He's waiting for my grandson to come home to work with him. So why was he being so stubborn? She wanted to ask, but knew the question would set him off again. Selling the animal to her could mean money he didn't have, maybe buying groceries he needed. Because she did feel bad for the farmer who lived in the tiny square of a house, the front porch sagging on one end. 'Look, the horse is just in that corral doing nothing but grazing rocks and dirt.' She softened her voice to one of sympathy. And each time her heart got a little more involved. Each time she drove by the farm, she saw the animal. The horse had been an impulsive thing it didn't really fit into her plans. And fifth-somehow come to terms with the fact that Amy would never call her again. Third, find a place to be herself, without everyone trying to help. Not a bucket list, but a list for moving forward. The physical pain was nothing compared to the heartache of losing her best friend, the guilt that plagued her daily, and the nightmares.Īt twenty-six, finding herself didn't come easy.Īt twenty-six, she had a list. She'd come here looking for a place to hide, to get her life together because no one knew how much she hurt inside. There would always be people who thought they knew where her life had gone wrong and what she needed to do to get back on track. There would always be people wanting to help. Even though she'd tried to keep a low profile since she showed up in Dawson, Oklahoma, a week ago there would always be talk. You aren't going to talk to me that way, missy.' 'I don't care if you are Gibson Cross's kid. He pointed a finger at her that trembled. I've been driving by here for a week, and every day that horse is reaching across the fence trying to get one blade of grass. Harmony glanced at the skin-and-bones animal.

'I'll give you double what the animal is worth.' 'No, you didn't,' Harmony countered, nearly smiling, yet not. 'I just rode him in the rodeo last night.' 'I don't know why you think I'm not taking care of that animal.' The old farmer, with a gray grizzled beard and sunken, hazy brown eyes, scratched his chin, as if he really didn't get it. She needed something to pour her heart into, something that would love her in return and maybe, just maybe, help her find a way back to the person she used to be. Possibly more than anything had ever mattered in her whole life. But the skinny Ap-paloosa, black with a smattering of white on its rump, mattered. She also couldn't explain why the horse in his corral mattered so much to her. The farmer stood his ground, his jeans loose, his button-down shirt frayed, with one button missing.

Single Dad Cowboy by Brenda Minton