Page 59 of A Cowboy to Call Her Own

“You’ve never had a crush before?” Kelley asked.

“Not quite like this one.” This one had all the potential of being one for the ages.

“I think I have one, too,” Kelley confessed.

“What should we do about it?” Besides not to encourage it. That did not appeal, not even a little bit. Even if Asher knew it was the wise choice.

“Go to a wedding, sit at the singles’ table and pretend it’s not there,” she suggested.

He grinned at her and shrugged. “Or we could go to a wedding, skip the sitting and dance the night away.”

“One night, then.” She held out her hand. “No pressure. No expectations.”

And no promises hidden between the words. Asher shook her hand gladly. “Agree. It’s one night and we walk away the same as we were before.”

The noise around them seemed to die off as she lifted one pink flower up between them and asked, “Asher Blackwell, will you be my wedding date?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” He took the flower from her grip and tucked it carefully behind her ear. “I would be honored to be your date, Kelley Munroe.”

And he left it at that. Because if he kissed his cowgirl, he would have a complication of the heart kind. And he was already on borrowed time.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

We walk awaythe same as we were before.

That was what Asher told Kelley at the drive-in only two days ago. Those were the same words Kelley was clinging to hours before her big sister was set to walk down the aisle and recite her vows to the love of her life. Laura-Beth would walk away from the evening married.

Kelley intended something different. She intended to walk away with her head held high.

And my heart still mine.

She traced her finger over a red-tipped yellow rose in a vase of a dozen that the floral shop delivered to Kelley’s mother’s house that morning with a note that read:I know today is about your sister. Wanted you to know someone is thinking about you.

“The card isn’t signed.” That came from Kelley’s mother, who was finishing adding loose beachy curls to Frannie’s hair at the kitchen table. They had decided the natural sunlight filtering through the oversize bay windows was ideal for their wedding hair and makeup session.

“It doesn’t matter. We know they’re from Asher.” Frannie lowered her cell phone and peered at Kelley. “Who else would they be from?”

Who, indeed. Kelley picked her eyeliner pencil out of her makeup bag, leaned toward the portable mirror propped on the table and concentrated on applying her makeup.

“Now, listen to this,” Frannie said, and read from her phone, slowly and carefully. “It says right here that yellow roses are for friendship.”

Kelley ignored the pang of disappointment in her chest. Friendship was what she wanted. Same as Asher. She switched to her other eye.

“How…ever,” Frannie continued, stretching the one word and pitching her voice low as if sharing a secret. “Red-tipped yellow roses are for new relationships and…” Frannie paused and waggled her eyebrows at Kelley. “A crush.” Her little sister gave Kelley a smug,I told you solook.

Kelley worked to keep her hand steady and her smile from getting away from her.

“Well, I can’t wait to see Asher Blackwell again,” her mom said, pleasantly. She twisted part of Frannie’s hair into an intricate updo and let the rest fall past her sister’s shoulders. “Asher was always so helpful with the yardwork and such when we still lived over on Bridle Creek Circle.”

Kelley set the eyeliner pencil down and glanced at her mom. “When was this?”

Her childhood home was on Bridle Creek. They had lived there before and after her parents’ divorce. Surely, Kelley would have noticed Asher being there.

“Asher’s mom volunteered in the library every week.” Kelley’s mom placed a bobby pin into Frannie’s hair, then stepped back to inspect her work. “Priscilla and I became good friends. She always checked on me after the divorce. She would send Asher over to mow the lawn or trim the hedges, so I had one less thing to worry about and she never let me pay him.”

That was kind. Kelley said, “But I don’t remember Asher ever coming by.”

Frannie curled the strands framing her face and said, “Neither do I.”