Page 15 of All for You

The morning heat is already pushing animals into the shade, snakes under cool rocks, and sending sweat in tiny rivulets down the center of my back. Standing on the porch of my large ranch-style house, the wooden railing gives slightly against my weight while a cup of black coffee warms my hands, while I look out at over the expansive land that has always given me a sense of peace. It’s a picturesque scene framed by gentle hills and sprawling pastures that roll out like a sea of green, dotted with the lazy movements of cattle and horses grazing freely in the distance.

I built this place for my wife, mistakenly assuming having a brand-new home meeting all her design requests, she’d acclimate to country living much quicker. Growing up in Texas herself, I figured it was a given.

I was wrong.

She had bigger dreams than I realized. Dreams my money could provide, but my time and obligations wouldn’t. We’d met in school. I studied Animal Science; she was in Communications. Unlike my siblings, I knew I’d one day inherit the ranch. Amelia had big journalism plans and Cupid’s Creekdidn’t fit her idea of news central. Nor did a husband tied to his home.

Rachel is the opposite. She’s friendly, caring and not obsessed with money. Our kiss at the festival plays in my mind like a slow-motion reel, her lips soft yet insistent, igniting a passion I never experienced with my ex. Rachel comes from a big city, a world so different from this rugged land, and I wonder what she sees in me—or if she feels anything close to what I do.

I spot her car pulling into the driveway, kicking up a dust trail. A little compact thing that looks entirely out of place next to the massive machinery and pickup trucks lining my property. But it’s Rachel who captures my attention entirely.

She steps out and the mid-morning light shines on her short, flowery dress—soft yellows and blues swirling together like wildflowers in bloom. Bright white cowboy boots add an unexpected charm, strikingly contrasting with the earthy tones of the ranch.

There’s a tug in my chest, amusement with attraction, as she shyly smiles and waves, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

“Hey, there,” I call out.

I patiently wait as she approaches the porch, using the opportunity to let my eyes linger on her legs as the dress hugs her curves and shows off her waist. There’s something mesmerizing about her, her willingness to dive headfirst into this cowboy life—even if it means pretending to be my girlfriend for the day.

The sight of her, so out of place yet so determined, stirs something in me. A twinge of admiration, maybe. Or is it protectiveness? I push the feeling aside, reminding myself this is all for show. But damn if she doesn’t look good trying.

“Wow, this place is stunning,” she says when she’s close enough and climbs the stairs to join me, her gaze sweeping across the front of the log and stone structure with awe, taking inthe long wrap around porch, the comfortable furniture, outdoor plants and large double front door.

I’m so entranced looking at her, I almost forget why she’s here.

“It’s absolutely beautiful. And those fields...”

For a moment, I see it all through her eyes—not just acres and assets, but a place where hard work pays off, the sky feels bigger, and I can breathe. “Thanks. It’s home.”

Having her here is nice, and I suddenly feel lighter than I have in weeks.

“Is your mother still in town?” I ask.

“No. She left this morning. She likes to flit in and out of my life when it suits her. I think the festival wore her out. And Cupid’s Creek is a tad small for her liking; I think she craved a few skyscrapers.”

My laughter is authentic, but I can’t say I’m disappointed because now I have Rachel all to myself.

“I guess it’s time for me to meetyourmom.”

Sigh. Yes. There is that. “I’m going to warn you, she can be tough.” I shift awkwardly, conscious of how she makes me feel and worried how Mother will react. She did not like Amelia at all.

Karen Anderson had suspicions, but Laura Kincaid can sniff insincerity like a bloodhound. Looking at Rachel, with her bright smile and genuine enthusiasm, an unfamiliar flutter of hope settles in my chest.

What the hell?

That was a luxury I’d sworn off years ago. Yet here it is, creeping in like an uninvited guest. I steel myself against it, reminded of the cold, hard lessons life has taught me about trust and love.

Then I remember it doesn’t matter because this isn’t real. I clench my jaw, forcing my gaze away. This is dangerous territory. I can’t afford to let my guard down, not when I knowhow quickly admiration can turn to betrayal. Rachel is here to play a part, nothing more.

The screen door creaks open, and Mother steps out. This is a woman who runs a country club and lived the life of a rancher’s wife for over forty years while looking and dressing as though she just stepped out of a fashion magazine. One dedicated to the modern rancher’s life. At almost seventy, and a few inches over five feet, her hair is a soft helmet of silver-streaked dark waves that frame her face with an almost regal elegance. Her sharp blue eyes can cut through steel, and they have a way of laying bare every intention you try to hide. Dad never kept secrets from Mother. Neither could my brothers, my sister or myself. She has a stern look about her, but she’s a soft cookie at the core—at least with the people she loves.

I gesture at Rachel, standing near me on the porch. “Mother, this is Rachel Anderson. My girlfriend.” I inwardly pray my mother believes me.

Rachel extends her hand. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Mrs. Kincaid.”

Mother’s hand barely grazes Rachel’s before retracting like the strike of a snake. She sizes up Rachel’s attire with a once-over glance that leaves no doubt about her scrutiny. The bright, flowery dress seems to wilt under Mom’s gaze, and those pristine white cowboy boots suddenly appear foolishly out of place.

“Rachel. Hmmm.” Mother’s tone is flat.

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