Cowboy Up Read Free

couldn’t see wasting the money when she didn’t know what she wanted to study.
    Her mother kept pushing retail, preferably involving fashion. Emily’s heart wasn’t in it, and finally she’d told her mother so. She’d briefly considered marine biology and had volunteered in the field, but that hadn’t felt quite right.
    Her current receptionist job couldn’t be called a career decision, either. She sighed. “When I see somebody like Clay, who has his act together, I feel like a slacker.”
    Emmett shook his head. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. Some people take longer than others to figure out what they want to do.”
    “Maybe so, but Clay’s had so many obstacles to overcome…”
    “We all have obstacles.”
    “I suppose, but you told me he spent his childhood going from one foster home to the next. That’s major trauma.”
    “You haven’t had a bed of roses, either, what with no father around.”
    “That wasn’t your fault, Dad.” She hated that he still felt guilty about the divorce, nearly twenty-five years after the fact. Before she’d been old enough to think for herself, she’d accepted her mother’s assessment that Emmett was to blame for the divorce. Gradually she’d come to see that it had been a bad match that was doomed from the start.
    “It was partly my fault,” Emmett said. “First off I let your mother take you to California, and then I only came over to visit two or three times.”
    “Yes, but Santa Barbara isn’t your kind of place.” They’d reached the steps going up to the porch and her dad’s boots hit the wood with a solid sound she’d missed hearing. She’d missed other things, too, like the way his gray hair curled a little at the nape of his neck, and how his face creased in a smile and his blue eyes grew warm and crinkly with love when he looked at her.
    She hadn’t always appreciated how handsome he was because she’d been so influenced by her mother’s assessment of cowboys as unsophisticated hicks who went around with a piece of straw clenched in their teeth. Her dad did that sometimes, but he also moved with fluid grace, and he was as lean and muscled as a man half his age.
    He blew out a breath, which made his mustache flutter a bit. “Doesn’t matter if it’s my kind of place or not. I should’ve visited more often.” He paused with one hand on the brass doorknob. “I’m sorry for that, Emily. More sorry than I can say.”
    “It’s okay.” Bracing her hands on his warm shoulder, she rose on tiptoe and leaned in under the brim of his hat to give him a kiss on the cheek. “I’ve always known you love me.”
    “More than anything.” His voice was rough with emotion. “Which is why we both need to get some coffee in us before we turn into blubbering fools and embarrass ourselves.”
    “And a Sterling never turns into a blubbering fool.”
    “That’s exactly right.” Clearing his throat, Emmett opened the door and ushered her inside.
    Although the main house didn’t have air conditioning, the thick log walls kept the rooms cool even in the heat of summer. The second story helped, too. Emily adored the winding staircase that, according to her dad, had been expertly crafted more than thirty years ago by the Chance boys’ grandpa Archie.
    Emmett had told her that Archie had been a master carpenter who’d designed every aspect of this massive home for both beauty and practicality. Even Emily’s mother, who pretty much despised anything to do with ranching, had once confessed that she found the house to be spectacular.
    A huge rock fireplace dominated the living room, and although no fire burned there, the scent of cedar smoke had worked its way into the brown leather armchairs and sofa gathered in front of the hearth. No doubt the large Navajo rugs hanging on the walls had absorbed the smell of the fire, too. Its woodsy fragrance combined with that of lemon oil furniture polish would always be connected in Emily’s mind to the Last