How to Wrangle a Cowboy by Joanne Kennedy Read Free Book Online Page A

was grading his parenting potential. Shane the cowboy versus Edward the rich guy. Cody would probably pick the rich guy, and then what would Shane do? He’d have to tell Cody he didn’t have a choice. That he was stuck with his old dad, a workingman with calluses on his hands and dirt under his nails.
    Finally, Cody spoke. “Can I ask you a question?”
    Shane braced himself for the worst. The question was obviously an important one, since it was prefaced by the pooched out lower lip and the biggest, saddest eyes Shane had ever seen. “Sure, Son. You can ask me anything, anytime.”
    Anything? Was he really ready for anything the boy asked? Cody might ask why Shane didn’t marry his mommy or why he wasn’t around when he was a baby. Worse yet, he might ask why his mom didn’t take him with her.
    The kid leaned into him and looked earnestly into his face. “Okay,” he said. “So what I want to ask is…”
    Cody took a deep breath, and Shane felt his throat constrict. How would he explain the situation to his son? What could he say? He looked down at this little miracle he’d resolved to protect and felt woefully unprepared. “Go on, Son,” he said. “What do you want to know?”
    The big brown eyes grew even more mournful as the boy sucked in a deep breath. “Can I have a puppy?”

Chapter 7
    Lindsey checked the ground around her feet as she walked away from her grandfather’s grave, hoping the pointy footprints would lead her to the mysterious stranger. But the ground was covered with a thick growth of prairie grass, and the dirt pathway was cluttered with the prints of so many mourners, she couldn’t make out any individual tracks.
    The crowd was starting to break up as friends and relatives headed toward the ranch house for food. The usual potluck fare was spread out in the front room; hopefully the stranger would stick around for Swedish meatballs and seven-layer dip.
    As she crossed the wide front porch, the hollow sound of her shoes on the old boards brought back memories of summer days long gone. Then she stepped into the front hall, and was instantly enveloped in the sweet scent of home. Even after all these years, the masculine, outdoorsy scents of sage, saddle leather, and dust combined with the more civilized odors of home-baked cookies, Lemon Pledge, and her grandmother’s perfume to overwhelm her with a rush of memories.
    She swallowed hard. Sooner or later, a sob was going to escape. Hopefully it would be in private, as it was likely to be loud, ugly, and not at all ladylike.
    As a girl, the ranch had been her sanctuary, a safe place where she’d always felt loved and protected. Even now, it was the “happy place” she fled to in her mind when the stress of her work piled up. She’d picture the porch with its white-painted swing, remembering how she’d whiled away summer days as a child with a good book and a bottle of Grace’s homemade root beer. The memory always made her feel at peace.
    But today, the front room was filled with people balancing plates of cheese pinwheels, shrimp with cocktail sauce, and ambrosia salad. Edging past the door into the dark hallway that led to the back of the house, she dabbed at her eyes.
    She’d never understood funerals. Grief, for her, was a private affair. Her sorrow over the loss of her grandfather was almost overwhelming, and she didn’t want to break down in front of this crowd. She’d had enough experience to know people only understood the soul-darkening misery of true mourning when death struck their own loved ones.
    If she wept like she wanted to, they’d move away and whisper among themselves about her lack of self-control.
    The hall beyond the parlor was dark, but Lindsey could have sworn she heard a rustling sound coming from its depths. Slipping off her beautiful but profoundly uncomfortable shoes, she padded down the hall and peered around the corner, toward the back entrance to her grandfather’s study.
    An old oak china closet stood