Country's Cowboy

By Robyn Kaech

When country singing sensation Frankie Lane’s life falls apart under the entertainment media’s sympathetic eye she feels that it is the worst thing that has ever happened to her. She is Country’s Sweetheart, after all. Yet it gets even worse when her superstar husband publically romances his new love interest before the ink is even dry on their divorce papers and Frankie is forgotten. In an attempt to escape the media coverage, Frankie heads for the end of the world, needing to give her broken heart time to heal.

Along the way to nowhere she ends up somewhere in Idaho when she crosses paths with a tall, rugged someone who is about to change her life forever. That someone is a hunky cowboy with a big heart, a big grin, and a determination as strong as his attraction for Frankie. Frankie is afraid to open heart again but her cowboy is determined to help her mend her heart so that he can have her love. The fastest way to mend a broken heart is with some cowboy love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Halstad House
• Release date: May 21, 2018
• ISBN: 9781949182064

Robyn Kaech

Robyn Kaech lives in Texas with her family. She has written several romances, including Runaway Pinkerton, This Moment, Jewel of Baleria, and Country's Cowboy.

Book preview

Chapter One

It was not fair. Frankie stared at the television, horrified at what she was watching yet unable to look away. A knot formed in her stomach.

First her life’s greatest failure and tragedy had played out in the media for the whole world to see. As bad as it was to have her failed marriage become media fodder, then it grew worse when Craig turned his attention to someone else and the media’s attention followed.

Frankie had been forgotten while the media oohed and aahed the blossoming romance between her soon to be ex-husband and that witch he had left her for.

She had had no warning that her marriage was falling apart. She had thought that everything was fine between her and Craig. There should have been some warning. Even looking back in hindsight she could not spot any warnings that things were going wrong.

When Craig had told her, completely out of the blue, that he wanted a divorce and had moved out of their multi-million dollar beach house the same night, Frankie had thought that nothing could be worse. His announcement had been a sledgehammer to her solar plexus.

That very same afternoon she had been shopping for their planned vacation to Acapulco the next month. She had found the cutest swimsuit and beach wrap at a high end boutique. The suit fit perfectly, she loved the color of the fabric, and the beach wrap was a semi-sheer cloud of fabric with perfect drape.

When she sent Craig a picture of her wearing the strips of purple and blue fabric from inside the fitting room he had replied with an emoticon of a tongue hanging out of a smiling face. Frankie purchased the suit without even looking at the price tag.

There had simply been no clue that Craig would walk in the door that day, say that he needed out of their marriage, and be packed before the reality of his announcement had even sunk in. The shock froze Frankie into stunned immobility.

Seeing him walk to the front door with suitcase in his hand had broken Frankie out of her daze. She had run after him, stepping between him and the door. Frankie had managed to not beg him to not leave but she had wanted to know why.

Why? she had asked while the tears fell faster than she could wipe them away. Why?

Craig had not answered her. He had given no explanation. At the door, with suitcase in hand, he had stared at her in silence. Twice he tried to say something but the words would not come. He shook his head, unable to look her in the eyes as he tried to figure out how to say what he needed to say.

Finally he took a deep breath and said, I don’t mean to hurt you, Frankie. I just need to move on.

Move on? Frankie had asked, stunned. Move on? A marriage is a lifetime commitment, not something you just move on from.

It’s just not working for me, he said, looking everywhere but at her. I’m sorry. I’ll send someone to pack up my stuff. Don’t be a pain about it when they arrive. I’ll send a text to let you know details.

That’s it? Frankie asked in disbelief. You can’t even talk to me?

It’s better that way, he said as he reached for the door handle. Reluctantly Frankie moved out of his way. He glanced back at her then immediately averted his gaze. Good-bye, Frankie.

Frankie felt her heart physically break. She could feel it, the pain of loss tearing her heart to shreds. Five years of marriage gone without an explanation. Five years of a blissful life with her beloved husband dismissed with a simple good-bye and the sound of the door shutting behind him.

The speculation in the media began almost immediately. Since Frankie had said nothing to anyone she had no idea how the celebrity news shows got wind of the separation so quickly. Frankie had not answered the phone or door for days while she cried her heart out, trying to make sense of it all, and unable to bear the pain.

He would change his mind. Frankie had no idea what could have prompted his sudden decision to walk out on her but eventually she began to believe he would see reason. Something must have happened. Something happened and he thought his only choice was to divorce her but he was wrong. They could work anything out between them.

Dragging herself from couch to bed to pool chair with a box of tissue clutched between her arm and side, Frankie told herself over and over again that he would be back. Once he came to his senses he would be back. Then she would break into incoherent tears, sobbing all over again.

When she eventually emerged from her cocoon of overwhelming loss and finally paid attention to the real world it was a shock to discover that she was the topic of interest in the entertainment news.

Only days after Craig left her the rumors flying across every news spectrum that Frankie and Craig had separated became reported news facts of the separation. When Frankie saw the news report, complete with a year old clip of her standing on the red carpet alone, wondering if country’s darlings had gone their separate ways, Frankie had been devastated.

The last thing she wanted was to be the object of interest and sympathy. She definitely had the public’s sympathy. She was country’s sweetheart. No one wanted country’s sweetheart to get divorced from her leading man. They were America’s couple. The sympathy was hard to bear. Poor Frankie, they reported, speculated, and discussed. Frankie did not think it could be worse.

She had been wrong about so many things, including thinking that it could not get any worse. It had not taken long before Craig’s name was linked to someone else. The media liked a good secret, ferreting out the juicy tidbits, on the scent of a good story like a bloodhound, eager to report something before a rival could make the scoop.

The media had shown up at the end of her driveway with their news vans, antenna, and microphones. They had camped out for weeks, waiting for an exclusive with Frankie, whether she wanted to talk to them or not. She had no comment.

Twice paparazzi snuck onto her property trying to get pictures of her inside the house. The two burly security guards she had hired chased them away without incident the first time. The second time it became a bit of a Wild West show with brawling and a gun being brandished.

She was a prisoner in her own home. If she even looked out a window the media went into a frenzy trying to capture her image.

It had been her manager’s idea to sneak her out of the house to a hotel. Frankie packed enough baggage to hold her over for a few weeks. With her guitar case hanging down her back, she had snuck into the maid’s rusty burgundy minivan waiting in the garage and crouched below the windows so no one could see her making her escape.

Lying across the back seat with her head against the door’s armrest while her maid maintained a steady stream of condolences and inspirational quotes, she felt numb inside. She was actually sneaking out of her own house in the back seat of a minivan with her guitar case lying on top of her.

The inside of the minivan smelled like a locker room. The woman had three boys in high school sports and it appeared the van was used as a storage locker for all their equipment. Two beat up hockey sticks hung over the back seat and helmets filled the space along the floorboards.

Her head banged against the car door’s armrest every time the maid took a sharp corner. Worse, the guitar case handle was in an awkward position for her to keep a firm grip so it kept sliding around, threatening to fall.

I’m so sorry, Mrs. Lane, the maid said. The Lord works in mysterious ways. When one window opens another door closes. Or, wait, is that something else?

It’s all right, Cathy, Frankie said. If you could not talk that would be great.

Cathy turned a corner without slowing down and Frankie slid along the bench seat, her knees banging against the inside wall of the van. She put her feet against the wall and pushed herself back.

I think they’re following us, Cathy said, staring in the rearview mirror.

If they see you talking they’ll realize I’m in here, Frankie pointed out.

I hadn’t thought of that, Cathy said. She turned up the volume of the radio. I will sing everything.

No. Please don’t, Frankie said, cringing.

It’s all right, Mrs. Lane.

Somehow they arrived at the hotel without Frankie being too bruised, though her head hurt from listening to the woman’s off-key singing the whole trip. Cathy opened the side door and Frankie almost fell out of the van. The middle-aged woman pushed the sports equipment off Frankie and took her guitar case so that she could sit up and climb out of the van.

If you need anything else, well, anything, Mrs. Lane, Cathy said, handing back the guitar case once Frankie was on her feet.

Thanks, Cathy, she said, slinging the case over her back. I’ll be fine.

She had not left the hotel room since arriving.

House or hotel, it made no difference, Frankie’s life had fallen apart and even if the media could not find her to harass her, Craig’s new love life was playing out on the television.

Seeing Craig’s face every night on the television as he publicly romanced Sonja Kevitch had taken the pain to a whole new level. It tore her insides into shreds. The celebrity news shows could not get enough. Frankie stared in shock at the various broadcasts while the celebrity news reporters dissected Craig’s every move, every facial expression, and every hint at a possible new love interest over and over again.

At an after party the cameras zoomed in on his face as the couple danced and they speculated on the look of adoration on his face as he stared down at Sonja. The reporters discussed all the events and functions the two attended, noting that they seemed to always be at the same events. The cameras had been on Craig when he slipped his fingertips into Sonja’s hand at the premiere of her newest blockbuster movie.

Frankie turned off the television and threw the remote across the room. Seeing the way Craig smiled at Sonja, the little gestures of love that he made, hearing the announcers on the entertainment shows gushing over the new romance was just too much for her to bear.

Being a singer had been her life’s goal and she had succeeded with her one gold selling album and a second album that had come close to reaching gold status. Being a celebrity came with that success, had been what brought her into the same social circle as the famous Craig Boulais, and kept her in the media spotlight.

Unfortunately, that spotlight continued to shine on her even when she wanted to hide in a closet and shut the world away.

Frankie had been happy. She had been on top of the world. Everything was great with her singing career. She was married to the most amazing, talented, and handsome man in the music world. Frankie woke up every morning with a smile on her face.

Then without warning her life had spun from sunshine and happiness to darkness and gloom. She had been on top of the world and it had come crashing down on her. The crash was what did not feel real.

Only two months had passed since Craig came home and gave her the news. It had only taken two months for her world to shatter into broken pieces beyond repair. The media had already forgotten about her.

Their focus had moved on to Craig and Sonja’s romance. Frankie was already nothing more than a footnote in Craig’s life. She was relegated to the past even though the pain and loss was fresh and painful for her.

The first few weeks after he had walked out the front door with a suitcase in his hand Frankie had continued to hope that he would come back. She was convinced that it was a mistake, that he would recognize that it was a mistake. She would forgive him and they would go back to life as normal.

She had been convinced that it had to be a mistake. If he really did not love her anymore there would have been a warning. Yet it had been two months and he had not come back to her. She did not understand why he would be with Sonja when it was her who he loved.

It was slowly dawning on Frankie that he was not ever coming back to her. That was it. There had been no explanation, no discussion and she would never get that. Craig had left and had not looked back. With one little statement Frankie’s marriage was over.

Frankie was country music’s sweetheart and in the beginning, when rumors had started flying that her marriage was on the rocks, she had had the media’s support and condolences. That had faded as well.

Craig had filed for divorce before the romance with Sonja made the news. Frankie was not sure if she should have been grateful for that or not. She had found out about Sonja on the news but it gradually occurred to her that Sonja had to have been the reason for him to leave her. At least he had been careful to not let it slip out early that he was involved with someone else.

Frankie wanted to be grateful for that slight consideration but it was not easy. Just because Craig had been careful to keep Sonja under wraps until the ink was dry on their divorce request did not mean there had not been something going on between them before that.

The phone rang. Frankie glanced at the caller id then dropped the phone on the couch without answering. A few seconds after the ringing stopped there was a ding to let her know that she had voice mail, except she knew that her voice mail had filled up long ago with all the ignored calls coming in.

There was a knock on the hotel room door. Frankie did not move from the sofa. She had started out pretending that everything was all right but eventually she had been overwhelmed by the whole situation and could not pretend any longer. She wanted to be left alone, to wallow in her grief.

Miss Lane, a man’s voice said on the other side of the door. Miss Lane? It’s John Monson, the hotel manager. Are you all right?

It would have defeated the purpose of hiding out at a hotel if she had registered under Frankie Lane. Though her agent had made room reservations under the name Cindy Anderson, the manager knew who was staying in Room 723.

I’m fine, Frankie said in a loud voice. Leave me alone! Frankie immediately felt guilty at being so curt with the hotel staff. If I need anything I will ring, she said in a loud but more courteous voice.

Your manager, Miss Banners, has been calling and calling. She asked us to check on you, the man said. Can you please open the door?

Tell her I’m fine, Frankie said.

Can I just talk to you? Face to face? the man said.

Not now, Frankie said. I’m fine. The room is fine. Just leave me alone!

Later then? the man asked after a long pause. In an hour? Would that work, Miss Lane?

Go away, Frankie whispered, tears running down her face.

Frankie had not showered in days. She could not remember the last time she had eaten. She could not even force herself to pick up her guitar or to sing a note. All she wanted was to be left alone, to hide from the world. Frankie could not bear the pity and the pain of watching her husband falling in love with another woman on television. The last thing she wanted was to deal with a hotel manager sent to check on her.

The man must have gone away because there was silence on the other side of the door for several minutes. Frankie stared at the black television screen. She needed to get away, go somewhere that no one knew who she was or what was happening to her.

A spark of life flared within her. Yes, that was the solution, to get away. Frankie did not know where she would go or what she was looking for, only that she had to get away.

Chapter Two

She ordered some dinner from room service and jumped into the shower. Food and being clean improved her mood. Frankie even turned the television on, scrolling the menu for something safe to watch. The name of a familiar romantic comedy from the 80s came up on the menu and Frankie pushed okay.

The salad she had ordered was decent if not as fresh as she would have liked. The shredded chicken was cold and had been left on the side. Frankie dumped the chicken on top of the greens without ceremony and sat cross-legged on the sofa while she ate.

A commercial came on for a nationwide cellular service that showed three coverage maps. Frankie chewed her bite of chicken twenty-two times, staring at the map with the most coverage. There were still a lot of gaps out west. The mountains most likely interfered. It seemed odd otherwise to be missing towers in that day and age.

Frankie took another bite of chicken and lettuce, counting to twenty-two as she chewed, thinking long and hard about those blank spots. They seemed so isolated, not even cell service. She wondered if they even had high speed internet. Frankie counted with each bite, chewing twenty-two times.

The white areas on the phone service coverage map appealed to her. There might be areas in the country who had not heard that country’s singing sweetheart had been dumped, left for some floozy who flirted with her husband amid the claps and cheers of the entertainment media.

That was where she would go. Once she made up her mind she felt no hesitation. Motivation stirred deep within. All she wanted was to get in her car and drive to someplace that was white on the wireless carrier map.

She had no car at the hotel. She picked up the phone and called a rental agency, requesting a car be delivered to the hotel as soon as possible.

Once she got the confirmation text that her rental car was on the way Frankie packed her bags and checked out of the hotel room using the menu on the television. Checking out on the television made it possible to leave without seeing anyone. Avoiding people was her priority.

It was a bit of a struggle to wrestle two full-sized suitcases, a travel bag, a cosmetic case, and her guitar out of her room and into the elevator but she managed. The travel bag and cosmetic case sat nicely on top of her spinner luggage and the two pieces wheeled obediently beside her down the hall.

Hauling her guitar case with her had been a waste of time. She had not been able to play since the night Craig walked out on her and she had not opened the case in the weeks she had been holed up in the hotel room.

Getting into the elevator required tipping the suitcases and the cosmetic case threatened to slip off its perch but Frankie caught it and held it in place. When the elevator stopped at the ground floor she carefully wheeled the luggage across the gap between elevator and floor so that she did not have to tip it again.

An elderly couple patiently waited for her to exit the elevator. The silver-haired man put his arm across the elevator door to keep it from closing before she could get out and they could enter. The woman was staring at Frankie, a puzzled expression on her face, but she did not say anything.

Frankie kept her face down the best she could but she had to look up occasionally to see where she was going. Sometimes being recognized wherever she went gave her the best feeling, like she was on top of the world. There were those times, like when trying to escape unnoticed, when being recognized was more of a curse than a blessing.

Frankie used her foot to push the suitcase the rest of the way out of the elevator and the elderly couple brushed past her to enter. Realization dawned on the woman’s face as she stared at the guitar case slung across Frankie’s back. She opened her mouth to say something, gaze on Frankie, but the elevator door shut.

The doorman watched her cross the hotel foyer. Frankie walked purposely with a suitcase handle in each hand. The suitcases heeled obediently beside her. They may have cost a thousand dollars apiece but they were worth every penny.

I need my car, Frankie said to the doorman when she reached him.

Do you have your ticket? he asked.

Ticket, Frankie muttered. I don’t know. She handed him her room keys in their little folder. I was in Room 723. Someone should have dropped it off recently.

I will check, he said. Name?

Frankie Lane, Frankie whispered.

Excuse me? the man asked, leaning closer.

Frankie Lane, Frankie repeated only slightly louder.

Sympathy filled the man’s face. He nodded and walked to the front desk. Frankie stared out the window, cheeks flushed in embarrassment. Everyone knew.

He returned to her. I’m sorry, he said. There is no registration for Frankie Lane.

Oh, Cindy Anderson, Frankie said in a low voice.

Got it, he said. He handed her a receipt. They should be out in front in a few minutes. Give the valet the ticket and he’ll give you the keys.

Frankie looked out the floor to ceiling windows covering the front wall. People walked along the sidewalk past the covered, curved, hotel driveway outside the front door. She would be spotted too easily out there. She realized that she should have made her escape at night rather than broad daylight.

The kind doorman quickly assessed the situation and instructed her to stand over by the window to the right of the entrance where a line of potted plants provided some privacy for a seating area. Once the black Mercedes SUV delivered by the rental agency pulled up to the front door he took her luggage and loaded it into the back of the SUV.

Frankie gave the man a generous tip and hurried out to her vehicle, grabbing the keys from the valet and shoving the receipt into his hand, trying to keep her head down the entire time.

Frankie drove without any real plan. She tried getting directions to nowhere but the GPS unit had not understood her request. Montana was up north somewhere so if she just kept moving north she should get there. She switched the GPS display on her car’s console to view instead of routing and zoomed out so that she could see a broader map.

Frankie stuck to the Interstate the first few days. Some days she only drove a few hours before finding a hotel and spending the rest of the day watching news despite what she saw aggravating her emotional wounds. Some days she drove from sunup to sundown, collapsing on the hotel room bed without even turning the television on. Eventually she turned off the Interstate, wandering through mountains along two-lane highways.

After driving for what felt like forever, she pulled into a quaint little gas station in the middle of some mountains. The sun was low in the sky and her gas tank was low on gas. She could drive a few more hours yet but not without filling up the gas tank.

It had rained shortly before she arrived and the air had that crisp, clean, vivid feeling to it. She could actually smell the dust mingled with the settling rain. Water puddles were scattered across the gas station’s parking lot.

The building was in the shape of an L in reverse. The long side had been built to look like a log cabin but the logs looked suspiciously like vinyl siding. The short end of the L was a plain box, mostly glass with metal frames holding the glass.

A split rail fence ran from the glass section parallel with the faux log cabin, enclosing a grassy area with shrubs lining the walls in front of the vinyl log sided section.

A man lounged near the gas station’s door, leaning against the split rail fence. Frankie pulled into the space next to one of the pumps, almost hitting the pump because her attention was on the man. At the last minute she braked and swerved, stopping with the SUV’s gas tank cap at least three feet from the pump.

Frankie pressed the button on the side of the door to open the window before turning off the SUV. The window lowered with a gentle whirl of the window’s motor. The car’s engine made soft pinging sounds as it cooled. The tires of a car passing on the highway splashed through puddles and made rippling sounds on the wet pavement.

Even sitting next to a gas pump the air smelled invigoratingly fresh and crisp. Frankie barely noticed anything but the man standing across the gas station’s paved lot. It took a moment to collect herself and get out of her car.

She walked to the hood, glancing at the gas station’s door, frowning at the blue Closed sign hanging in the glass window next to the door. She turned her attention back to the cowboy. The man had not moved a muscle, just stood there with his side against the rail, watching her.

He looked like a genuine cowboy. Frankie had never actually seen a genuine cowboy, just a lot of dress up cowboys. He looked like the real thing.

Instead of crisp, clean, new clothes his clothes looked used, lived in. His jeans were faded blue with fraying around the knees. The day was a bit brisk and he wore a brown leather vest with sheep’s wool lining visible. His brown cowboy boots looked well used, softened with time and coated in dust. He even wore a brown cowboy hat stained along the bottom of the crown from sweat.

Frankie took a second look at those worn jeans, her gaze moving up and up from those battered cowboy boots, noting the long, angular legs that the worn fabric covered. His thumbs were tucked into his front pockets. He had large, angular fingers. Frankie swallowed.

Her gaze moved up from the over-sized silver belt buckled to the vest and up across wide shoulders, noting how the blue flannel shirt hugged his muscular arms. Up from the shirt collar to the thick neck with a prominent Adam’s apple, her gaze took in the square jaw covered with a day or two’s growth of black facial hair.

Frankie’s gaze took him in completely, settling on his eyes. The color of his eyes was difficult to determine from so far away. They could have been hazel or gray, maybe even green. Whatever color they were, they were large, soulful eyes framed by thick, black eyelashes.

A woman could get lost in those eyes, Frankie realized. She had been so