Page 56 of The Cowboy's Second Chance Bride

“After you left, after I graduated, I really didn’t know what I was going to do with my degree. One of the casino owners in Vegas offered me a marketing job, mostly because he was good friends with Dad. The owner said he felt like things were stale, so I pitched the idea of doing themes. Singles night, speed dating, romance-themed game shows—you name it. Because gambling on love is no different than other gambling, in my opinion.”

She paused, maybe waiting for me to object. I didn’t disagree.

She continued. “I was really good at pairing people up and word started to get out. A number of the couples I paired had married. And that’s when the casino owner asked me to help him find a wife. Which I did. They are still married today. Then word of mouth happened, and all of a sudden, I was full with requests and clients. So I left the job and went back to Texas to be near Dad.”

“So you fell into it? Why do I think there is more to it than that?” I’d paused my weaving, waiting for her to fill in the blanks.

She blew out an exasperated sigh. “Fine. After you left, I questioned whether love was real. Sure, my dad said he and my mom had the real deal, but I was three when she died. Who knows what time might have done to them? So I started these love-themed events to prove that love wasn’t this magical thing that happened once in a lifetime, that it could be cultivated. That people with shared interests and of like minds actually made better life partners than those swept away by passion.”

That had been us, swept away by each other, and it sure had felt damn near magical.

“And…?” I asked.

“And I was right. All that burning need flames out, and then you’re left there standing next to someone who hums when they eat and uses a body soap that is too strong, and you wonder what the hell you’ve done and how can you escape and escape fast.”

Is that what she thought of us? I had the urge to sniff my body to see if my soap was too strong.

“So you don’t do it because you’re a romantic?” I asked.

“No, not anymore. I’m very pragmatic about it.”

“But Jace and Meredith?”

“Proof that heat and passion don’t always have to be the first sign. Those two needed someone, and I could not see any better person for them than each other.”

I picked up the hair tie and twisted it around the ends. She wasn’t a romantic anymore. Logically, I knew it was because she’d chosen to have those beliefs, but it didn’t give me comfort that I had contributed to the act that had made her question all that to begin with.

I was about to apologize when I heard, “Wait just a second! You can braid?”

We both turned to find my sister had come in and was holding a large thermos of what had to be coffee.

She stomped her foot. “All this time, you could braid, and you never once braided my hair? I’m insulted.”

I smiled. “Do you want me to braid your hair now, Brynna? Would that make you happy?”

“It’s a start.” She tried to shoo Sabrina away.

“Oh, look.” Sabrina pointed to a heifer. “A baby is coming, I think.”

Brynna and I said the same thing at the exact same time. “That’s not good.”

I pointed to the heifer for emphasis. The calf was coming out the wrong way.

ChapterTwenty-Two

SABRINA

Iwould suck as a mom. The calves told me that—well, one in particular, and that calf knew because he was rejected by his mom. She even kicked him. Then he was handed to me, and he was not happy going from one bad mom to another. Obviously, I cared more than his mom did, but this calf knew I would probably drop him or feed him the wrong food or something just as heinous.

Cal said it was because I needed to relax. But it was hard to relax when one person said, “Oh shit, the calf is breech,” and a second person said, “Is it breathing?” when the calf came out.

The answer was no, it was not breathing. Brynna did some crazy rubbing and cleaning out the mouth, and then the calf was breathing, and I was crying. Cal put the calf in the pen with the mom to nurse, and she went all Mommie Dearest on him. So I tried to feed him, and the calf freaked, and Cal took him, and I backed away, embarrassed because I was no help, then tripped over a bale of hay, because those were large and obvious, and twisted my ankle and landed in a small pile of poo. Brynna had to help me back to my room.

Freshly showered, I thought I could still smell the poo as I tried to put on my jeans. I was lying on the floor because it hurt to bear weight.

I was contemplating crying when Cal banged open the door. “Sabrina, I want to look at your ankle.”

“Dude, ever heard of knocking?” My hands were on my waistband, pulling up, when he barged in. I only had a bra on. No shirt. My jeans were at my knees.

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