The Cowboy Takes A Wife. Trish Milburn
Copyright
Devon Newberry placed the skein of bright orange yarn and a dozen vanilla-scented candles in the paper bag and handed it across the counter to Merline Teague.
“Thanks so much,” Devon said as she smiled at the older woman, the mom of local sheriff Simon Teague and his two brothers.
“No, thank you, dear. Your candles keep the gallery smelling wonderful.”
“I’m glad. I need to get by there soon. I haven’t been in a while.”
“Oh, you should come by next week. We’re having an opening for a new exhibit of art created by students at the high school. I’m just in awe of the talent they have.”
“That sounds wonderful. I’ll try to find some time to see it.”
“Speaking of, I better run. I still have a lot of work to do to prepare. Thanks again,” Merline said as she lifted her bag and headed toward the door of Devon’s shop, A Good Yarn.
Devon sank onto the stool behind the cash register, grateful to get off her feet for a moment. The shop had been busy all afternoon, which was wonderful but also tiring. And she still had to prep the daily deposit and attend a meeting at the Blue Falls Tourist Bureau about the new Arts and Crafts Trail. But she wasn’t going to complain about having a rush of customers, not when the fear of being an abject failure was as fresh now as it’d been when she’d opened her shop on Blue Falls’ Main Street. Not when her mother’s assertion that she was making a stupid mistake still echoed in her mind if she let it.
No, she was beyond thankful that the turning of the seasons to autumn put people in the mood to buy knitting supplies, hand-dipped candles and the various other homey touches Devon offered, even though the temperatures were still in the upper eighties during the day.
She let her gaze drift over the variety of displays she’d taken great care to create in order to best showcase both the products she made herself and those she chose from other sources. A well of pride rose within her. She was closing in on the two-year anniversary for A Good Yarn and felt like celebrating. She needed to plan a special event to bring loads of people into the shop that day.
She glanced at the clock on the wall, surprised by how late it was. Planning for her own event would have to wait until after the meeting about the one already in the works. As she stood, she thought maybe it could even wait until tomorrow. After the Arts and Crafts Trail meeting, she just might have a date with a luxurious bath and a good book.
She was in the midst of completing the day’s tally and mentally picking out what book she wanted to read during her bath when her cell phone rang. When she saw the display, her good mood evaporated. And then she felt guilty about her immediate reaction. She shouldn’t feel dread when faced with having to talk to her mother. But then, most people probably didn’t anticipate disapproval every time they talked to their moms, either.
Not wanting to be late for the meeting, she ignored the call and let it go to voice mail. With the bank deposit in hand, she blew out the pumpkin-spice candle and headed out the door, locking it behind her.
After a quick zip to the bank to make the deposit, she walked down the street to the Tourist Bureau office. The parking lot was full of vehicles, and several people were still making their way inside. Looked like a nice turnout, which was good since the self-guided trail that was to lead tourists from one artist’s or craftsperson’s gallery or shop to the next throughout the county was set to launch in mid-October, just in time for holiday shoppers. From the moment Gina Tolbert, executive director of the Tourist Bureau, had floated the idea to Devon, she’d known she wanted A Good Yarn to be a part of the trail. She was all for anything that brought attention to local artists and people who created products through sustainable means.
She said hello to Ella Garcia and her fiancé, Austin Bryant, as she made her way into the crowded entryway. As she scooted past a knot of people who’d paused to chat, she bumped into someone.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said as she turned to see whom she’d nearly bowled over. And had to look up, right into the bright blue eyes of Cole Davis.
She swallowed as her brain chose that moment to forget its job.
“Are you okay?”
Huh? Did he say something? Oh good grief, you’re acting like an idiot, like an awkward teenager with a crush on the high school quarterback. Yes, she’d been that awkward teen, but Cole hadn’t been the quarterback. No, he’d been the star of the school’s rodeo team, and then he’d ridden his way onto the pro circuit.
“Uh, yeah,” she said, her brain finally remembering she was supposed to say something. “Fine.” She glanced around the room, pretending that she wasn’t flustered. “Crowded in here.”
“Devon, honey, good to see you.” Barbara Davis stepped up beside her son, all smiles as usual. She looked like the perfect grandmother, only without the grandchildren.
“You, too.”
Barbara motioned toward a row of chairs about halfway back the meeting room. “I found us some seats.”
Devon saw that there were three empty chairs midway down the row and realized Barbara meant for Devon to join them. Since she couldn’t come up with a polite way to refuse, she headed for the designated spot, intending to take the farthest chair so she’d have Barbara between her and Cole. Her plan was foiled a moment after Devon stepped past the first people in the row to reach her seat.
“You go next, Cole,” Barbara said. “If you sit in the other chair, poor Ella won’t be able to see anything but your back.”
Devon looked at the row behind her and noticed that Ella and Austin had indeed found seats there. Too late to make a change now without looking like a flake. Oh well, she’d just concentrate on what Gina had to say and start brainstorming ideas for her anniversary celebration.
But when Cole sank onto the chair next to her a few seconds later, she realized that if she left this meeting knowing one word Gina or anyone else said, it would be a miracle worthy of the name.
Never had she found concentrating so difficult. She focused all her attention on Gina and the report of how many participants were signed up to take part in the trail—currently fifteen—but then Cole shifted beside her. He rubbed his large, tanned, powerful-looking hand down his jean-clad thigh, and she could swear she gulped loud enough to be heard in Oklahoma.
That thigh had gripped the side of countless mean bulls during his years on the pro rodeo circuit. She remembered happening upon a competition on TV once. She’d nearly brought blood to her lip from biting it as he rode. When he’d been tossed through the air as if he weighed no more than a gnat and slammed into the dirt of the arena, she’d actually cried out, startling her cat so much that Honeysuckle had fled into the next room.
Devon dragged her attention back to what Gina was saying, something about how the trail was going to be laid out. Doing her best to ignore the man beside her, Devon made a point of taking notes on a small notepad. But she would swear she could feel Cole’s body heat. Or was that her own body temperature going whacko? It was as if he was giving off a megadose of pheromones. And for a guy who worked on a ranch, around cows and horses, he sure did smell good. Like he’d just stepped out from a shower and dried off with a fresh towel straight from the dryer.
She mentally rolled her eyes. Honestly, it wasn’t as if she never saw the man. Granted, that was usually from a safe distance.
She dragged her thoughts back to the presentation again, raising her hand when Gina asked who all was willing to do a prize giveaway on the inaugural trail weekend. Out of the corner of her eye, Devon noticed Barbara raise her hand, as well. Whoever won one of Barbara’s handmade quilts would be one lucky duck. The woman was very skilled with needle and