Page 17 of Pretend To Be My Cowboy
After a little while, the orderly part of her brain kicked into action. The part of her that had been taking care of Lizzy all these years, the part of her that could organize a wild group of kindergarteners with a single word or a stern look, had her tapping her fingers on the edge of the file.
“Mr. Billman, do you have a pen I could borrow?” She straightened in her seat. “I want to review all this again and take notes so I’m prepared when I talk to my sisters.”
6
Nash had never wished so badly to be a fly on the wall.
He stared up at the stately old brick building that housed Mr. Billman’s office and rocked back on his heels.
Emma had been in there for ages now, and he wished he had an idea how it was going.
That was bizarre in and of itself. Nash prided himself on not getting involved in drama—any drama. Certainly not any of the petty drama that went on in his family, and definitely not in anyone else’s.
But he’d had to stop himself three times now from following her in there and checking up on her. He hadn’t, though, and hewouldn’t.
This was Emma’s business, not his.
Though his dad wouldn’t see it that way.
Patrick Donahue was more invested in the outcome of the O’Sullivan property than just about anyone.
With a huff of impatience, Nash turned and continued his pacing down Main Street. He nodded at Anna Swanson, Kit’s mother, who was arranging flowers in the storefront window of the florist shop. She gave him a big wave and a friendly smile. She was retired and only worked there part-time, and Nash wasn’t sure he’d seen anyone happier than when Anna was working with flowers.
She and her husband Jonathan were two of the most generous people he’d ever met, volunteering constantly, either at the church or delivering groceries to the elderly. They even took in Kit and the twins when Natalie abandoned them. His best friend still lived with his parents, but the three of them shared the load of the little ones…along with Aunt Marsha, the vibrant elderly woman who Corbin and Chloe adored.
The Swansons were one of those couples that made Aspire the town that it was. Neighbors taking care of neighbors, just like he’d told Emma.
He ducked his head and kept walking. This was why he lived here, and why he’d never had any notions of leaving.
Still didn’t, but funny how one afternoon with Emma had left him wondering what else was out there. He took in the familiar cacophony that was Main Street and let out a sigh.
Nope, he was happy here. Aspire might not have a lot to offer a gal who had all the perks of a bustling city like Chicago, but he loved it all the same.
He was so lost in his own thoughts, he nearly missed spotting his Aunt Lisa until he was right in front of her.
“Nash, my boy,” she said in that sing-song voice of hers. “I was wondering if you’d ever notice me waving or if you were too busy daydreaming.”
“I don’t daydream, Aunt Lisa,” he said jokingly as he leaned in to give her a hug.
“Oh of course not,” she said. She patted his cheek. “I’m sure there’s onlyvery seriousthoughts going on in there.”
She’d dropped her voice to sound exceptionally serious and he laughed.
“What are you doing in town?” she asked. “You work so hard on that ranch, I didn’t expect to see you until Casey’s wedding.”
“Yeah, well, even us cowboys need to stock up on groceries now and again,” he said. It wasn’t a total lie. He’d likely stop for some groceries before heading back. He couldn’t exactly offer Emma omelets every meal of the day. But groceries were easier to explain than his real reason for a trip to town.
Not to mention, it wouldn’t open him up to a million questions.
His mother wasn’t the only Donahue obsessed with seeing him married, although his Aunt Lisa wasn’t nearly as vocal about it as some of the others. Namely his mother, but also his Aunt Angela. All three women had married Donahue men. Nash’s father was the eldest, followed by Uncle Mace. He’d married Aunt Lisa before Nash was born, and they operated the largest hardware store in the area just outside of town. The couple ran it together and supplied every rancher in the valley.
Then there was Uncle Hansen and Aunt Angela, who ran a boutique motel here in town, because Angela had always wanted to own one.
Between the three brothers, their wives, and their assorted children and grandchildren, the Donahues were the backbone of this town. They had a legacy here. A purpose. And Nash was proud to carry on that tradition.
“You know,” his aunt Lisa said slowly as he took one of her bags from the bakery and walked her to her car. “Speaking of Casey’s wedding…”
He shot her a rueful look. “Were we speaking of Casey’s wedding? I thought we were talking about groceries.”
