Historical Cowboy Romance Novels

Cowboy in Search of Grace

                 and the little white lies

Excerpt​

CHAPTER ONE

Life is a river. You can row your boat gently, and slowly,

or you can catch the ripples, the runs, and then a waterfall.

Whatever your speed, stay in the moment and enjoy the trip.

All streams end somewhere.

 

 1906  Randall & Grace

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As Phoebe lost consciousness and her vision blurred, she did not recognize the man who stood there for a moment, wearing galluses and a worn hat, before he mounted his horse and rode away at a fast gallop. When she woke, hurting and exhausted from her deep dive into the world of black, the atmosphere was heavy with the scent of earth. Her breath hitched, as the sounds of her sobs echoed across an expanse of big bluestem grass, dotted with basket flowers.

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The chorus of howling coyotes and a relentless assault of biting insects was terrifying and stressful. The night was cool as early spring had arrived throughout eastern Texas, and as the sun rose, its rays painted the edges of the clouds with beautiful and breathtaking shades of violet and red.

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Confused and hurting as she quieted down and her breathing evened out, stillness and silence replaced life’s sounds around her once more. Somehow, she had to make it home before the scorching day took her last drop of strength. So, she stumbled onto her feet with everything that she had in her and took a step forward.

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* * *

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Randall Jackson was tall and slim with bulging muscles on his arms, and he was a well-known blacksmith in the town of Annona, Texas. He was easygoing and a friendly person, and his boss, a cowman ranch owner, often allowed him time away to work for others in the surrounding vicinity as a smithy. Despite his major key role as a cowhand at the Red River Ranch where he spent most of his days, he enjoyed the work that involved engaging his hands.

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He squeezed the heavy nippers, his tall frame holding onto a horse’s hoof between his knees. When working alone, he often talked to the horses he was shoeing. His voice resounded near the horse lean-to as he explained to the big, brown bay. “Apologies for the crooked nail. Don’t worry about it. I’m sure I didn’t quick you. Now, this nail is a winner, Coyote.” The horse shot Randy a stony stare.

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“I never intended to offend you, you chucklehead. You’re going to be fine, I swear.” Randy groaned with the effort, his voice light, as he took a straight nail out of his toolbox and put it through the horseshoe he held against the sole of Coyote’s left hoof. He breathed in and carefully pounded it all the way into the hardened outer shell with three taps of the hammer. He didn’t want any mistakes. A misplaced nail could ruin his reputation as a skilled farrier if it caused an abscess. Shy of being a perfectionist, he made it a point to do nothing half-ass. That, and he didn’t want to hurt the horses that he catered to.

​

Randy stood and stretched. He watched several turkey buzzards gliding in large circles high in the blue sky. Although the morning air was bearable, soon the heat would start rising. In another hour or more, it would become stifling.

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Luckily, the two-stall barn had an overhang that offered shade on sunny and warm days like these and made it easier to work. Still, his undershirt was damp under the arms. But Randall enjoyed working on Coyote because he was well-behaved even when standing on three legs. Randy never realized how fast the time flew by when he was working on him. The gradual rise in heat took him by surprise as by mid-morning, the temperature was ninety degrees.

​

Once he was done, Randy lowered his hammer to rummage through his supply box. A pair of black scuffed boots laced to mid-calf caught his attention. Still bent over, he craned his neck to look upward.

An angel stood in front of him wearing a full-length pair of jodhpurs and a loose white blouse. The girl looked familiar. She wore her long hair in a roll at the back of her neck, framing a perfect unblemished face, and she had the bluest of eyes that watched him through narrowed lids. Her lips were perfect wearing a slight smile.

​

He stood, captivated by her presence until he realized that he was staring. As he glanced at his undershirt, stained with sweat and dirt, his expression turned into one of embarrassment––a sheepish smile adorning his own lips. The cotton shirt looked like someone had dipped it in horse manure. Coyote had done that, using Randy as a rubbing post to remove mud from his head that he’d rolled in earlier.

​

As he regained his composure, he breathed in and said, “I apologize, ma’am, for my unkempt appearance. Somethin’ I can do for you?” In his adult life, he’d been awkward around women. He hesitated, searching for other words to say to fill the silence that had enveloped them. When nothing came to mind, he smiled again but felt he must resemble a cow chip. And smell bad, too.

​

“Yes, actually. I hate to interrupt you, but I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you yet. Just thought you should know that I’m moving into my sister Corrine’s house, or I should say my house now. I wanted to thank you for taking care of Coyote.”

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When Randy said nothing, she shifted her weight to her left leg, uneasy under his stare. His hazel eyes with specks of amber and green never left her blue ones. His sun-bleached hair dripped sweat down his neck, and it looked disheveled as if he’d raked his hand through the long strands several times. Smile lines along his cheeks creased his smooth, tanned face. He was tall and fit, too. His sweat-glistened forehead or stained shirt was not a problem for her, as she was more interested in the broad shoulders beneath the clinging material. Besides, she had spent similar days working on her farm covered in hay, grass stains, and mud from head to toe.

​

Standing before him, he could tell that she was a Texan. Her gaze was devoid of the awe that typically met cowboys from Easterners, misled by romanticized notions. He wiped his palms along his trouser legs before answering.

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“No, it’s okay. I’m not that busy.”

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With fingers shoved into her front pockets, she looked at him and around the barn. Her pause before she spoke reflected the careful thought behind her words, which were as sweet as pouring honey over biscuits. He now recognized the similarity in features between the sisters, except for this sister’s modest demeanor and tone. “I came to the funeral. I’m sorry we didn’t meet. And I’m very sorry for your loss.”

One side of her mouth lifted as though he’d said something funny.

​

He kept looking at her as he said, “I’m happy to help if you need anything. The horse needed a re-set, so I shod him one last time for Corrine.” With the way she looked at the ground and seemed reluctant to talk, Randy thought that she looked like the kind of girl who took a while to warm up to males, especially cowboys.

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However, for her,  this cowboy had a civility about him that was laid-back, making studious eye contact that held your attention. The rest of him held her attention, too. “Alright.” She glanced at Coyote’s hooves. “His hooves look good.” No cracks, or unevenness in his stance. She spoke quietly, “Coyote belongs to me, not my sister. I would appreciate it if you continued to shoe him. I don’t get many opportunities to use him, but I want to be prepared if I do.”

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“I didn’t realize. I mean I thought he belonged to your––Corrine.” Randy broke his stare and reached for another nail. Her blue eyes were near turquoise. She bore little resemblance to Corrine. She was soft and inviting in the little interaction that they had today, while Corrine had many hard edges.

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“My name is Grace Madden.” She held out her hand, and he reached to grasp it, first taking the nail from between his lips that he’d forgotten.

“Glad to meet you, Grace. I don’t run into attractive women while shoein’ horses every day. I’m Randall Jackson. Please call me Randy. Everybody else does.” Had he been too forward by complementing a female he’d just met? Maybe so, but damn, she was irresistible.

Their hand grasp lasted a while longer than what seemed normal, staring at each other for the umpteenth time, and drowning in thoughts that were probably much too forward for a first meeting.

Grace nodded her head––eyes meeting his and averting once more. Randy caught her looking at him from top to bottom at times, interrupted by glances to the ground, all in a vain attempt to not show her interest.

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Despite her polite and composed demeanor, Randy could tell, even after hearing her first words, that her mind was racing, much like his own. Was she thinking about him as they stood holding hands trying to figure out the attraction that had sparked between them?

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As Randy analyzed their meeting in his mind, Grace did the same. She had hoped that she hadn’t come off as someone who didn’t trust easily. Because her head was full of thoughts like, What did he mean by attractive? Was he being fresh?

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She wondered if Corrine captivated this cowboy as much as she did other men. Handsome, with a genuine smile, broad shoulders, and well-developed arms, hardened from demanding work, he was a man who made a woman feel protected. She liked that. He was a better match for her in comparison to the men Corrine favored. But, he’d learn fast, she was not prone to imitate her sister’s behavior. Finally, they both let go of the other’s hand, hiding a laugh under their breath. As Randy went back to his search for a different nail, Grace spoke up once more, picking up the conversation.

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“Are you from Red River?”

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Randy put his hammer in his smithy bag and shifted his weight to one leg. “Yes, ma’am. I’ve been with Mr. Sullivant for ten years now.”

“Nice family, everyone says.”

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“That’s true. Mr. Sullivant came up an orphan, it’s said, and had the smarts to keep his ranch afloat during drought and cheap beef prices.”

“That’s what I was told. About Mrs. Sullivant, too.”

 

Randy studied his anvil, giving himself a chance to get his words in order. Criticized in her youth, Lilli Sullivant was truly a decent woman. “She’s a mighty fine lady. Makes sure we got the latest new fandangle in the bunkhouse.” Randy ended on that as he turned back to his work.

Grace nodded behind his back. “I saw Mrs. Sullivant once in a new Buick going through Annona. Driving to Clarksville to visit her mother, I heard.”

Randy grinned. Secrets in a small town didn’t exist. “Mrs. Sullivant loves that automobile. Not every day someone receives such a thing for their birthday.”

​

Grace looked at the ground to disguise her scan of every inch of the blacksmith once more. The man stirring through a container of horseshoes seemed too tall for someone who stooped over to shoe horses daily. The day was starting to become unbearably hot, so he was only wearing a t-shirt with loose buttons on the chest and short sleeves that clung to his biceps. Arms that could snap a bone without straining. Grace found herself more comforted than afraid by the fact.

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“No, they don’t.” Grace thought she’d be lucky to receive any birthday acknowledgment. “I should go. I won’t hold you from going about your business.”

​

The girl was looking to bolt, but he wasn’t ready for her to leave. His was a lonely occupation, as working ranchers and farmers weren’t always home when he dropped by to trim, re-set, or shoe their horses or mules. The four-legged regulars weren’t conversational partners. No matter how much he talked to them, the conversation was always one-sided. He thought it a blessing to be interrupted by someone, especially a pretty woman. He longed to say something impressive to entice her to stay longer, even if to just admire her. He struggled not to let his gaze fall lower than her chin.

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“Are you coming to the contest that Mr. Sullivant is sponsoring?”

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Yes, anything to be free of the farm for a while, she thought sullenly. “I am. There’s been no time for me to ride. So, I have to practice my roping for the next few days. Coyote won’t be at his best, but he’ll do okay. I just hope to draw a good calf.”

​

She waved him off as she turned away. “I’ve got a load to carry into the house. I’ve been hauling belongings over every day, but everything’s here now.”

​

He watched her hips sway as she walked away. “Do you need any help?”

“Oh, no. No. I guess I’ll see you in six or eight weeks?” Thinking of seeing him for any other reason than putting shoes on her horse was nonsense. But why did he tell her she was pretty if he wasn’t interested? Perhaps he was a wordsmith wanting to get into her back door.

​

“Sure. If you’re not here, I’ll catch Coyote and leave you a bill inside your screen door.”

​

“Thanks, Randy. I’m glad we finally met, and that I caught you here.”

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“Me, too, Grace. And if you decide to accept my offer of help, let me know.”

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With a fluttering wave, she walked back to her wagon to fetch more items that belonged in the home that was taken from her, as well as the horse. When wanting something, Corrine concocted sad stories to put herself in the middle of your life, taking advantage of everything you owned.

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Randy watched her walk away until she disappeared behind a large red cedar. He sighed heavily, dissatisfied with their conversation that didn’t go the way he wanted. Then, he went back to hammering the last nail into Coyote’s shoe. Not fully focused on his work, he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. Boxes and bags filled Grace’s arms as she climbed the steps to the house’s back entrance and went inside the small white clapboard. She was a shapely woman with an appealing personality. Someone her size carrying a load and not dropping half of it seemed impossible. Grace, however, handled the task well with little jostling of the irregular-sized bundles in her arms. Randy could easily tell that she was a woman used to hard work.

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As he saw her make what was seemingly the last trip, he decided she was through toting her goods from the cart to the small, but sturdy residence. With nothing more captivating to see than her stellar figure climbing the porch stairs, he clinched the last of the nails in Coyote’s right rear foot and gathered up his tools.

​

He took care when packing them away in the wagon that Mr. Sullivant allowed him to use for his off-the-ranch work. As he was climbing onto the seat, he heard the screen door slam. Grace was trotting toward him. Her unbound hair bounced over her shoulders. Long, beautiful, and not as light as his, the honey color streaks brought out the strong blue of her eyes.

​

“Everything okay?”

​

“Yes.” And it was another reason to talk to the blacksmith again. “I wish to pay you today. I dislike being beholding.”

​

“Thank you, but it wasn’t necessary. I trust you’ll pay me when you’re ready.”

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Grace blushed. Although not as forward as her wild sister, she was curious about the tall farrier and his daily activities, even though it was none of her concern. “What jobs do you perform for Mr. Sullivant? I mean other than a blacksmith.”

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Randy was flattered she asked. “I started out as a cowpuncher, but I’ve always had a knack with machinery. Now I repair Mr. Sullivant’s manufactured and horse-drawn equipment. Even works on his automobiles. Then, there’s the plows, hay mowers, and many other tools that need sharpening or mending every day. Keeps me busy, but I still work cattle, too.”

​

Grace nodded. “That’s swell, Randy. I’m sure you stay mighty busy.”

She smiled at him with perfect white teeth. He noticed, too, that there were no rings on her left hand. “And you, Grace? I’m not being nosy––only interested. What do you do?”

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“I have my business. At my momma’s place.” She pointed northwest, “I raise and sell poultry and eggs. Then, there’s twenty-five dairy cows, too, and I sell milk and butter along with the other. It’s good to know a mechanic in case my old cart over there goes to pieces. I often stay here,” she swung her arm toward the house, “to enjoy time away from the farm.” 

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He looked at the worn two-wheeled cart and an old horse tied next to his. She shaded her deep blue eyes while looking up at him. Taken by their depth of color, he struggled to pay her a compliment without sounding half-witted. “I don’t mean to be fresh, but you don’t look the part of a milkmaid. It’s surprising to see a young lady such as you working in such a demanding field––I mean, dairying is hairy work.” He had no idea what he was saying. Once more, he found himself struggling to keep his focus on her face and not scanning the curves exposed through the thin fabric. As his gaze meandered, he barely held himself back from licking his lips.

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Grace blushed, with no idea how to handle such a compliment. “Well, thank you. But I’m tough despite what you think.” She knew he was thinking about things no one discussed in public. She wasn’t totally naïve and innocent. Corrine had a lot to do with her education.

“I have no doubts about that.”

​

Grace couldn’t help smiling again. “Randy, best to get started on the road. I’m sure you have other chores to do.”

​

She sounded sincere, but he figured that she just wanted to stop entertaining his random thoughts of lust. He reached for the box seat to step on board.

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“Oh, when will you be back? I need to be sure I’m here.”

​

“I guess that depends on Coyote and you. If he doesn’t throw a shoe and depending on how you use him, I’d say between five and seven weeks.”

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She managed a smile while thinking, that’s too long. “Alright. How may I reach you? If something unexpected occurs to my horse, such as a hoof injury or . . . something? He has to be sound for the roping at the contest. It’s the only thing I’ve done for myself in a long time. You have taken such good care of him.” Her voice dropped an octave. She had no good reason to ask him to come back earlier to reset Coyote’s shoes.

​

“The big house has a telephone. They’ll get a message to me.” His grin was one-sided. He liked her. She got straight to work. Ace-high. No running around the bush. He gave her a one-sided grin. “Guess I better git.” He released the brake, told the horse to ‘walk on,’ and drove away with a back-handed wave. He wondered how the two sisters were so different. Corrine liked a fun time, with a drink or two involved. Randy was never told what she did with Coyote other than use him as an extra expense and a yard ornament. He’d think of a way to meet up with Grace sooner than when Coyote would need a shoe reset.

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Well, that was that. She sighed as she waved goodbye and ambled across the grass, dreading the unpacking and storing away the items she’d brought from her mother’s to Corrine’s. My house, she corrected herself. Her sister wasn’t the only one allowed to enjoy herself or have a boyfriend. Corrine was no longer there to strong-arm everything that Grace had ever wanted. Though she had no other family members, she didn’t wish to be compared to Corrine. After four or five beers, her sister had no qualms about going home with any cowboy and also exploiting their mother as a reliable source of income when she ran out of money.

The tall, handsome farrier crossed her mind. She thought she’d swoon when he looked up at her, his extended arm bulging with muscle. That’s what women did in the novels she occasionally read. The thought made her laugh, and she felt like one of those female protagonists in those romance novels. He had a youthful face, but everything else said he was a mature man; a shadow of a beard, and unkept hair, lighter than any she’d seen. His body was powerful, with blond hair dusting his forearms that bulged into corded biceps.

 

He seemed a decent guy, but, another cowboy in the past had treated her badly. She knew that not every cowboy that she came across was similar to the one in the past, but it still made her steer away from men in tall Stetsons. She preferred relationships where both partners gave unconditional love, but wondered if that was even possible. She got nothing in return from Skip.

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She liked Randy’s composed and calm way of dealing with Coyote, even when Coyote was difficult. But Coyote’s roping instincts and skills made him worth the aggravation. Her vision for the gelding’s future included a plan to build up his strength after lazing around the pasture and to find her seat in the saddle. It had been a lengthy period since she had ridden a horse or roped a cow. All of Annona was abuzz about Red River Ranch’s flyer. The coming show offered the only recreation she’d had for quite some time. Women took part in the shows, more popular than ever, alongside cowboys in roping and bronc riding. Grace had a robust appetite for competition. In past shows, whether roping against a male or female roper, it was always exciting.

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Before getting undressed for a bath, she put away her underclothes in drawers and a small closet. Now wearing her robe, a sense of relaxation and freedom slowly began to overcome her as she started a coal fire in the stove in the kitchen to heat the water for the tub.

​

After the bath, she grabbed a knife and sliced a loaf of bread into small pieces, then loaded them with roast beef she’d cooked earlier in the day. Tomorrow she’d have to do a thorough cleaning. While Grace lived at the dairy taking care of their sick mother. Corrine never cared for cleaning floors, and it showed.

​

As she sat to eat, three urgent raps sounded on the kitchen door. She put her meal on the table, pulled her robe closer, and opened the door. Randy stood there gazing across the pasture.

​

As the door opened fully and Randy turned to her to speak, he briefly stopped breathing. He gave himself a mental kick. “Sorry to bother you. I started home and realized I forgot something.”

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He noticed she wasn’t dressed for visitors and forced himself to shift his gaze towards the barn, controlling himself. Then he looked back at her. “I reckoned you needed to know, as I didn’t want you to think someone was stealing out of your barn.” Long strands of her hair had fallen across her cheek, and she pulled it behind her ear. Shit. Her fine silk robe was sticking to her curvy breasts and hips. Look the other way, idiot!

​

Despite their earlier spark, the way he swept his eyes over her made Grace hot and cold. She tightened the belt around her waist. “That’s fine. Help yourself.”

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“Okay. I’ll leave you to whatever you were doing.” He stared a minute longer. She bore a striking resemblance to a girl he’d dreamt of with seductive, unkept hair. Unsettled by the way she met his gaze, he backed down the stairs.

​

The image of her––barefooted and gripping her thin cover outlining the shape of her breasts and a waist he could embrace with one arm––stayed with him, even as she slowly closed the door.

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As Randy left, Grace leaned against the door frame, embarrassed that her hair was damp and out of sorts. She experienced an emotion and could not attach it to a recognizable category like love, hate, friend, or adversary. His thick, straight hair which he swept back and held in place with hair tonic heightened his air of male confidence. Her thoughts were carnal, but she didn’t feel like a sinner or regret he’d seen her at her worst. Should they cross paths later under different circumstances, she’d know if she made a mistake in evaluating him when he showed he was less dependable than the men who were beating the road for work. Not expecting a different outcome after her experiences with other men, she sat at the table again and picked up her meal, only to be interrupted by a faint knock at the door.

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“For Pete’s sake.”

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"Alice! Come in." 

. . .

​

After Alice Ann left, she was dejected.

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She felt that her moodiness would diminish once she adjusted to her decision that she’d stay single. Putting her personal life on hold to avoid getting hurt, she planned to stay away from the blacksmith. Besides, their paths would never meet often. Too, preparing Coyote for the Red River roping and traveling between Annona and Clarksville to fulfill customers’ orders, she would not have the energy to think about a man’s interest in her.

 

Exhausted, she picked at her cold food for a minute, then covered it with a cloth for breakfast. She promptly ignored the treacherous part of her brain that whispered loudly to her, but he could make you happy.

 

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Excerpt from Cowboy in Search of Grace and the little white lies by permission of Cam Locke Copyright © 2025 All rights reserved. No part of this Description may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.