Cowboy Come Home

by Carly Bloom

  Anna put her hands on her hips. “You’re opening a meat market?”

  “No,” Claire said. “It’ll be a ranch store, but our brand is going to be on all sorts of wonderful things!”

  Maggie flipped through a catalog. “Look at this cookware. Cute!”

  “Glazed cast iron,” Claire said.

  Anna raised an eyebrow. “That’s high quality. And expensive. They’ve agreed to put your brand on it?”

  “An exclusive line of Rancho Cañada Verde rustic cookware,” Claire said. “They jumped on it.”

  “Will it have the actual brand on it? Like the ranch’s brand?” Bubba asked.

  “Yep. Everything from the cookware to the bluebonnet-scented soap to the leather bags made by Bosco.”

  “Very impressive,” Alice said.

  “I think we’re hearing about the next big trend,” Bubba said. “That’s pretty neat, Claire.”

  “Thanks, Bubba. Did you find anything in the store today?”

  “Just this super fun cart,” he said, spinning it around to the squeals of his kids. “How much?”

  “It’s on the house,” Maggie said. “But those kids are at least ten bucks each.”

  Bubba actually started to pull out his wallet before Maggie said, “Bubba! Get on out of here. We have girl talk to get to.”

  “My ears are probably going to start burning the minute I walk through that door.”

  “Not unless you happen to be a business loan,” Maggie said. “Now scoot.”

  As soon as Bubba was gone, Maggie turned to Claire. “Still haven’t heard from Ford?”

  Claire shook her head. “No, but he’s watching Worth’s final event at the Cowtown rodeo tonight. That’s nearly a ten-hour drive from West Texas. I’m sure he’s just on the road.”

  The annoying cloud of unease plopped down on the stool next to her.

  It was a stubborn little thing.

  * * *

  Ford pulled into the Fort Worth stockyards and looked at the clock on the dash. He’d gotten a late start this morning, and he wasn’t having the best day.

  The farther he’d gotten from the desert lands of West Texas, the more nervous and uncomfortable he’d become. Three weeks in the desert had put his mind in another place.

  He’d spent a good bit of his time alone or with cowboys and ranch hands who wished they were alone. He didn’t make friends with any of them, and they hadn’t cozied up to him, either. He’d learned a couple of names, but for the most part, all the men kept to themselves. He didn’t know if they had wives or girlfriends. He didn’t know if they had kids or siblings or parents.

  They were like Ford used to be.

  Unattached. Unencumbered.

  Without worries.

  If any of them had cancer, he didn’t know it. If any of them were being bullied or mistreated in a honky-tonk, he wasn’t having to get involved. He hadn’t had to search riverbanks or save anybody, or hold his breath while his heart climbed up the side of a cliff.

  He still felt the band around his midsection, but it was squeezing instead of pulling. Making it difficult to breathe.

  After only three weeks, Big Verde felt like a dream.

  He’d been a different person there. A person with big feelings. And when you opened yourself up to big feelings, you opened yourself up to big disappointments.

  He felt stupid and dumb and vulnerable.

  Claire had texted him a picture of a blue ball gown for the library gala. Then she’d texted a picture of a Western-style tuxedo. A tuxedo! The Ford Jarvis of Big Verde was a guy who went to fancy balls in a tuxedo!

  He didn’t know himself anymore.

  Being around Worth would help. For some reason, the kid centered him. Seeing his big goofy grin and hearing him go on about how much he loved Caroline and how everything was going to be spectacular and grand…Well, it would irritate Ford, but it would also rub off on him. It would push his Reset button, and he’d be able to shake this feeling of doom and gloom he’d been carrying since he left the Sun-Barre Ranch.

  The Cowtown Coliseum parking lot was packed, and Ford was pulling a horse trailer. He was going to have to hoof it, because he was running late. He parked, checked on Coco, and then hurried to the entrance.

  There was a line to get in.

  Well, hell. He had no choice but to get in it, so he did. It was moving slowly, and he thought he heard the announcer say “saddle bronc riding.” This was Worth’s event, and it would be over in a flash. Ford shifted from foot to foot, impatiently staring at the front of the line.

  When he finally got inside the arena, he looked over at the chute area and saw that Mike Gonzales was up. He was a good friend of Worth’s. He came roaring out of the gate and made it to the eight-second buzzer. The crowd seemed happy with his performance, and Ford headed over to the chutes to try to catch him.

  “Eighty-eight!” the announcer said.

  That was a good score, and Ford waited while Mike accepted his accolades. He glanced around the arena, but he didn’t see his brother anywhere.

  “Hey, Mike!” he shouted.

  Mike looked up, waved, and then headed over to where Ford stood, trying to stay out of everyone’s way.

  “Great ride,” Ford said.

  “Thanks,” Mike said. “I’ve had a string of bad luck, but everything went right today. I wish I could say the same thing for your brother.”

  “He had his go-round already? I just got here, so I didn’t see it.”

  “He missed his mark right out of the gate.”

  That meant he got a score of zero because he couldn’t keep his spurs up high enough on the horse.

  Ford’s heart dropped. This was Worth’s last rodeo. His big retirement night before settling down with Caroline. He should be living it up. Prancing around the arena. It should be a night of celebration, of going out on top. And Worth hadn’t missed a mark since he was fifteen. What the hell was going on?

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “Nope. And then he wrecked.”

  “He fell?” A surge of adrenaline shot up Ford’s spine. This was why he never came to watch. He couldn’t sit still while his baby brother tried to hang on to the back of a bronco. It was the most helpless feeling on the planet.

  Almost as helpless as watching someone get washed away in a flood…

  “He was totally fine,” Mike said. “Pissed as hell, though. Really upset. He still has two more go-rounds. You might want to try and find him and see what’s going on.”

  “Any idea where he would have gone?”

  “There was talk of going to Thirsty’s later. Maybe he headed that way?”

  Ford had been to Thirsty’s. Their aunt June had worked there off and on for forever. He sighed. Pretty much the last thing he wanted to do tonight was go to a dance hall or honky-tonk, but he needed to find out if his brother was okay.

  “Thanks, Mike.”

  What the hell could be going on with Worth?

  The sense of doom thickened.

  Pulling the damn trailer through more traffic to get to Thirsty’s was a pain in the ass, and by the time Ford got there, he was actually looking forward to having a beer. He found a spot to park and apologized to Coco for leaving him in the parking lot. Then he headed inside.

  It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. The place was packed, so he walked over to the bar. He hopped on a stool, ordered a beer, and started scanning the place.

  Worth wasn’t sitting at the bar. And Ford didn’t spot him on the dance floor. By the time he’d finished his beer, he’d decided Worth wasn’t there.

  He checked his phone for messages again. Tried calling the idiot.

  Nothing.

  With a shrug, he heaved himself off the barstool. He had a reservation at a nearby motel. Hopefully, he’d hear from Worth in the morning. They were both driving back to Big Verde, and he’d hoped to caravan so they could stop and have lunch together.

  His brother was a grown man—pr
actically—and Ford wasn’t all up in his business most of the time. Hell, he usually didn’t see him except for every few months or so. But it wasn’t like him to ignore Ford’s calls, and it really wasn’t like him to stomp out of a rodeo like a sore loser.

  He headed to the parking lot. Maybe he’d spot Worth’s truck.

  He found it on the back row, not far from where Ford had parked his rig.

  Ford turned to head back inside the bar. He hadn’t checked the bathroom. And it was possible he’d missed Worth on the dance floor, although a man with a fiancée had no business dancing with a bunch of buckle bunnies.

  He looked back at the truck to make sure it really was Worth’s. Rodeo stickers weren’t exactly a rarity in Fort Worth. He took off his hat and squinted at the rear window of the truck. It was Worth’s, all right.

  He started to head back to the bar when movement caught his eye. Was Worth sitting out here in the parking lot?

  Ford walked briskly toward the truck, and as he got closer, he realized Worth was not alone. And the windows were slightly steamed.

  He squinted to get a better look and…

  That little shit. He was with a woman! Their arms were around each other, and the blond hair confirmed it wasn’t Caroline.

  Ford turned away. He couldn’t risk Worth seeing him and stuttering out a bunch of sorry, stupid excuses.

  A Jarvis was a Jarvis was a Jarvis. Even when he was the baby of the family and had dimples and a sweet little fiancée named Caroline. Even if he was in love, which Ford had no doubt Worth was. It didn’t matter. He was already ruining it. Already setting Caroline up for heartache, just like Ford’s mom and Worth’s mom and their brothers’ wives and ex-wives…

  Worth wasn’t going to settle down in Big Verde. At least, not for long. He already had one foot out the door, because Jarvis men didn’t settle down. Period. Not in a town. Not on a ranch. And not with a woman.

  Oh, Jesus. His world was spinning. Because if things weren’t going to turn out for Worth…

  Why had he blithely believed his stupid brother when he said the curse was bullshit? His father said they were cursed. His grandfather said they were cursed. Even Ruben’s damn dog said they were cursed.

  Ford spun around and spotted his truck and trailer. Then he stumbled in that direction, fists clenched—who did he even want to hit?—and pulse pounding.

  A woman came out of nowhere, pushing a grocery cart full of junk and holding a bunch of light-up roses. “Want to buy a flower for your sweetheart? Maybe you’ll get lucky tonight.”

  Ford stepped back, startled. “Get out of my way.”

  He must have looked and sounded awful, because the woman glared at him. For a moment, he thought she might spit at him, but she flipped him off instead, muttering something in Spanish. Then she grinned slyly, as if she was very pleased with herself, before pushing her creaky cart out of his way.

  She’d given him the mal de ojo.

  Ford laughed. Because this was seriously perfect. She could toss out the evil eye all she wanted.

  “Too late!” he shouted. “I’m already cursed.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  This San Antonio hospital was a monster. Huge, cold, and impersonal.

  Claire wished her dad had been able to have the surgery in Big Verde. She’d have been greeted by a friendly volunteer—they called themselves Blue Jays—instead of a menacing security guard. And nobody would be acting like Gerome Kowalski being in the hospital was business as usual.

  Because it wasn’t. He had freaking cancer, and the more people who acted like it was a dang emergency, the better.

  The surgery had taken longer than expected, and Claire had run out to get some dinner. But her mom had texted that her dad was finally out of recovery and into a room in the post-surgical unit, so Claire had rushed back.

  The elevator stopped on the third floor, and she got off and started looking at room numbers…311, 312, 313…

  She stopped outside room 314. Squared her shoulders. Hoped she didn’t look like she’d been worrying, even though she had.

  Worried about the surgery and why it was taking so long.

  Worried about why Ford hadn’t shown up yet.

  She took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

  Her dad lay in the bed, and at first, she thought he might be sleeping. But he was looking out the window. “Hey, Daddy.”

  He turned his head and smiled. She went over and hugged him. He hugged her back, and the strength of his arms was reassuring.

  “You didn’t have to stay here all day,” he whispered. “I’m going home tomorrow.”

  “I just wanted to see you. And I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to be talking. Where’s Mom?” Dang. She’d asked him a question. “Never mind. Don’t answer—”

  “Coffee,” he whispered. “And don’t look at me that way.”

  “What way?”

  “Like I’m old and sick.”

  The door opened, and Claire’s mom entered, cup of coffee in hand. She smiled brightly. “Well, look who’s awake!”

  Her dad waggled his hand back and forth, as if to say he was mostly awake, but not fully.

  There was a light knock on the door, and the surgeon came in.

  “Good evening, folks,” he said. “How’s our patient?”

  “A little groggy,” her mom answered. “But otherwise, just fine. We’re looking forward to taking him home tomorrow.”

  “Well, now, you might have to cool your jets a bit. The surgery turned out to be a little more complicated than we’d anticipated. I think it might be a good idea for him to stay for another couple of days, just so we can keep an eye on him.”

  Her dad sighed loudly from the bed. “I’ll be better off at home,” he whispered.

  “You’re not supposed to be straining your vocal cords, and that includes whispering,” the doctor said. “And while I’m one hundred percent certain that you would be more comfortable at home, in your own bed, I’d still like to keep you until about Wednesday. The nurses are excited, because they think you’re cute.”

  That earned the doctor half a grin.

  “Why did the surgery take so long?” Claire asked.

  “There’s been a bit of growth since the diagnosis, which is unusual for this type of cancer. It’s normally not aggressive.”

  “But you were able to get everything, right?” her mom asked.

  “Not quite,” the surgeon said.

  Claire’s stomach took a nosedive. This was not what she wanted to hear. It wasn’t what anybody wanted to hear. “But the radiation will take care of anything left behind, won’t it?”

  “That’s a question for the oncologist, and he’ll be by in the morning.”

  Claire grabbed her mom’s hand and squeezed. Things were not going according to plan, and she hated it when things didn’t go according to plan.

  The surgeon looked her dad over, spoke a few more words that nobody listened to, and walked out the door.

  “I’m sorry,” her dad said.

  Both Claire and her mom shushed him right up. “You have nothing to apologize for,” her mom said. “Don’t be silly.”

  “I’m making you worry.”

  “We’re not worried,” her mom said. “Because everything is going to be just fine. And you need to close your eyes and rest. I swear, Gerome, you’ve hardly said two complete sentences in the fifty years we’ve been married, but now that you’ve been told to be quiet you’ve got all kinds of things to say.”

  “Don’t fuss at him, Mom.”

  Her dad grinned. “If it makes her feel better, let her do it.”

  “Hush, Gerome. I’m not kidding.”

  “You never are,” her dad said.

  Then he smiled and closed his eyes. Claire sat in the chair by his bed and took his hand in hers, noting the fragile, tissue-paper skin of his arms. They were pale, because he always wore long-sleeved shirts to protect himself from the sun.

  He seemed so exposed in
his hospital gown. Unprotected. And Claire didn’t like it a bit. She wanted to put his shirt on and fasten the snaps, stick his hat on his head, and whisk him out the door. Instead, she squeezed his hand and studied the blue veins that ran just below the surface of his skin. It reminded her of the Rio Verde snaking lazily through the limestone landscape.

  His face was weathered, despite the fact that he was never caught without his straw Stetson, and in the wrinkles and shadows and stubble she saw Wailing Woman, Comanche Hill, and Oak Meadow.

  Gerome Kowalski was a legend who’d learned to ride a horse before he could walk. He’d shot his first buck at the age of seven and roped his first heifer the year before that. He’d ridden endless miles of fence lines, delivered countless calves, and pounded an infinite number of fence posts. His rough and calloused hands had yanked ropes, stretched wires, wielded branding irons, and cradled the head of a tiny redheaded baby he’d christened a princess.

  It was unfathomable that he was lying here in this damn bed.

  Her mom came over and stroked Claire’s hair. “Ford sure picked a bad time to run off,” she said quietly.

  “What?” Claire whispered. “Why would you say that?”

  “Because he’s not here. And honestly, I was a little concerned he’d pull this.”

  Claire was speechless. Nauseated. Heartbroken.

  She remembered what Caroline had told her at the barbecue on branding day and sighed heavily.

  That God. Damned. Curse.

  “I just can’t believe it,” she said.

  Her mom shrugged. “I’ve known a lot of cowboys, honey. Some of them can’t avoid doing abrupt U-turns when things are finally headed in the right direction. I don’t know why they do it. I don’t think they know why they do it. But Ford has done it before.”

  Yes, he had. “I should have seen it coming,” Claire said.

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself. It’s hard to see clearly when your heart’s aflutter. And I’d hoped for the best where Ford was concerned. Your daddy did, too.”

  Her mom kissed the top of her head before sitting in the chair on the other side of the bed, where she began fussing with Gerome’s sheets and smoothing his hair.