Brenda Minton - The Cowboy Next Door & Jenna's Cowboy Hero - The Cowboy Next Door / Jenna's Cowboy Hero

Lacey smelled like lavender and her arm was soft. She looked up, her eyes dark in a face that was soft, but tough. He moved his hand from her arm and touched her cheek.

She shook her head a little and took a step back, disengaging from his touch. But that small step didn’t undo the moment. She was street-smart and vulnerable and he wanted to see how she felt in his arms.

He wanted to brush away the hurt look in her eyes, and the shame that caused her to look away too often. Instead, he came to his senses and pulled back, letting the moment slip away.

“We should go.” Lacey stepped over the tongue of the trailer and put distance between them. Her arms were crossed and she had lost the vulnerable look. “Jay, whatever that was, it wasn’t real.”

“What?”

“It was moonlight. It was summertime and soft music. It was you being lonely and losing someone you thought you’d spend your life with.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“I am right. But I’m nobody’s moment. Someday I want forever, but I’ll never be a moment again.”

He exhaled a deep breath and whistled low. “Okay, then I guess we should go.”

He felt like the world’s biggest loser.

* * *

Lacey woke up on Sunday morning, glad that she had a day off. If only she’d gotten some sleep, but she hadn’t. Jay had dropped her off at midnight, and wound up from the night, she’d stayed up for two hours, cleaning.

She rolled over in bed, listening to the sound of country life drifting through the open window. Cows mooed from the field and somewhere a rooster crowed. He was a little late, but still trying to tell everyone that it was time to get up.

The baby cried and she heard Corry telling her to shush, as if the baby would listen and not expect to be fed. Lacey sat up and stretched. She had an hour to get ready before church.

When she walked through the door of the dining room, Corry was at the table with a bowl of cereal. Rachel was in the bassinet, arms flailing the air.

“Have you fed her?” Lacey picked up the tiny infant and held her close. The baby fussed too much. “Has she been to a doctor?”

“Give me a break. Like I have the money for that. She’s fine.”

“She’s hungry and she feels warm.”

“So, feed her, mother of the year.”

“I’m not her mother, Corry.”

Corry drank the milk from her bowl and took it to the sink. At least she did that much. Lacey took a deep breath and exhaled the brewing impatience. The baby curled against her shoulder, fist working in her tiny mouth.

“I’ll feed her, you get ready for church.” Lacey held the baby with one arm and reached in the drainer at the edge of the sink for a clean bottle.

“I’m not going to church.”

“If you’re staying with me, you’re going to church.”

“Make me go and you’ll regret it.”

“I probably will, but you’re going.” Lacey shook the bottle to mix the formula with the water. “I’ve already taken a shower. You can have yours now.”

She turned away from Corry, but shuddered when the bathroom door slammed. “Well, little baby, this is probably something I’ll pay for.”

Rachel sucked at the bottle, draining it in no time and then burping loudly against Lacey’s shoulder. She put the sleeping baby into the infant car seat and was strapping her in as Corry walked out of the bathroom. She wore a black miniskirt and a white tank top.

“You can’t wear that.”

“It’s all I have.” Gum smacked and Corry busied herself, far too happily, shoving diapers and wipes along with an extra bottle into the bag.

Rachel cried, a little restless and fussy.

“I think she’s sick.” Corry looked at the baby and then at Lacey. “What do you think?”

“She feels warm and her cheeks are a little pink. I don’t know.”

Corry unbuckled the straps and pulled Rachel out of the seat. “I think she has a fever.”

“Do you have medicine for her?”

Corry nodded. “I have those drops. I’ll give her some of those.”

“And stay home with her. She shouldn’t be out. You can stay here and let her sleep.”

Corry’s eyes widened. “Really? You’re not going to make me go to church.”

“I’m not going to make you.” Lacey sighed. “Corry, no one can make you go to church. I only want you to try to get your life together and stay clean.”

“And church is going to make it all better?”

“Church doesn’t, but God does. He really does make things better when you trust Him.” The act of going to church hadn’t changed anything for Lacey. She had tried that routine as a teenager, because she’d known, really known that God could help, but each time she went into a church, thinking it would be a magic cure, it hadn’t changed anything. Because she had thought it was about going to church.

In Gibson she had learned that it was about faith, about trusting God, not about going to church wishing people would love her. She had learned, too, about loving herself.

She needed to remember that, she realized. Since Lance, she’d had a tough time remembering her own clean slate and that she was worth loving.

Corry pushed through the diapers and wipes in the diaper bag and pulled out infant drops. She held them out to Lacey. “How much do I give her?”

Lacey took the bottle and looked at the back, reading the directions. “One dropper. And don’t give her more until I get home. I’ll be late, though. You’ll have to fix your own lunch.”

“Where are you going?”

“After church there are a few of us that go to the nursing home to sing and have church with the people there.”

“Ah, isn’t that sweet.”

Lacey let it go. “I’ll see you later.”

Today Jay would be joining them at the nursing home. She wondered how the return of one man to his home-town could change everything. For years Gibson had been her safe place. Jay’s presence undid that feeling.

Jay looked across the room and caught the gaze of Lacey Gould. She sat next to an older woman with snow-white hair and hands that shook. They were flipping through the pages of a hymnal and talking in low tones that didn’t carry.

But from time to time Lacey looked up at him. This time he caught her staring, and he hadn’t expected the look in her eyes to be wariness. She didn’t trust him.

Distracted, he dropped his guitar pick. He leaned to pick it up and Bailey kicked his shin. He nearly said something, but the way she was smiling, he couldn’t. She’d been teasing him for twenty-some years. She probably wasn’t going to stop now.

For years she’d been the little girl on the bus that he looked out for, and sometimes wanted to escape. She’d sent him a love note once. She’d been thirteen, he was sixteen. When he told her it wouldn’t work, she cried and told her dad on him.

“She’s a good person, Jay,” Bailey whispered.

“I’m sure she is.” He remembered that Bailey also had a good left hook and he didn’t want to make her mad.

He didn’t doubt that Lacey was a good person. He had watched her at church, making the rounds and speaking to everyone before the service began. As soon as church ended, she said her good-byes and drove to the nursing home.

He had questions about her community service, but it wasn’t any of his business. It should be up to Pastor Dan, or even Bailey, to explain to Lacey Gould that God wasn’t expecting her to earn forgiveness through good works.

“What song do we sing first?” Lacey asked from across the room. The sweet-faced older lady had her arm through Lacey’s.