Brenda Minton - His Little Cowgirl

He couldn’t catch his breath. He stared into a tiny heart-shaped face he’d never seen before, and yet seemed so familiar. The little girl had Bailey’s straight blond hair and rosebud mouth. His gaze stopped at her eyes. It was there that he discovered the truth.

Six years traveling, riding bulls, and it came down to this. To a child with stormy blue eyes wearing jean shorts, a T-shirt and pink cowboy boots.

He had a daughter.

“I tried to tell you.” Bailey looked away, the breeze blowing her hair around her face.

“You didn’t try very hard.”

“The day you left I told you that I loved you and that we needed to talk. You laughed and walked away because ‘cowgirls always think they’re in love.’”

Cody remembered that day. He remembered thinking if he didn’t get away, he would drown in her. At twenty-five, he’d been too afraid of love to take a chance. He’d been too afraid of failure.

Now he had a daughter.

started creating stories to entertain herself during hour-long rides on the school bus. In high school she wrote romance novels to entertain her friends. The dream grew and so did her aspirations to become an author. She started with notebooks, handwritten manuscripts and characters that refused to go away until their stories were told. Eventually she put away the pen and paper and got down to business with the computer. The journey took a few years, with some encouragement and rejection along the way—as well as a lot of stubbornness on her part. In 2006, her dream to write for Steeple Hill Love Inspired came true.

Brenda lives in the rural Ozarks with her husband, three kids, and an abundance of cats and dogs. She enjoys a chaotic life that she wouldn’t trade for anything—except, on occasion, a beach house in Texas. You can stop by and visit her (not at the beach house) at her Web site, www.brendaminton.net.

Published by Steeple Hill Books™

And ye be kind one to another, tenderhearted,

forgiving one another, even as God for Christ’s

sake hath forgiven you.

—Ephesians 4:32

This book is dedicated to:

Doug, for always supporting me in my dreams,

and to my kids for allowing me to be the

“crazy mom.” Dream big and never give up.

To all of my family and friends who have kept me

going forward when I wanted to quit.

To Janet Benrey and Melissa Endlich, for

everything they do and have done for me.

To Janet McCoy of McCoy Ranches, for taking the

time to answer my questions about bull riders and

bull riding. (Mistakes I’ve made are of course my

own.) To bull riders like Cord McCoy, who are an

inspiration and a role model to young people, and

who leave their own footprints of faith.

To the readers for reading.

To God for all of the blessings.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Questions for Discussion

Bailey stuck her hands into the hot, soapy water and began to scrub the dishes she’d put off washing until after lunch, wishing for the umpteenth time that the dishwasher still worked. Her father had helped for a few minutes, until his legs had grown weak and he’d taken himself to the living room and his favorite recliner to watch Oprah.

The throaty snore she heard through the doorway told her that he’d fallen asleep. She didn’t mind; it was sleep that he needed these days. At least when he was sleeping, he wasn’t worrying.

Oprah’s voice drifted into the kitchen, borne on the gentle breeze that blew through the house. “So tell me, Suzanne, how much did you pay for your home in Malibu?”

Bailey strained to listen. “Three million, a bargain.” Audience laughter.

Bailey shook her head and scrubbed harder. Three million for a house. What couldn’t she do with three million dollars? She looked out her window above the sink, at the farm shimmering in the late-afternoon sun. It looked as tired as her dad. A good eye could see that things were falling apart. The fences were sagging and the last windstorm had done a number on the barn roof. Not to mention her truck, which was on its last leg, and tires…. Three million dollars. That would help pay the mortgage. Well, of course, with three million dollars in the bank, there wouldn’t be a mortgage.

She was doing well if she made the mortgage payment each month. The tips she earned as a waitress put shoes on her daughter’s feet—one pair at a time—and cutting a few more cows from the herd would pay the property taxes. Life in the Ozarks was far removed from Hollywood.

A little cutting back, a lot of prayer and making it through another day with her dad still in her life. That was how it went in the real world. At least in her world.

Bailey squeezed her eyes shut. She opened them when she heard a distant rattle and the rapid-fire bark of her blue heeler. Her mind turned, wondering who it could be. She wasn’t expecting anyone, and it sounded like whoever it was, they were pulling a trailer.

She squeezed the water out of the dishrag, tossed it on the counter and walked out the back door. If she didn’t catch the dog now, the person paying them a surprise visit would have a hole in his pant’s leg and a bad attitude to go with it. Bailey was holding on to faith by a string; she didn’t need someone’s bad day to rub off on her.

A shiny, red extended-cab truck pulling an RV rumbled to a stop. Blue, her five-year-old blue heeler, stood in the middle of the yard. The yard that really needed to be mowed before it became a hayfield.

But Bailey stopped herself there and reached for the dog’s collar. She had a list of things that needed to be done. All of those things dimmed in comparison with the bigger problem she saw stepping out of the truck and into her life.

The hair on the back of Blue’s neck was standing on end. Teeth bared, the dog strained against her hold on his collar. For a brief, really brief, moment, she considered letting go.

Six years had passed since she’d seen Cody Jacobs face-to-face. Six years since she’d spent a summer working on a ranch in Wyoming. Six years since she’d tried so hard to tell him she was pregnant. Six years since she’d given up because he wouldn’t answer her phone calls.

Now he was here. Now, when there were so many other worries to work through. She looked up to see if God would send her a sign, a parting of the clouds or some other gigantic miracle. Instead she felt a soft whisper of peace. If only it hadn’t gotten tangled with dread and a good dose of anger as her day went suddenly south.

Cody walked across the lawn, looking for all the world like he belonged on her farm. He was suntanned, wore faded Wranglers, and a soft, cotton T-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders. He was smiling like he hadn’t a care in the world.

Every time she had imagined this moment, she’d thought what she’d say. She’d be strong, send him packing, show him she was in control and that he couldn’t hurt her again.

Not once had she been breathless or speechless. Not once in her imagination had she thought that she’d remember how his laughter sounded on a quiet summer night in Wyoming, or how his hand had felt on hers. She had told herself that she’d only remember him saying goodbye and how he laughed when she told him she loved him.