His Pregnant Texas Sweetheart. Amy Woods
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“Hey, hey,” Ryan said softly. “It’s okay.”
Katie could hear his voice falter and knew his words were as much for himself as they were for her. Suddenly she knew she would do anything, would move heaven and earth, to make him feel better … if only she knew what that anything was.
“Is there something I can do to … help?” she asked, her own voice shaking.
“You’re doing it now,” he answered.
“What do you mean?”
“Shh, Katie,” he said. “Just let me hold you.”
He wrapped his arms tighter around her; it felt simultaneously natural and earth-shattering to be held by him, the man she should have given her heart to long before then. For the longest time she’d thought she was just lost without him, that she’d never be able to find someone like him again. She’d settled for Bradley, had done her best with their relationship, knowing all the time, somewhere in the very back of her mind, that he wasn’t The One.
It was Ryan. It had always been Ryan.
Peach Leaf, Texas: Where true love blooms
His Pregnant Texas Sweetheart
Amy Woods
AMY WOODS took the scenic route to becoming an author. She’s been a bookkeeper, a high school English teacher and a claims specialist, but now that she makes up stories for a living, she’s never giving it up. She grew up in Austin, Texas, and lives there with her wonderfully goofy, supportive husband and a spoiled rescue dog. Amy can be reached on Facebook, Twitter and her website, www.amywoodsbooks.com.
For Babs Woods
Contents
Ryan Ford signaled and pulled off Main Street into the parking lot of Jenkins’. The pub’s name was a testament to its no-nonsense atmosphere as a favorite local hangout. He might not be a drinking man, but he wasn’t abstaining from the best hot wings in Peach Leaf, Texas. After turning off his vehicle, he headed toward the door.
Walking into that pub was like taking a step into the past. The thick, delicious scent of frying chicken hit his nostrils, and the twang of country music from an ancient jukebox spilled out over heel-marred hardwood floors.
He swore not a single thing had changed, not even the barstools, which were made from salvaged tree stumps after a field nearby had caught fire a good twenty years ago. Each of the stools was carved into something unique—from horse behinds to totem poles. He couldn’t help himself. The stupid old things still made him chuckle. The only thing notably absent from the setting was a thick cloud of cigarette smoke.
Ryan smiled to himself, thinking of the ruckus it must have caused with the locals when whomever had been in charge decided to do away with smoking in bars.
The wall was still decorated with photographs of famous folks who had managed to stumble into Peach Leaf on their way to somewhere else. In snapshot after snapshot, famous arms were draped over and over again around the pub’s heavyset owner, Maude Jenkins, and her rail-thin husband, Jimmy. The couple smiled in each and every one, including the shot of Ryan and the rest of the senior varsity football team. A few of the photos were newer—ones Ryan hadn’t seen before—and the evidence that two of his favorite people were still happy after all this time made his heart dance a little two-step.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” The deep, smoky voice jolted Ryan out of his thoughts and he turned from the wall, smack into the arms of Maude. “Where in the hell have you been, boy? What’s it been? Fifty, seventy-five years since you’ve graced us with your presence?”
Ryan wrapped his arms around Maude’s broad shoulders and squeezed her into a hug. Her warm scent—a strangely comforting combination of leather and flowers—brought back memories of Friday nights after football games, when a good portion of the town had come to this same dive to celebrate wins.
“Hi, Mrs. Jenkins. How’ve you been?”
Maude flashed a huge, pink-lipsticked grin and held him out with her arms to give him a long once-over. “I’ve been fine, kid, just fine. But never mind. How the hell have you been?” She embraced him again and patted him on the back.
The woman was strong as an ox. The team had always teased her that she would make an excellent linebacker, and Maude, bless her, had never once taken offense, but rather accepted the comment as it was meant coming from clueless male teenagers—a compliment. Those pats would have knocked the wind out of a smaller man, but Ryan held his own at six-foot-two.
“Just fine, Mrs. Jenkins. Just