Along Came a Cowboy by Christine Lynxwiler Read Free Book Online

dad.
    Only then, Jennifer was in my womb.
    Even though I’ve been back many times since then, something about driving here with her beside me feels as if I’ve come full circle.
    My parents are waiting on their wide porch looking as if they stepped right out of a lemonade commercial. Indeed, everything about my parents’ ranch would fall in the “idyllic” category. Two-story white house with a red barn rising up behind it. A row of pines that flank the yard, planted when they were saplings, now towering above the house. A massive oak tree, perfect for climbing, in the front yard. Such perfection should have come with perfect daughters.
    Unfortunately, I messed that up.
    They wave broadly as I pull up in front and park. In an instant, they descend on my vehicle. And go straight to the passenger side.
    Jenn slips off her earbuds.
    Mom bends down to hug Jennifer as she’s getting out of the car. “You look exhausted, honey.”
    I’d sent out an emergency e-mail to Lark, Allie, and Victoria while Jennifer was on the phone with Tammy last night, and my friends insisted on meeting me for breakfast so they could pray with me. I slipped out early and left Jennifer asleep, ate breakfast, and worked at the office until noon. She was still asleep when I got home. I doubt she’s terribly exhausted, but Mom is overprotective. If she cares about you.
    â€œHey, girl,” Dad says and pulls her into a bear hug. “You’ve grown up since Christmas.” He nods to me over her shoulder. “Rachel.”
    I nod back. “Dad.”
    â€œLunch is ready,” Mom offers. “Come on in and eat before it gets cold.”
    They escort Jennifer up the steps while I follow behind.
    I’m one of those corny people whose childhood home is her dream house. Maybe because I had a happy childhood. Until I ruined it with one impulsive act. I wasn’t a troubled kid. Not even as an adolescent. I was just gullible and stupid.
    But I don’t think anyone in our family remembers much about my growing up except for that one gullible, stupid moment. Not Mom, not Dad, and certainly not me. It’s mostly a haze before that point.

M om ushers us directly to the big oak table. As I pull out my chair, I glance out the dining room windows at the rolling green pasture. “It’s beautiful out here this time of year.”
    â€œMaybe you’ll get out here more often since Jenn’s here,” Mom says under her breath. “To the house and not just to the barn.”
    â€œMaybe.”
    â€œLet’s pray,” Dad says. He thanks God for allowing Jennifer to be with us then thanks Him for the food and asks Him to bless the hands that prepared it. When he says “Amen,” I remember how special I always felt when I helped fix supper and Dad would say that in the prayer. The thought of God blessing my hands. . .
    Suddenly I realize that God has blessed my hands, by allowing me to help so many people with them. I wonder if my being a chiropractor is partly an answer to my dad’s prayers.
    Mom has cooked a full spread. She’s a once-a-month grocery shopper. Hard to believe she threw all this together after Tammy called her this morning.
    â€œI ran into Alma Westwood in Price-Chopper this morning.”
    So either today’s grocery day or she made a special trip. “You did?”
    â€œShe said she made Jack go with her to your office yesterday.”
    With the new privacy laws, I can’t acknowledge that Alma comes in to the clinic, but like most of my patients, she doesn’t hesitate to tell the world. Which is good for business but puts me in a bad spot sometimes when someone wants to discuss a patient with me. I concentrate on my green beans, unsure how to answer.
    â€œHe was very impressed with your presentation of Alma’s X-rays.”
    I almost choke on a bean. Is my mother really joining Alma in her matchmaking? Why would she