Page 2 of Curvy Girl and the Grumpy Cowboy

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 whereSarah 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.

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