Cindi Myers - Her Cowboy Soldier

“Of course you were angry,” Charla said. “You wanted him with you and Chloe.”

“He never talked to me about his decision to enlist,” Amy said. “He just did it. He said he wanted to help people—the people in Afghanistan he knew when we were stationed there in the Peace Corps. But all I could think of was that he wanted to be with them more than he wanted to be with me.” She gulped at the mocha, forcing back the tears that threatened, tears of equal parts anger and grief.

“He was a hero and you loved him, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t wrong,” Charla said.

“I was wrong, too. I shouldn’t have let him leave when we were so angry at each other. I should have kept talking until we settled things between us. But we never got the chance.”

“And you can’t keep beating yourself up over that.” Charla patted her hand. “I know—easy for me to say. I’ve never been married. I don’t even have a steady boyfriend.”

“And why is that?” Amy blotted her eyes with a napkin and seized on the opportunity to shift the conversation to a less-painful topic. “Did you scare off all the men in this town?”

“It’s the curse of living in a town this small—your dating prospects are limited. It’s the one thing I really hate about this place.”

“You could always move to the city. Lots more single men there.”

“Don’t think I haven’t thought about it.” She sipped her coffee. “But I really like it here. And I have the only coffee shop in town, so it’s a sweet setup. I keep hoping Mr. Right will decide Hartland is the perfect place to start a new business or visit on vacation. Or maybe he’s tired of the rat race and wants to settle down in a wonderful little town where not much happens.”

Not much happening had been exactly the quality that had made Amy contemplate staying in Hartland, even after her grandmother didn’t need her help anymore. But she doubted she’d be happy for the long term in such quiet surroundings. She’d spent her whole life having adventures, first with her parents, then with Brent. For their honeymoon they’d gone backpacking in the Himalayas, and after Chloe was born they’d talked about taking her on a tour of Europe, or climbing all fifty-four of Colorado’s peaks over fourteen thousand feet in elevation. They’d toyed with the idea of following in her parents’ footsteps and opening their own adventure tourism company. Or maybe she’d become a travel writer and he’d be her photographer.

After so much adventure, she wasn’t ready to settle down to tame, small-town life. This was only a temporary respite, helping her grandmother and hiding from pain, gathering strength for more adventures to come. Her mother always said if you weren’t challenging yourself, you weren’t living. Life in Hartland didn’t feel very challenging.

“Other than the man situation, I really like it here,” Charla said. “We make our own excitement. Speaking of which, how was the game? Did we win?”

“The Wildcats won. Ed will probably want to put the story on the front page.”

“People think Josh is a miracle worker,” Charla said. “He’s done more for the team in his first year than any of the coaches we’ve had before.”

“He told me he’d never coached before,” Amy said. “I wonder why the district hired him.”

Charla shrugged. “I guess he’s qualified. And he’s a local and a veteran. Plus he was apparently a big baseball jock when he was in high school. Clearly, he knows the game.”

“I wonder who the other candidates for the job were?”

“If you’re that interested, I’m sure they’re listed in the school board minutes somewhere, but what does it matter? Josh is doing a good job.”

“Yeah.” An inexperienced coach with a winning record wasn’t the kind of story that was going to get the attention of a big magazine—the kind where Amy wanted to work after she left Hartland.

“How’s Bobbie?” Charla asked.

“She’s great. She’s going to graduate from the walker to a cane soon.” She wouldn’t need Amy’s help with the orchards much longer.

“The woman is amazing,” Charla said. “I hope I’m like her when I’m her age.”

Amy’s grandmother really was amazing. When Amy was a little girl, she’d believed Bobbie could do anything. She was so strong and capable and independent, the way Amy wanted to be. After Amy’s grandfather died, Bobbie carried on by herself, managing the orchard, taking care of the house and doing everything that had to be done.

Whenever Amy felt overwhelmed by everything she had to do, she thought of Bobbie and felt stronger. She didn’t have to lean on a man. She could take care of herself, and her daughter, without depending on another person. Without risking being hurt again.

CHAPTER TWO

“WHAT DID YOU do to that reporter after the game?” Zach sauntered into Josh’s classroom Tuesday afternoon and tossed a copy of the Hartland Herald on his desk. “Sounds like she’s really got it in for you.”

“Amy Marshall?” While she’d been a little confrontational at first, Josh had thought he and Amy had parted friends. Luck Leads Wildcats To Another Victory proclaimed the headline on the front page. He picked up the paper and scanned the story, anger rising. “‘Coach Scofield noted that this game was meaningless, since the team has already been eliminated from the play-offs,’” he read. “That’s not what I said.”

“Did you get to the part where she points out that you’ve never coached before and much of your initial success has been due to luck?” Zach asked.

“How does she get away with saying something like that?”

“Is she an old girlfriend you dumped or something?” Zach asked.

“No. She just moved to town. Her grandmother is Bobbie Anderson. She has the orchard next to my folks’ place.”

“You obviously didn’t make a very good impression on her. Or maybe she doesn’t like baseball.”

Though Amy had struck Josh as a little reserved, he hadn’t sensed any outright hostility against him. Their conversation in the parking lot after the game had been friendly enough. He’d always thought of himself as a good judge of people, but clearly he’d been all wrong about Amy. “We’ll see about that,” he said.

“What are you going to do?” Zach asked.

“I’m going to talk to her. She owes me an apology.” He tapped the paper. “And a retraction.”

“Careful there,” Josh said. “Make a woman like that mad and no telling what she’ll find to print about you.”

He didn’t care what Amy Marshall had to say about him, as long as it was the truth, not half lies designed to stir up controversy. It was bad enough that Rick Southerland pointed out his shortcomings whenever possible. Knowing someone else—a reporter—agreed with critics like Rick stung. “I can’t let her get away with saying things like that about me,” he said. “I’m the new guy in this job. I constantly have to prove myself.”

“If you say so. But you might be better off just letting this die down on its own.”

Josh wished he could believe the idea that he’d gotten where he was through luck and favoritism would die down, but people like Rick would see that it didn’t. And there was always the chance that more people would join him in siding against Josh in every argument,

As soon as the last bell rang for the day, he drove to the produce stand. If Amy wasn’t there, Bobbie could tell him where to find her. But as he pulled his truck into a space near the front of the stand, he spotted Amy bent over a display of tomatoes. Her long brown hair fell across one cheek and she tucked it behind one ear with slender fingers, revealing a shy smile. The unexpected beauty and innocence of the moment made Josh’s heart thud hard. He took a deep breath, and steeled himself against the rush of emotion. Amy wasn’t his friend. She’d stabbed him in the back and all but ridiculed him in public. He couldn’t let his guard down around her.