DONNA ALWARD - The Last Real Cowboy

But he’d never once questioned their love, never once felt insecure. He thought of Angela, standing in the farmyard in paint-smeared, shapeless overalls and dark glasses. He wondered what her upbringing had been like, thought about the women who would benefit from Butterfly House. Not everyone had had the advantages that he’d had.

“What’s really on your mind, Sam?”

“Nothing, really. Just trying to keep up.”

“You met Angela Beck,” Molly said, leaning back against the cushion of the chair and crossing her legs. “She’s a worker.”

“A dog with a bone, more like it,” he muttered. Molly laughed and it was good to hear the sound. Ever since she’d found his father on the floor of their bedroom after his stroke, there hadn’t been much to laugh about.

“She’s doing a good thing, Sam.”

“I know. But you’re much better at this kind of thing than I am. I belong out there.” He lifted his chin, looking out the window. In the darkness, only the reflection from the lamp looked back at him. “We totally rub each other the wrong way. We can’t occupy the same space without arguing. I have intentions of being nice, and I end up being an idiot.”

To his surprise Molly laughed. “At least you acknowledge when you’re an idiot,” she answered, “which puts you a step ahead of most of the population.”

“Mom, why don’t you let me hire some help for you?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Then you can still work on this project. It’ll be good for you.” Plus it would mean he wouldn’t be pulled away from the farm, and he wouldn’t have to come face-to-face with Angela’s acute observations—never mind her smoky eyes and delicious curves. She’d tried to hide them in the overalls, but they were still there. He didn’t like that he kept noticing. Didn’t like that she seemed to be on his mind more often than not.

“Because I want to be with your father.” Molly looked tired, but Sam noticed how her eyes warmed. “You’ll understand someday, when you’re married and you’ve been in love with that person for most of your life.”

Sam sighed. “Mom, I’m thirty-seven. Don’t count on it, okay? At this rate, Ty’s your best chance for a grandkid.”

Ty. Sam’s cousin by blood but also his adoptive brother. Any child of his would be considered a grandchild. But Ty was barely on speaking terms with the family. Neither said it but they knew it was true. He hadn’t even come home for Virgil’s seventieth birthday.

“I’m not saying that, don’t panic. I’m just saying that I need to do this for Virgil. And that leaves Butterfly House up to you. It’s not a long commitment. Once it’s fixed up, the management of it will be in Angela’s fine hands. A board meeting here and there is not too much to ask.”

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