True Love Cowboy Read online

  Dedication

  For everyone out there who fights for love and family.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Announcement

  Chapter One

  By Jennifer Ryan

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter One

  Trinity knocked on Mr. Crawford’s door for the fourth time and still got no answer. She didn’t usually walk into other people’s homes, but this seemed like an emergency. What if he was too sick to make it to the door? What if he’d fallen and hit his head? She imagined any number of things keeping him from answering her knock when he knew she was coming to deliver his order. And the food she’d brought with her needed to go in the fridge before it spoiled. So she tried the knob, found it unlocked—people didn’t worry about locking their doors out here—and pushed open the door.

  “Mr. Crawford,” she called out loud and clear, hoping he heard her and she didn’t frighten him. “It’s me. Trinity. I brought your order. Are you ready to go to urgent care to get that nasty cough checked out?”

  She walked into the entry and noted the dirty plates and glasses on the coffee table in the living room. The TV was on, but Mr. Crawford wasn’t sitting in there watching from the blanket-covered sofa.

  “Mr. Crawford, I’ll just put the food in the fridge for you.” She hoped he’d come out soon, because her heart was racing and her mind spun a dozen bad scenarios for why he didn’t answer. She went with the ordinary, most logical reason, that he was probably in the bathroom, and clung to that thought.

  She loved the old ranch house. Single story with wide-plank hardwood floors throughout. The wide, tall windows off the back let in a ton of natural light. The place needed new paint and maybe some modern touches, but it felt homey.

  Except for the quiet vibe that made her uneasy, because Mr. Crawford still hadn’t appeared as she entered the kitchen.

  A few dirty dishes sat in the sink, but the rest of the space looked clean. The garbage needed to go out. She smiled at the Almost Homemade containers in the trash. She needed to remind Mr. Crawford they should be recycled.

  She set her heavy, insulated bag on the floor by the fridge and unzipped it. It only took her a couple minutes to stow all the food in the fridge and freezer, restocking his Almost Homemade favorites. He’d have plenty to eat over the next two weeks.

  She retraced her steps and started down the hallway, calling out, “Mr. Crawford,” one more time.

  She passed an office and an empty bedroom, then turned a corner and caught her breath. She ran down the hall, dropping to her knees beside Mr. Crawford. Sprawled on the floor, he lay on his belly, head turned to the side as he wheezed in and out, struggling to get an easy breath.

  She looked him over to see if anything appeared broken, but it simply looked like he’d fallen to his knees and then onto the hardwood with his hands by his shoulders. She pressed her hand to his too-warm head and leaned down to his ear. “Mr. Crawford, what’s wrong?”

  He moaned but didn’t open his eyes. He looked like he’d lost ten pounds since she’d seen him last week.

  She needed to get him to help. Now.

  It would take the ambulance too long to get this far out of town. She didn’t know if Mr. Crawford could wait that long for help. And air. So it was up to her to get him to her car and the hospital.

  She gently rolled him onto his back. He seemed to breathe a bit easier, but then the coughing started, racking his body.

  She knelt, lifted him so she could scoot her bent knees under his head and shoulders, and held him up to ease the coughing fit. His eyes fluttered, but didn’t open. “Mr. Crawford, can you hear me?”

  “Trini . . .” The rest of her name got lost on another round of coughs.

  “Don’t talk. Can you stand? I need to get you to my car.”

  He pressed his hand to his chest as he settled down again and shook his head.

  “Okay. Try to stay calm.” She wished her heart would take that order, but it thrashed in her chest as she tried to think of what to do.

  She could call one of her brothers. They were only ten, maybe fifteen minutes away. Still too long to make Mr. Crawford lie here struggling to breathe.

  It had to be her. It had to be right now.

  She hoped all the standing and walking she did at work combined with the squats she did at the gym were enough to move Mr. Crawford. “I’m going to have to drag you out. I’ll try to do it quickly and without too many bumps along the way, but I can’t promise this isn’t going to be difficult.”

  Mr. Crawford moaned and opened his mouth, trying to breathe in more air.

  Decided, she hooked her hands under his arms and linked her fingers on his chest. She pulled him up and against her breasts, his head back against her shoulder, her cheek pressed to his hair. “I’ve got you. Let’s go.”

  She kept her hold locked and got her feet under her. In the crouched position, she had to take small steps backward to drag him down the hall and to the entry. It took every ounce of strength she had to get him that far; she had to lay him down so she could open the door.

  Trinity stood over him, sucked in a few deep breaths, reset her position to drag him again, and pulled him out of the house. As gently as she could, she maneuvered Mr. Crawford down the three wide stone porch steps. She hoped she wasn’t scraping up his backside, but she couldn’t worry about that now. He lost a sock on the path to the driveway. She wished she hadn’t parked in front of the garage but on the circle drive by the lawn.

  Silly to think about that now when she was so close to getting him to her car. It took a lot of grunting and muscling through the pain in her back and thighs to get him there, but once she did, she leaned him up against the back tire and opened the passenger door. She needed to get him inside.

  She knelt next to him and rubbed her sore thigh muscles. “Mr. Crawford, I can’t lift you into the car on my own. I need you to help me. Can you try to stand while I lift you, so I can get you to sit on the seat? Then I can gently lay you down back there. Okay?”

  She bent each of his legs and planted his feet firmly. He lifted his arms and she hooked them over her shoulders. She put her hands in his armpits and lifted him while he did his best to put weight on his feet and stand with his back braced against the car.

  “That’s it. You’re doing it. Almost there.” Once she had him standing, she pinned him in place with her shoulder, then used her foot to help him scoot his foot over toward the open door. “Okay, now shift your weight over.”

  Mr. Crawford gave
a huge effort and not only shifted to his other leg, but stepped sideways and kind of fell into the opening, hitting his butt on the seat. She caught his arms before he completely tumbled back and gently lowered him. Bent like a bow, he lay with his feet still on the ground. She picked up one and then the other and placed them on the doorframe. One slipped off, so she tried again. She pushed against his knees to keep his legs in place this time.

  “Try to hold your legs here. I’m going to run around to the other side and pull you in.”

  She felt the tension and shaking in his whole body and hoped he had enough strength to get through this.

  She ran to the back of the car, spotted the SUV barreling down the drive toward them, dismissed it because she had other things to worry about, and opened the other passenger door just as the vehicle came to a jarring stop and someone leaped out behind her.

  The timing sucked as usual, but she flashed back to when she’d been knocked over the head, stuffed into a trunk, and kidnapped by her brother Tate’s girlfriend’s stalker ex, who wanted to use her to lure out Tate and Liz.

  She didn’t do well in the dark anymore.

  She didn’t like strangers running at her.

  Every instinct she had kicked in, and she turned to face her attacker and put up her hands. “Stay back.” The warning lacked the oomph she’d hoped for when her voice cracked.

  The man kept coming. “What are you doing with my dad?”

  She tried to hold on to the word dad, but panic short-circuited her brain. “Stay away. Don’t touch me.”

  The man halted immediately, surprise and confusion lighting his eyes. He held his hands up. “I’m not going to hurt you. That’s my dad. Is he okay?”

  She kept one hand up in front of her to ward him off and pressed the other to her temple, trying to make sense of reality and nightmare as his face changed to the one she feared and back to Mr. Crawford’s handsome son.

  “Is my father okay?” His words found their way past the images assailing her mind and sank in. His sharp tone helped keep her rooted in reality, and she focused on his stunning blue eyes.

  “He’s sick. V-very sick.”

  Mr. Crawford needed her help. She tried to hold on to that thought alone.

  The man took a tentative step forward. “Are you taking him to the hospital?”

  “Y-yes.” She nodded and tried to suck in a deep breath to stave off the hyperventilating that threatened to make her dizzy.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Fine,” she bit out.

  “Let me help you get him settled in the car.” He took another step forward.

  She sidestepped and moved away from the open passenger door to let him take her place.

  With hardly any effort at all, he pulled Mr. Crawford across the back seat. “Hey, Dad. I’m home. Can you hear me?”

  She managed to find her bearings and ran around to the other side of the car and situated Mr. Crawford’s legs and feet. She had a hard time meeting the other man’s eyes, but said, “Get in. I’ll drive.”

  She closed the passenger door. So did he on his side, then they met in the front. She pulled the keys from her pocket and jammed the right one into the ignition before she remembered. “Shit. The front door is open.”

  The man pinned her in his gaze. “Do not leave without me.”

  She gave him a disgruntled frown and waited while he jumped out, rushed to close the door, then ran back. The second he was in the car, she stomped on the gas and backed out of the driveway, swung the car around in a tight turn, and raced down the road headed back into town.

  The man turned in the passenger seat and studied his father. “What happened? Why is he breathing like that?”

  “He called in a delivery order.” She took a cleansing breath, found some calm, though her heart still wildly pounded in her chest, and let the rest of what happened tumble out of her mouth. “He sounded really bad. I offered to take him to urgent care, but when I arrived to drop off the food and take him, he didn’t answer the door. I got worried, so I went in and found him lying in the hallway. He wasn’t really awake, but he managed a few words when I told him I needed to drag him out to the car. He helped me a little to get him inside. Then you showed up.”

  He turned to stare at her. “Should you be driving in your condition?”

  She breathed in and out in short pants. “I’m fine. Why? I’m fine.” She was totally talking way too fast. Her knuckles had gone white, so she eased off her hold on the steering wheel.

  “You’re pale as a ghost.”

  “It’s not easy to drag a man who outweighs me by fifty or more pounds out of a house and into the car,” she pointed out. True. But anxiety, a minor panic attack, and the nightmares filling her thoughts had far more to do with her current condition and state of mind.

  She distracted herself by counting the reflective disk-thingies on the road.

  He raked his hand over his head. “Damn. I don’t know how you managed.” He stared at his dad, then settled back in the passenger seat.

  Because Mr. Crawford was her favorite customer, and she liked spending time with him when he placed a delivery order; she knew all about his favorite person. Little Emmy. His pride and joy.

  Of course many of the pictures included Mr. Crawford’s son. Jon? She was pretty sure that was his name. Mr. Crawford was so proud of the businessman, who was the first in the family to graduate college and leave their small town and make it big in California.

  And if memory served, he was moving back home.

  “You’re Emmy’s dad. I’m glad you showed up when you did. He’ll be so happy you’re home.” Her brain started firing on all cylinders. “Mr. Crawford is head over heels for his granddaughter. He shows me pictures and tells me stories about her all the time.” Talking about mundane things distracted her from the panic she couldn’t control.

  He glanced in the back to check on Mr. Crawford again. Nothing had changed in his terrible condition, but he didn’t seem worse. “I hope whatever this is, he gets to see her again soon.”

  “He’s going to be okay.” She said it as much for him as she did for herself. She liked Mr. Crawford and looked forward to her visits with him.

  “Thank you.”

  “For what?” She brushed her hair back from her face, then tucked her shaking hand between her knees and drove one-handed.

  “Helping him. Taking care of him.” He wiped his hand over his face. “I worry about him out here all alone. It’s why I’m moving back. Well, part of why I’m moving back.”

  “He told me you want Emmy to grow up the way you did.”

  “I want her to know her grandfather, play on the ranch, learn to ride a horse, grow her own garden like my mother did, and spend more time in the fresh air than on her tablet.”

  “She’ll get that here.”

  His words did something to her. She relaxed into the pretty picture he painted of a little girl growing up on a ranch. It reminded her of how she was raised and what she wanted for her future.

  She took the next turn and sent her passenger into the side door.

  Jon gripped the handle above the window and held on. “Um, you might want to slow down just a bit. Not that I don’t mind the hurry, but I’d like to get there in one piece.”

  “Don’t worry. I know these roads like the back of my hand.”

  He stared across at her. “You grew up out here.”

  “Born and raised. The McGrath place. Cedar Top Ranch, down the road the other way.”

  Jon turned to her. “Is Drake your brother?”

  She smiled thinking about him and how far he’d come this past year, how happy he was with Adria. “He is. Along with Tate and Declan, who run the ranch for the family now.”

  “That makes you the little sister. Trinity McGrath.”

  “Yep.” With three overprotective brothers. “And you’re Jon, right?”

  “Yeah. I graduated a year behind Drake and one ahead of Declan, I think. Drake and I hung out someti
mes. You were still just a little thing back then.”

  She was surprised he remembered her at all. Her brothers didn’t like her chasing after them so much when they hit high school.

  Jon checked on Mr. Crawford again, frowning when Mr. Crawford didn’t make a miraculous recovery they both wished for. “This is taking too long.”

  She pointed out the windshield. “City lights are just up ahead. Don’t worry. I know the admitting nurse. They’ll see him right away.”

  “Small towns. Everyone knows everyone.”

  “At some point, you meet everyone when you grow up here.” That got her a very slight smile. “I feed most of the hospital staff on a regular basis.”

  “So you’re a chef?”

  “Yep.” She sped into town and drove into the hospital emergency entrance and stopped right outside the doors behind an ambulance.

  “Wow. That was fast.”

  A minute ago they’d been taking too long.

  She shut off the engine and ran for the double doors. She found a wheelchair and pushed it out to the car.

  One of the paramedics helped Jon slide Mr. Crawford out of the back seat and into the chair.

  “Thanks, Pete.” She recognized one of her repeat customers.

  “No problem, Trinity.”

  “I’ll help you get him inside,” Pete offered.

  “We’ve got this, but thanks.” She turned to Jon, who was already headed for the doors, and ran to catch up. Inside, the emergency room was busy but not chaotic like she imagined some nights could be.

  One of the doctors who frequented the shop walked out of a draped-off area. “Hey there.”

  She quickly glanced at the name tag hanging from his scrubs pocket. “Dr. Holt.” She waved her hand toward Mr. Crawford, who was leaning heavily to one side in the wheelchair. “I found him passed out on the floor in his home. He has a fever, severe cough, and has been mostly unconscious for at least the last half hour.”

  Dr. Holt picked up Mr. Crawford’s hand and examined it. “His fingertips are blue. He’s not getting enough oxygen.”

  She didn’t need to be told that. The sound of Mr. Crawford desperately trying to get air echoed through her and made her own chest feel tight.