His Small-Town Girl
Lacy Williams
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Exclusive invitation
Coming soon!
Also by Lacy Williams
1
Mackie was punishing Cord from the grave.
Even after a decade away, everything on the ranch reminded him of Grandma Mackie's cruelty and indifference. The dilapidated state of the barn reflected the same neglect she'd shown to two young brothers reeling from the loss of their parents.
He'd been thirteen, a kid with a hole blown in his heart, and his brother West in tow. Mackie had worked him to the bone for five years, until he'd graduated and escaped to Houston.
Ten years later, he was back and doing dirty, backbreaking work. Mackie had left old hay bales in the barn so long that they'd started to decompose and turn back into earth. Cord was hauling out the rich, dark compost with the wheelbarrow and pitching it in to his truck bed. He'd spread it on the south field, where she'd planted wheat for so many years that the red dust that was left had been leeched of all nutrients. The barn itself already looked like a strong wind could blow it over, but it would show better when it was empty and ready for a few horses.
When he sold this place, he would have the last laugh.
Mackie had finally drunk herself to death. Maybe she'd smiled on her deathbed, imagining the mess she was leaving him to clean up. The house was in almost as bad shape as the barn. Shingles missing, paint faded.
He could fix all of that. He was a general contractor, and he'd always been good with tools. And he had four weeks until he had to be back in Houston to bid the Howard job.
He was going to laugh himself to the bank once he got this place cleaned up a little. And he was past caring if the bank staff in town gave him the cold shoulder. Good old Sutter's Hollow. Memories longer than an elephant’s.
Good riddance. He was gonna pocket the cash from selling this place and knock the dust off his boots.
He managed to miss the funeral, thanks to a phone number change after he'd left town. Probably for the best, because he wouldn’t grieve for the woman. He'd been on the ranch for two days, cataloging every repair. It was a long list. Maybe too long. He was supposed to meet with the attorney tomorrow.
He grunted as he flipped a shovel-full of the compost into his truck bed. He had to stop and tug up the collar of his lined coat. A bitter January wind was blowing across the Texas plain today, though the forecast had called for mild weather.
Tomorrow he'd stop by the local hardware store and see about getting some supplies to shore up the barn. The structure creaked and groaned as if it might blow away with a good strong wind. He wasn't going to rebuild the thing, but with a few replaced studs, it could be useful again. As long as he could do the work fast. The last thing he needed was to stick around Sutter's Hollow long enough to feel the same suffocating pressure he'd felt during high school.
Hound Dog—ironically named, as he was at least half Border Collie—gave a low woof from where he lay in the grass next to Cord's truck.
Cord followed the dog's line of sight. What the—?
Someone was walking up the cow path.
The barn was out of sight of the house, down a small incline and sheltered by a line of oaks and cedars, half hidden behind a jumble of dilapidated old tractors. Neighbors would've known to drive down from the house.
Not that any neighbor was going to check on him, even if the barn burnt down. Not after what had happened with Noah, not after they’d run both Cord and his friend Callum out of town.
So who was this?
It was a slip of a girl. Couldn't be more than eighteen. Maybe nineteen. Her hair was pulled back from her face and tied in a tail. She wasn't wearing makeup, from what he could tell, and her fresh-faced, youthful mien made him feel ancient. He was ancient compared to her. Ten years her senior. Or more.
She wore jeans and a faded denim jacket over her pink T-shirt. Boots, worn in and stained from work.
He'd been away from Sutter's Hollow too long to recognize a kid like her.
Hound Dog stood up but didn't bristle. He wandered toward the stranger, offering a slow wag.
Cord opened his mouth to warn her off, but she'd already knelt in the grass and patted her thigh, giving the dog a wordless invitation.
And Hound walked right up to her, sniffed the hand she extended. The dog acquiesced to her scratching under its chin and, when the girl stroked his chest, his tail turned into a tornado of wagging. He pushed forward, nudging his whole body into the girl and giving a joyful bark.
It had taken a good forty-eight hours for the dog to stop growling at Cord, and that only because Cord was feeding him twice a day.
The girl stood, wiping her hands against her thighs. When she stood and approached Cord, Hound stuck to her side, his tongue lolling happily.
"Help you?" he asked, when what he really wanted to grunt was no trespassing.
Grandma Mackie's signs might be faded, but they were still readable. And applicable.
"I'm Molly." She stuck out her hand.
He didn’t offer his in return, but it seemed the girl couldn't take a hint.
Molly English wasn't going to let the rancher intimidate her.
Even if he was three decades younger than she'd expected.
She kept her arm outstretched, kept her smile fixed in place, even though it meant clamping down on her back teeth. Hopefully, he wouldn't notice the tremble in her hand.
She needed this job. Badly.
She'd escaped. Now she needed a place to land.
Somehow, she was going
