The Cowboy Encounter: The Witching Well, #2

By Kristy Tate

When Becca Martin stumbles into the Witching Well, she finds all of her medical training can't protect her from the dangers of 1870 Colorado and the charms of Clint Warwick. Convinced her excursion into a distant past and place is nothing more than a delusion, she indulges in a fantastical romance, but when hostilities take a deadly turn, Becca fears she'll lose not only her heart, but perhaps a future she could never have imagined.

From a modern day New York City mental hospital to the Rocky Mountains of the Wild West, The Cowboy Encounter is a romantic romp that proves once again that love is timeless. Book two, The Witching Well. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kristy Tate
• Release date: Mar 12, 2015
• ISBN: 9781533748423

Kristy Tate

Dr. Seuss was my first love. When my mom left me in the children’s section of the library I’d find Horton and the Cat. My mom hated the good doctor and refused to checkout his books. He was my secret, guilty pleasure. Eventually, I read about Narnia, Oz and Green Gables.When my mom grew too sick to visit the library, a friend brought her a stash of romances which she kept in a big box beside her bed. Weekly, this good friend replenished the box. My mom didn’t know I read her books; it was like the Seuss affair, only sexier. Reading became my escape from a horrific and scary situation. Immersed in a story, I didn’t have to think about the life and death drama taking place on the other side of my bedroom wall. Books were my hallucinogenic drug of choice. In college, I studied literature and fell in love with Elliot, Willa and too many others to mention. (This had no similarity to my dating life.)I’m no longer a child living with a grieving father and a dying mother, nor am I the co-ed in search of something or someone real, nonfictional. I’m an adult blessed with an abundance of love. I love my Heavenly Father and His son, my husband and family, my dog, my friends, my neighbors, my writing group, the birds outside my window.Because I’m a writer, I also love my characters. I adore their pluck, courage and mettle. I admire the way they face and overcome hardships. But, as in any romance, I sometimes I get angry with them and think that they are too stupid to live. At those times, I have to remind myself that they live only in my imagination, unless I share. Writing for me is all about sharing--giving back to the world that has so generously shared with me-- because I learned a long time ago that the world is full of life and death dramas. Sometimes we need a story to help us escape.And we need as much love as we can find. That’s why I write romance.I have won awards and contests, but since one disgruntled critic once told me, "If you're as good a writer as you think you are, you should show us, not tell us," I no longer trot out my winnings. In the world of storytelling, they don't really matter.

Book preview

The Cowboy Encounter

CHAPTER 1

BECCA KNEW THE DANGERS associated with bottling emotions. But she also knew the Bible was right when it said to everything there is a season— a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance. She recited the words whenever she thought she might break down and cry.

Sure, some people might cry at weddings, but it was supposed to be a happy time, and Mia was not only her best friend’s sister, but also the sister of the man Becca intended to marry.

Becca’s gaze slid to Joel. Standing beneath the rose arbor, his shoulder touching Mia’s, he looked heart-stoppingly handsome in his tux as he posed for the photographer. The black accentuated his dark hair and eyes. Even the pink bowtie looked good on him. He caught her gaze and held it for a moment. His expression softened. She imagined standing next him—her pale hair and skin in sharp contrast with his Mediterranean handsomeness.

Becca blinked back a tear and looked down at her hands while all around her cameras flashed and clicked. For not the first time, and probably not the last, she imagined her own wedding.

It wouldn’t be as lavish as Mia’s and Brad’s, of course. Brad, a real estate developer, had fists full of money, which was good wedding-wise, because Mia’s family was on the brink of financial disaster. And although Joel as a high school science teacher had nothing to do with the failing family business, he still shouldered some of the concern over his mom’s mounting medical bills.

But at least Delia was still alive.

That was more than could be said of Becca’s dad. She shook herself away from bleak thoughts, pressed her hand to her bodice, and felt the letter crinkle against her skin.

Beside her, Lacy toyed with a piece of cake. I wish they’d start the music, Lacey said. I need to burn off all these calories.

There’s music. Becca’s gaze slid over Lacey. Her friend wore the same putrid pink bridesmaid dress as Becca, but with her tiny, toned body and long curly blonde hair, she made even the puffy dress look good. Becca tugged at her own dress, wishing she had Lacey’s lithe build.

But no one’s dancing. Lacey’s gaze darted around the room. She leaned closer to whisper. There’s Jason West. I can’t believe he actually came.

Why shouldn’t he? He’s good friends with Brad. Besides, I heard Celia’s grandmother invited him.

Lacey shot Celia a furtive, speculative glance. I can feel Celia’s loathing radiating across the room. All that negative energy is so unhealthy.

Becca smiled, and used her fork to stab with her cake. Lacey, a yoga instructor, often talked about a person’s energy as if it generated from more than just chemicals and calories. She loved Lacey, even if she sometimes reminded Becca of a piece of fluff, drifting on the air and through life with nothing more to worry about than her next organic apple or Spandex leotard.

Lacy set down her fork. I’m going to ask him to dance.

Who? West?

Were you even listening to me? Lacey stood and smoothed down the front of her dress. Aren’t you supposed to be a good listener? Isn’t that, like, your job?

Sorry, Lace... Becca let her voice trail away. I got some bad news today. I’m trying not to dwell on it.

What happened? Lacey took her eyes off Jason West, and focused on Becca.

Becca knew that Lacey might be fluff, but she was also warmhearted, compassionate, and kind.

My dad died.

Lacey’s hand flew to her mouth. Oh, I’m so sorry!

Becca tried to shrug like it was no big deal. It’s okay. You know we weren’t close.

Oh, sweetie. Lacey dropped to a crouch and wrapped her arm around Becca’s shoulders.

I’ll be sad later, Becca promised Lacy and herself. Not even my dad’s death can spoil this fairytale wedding. Everything is so gorgeous.

Lacey nodded, even though Becca knew Lacey would never choose such opulence. When’s the funeral?

Next Saturday.

Are you going to be able to get off?

If I can’t, I’ll quit.

Becca!

Becca drew in a sharp breath. I hate it there.

Lacey patted her hand. It’s the primo mental hospital in the country. No one likes it there.

Thoughts of her student loans flashed through her mind. With her father’s inheritance, maybe she could now pay off her debts. Becca pulled Lacey’s cake in front of her and plucked the fork out of Lacey’s hand. It’s time to be happy! I’m not going to think about my dad, or the crazies at my work. Right now—I’m happy. She dug into the cake and took a big bite.

You go, girl! Lacey climbed back to her feet and beamed at her. I’m going to go and ask Jason West to dance! She flounced in West’s direction.

Becca’s thoughts drifted to Trouthaven, Colorado, and what mayhem might wait her there. She lifted a forkful of cake to her mouth, but her hand froze midair when she caught sight of a man standing beside the swan ice sculpture. He wore brown baggy pants secured with a leather belt and tucked into scuffed boots. A white, button-down shirt sharply contrasted with his tan skin and blue eyes. He carried a large black cowboy hat in his hand. He seemed like he’d be more at home at a rodeo, or on an episode of Bonanza, than at a country club wedding. He looked like he belonged in Colorado.

His gaze darted around the room. After a moment, his blue eyes met hers, and relief flooded his expression. He strode toward her.

Panic fluttered in Becca’s chest as he approached. She couldn’t say how or why she knew this man meant her harm, but the sound of his approaching boots ramped up her already tingling nerves.

She put down her fork, stood, turned, and ran.

HOURS LATER, AFTER a shower had rinsed away all her makeup, hairspray, and irrational fears, Becca sat at her own kitchen table and listened to Celia. Her friend’s passionate hatred of Jason West nearly matched her own crazy reaction to the cowboy at the wedding. Becca frowned at her cookie crumbs as if she could read them like tea leaves. She tried to forget the cowboy and focus on what Celia was telling her, but it was hard. The man had looked so out of place, so foreign, so...wrong. And yet, would he have been out of place in Trouthaven, Colorado? Maybe. Although, probably not a hundred years ago.

That was it. He didn’t look like he’d put on some cowboy costume. His clothes looked authentic...Not that she really knew what an authentic cowboy looked like. She’d never even been to a rodeo, let alone a cattle drive, or even further west than Chicago.

Focus, Becca. She corralled her thoughts back to the conversation.

But it was a really odd conversation. No wonder her mind had wandered. She tried to focus on Celia’s words. So, you’re telling me you had a dream Jason West, the hunky lawyer that swindled your grandmother out of her lease, was a highwayman.

That’s right, Celia picked up a cookie and scowled at it. What does it mean?

Dreams don’t always have to mean something, Becca told her.

Come on, you can do better than that! Celia shoved her cocoa mug across the table. Why did you get a psychology degree if you’re not going to help your friends?

There’s no help for you. Becca laughed to soften her words. She loved Celia, she truly did, but sometimes she found her irrational and annoying. Besides, there’s no definitive explanation of dreams. There are a thousand and one theories. Becca bit into a cookie and chewed, her thoughts creeping back to the man with the cowboy hat.

Telling herself that she couldn’t think about him, she banished him to the far corner of her mind. I think the one that best applies here, Becca said, is the one that claims we often dream about the things that frighten us the most.

So, why had she been so frightened of the man with the hat? What had made her run? Why had she been so relieved to climb into her Honda and drive away, leaving the cowboy in her rearview mirror looking stunned and confused in the country club parking lot? Why had he chased her in the first place?

Celia nodded. Okay. That makes sense. Kissing Jason West would definitely be my worst nightmare.

Or fantasy? Becca stretched her lips into a grin and waggled her eyebrows.

Celia looked pale in the warmth of Becca’s cheerful, yellow kitchen. It just seemed so real. She touched her lips.

Setting down her mug, Becca studied Celia. She thought about telling Celia that she had problems of her own. Her dad had just died. She needed to settle his estate—whatever that meant. She’d probably have to take off more than a weekend from work, which meant that she’d have to actually talk to Dr. Hyman, a man she did her best to avoid because she suspected he was just as mentally unstable as his patients. But concern for Celia, and probably a healthy dose of avoidance, made Becca ask, Tell me, what is your gut reaction to Jason West? When I say his name, what does your body tell you?

In real life, you mean?

Becca nodded. She swept all of her own issues under an invisible rug. Let’s go back to the beginning, before you knew he was Clive Carson’s attorney.

I...don’t remember.

Becca gave Celia her best I-don’t-believe-you smile. It almost always worked. Nothing was nearly as effective as a smirk to wring out a confession.

Celia looked away. I bet you’re a really good therapist.

Becca thought about correcting Celia. She was a psychiatrist, not a therapist. She had weathered four brutal years of medical school, the lunacy residency, and had the student loans to prove it.

Should I double your rent to cover the counseling costs? Becca tapped her finger on the table.

Celia’s smile faded. You know that once the store closes and I’m unemployed, I won’t be able to afford the rent. I’ll have to move back home with my mom and grandma. Oh— Her voice caught.

Becca frowned at her. What did I tell you about the awfulizer?

Celia swallowed, nodded and quoted, Do not engage the awfulizer.

That’s right, Becca said, patting her hand. No need to awfulize just yet.

I don’t want to move home. It’s too...

Awful? Becca supplied.

Celia looked out the window at the dark night. It’s wrong for me to say that, isn’t it? I should want to be at home, helping my mom.

You are helping your mom, Becca reminded her. You drive her to all her chemo appointments. You take your grandmother shopping, and to all her doctor appointments. Twice a week you make them dinner, and you run the shop.

"Ran the shop."

Seriously, if you did any more for them, you would sprout angel wings and be lifted up into heaven.

Tap! Tap! Tap!

Becca’s breath caught in her throat when she saw Joel standing on the other side of the Dutch door. He rapped on the window again. Still in his tux, he looked Cary Grant handsome. She bounced from her chair to let him in.

He brushed past Becca, snagged a cookie off the table, and shook it in Celia’s face. I can’t believe you ditched like that. You know you set yourself up for all the family table-talk, right? We’re going to be discussing your anti-wedding behavior for months.

His size made the kitchen feel small, crowded, and suddenly sexually charged.

Celia ducked her head. I was sick.

Joel slipped into the chair beside her, bit into the cookie, and studied her like she was one of his lab rats. Becca wanted to scream, look at me! Pay attention to me. But Joel didn’t see her. He never did. She’d been in love with him since the first time they met. She’d been twelve with a mouthful of braces and spots on her nose. He’d been captain of the basketball team with cheerleaders hanging off his arm.

What’s wrong with you? Joel frowned at his sister. Besides the obvious, I mean.

Nothing like a brother to keep my ego nice, small and manageable, Celia bit into her cookie and glared at Joel.

You’re not still obsessing over Judson, are you? Joel leaned back in his chair and it groaned beneath his weight.

Of course not! Celia said too quickly. I don’t have time for guys.

Becca caught her eye, and Celia looked away.

"I know that your kind like to think that my kind spend our days