Call Me Cowboy

Prologue

Cotton Creek, Texas

The stairway creaked, and Priscilla opened her eyes. It was dark, and someone big was carrying her.

“Daddy?”

“Shhh, baby girl. It’s okay. I have you.”

Only the Snoopy night-light lit their way.

“Where are we going?”

He shushed her. “Go back to sleep, honey.”

Priscilla rested her head on her daddy’s chest, nuzzling her cheek against the soft flannel of his shirt, feeling the steady beat of his heart, the familiar buckle in his step as he limped toward the front door.

She yawned. “I’m really tired, Daddy.”

“I know, baby.”

Priscilla didn’t want to get up. She wanted to go back to her bed, with its Pound Puppies sheets and bedspread.

As they stepped outside and Daddy carefully closed the front door, the night air cooled her face and her bare toes.

A hoot owl called from the trees, and a doggy barked in someone else’s yard.

“It’s cold, Daddy. And it’s dark.”

“Everything is going to be just fine, honey. You wait and see.” Daddy carried her for a while, down the driveway and to the street, where he’d parked his truck.

The engine was running, and the heater made it all warm and cozy.

“I have a pillow and blanket for you,” he told her. “Why don’t you try and go back to sleep. We have a long drive ahead.”

“Where are we going?” she asked as she crawled across the seat.

“To a happy place,” he told her as he climbed into the pickup and closed the door.

Priscilla looked over her shoulder and out the back window. She could hardly see the house, until a light went on in the upstairs window.

“Where’s Mama?” she asked. “Why isn’t she going with us?”

“Go back to sleep, honey. We’ll call her in the morning and you can talk to her.”

They drove all that night and the next day, but they never did stop and call Mama.

And they didn’t talk about her anymore either.

Chapter One

Twenty-two years later

Priscilla Richards wasn’t in the party spirit, but she held a full glass of champagne and went through the social motions—the feigned smiles, the required chitchat.

Outside, the night was bright and clear. Inside, the penthouse was elegant, the decor festive.

Byron Van Zandt, an investment banker, had spared no expense in throwing a first-class celebration for his daughter Sylvia’s recent promotion. He’d even hired a violinist through the philharmonic. So it wasn’t any wonder that the mood of those in attendance was upbeat.

Well, not everyone’s.

Priscilla was ready to thank her host and go home.

But not because she wasn’t happy for the young woman of honor.

She and Sylvia had met at Brown University, where they’d both graduated with a master’s degree in literary arts. Then they’d landed dream jobs at Sunshine Valley Books, a small but growing publisher that specialized in children’s literature.

Being colleagues had only deepened their friendship, so there was no way Priscilla would have made an excuse to stay home, where she’d prefer to be.

She just wished she could be more enthusiastic for her best friend’s sake.

“Hey,” Sylvia said, making her way to Priscilla’s side with a half-filled flute of champagne. “You’re finally here!”

“I wouldn’t miss it.” Priscilla managed a weak but sincere smile. “Congratulations on the promotion.”

Sylvia, with her dark hair cropped in a short but stylish cut, nodded toward Priscilla’s full glass. “I hope that’s not your first.”

It was, so she nodded.

“Drink up, Pris. You can crash here. No need to worry about going back to Brooklyn tonight.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I need to get home. In fact, I’m going to cut out early.”

Sylvia drew closer and studied Priscilla intently. “You know, I’m starting to worry about you.”

“I’ll be okay. Really.”

Apparently Sylvia wasn’t convinced, because she crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one leg. “I know you adored your father, Pris. And it’s normal to grieve. But I hate to see you so down. Maybe you ought to talk to a doctor and get some medication. Or better yet, why don’t you make an appointment with a professional, like a minister or a counselor?”

It wasn’t grief that had knocked her for a loop.

Priscilla placed an arm around Sylvia and gave her an affectionate squeeze. “Thanks for the advice. But all I really need to do is bite the bullet and go through my dad’s belongings. I’ll be fine after that.”

“Does that mean you’ll be returning to work soon? Ever since you took that leave of absence, I haven’t had anyone to gossip with. And right now I think the new receptionist is sleeping with Larry in Marketing.”

“Syl, you never gossip.”

“Only with you.” Sylvia took a sip of champagne. “So when are you coming back to work?”