Page 9 of Her Second Chance Cowboy
Emma felt a sudden rush of emotion, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. She had forgotten what it was like to be part of a community, to have people who cared about her beyond just a passing acquaintance.
“I appreciate that,” she said, her voice thick. “More than you know.”
Frank patted her shoulder, then turned to Cody with a knowing grin. “You taking good care of our girl, Cody?” he asked, his tone teasing.
Cody ducked his head, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “I’m doing my best, sir,” he said, his voice earnest.
Frank laughed, a deep, booming sound that filled the diner. “I don’t doubt it, son. You always were a good one.”
He gave Emma one last squeeze, then ambled back to the counter, leaving her feeling warm and slightly overwhelmed.
Mabel, who had been watching the exchange with a fond smile, clicked her tongue. “Alright, enough jawing,” she said briskly. “Let’s get you two some breakfast. The usual, Cody?”
Cody grinned up at her. “Yes, ma’am. And make it a double for Emma, she’s got a big day ahead of her.”
Mabel winked at Emma, then bustled off towards the kitchen, calling out orders as she went.
Emma settled back into her seat, taking a sip of her coffee. “I forgot how much I missed this place,” she said softly, looking around the diner. “It hasn’t changed a bit.”
Cody smiled, his eyes warm. “Some things never do,” he said, his gaze holding hers. “And sometimes, that’s a good thing.”
Before Emma could respond, a young voice piped up from the booth behind them. “Daddy, is Miss Emma going to have the big party this year? The one with the pony rides and the cotton candy?”
Emma froze, her coffee cup halfway to her lips. She turned to see a little girl, no more than six or seven, peering over the back of the booth at her, her eyes wide and hopeful.
The girl’s father, a man in his late twenties or early thirties, grimaced. “You know that’s not polite, sweet pea.”
He turned to Emma, an apologetic smile on his face. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “Ellie’s been talking about the annual festival at your father’s ranch for weeks now. She’s had a rough year and I couldn’t break it to her…”
The man trailed off, her expression pained. Emma felt a sudden rush of memories, images of the festival flashing through her mind. The laughter of children, the smell of popcorn and hot dogs, the feel of her father’s hand in hers as they walked through the crowd.
She had forgotten all about the festival, had assumed it had ended when she left for the city. The realization that it had continued all these years, that it had become a cherished tradition for the town, hit her like a physical blow.
“I... I didn’t know,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I had no idea it was still going on.”
“Your father never wanted to let it go,” he said softly. “He said it was a way to bring the community together, to celebrate the good things in life. He was so proud of it, Emma. And of you.”
Emma felt tears welling up in her eyes, a lump forming in her throat. She had been so caught up in her own life, in her own ambitions, that she had never stopped to think about the impact her father had on the town, on the people who loved him.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “For telling me that. It means more than you know.”
The man smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes, where some private grief lurked.
“You’re welcome. And if you do decide to have the festival this year, just know that we’ll all be there to help. It’s the least we can do, after everything your father did for us.”
Emma nodded, too choked up to speak. The man gave her one last nod of respect, then turned back to his daughter, leaving Emma to her thoughts.
Cody, who had been quietly listening to the exchange, reached across the table and took her hand. “You okay?” he asked softly, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on her skin.
Emma took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Yeah,” she said, managing a shaky smile. “Just a lot of memories, you know?”
Cody nodded, his expression understanding. “I know,” he said. “But maybe... maybe those memories can be a good thing,Emma. Maybe they can help you figure out what you want, what really matters to you.”
Before Emma could respond, the bell above the door jingled again, and a tall, lanky man in his late twenties walked in, a tool belt slung around his waist.
Cody’s face lit up, and he waved the man over. “Jeff!” he called out. “Just the man I wanted to see.”
The man ambled over to their table, a curious expression on his face. “Cody,” he said, nodding in greeting. “What’s up?”
