Short Stories for Women (And Some Men)

By Casey Dawes

Explore five short stories in this sweet romance collection.

 

This collection contains:

 

"Love on Willow Creek": Desperate to overcome her past, Bridget returns to her home town. But will her high school enemy crash her business and doom the second chance love that's possible?

 

"California Sunshine": Santa Cruz, California is the perfect place for Sunshine to hang on to her hippie, activist ways. But will clutching to her causes prevent her from finding true happiness with an old flame?

 

"Chasing the Tumbleweed": Captured by a killer at a lonely rest stop in windswept Nevada, Laurie keeps her wits about her as he drags her further into the wilderness. Will she be able to escape in time?

 

"A Christmas Hope": Clara needs Richards Handmade Cheese to complete her business's outing of artisan crafts perfect for the holidays in upstate New York. But all Sam Richards wants is for her to leave him and his sheep in peace.

 

"Keep Dancing": The twitching of Zoe's pinkie is probably nothing to worry about. But it's simply one more thing to add to her list of concerns: Her son is going off to college. Final grades are due. And widower Ben O'Reilly wants to teach her to dance.

 

REVIEW BLURBS

 

"This fairly classic love story is a nice quick way to get your HEA fix." ~ Love on Willow Creek

 

"A delightful love story." ~ California Sunshine

 

"I was amazed at how much story Casey Dawes crammed into this exciting short story. The characters were likable. The situation certainly plausible. The tension ... perfect." ~ Chasing the Tumbleweed

 

"A fun, quick, sweet romantic escape." ~ A Christmas Hope

 

"Wonderfully sweet, thoughtful and intelligent romance." ~ Keep Dancing

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mountain Vines Publishing
• Release date: Aug 6, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393358176

Casey Dawes

Casey Dawes writes non-steamy contemporary romance and inspirational women’s fiction with romantic elements. She and her husband are traveling the US in a small trailer with the cat who owns them. When not writing or editing, she is exploring national parks, haunting independent bookstores, and lurking in spinning and yarn stores trying not to get caught fondling the fiber! Claim your free collection of short stories! Go to her website, www.CaseyDawes.com, to discover how.

Book preview

Short Stories for Women

(And Some Men)

By

Casey Dawes

Mountain Vines Publishing

Copyright 2020 by Casey Dawes LLC

All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission except in the case of brief quotations used in articles or reviews.

Love on Willow Creek (2014), Chasing the Tumbleweed (2013), and A Christmas Hope  (2013( originally published by Books To Go Now, and re-released by Mountain Vines Publishing.

California Sunshine (2016) and Keep Dancing (2018) published by Mountain Vines Publishing.

Cover design by For the Muse Designs

Formatted by Concierge Self-Publishing (www.ConciergeSelfPublishing)

Contents

Love on Willow Creek

California Sunshine

Chasing the Tumbleweed

Christmas Hope

Keep Dancing

Other Books by Casey Dawes

About Casey Dawes

Love on Willow Creek

Bridget Lawson glared at bank’s lobby clock. The minute hand hadn’t moved in at least, well, a minute. She’d been waiting ten of them already. Her roiling stomach clenched a little more.

A few bank employees busy at scattered desks and two tellers chatting with each other dotted the cavernous space.  Offices lined one wall like a rich person’s privacy fence.

A placard on one door announced, Loan Officer. A round woman with curly gray hair sat at a desk nearby. Through the sliver of window next to the office door, Bridget glimpsed a brightly dressed, bottle blonde gesturing at the person hidden behind the office’s wooden door.

Probably know her. Bridget had lived in this town most of her whole life, except for eight years on the rodeo circuit.

The door opened and the blonde flounced out. Her name pricked at the back of Bridget’s mind.

Don’t forget. Sunday after church. It’s the least you can do, the woman called back to whoever was in the office.  Without acknowledging Bridget, she waved to the tellers and left.

Now maybe I can get this meeting over with.

Bridget stood and looked toward the office. A man, presumably the loan officer, stood in the door staring after the blonde. She recognized him and stiffened. Tom Browdy had crushed her heart in high school, sending her on her madcap adventure of bad men and worse times.

She glanced at the bank’s outside doors. The vein in her neck throbbed. The woman who’d left in such a hurry was her old nemesis, Lucy Savoy.

By the time she turned back, the loan officer’s door was closed. She stood and walked toward it. The woman at the desk stopped her with a chill question. Can I help you?

Bridget glanced at the name tag on the desk. Abigail Bennett. Bennett. She knew a Bennett. Ah, Melody Bennett. Same class in high school. A quiet, shy girl. Are you related to Melody?

The woman beamed. Her aunt.

Bridget smiled. I knew her in high school. I’m Bridget Lawson.

What can I do for you, Bridget? The ice had melted from the woman’s voice.

I’ve been waiting to see your loan officer. I saw that his last visitor just left, and I was wondering if I could see him now. Bridget let her voice linger on the word visitor, for an extra second.

Oh, that was Lucy Browdy. Not really a visitor, if you know what I mean. Abigail picked up the phone. A customer to see you, Mr. Browdy.

The loan officer’s door opened.

Tom Browdy. Her stomach gave one more twist.

When he caught sight of Bridget, Tom’s eyes widened. Bridget Lawson?

She stilled her emotions and slipped on the poise of a rodeo queen. Hello, Tom. The teller said I needed to talk to a loan officer. I guess that’s you.

Um. Sure. Come in.

She took a seat in one of the chairs facing his desk and placed her folder of papers on the surface.

Good to see you again, Bridget. I heard you were back in town. What’s it been? Eight years?

Almost. Exactly seven years, eleven months, and three days since she’d fled Willow Creek the day after she graduated high school.

You look great. How are your parents? he asked.

They’re good. Still working the ranch. Sometimes small town rituals set her teeth on edge. When could she ask for what she needed and get out of there?

You staying with them? He shuffled some papers on his desk.

No. I have my own place. I’m applying for a loan to build an arena. She gestured to the outer office. They said I had to see you.

He stopped shuffling and looked at her. His chocolate-brown eyes reminded her of the kisses they’d shared in high school.

He probably didn’t remember their kisses with the same intensity she did. He’d been too focused on Floozy Lucy.

Oh. I see. I hoped this might be a social call.

I don’t have time for social calls. And you’d be the last person I’d see. I’m building a school—barrel racing. I need money to put up an arena. I filled out all the necessary forms. You’ll find them in there. She pointed to the folder on his desk.

I heard you did well in the rodeo.

Good enough to buy a place with her winnings. The house was outdated with a leaky roof, but the barn was solid, as were the corral fences. She’d hired Jessica Brannon, a friend from school, to work on the cattle fencing so she could run a few head. All she was missing was a covered arena. Once she had that, she could entice the ex-Californians with their pretend ranches to send their daughters to her school, even in the winter.

Tom opened the folder and scanned the papers, his long fingers mesmerizing her as they had when he’d been quarterback.  The way his shirt lay, she could tell he’d stayed in shape, without the flabby belly that too many of the towns ex-jocks flaunted.

Wraiths of feelings she’d thought she’d buried slipped out of their graves.

No. She was over Tom Browdy, no matter how much his thick brown hair tempted her fingers.

She reasserted her will over her memories. Her visit was business. Strictly business. Well?

He looked up and his gaze pierced her defenses.  He put the folder down. Look, Bridget, I owe you an apology for what happened.

No need to apologize, Tom. I’m over it. She gestured in the direction of the Lucy’s exit. From what I’ve heard, sounds like you are, too.

That was a mistake.

What? The marriage?

He closed the folder. The prom. The marriage. Everything. I know I can’t ever make it up to you, but I’d like to try.

You’re right, Tom. You can’t ever make it up to me, but you can help me get the loan I need.

I’ll see what I can do, he said.

Good. She stood.

Can I at least take you to dinner so we can catch up on the last eight years?

I’m here for a loan, not dinner.

He cleared his throat. I know. It’s going to take me a while to run the numbers, but you’re a prospective client. It’d be perfectly fine to take a client out to dinner.

Not in Willow Creek, it isn’t. Not with our history.

The tips of his earlobes reddened.

Good.

He stood and came around the desk.

Too close.

She backed up and the back of her knees hit the chair. She almost stumbled, but years of riding helped her keep her balance.

He put his hand on her arm.

Not appropriate banker behavior.

How should she react? And what happened to all the air in the office?

I was an idiot, he said. My only excuse was I was a dumbass eighteen-year-old with a big head. I made a mistake. I’m sorry.

She shook off his hand, edged around the chair, and made it to the door. Don’t be silly. It was only a prom. Only my senior prom. She swallowed. When do you think you’ll have the numbers done?

He had the same expression he’d worn in high school after he’d thrown an incomplete pass. Should take me a few days. I could bring them out to your place.

No need. I’m in town at least once a week. See you, Tom.

If she was going to stay in Willow Creek, she was going to have to a better job of burying the past.

THE JUNE SUN WARMED Bridget as she put her chestnut quarter horse, Recovery, through his paces in the dusty corral. The last horse she’d used on the circuit, Recovery was strong and agile, able to skim the edge of the barrels and deliver a strong finish as she brought him on home.

A sleek SUV pulled up next to the corral, and a ten-year-old girl leapt out of the passenger side as soon as the car came to a stop.

Amanda! her mother yelled and stepped out of the car.

Bridget chuckled and loped Recovery to the corral gate. Amanda’s eagerness was an asset as a student, but she imagined it made her a challenge to a mother. Bridget slipped off the horse and let his reins drop to the ground.

Hi, Amanda! She grinned at the pigtailed firestorm as the girl climbed the corral rails.

I’m going to do much better this week, Aunt Bri, Amanda announced. I’ve been practicing like you told me. Someday I’m going to be just like you!

Heaven forbid.

Bridget glanced at Jenny Lindon, her closest friend since high school and mouthed Sorry.

Jenny shrugged.  All girls go through the horse stage.  Most of us come out of it, thankfully. Of course, there are people like you.  She smiled and patted the top of her daughter’s head. I’m hoping she’d going to be one of the grow-out-of-it kind.

No, Mommy! I’m going to be just like Aunt Bridget. You wait and see!

Got it, kiddo. Now go get Spook ready for your lesson.

The girl raced to the barn.

How’s it going? Jenny leaned against the rail.

I went to the bank for a loan—for the arena I want.

Do you really need it, Bri? Most of us learned to ride in the open. Things haven’t changed that much have they?

I’m competing with the Lazy J. They have money to burn. Yeah, the locals will come here out of loyalty, but the new folks—rich people with ranchettes, daughters, and original Charlie Russell’s—they want the best for their offspring. And the best includes a covered arena.

Do you think you’ll get it?

Bridget kicked the dirt with the toe of her worn cowboy boot. The loan officer is Tom Browdy.

That Tom Browdy? The same one who threw you over for Floozy Lucy?

Yep.

And divorced her. That’s ancient history, Bri. Haven’t you gotten over your high school crush by now?

Oh, I’m over it.

She’d woken up hung-over in enough strangers’ beds to be done with Tom Browdy.

Then why does it still hurt to see him?

Amanda exited the barn and led Spook to the block. Using the wooden box to give her a boost, she threw herself up onto the white quarter horse and started making warm-up loops around the corral.

Better get to work, Bridget said.

I’ve got to run some errands in town. Need anything?

Nope. Got to go in myself to find out how the loan’s doing. See you in a bit. Bridget gave her friend a wave and turned toward her honorary niece.

Let him do the work, Amanda. No need to saw his mouth like that. You’ll ruin him.

He’s not listening to me, Aunt Bri. The little girl’s lower lip trembled.

This was the problem with girls. Their go-to tactic was tears.

Was that how Lucy had snagged Tom for the prom?

Trot him here.

Amanda trotted the horse toward Bridget and reined him in. The horse took a few steps to the side before coming to a complete stop in front of her.

Bridget walked around the animal and checked his saddle and bridle. Here’s the problem. Hop off. She pointed to a crusty spot of mud on the bridle right above the bit. Did you clean the leather like I taught you?

Amanda dipped her head and dragged her right foot back and forth in the dirt. No. The lesson made me late for a party, and I wanted to go.

Bridget crouched down and put her arm around Amanda. I know you want to be a good barrel racer. You’re working really hard at it.

Amanda’s tears were almost overflowing. She nodded her head.

Then your horse comes first. Spook is the one who will make or break your ride. If you don’t do your best of him, then he won’t do his best for you. Does that make sense?

The tears spilled over Amanda’s lower eyelashes, but she nodded again.

Good girl. Go inside and clean his bridle. Then we’ll start the lesson.

An hour later Amanda and her horse were skillfully rounding the barrels and coming home to the starting line with new proficiency.

After Amanda finished her lesson, thankfully with no more tears, Bridget was alone again. She debated whether to clean stalls, do some minor repairs in the house, or escape everything by riding into the hills to see how Jessica was doing with the fencing. It was prime time for wildflowers.

A plume of dust on the driveway drew her attention.

She shaded her eyes to determine the vehicle. As it came closer, she made out an unfamiliar fairly new-looking black pickup. The truck stopped, and the driver got out.

Her stomach clenched as Tom walked toward her. I would have made it into town this afternoon, Tom.

I needed an excuse to get out of the office. Gone was the business casual attire. Instead he’d dressed as she’d remembered—blue jeans, snap plaid shirt, worn boots, and a cowboy hat slung low. He held a brown envelope in his hand.

Her gaze automatically moved to his lips. After all the men she’d kissed, she should have forgotten how that particular pair felt pressed against hers.

She hadn’t.

He crossed the gap between them. I have some bad news, Bri.

You can call me Bridget. I reserve ‘Bri’ for friends.

His lips grew thin. I see.

If he felt the need to come see her personally, the news must be bad. The bank turned down my loan.

Yes.

Why? My credit’s good. It’s a small loan. You’ve known me all of my life.

He shook his head. You’ve got a new business. Banks aren’t making many loans these days, and when we do make them, they go to people with a track record.

She took a step closer to him, drew up every one of her sixty-three inches and glared at him. Just how the hell am I supposed to get a track record if I can’t get a loan?

It’s difficult, I know, but that’s how it works these days.

What if I went to one of the big banks?

It’s the numbers. They just don’t add up right. Big bank or small, you’re not going to get the loan.

I guess we’re done then. Have a nice ride back to town.

She turned away from him and stalked to the corral. She climbed over rails and grabbed Recovery’s reins.

Definitely a day to ride in the hills.

Wait a minute. Tom followed her.

She flung herself up on the horse. We don’t have anything else to say.

He put his hand on Recovery’s bridle. I have an alternative.

His words paused her anger. I’m waiting.

Can we go somewhere a little more comfortable to discuss this?

I’m fine where I am.

Bridget. He placed his hand on her thigh, and her muscle contracted.

Don’t. The word was a whisper.

He pulled his hand away, let go of the bridle, and took a step back. Sorry. He held up the envelope. There’s another place you can apply for a loan. Information’s in here. I’ll help you fill out their application if you need it. Sorrow etched lines in his face. I owe you that much.

The riveting pain of her first lost love pierced her heart. No matter how many shots of whiskey she’d taken, how many men she’d bedded, the agony was as sharp as it had been when he’d told her he was taking Lucy to their prom.

Stupid. It had only been a dance.

Leave it on the fencepost. She walked Recovery to the gate, bent over, and unhooked the rope loop that held it closed. Shut the gate on the way out. As soon as she was free of the fence, she pushed Recovery into a canter and headed to the foothills.

A half hour later she finally slowed, forced to walk by the beauty laid out in front of her. Yellow coneflowers blanketed the meadows, and the spring-green of new growth smudged the cottonwood branches lining Willow Creek. In the distance, the Absaroka Mountains, still shrouded in snow, dominated the horizon.

She sucked in the air, hungry for the peace nature always brought her.

It had only been a dance. Why couldn’t she get past it? Tom had moved on, hadn’t he?

The anguish on his face when he’d said her name indicated a different story. Did his betrayal still pain him?

I hope it does.

Bridget let Recovery have his head to graze, trusting him to keep her safe.

She and Tom had found each other as freshmen, the massive bulk of juniors and seniors surrounding them making them insignificant. While being a rancher’s daughter wasn’t unusual, Bridget’s family had been poorer than most. She’d hated the thrift-store clothes she’d worn. Tom was the only banker’s kid in town. For the first two years of high school, their friendship had been enough.

By junior year their emotions had shifted. She’d developed a massive crush on her best friend, especially after he morphed from pimply-faced scarecrow to athletic quarterback. Even with all the adoration from her classmates, he’d remained true to her.

Until Lucy.

Bridget scanned the hills for any sign of Jessica. Her part-time cowhand must be working in another section of the eight-acre ranch. While the land wasn’t huge, the rolling hills it encompassed made it easy to get lost.

She clucked and pulled up Recovery’s head. With a last glance at the mountains’ grace, she turned back toward home at a gallop.

That night after her chores were completed, she plunked Tom’s envelope on the table. Next to it she placed a bottle of Jack Daniels. No glass. Just the unopened bottle.

It was there to remind her of the places she’d been and never wanted to return to.

After staring at it for a minute, she slit open the envelope with her pocket knife. Inside were the papers she’d given him to apply for the loan, stamped denied in big red letters.

Bastard.

She gave the bottle another look and shook out the rest of the envelope. A brochure for the Montana Community Development Corporation fell out. Once she read the brochure, she got online and viewed their website. The group seemed tailor-made for people like her.

At least character mattered.

Jack seemed to mock her determination.

I quit you, remember? She’d been sober for over a year. Her recovery had been hard-won and there was no way she was climbing back down the neck of that bottle.

THE NEXT DAY, TOM WAS back. He rolled down her driveway at five in the afternoon, as welcome as a rattlesnake sunning next to a swimming hole. The pickup was towing a horse trailer.

Thanks for the information, she said when he opened the pickup door and hopped down.  I can figure out the application myself, though. No need to keep coming out here.

The less she saw of him, the easier it would be to convince herself the past didn’t matter.

She walked toward the barn.

Wait. I’ve got a business proposition for you. You are in business aren’t you?

So it appears.

I’ve got a quarter horse I want to board.

"What? No stables anywhere else in Willow Creek?

He strode toward her. Enough, Bridget. I’m trying to help you out here.

Why? Guilt? It was only a dance.

She turned back to the barn to hide the tears that had dared to show their presence.

She really should be over this.

Maybe if you hadn’t hidden in a bottle for seven years, you would be.

A hand on her shoulder spun her around. Suddenly, she was staring into his eyes, and the expression on his face was one she remembered well from high school.

Guilt. Yeah. But also this.

He lowered his mouth and kissed her. A hint of passion flirted with his lips, but the kiss was like she remembered, promises of forever love and friendship.

She pushed him away. Don’t you dare!

The tears, those betraying female tears, spilled over. She swiped them with her arm. What do you want from me, Tom? Haven’t you done enough damage?

I told you. I want to board a horse. I want the mare here, because I’m looking to breed her.

She shook her head, fighting to rein in her emotions. I still don’t get it, Tom. Why can’t you breed your darn horse somewhere else? Don’t you have a barn at your place?

He shook his head and looked away from her. My dad thinks it’s a waste of time. Doesn’t want the mare at his place.

What’s that got to do with it?

I live there.

She stared at him, not really knowing what to say.

He walked back to the fence and leaned against it, his arms splayed on the rails. After I married Lucy, I bought a house. She got it, along with most everything else. I had to move back home to make ends meet. Now I’m trying to save up enough to have my own place again.

In spite of her own pain, her heart ached for him. They’d shared teenage fantasies about how life would be. He’d breed quarter horses, and she’d train them, along with the riders who used them for racing. They’d find a home here in Willow Creek. They knew exactly how life was intended to be.

Until Floozy Lucy got her nails into Tom’s hide.

Wallowing in past misery wasn’t going to help either one of them. Unload your mare and bring her into the barn.

The sweet smell of hay soothed Bridget. She opened a stall door, pleased she’d gotten a few ready for prospective boarders.

Tom led in a trim roan.

Even with a quick glance, Bridget saw she was sound, with a build made for barrel racing. She ran her hands across the horse’s withers and back, and down each of its legs. The mare nickered. She as good as she looks? Bridget stood from a crouch.

Tom nodded. Named her Willow Cat.

Cat?

The mare nudged her head into Tom’s arm. He scratched her ears. Darn horse demands attention like an affection-starved house cat.

In there. Bridget gestured to the stall. Who are you breeding her to?

Blue One Time.

Bridget whistled. Nice.

A whisper of their former ease wisped around them as they worked together to get the horse settled. After they were finished, they left the barn together.

How much do I owe you?

Hundred-fifty a month. I take care of all of it—feet, worming, shots. I’ll pasture her close with Recovery in the daytime. That’ll keep the wolves away. He’s gelded—no problem there, either.

Sounds fair. I’ll get my checkbook. He walked toward his truck.

As he went, Bridget gave him the same once-over she’d given his mare. The rolling gate he had suited his jeans far more than his bank clothes had.

Somewhere, deep inside her, an ember came to life.

Mind if I park my trailer by your barn?

She shook her head. No problem.

He scribbled the check and handed it to her.

She glanced at the amount. This is too much.

Three months’ boarding and a little extra for the rig.

I thought you were trying to save money.

It’s an investment. If I get the foal I want, I’ll be able to sell it for top dollar.

She wasn’t going to fight him. She needed the money.

No problem filling out the application I gave you?

She shook her head. I called them and answered a few questions. They said someone will call me back by the end of the week.

Good. I’d best be getting to the bank.

Like that? She gestured to his dusty jeans and boots.

He laughed. Got a change of clothes in the truck. He stepped toward her and put his hands on her arms.

She stiffened.

Bri, look at me.

She snagged some courage and looked up.

I screwed up back then. Big time. And I’ve always felt responsible for you leaving Willow Creek.

My choice had nothing to do with you.

His eyes called her bluff. It’s how I feel. I was stupid, male, and eighteen. He took a deep breath and looked at the sky for a moment before continuing. A lot of time has passed. We’re older. I’d like to think I’m a little smarter. What I’m asking, Bri, what I’m begging, is to give us another chance.

No.

No? Really? Not even a cup of coffee to talk about our lives like we used to? We were good, Bri.

We were. That was then. This is now. I’m boarding your horse. That’s all you’re going to get. Now, let me go. I’ve got work to do.

He released her arms. I’m not giving up, Bri.

She shrugged. It’s a free country. Up to you how you want to waste your time. She strode back to the safety of the barn.

YOU’VE GOT TO COME to the dance. Jenny whined almost as effectively as her daughter.

What I have to do is finish up the application for the loan.

You need to stop and play sometimes.

Bridget stepped up on the bottom rail, propped her arms on top, and glared at her friend. I had seven years of play before I got my head on straight. It’s time to make up for it.

Jenny stepped closer. When are you going to stop beating up on yourself? Yeah, you screwed up. You’re lucky you didn’t wind up pregnant or with some awful disease.

God was working overtime.

"I’ll say. But you