Cowboy Come Home

by Carly Bloom

  Laughter came from the barbecue area, but Ford had the feeling that everyone was on edge. He’d ruined the party.

  “Why did you come?” Maggie asked.

  “Believe it or not, I miss y’all.”

  “We miss you, too. But your actions had real consequences for the people you care about. I don’t know what your deal is. I don’t even know if you know what your deal is. But you can’t toy with Claire’s emotions this way. She’s a strong woman, but she’s not invincible.”

  “I thought I was doing what was best for her.”

  Maggie furrowed her eyebrows. “No. I suspect you were doing what you thought was best for yourself. I don’t need to understand all the subtle nuances of whatever is going on with you to know that much. And furthermore—”

  A foam ball bounced off Maggie’s head, and she kicked it back over to the kids.

  “And furthermore,” she continued, “you left the Kowalskis in a real bind.”

  “How’s Gerome?”

  “Pretty dang sick. He’s on chemo.”

  Ford’s stomach took a dive. “I thought he wasn’t going to have to do that.”

  “The cancer was worse than they’d thought. He’s been in bed for weeks.”

  “Well, who’s running the ranch?”

  “The drunk girl.”

  “By herself?”

  “Beau and Bryce are helping. Worth is helping. The other ranch rats—Manuel and the rest—jumped ship to the Kelsey Ranch.”

  Those fuckers. “But what about her store?”

  “Didn’t happen. I don’t know if you heard, but their foreman done run oft, as Grandma Honey used to say.”

  Ford stared at the beer in his hand and felt sick to his stomach.

  “What did you think would happen?” Maggie asked. “Best-case scenario—without you—was still pretty bad.”

  “I thought that Claire and I had gotten the ranch in decent shape. And that she had a marketing plan—”

  “That got shot to shit because somebody has to feed the cows, Ford. Somebody has to be the foreman, and while Gerome’s down, the manager. That’s Claire.”

  “I just thought—”

  “Stop saying that. You didn’t think. You felt. And that scared you, so you ran.”

  He stared at his feet. They looked stupid in sneakers. “I thought you said you didn’t understand all the subtle nuances of what was going on with me.”

  “Oh, that’s not subtle. That’s obvious as hell. And I suspect it’s just the tip of the iceberg.”

  Ford sighed. She was probably right.

  “Look around, Ford. Do you see all this?”

  Ford looked at the messy backyard, the kids running around, the men flipping burgers on the grill…

  “Claire wants this,” Maggie said. “And she’s going to get it. I want you to think about that. About who she might get it with. Because as of right now, it’s not going to be you. Not until you can figure out what you want.”

  “I know what I want,” he blurted, surprised by the fierceness in his own voice. “I want this. And I want it with Claire.”

  Because Jesus, he really did. He loved that woman. He loved her family. He loved the ranch, and he loved this stupid, quirky-ass town.

  And he’d thrown it all away.

  “You’re going to have to work hard for it,” Maggie said. “And you still might not get it.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Ford sat in his truck and stared at the Kowalskis’ ranch house. Claire had been very clear about not wanting to have anything to do with him, so he’d waited until he knew she’d be gone. Maggie had told him that they were having a Boots and Ball Gowns committee meeting today at the Village Chateau.

  He clenched the steering wheel. He hadn’t turned the engine off yet, maybe he could just turn around and leave…No. He definitely couldn’t do that again.

  He got out of his truck. His boot had barely hit the first porch step when the front door opened. Miss Lilly stood there, looking only mildly surprised to see him, and also tired and strained.

  “Hi there, Ford,” she said. “I saw you pull up. Gerome and I heard you were back in town.”

  Oh, he bet she’d heard, all right. And Claire had probably been cursing up a storm when she’d told them. But Miss Lilly’s face was pleasant, as always, and he heard nothing in her voice but kindness. He relaxed a little and went up the rest of the steps. “It’s nice to see you again,” he said, meaning every word.

  “Come on in the house,” she said. “Can I get you some iced tea?”

  “No thank you, ma’am.”

  Inside the foyer, he held his hat in his hands and looked around. There was a walker in the corner. Prescription bottles on the coffee table. And a silence he wasn’t used to experiencing at their house. “I’d like to see Gerome, if he’s up to it.”

  “Of course he is,” Miss Lilly said.

  Ford breathed a sigh of relief and headed for the stairs at the back of the house.

  Miss Lilly touched his arm. “He’s in the den. Been having a hard time with the stairs, so he’s in there for the time being.”

  Gerome couldn’t get up the stairs? And he had a walker? Ford nervously twisted and untwisted the brim of his hat. When he’d left, you couldn’t even tell Gerome was sick by looking at him. He braced himself for whatever he was going to see.

  Miss Lilly gave him a nudge. “Go on in. He’ll be happy to have some company.”

  Ford wasn’t so sure about that, but he walked past the kitchen to the den, where Gerome Kowalski sat in a chair looking out the window. Ford could only see the back of his head, but he couldn’t miss the changes. Gerome looked smaller. Frailer. And he’d lost all his hair.

  Ford’s hands started to sweat. His heart stuttered. And his feet wanted to turn around and walk right back out the door he’d just come in.

  Miss Lilly offered a sweet, encouraging smile, and Ford walked over to Gerome’s chair and cleared his throat. Gerome jerked his head—he’d been dozing—and looked up at Ford. His face was thin and pale, but his eyes were sharp and aware and intensely focused.

  Recognition kicked in, and he almost smiled. “Well, look who’s back,” he said. “Pull up a chair.”

  Ford pulled a stool over and sat on it. “You’re looking good, Gerome.”

  “Liar,” Gerome said. “But believe it or not, I looked worse a couple of weeks ago. I’m starting to feel a little better.”

  “Oh? That’s good news.”

  Gerome nodded, and they just sat there for a minute, looking at each other.

  Ford wasn’t here to talk about crops or cows or the weather. So he cleared his throat again. Best to just spit it out. “I owe you an apology.”

  “No kidding.”

  “I don’t rightly know what to say. I guess I just—”

  “Apology accepted,” Gerome said.

  “But I—”

  “I figure you’ve got your reasons. I don’t know if they’re any good, but they’re not my reasons, so I don’t need to concern myself with them.”

  Ford started to say more. Gerome might not need to know the reasons he’d left, but he deserved to know them. But what came out of Ford’s mouth was, “How’s the ranch doing?”

  “As well as can be expected.”

  Without a foreman while you’ve got cancer and your hands are jumping ship.

  “Claire is running things. The poor girl is burning both ends of the candle, that’s for sure, but she’s holding it together. I’m right proud of her.”

  Ford was, too.

  “And your brother is a big help. He’s a good man, even if he does need a damn haircut. Did you know he puts that blond mane in a ponytail? I never heard of such a thing on a ranch.”

  Ford wanted to tell him it was worse than that. Worth had been known to don a man bun under his hat. But Ford didn’t want to have to explain what a man bun was.

  “Your look is sharper,” Ford said with a wink. “And I bet it’s easy to care for.”<
br />
  Gerome smiled. It was the equivalent of a belly laugh, and it warmed Ford to the core.

  “Worth says you raised him from the time he was a toddler.”

  “Well, I don’t know that I raised him.”

  “He says you did.”

  “Our dad left. We have different moms, but they kind of banded together, so from the time Worth was about three years old, we lived in the same house—or houses, rather. We moved around a lot. Anyway, our moms both worked all day, and I’m ten years older than Worth, so I took care of him and our sister, Abby.”

  “I’ve heard about Abby. And I’m sorry for what happened. This flood must have brought back a few rough memories.”

  Ford swallowed, but didn’t say anything. A stack of catalogs on Gerome’s TV tray caught his eye.

  “Those are Claire’s,” Gerome said. “Lotions and soaps and whatnot. Texas wildflower scents. And she says they’re going to have our cattle brand on them. Isn’t that the silliest thing you ever heard?” He pointed a bony finger at the catalog. “But do you know what? We made a profit off those non-beef items in the grocery stores last quarter. Thanks to the flood, it was our only profit for the quarter. So, we’re going to be raising a herd of toiletries now.”

  “Claire has a mind for business.”

  “That she does. How long are you going to be in town?”

  “Forever.”

  Gerome raised an eyebrow. “That’s a big step for a fella like you.”

  “Yes sir. I know.”

  “You got a job?”

  Surely, he wasn’t going to offer—

  “Because I hear the Kelsey Ranch needs another herdsman.”

  Ford swallowed. “Thank you. I’ll head over there next.”

  He hadn’t expected Gerome to offer him a job after what he’d pulled, but it still hurt. And he didn’t want to work for Mr. Kelsey, but he damn well would if it kept him in Big Verde. Close to his brother, close to these folks, and close to Claire, even though she’d be crazy to have anything to do with him.

  “Where are you staying?”

  “At the Big Verde Motor Inn.”

  Gerome nodded. Rocked back and forth in his chair. “Nobody’s going to believe you’re staying, including me, unless you show that you’re really trying to make a home here. You need a place to live that isn’t a motel or a bunkhouse. You have any money?”

  “A little.” Actually, he had quite a lot.

  “I know of a small piece of property if you’re really serious, but we can talk about that later.”

  A small piece of property? As in a small piece of property to buy?

  What would it be like to have his own place? A place to really call home?

  “Once you’ve got a place to live, you’ve got to unpack your suitcase. You don’t leave your belongings in a box or in the back of your truck or horse trailer, you hear? You unpack. And you hang a picture on the wall. Put a tea kettle on the stove. Buy yourself a welcome mat.”

  Ford smiled. “I can do that.”

  “A cow dog is a nice addition, but I understand you’ve got that other four-legged situation—”

  “A cat,” Ford said.

  “Yeah. One of those.” Gerome shook his head as if owning a cat was the craziest thing he’d ever heard. “And then you have to give something to the community. Maybe you paint a church. Maybe you plant flowers at the park, or give money to an organization that needs it. You’ve got to invest in your town.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “And join a club.”

  “A club?”

  “Yes, a club. You go to pointless meetings once a month. Nothing much gets done, but it means you belong. You have an instant group of folks you have something in common with, even if it’s just bad coffee, stale doughnuts, and a random line at the end of your obituary.”

  Ford laughed.

  Gerome studied him for a few seconds. “I’m not kidding about that club. Also, I’ve got one other thing to tell you.”

  Gerome’s manner completely changed. His eyes bored into Ford, filled with fire and fury. And Ford didn’t care if Gerome was on chemo and had a walker, at this moment, he had no doubt the man could totally kick his ass. Ford was wishing he’d accepted that glass of tea from Miss Lilly, because he’d started to sweat.

  “Have you seen Claire?” Gerome asked.

  “Just once. She shot me with a Nerf gun.”

  Gerome didn’t look the least bit surprised. “I don’t know what that is,” he said. “Did it hurt?”

  “Mere flesh wound,” Ford said, trying not to grin. “She might have been a little bit drunk at the time.”

  “You don’t want to let a redhead get drunk, son.”

  “I wasn’t consulted.”

  Gerome gave him a half grin, but then it slipped away and he became serious again. “While I’m fairly happy to see you, it appears that Claire was not. So, if I hear about you going near my daughter or pestering her in any way when she does not want to be pestered, I will string you up from the nearest tree. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes sir,” Ford said.

  “If she happens to change her mind,” Gerome added with a twinkle in his eye that indicated he thought she very well might, “then it’s none of my business.”

  “Yes sir,” Ford repeated. He sure hoped that twinkle in Gerome’s eye meant there was a chance.

  “Get on out of here now,” Gerome said. “I imagine you’ve got a few things to take care of.”

  God. He loved this man.

  * * *

  Claire sat in the empty ballroom of the Village Chateau, nervously pinching the seam that ran down the leg of her pants with her thumb and finger. She was the first one to arrive at the Boots and Ball Gowns committee meeting, and the space felt huge and lonely.

  Since the night Ford had left, every place felt huge and lonely. But now he was back, and it somehow felt even worse. She could feel him. And she knew he was staying at the Big Verde Motor Inn, because she could see his freaking truck parked there every time she drove by. Which was nearly every damn day.

  How long was that idiot staying? He’d said he was “coming home.”

  Ha! This was her home, not his. And he’d better not start encroaching on her territory. It was bad enough that he’d come to the baby shower.

  “Hey, there, Claire. You’re early.”

  Claire looked up to see Jessica Acosta, the manager of the Village Chateau’s restaurant, Chateau Bleu. She flipped a switch and the chandeliers overhead burst into sparkling light.

  This was going to be a gorgeous venue for the gala.

  Claire looked at her watch. “The others should be here shortly. Are you staying for the meeting?”

  “You bet,” Jess said. “Carmen is super pumped to support this fund-raiser. She’s filming in Bali right now, or she’d be here herself.”

  Carmen was a celebrity chef with her own TV show, and she owned several restaurants, Chateau Bleu being her latest acquisition.

  “Oh! That’s great news! Does this mean we can count on a discount for the food?”

  “It means,” Jessica said with a beaming smile, “that you can count on free food.”

  Claire gasped. The hotel was donating the ballroom, and now Carmen was donating the food? “Are you kidding me?”

  The sound of high heels tapping a Morse code across the dance floor announced Anna’s arrival. “Kidding about what?” she asked.

  “The restaurant is donating the food,” she said.

  “Well, praise Jesus!” Miss Mills said from the doorway. “He answers prayers.”

  It had actually been Carmen, but Claire wasn’t going to argue Jesus with Miss Mills.

  Jessica and Claire started setting up chairs in a circle while Anna watched. She squinted in Jessica’s direction. “Just so long as you donate the good stuff. We don’t want the C-class appetizers.”

  Anna had had it in for Jessica ever since the two of them had been forced to share the role of head cheerleader th
eir senior year, and then insult had been added to injury when Jessica had been crowned homecoming queen.

  “We don’t have any C-class appetizers, Anna,” Jessica said. “But you might have to accept käseigel instead of goose liver pâté.”

  Trista Larson limped in with a little girl wrapped around each leg. “Get off,” Trista said, shaking a leg to no avail. “What on earth is käseigel?”

  Anna shrugged. “Beats me.”

  “It’s a gorgeous appetizer consisting of fine cheese,” Jessica said. “You’ll love it and everything else I have planned for the menu.”

  Anna’s eyebrows rose over the word “planned.” She pulled a journal out of her bag, sat in a chair, and crossed her legs like she meant business. “Okay, ladies. This thing is happening in a mere three weeks. Let’s get busy.”

  The rest of them sat down just as Maggie and Alice arrived. “What have we missed?” Maggie asked.

  “We’re having kerfluffel-muffel!” Trista said, badly mispronouncing the word. “Which is a fancy way of saying cheese.”

  Jessica laughed. “And other things. That’s just to get us started.”

  “Cheese and I have a deep and meaningful relationship,” Maggie said. “So, I’m on board.”

  “Maggie, when is the baby due?” Jessica asked. “You still look so tiny.”

  “Ha!” Maggie said, patting her belly. “Short and tiny are not the same thing.”

  Anna sighed. “First order of business,” she said, “is the rest of the menu.”

  She wasn’t going to tolerate baby talk since she, herself, was not pregnant.

  “I’m thinking finger foods,” Jessica said.

  Anna’s right eye twitched.

  “Oh, Bubba’s not going to like that,” Trista said.

  “Neither are any of the other men,” Anna added. “They’re going to want something more substantial.”

  “Well, he might like it when he tastes it,” Jessica said. Then she clapped her hands loudly and shouted, “Hope! Roll it in!”

  Anna stood. “Roll what in? We haven’t even discussed—”

  Hope, Jessica’s eleven-year-old sister, pushed a cart into the room. In the center was what Claire’s mom would call a cheese porcupine, a round loaf of bread covered in toothpicks with cheese and olives and whatnot. This one was exquisite with various cheeses, mushrooms, vegetables, and shrimp.