Free The Counterfeit Cowgirl by Kathryn Brocato Page B

“Law, that child reminds me of her daddy more and more every day. Tell her she can’t do somethin’, and that’s exactly what she goes and does. What’s a poor mother to do?”
    Aaron glanced at Felicity. She looked like a fallen cowgirl — a very colorful fallen cowgirl. He wanted to hold her and comfort away the residual terror he was sure she still felt, but the brown eyes glinting from under the ice pack warned him against that action.
    “She has the sweetest little apartment in Nashville,” Becky said. “All my relatives help look after her. So maybe you can tell me what possessed her to come down here to this awful place instead of taking a nice Caribbean cruise or something if she wanted a vacation.” She shot another disgusted glance at the piles of old political magazines and newspapers that littered most of the floor space.
    “A desire for independence?” Aaron asked, his voice a soft rumble.
    He was pushing it, he knew, but he couldn’t stop himself. There was a lot more to Felicity Clayton than her fancy cowgirl clothes and he wanted to know more about her.
    “Independence.” Becky reared up to frown at him. “She’s way too independent as it is. I sent her off to college so she wouldn’t grow up to be ignorant like I am, and what did she do? She decided she wanted to be a saleswoman. A
saleswoman
. And she took off all by herself through the whole state of Tennessee sellin’
tractors
.”
    “That’s tough on a mother,” Aaron said. He could imagine young farmers all over Tennessee lining up to buy tractors from Felicity.
    “No one can possibly call you ignorant, Mama,” Felicity said. “Your manager says you’re the smartest businesswoman he’s ever dealt with.”
    “I didn’t say I wasn’t smart,” Becky countered. “I said I was ignorant ’cause I quit school in the ninth grade. Your daddy wanted you to grow up and maybe be a teacher or something. We didn’t raise you to be no saleswoman.” Becky sipped tea, much aggrieved and looked at the ceiling. “Sorry, Johnny. I did my best, but she won’t listen to me.”
    “She’s selling clothes now?” Aaron stared at Felicity.
    Becky gave a short laugh. “Yep. Cowgirl clothes. Ain’t that a hoot? I thought she’d settle down when she turned twenty-one and inherited the money her daddy left her, but no, that wasn’t what she did. She bought my crazy old mama this house to keep her far away and out of my hair and then she took a job sellin’ heavy equipment all over the southern United States. After she almost turned me into a nervous wreck, she bought a shop in Nashville and moved home. At last.”
    Becky was on a roll, Aaron realized, and nothing was going to stop her until she’d released all the nervous tension she’d built up from worrying over her daughter.
    He tried to remember Becky Lozano’s history, or the version that had been given to the media. “I thought her father died when she was a baby.”
    “He did.” Becky sighed and sipped tea. “But he stays around helpin’ me get her raised.” She lifted her tea cup to the ceiling in a salute to an unseen presence. “Guess he knows she takes after him too much and wants to help. How’s your head, baby?”
    Aaron didn’t miss the tender, cooing note that entered Becky’s voice when she spoke to Felicity. He also noted the dry, laughter-tinged tone in which Felicity replied. Felicity understood and indulged her mother’s need to care for her. Aaron had never seen anything like it.
    “It’s much better, Mama. May I take the ice pack off?”
    Becky studied her watch. “Let’s leave it on a few more minutes, baby. We don’t want anything bruised now, do we?”
    “No, Mama. Let Mr. Whitaker go on home. He’s got a lot of things to see to this afternoon.”
    Aaron knew Felicity wanted to get him out of the house, but he wasn’t about to leave. “I’d better stick around a little longer, Ms. Lozano. Just in case your daughter turns out to have a