Curvy Girl and the Grumpy Cowboy (Cedar Falls: Cowboys #3)

Chapter 1 - Jackson

I notice something's off with Midnight the moment I step into the barn. The mare usually has her head hanging over the stall door, eager for morning feed, but today she's standing in the back corner, flanks trembling slightly. Damn it.

"Hey, girl," I murmur, approaching slowly.

The morning sun streams through the slats in the barn walls as I check her over. There are no obvious injuries, but she's definitely running a fever, and there's a slight discharge from her nostrils—nothing catastrophic, but enough to concern me.

"Jackson?" Vincent calls from outside. "Breakfast's on. Charlotte made those blueberry pancakes you like."

"Be there in a bit," I call back, still focused on Midnight. "Got a sick horse."

I hear his boots crunching across the gravel. "Need help?"

"Nah, just a mild infection, I think. I'll need to run into town for some antibiotics."

Vincent appears in the doorway, little Lucy balanced on his hip. At five, she's the only female on this ranch who isn't afraid to get her hands dirty.

"Cedar Falls?" he asks, sounding surprised. I don't blame him. I avoid town when I can.

"Yeah," I say, straightening up. "Doc Walker should have what I need."

Lucy wiggles down from her father's arms and runs over to me. "Uncle Jackson, can I come? Please?"

I ruffle her hair. "Not today, squirt. Quick trip."

Vincent gives me a knowing look. "You know Sarah's back in town, right?"

My hands freeze on Midnight's neck, and I'm grateful to be facing away from my brother. "Is she?"

"Mmm-hmm. Came back last weekend. Probably just visiting. Thought Cole would've mentioned it."

Cole wouldn't have mentioned it. He knows better. Seven years since Sarah left for Seattle, and my brothers still tiptoe around her name like it's a land mine. Most days, I appreciate their discretion. Today, it just irritates me.

"Well, it's a big town," I lie.

Cedar Falls has exactly 3,542 residents according to the welcome sign that hasn't been updated since 1998.

"Doubt I'll run into her."

Vincent just nods, taking Lucy's hand. "Well, come eat before you go. Charlotte made enough to feed the whole county."

"I'll be right there," I promise, patting Midnight's neck one more time.

After they leave, I lean my forehead against the mare's warm side. Sarah is in town. The thought hits me in the chest like a flurry of punches. I wonder if she still wears her hair long, if her laugh still comes out as a snort when something really gets her going.

I wonder if she still hates me.

Breakfast is the usual chaos. Aaron's girlfriend Elena is teaching Ethan Spanish curse words, which has Cole laughing so hard he's choking on his coffee. Charlotte keeps serving up pancakes while giving Vincent these soft glances that make me look away. Too much happiness, too early in the morning.

"I'm heading into town," I announce, pushing back from the table. "Midnight's got a mild respiratory infection."

"Want company?" Cole offers, his bad ankle propped up on a chair.

"Pass," I say quickly. Too quickly, judging by the look that passes between him and Ethan. "Just a quick trip," I add, more casually.

The drive into Cedar Falls takes twenty minutes, most of it down dirt roads that kick up dust clouds in my rearview mirror. I flip on the radio, then immediately switch it off when some love song comes on. Instead, I listen to the hum of the tires and try not to think about Sarah.

I fail miserably.

Seven years ago, she'd stood in my living room, her dream job offer letter in hand, asking me to come with her. Seattle. A city of rain and strangers. A place where I wouldn't know how to be myself. Where the skills I've spent a lifetime perfecting would mean nothing.

"We could start something new together," she'd said, her brown eyes wide with possibilities I couldn't see. "Don't you want more than this, Jackson?"

The truth was, I didn't. The Covington Ranch is everything I've ever wanted. It's in my blood, my bones. I couldn't imagine leaving it behind, not even for her.

So I stayed, and she went. Simple as that.

Except nothing about losing Sarah has been simple.

Cedar Falls appears on the horizon, a small cluster of buildings nestled in the valley. It's a typical small town—one main street, a few side streets, everybody knowing everybody's business. As I drive past the diner, I can't help glancing inside. That's where Sarah and I had our first date, when she'd finally worn me down about the age difference.

"Five years is nothing," she'd insisted. "And I'm thirty, Jackson. Not some kid."

I'd been so worried about the town gossip, about what people would think of me dating Cole's best friend. In the end, none of that mattered. I lost her anyway.

I park in front of Walker's Veterinary Clinic, steeling myself before going inside. Doc Walker's daughter, Melissa, is at the reception desk. She brightens when she sees me.

"Jackson Covington," she says warmly. "What brings you to town?"

"Need some antibiotics for Midnight. Looks like a mild respiratory infection."

She nods, professional now. "Dad's with a patient, but I can help you. Symptoms?"

As I describe Midnight's condition, Melissa nods and pulls medication from behind the counter. She's a good vet, having joined her father's practice after veterinary school. There was a time, years ago, when my brothers thought I might take an interest in her. They were wrong.

"This should clear it right up," she says, handing me a bottle. "But call if she's not improving in forty-eight hours."

I pay and thank her, turning to leave when the bell above the door chimes. My heart does a funny skip, but it's just Mrs. Abernathy with her ancient poodle.

"Oh, Jackson," Melissa calls as I reach the door. "While you're in town, you should stop by the old Miller property. Someone's finally renovating it into a proper equine therapy center. Might be good for the community."

I nod, not particularly interested in town gossip. "Thanks. I'll check it."

Outside, the sun beats down on my shoulders as I slide the antibiotics onto the passenger seat of my truck. I should head straight back to the ranch. Midnight needs her medication, and I've got fences to mend in the north pasture before sundown.

But something about Melissa's words nags at me. An equine therapy center. It's not a bad idea for Cedar Falls, really. Plenty of veterans in the area who could benefit, not to mention the kids from the group home over in Riverton.

I sit in my truck for a minute, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel. The old Miller property is on the way out of town. A quick drive-by wouldn't hurt anyone.

"Damn it," I mutter, turning the key in the ignition.

The Miller place sits on fifteen acres just outside town limits. Good land, with a small creek running through it and a view of the mountains that takes your breath away on clear days. Old man Miller died three years back, and the property's been sitting empty since. I always thought it was a shame, all that potential going to waste.

As I pull up the long gravel drive, I see a flurry of activity. Two trucks are parked near the barn, which appears to be getting a fresh coat of red paint. The sagging fence line that I remember has been replaced with sturdy new posts. Someone's sunk real money into this place.

I park and step out, curiosity getting the better of me. A woman in overalls is kneeling in what looks to be the beginning of a garden, her back to me as she works the soil. Her dark hair is pulled into a messy bun, wisps escaping around her face in the slight breeze.

Something about the set of her shoulders makes my heart stutter.

"Excuse me," I call out, my voice sounding rougher than I intended.

She turns, and the world stops spinning.

Sarah.

She looks the same, yet different. Her face is a little leaner, the freckles across her nose more pronounced from the sun. But her eyes—those eyes that used to look at me like I hung the moon—they're exactly as I remember.

For a moment, we just stare at each other. I'm frozen in place, one foot still in the truck, like I'm caught between staying and running.

"Jackson," she says finally, and hearing my name in her voice again after all this time nearly buckles my knees.

She stands, brushing dirt from her hands onto her overalls. There's a wariness in her expression that was never there before. I put that there.

"I heard someone was fixing up the Miller place," I manage to say. "Didn't know it was you."

Sarah tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, a gesture so familiar it aches. "Just moved back last month. The Equine Heart Center is my new project."

"You're back? In Cedar Falls? 100%? Not just visiting?" The words tumble out before I can stop them.

"Looks that way." Her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes.

I step fully out of the truck, closing the door behind me. "What about Seattle? Your job at the big hospital?"

"I did my time in the big city," she says with a small shrug. "Seven years building a pediatric equine therapy program from the ground up. Now I'm bringing what I learned back home."

Home. The word hangs in the air between us.

"It's a good spot for it," I say lamely, gesturing to the property.

She nods. "The barn needs work, but the indoor arena is solid. I've got four therapy horses arriving next week."

I look around at the scope of the project, impressed despite the awkwardness churning in my gut.

"You're doing this alone?"

"I have contractors," she says, then hesitates. "And Cole's been helping when his ankle allows."

Of course. Cole. My brother who conveniently forgot to mention she was back in town permanently.

"I should get back," I say, suddenly needing to be anywhere but here, looking at the life Sarah built without me. "Got a sick horse waiting for medicine."

She takes a step forward, concern immediately crossing her face. "Nothing serious, I hope?"

"Just a mild infection. Midnight—you remember her?"

"The black mare with the attitude problem?" A real smile now, small but genuine. "Hard to forget."

For a moment, we're on familiar ground again, and it's so easy to remember how good we were together before I ruined it.

"Well," I say, stepping back toward my truck, "good luck with all this. It's... It's good to see you, Sarah."

She doesn't say it back. Instead, she tilts her head slightly, studying me with those eyes that always saw too much.

"Actually, Jackson," she says, brushing her hands against her overalls again, "since you're here—I could use your help. The delivery guys left the water trough in the wrong spot. I need to move it before they pour the concrete pad tomorrow, but it's heavier than I expected."

The request is casual and practical, but we both know what it costs her to ask me for help.

"Sure," I say, trying to match her tone. "Let me just put these antibiotics in the cab."

I do so, and then follow her toward the barn, keeping a careful distance between us. The gravel crunches under our boots, punctuating the silence. I notice she still walks with that slight bounce in her step, like she's perpetually on the verge of breaking into a run.

Inside the barn, the air smells of fresh sawdust and new beginnings. The metal water trough sits awkwardly in the middle of what will eventually be an aisle between stalls.

"Needs to go against that wall," she says, pointing. "The plumbing's already roughed in."

We position ourselves on opposite ends.

"On three," I say, and our eyes meet briefly over the metal edge.

As we lift together, moving in that synchronized way that somehow hasn't been forgotten in seven years, I realize something that terrifies me: Sarah Matthews is back in Cedar Falls, and despite everything—despite the pain and the years and the regrets—a part of me never left that living room where she asked me to follow her.

A part of me has been waiting for a second chance I never thought would come.

The trough settles into place with a heavy thud, and Sarah steps back, wiping her brow with her forearm.

"Thanks," she says, her voice soft but steady. "I've got it from here."

I nod, knowing when I'm being dismissed. "Midnight's waiting on her medicine."

"Of course. Give her my best."

Walking back to my truck, I feel something shift inside me—like a key turning in a rusted lock. She's back. Not just visiting, but putting down roots again. Building something permanent.

The Sarah I knew seven years ago wouldn't have asked for my help if there'd been no hope at all. She was always too proud for that, too determined to stand on her own.

Maybe, just maybe, I haven't lost her completely. Maybe there's still a chance to show her that while I couldn't leave then, I'm ready to meet her halfway now.

It's a fragile hope, as delicate as a new seedling. But as I reach my truck with the taste of second chances on my tongue, I can't help but think it might be enough to start with.