Free The Princess of Coldwater Flats by Nancy Bush Page B

Sammy Jo made a fast exit after paying a few more complements over the salmon-colored house.
    She passed Tommy Weatherwood’s house on the way out of Shady Glen. Tommy himself was in the driveway, washing his glossy red Chevy truck.
    Sammy Jo forced herself to slow to a stop and smile and wave. Squinting against the sun, Tommy finally recognized her. When he did, a grin crossed his somewhat dissipated features. The years had not been particularly kind to Tommy.
    “Hey, Sammy Jo, you babe,” he said, striding over. He wore jeans and no shirt. Sammy Jo eyed the eagle tattoo he’d added to his bicep since the last time she’d seen him shirtless.
    “What’s new, Tommy?”
    “Same old, same old. You know, it’s been a while since you and me put down some of that rotgut liquor.” His smile was white, having so far escaped the ravages of nicotine. But then she remembered Tommy, for all his other faults, had never smoked.
    “A long while.”
    “Say, you in this year’s Fourth of July rodeo?”
    “I retired years ago.”
    “Prettiest damn rodeo princess this town ever saw. And the best. Sammy Jo, you could always do it.” He leered. “You could always do it for me.”
    “Thanks,” she said with a dry smile. At least Tommy could make her laugh. He thought he was God’s gift to women, and instead of infuriating her, his attitude generally made her grin and shake her head. There was a puppyish way about Tommy for all his corny lines and low-life ways.
    But husband material?
    “Maybe I’ll see you around on the 4th,” he said in lieu of a goodbye.
    “Maybe you will.”
    The rest of the way home Sammy Jo criticized herself for being such a hypocrite. She couldn’t do it. She simply couldn’t marry some guy to save the ranch.
    She changed her mind half an hour later when she opened Doc Carey’s veterinary bill. Gasping, she crumpled it in her fist, then smoothed it out again, chest tight. She was going down for the third time.
    Grabbing her purse, she headed back to Shady Glen, got halfway there, stomped on the brake and turned back to town. In front of the High Noon Saloon, she clenched her hands around the wheel and fought a scream of frustration. Then she slammed out of the truck and stomped into the bar.
    The place seemed empty, apart from Sam and Josh who were both at the bar.
    “You look mad enough to kill a mountain lion with your bare hands,” Josh observed. “Have a brewsky on me.”
    “Looking for somebody?” Sam asked.
    “No,” Sammy Jo retorted.
    “Here.” Sam handed her a frosted mug, which she stared down at uncomprehendingly. “He stopped by earlier,” Sam added helpfully.
    “Who?”
    “Mr. Ryan.”
    Sammy Jo blinked at Sam. “I’m not looking for Mr. Ryan.”
    “Yeah?” Sam seemed unconvinced.
    “You must be looking for something,” Josh said. “You’re fit to be tied.”
    “If I’m looking for anything, it’s salvation. I have got to save the Triple R.”
    “Sell it to Ryan,” Sam said.
    “No.”
    “You’re going to lose it, anyway,” Josh pointed out.
    Sammy Jo glared. “You sound just like him. Well, let me tell you something, I’d sell myself before I sold the ranch. Anybody looking for a good woman? How about me for a wife? All you have to do is save the ranch and I’m yours.”
    Her words rose to the rafters, desperate, choked off, embarrassing. Sammy Jo closed her eyes, fighting hot anger.
    And it was at that moment that Cooper Ryan chose to make his presence known. He’d been sitting around the corner behind one of the thick, rough-hewn posts that held up the High Noon’s roof. Now, he sauntered over to the bar.
    Sammy Jo’s mouth dropped in mingled disbelief and horror. “You couldn’t have told me?” she gritted out to Sam who just shrugged and spread his palms.
    “Is that a proposal for me or the bar in general?” Cooper asked. “If it’s for me, I’m afraid I’m going to have to turn you down.”
    It was the way he said it. One moment she was