Grumpy Cowboy (Single Dad Collection)

I’m thrilled to death that she’s found something she loves this much at such a young age, and if I’m a smart man—which I like to think I am—I’ll do everything I can to foster it.

I sway and weave my way through the crowd, making my way over to them, and I get within ten blessed feet when a hand presses into my chest, stopping me cold.

Now, I know at least a dozen cowboys and cowgirls I wouldn’t mind seeing here, but wouldn’t you know, it’s the one and only one I’d do anything to avoid.

“Rhett Jameson,” Anna says, a coy lilt to her voice. “At an actual rodeo, in the flesh. I ’bout near thought I’d die before I saw the day you came back here.”

There are a million things I could say and just as many comebacks I could make, but the truth is, none of them seem to matter at all anymore.

For my purposes, the less I deal with Anna Morrow, the better, but I’m not going to waste any more energy on my anger either.

I feel like I can finally let it all go. I don’t want her to come around. She made her choice—a fucking dumb choice—but Joey is better off without her anyway. It’s a shame Anna’s missing out on our daughter, but that’s her choice, not mine.

“Hi, Anna.”

“Hi, Anna?” she taunts back. “Is that really all you have to say to me?”

I consider it briefly, and then I shrug. “You know what…yeah, it is.”

For the first time ever in all the years she’s been toying with me, concern flashes across her face, and I swear, it pains me to admit it, but Chase Walker was damn right. All Anna’s ever wanted is the attention—even if it came with a raging pot of anger—from me.

“I hope you have a good life, Anna. I really do. Because I’ve got one I never could have ever dreamed of. And you and me—all this drama—it’s done.”

With a smile and a wave, I step around the woman who, for years, plagued my thoughts with all the could-have-beens she never made, and I walk toward the two who make everything in the future look bright.

Joey and I…we’re doing just fine, have been for years.

And now, with Leah in our lives, I can say with confidence that we’re not doing just fine anymore.

We’re doing great.

August 10th, Tuesday

Leah

Arms filled with two bags of groceries, I walk out of the small mom-and-pop grocery store in Kanab and head toward the truck. Tonight, I promised Rhett I’d make him my famous fettuccine alfredo. And in return, he promised me a quiet night with just the two of us. He also promised that he’d bring the dessert.

Though, he didn’t refer to chocolate cake or ice cream or pie.

His exact words were, “You make dinner, darlin’, and my tongue will make sure that sweet pussy of yours gets one hell of a dessert.”

That cowboy of mine might be a true gentleman at heart, but damn, he’s got a talent for dirty talk.

Needless to say, I had no qualms with running into town this afternoon to get everything I needed to make homemade pasta.

As I close the distance to the truck, I feel a vibration against my side, and I stop in the middle of the parking lot, glancing around the mostly empty space.

When I feel that same sensation a second and a third time, it dawns on me—my phone.

I almost laugh at the absurdity.

Quickly, I juggle my bags into one arm and pull my cell out of my purse and look at the screen to see Incoming Call Frank Kaminsky.

Shoot. My freaking boss is calling me!

The boss that, for the last few weeks, I’ve pretty much forgotten all about.

Hell, the last time I talked to him was right after Tex had his heart attack.

I fumble with the phone in my hands until I can steady it enough to hit accept.

“Hello?”

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Frank’s voice fills my ear. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for two days now.”

“Sorry about that.” I grimace and hold the phone to my ear with my shoulder. “Cell service on the ranch isn’t—”

“I’m just messin’ with you, Leah,” he says. “I know that bastard Tex is too cheap to get a good cell connection out there. But I also know he prefers it that way. The man has never been much for modernizing shit. Speaking of the old bastard, how’s he doing?”

“He’s actually doing really well,” I answer and finish the short walk to the truck.

“I take it you’ve been keeping an eye on him since the heart attack?”

“Yep,” I answer. “Doing my best to keep these Jameson men healthy.”

“Jameson men are a special kind of breed of stubborn.”

I laugh. “That they are.”

“And how’s your actual patient doing?”

“Uh…really good, actually. Brace is off and he’s full-weight bearing. Pretty much back to all of his normal cowboy, rancher activities. It’s safe to say his leg has made a full and healthy recovery.”