Along Came a Cowboy

A Romantic Showdown
in Small-Town Arkansas

Christine Lynxwiler

© 2008 by Christine Lynxwiler

ISBN 978-1-60742-016-3

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the publisher.

All scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, N
EW
I
NTERNATIONAL
V
ERSION
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.
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. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.

Scripture quotations marked
NASB
are taken from the New American Standard Bible, © 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

For more information about Christine Lynxwiler, please access the author's Web site at the following Internet address: www.christinelynxwiler.com

Cover design by The DesignWorks Group

Published by Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville,
OH 44683, www.barbourbooks.com

Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.

Printed in the United States of America

D
EDICATION
/A
CKNOWLEDGMENTS

Every chiropractor who loves, gives, and serves unselfishly, striving to make the world a healthier place, one patient at a time. God bless you all.

And to my favorite chiropractor and very own hero, Dr. Kevin Lynxwiler, who constantly shows me the true meaning of sacrificial giving, both with his patients and with his family.

With special thanks to: Susan May Warren, Annalisa Daughety, Sandy Gaskin, Jan Reynolds, Vicky Daughety, Tracey Bateman, Susan K. Downs, Rachel Hauck, Ellen Tarver, Dean Miller, and Rebecca Germany. This book took a village, and y'all are an amazing village!

In Him we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of His grace.
E
PHESIANS
1:7
NASB

B
abies complicate life, but the human race can't survive without them. Maybe I should write that on the dry erase board out in the waiting room—Dr. Rachel Donovan's Profound Thought for the Day.

Ever notice how some months are all about weddings? When you turn on the TV or pick up a magazine, everything is white tulle and old lace. Then there are what I think of as baby months. Unlike June and December for weddings, baby months can pop up anytime.

And here in Shady Grove, Arkansas—just in time for summer, when the irises are pushing up from the ground, the new leaves are green on the trees, and the crepe myrtles are starting to bloom—we're smack dab in the middle of a baby month.

I finger the latest birth announcement on my desk. One of my patients just had her fifth child. You'd think, at this point, she'd be sending out SOS messages instead of announcements, but the pink card proudly proclaims the arrival of her newest bundle of joy.

The front door chime signals the arrival of our first patient,
so I send up a silent prayer for the baby. Then my eyes fall on the family picture on my desk.

Lord, please be with Tammy, too, in her pregnancy.

My thirty-eight-year-old sister was so thrilled when she called a couple of months ago to tell me she was pregnant and so scared yesterday when the doctor put her on temporary bed rest.

While I'm on the baby thread, I mention my friend Lark who is desperate to adopt. I say amen, steadfastly ignoring my own out-of-whack biological clock.

My receptionist, Norma, sidles into my office like a spy in an old movie, softly shuts the door and turns to face me, her brown eyes wide. “Whoever warned mamas not to let their babies grow up to be cowboys,” she whispers, “never saw the man in our waiting room.”

“What?” I absently flip through the small pile of files on my desk. Not long ago I remodeled my entire clinic—repainted the walls with calming blues and browns, added new chiropractic tables and new waiting room chairs, and even got solid oak office furniture with nifty little cubbies. For about a week I could find things.

And did she just say the word
babies
? What did I tell you? It's one of those months. “Do you know where Mrs. Faulkner's file is? I thought it was here, but I can't find it.”

Norma raises her eyebrows. “You saw her after hours Tuesday night, didn't you? I think it's on my desk waiting for charges.”

Now I remember. “No charge,” I say automatically.

She puts her hands on her hips. “C'mon, Doc, you can't fall for every sob story you hear.”

I grin. “We make it, don't we? If I can't help out a sixty-two-year-old woman who lifts and bathes and cares for her grown
son around the clock, then I'd just as soon not be in practice.”

She shrugs. “You're the one who has to worry about paying your bills. I get my paycheck regardless.” Her round face lights up and she motions to me. “Now come look.”

Norma's always slightly out of sync with reality, but today is shaping up to be odd even for her.

“At the man in the waiting room,” she clarifies, as if I'm a little slow. “You have to see him.”

“I usually do see everyone who's in the waiting room, don't I? Eventually?”

She blows out her breath and folds her arms. “It'll only take a second.”

“Who is it?”

She shakes her head, her short brunette curls springing with the movement. “I'm not telling. You'll have to see for yourself.”

I sigh. I know I'm the boss, but once Norma has something in her head, it's easier just to go along with her. She turns to lead the way out to her desk where a large window overlooks the main waiting room. I promise she's tiptoeing.

“Hey, Nancy Drew,” I say quietly.

She jumps and spins around. “What?” she hisses.

I grin. “Let's try not to be so obvious.”

She presses her back against the wall and motions for me to go ahead of her. I saunter to her desk. Right on top is the file I was looking for. At least this wasn't a wasted trip. I retrieve it while I give the waiting room a cursory glance. The cowboy chooses that moment to look up, of course. A slow grin spreads across his face.

I fumble with the file and almost drop it.

Jack Westwood.

I don't believe it. Alma Westwood could give the-little-engine-that-could lessons in persistence. I return his grin with a quick professional smile and—holding the file high enough
that he can see I had a valid reason for being there—walk back to my office.

Norma is right on my heels. She closes the door. “So? What did I tell you? That's Alma Westwood's son. The rodeo star.”

“I know who he is.” I toss the file on my desk and plop down in my chair to look at it.

“You know him?”

I shake my head. “We were friends when we were kids, but I don't know him really. I've just seen his picture in the paper like everyone else.” And since he moved back a few months ago, I've seen him around town enough to know that women fall all over themselves when he walks by. Definitely not my type. Which is
one
reason I've avoided him.

“Oh yeah. His hat was shading his face in that picture.” Her brows draw together. “Which is a cryin' shame.”

I look up at her cherub face. “Hey, remember old What's His Name? The handsome guy you're happily married to?” I grin.

She shrugs. “Doesn't mean I'm blind. Besides,
you
aren't married.”

Thanks for the reminder.

“So when Alma signed in, she said she brought her son to see her new X-rays.”

“How nice.” Not that I'm falling for her flimsy excuse. Alma is just one in a long line of Mama Matchmakers. My patients with unmarried sons seem to take my singlehood as a personal affront. Ever since Rodeo Jack moved back to run his family ranch next door to my parents, Alma has upped her efforts to make me her daughter-in-law, or at least reintroduce me to him.

Don't ask me why Jack needs his mama to fix him up with someone in the first place. Norma is not exaggerating. He was passably cute back when we were kids, and he's one of those
men who gets better-looking with age. If he's lost any teeth or broken his nose riding in the rodeo, he's covered it well. Not only is he a real cowboy, but he could play one on TV. Last week at the diner, I was two tables away from him when he smiled at the waitress. For a moment I was jealous that the smile wasn't for me. But only for a moment.

Then common sense kicked in. Me and Jack Westwood? Not likely. Which is just as well, because on a less personal note. . .a chiropractor and a rodeo star? What a combination. I'd spend the rest of my life trying to fix the mess he makes of his body. Besides, I can't imagine myself with someone whose belt buckle is bigger than his IQ. And even though he seemed smart when we were in school, as far as I'm concerned, anyone who'll willingly climb on a bucking bull over and over is a few calves short of a herd.