The Cowboy Upstairs

Although Sawyer would never see it, her own bedroom was a frilly, silky haven complete with scented candles and ornamental pillows too small to have any practical purpose. Becca prided herself on being sensible and getting things done; she wielded coupons with genius, killed bugs and occasional rodents and could single-handedly fix a lot of the plumbing problems that came with home ownership. But after growing up in a grungy trailer with three brothers—and later, two sisters who wore their brothers’ hand-me-downs—she couldn’t resist surrounding herself with soft, girlie indulgences.

The staircase felt uncharacteristically cramped with Sawyer on the steps behind her, as if he was closer than decency permitted. She suddenly wished she was wearing a loose T-shirt that hung down past her butt instead of a tucked-in polo shirt. Don’t be ridiculous. There’s nothing wrong with your butt, and you don’t care about his opinion of it, anyway. Although...turnabout being fair play, it would make them even if he noticed her body. She’d certainly ogled his earlier today.

“The master bedroom, guest room and Marc’s room are all on this floor,” she said, as they reached the landing. “The attic is one more flight up.”

The extra trip involved a narrow spiral staircase with an iron railing.

A quarter of the way up, Sawyer huffed out an exaggerated breath. “Good thing I’m in shape. But just in case, do you know CPR?”

Of course she did. She’d taken half a dozen first-aid and emergency preparedness classes when she’d been pregnant. But she said nothing, refusing to encourage any jokes about her mouth on Sawyer’s—which didn’t stop the forbidden image from flashing through her mind. The man might be cocky and unapologetically brash, but he’d demonstrated moments of thoughtfulness this evening, too. The right combination of confidence and attentiveness could make for a devastating kiss. Her toes curled inside her sneakers.

Get a grip, Rebecca.

She had no business thinking about kissing her tenant. Or anyone else, until the centennial celebration was over. She was the chairwoman of the centennial committee, and a flawless series of public events would help her win this election. Stick to the plan.

While she was at it, she needed to stick to an impersonal, informative tour—more letting him know where the clean towels were, less imagining where his hands would be if he were kissing her. “Coming up from the outside will be a lot easier than this. The house was built into a little bit of a hill, so the staircase is short. Not to mention, using the private entrance will be less disruptive to me and Marc if you keep late hours.”

Would he be staying out late? He was a good-looking single man in a town with two bars and a popular dance hall. Opportunities abounded. Her stomach clenched. What if he wasn’t alone when he came back to his room at night?

She bit the inside of her lip, conflicted. She didn’t really have the right to insist he be celibate while he was in Cupid’s Bow...but she was responsible for the impressionable child sleeping one floor below.

The attic door wasn’t a standard size; they both needed to duck slightly to go through it. Inside the room, the ceiling was comprised of crazy, irregular angles, but nothing that Sawyer would bang his head on.

“Cozy,” he said, looking around. “I meant that in a good way, promise.”

To their left was a queen-size bed covered in a quilt she’d won in an auction at the Cupid’s Bow Watermelon Festival; to the right was a small sitting area with two antique chairs, a bookshelf and a modest-sized, flat-screen TV. He would also have his own microwave and mini fridge. The windows were tiny, reminiscent of the portholes on a ship. When she’d had Zeke install the back door, she’d also asked him to include sidelights for a little more sunshine.

“See? No pink,” she told him. The general decorating theme up here was “furniture I didn’t need anywhere else in the house” but she’d tried to tie everything together with navy and cream. “Bathroom’s around the corner. Everything you need should be in the linen closet, but let me know if I overlooked anything.”

He poked his head through the doorway and laughed. “I haven’t seen a tub like that since Granny’s house.”

“And where did Granny live? Brody talked about how long he’d known you, but didn’t mention where you’re from.”

“Most of my family is west of here, toward the Hill Country. We have a... My father and brother run a spread in Kerr County.”

“Are you close to them?”

He rocked back on his heels, thumbs in his belt loops. “Let’s just say, I thought it would be better to strike out on my own.”

“I can relate to that,” she said softly, more to herself than him. Her earliest memories were of her trucker father kissing her goodbye and telling her to take care of “Mama and the baby” while he was gone. Her younger brother Everett hadn’t even been a year old when their mother got pregnant with the twins. That had been a complicated pregnancy, with a lot of doctor-mandated bed rest, and Odette Baker had never really been the same afterward. By the time Becca was ten and the first of her sisters was born, she was actively fantasizing about the day she could move away.

“You’re not from Cupid’s Bow?” Sawyer asked. “With you running for mayor and talking like you know everybody in town, I figured you were born here.”

“Nope. I grew up a little over an hour away.” Cupid’s Bow was separated from her hometown by eighty minutes...and a world of experience. Back home, all she’d ever wanted was to escape. From the minute Colin had brought her to Cupid’s Bow, all she’d wanted was to belong. She loved it here. She loved the people and the open spaces. She loved that she could see an unending blue horizon unimpeded by skyscrapers, and brilliant stars not strangled by city lights or air pollution. “Cupid’s Bow is the perfect size for me. The population’s under four thousand, so it has small-town charm, but it’s not so small that the only businesses are eponymous.”

He raised an eyebrow. “E-pony-what-now?”

“Self-named. In the town I grew up in, there was one restaurant—Ed’s Diner. Never mind that it sucked. And the only place to get your hair cut was Shirl’s. Owned and operated by—”

“Let me guess—Shirl?”

She nodded. “There’s healthy market competition here in Cupid’s Bow, but we haven’t been overrun by generic franchises. It’s the perfect balance.”

“And you want to become mayor so you can maintain that balance?”

“Well, that...and I like telling people what to do.”

He laughed. “I feel sorry for the poor slob running against you.”

“That would be the incumbent,” she said, her mood darkening as she remembered Sierra’s text from earlier. Last election, Mayor Lamar Truitt had run unopposed. Displeased that Becca had the nerve to challenge him, he was constantly looking for chances at passive-aggressive sabotage. “Which reminds me, I have some phone calls to make. I should let you settle in.” She reached in her pocket for the key to the attic entrance, but hesitated. “I’ll have breakfast on the table at 6:00 a.m. I know that’s early, but I have to get Marc to school.”

“Actually, I’ll already be gone by then. Brody and I plan to get in some sunrise fishing before heading to look at livestock. He’s thinking about expanding his herd.”

She wasn’t so much interested in his plans tomorrow as she was in making a necessary point. “While you’re here, Mr. McCall—”

“Sawyer.” He gave her a chiding smile. “I insist.”

“While you’re here, it’s best if you come down to breakfast alone.”

His smile faded to a perplexed expression. “I just told you, I won’t be here for breakfast.”

“I don’t mean tomorrow, I mean in general. It would be better if you don’t bring any...guests to breakfast.”

Comprehension lit those gold-green eyes. After a moment, he smiled. “I see. Rest assured, I will only show up at the breakfast table as a party of one.”

Relieved to have that settled, she wished him a good night and turned toward the door.

She was on the staircase when he called from behind her, “No need to bring guests down for food, anyway. I can just keep the fridge stocked and serve breakfast in bed.”

Chapter Four

It was still dark outside when Brody called to say he was turning onto Becca’s street, but, judging by the enthusiastic dawn chorus of birds outside Sawyer’s room, sunrise was coming. He went down the flight of stairs behind the house and had just reached the bottom when a pair of headlights shone across the driveway. He swung open the passenger door of Brody’s pickup, greeted by the welcome smell of coffee.

“You survived the night,” Brody observed.

Sawyer climbed into the cab. “Sorry to disappoint you—I know you want my truck if Becca decides to spike my food with hemlock. Give her time. I don’t generally drive people to homicidal rages until they’ve known me at least twelve hours. I hear you were completely unhelpful as a character reference, by the way.”

“You wanted me to lie to her? Cupid’s Bow is my home.” Brody sipped from a travel mug, handing a second one to Sawyer. “After you get on her nerves and she runs you out of town—or buries you in the city park—I still have to face her.”

“Don’t want to run afoul of the new mayor, huh?”

“It’ll be interesting to see who wins the election. Truitt’s sort of...blandly competent. Not someone who inspires devotion, but his cronies have a fair amount of combined influence in town. Becca could be great, if anyone bothers to vote for her. She’s outspoken—”

“Gee, I hadn’t noticed.”

“—and may have stepped on a few toes during her time on the town council. Half the town is afraid of her, and Jazz and I haven’t decided if that’s going to work for or against her. Maybe people will be too scared not to vote for her.”

Sawyer chuckled. “Well, she doesn’t scare me.” Rather, she intrigued him, her steel-spined demeanor a seeming contradiction to the house she’d decorated with soft, frilly things. And she amused him, with her unexpected playful side, as well as impressing him with how much she clearly loved her kid. Sawyer had a lot of respect for mothers; the only person in his family he tried to maintain a relationship with was his mom.

“Wait a minute.” Brody peered at him in the dim light of the glowing dashboard. “You like her, don’t you? I thought the two of you would drive each other crazy.”

Because she was admittedly bossy and he had a habit of provoking people—especially when it brought fire to a pair of unforgettable blue eyes? “Like I said, give it time.”

* * *

“...AND YOU JUST know the bastard did this on purpose,” Sierra concluded, pacing the length of Becca’s living room as she ranted.

Seated on the sofa with her legs tucked beneath her, Hadley Lanier nodded, her dark ponytail swishing. Her summary of the situation was the same as Sierra’s, but with significantly less cursing. “This is another lame attempt to sabotage you.”

Originally, Becca had invited the two women over for a girls’ night, since Marc was spending his Friday evening at dinner and a movie with the Whittmeyers. But plans for lighthearted conversation over sangria had become an impromptu strategy session now that Mayor Truitt had abruptly cut the budget for the upcoming centennial celebration.

“Emergency reallocation of funds, my ass,” Sierra said, snagging her wineglass as she passed by the coffee table on her next lap. “Everyone associates you with the celebration, which means you could lose the election if people are disappointed enough with the festivities. He’s manufacturing obstacles just to make you look bad.”

“Let him try,” Becca said calmly. The idiot had been trying to steer public opinion about her ever since January, when the paperwork had come in with enough signatures to officially qualify her as a candidate. At the Valentine’s Day celebration—which she’d chaired—he’d been careful to praise the job she’d done, while vocally “worrying” that the town’s needs were cutting into her family time with Marc. In an April interview with the Cupid’s Bow Clarion, Mayor Truitt expressed his gratitude for the support of his wife and grown children, subtly undermining Becca by saying he couldn’t imagine how difficult the job would be for a single parent.

In response, Becca had reminded everyone that Sheriff Cole Trent, the best sheriff in three generations, did his job successfully while raising two daughters alone. Of course, his circumstances had recently changed, now that he’d met and married Kate Sullivan, but Becca’s point had been made.

“You’re taking this remarkably well,” Hadley said, her tone admiring. “I was so mad that on the drive over here, I was imagining far-fetched schemes to have Truitt disgraced. One of them involved costumes and code words and his ending up in a South American prison.”

Becca shook her head at the younger woman. She’d wanted the librarian on her campaign because Hadley was bright and creative, but sometimes her imagination went to weird places. “We don’t need elaborate schemes—”

“Code names could be fun,” Sierra said.

“—when we have talent and skill,” Becca finished. “Truitt is shortsighted. He can create unnecessary obstacles, but I’ll look twice as good to voters when I overcome all of them.”

Sierra tapped her index finger against her chin. “Only if the general populace knows about the behind-the-scenes obstacles. If you talk about problems that crop up, you risk sounding whiny. But the rest of us can strategically spread the word. Manuel and I make all kinds of small talk with our patients while trying to distract them from the pain of their workouts. And Kate’s grandmother Joan can casually mention your committee progress at her quilting club and weekly senior-center poker games.”

Becca nodded, although she temporarily lost her train of thought when she heard a vehicle engine outside.

Hadley cocked her head, her expression shrewd. “Everything okay? That’s the third time tonight you’ve tensed when a car passed by.”

“It is?” Damn. Becca had impressed her friends by being unfazed by Mayor Truitt’s shenanigans, yet she was as high-strung as a horse during a thunderstorm when it came to the idea of her new tenant returning.

True to his word, Sawyer had been gone when she got up this morning. She had no idea when to expect him back—or if she’d even encounter him, given his private access to the attic. The big problem was that she hadn’t informed the other two women of his presence. Earlier, she’d almost told them that she’d rented the room, but realized they’d ask to whom. She’d balked at admitting it was Hadley’s “hot cowboy in the tight jeans.”

Better get it over with it. This was Cupid’s Bow. She was lucky they hadn’t heard about Sawyer already.

Sierra laughed. “She’s probably just listening for Marc to come home and you’ve found some way to turn it into a mystery.”

“Actually, I was listening for my new tenant.” Becca stood, giving the explanation casually as she carried their empty snack tray toward the kitchen. “I finally rented out that attic apartment. I told him he was welcome to use my kitchen for dinner, but I’m not sure when—or if—he’ll be in tonight.”

Both women were right on her heels as she refilled the platter with cheese, crackers and grapes.

“He?” Sierra asked. “Somehow I always imagined you with a female roommate.”

Me and you both, sister. “Maybe I’ll rent to a woman next. He won’t be here long.” Just a few weeks...although if she stayed this antsy the entire time, it was going to feel like a lot more.

“Who is he?” Hadley asked.

“A friend of Brody Davenport’s. He’s going to help with the centennial trail ride, and in the meantime he’s writing some travel articles about—”

“Whoa!” Hadley’s dark eyes were huge. “You don’t mean the guy who was with Brody yesterday at The Smoky Pig?”

“Um, yeah.” Becca cleared her throat. “That’s him. Sawyer.”

“I can’t believe your luck!” Hadley said.

Frowning, Sierra leaned on the kitchen counter. “I’m not sure if this is good luck.”

“Are you kidding me?” Hadley demanded. “She’s got the hottest cowboy since your man living under her roof.”

Sierra smiled faintly at the reference to her boyfriend, Jarrett, but her tone remained wary. “You guys know I love my adopted hometown.” She’d moved to Cupid’s Bow from Dallas almost a year ago. “But people here can be a little...old-fashioned in their thinking. The worst of them question whether a woman can do the job of mayor—which, hell, yes—and even the well-meaning worry about her juggling the demands with being a single mom. How is it going to look that said single mom is shacking up with—”

“Hey!” Becca objected.

Sierra waved her hand in an impatient gesture. “I’m not implying a damn thing. But you know how gossip flows in this town.”

Faster than champagne at an open-bar wedding.

“Well, then you should introduce him to me,” Hadley suggested with a cheeky grin. “If he and I are dating, it removes you from any speculation.”

Sierra snorted. “Way to take one for the team.”

“Okay, I’m not subtle,” Hadley admitted, “but we don’t all have gorgeous ranchers in our lives.”

Sierra grinned. “Jarrett is gorgeous. And sweet. And more sensitive than he wants anyone to know.” Her expression glowed. Witnesses would be able to tell from twenty paces that she was in love.

Had Becca looked like that in the early years of her marriage? When she was the happiest she’d ever been and fully expected that happiness to last the rest of her life? She drained her glass, trying not to feel bitter as she listened to Sierra joke about Jarrett’s latest attempts to get her to try camping.

“He knows I’m not outdoorsy,” Sierra was saying, “but the idea of cuddling in a sleeping bag with him does have merit.”

“Aren’t you going on the centennial trail ride?” Hadley asked.

“Nope. I’m all for celebrating the town’s big anniversary, but I’m not a native. I’ll celebrate from indoors with cake. And air-conditioning.” She checked her watch. “Speaking of Jarrett... I told him I might be home early enough for us to watch a movie.”

“A movie, huh?” Hadley smirked. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

“Smart-ass.” Sierra lightly shoved the other woman’s shoulder. “How would I know what the kids are calling it? I’m older than you are.”

As the only woman over thirty in the room, Becca rolled her eyes. “Neither of you are allowed to use the word old.”

“You’re not much older than we are, but you’re definitely wiser,” Sierra said. “One of many reasons why you’ll make a great mayor. Do you want to work on revamping the celebration budget? I can text Jarrett that I’ll be late.”

“Thanks, but no. You go home to your rancher, and let me crunch the numbers.” The funny thing about Truitt trying to rattle her with a reduced budget was that nothing he threw at her could be as big a shock as her husband leaving and Becca suddenly finding herself the head of a single-income family. Before that were the years she’d tried to cobble together a grocery budget for a large family out of spare change from the sofa cushions and her brother’s lawn-mowing money. Making do with less was her entire wheelhouse. “I’ll call you guys this week after I’ve done some math.”

Hadley grimaced. “Not to be an English-major cliché, but count me out. Slogans and speeches, I’ve got your back. Math? You’re on your own, madam mayor.”

As Sierra, who had a head for numbers, heckled the brunette about passing up an opportunity to improve her skills, they gathered up their purses and put on their previously discarded shoes. Then they said good-night, leaving Becca in the suddenly still house. She stayed so busy with Marc and her community activities that the peace and quiet was almost startling.

And then the phone rang.

My fault for not appreciating the silence while I had it. She picked up the cordless phone from the kitchen counter. “Hello.”

“Rebecca?”

Becca flinched. “Mother?” Had something happened to one of her brothers or sisters? It was difficult to imagine anything short of an emergency prompting Odette to call. Becca could count on her fingers the number of times they’d spoken since she left home. Her dad’s funeral, her sister’s wedding...the wheedling phone calls when Odette realized her late brother-in-law had left Becca all his money. When Becca had been pregnant with Marc, she’d reached out to her mother, but Odette had refused to take her calls, still holding a bitter grudge because her oldest child had eloped. “What’s wrong?”

Her mother sniffed. “Does something have to be wrong for me to miss my firstborn?”

Concern for her siblings dissipated, suspicion filling the vacancy. Her mother had alternately relied on her and resented her over the years, but they’d never been close. “The last time you ‘missed’ me, it was because you’d run through the bulk of Daddy’s life insurance settlement and wanted money.”

“Rebecca Ruth, I did not raise you to be disrespectful. And taking care of children is not cheap.”

What children? Everett drove 18-wheelers now, earning a living the same way their father had, Courtney was married in Oklahoma and Becca’s twin brothers, Sean and Shane, ran their own auto body repair and paint shop. Only eighteen-year-old Molly still lived at home. There were moments Becca suffered pangs of guilt for not maintaining a relationship with her little sister, but the age gap between them didn’t leave them with much in common.

Is that the real reason you haven’t made more of an effort? Or are you just selfishly reveling in your freedom? Becca had given so much of herself to her siblings for so long that her relationship with her family had felt parasitic by the time she left home. Was it selfish to distance herself from them, or simply an act of self-preservation?

Even these few moments on the phone with her mother were draining her. She sagged into a kitchen chair. “You’re not much older than we are,” Sierra had said. But sometimes Becca felt ancient. Being forced into a caretaker role at four years old aged a woman before her time.

“I’ve had a long day,” Becca said. “How about we get straight to the reason you called?” She spared a glance at the digital clock above the stainless steel stove. Would she have enough time to squeeze in a bubble bath before the Whittmeyers brought Marc home? But then her mind strayed to Sawyer and when he might return. The idea of being naked except for a layer of scented bubbles with the cowboy in the house made her feel oddly vulnerable. That’s ridiculous. Are you planning not to bathe or change clothes while he’s staying here? Still...

“It’s about your sister,” Odette said with an aggrieved sigh. “Molly’s been out of high school since January, and all she’s managed to do is get fired from three jobs and date two inappropriate men. The one who just dumped her is almost forty! Bet she’ll go running back to him if he calls. She did last time.”

Becca’s stomach clenched, regret burning like an ulcer. Molly had always had good grades, nearly as good as Beccca’s had been, and she’d earned enough credits to graduate a semester early. Maybe if we’d kept in better touch, I could have helped her develop some ambition for college. Or for anything. Knowing Odette, Becca guessed she’d been leaning on her youngest as live-in help, so why would she foster Molly’s desire to leave?

It sounded as if mother and teen weren’t getting along. On the one hand, discord between them might finally motivate Molly to seek greener pastures. But Becca wanted to see her sister in community college or IT courses or dental hygienist school—something productive—not shacked up with a man twice her age because she didn’t have the income to live on her own.

“She’s impossible,” Odette complained. “I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do with her.”

Parent her. But there was no point in saying that. For all that Odette had given birth to six of them, she’d never been overly invested in raising children. In fact, Becca was almost surprised her mother even cared enough to seek guidance over Molly’s behavior. “Have you talked to Courtney to get her input?” Becca’s second-youngest sibling knew Molly a lot better than she did.