The Rancher's Secret Wife

She could go home to Kansas. But then again, she couldn’t. She couldn’t face her parents now, not with all of the mistakes she’d made in her life. She couldn’t face them because she’d been their problem, their mistake, too. Her birth mother had given her up. Her adoptive parents had given up on her.

But the biggest betrayal had been Mark’s. Because after he learned she was pregnant he revealed that their marriage license wasn’t real. He had no plans to be a husband and father. He’d laughed at her naiveté.

A little sparrow hopped around on the sidewalk, chasing bugs and dandelion seeds. She caught herself smiling as she watched him.

“Where do I go?” When she spoke, the little bird hopped back and looked at her. After his curiosity was satisfied, he plucked a dry bit of grass from the sidewalk and flew away.

She remembered a sermon from the church she’d started attending back in Vegas. That had been Reese’s advice before he’d left that day. He’d promised to love, honor and cherish her. Then he’d kissed her, told her he had to go, but she needed to find a church. So she had.

One of the sermons had been about God’s ability to care for people. If He provides for the birds who neither sow nor reap, how much more does He care for us?

She wondered if He knew that she was really at the end of her rope—hopeless. How had she come to this place in her life? She’d always had hope. She’d been the person in school who’d studied, thought about a future and how to be her best—until Mark and Vegas.

That showed how a couple of bad decisions could derail everything.

A car drove down the narrow road. It met another and had to pull off the pavement to let the other car pass. She smiled, remembering the town she’d grown up in. It had been larger than Dawson but had its share of narrow roads and pretty homes. A long time ago she had lived in one of those homes.

One of the cars, a long sedan, pulled in behind hers. Reese’s grandmother stepped out of the car. She pulled on lace gloves and situated a white hat on her gray hair. She appeared to be a woman on a mission. And Cheyenne had a pretty good feeling that she was the mission.

Mrs. Cooper walked down the sidewalk and stopped when she reached Cheyenne.

“What in the name of all that is lovely are you doing sitting in front of this old shop?” Reese’s grandmother dusted off the bench and sat down.

Cheyenne shrugged a little and blinked fast, trying hard not to cry. “Coming up with a plan.”

“Well, if the bench works, so be it.”

Cheyenne glanced at the woman next to her. “How did you know where to find me?”

“I prayed and asked God to lead me. He said to try the old barbershop. Here I am.”

“God told you to find me here?” Cheyenne reached into her purse for a little package of crackers. She opened it and threw crumbs to the birds. “Really?”

The lady sitting next to her laughed...and laughed. Finally she wiped her eyes with a tissue she pulled from her pocket. “Land sakes, no. Before you start thinking I’m addled, I’ll tell you. I asked Trish at the convenience store. Trish is nosier than me, and she watched you head this way.”

Cheyenne smiled and shook her head. “I don’t think you’re addled.”

“Most folks do wonder.”

“Mrs. Cooper, I’m really very sorry about barging in and about Reese.”

“Call me Myrna. Everyone does. Or Miss Myrna if you insist. But that does make me feel like I’m still teaching school. And you didn’t do a thing wrong, coming to see Reese.”

“I should have waited—or called him.”

“Do you want to tell me what the story is between the two of you?”

“No, I’d rather not. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, I don’t mind. Young folks have a right to a few secrets. I’m guessing that isn’t his baby you’re carrying.”

“No, ma’am, it isn’t.”

They sat for a few minutes. Myrna reached for the package of crackers and broke off a piece. She tossed it. The birds flew at each other, fighting over the little piece of cracker.

“Well, is there a father?” Myrna pulled off her gloves and pushed them into her little purse.

“Not to speak of.” She shivered and looked away, at the golden sun peeking through dark green leaves of the trees in the lawn across from the shop. “Dawson seems like a good place to live.”

“It is. I think everyone should live in Dawson. But then, I guess it wouldn’t be Dawson if they did.” Myrna twisted to look at the building behind them. “What is it about this shop that interests you?”

Cheyenne looked back at the shop. “I’m a beautician. I thought that someday I might rent a place like this and open a salon.”

“In Dawson?” Myrna Cooper hummed for a minute. “Well, that’s something we could use. So why don’t you rent this building?”

Cheyenne stood because it was time to go. “I don’t have the money. If I leave my number with you, could you pass it on to Reese?”

“First, let’s take a look at this old barbershop. It was my uncle’s, you know.” Myrna reached in her purse and pulled out a key. “I happen to own it now.”

Myrna stuck the key in the door, jiggled the handle and then pushed it open. “It’s a mite musty after being closed up for the past couple of years.”

“I like the smell.” Cheyenne walked around the little rectangle building. It still had sinks, chairs—even a little room in the back and a bathroom. “But I can’t afford it.”

Myrna ignored her. She sat down in one of the plastic chairs near the window and smiled big. “I used to come in here with my daddy when I was a little girl. Back then Dawson had more to offer. We had a grocery store, a bank and a post office.”

“I bet it was a wonderful place to grow up.” Cheyenne smiled, but she had to sit down. Pain wrapped around her belly, and she breathed deep to get through it.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, just a cramp.”

“You’re sure?”

She nodded and sat down in a chair near Myrna’s. “I’m sure. I have a couple of months to go before I’m due. These are just Braxton Hicks contractions.”

Myrna patted her leg. “Take the shop, Cheyenne. It’s yours. I’ll get the water turned on and the electricity.”

“I can’t. Myrna, I’m broke. Really, I can’t.”

Myrna Cooper stood and beckoned for Cheyenne to join her. “I’m going to help you do this. Young women should have dreams. They should have options. I don’t know your relationship with my grandson, but I know if he could, he’d be the one here helping you. Until he can, you’ve got me.”

“Oh, Myrna.” Cheyenne closed her eyes for a brief “pull it together” moment.

Myrna touched her arm. “Let’s go home. You can get a good night’s rest, and tomorrow I think things will look better.”

“‘Home’?”

Myrna pursed her lips and widened her eyes. “My house, young lady. That’s what I mean by home. Stay the night or a few nights with me. And then we’ll see what we can do with this old barbershop.”