Page 10 of Wild, Wild Cowboy

Books were my favorite thing in the world. I loved the musty smell of the paper. I loved the promise in their pages. Some books were a discovery. A new viewpoint, a new world, a new emotion. Other books were a warm hug. Plenty of books were both. And you never knew what it was going to be, even when you thought you did. You never knew when you were going to open a book and find a word, a sentence, a thought that made your heart thrum.

So it was no surprise I was a librarian, even though only a small part of my job had anything to do with books. The Aspen Springs Public Library was the hub of the community. Whatever the community lacked, we tried to provide. Internet access, after-school activities for kids, classes on everything from computers to yoga, and sometimes we were simply a safe shelter. We put those tax dollars to work and, quite frankly, the community got more than their money’s worth out of us.

But with another budget cut looming, that could all change.

I really, really needed this rodeo to bridge the gap between government funding and grants that we had applied for and would hopefully receive in the next year.

And this community needed it, too, even if they didn’t realize how much.

As the Director of the Aspen Springs Public Library, and the only full-time employee, my day had started at seven a.m., a full hour before we opened. We also had two part-time employees, Janice and Yvette, who ran the circulation desk, shelved books, and assisted with the after-school programs. And for eighty hours over the next three months, we also had Silas Moore, who was paying off his DWI debt to society with volunteer work. A couple of people like him showed up every year. People who couldn’t afford the DUI or DWI fines were often assigned community service. The only thing that surprised me anymore was how many people signed up to pick up trash along the road instead of fulfilling those hours at the library.

I got some paperwork out of the way and made sure we had all our classes and programs ready for the week. Most of my work days had very little to do with books but today was special. I had been looking forward to it all month.

Today was a book day.

Twice a year, I culled the library inventory. Books that were falling apart, smelled like pee or vomit, or had suspicious stains were all thrown in the garbage. Books that had served their purpose to the community and were no longer useful were set aside for our annual used book sale that we held every June. This made space for at least a fraction of the thousands of new books published every year.

Supposing we could afford to purchase any of them.

But I wasn’t going to let anything ruin my good mood today. Especially not thoughts of doom and gloom.

By the time I unlocked the library doors, I had a printout of the circulation report in my hand, a list of all the books that hadn’t been checked out in thirty-six months.

“Good morning, Mrs. Spencer,” I greeted the elderly woman who entered as I grabbed a rolling cart.

“Good morning, dear,” she replied before heading to her usual corner.

Mrs. Spencer was always our first visitor, October through April. As a retired widow on a fixed income, she used the library as a way to keep her heating bills manageable. She liked to sit in the red stuffed chair by the window, usually with a romance book that she never brought home. She’d read a book all in one sitting and check out another one when we closed for the evening, which she’d bring back the very next morning. She was a voracious reader, and it was always romance.

Goals, honestly.

Although I did worry about her on extra-cold nights.

I scanned the report. A good chunk of the books were history and reference books. Most of those would stay put on our shelves for students doing research papers and whatnot. They hardly ever checked out the books, but I knew they were well-used. I hoped we could clear out the five-year-old SAT study guides and replace them with new editions this year, but I wouldn’t toss the old ones until I knew for sure.

I started with children’s books, which tended to get damaged faster than any other genre. Once I tossed out anything gross, I made my way down the list. I decided to keep books I knew were still loved and read during story time on Saturday mornings, likeThe Bear Snores OnandLlama, Llama, Red Pajama. I removed ten from the shelf, thanked them for their service, and placed them in the book sale pile.

By mid-afternoon, I had moved to the last—and hardest—genre on my list: adult fiction. These shelves were my heart andsoul. Thrillers, general and women’s fiction, fantasy, romance—I loved them all and I hated to let go of any single one of them, but it had to be done. I comforted myself with the reminder that if anyone requested one of the culled books, I could help them find it at another library or maybe order the e-book.

There was an older historical romance that hadn’t been checked out in over three years, although it was hugely popular when it came out. I pulled it from the shelf and traced the outline of the man and woman in a passionate clinch. It was the kind of cover no one did anymore, but I still loved them. It was like looking at a painting.

This one happened to be one of my favorites. I had a copy on my shelf at home, although I hadn’t picked it up in years. I flipped it open to a random page near the beginning and read the words“You just plugged your soon-to-be husband”and just like that, I was sucked into Regan’s misadventures as a mail-order bride. Without realizing what I was doing, I sank down onto the blue carpet and turned the page.

Sometime later—who was to say how long, really, but it wasn’t a great sign that I was sixty pages deep—I was interrupted by an exasperated voice saying, “Hannah. Bell.”

I blinked the visions of an Old West cowboy from my brain and found myself staring into the bemused face of a modern one. I adjusted my glasses. “Zack?”

He huffed and straightened, putting us face to crotch. RIDE, commanded that atrocious belt buckle. I blinked again, then slowly dragged my gaze to his face.

His lips curled in a smirk. “Darlin’, you sure do make a pretty picture on your knees like that, but I’m gonna need you to stand up so we can have a proper conversation.”

“Oh! Right.” It always took me a minute to pull myself from a fictional world into the real one. I started to scramble to my feetbut apparently I wasn’t fast enough because Zack scooped me up by the armpits and stood me in front of him.

“I said your name three times,” Zack accused.

“Well.” I looked down at the book still in my hand. “It’s a very good book. What can I do for you?”

His eyebrows went up like I had amused him. “You’rethe one who askedmefor a favor, as you might recall.”

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