Cowboy in the Making. Julie Benson
ac0-5d37-bc25-1a78ee945fbd">
Emma decided she was done fighting what she felt for Jamie.
She was tired of being strong, focused and directed all the time. More important, she was tired of being alone.
Not that she thought she’d found her soul mate or anything crazy like that. She believed the soul mate thing was as real as Big Foot—but Jamie made her laugh, something she hadn’t done enough of since her mother got sick, and for right now, that was enough. No harm, no foul. And he’d been such a rock for her when she found out about Andrew. It would have been so easy to fall apart, and she probably would have if it hadn’t been for Jamie.
He got out of Mick’s battered Chevy truck, looking way too good for this early in the morning, wearing one of the shirts he’d bought when they’d gone shopping. As it happened, it was her favorite, the tan-and-brown plaid, which matched his coffee-colored eyes.
Before when he was dressed in khakis and a polo shirt he looked … She searched for the right word. Restrained. Reserved. Almost as if he were apart from everyone and everything around him here. Now a relaxed air surrounded him. He appeared at ease. Almost as if she was seeing the inner man for the first time. He looked as though he’d been here his entire life. As though he belonged.
She nodded toward his feet. “Good-looking boots.”
“Do I pass muster?”
Talk about a stupid question. “You’ll do.”
Cowboy in the Making
Julie Benson
An avid daydreamer since childhood, JULIE BENSON always loved creating stories. After graduating from the University of Texas at Dallas with a degree in sociology, she worked as case manager before having her children: three boys. Many years later she started pursuing a writing career to challenge her mind and save her sanity. Now she writes full-time in Dallas, where she lives with her husband, their sons, two lovable black dogs, two guinea pigs, a turtle and a fish. When she finds a little quiet time, which isn’t often, she enjoys making jewelry and reading a good book.
For Jennifer Jacobson
Without your support, encouragement and musical expertise this book never would have been written. You are such a shining example of God’s love here on earth, and I’m so blessed to have you in my life.
And thanks to the Starbucks crew at Custer and Renner in Richardson, especially Jason, Angel, Susan, Christine, Ashley (both of them!), Derek and Nate for keeping me caffeinated while I wrote this one. You’re the best!
Contents
“I heard the bad news about the Philharmonic letting you go. How’re you doing?”
James Westland’s hand tightened around his cell phone as he tried to shove aside his growing irritation at his friend Connor’s comment. What he wouldn’t give for a call from a charity asking for a donation or a wrong number. He’d even be thrilled with an obscene call. Anything but a call from another friend or relative asking how he was holding up.
How the hell did everyone expect him to be when his career was becoming a distant spec in his rearview mirror? Of course he was pissed. At first he’d tried drowning his anger in a bottle of Jameson, but all that did was leave him with a bad hangover. Now he’d reached the not-sure-what-the-hell-to-do stage.
“I’m fine. I’m assessing my options.” He almost laughed. Right. You’ve got so many of those to choose from.
Unlike his siblings, Jamie had never excelled in school. He’d studied twice as hard to earn low B’s and C’s. For their paltry efforts, his sisters had scored straight A’s. One now possessed an MBA and the other a degree in engineering. Education that offered them more options, while he’d put all his career eggs into the music basket, leaving him little to fall back on now.
“My sister teaches at a private school in Manhattan,” Connor said. “I could see if she knows of anyone who’s looking for a music teacher.”
“Sure,” he said mainly out of ingrained politeness and because he couldn’t afford to rule out any ideas at this point.
How could a simple Sunday morning bike ride have ended up turning his life upside down? He still had trouble letting go of the what-ifs.
What if I’d slept in? What if the guy in the parked car had been as concerned about the world around him as his coffee? Would he have opened the door and knocked me to the ground? What if I hadn’t tried to break my fall? Would I have hurt my hand so bad?
“I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t play the cello anymore,” Connor said, breaking through Jamie’s thoughts.
There it was. The barely veiled invitation to spill his guts and say how angry he was or how he was falling apart. If anyone else hinted he was concerned he’d do something stupid like jump off the Brooklyn Bridge, he might throw his phone off said bridge.
His left hand cramped and he switched