Jane Porter - My Cowboy Valentine

“I had some business in Mineral Wells today,” he said, “and since I got to town early, I thought I’d stop by and wish Sally happy birthday and see how you two were doing.” He glanced around the bare living room. “Is Sally even here?”

“No.”

The corners of his mouth curved. “Is she out with the girls or having her hair done?”

Rachel felt sick. She wanted to throw up. This was awful. Everything about this was awful. “Cade, Grandma died two and a half years ago.”

“What?”

She nodded miserably. “Cancer.”

He sat back heavily and set the flowers aside, placing them on the cushion next to him. “Cancer? When...how?”

She laced and unlaced her fingers, her eyes gritty, her throat aching with suppressed emotion. “Lung cancer—”

“She didn’t smoke.”

“I guess you don’t need to smoke to get it.” Rachel blinked hard, struggled to smile, but failed. “We thought she had a cold that just wouldn’t go away. Bronchitis. By the time she finally went to see a doctor, there was nothing anyone could do. We found out early June it was cancer, and by July 5 she was gone.”

“Aw, shit.” Cade’s deep, rough voice broke. His head dropped, and he covered his eyes with one hand.

For several minutes neither said anything, and the room was silent. Rachel squeezed her hands together and fought to hold back her tears. Cade’s reaction made her teary and emotional, and yet it almost felt good to feel so much...it was almost a relief to know someone else had loved her grandmother, too.

“I’m sorry, Rache,” he said, his voice raspy and raw. He lifted his head and looked at her, his dense lashes damp, the blue of his eyes almost aquamarine with sorrow. “You know, I promised her I’d always stay in touch with her. Promised her that I’d always be family—” He shook his head, once, twice. “Was she...did she...suffer a lot...in the end?”

“They tried to make her as comfortable as they could.”

His head dropped again and he ran a hand over his eyes. “Wish I’d been here. Wish I could have been here for both of you.”

Rachel couldn’t even respond to that. Her heart felt as though it was breaking all over again. She dragged in a breath of air, then exhaled, struggling to keep it together. “It happened a long time ago, Cade,” she murmured. “And Grandma didn’t hold grudges. She believed people were a work in progress, and she’d be thrilled you won the All-Around title two more times after she was gone. She followed your career. Was probably your biggest fan.”

His eyes watered and a small muscle popped in his jaw near his ears. “Even though I’d broken your heart?”

Rachel looked away, bit into her lip. This was so brutal, and so unexpected. She wasn’t sure she could take much more of this. But Grandma had taught her to be strong, and she would be strong now...even if it killed her. “Grandma always said you’d find your feet again. She said you were one of those fallen angels just waiting to regrow your wings.”

“I wish that were true,” Cade said regretfully. “But I haven’t grown wings yet.”

“Maybe they’ll still come.”

“If you believe in miracles,” he answered drily, his firm mouth twisting, the corners of his eyes creasing.

His crooked smile made her breath catch and her pulse quicken. For a moment he looked—and sounded—so much like the sexy, laid-back, self-deprecating cowboy she’d loved so long ago that the years seemed to fall away and she gulped another breath of air, overwhelmed. Dazzled.

“I used to,” she said, smiling tightly, having forgotten how Cade could fill a room, making it feel small and other people seem boring. But it wasn’t just his height and size that made him stand out. It was his intensity and his focus. When Cade King wanted something, he got it through sheer force of will.

And once upon a time, he’d wanted her.

But then later, he’d also wanted booze, and he’d been one of those guys who drank hard and often, and it worried her and scared her. And so she put it all on the line, wanting what was best for him, for them, and told him he needed to get sober or she couldn’t stay. And he chose the booze over her.

“Everything else okay, though?” he asked, shifting on the yellow couch, almost crushing the cellophane-wrapped roses.

She nodded, determined to show no chink in her armor. “Yes. Very well,” she said. The antique clock on the mantel chimed. She glanced at the pale gold face of the German-made clock, Grandma’s prized possession. Her father, Rachel’s great-grandfather, had brought the clock with him when he’d emigrated from Germany. It’d been a wedding present to Grandma and Grandpa when they’d married and it still kept time perfectly.

Four-thirty.

Which reminded her, she’d have to go get Tommy soon from Mrs. Munoz. She had fifteen minutes. Give or take a few.

Cade saw her glance at the clock. “Am I keeping you?”

“No, not yet. But I do need to leave in a few minutes. I have an appointment.”

Rachel didn’t know why she called it an appointment. She was only picking Tommy up from his babysitter, but for some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to mention Tommy. Not because she was ashamed of being a single, unwed mother, but because people had been so unkind about him and she’d learned to be protective.

“I won’t keep you, then,” Cade said, picking up the bouquet and standing. “It was good seeing you.”

“It was good seeing you, too,” she lied, determined to hang on to her composure to the very end, because it wasn’t good seeing him. It was terrible. Painful. She couldn’t handle seeing Cade. He made her feel things she didn’t want to feel, made her remember a time in her life when everything had seemed hopeful and beautiful.

“I’ll just put these in the kitchen,” he said, his grip crinkling the cellophane on the flowers. He headed out of the cramped living room without waiting for a reply.

* * *

IT WASN’T UNTIL CADE was in the hall and moving toward the kitchen that he exhaled. Why had he come? It was a mistake to have come by, an even bigger mistake to have just dropped in on her unannounced. If he wanted to know how she was doing, he should have just called. Sent a letter. A text. An email. Anything but this.

Seeing her made it all too real. Made her damn real again, and that’s the last thing he needed.

Getting her out of his system had taken years.

Entering Sally’s old kitchen, he froze. An enormous, white, tiered wedding cake filled the old oak table, making the kitchen smell sugary and sweet. His gaze moved to the clear plastic box of flowers on the counter. It was a small floral bouquet of white, cream and pale pink flowers...

A wedding cake. A bridal bouquet. Cade swallowed hard, stunned. Rachel was getting married.

He felt her come up behind him and, glancing over his shoulder, he saw her hovering in the doorway. “That’s a lot of white cake,” he said.

She smiled faintly, color turning her cheeks pink. “Better be. It has to feed over two hundred and forty people.”

“Two hundred and forty?” he repeated.

“It was hard to narrow the guest list to that. It’s a small town. Everyone wanted to go.”

Of course everybody did, he thought, his chest tight and growing tighter. Mineral Wells was a small town and Sally James had been widely loved by all.

Cade glanced down at the tips of his boots, wishing yet again he’d never come. He’d wanted to know that Rachel was happy, but this...this wasn’t how he wanted to see her...the blushing bride...the day before her wedding. But he had to be happy for her. This was what he wanted for her. Good things. Good people.

He forced himself to look up at her and he managed a smile. “Well, it’s a beautiful cake with all that fancy lace. Have never seen that done before.”