Page 1 of A Cowboy in the Streets

Chapter 1

James

Maybe the pink cowboy boots were a mistake. Dad had strong feelings about those boots. But then, so did I. They were such a part of me that if I looked down and saw something else on my feet, I wouldn’t know who I was.

Dad bought me my first pair before I could walk, so I would look cute in the family photos. As my feet grew, he kept right on buying new pairs to fit. One of my earliest memories was Dad dancing with me in the kitchen while Mom cooked dinner, the pink cowboy boots on my feet.

“Pretty like your momma,” he told me.

A bald-faced lie because I looked nothing like Mom. She was tall and blonde, whereas I was short with dark hair and freckles. The only thing I got from my mom was her curves, which was less of an asset for a horse trainer like me than a rodeo queen like her. I kept those suckers locked down so tight I might as well have been an A-cup. Or a man.

Dad always beamed when he saw me wear my pink cowboy boots with a skirt for a school dance or a date. But those boots were made for riding, and riding was what I did. He never failed to side-eye my pink cowboy boots when I stepped foot in the barn or the training ring. Like they didn’t belong there.

Or maybe that was me who didn’t belong.

I looked down at my feet critically, taking note that the bright pink was a bit dulled from the grime and dust of the stables. Nothing a little saddle soap couldn’t take care of. They were riding boots, same as any black or brown pair. It would be a shame to waste them as pure decoration when they had a job to do. Anyway, I liked the dichotomy. Why couldn’t something be pretty and useful at the same time?

“Hey, sunshine!”

I pulled my gaze from my boots and smiled at the lead trainer of Blue Skies Farm, the training facility for ranch and rodeo horses owned by my dad, Carl Campos. “Hi, Walter. Chocolate chip cookies are in the breakroom.”

“That’s the way to my heart. Tell Savanah thank you.”

Walter winked, because he knew damn well that if my mom had made them, she had done so with my help. But he also knew that my dad frowned upon me, as assistant trainer, bringing sweets and baked goods to the mostly male ranch employees. They won’t respect you, Dad warned me over and over again. They’ll see you as nothing but a girl.

The thing was, though, I was a girl. A girl who happened to like cookies. Once I started bringing in treats, the others followed. Some stable hands and trainers baked the treats themselves, and some brought store-bought treats. Either way, everyone was happy.

“You going in there?” Walter jerked his thumb in the direction of Dad’s office.

“Yeah. We have a meeting in five minutes.” Impulsively, I reached out, giving his arm an affectionate squeeze. “It’s not too late to change your mind, you know. Put retirement off a couple more years and stay with us.”

He gave a rueful chuckle. “It’s been a good twenty years, hasn’t it? I remember when you were barely this tall”—he held his hand waist-height—“bound and determined to ride horses men twice your size wouldn’t have touched. I still have a few good years left in me, but I want to spend them with my grandkids. It’s time for the next generation of trainers to take up the reins.”

It was bittersweet, Walter retiring after two decades with us at Blue Skies Farm. I would miss him for sure, but I couldn’t deny the frisson of excitement that shivered down my spine at the thought of making his position my own. I had so many ideas.

“Listen, James.” Walter grimaced, a furrow forming between his thick gray brows. “Carl wanted my thoughts on who should replace me. You were at the top of my list. I want you to know—”

“James!” Dad’s head poked out of his office. His gaze landed on my boots, and he shook his head. “Enough gabbing. Get in here.”

“Good luck,” Walter muttered. “We’re all rooting for you.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, before high tailing it into Dad’s office. “Good morning, Carl,” I said, because he was never Dad at work, as I took my seat.

He sat across from me in the wood-paneled office, his immaculate oak desk between us. I took it as a good sign that he had called me in here for a chat rather than simply knock on my bedroom door or catch me over supper, which is what he had done six years ago, the first time he had passed me over for promotion—that time it had been from groom to trainer.

But here, this office, was his place of business. If he called me in here, it must mean that he was finally taking me seriously.

I had a good feeling about this.

Horses were in my blood. I was a colicky baby, and Mom swore the only way to soothe me was to strap me to her chest, saddle Redford, the gentlest, calmest horse at the stable, and go for a ride. Growing up, as Dad worked to expand the training facility into the large operation it was today, I spent every spare minute in the stables, shadowing my dad and the other trainers. No one knew this farm or the horses better than me.

But six years ago, being only twenty-two, Dad hadn’t thought that experience was enough to earn a promotion. It had hurt to hear him say that at the time, but he was right. So I left Blue Skies for quarter horse facilities in Texas and Oklahoma. I learned new techniques and gained exposure to new ideas, working my way up without the benefit—or detriment—of being the boss’s daughter.

A year ago, Dad called me home again, to take the position of assistant trainer. Of course I came straight away. I never said no to Dad.

Then last month, Walter announced he meant to retire to spend more time with his wife and grandchildren. I loved Walter—he had never shooed me away as a child, unlike so many other employees—but I knew an opportunity when I saw it. And this time, I was ready for it. More than ready. I was right for it.

“I have good news, James.” Dad settled back in his burgundy leather wingback chair and clasped his hands over his stomach. “I think you’re going to be very happy.”

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