The Cowboy's Hidden Bride Page 2

  Maya had slipped away before she heard any more, afraid if she’d stayed she would tell Noah where he could stick his ideas. The drought had been hard on her garden, too, and at his insistence, she was working marathon baking sessions before each of her three farm stand days a week. She only had a single, conventional stove to cook with. There weren’t any double ovens or commercial-style appliances at the Flying W.

  She wasn’t fooling around, either. She was pursuing a passion when she sewed. Maybe she wasn’t a costume designer like Alice at Two Willows, who sold her creations to theater and movie companies. That didn’t mean what she did was useless.

  Except it was, she admitted to herself, letting her lace-filled hands drop into her lap. She’d never tried to sell one of her creations and wouldn’t be able to charge enough to make it worth it. She labored over each one painstakingly, followed her whims, designed and executed whatever item of clothing she wished for at the moment. It was a quiet hobby that kept her out of trouble and filled the hours she sat out here at her stand. She’d always loved historical clothing, and it wasn’t like she’d ever get her hands on the real thing, even if she itched to.

  Maya still remembered her first field trip to Chance Creek’s tiny historical museum when she was in grade school. While the other children weren’t too impressed by the faded items in glass cases and couldn’t read the old-fashioned cursive writing on the explanatory cards, Maya had been fascinated by it all. She’d been already reading every historical novel she could get her hands on at the Chance Creek library, and the museum had struck her as a kind of time machine that could whisk her away from her boring life into the much more exciting past.

  The clothing had interested her the most, and she’d gazed at several old-fashioned dresses until she’d realized everyone else had left the building, and she was alone. She’d had to force herself to follow them, wishing instead she could get past the barriers into the exhibits and touch the pieces and examine the stitches that held them together. She’d lost count of the number of times she’d returned to the museum.

  Over the years she’d daydreamed about turning it into a full-on historical re-enactment center. A place people could come and experience history in a hands-on way. If they could wear the clothes, eat the food, try the handicrafts, they’d understand the past so much better—

  But that was before her mother had run out on her family. Before she and Stella had struggled to fill Mary’s shoes, taking care of the house, getting food on the table, helping with chores, working to help pay the bills.

  The last time she’d gone to the local museum, the exhibits that once had fascinated her now horrified her. All the old displays were crumbling with age. The same three gowns she’d studied longingly as a child had yellowed and looked like they might disintegrate if they encountered a whiff of fresh air.

  The museum deserved so much better, but like everything else in this town, it needed an infusion of cash.

  She had none to spare. Nor did anyone else. And Noah’s derision stung.

  It also stung that he’d crossed the line between their families and blurred the boundaries between them. Maya still didn’t know what to make of his marriage to Olivia, if she was honest with herself. She wasn’t like Liam, who’d been full of anger toward the Coopers ever since high school, or like Stella, who held herself rigid whenever they came near. Maya kept her distance from the Coopers because once she’d been friends with Olivia.

  But not for a long, long time.

  Not since she’d inadvertently got Olivia’s father arrested and jailed.

  Maya stared down the dusty road, the past defeating her like it always did.

  As children, she and Olivia had been warned against each other, their families at odds for generations before either of them was born, but they’d grown up next door to each other, and early on they’d figured out how to sneak back and forth across the creek to play—and soon realized that if they met on the Ridley property—the long-abandoned ranch that lay to the north of both their spreads—no one would bother them.

  Olivia had always been a spitfire, and she’d spiced up Maya’s rather dull existence. Her wild stories and vast imagination matched Maya’s and made her forget the arguments and silences between her folks back home. Olivia was made of far tougher stuff than Maya was, but she had a tender heart, and both of them had escaped into the stories and pretend scenarios they’d acted out on the Ridley property.

  Sometimes Maya’s imagination and tender sensibilities got away from her. She’d never forget the time they created an entire alien world, complete with two rival civilizations, the Firimar and the Thrack. Olivia had played a Firimar knight. Maya had been a royal Thrack princess. The story they’d spun out had mesmerized them for weeks—

  Until a war broke out between the two empires, with hundreds of thousands of casualties, destroying civilization as they knew it on the planet.

  Maya had become distraught when it was clear the two sides were evenly matched and everyone was going to die. She’d broken down in tears as Olivia recounted all the casualties in gruesome detail, overcome with desolation at the scope of the destruction, especially when all the characters she’d grown to love succumbed to horrible deaths one by one. Olivia, suddenly realizing she’d gone too far, had turned the narrative on a dime with some quick thinking.

  “I’m not a knight anymore,” she’d proclaimed loudly, taking Maya’s hand. “I’m Loreor, the Firimar angel of peace. And you’re… Ladlea, the Thrack angel of peace. Together we can stop all this and heal everyone. We can turn back time, and it will be as if none of it ever happened! All we have to do is work together.” She’d scooped up a stick and brandished it. “Angels of Peace, unite!”

  Maya had grabbed a stick, too, more grateful than she could say, and still holding hands, they’d rushed onto the imaginary battlefield and attacked the combatants. They’d swung their sticks, disarmed the armies and then uttered healing incantations that went on and on until all the dead had come back to life. By the time they were done, Maya had been exhausted—

  And happy.

  That was Olivia to a T. A rebel with a heart of gold.

  Maya knew people had been surprised when her parents split up, and she’d been surprised, too, but in hindsight she knew she shouldn’t have been. Her mother’s disappointment with her father was longstanding, based around the fact that she wanted something better than a small-town ranching life, and her father couldn’t conceive of any other existence. Mary would have left them sooner or later, no matter what.

  Maya had missed Olivia bitterly when their friendship came to an end.

  She’d never admitted that to anyone. It wouldn’t have done any good. Both of their families had fallen apart at the same time—and she was to blame.

  Olivia’s family had splintered as soon as Dale went to jail. Olivia’s mother, Enid, had rushed her kids out of town to escape the shame, dropped them with her sister, Joan, in Idaho, and run off chasing another man—a married man—before she settled in New Mexico.

  Maya had been plagued by guilt for years for her part in it all. She was the one who’d set that chain of events in motion. Thank God no one knew that.

  Except Olivia.

  And sometimes these days, she suspected Noah knew, too. He hadn’t said anything, though.

  “I thought I’d find you here,” a voice said from behind her.

  Maya turned and shaded her eyes with her hand. “Uncle Jed? What are you doing out here? Did you walk all the way from the house?”

  “I’m not a cripple, you know. I used to keep law and order in this town, just like your dad and granddad. People should remember that!” But her great-uncle Jed was leaning heavily on his cane, and she moved the other folding chair in his direction so he could sit down. She quickly poured him a cup of cold lemonade from the cooler she kept under the table and passed it over. She watched him drink.

  “Is something wrong at the house?”

  “Something’s wrong with
the world.” He set the cup down on the table. “My nephew is married to a Cooper, and we haven’t won the Founder’s Prize yet. William must be turning in his grave.”

  Maya sighed. That damned prize. She swore it was the start of all their current troubles. “We’re restoring the library, Jed. I think that’s going to help our chances. I think Dad would approve of that.”

  “We have to do something more,” Jed said.

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. I’m making it your job to figure it out.” He drained his lemonade, stood up again and turned to head back as she struggled to find an answer.

  “You walked all this way to tell me that?” Maya finally managed.

  “Yep. Get on it. I look forward to winning the prize.”

  Maya watched him shuffle off and shook her head. What more could they do to help the town? Fixing the library was proving enough on top of everything else. Noah and Liam had been up on the roof fixing leaks, and they’d all helped to prep the interior for painting. None of them had time for the extra work, but they were making it happen anyway. They’d raised money for the job by hosting a day-long river tubing event on their ranch a few weeks back. They were all dedicated to making the project a success.

  Sometimes Maya wondered why they bothered. Would ownership of the Ridley ranch really change anything? Jed and Liam were set on it, afraid that if the Coopers won, they’d divert Pittance Creek, but Noah was married to Olivia now. Surely he wouldn’t let her family hurt theirs. She couldn’t say what Jed’s real motivations were, but she was pretty sure for Liam it had a lot more to do with his old football rivalry with Lance than anything to do with Pittance Creek. Lance had gotten him thrown off the team their senior year, taken over his position as quarterback and then gone on to win the championship.

  Maya never could make heads or tails of that story. Her father had always been chummy with the football coaches. Coach Latham, who’d been in charge when Noah was a star running back, had dinner with the family once a month back when her mother was around. Coach Andrews, who’d moved to town and taken over the team when Latham retired at the start of Liam’s second year in high school, hadn’t been as close, but still knew her father well. Liam said Lance had lied to get him booted off the team. Back then she’d believed him. These days she wondered if the truth had something to do with their long-running rivalry. They’d both been hotheads when they were younger. Still threw down from time to time. Liam had always been stubborn enough she could see him doing something to Lance that had backfired.

  Best to leave the past in the past.

  She picked up the lace again and tried to find where she’d left off making tiny stitches to join the ruffle to the cap, but she was far too distracted to do good work. Why on earth would Jed think she could come up with another plan to clinch the prize? She wasn’t the mover and shaker in this family.

  She was just quiet, well-behaved Maya. The one who did everything right. The one who made sure everyone else was happy. The one who gave up her dreams as soon as they were inconvenient. She’d never gone to college. Never even brought it up again after mentioning it once a few years back. She’d been reading a book about a woman who worked at the Smithsonian Institution, wishing a career like that was available to her. She’d never forget Stella’s exasperated look.

  “You think you’re the only one who wants something they can’t get?” she’d snapped. “We need to make money, not spend money.”

  Maya had never uttered another word.

  She wouldn’t bring it up again now, either. Things had gone from bad to worse these past couple of years. There was no room in the budget for school.

  She’d simply keep sewing.

  She had just pushed her needle into the fragile material, still mulling over Jed’s demands, when a truck pulled off the road and parked nearby.

  Maya let the cap fall into her lap again.

  What was Lance Cooper doing here? Never in all her years working this stand had a Cooper stopped by.

  “Afternoon,” Lance called out as casually as if he came by all the time.

  “Afternoon.” Maya was dismayed at the butterflies in her stomach and the uncertain tone in her voice. She couldn’t help remembering dancing with him at the wedding. The way he’d held her like she was something fragile.

  Something valuable.

  It had undone her more than she’d care to admit. She’d felt his strength, rested her cheek against his chest as they’d moved. She’d never been so close to him before.

  Hadn’t realized what a man he’d become.

  Lance had simply been her neighbor up until that night. Now she couldn’t think of him without feeling all unsettled inside. It wasn’t right.

  Toward the end of the number, he’d leaned closer, pressed his cheek to her hair and breathed her in as if wanting to memorize her scent. She didn’t think it was a conscious move, and the intimacy of it had shocked her.

  So had her reaction. She’d wanted to kiss him. To run her hands over his body. To pull him closer.

  Lance was a Cooper. Why wasn’t he keeping his distance?

  He stopped in front of the table and perused the pyramids of vegetables and stacks of baked goods. He was tall, with the muscular build and tanned skin of a man who worked outside with his hands all day. His chin was covered with dark stubble that matched his thick, dark hair. His gaze ran over each item before he lifted it to meet hers. His gray eyes marked him as a Cooper.

  He was good-looking, she had to admit. Far too good-looking for his own good.

  “Help you with something?” she asked.

  “Hope so.” His low voice with its country twang sent a shiver of awareness down her spine. “What’s that?”

  Too late she remembered her sewing. Lance reached right across the table and took it from her before she could react.

  “Hey!” Maya leaped to her feet. “Give that back!”

  He held it out of reach and examined it, making a face as he turned it around.

  “What is this thing?”

  “Nothing. Give it back!” She moved around the table and reached for it, but Lance lifted it higher, leaving her dancing around him, jumping to try to get it out of his hands.

  “This looks like a cap,” Lance said. “Like an old-fashioned cap. Revolutionary War era,” he mused, turning it over in his hands. “Good workmanship.” He seemed to remember who he was talking to. He grinned down at her, a feral grin that left her breathless. “For a Turner.”

  “What do you know about it?” She tried to grab it again. Failed.

  “I know a lot about it.”

  “Give. It. Back!” This time when she jumped, her fingers tangled in the lace, and as she landed, a loud rip made them both wince.

  “Aw, hell.” Lance held up the bit of cloth he was still holding.

  Maya looked down at the rest of the cap in her hands. To her chagrin, tears stung her eyes. That was days of work—ruined. And the lace he held in his hand had been from an estate sale.

  Not cheap.

  “Heck, Maya—I didn’t mean to do that.” Lance’s cocky grin was gone, replaced by true concern.

  “Yes, you did.” She blinked back her tears before she completely humiliated herself, covering her frustration with anger. “Should have expected a Cooper to do something like that. Get out of here. Go!”

  “Hey, I said I was sorry—”

  “Do I have to call Noah?” She pulled her phone out of her pocket. She didn’t want him to see her like this. A minute ago she’d been longing to kiss him. Now she was frustrated and confused. No one valued her workmanship. Not Stella, Not Noah—

  Not even Lance Cooper.

  “No.” Lance jammed his hands in his pockets. “It’s just—hell. Forget it.” He turned on his heel. A moment later, he peeled out of the turnout.

  Only then did Maya realize he’d made off with the other piece of lace he’d torn from her cap—a bit of the ruffle. She could have tried to sew it back on.

&n
bsp; Now she’d have to start over.

  Coopers.

  Chapter Two

  Lance was still kicking himself for his clumsiness when he got to the Burger Shack. Taking his place in line, he saw a familiar figure ahead of him. He’d known Bart Lawson since grade school, although they’d never run in the same crowd. Something about the set of the man’s shoulders made Lance hesitate to say hello, but Bart generally attended the Historical Society meetings, and it would be awkward if he didn’t.

  “Hey, man,” he said when Bart turned to scan the restaurant. “On your way to the museum?”

  “What? Oh, right—there’s a meeting tonight.”

  “Something wrong?” Lance wasn’t sure how far to press things, but Bart focused on him like he’d been waiting for the chance to talk with someone.

  “It’s my dad. He passed away a week ago.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” He was. Bart’s dad had been in and out of the hospital these past few years battling cancer. He was sure it had been hard on the family.

  “Yeah. We knew it was coming, but still—”

  “It’s never easy.”

  “No.” He looked like something else was troubling him. “Fighting with Maggie, too,” he added, his gaze dropping to the ground.

  “Fighting? About what?” Bart and Maggie Lawson’s marriage always seemed rock solid. They were both practical country folk, with a four-year-old daughter. Bart worked at a construction supply company. Maggie stayed at home with Katie. Lance knew they lived in a small, self-contained suite in Maggie’s parents’ basement. Bart had told him once they were saving for a down payment on a place of their own. The goal was to buy a house when Katie was in kindergarten and Maggie was back to work. It was hard to get too far ahead these days on only one salary.

  “I’m ready to move out right now,” Bart said. “I want to buy a house. Start living. You never know when you’re going to go—right?”

  “I thought you were saving money.”