Under Oklahoma Skies: An Only an Okie Will Do Collection: Only an Okie Will Do

By Becca Turner

Under Oklahoma Skies contains three novellas set in Swells, Oklahoma in the same storyverse as the Only an Okie Will Do series.

Cowboy Kind of Heritage
Flirting with cowboys is what get London Bingham into her current mess, but Dean Trulove is determined to show her that she can have it all—a family, a career, and a man with a heart wider than the Arkansas River.

Cowboy Kind of Forgiveness
Two years after a tragic accident that stole Everly Thibodaux's brother, his best friend Swift Scott is back in town offering Everly a Christmas miracle—true love, no mistletoe required.

Cowboy Kind of Devotion
Austin Locke has sacrificed everything except his rodeo career for his young daughter. Especially any chance at romance until Natalie Corbin ropes his heart. Can Austin protect his daughter, and his new shot at love, from the secret hanging over him? 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Becca Turner
• Release date: Oct 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223364573

Book preview

Chapter One

I’m meeting someone."

The petite blonde had the words out of her mouth before Dean could set the glass down on the bar beside her. She shouted over the lousy rendition of ‘Boot Scootin’ Boogie’ but didn’t spare him a glance.

It’s a free drink. I’m not asking for your phone number. He glared at the band over his shoulder, but they were midway through the song and unlikely to quit playing because he wanted to talk to a woman.

I don’t want it. She tipped her half empty glass toward him.

You look lonely. I could keep you company until he gets here. He leaned closer to her, but her scowl suggested she was about to walk away.

He won’t like it if he sees me talking to another man. She set her glass down. Beat it before you make him mad.

Dean held up his hands. Sorry, sister. I don’t want to tick off your boyfriend.

He’s not my boyfriend. She raised hazel eyes to meet his gaze. Brown, with rings of blue around the irises. We have some business to talk about. I don’t need anyone else in the way.

Beneath the dim bar lights and the smoke swirling through the place, she looked washed out and suddenly a little weary, but no less beautiful.

Got it. Keep the drink. It’s Sprite. I noticed you’re about the lightest drinker in this place. Hope your business goes all right. He backed away. Have a nice evening.

Thanks. She swirled the ice and remaining liquid in her half empty glass.

Dean made his way back to the spot he’d occupied on the other end of the bar before he’d noticed the woman in the mirror that hung above the hard liquor. It was easy to watch her from there.

Creepy much? He dismissed the stalker-ish feel of what he was doing. People came to bars to be hit on. Usually women liked it when he turned on the smile and bought them a drink. It wasn’t the first time he’d been turned away. People came to bars to cry into their beer too. So he wasn’t rebound material. No big deal. It was just that she seemed sad and a little worried. She kept glancing toward the door and sighing. Whoever she was waiting on wasn’t going to bring her good news. He’d put money on that.

Another? The bartender braced his arms on the bar.

Yeah. Whatever’s on tap. A shot of whiskey had solidified his nerves enough to talk to the woman. Time to slow it down.

Coming right up. The bartender went to get a cold glass.

We’re gonna take a break now. Give us twenty minutes to set up again and we’ll get the line dancing going. The band’s lead singer had a voice almost deep enough to rival Trace Adkins.

The barkeeper came back with the beer and Dean nodded his thanks.

Thank God for the silence from the music. The noise from the chatter died down a little when the musicians stepped down from the stage. At least it was a tolerable level now.

The door swung open and a cowboy in a straw hat with a curled brim sauntered in. He wore artfully torn jeans, brand new boots made to look aged with phoenixes inlaid in the leather, and a plaid shirt with the sleeves torn out, unbuttoned to the middle of his chest. Gold rings decorated a couple of his fingers while a thick gold chain with a cross studded in rhinestones hung around his neck.

Billy Wishall, the biggest asshole in the county, strolled straight to the bar and sidled up next to the blonde.

Her lips pulled back in a forced grin when she saw him.

Billy slapped her ass, then flashed a huge grin.

She scooted away from him. When he reached for her, she put her hand out to stop him.

Dean couldn’t hear much of the conversation, but it turned sharp in a hurry as the two of them snapped at one another. Billy got louder with every word.

Dammit, London. How could you let something like this happen? Did you think you could hang on to me by doing this? That ain’t how any of this works, baby. He slammed his fist down on the bar.

The blonde jumped.

Take care of it. I don’t want any part. Wishall stomped his boot on the floor, then crossed in quick strides to the door.

The woman—London—hung her head. A curtain of hair fell across her face as everyone within a five-foot radius turned to stare at her. The hair didn’t hide her obvious dismay, the redness of her face, or the tears that hugged her hazel eyes.

Shit. Dean sucked in a breath.

London dropped a five on the bar, then shrugged her purse up on her shoulder, raised her chin, and made for the door.

Whatever she’d told Billy seemed to have taken a lot out of her. He didn’t envy her position. A crowded bar wouldn’t have been his first choice to break news to anyone, but he didn’t know her or her situation, so he couldn’t judge.

She let the door slam behind her and was gone.

London Bingham smoothed the front of the denim skirt she’d chosen to wear for the first day of training at the Trulove Cattle Company and Stockyard. Surely the office secretary and cashier position wouldn’t require her to actually move any cattle. Or get too many whiffs of cow pies. Her nervous stomach couldn’t handle that. Not today and maybe not for a long while. She was upwind of the big, spread out metal fences right now. Thank heavens for that.

She entered through the side door as Patty LaDuke, the woman she was replacing, had instructed when she’d called to tell London she could have the job. The floors were bare concrete, the walls constructed from concrete blocks painted white. The hallway was open, not too constricted, and mercifully cool against another day that threatened to be an Oklahoma scorcher. Her flats slapped on the floor, giving away her presence in her new workplace.

The hall led to an open area. Three men stood in front of a glass window—currently shut—where the kitchen staff took orders from hungry auction customers. Each of the men held a Styrofoam cup. They glanced toward her when she emerged from the hall.

The oldest, a tall man in a tan long-sleeved shirt tucked into crisp, dark blue jeans with creases, gave her a nod. Beneath the straw cowboy hat he wore, his weathered face didn’t change expression. His dark blue eyes were sharp, his mouth a serious slash across his tanned skin. Deep lines carved crags around his eyes and in his forehead. Though at least sixty, his posture was straight and proud. He looked the same as he had in every ad that boasted his photograph. Darren Trulove, cattle mogul, made an imposing figure.

She offered a smile to him, then to the shorter man with an obvious beer belly. Bald, bearded, and bearing a jovial smile, Ryan LaDuke, Trulove’s most popular auctioneer and Patty’s youngest son, gave her a wave. Hey there, London.

Hi, she murmured.

And no one other than the man who’d approached her at the bar last night was the remaining person in the trio. Tall, dark blond hair, broad-shouldered, and already bearing the signs of having worked with livestock this morning, he squinted at her beneath the harsh fluorescent lights.

Her face warmed. He’d seen the stormy confrontation she’d shared with Billy Wishall in the bar. He couldn’t have missed it. Plus, she’d shot him down when he brought her a drink. Maybe he was only a customer here. Dropping off some cows or horses for auction. She twisted her purse strap in her hand.

Ryan gestured for her to come closer. Guess y’all figured out this is London Bingham. She’s replacing Mom in the office. London, this is Darren Trulove.

Miss Bingham. Darren touched the brim of his hat.

The man from the bar extended his hand. A hint of amusement warmed his brown eyes. Dean Trulove.

Of course he was one of her bosses. Why wouldn’t someone she’d rejected in a bar hold her future in the balance? She slid her hand into his. A warm, firm grip. The hand of a man used to hard work. Though firm, he wasn’t rough with the handshake. It was almost comforting. If things had played out differently the last couple of weeks, she might have taken a man like him home last night. Nice to meet you. Both of you. I’m excited to be part of Team Trulove.

Darren raised his brow as though surprised by her enthusiasm.

A little over the top, maybe. She tried not to cringe. I mean, this is a good opportunity. I went to school with Ryan, and I know his family from church. They always had nice things to say about the company, Mr. Trulove.

Call me Darren. He knocked back the last of his coffee, then threw the cup in a nearby trashcan. See you outside, Dean. He strode away with the confidence of a man much younger than him.

So. Dean tucked his thumbs into his jeans pockets. You got home all right, then.

Uh, yes. Nothing to it. I only live about two streets over from the bar. I’m sorry about the way things went, but it’s better this way. No fraternizing with the employees, probably. She clamped her mouth shut as Ryan’s eyes grew twice their normal size.

You hit on London in a bar? He elbowed Dean in the side.

Dean rubbed his ribs. I didn’t know she was coming to work here today. It’s for the best that things worked out how they did. That might have been awkward.

Things hadn’t worked out well for her, before or after her encounter with Dean Trulove. But thank God she’d been spared the embarrassment of waking up to find out she’d slept with one of her bosses. About that—

No need to explain. What happens on your time is your business. Anything that happens here, we’ll deal with as it comes. Ry, you’d better take Miss Bingham to your mom’s—I mean her new office before Patty comes looking for her. She’s mean as an old sow. Dean winked at her.

Her face warmed again. That wink was a lady killer. The bona fide signature of a man looking to charm the panties right off of a woman. Keep your panties on and your head out of the clouds, London. He’s obviously not hurting because you turned him down. And thank God he’s not pissed about it.

She licked her lips. No one in Swells, Oklahoma has ever heard Patty utter a cross word to anyone in public.

Ryan blew a raspberry. If you’re one minute late, Mom will come out of the office in a panic thinking you’re broke down on the side of the road.

It’s sweet of her to care. Not too many other people do. She wished she could bite her tongue off as her words hit. I mean employers, you know? If you’re late, most of them fire you.

Right. Got to meet Dad outside. The vet’s coming by to vaccinate some of the cattle. Nice to meet you, Miss Bingham. See you later. Dean gave her a nod. You too, Ry.

Ryan waited until Dean walked down the hall. Shee-it, did he really try to pick you up at a bar last night?

Does it matter? She curled her hands into fists. I’m supposed to be working.

What were you doing in a bar the night before you started a new job? Good God. Don’t tell Mom. She’ll hit the roof.

I wasn’t drinking, she hissed. I was meeting Billy Wishall. Neutral territory and all that.

Ryan’s brow creased. Why?

None of your business. She’d been friends with Ryan too long to snap the words out. We went out a couple of weeks ago and...I needed to talk to him again because he left something at my place. No big deal. I really have to go now.

All right. Have a good first day. See you later.

London? Patty emerged from the hall. I thought I heard your voice. Well, I’ll be. Don’t you look cute as a bug in that skirt?

Patty’s wide, welcoming smile made some of the tension go out of London’s shoulders. Hi, Miss Patty. I made it.

You’re right on time. Good girl. Let’s go on back to the office. I’ve got some paperwork for you to fill out before we get started on the heavy stuff. Patty grinned. You’re gonna be great at this. There’s no better company to work for in Swells than this one.

London’s nerves jangled as Patty talked. I hope so. We need this job.

Chapter Two

Helping wrangle half wild cattle for the vet to vaccinate before auction wasn’t a job for an old man. Dean’s father claimed the privilege of opening and closing the head chute over driving the animals.

He had the right—he’d done the hard parts during the time his father ran Trulove Stockyard. A little-known truth was, Darren might look strong as ever, but his knees bothered him from too many years of steer wrestling. His hands had a touch of arthritis, especially in the thumb he’d nearly torn off when it got caught in a rope. He had the strength left to yank the lever on a tricky chute, but he was looking at his cell phone the moment the gate closed.

The chute snapped shut around the neck of a rust-colored steer that might have gone nine hundred pounds. It had docked horns that might have presented trouble getting it into the chute if they’d been a few inches longer. Short horns or not, the beast wasn’t pleased about its treatment today. It bellowed when the vet stuck it in the hip with medicine.

Dean removed his hat, swiped sweat off his forehead, and leaned on the metal fence to catch his breath. He couldn’t blame his dad for looking away from this place. The reek of cattle waste hung on to everything, even after the hired men scraped and sprayed the walkways down. Some days, they auctioned more than cows. Half broke horses or mules unused to the noise and quick pace of a sale barn. Giant shoats and sows with enough teeth to rip a man to shreds. Headbutting goats that were elusive until they wanted to strike. Spitting llamas and alpacas. Almost every four-legged farm critter that could kick, bite, push, or grind a man into the gravel passed through these fences at one time or another. Even exotic animals on occasion. Camels, zebras, ostriches, and once, a trio of water buffalo.

Who else besides the Truloves and their hired men could say they’d been shit on by angry peafowl? Probably zookeepers and the nuts who bought peafowl to brighten up their yards. Tomorrow night, though, just three hundred head of cattle would enter and exit the arena. A small number for the size of the yard, but the sale was a special favor to one of Darren’s old friend’s grandsons.

The steer bellowed again as Darren released it from the chute. Its horns clanged on the fence as it ran through to join its herd mates.

The alley remained empty.

That’s it? Dean hadn’t realized they’d reached the end of the herd. Caught up in his thoughts, he’d been distracted. A recipe for disaster he’d scolded hired hands come and gone about. Usually, he focused on the job. Today, with his father’s words ringing in his ears and London Bingham’s sudden appearance, he’d been the one all but inviting an accident in the holding pens.

Time flies when you’re having fun. Darren climbed down from the platform overlooking the chute. He stretched his arms overhead with a groan. Ready for lunch?

The smell of brisket wafted over the scent of cow shit. A big smoker sat outside the building, billowing hickory smoke out of the exhaust. Lunch and supper for the lucky workers at the stockyard. And for anyone who wandered in from town in search of the secret-recipe Dean’s mom had created after she married his dad.

She didn’t run the cantina anymore. Seldom even came to the stockyards, caught up as she was in coddling his sister’s twin boys. She’d given up cooking when the new building renovations were complete ten years ago.

Ready to get into a change of clothes. He was stained head to toe. I’ll meet up with you.

Darren arched a steely gray eyebrow. Trying to impress someone?

There had been days as a teenager when Dean was so hungry after a morning of work, he’d gone straight to the smoker, begged a sandwich, and gobbled it in the parking lot. After this morning’s decision, his stomach tangled in knots. Nope. Had a big breakfast. I’ll be along after I get some of this stink off.

Smells like money. Darren grinned. See you inside.

The long-running joke that shit converted to money made him shake his head. It was true, but it didn’t make that part of the job any more pleasant.

He climbed over the fence rail and cut across a grassy patch—scraping his boots along the way—before he hit the parking lot, then rounded the side of the building. Patty would scold his ears off if he went through the main part of the building trailing cow dookie, as she called it.

London sat on the office steps in the shade. A little sandwich in plastic wrap laid in her lap. A bottle of water dripped condensation on the concrete beside her.

Miss Bingham. Aware he reeked, he hung back.

She turned her gaze on him. Hazel eyes were haunted by shadows and a green tinge washed the color from her heart-shaped face.

What’s wrong? The cow smell pretty much always hung over the stockyard unless they got an easterly wind. He understood how nauseating the smell could make people if they weren’t used to it.

Just an upset stomach. Nerves. She offered him a bland smile. I needed some fresh air.

You look a little peaky.

I’ve had a rough couple of days. The smile faded. About last night...I shouldn’t have been so rude. Believe me, if I knew I was coming to work here and you were my employer, I never would have acted like that. I’m sorry. In fact, I wanted to say I don’t even frequent bars often. I’m not a drunk. I didn’t have a single alcoholic drink. But you probably know that.

She knew he’d watched her. Uncomfortable, he shifted. Yeah, I noticed. Sorry about spying on you. I wasn’t trying to be a stalker.

She laughed. Real laughter, not a pale imitation of humor like the smile. Although I can understand why you’d have to go to a bar to pick up women if you smell like that all the time.

I’m on my way to the locker room to freshen up. Sorry money doesn’t smell the same to you as it does to some of us. He grinned to soften his words. For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here. If Patty picked you from the candidate pool, then I’m sure you’ll be fine. Doesn’t hurt adding another pretty face to the mix.

And one over eighteen. Two high school girls worked in the cantina on auction nights. They giggled after every sentence. One blushed so dark, her face looked like it would melt whenever he walked into the kitchen. The other draped herself on him like a coat. As though he’d be caught dead taking out a sixteen year old. He had no desire to tangle with her daddy or spend time in jail over her.

London looked away. I hope I do all right. Your father seems nice enough, but he also seems like the kind of guy who doesn’t grant many second chances.

She’d hit the nail on the head. You got that right. I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you. By the time Patty’s two weeks are up, you’ll know dang near everything she does. He waved at the sandwich in her lap. I’ll let you get to lunch. Don’t want to waste all your time. Besides, I’m starving. Won’t fill my stomach any faster standing out here gabbing.

It was nice talking to you, Mr. Trulove.

He gave a mock grimace. It’s Dean.

Okay. Thanks, Dean. She shielded her eyes from the sun as she looked up at him.

Beams of light cast pale highlights in her hair and illuminated the freckles running across the bridge of her nose. A pretty smile stretched across her face.

His heart thudded. You have any trouble, feel free to come to me. See you around, London.

He’d be seeing a lot of her since she’d taken the job at the stockyard. Even better than taking her home for what would no doubt have been a one-night stand. It made his heart lighter, even knowing that after lunch his father planned to get all the employees together and break the news. London made a bright spot in an otherwise crummy day.

Dean’s stomach tightened when his father came into the cantina. Surrounded by Patty, Ryan, London, the five other employees, and the spicy scent of brisket, he should have felt at ease. The stockyard, particularly the cantina, was his second home and had been since he was born. Today the oak paneled walls seemed too close together. The cloying scent of smoked meat hung heavy in the air. It didn’t help his stomach. Dean clenched and unclenched his fist.

Ryan raised his brows. He mouthed, What’s up?

Dean shook his hand out, then shrugged. He turned his attention to Darren and held his breath.

Y’all here? Good. Got some news. Darren took off his Stetson. He gripped the brim in big hands, looked down at the black linoleum floor, then cast his gaze around the room. This ain’t easy.

"What’s the matter,