The Trouble With Cowboy Pride: The Trouble With..., #1

By Coni Kornell

Anne Kelly has it all, a successful career and financial stability but something's missing.  Is she destined to follow in the footsteps of her spinster Aunt Genny?  Will her partnership in New York City be the answer?  Whatever the case, change is coming...

 

A visit to Iowa where she hopes to settle her aunt's estate throws Anne into the eye of the storm.  Can an Iowa twister, a chance encounter with a charming cowboy and a newborn calf change her life forever?

 

Daniel McClinton is working hard to reclaim his life after a devastating accident ended his rodeo career.  New injuries sustained while saving Anne's life threaten his comeback making her feel responsible.  Fiercely independent, Daniel refuses her offer of assistance.

 

Their battle of wills spirals their relationship into the abyss of deception.  They find, despite their denials, they are irresistably drawn to each other.  Can they survive the storm--will their passion and love endure or will they fall victim to their perilous secrets?

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Coni Kornell
• Release date: Apr 30, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393717072

Coni Kornell

A Hopeful Romantic who believes in 'Soul Mates', Coni was born on the Mason-Dixon Line in Southwest Iowa.  She grew up in the Rodeo Town of Sidney, where she met the love of her life, World Champion Bull Rider, Bill Kornell.  She has loved writing since childhood and credits her character development skills to her early years spent on Saturdays (Egg & Daughter Day) and evenings with her parents parked on the town square visiting with and observing the residents and their interactions.  A past Finalist in the RWA Golden Heart Competition she is also the recipient of many awards for her prose.  Coni's love for her hometown and the wonderful people who live there has been the catalyst for this book.  She hopes you enjoy reading 'The Trouble With Cowboy Pride,' the first in a Series of 'The Trouble With...' stories.  Please let her know what you think of her book by leavind a review or message at www.ConiKornell.com.

Book preview

What is a Cowboy?

BETWEEN THE SECURITY of childhood and the insecurity of a second childhood, we find that fascinating group of humanity we call ‘Cowboys’. They come in assorted hat sizes, weights and stages of sobriety. They can be found in cities, in towns, in the wilderness, in bars, in jail, on the road, in the air and always in debt.

A cowboy is laziness with a deck of cards, bravery with spurs, energy on a dance floor, a legend of the Old West (with a copy of Playboy) and seldom is found without a case of beer or a fifth of whiskey!

He has the get-up-and-go of a turtle, the slyness of a fox, the brains of a dreamer, stories of a sea captain, the sincerity of a liar, the aspirations of a Casanova and, when he wants something, it’s usually connected with horses or women. Some of his likes are women, beer, whiskey, broncs, bulls, rodeo dances, more women, chewing tobacco and the smell of saddle leather.

His dislikes are answering letters, being broke, officers of the law, and being told to take his hat off. No one else can cram into one pocket a little black book, a photo of his best gal, a can of Copenhagen and what’s left of last week’s winnings like a cowboy.

He likes to spend some of his money on girls, some on poker, a lot on beer and whiskey, some on shooting pool and the rest on foolishness.

A cowboy is a magical creature. You can scratch him out of your phone book, but not out of your heart. You may want to give up on that blurry-eyed, good-for-nothing, long-way-from-home lover boy, but all your dreams become insignificant when that cowboy knocks at your door, looks at you with those blood-shot eyes and says Hi, Babe, I’m home!

(Author Unknown)

Chapter 1

Keeping the old pickup on the road under good conditions was tough enough; with a tornado on your tail, it was damned near impossible.

A news bulletin blared through static on the antiquated radio, warning everyone in a fifty-mile radius to ‘take cover’. Twisters were touching down all over the area and the grand daddy of them all was fast approaching.

Daniel smiled when the childhood memory of The Wizard of Oz flashed through his mind.

I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore little fella and right now Iowa’s a sight closer than I like being.

A glance in the rear view mirror confirmed his fears; the twister was gaining on them. He’d never seen a funnel so big.

Okay, Daniel, what do you remember about these things?

He’d spent his youth in southwestern Iowa. Tornado drills were more frequent than fire drills at the grade school. He could almost hear Mrs. Flemming now. ‘Move slowly in a single file down the stairs to the southwest corner of the basement. No pushing! Sit on the floor. Put your head between your knees and cover it with your hands’.

Another quick glance in the mirror left his heart pounding against his rib cage.

They never bothered to tell us what to do when there wasn’t any basement handy. If I live through this, I’m going back to that school and give them a piece of my mind!  

A soft mewling sound reminded him why he’d ventured out in the storm in the first place.  Folks told him not to keep a cow as a pet, especially when you ran a feeder operation. He hadn’t listened; Buttercup

provided company for him, so what if she kept straying away? Ray swore breeding her would put a stop to that. It hadn’t, she just didn’t get as far. This time she’d been gone two days. When he’d heard the storm warnings, he’d doubled his efforts to find her. Good thing too.  The calf, only hours old, nestled beside him in the seat. Buttercup died giving birth and right now he didn’t hold out much hope for the offspring either.

With the gas pedal smashed all the way to the floor—there simply wasn’t anything left in the old Ford. He’d seen the remains of vehicles and farm machinery after a twister hit them, not a pretty sight. He scratched the calf’s ear when it nudged his hand attempting to suckle.

We best be coming up with a plan little fella. Don’t know about you, but I’ve got things to do tomorrow.  

Dust and debris hindered his vision; he squinted into it, searching for shelter.

Blasted flat lands!

The crossroads were ahead. The ditch was deepest there perhaps the banks would protect them.

Either his mind was playing tricks on him or there was a girl in the middle of the road only a few feet in front of him. Bent against the wind she fought to maintain her footing.

Daniel stomped the brakes and the old truck slid to a stop only inches away from a bright yellow blouse. Grabbing the calf he jumped from his seat anchoring the woman with his other arm as her feet left the road.

The roar of the storm prevented communication. He motioned toward the ditch as the wind tore the cowboy hat from his head.

Stumbling against each other, they scrambled toward the side of the road. Reaching the edge, the woman stared into the muddy ditch, violently shaking her head. There wasn’t time for a debate. He bodily lifted her into the air, dumping her and the calf into the deepest part of the ditch. A last glance at his truck saw the trusty old machine lifted from the highway and carried high into the sky like a feather.

Damn!

He flung his body over his reluctant companion and the calf. The roar was deafening. His throat burned,

fighting for breath he dug his hands and feet into whatever security he could find. So long as he kept contact with the ground, they might make it. The woman pushed against his arms.

Lie still, he screamed into her ear. She stopped moving.

The ferocity of the storm increased while he fought for a more secure hold. The calf bawled soundlessly against the wind. The tiny animal was slipping from his grasp.

Grab the calf, I’m losing him, he shouted against her ear.

She obliged wrapping both her arms around the animal, entrusting her fate entirely to him.

The roar lowered to a moaning wind finally stopping altogether. Every bone in his body hurt, but they’d done it. By all that was Holy, they were alive!

Rising to his knees he prepared to stand. The calf struggled to do the same. When the woman rolled over to face him, his breath caught in his throat. Beneath the mass of tangled red curls were the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. Perhaps the day wasn’t a total loss. Smiling, he thrust his hand toward her.

Howdy little lady, my name’s Daniel McClinton, you wouldn’t happen to be Dorothy now, would you? The blow came totally unexpected. Its impact propelled him backward into the bottom of the ditch where he sprawled in a rivulet of water.  A too-familiar pain shot through his arm.

I truly don’t care WHO you are, mister, and I’ll thank you to keep your hands to yourself!

Anne scrambled her way up the side of the ditch. The distant bluffs still carried their fall colors but no beauty remained here. Not even a blade of grass had escaped the holocaust. The old truck what’s- his-name had arrived in was gone. A chill played down her spine with the realization that she would be gone too if not for him.

Expecting him to be climbing out of the ditch, she glanced over her shoulder. He remained where he had landed stretched out beside the calf. Stroking the calf tenderly, he seemed only interested in the small animal. Just as well, she certainly didn’t need to have some hick cowboy expecting her to fawn all over him just because he’d thrown her in a ditch. And saved her life? Anne forced that final thought from her mind. After all, he’d saved his own hide as well.

She’d never been anywhere like this, how could her great aunt have coped with it all those years? The doubt she’d wrestled with on the plane disappeared; she’d sell the properties left her and get away from here, the sooner the better. New York City would be child’s play after this.

Gravel crunched beneath her feet as she climbed onto the road. Would her rental car still be in one piece or would it and her clothing be gone like the truck? A vehicle approached, slowing when the driver saw her. She didn’t need to wave her arms but couldn’t help herself.

She had no intention of prolonging her association with the cowboy he’d just have to find his own way to town. Men were all the same. After Devon—it hurt to think about how he had used her. Pushing unwanted memories from her mind, Anne ran in the direction of the faded truck.

You alright, Miss?

Yes. The door creaked as she pulled it open and climbed up onto the dusty seat. Just a bit shaken up.

Was that your car back a ways? The man peered at her from his position behind the wheel.

Yes. It stalled on me, is it still in one piece?

Yep, made it through alright, he put the truck in gear and they lurched forward.

Could you take me back for my suitcases?

The depth of the ditch concealed the cowboy and calf as the man turned the truck around.  A tinge of guilt for leaving them brought a moment of indecision, after all, he had saved her life. Yes, but, he didn’t have to manhandle her. No, it was best to leave him where he was.

I’m Jim Meyers, I’ll take you back to the house first. Mother will want to meet you and get some coffee on. I can check on the car and your cases after that. He extended a work-worn hand toward her.

I’m Anne Kelly, thanks for picking me up.

The farmer glanced between her and the road, finally speaking. You’re not from these parts, are you?

No, I’m from Seattle. Ever been there? A box of tissues balanced on the dashboard. She helped herself to several, scrubbing away at the dried mud on her hands and arms.

Nope, Omaha’s about as far away from home as Mother and I get. No, now, I take that back, the kids took us to Des Moines once. A warm smile covered the weathered face while he recalled. Big farm doings up there, must have been fifteen years ago. His attention focused on the road ahead as he continued. Fun I guess, but we like it here. Big cities are too crowded, you don’t know anyone.

Well, I can’t understand why you like it here. What I’ve seen doesn’t do much for me. Her linen slacks were ruined from the mud. Two buttons were missing from her blouse and the pocket slumped forward where it had torn loose. Providing the ugly stains could be gotten out, these new discoveries rendered the blouse a rag. She dropped the tissues in defeat.

Jim smiled, Oh, I know this isn’t the best welcome you could get, but give it a chance, Iowa has a way of growing on people. Do you have relatives around here?

I had a great aunt in Sidney, she died a few years ago. Perhaps you knew her, Genevieve Gordon?

The old man laughed. "Genevieve? Well, I guess we knew Genny. We’ve been wondering who would

finally take up residence in Genny’s house. Todd Hayes farms the home place. Rumor has it he’s done pretty fair the last few years. That’s good farmland you’ve got there."

Gears ground noisily as he shifted the truck moving faster down the dusty rutted road.  It disturbed Anne that the man knew so much about her personal affairs.

They turned down a lane toward a faded white house and weathered barn. I’ll just let Mother know where I’m going. Ray runs the garage; we can give him a call. He’ll get your car to town and fix her up for you.

The yard and livestock lots were neat as pins. A windmill creaked with the effort of its job, several of its blades hanging askew.

The wind sure played havoc with the old mill. I’ll take you in to Mother and then I best get that fixed. Animals need lots of water after being stressed.

They stopped in front of a picket fence with yellow roses twining through the lattices. No sign of the tornado here. The grass was scarce but flowers grew abundantly in borders around the house. Whoever Mother was, she was definitely someone who could grow things. They started up the walkway when someone hailed them from the barn.

Hello, there. Jim, I’m on my way. The chickens were restless, had to let them loose. I don’t suppose we’ll be getting many eggs for awhile.

The woman stood barely five feet tall, nearly as broad as she was high. Silver hair peaked out from beneath a red bandanna and an apron of calico covered her dress. Her face beamed with a warm smile while her eyes twinkled above rosy cheeks. She reached for Anne’s arm when she drew near.

We were afraid you were hurt, my dear. I’m Mary, but most everyone calls me Mother, thanks to Jim. Saw your car on our way home from town’ sure glad you’re okay. Feel like a cup of coffee?

There was no denying the invitation. Reaching for the screen door, Jim ushered the women into the house before entering himself.

The kitchen felt cozy and smelled of fresh baked bread.  Memories of Aunt Genevieve’s visits to Seattle stirred.  Anne could almost see the glib little woman perched on a kitchen stool, elbow deep in bread dough, spewing forth the latest turn in women’s liberation.  A devout old maid, as she referred to herself, Genevieve

held that men were only good for one thing; trouble was no one had figured out what that one thing was. Accepting the older relative’s eccentricities, Anne’s parents chose to ignore her opinionated remarks, never dreaming her observations were worming their way into the head of their only child. Truth be known, it was Genevieve who convinced Anne she could be anything she wanted. Genevieve had believed in a small girl’s dreams. A lump rose in Anne’s throat at the thought of her aunt and her feisty attitude toward life.

The washrooms through that door, dear. Clean towels are in the cupboard. Take your time washing up, the coffee will wait.

Jim had already made his call and left to see to the windmill. Mary, humming a familiar hymn, busied herself at the sink.

The door to the bathroom stood ajar and Anne encountered a shining waxed floor when she pushed it open.  The room smelled of lemons and liniment and for some unexplainable reason helped her to relax a bit.  A claw foot tub sat against one wall.  She’d seen tubs like this in decorator magazines.  Sunshine poured through a

window covered by lacy curtains. Out of habit, she reached for the shade, securing her privacy. The thought of warm soapy water after what she’d been through proved irresistible. Ten minutes later she emerged, without makeup, feeling whole again even though her clothes were still a mess.

Coffee’s ready dear, have a seat. Do you use cream? A siren wailed in the distance, drawing Mary’s attention.

No, black’s fine. A warm, spicy aroma filled the air bringing hunger pangs and audible growls to Anne’s empty stomach. She eyed the fresh cinnamon rolls in the center of the table.

Help yourself, dear, I made them this morning. Jim’s not much for bacon and eggs, he likes hot sweet rolls for breakfast. Are you married?

Mary’s direct question surprised her. It seemed these people didn’t beat around the bush, if they wanted to know something, they asked. This atmosphere would definitely take some getting used to.

A few minutes later Jim rejoined them, stopping to wash up at the kitchen sink. Someone’s hurt up the way, the ambulance just went by. Mary’s face clouded with concern.

Now, Mother, don’t go borrowing trouble. Jim took the towel Mary held for him. More than likely it’s just a precaution. You know how the boys like to get the new ambulance out every once in awhile. If you’re worried, I can go check on it.

The depth of Jim’s concern for his wife’s peace of mind impressed Anne.

I’m sure you’re right. Mary patted her husband’s arm then removed the bandana from her head, tucking it away in an apron pocket. The subject closed, Mary turned her attention to past storms, relating some of the strange effects left by Iowa twisters.

Mary’s conversation interested Anne, but the nagging memory of the cowboy, lying at the bottom of the ditch, tormented her.  Undoubtedly he was in some nearby bar relating his highly embellished tale of ‘saving-of-the-damsel-in-distress’, but she couldn’t help thinking about the possibility he’d been hurt.

What about my car? Anne’s voice cracked with the question, bringing