Page 28 of Seaside Cowboy's Second Chance

Her gaze roamed over emerald-green fields, and cheery baby-pink and turquoise flowers waved back in the breeze. She’d fallen in love with this ranch long before she loved Dallas. Her mother had two friends—her sister and Dallas’s mom—and they’d babysat for each other and spent whatever time they could together. Their children had become friends by default. Well, after some squabbling, of course.

Thinking about her mother sent a sharp pain inside Skylar. So much betrayal. Her throat clogged up, but she pushed the tumultuous thoughts away and turned to happier scenery and happier thoughts.

Those times of petting baby critters, grooming ponies, and running in the sun-dappled, flowery meadows were another part of childhood she missed. Okay, the Lawrence boys didn’t exactly welcome the girls at first, but they’d tolerated them. With time, the brothers had even shown Skylar and her cousins the way around farm animals—at least the ones who were relatively safe.

It felt like an eternity ago. She lived in a different world now, and she’d better remember it.

She powered down the window to breathe fresh air tinted with a wildflower aroma. Still, her stomach tightened. Would the Lawrence family hate seeing her? After all, she’d broken the heart of their son and brother.

She straightened her shoulders. If Grandma thought it would be too horrible, she wouldn’t have sent her. They did offer their barn for the wedding reception, even knowing Skylar was going to be the maid of honor, right?

Yet she wouldn’t blame them for a hostile reaction right now.

Soon she climbed the porch to the sprawling Cape-Cod-style ranch house sheltered by live oaks with wispy Spanish moss, while balancing the heavenly-smelling blueberry pie. Her aunt’s recipe that Grandma had improved further. Her cousins, except Skylar’s best friend Marina, had inherited the cooking and baking gene. Saylor, the cousin with the name so like hers they’d joked about it often, was a great cook. But the cooking gene had skipped Skylar entirely. The only pies she’d been decent at were mud pies, and she was five then.

She knocked on the front door, then tried the handle, and it gave in, sending her a nostalgic jolt. They’d never locked doors here before, and they still didn’t. She couldn’t imagine leaving a front door unlocked in the city. Especially after...

Stop it.

Inside, the homey aromas of steak, baked potatoes, and steamed broccoli met her, and her mouth watered. Dallas’s mom had always made tons of hearty food, which Skylar had appreciated. Despite Aunt’s and Grandma’s efforts, Skylar’s mom had never mastered good cooking. From what little Skylar could remember, Mom seemed like an ethereal creature nearly floating in the air rather than walking on the earth. Skylar had learned to entertain herself early on with drawings because Mom could pass by her like her little girl wasn’t even there. Often, Mom had forgotten cooking altogether. Dad had either thrown something together fast after returning home from work, or relied on his mother or sister-in-law. Sometimes, Mrs. Lawrence would just drop off casseroles without being asked.

It had been a miracle Mom had managed to hold down a job with the local florist, but then she was as fleeting as the flowers she fondled and as flighty as the butterflies that landed on them. She’d been a genius at putting bouquets together. Domesticity, not so much. It was Skylar’s father who’d taken Skylar to the ice cream parlor or brushed her hair or made sure she had clean clothes, and Auntie, Grandma, or Mrs. Lawrence had often stepped in, Auntie shaking her head and Grandma looking resigned.

The three girlfriends of that time couldn’t have been more different. Auntie and Mrs. Lawrence were down-to-earth and present in the moment, often with throaty laughs. Mom was melancholic, her eyes sad and looking somewhere far beyond her daughter or her husband and nearly always in her own fantasies. Auntie and Mrs. Lawrence were like a pot roast in a Crock-Pot, sturdy and reliable. Mom was more of a soufflé on a thin porcelain plate, something gentle, fragile, and easily breakable.

There had been some great days with Mom, too. When she’d woken up in a cheery mood, dressed Skylar up in a pretty dress, and taken her walking on the beach. Or when they’d painted together or created bouquets in the florist shop. Dad’s face lit up on those days.

Or was it the story Skylar had told herself over the years? Her memories, existing and returning, mixed with her imagination, like different hues in her mom’s watercolors, and at this point, she wasn’t sure which memories were the real ones.

“Over here!” Mrs. Lawrence called out from the dining room, returning Skylar to the present.

Skylar’s low-heeled, sensible black pumps clicked against the hardwood floor as she entered the dining room. Her stomach clenched, and guilt and apprehension nearly ripped her apart. After her mother had left, her aunt and Mrs. Lawrence had helped Grandma raise the traumatized and terrified girl. And how had Skylar repaid the kindness?

Right. By shattering Mrs. Lawrence’s son’s heart.

For years, she’d dreaded this. But it was time to face the consequences. And if the blueberry pie got thrown in her face, so be it. She should’ve asked Grandma to make lemon meringue, though. Much easier to wash off.

In the dining room, four pairs of eyes fixed on her. One pair was frosty. Darius barely waved before stomping out. Well, she knew where she stood with him.

“Hi, Skylar.” Kai lifted his tall sweet tea glass in a salute, his dark hair spread on his shoulders instead of being hidden by a bandanna. He was semi friendly territory.

She smiled her gratitude, though the smile wobbled. “Hi, Kai. Hi, Mrs. Lawrence. Hi Dallas.” She avoided looking at him once she saw how his eyes narrowed.

Austin should be at the vet clinic, and the rest of the brothers must’ve left for the fields already.

“Hello, Skylar,” Dallas muttered. But he didn’t leave like his brother, and that was something. Though maybe it would’ve been better if he left the room. Just having him in the same space electrified it.

“I brought a blueberry pie.” She placed the covered plate on the table, ready to duck and run. While her mother was a shy and reclusive artist, her mother’s friend had a much spunkier spirit, especially after her abusive husband died. Skylar had seen her rope horses and her teenage sons with the same skill.

“Welcome back!” Mrs. Lawrence slapped the table, pushed up from her seat, and captured Skylar in a tight hug. “It’s about time!”

Was... was this for real?

“Thank you so much.” Skylar could breathe again as if a mountain—no, an entire mountain range—dropped off her shoulders. Could this be happening? The sweet homecoming she didn’t dare hope for. As her spirits soared, she returned the hug, leaning into Mrs. Lawrence and breathing in her familiar comfort. Tears burned her eyes, but she kept them at bay. “I’m sorry. For everything.”

“Your grandmother told me what you had to do,” Mrs. Lawrence whispered in Skylar’s ear.

Skylar went cold.

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