Page 72 of A Sunny Sweetheart for the Cowboy

Paisley took a deep breath. “Jesus died for you, too, Mom. If you accept His gift of salvation, He’ll give you the strength for rehab and for life. He won’t let you down. Not like I have.”

“Bravo.” A slow clap came from behind her.

She pivoted to see Earl leaning in the doorway.

“Nice pep talk, daughter dear. Not very practical, all those angels in halos with harps, but pleasant to listen to, nonetheless.”

Paisley swallowed the bile that rose in her throat.

“Not going to give your old dad a hug and a kiss?” Earl waggled his eyebrows.

“I think not.” Where was her sister? How had Earl arrived before Kait?

“Earl!” Mom stretched out her arms.

He crossed the space, winked at Paisley — who shifted well out of his way — and pecked Mom’s cheek. “Maybe we’ll spring you out of this joint today. What do you say, Rita? We can celebrate.”

Is that what he called it? Paisley chomped hard on the inside of her cheek to keep from intruding. She’d had her moment. It was up to her mother to make her own decisions.

“That’s not what the doctor said. I’m supposed to stay longer, I think.”

“We make our own rules.” Earl smirked at Paisley before turning back to the bed.

“How’s that working for you?” Paisley asked.

“It works better than religion.”

“Did you ever stop to wonder about life after death?”

He waved his hand dismissively. “More pie-in-the-sky talk. This here is all there is. Might as well live it up.”

Or shoot it up.

“Hey, everyone.” Kait breezed into the room. “I was just talking to the doctor, Mom. You can come home tomorrow if you stay stable.” She pinned Paisley with a look. “We’ll take good care of you.”

We? Paisley needed to get back to Montana, or she’d lose her job. More than that, she’d lose Weston.

She needed to call him. Call Mr. Sullivan. Too bad her phone was back at Kait’s place. Charging.

Weston scrubbed both hands through his hair then rubbed his temples. He glanced at the phone sitting on his desk amid the now-tidy stacks of papers. He had a decent handle on the Fourth of July arrangements and what still needed to be finalized.

He did not have a handle on his relationship with Paisley. Where was she? When did he start panicking?

Snort. He’d already started, but he refused to let it get the best of him.

Sweet River Ranch was almost full this coming week with the campground near capacity, and all but one of the cabins booked. Even the rooms in the lodge were reserved. That meant lots of riding lessons and two-to-three-hour trail rides on the schedule.

Once word got out, there’d been wild interest in the treehouses Maxwell’s crew were currently building over on Eagle’s Nest Lane along the river. Apparently, Conestoga wagons were next year’s project. Fake ones, of course, not that tourists cared.

As bustling as the ranch was now that summer was in full swing, it felt empty without Paisley, and she’d only been gone two days.

Why didn’t she call?

He grabbed up his phone and descended from the loft to fix himself a cup of coffee. There wasn’t much more he could do on the festival without talking to Paisley, and she wasn’t answering.

Had she abandoned him and Sweet River Ranch for good?

Even though his mind kept spinning in that direction, he couldn’t quite believe it of her. That had to say something, right? Because Weston wasn’t usually a hopeful kind of guy.

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