Read Online The Cowboy Takes a Bride by Lori Wilde - Free Book Online Page B

Four things were clear.
    One: Joe was a widower.
    Two: His wife had been only twenty-six years old when she’d died. Younger than Mariah was now.
    Three: Dutch, Joe’s best friend, had died two years to the day after Rebecca’s death.
    Four: Joe had loved his wife very, very much.
    Goose bumps rose on her skin. Sympathy pawed at her. Her heart softened. No wonder Joe had gotten drunk last night and fallen into the horse trough and slept it off in a stupor. He’d been in a great deal of emotional pain.
    And she’d been so mean to him. Calling him a derelict. Acting rude.
    That’s what you get for making assumptions, for judging people.
    Poor guy. She couldn’t begin to imagine what he was going through. She owed him a big apology because Joe Daniels was a man still grieving the love of his life.

Chapter Five
Playing it safe means you’re not even in the game.
—Dutch Callahan
    J oe tromped to the Silver Horseshoe looking for something to take his mind off his sorrow. His head still ached from his go-round with Jose Cuervo, so he wasn’t into that. He needed companionship more than anything else, a friendly face to keep him from dwelling on Becca and Dutch. He paused outside to scrape his boots on the welcome mat.
    “Howdy, handsome,” Clover greeted him from behind the bar the minute he opened the door. Her kindly face folded into a heartfelt smile. “What’ll you have?”
    “I’m not in a drinkin’ mood.”
    “Well, honey, you did just walk into a bar.” Her jovial tone darkened. “Is something bothering you?”
    He sank down on the bar stool. “I guess I’ll take a beer.”
    She poured up a mug and pushed it in front of him. Joe took a swig. Clover went off to fix a whiskey sour for another customer, and then came back, bar towel slung over one shoulder. “So that pebble in your boot got anything to do with Dutch’s daughter?”
    He took another sip of beer. “You know about her?”
    “Saw her while I was on the way over to the Marin place this morning. She’s cute.”
    “I suppose,” he said.
    “You don’t like her?”
    He shrugged. “I don’t know her.”
    “But something’s got you upset.”
    “She doesn’t even seem to be mourning him.” Joe rubbed the condensation off his mug with the pad of his thumb. “The man was her father and she doesn’t give a damn.”
    “For one thing,” Clover said, “everyone grieves in their own way. For another thing, she barely knew him.”
    “All the more reason to grieve. Knowing that you treated your own father like dirt and never had a chance to make amends.”
    “That’s not like you, Joe,” Clover chided gently.
    “What?”
    “Making snap judgments about people.”
    “Yeah, well, sometimes first impressions are the right ones.”
    “What’s your impression of her?”
    “Aloof. Cold.” He thought of her soft lips, her golden hair, and immediately scrubbed the image from his mind.
    “That wasn’t the impression I had of her at all.”
    “No?”
    “No. I thought she seemed . . .” Clover paused as if searching for the right word. “Lost. Vulnerable.”
    Joe snorted.
    “Much like you.”
    “What?” He glared at Clover.
    “You’ve been lost since Becca died and now with Dutch gone, you’ve lost your last anchor. I know you don’t see it, Joe. Big tough cowboy can’t admit he’s fragile as peanut brittle, but you’re projecting your guilt and shame onto Mariah.”
    “Projecting? Clover, have you been watching Dr. Phil?”
    Clover straightened. “I saw a grief counselor after Carl died. I know things.”
    “Did it help?”
    “Not much,” she admitted. “You can talk about your feelings until you’re blue in the face, but it doesn’t change the fact the person you love is gone.”
    “Nope, it don’t.”
    They looked at each other, two lost souls connected by grief.
    Then Clover burst out laughing. “You want another beer?”
    “Why not,” Joe said joining her laughter. Sometimes things got so bad you just had