked, tilting her head to the side and back. “Shoot, I forgot to send you with the check.” Shelby faced him “Did she ask you for it?”

Adam shook his head.

“Silly girl.” Shelby clucked her disapproval. “I’ll give her a call and run it back to her or see if she wants to stop by here to get it.”

“I could drop it off for you if you need me to.” Crap what are you thinking? Now Shelby has matchmaker high beams directed straight at you.

After more studying than Adam was comfortable with, she nodded. “Thanks. I’ll keep it in mind.” She looked at her watch. “Now I believe you have a roping session.”

Thankful for her abrupt dismissal, Adam hurried down to the roping arena where a class of eight to twelve-year-olds waited for him. His offer had been nothing more than grasping at straws. He needed to get closer to Emily, and he couldn’t do that with her in town and him on the ranch. What he didn’t need, though, was the rumor mill starting about the two of them. Not that it surprised him. He knew how gossip worked in a small town. Hell, he and his brother Levi had been the starring characters for years in his hometown of Bo Ridge. Not by choice, but the townsfolk didn’t care about things like ruined lives and unfit homes. They cared about who had the juiciest bit to share.

He kicked a rock, sending it hard into a fence post. He needed to get a grip before he came face to face with the kids. They were here because they had families who cared enough to take trips. To spend time with one another. He certainly wasn’t going to leave them with anything other than happy memories, even if his own past was rubbing raw in all the places he thought he’d covered up.

Max, another ranch hand, hailed him, and he saluted him and the group of trail riders behind him. He couldn’t help but smile at their eager faces and the picture they made against a bright blue Wyoming sky.

Sky Lake might not be as bad as he’d expected, but it was still a small ranching town. Leopards didn’t change their spots. Adjusting his hat, he shoved the lingering traces of Bo Ridge and his past back in the tidy little compartment and let his mind focus on the brown-haired beauty who had laughed for a brief moment and lit up like fireworks on the Fourth of July. Adam didn’t know what he’d done to cause it, but it sure as heck would make his promise easier to keep if he could do it again.