Coulda Been a Cowboy

by Brenda Novak

  “Is there any chance I could speak with Dakota?” she asked.

  There was an almost imperceptible pause on Tyson’s part. But then he said, “Sure, I’ll get her.”

  “I’m already on the line,” Dakota said.

  There was a click as he hung up and Mrs. Cottle spoke again. “Dakota?”

  “Yes?” She sank onto the bed. “Is everything okay at the store, Mrs. Cottle?”

  “Everything’s fine. It’s just…Well, I’m not even sure I should be bothering you, to tell you the truth. At bingo last night, everyone was saying how great it is that you’re finally out from under your father’s thumb, at least for a while. I’m happy about that, too. You know I don’t like what’s been going on. But you’ve been such a good daughter to Skelton. It seems to me you’d want to know if…if…”

  Dakota tensed. “If what? Is something wrong?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Your father wasn’t looking too good when he came in to the store last night. Matter of fact, I’ve never seen him look worse.”

  Dakota winced beneath an avalanche of guilt. She hadn’t visited her father yesterday, even though he’d called to tell her he needed his pain medication refilled. She’d arranged a ride for him and gone to Boise to pick up Tyson instead. Then she’d stayed for shopping and dinner—and had gone to bed feeling a little relieved that she hadn’t had to deal with him for one whole day.

  “Did he fill his prescription like he was supposed to?” she asked.

  “Yes. And he promised me he was taking all his pills. But…I think he should go back to that specialist in Boise and see if something else is wrong.”

  Feeling the weight of the constant care her father needed settle more firmly on her shoulders than ever, Dakota switched the phone to her other ear. “You’re probably right.”

  “I can take him to Boise if you’re too busy, but I thought you should know.”

  Her father wasn’t Mrs. Cottle’s responsibility. Maybe Dakota had temporarily gotten lost in her hopes and dreams, but she was beginning to come out of the fog. “No, I’ll ask Tyson for the day off and take him myself.” She knew Tyson wasn’t going to like having her gone, especially since she couldn’t take Braden with her. But she needed to spend some time with her father. He’d been having a rough go of it lately. Maybe the aches and pains he’d been complaining about had been real, not exaggerated to make her feel guilty for abandoning him, as she’d originally believed.

  “That won’t be a problem?” Mrs. Cottle asked.

  “No, of course not.”

  “I’m sorry to be the one to deliver bad news.”

  “It’s better that I know.”

  “I think so, too. We miss you around here, you know. Can’t wait for you to come back.”

  Dakota tried to say the same thing. She missed the Cottles. They were salt-of-the-earth kind of people. But she couldn’t claim she missed working for next to nothing at a small, hometown pharmacy. Half the time she zoned out so she wouldn’t lose her mind performing the same monotonous tasks day in and day out. “You’ve been good to me,” she said. “Thanks for calling.”

  “You’re welcome. Let me know how it goes, okay?”

  “Okay.” When Mrs. Cottle hung up, Dakota slowly returned her handset to its base and sat staring at the wall. Her father had state help to cover most of his medical care, but the gas to drive him back and forth to Boise, the wear and tear on a car that was already worn out and the missed work would cost her.

  A creak in the hall alerted her that someone was coming. Then Tyson appeared in her doorway, still carrying Braden, who squealed in excitement when he saw her and started squirming to get down.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  “I have to take my dad to the doctor in Boise.”

  Tyson put his son on the floor and leaned against the door frame. “When?”

  Braden crawled directly to Dakota and demanded to be picked up. She obliged and his chubby face broke into a triumphant smile because he’d attained his goal.

  “As soon as I can set it up.”

  “What’s wrong with him?”

  “I don’t know exactly. Could be that his liver’s getting worse. It hasn’t been functioning right for some time now. Or it could be his blood pressure.” She kissed Braden’s round cheek, drawing from the good feelings he engendered. “It could be anything, really.”

  “Do you want to take the Ferrari?”

  “No, thanks.”

  He straightened. “How are you going to get there, then?”

  “My car can make it.” She hoped. “Do you want me to line up someone to watch Braden?”

  “How long do you think you’ll be gone?”

  “I’m going to stay with him until I can get him to the doctor, if that’s okay. I might need the rest of today, and tomorrow.”

  Tyson scratched his neck, obviously not happy. She initially thought he was worried about losing her help with Braden, but what came out of his mouth indicated otherwise. “Nights aren’t your father’s best time, Dakota.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  He nodded. “If that’s what you want.”

  “Should I ask Hannah or someone to help with Braden?” she repeated.

  “No, I’ve got him,” he said and left.

  * * *

  WITHOUT DAKOTA, the house was quiet and lonely. Tyson had come to Dundee believing he craved privacy, but he was beginning to realize that he craved intimacy—the kind that went beyond sex. Having Dakota around, gardening, cooking, listening to music, playing with the baby, made the place more comfortable in the same way an overstuffed recliner surpassed a hard cane chair when it came to watching television. Somehow, he was content when she was at the cabin—and oddly unsettled when she wasn’t.

  I’m just worried about what could happen to her. Skelton might be sick, but Tyson had witnessed firsthand the mean gleam in the old man’s eye. If he went after Dakota again, there was no telling what damage he might do, because she wouldn’t run or—he thought about that cut on her arm that had taken so long to heal—even tell anyone what was happening. She believed she had to make the best of the situation without involving others.

  “I don’t like that she’s there,” he said to the room at large. But what could he do about it?

  Rubbing the stubble on his chin, he got up and traipsed to the kitchen, where he nuked some of the left-over lasagna Dakota had in the fridge and chased it with a glass of milk and an extra-large piece of chocolate cake.

  “She’s really got to quit making desserts,” he complained. He was the only one who ate them. But they were comforting, too, sitting on the counter beneath a cake cover, waiting for him.

  A noise made him pause with his fork halfway to his mouth. Was the baby waking up? Tyson found himself almost hoping he was. Now that he and his son knew each other better, having Braden around beat being alone. They’d had a surprisingly good day together.

  Tyson couldn’t hear any crying or baby babble. Nothing except the usual house sounds. Braden was probably out for the night. According to Dakota, he often slept clear through until breakfast.

  Of course he would tonight, now that Tyson could use the company.

  Pushing his empty cake plate aside, Tyson finally grabbed the phone and did what he’d been wanting to do all evening: he called Dakota. It was late, and he knew she might already be asleep, but he couldn’t relax until he knew everything was okay at the trailer park.

  The phone rang several times. There was no answer, but at least he didn’t get the notice of disconnection he’d gotten last time.

  On the tenth or eleventh ring, he hung up.

  “She’ll be fine,” he told himself. Surely he could count on the disgruntled neighbors to step in if need be. But a small voice at the back of his mind said, “The way they stepped in when he cut her arm?”

  “Shit.” Leaving the kitchen, he took the stairs two at a time.

  Braden was sleeping on his stomach with his butt in the
air. The baby looked so content Tyson hated to disturb him. But he couldn’t leave him here alone, and he couldn’t stand not knowing what was happening with Dakota.

  “Come on, bud. Let’s go see what’s up with your favorite girl.”

  As he lifted the baby into his arms, Braden’s eyes opened and a big, sleepy smile stretched across his face.

  “Don’t do that to me,” Tyson said, but he was smiling right back.

  * * *

  THE MOBILE HOME PARK WAS dark except for the flicker of a television in one of the first trailers.

  No lights on in the Brown home could be a good sign, Tyson thought. It was nearly midnight, after all, and they were likely asleep. But if Dakota was sleeping, why hadn’t the ringing phone awakened her? She got up with Braden if he so much as whimpered. And she was home. That was her car in the ramshackle carport.

  He parked as close behind her Maxima as he could. He wasn’t sure what time the bar closed in town, but he didn’t want to take the chance of the Ferrari being sideswiped as someone negotiated the narrow, gravel park road.

  Braden was asleep. He’d drunk half a bottle of formula and dropped off immediately afterward, and didn’t seem bothered by the fact that they were no longer moving. Removing him from his car seat, Tyson put him over one shoulder. Braden squirmed and twisted until he made himself comfortable, finally settling with his cheek against Tyson’s neck as Tyson carried him to the door.

  If Dakota was asleep, he didn’t want to wake her just so she could tell him she was okay. He’d see for himself if he could slip inside and take a look around. But he was hesitant to do that without an invitation, so he knocked softly.

  No response.

  He tried the handle.

  Bingo. As he’d expected, folks at the trailer park weren’t too worried about intruders. Only a really dumb crook would bother burgling one of these homes. Anyway, if Tyson had his guess, whatever violence occurred in Dundee was pretty much limited to domestic disputes.

  Stepping inside, he closed the door behind him and was instantly swallowed by a much deeper darkness—along with the smell of bacon and onions. He smiled. Dakota had been cooking again.

  The digital clock on the microwave blinked the time: 11:43. All the blinds were drawn, and the green numerals provided the only illumination.

  Everything appeared to be okay so far, but the memory of that cut on Dakota’s arm motivated Tyson to keep checking. After getting Braden up and driving forty minutes in the middle of the night, he wanted to be sure.

  Needing his hands to feel his way around, he laid Braden on the couch and used two chairs to create a barricade so that he couldn’t roll off. Then he heard something: a low murmur. Was someone awake?

  He walked down the hall toward the bedrooms and paused outside the first door, which was closed. The noise was coming from inside. Now that he could hear it more clearly, he realized it was a television. He hadn’t seen the flicker of the picture because this bedroom was on the rear of the trailer.

  Giving the door a gentle rap, he opened it.

  Dakota’s father sat in a recliner almost identical to the one in the living room, facing a television perched on the dresser. But he wasn’t watching it. The angle of his head suggested he was asleep, and a deep snore confirmed it. Behind him, a rumpled bed was pushed into the corner to make room for such a large chair.

  The stench of cigarette smoke hung thick in the air, suggesting Skelton had been busy chain smoking not too long ago. But he was out now, probably in a drug-enhanced stupor, judging by the bottle of sleeping pills sitting on his dresser.

  Tyson backed out of the room and continued on to the next door, which was also closed. This had to be Dakota’s room. Hopefully, she was safe inside.

  Not wanting to wake her, he didn’t knock. He simply opened the cheap, lightweight panel that served as a door and peeked in, but without a television, he couldn’t see anything. Slipping inside, he made his way over to the bed, where he eventually encountered a warm lump beneath the blankets—a lump that stirred when he touched it.

  “Dad? Is it you? Are you sick?” she mumbled.

  Relief washed through him. She was fine. “It’s me,” Tyson said.

  “Ty?” The surprise must’ve chased away some of the grogginess, because her hand suddenly moved up his arm to be sure. “What are you doing here? Is Braden okay?”

  “Of course.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Sleeping on the couch.”

  “My couch?”

  “I made it so that he can’t roll off.”

  Her hand fell away and the sheets rustled as she sat up. “What’s wrong?”

  The fact that she wasn’t at the cabin. The fact that he’d been worried about her. The fact that she hadn’t answered. “Nothing. Go back to sleep.”

  “But I don’t understand.”

  “I was only making sure you were safe.” Suddenly feeling the exhaustion he should’ve felt hours ago, he longed to get into bed with her and pull her into his arms. Instead, he straightened and started to move away.

  “You drove all the way down here and now you’re going back?” she asked.

  He hesitated at the door. “Do I have another option?” he asked, suddenly hopeful.

  “I can make you a bed on the couch—no, wait, Braden’s on the couch.” She started to get up. “I guess I could make you a bed on the floor beside him.”

  Tyson wasn’t thinking the floor sounded too comfortable. Especially when Dakota was in here. “Not the best offer I’ve ever received,” he said dryly.

  She drew close but didn’t touch him. He knew what would happen if she did. Maybe she did, too. “You could use my father’s bed. He has to sleep in a chair.”

  Tyson scratched his head. He’d already seen that bed. And the man snoring next to it. “The floor will work.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Grandpa Garnier: Don’t go wakin’ snakes.

  “DAKOTA, CALL THE POLICE!”

  Wrestling with the last vestiges of sleep, Dakota opened her eyes and blinked at the ceiling. At first she felt a little disoriented—she could hear Braden and her father, so it took a minute for it all to fit into place. Then she realized she was home, in her old room. She could tell by the water damage in the corner, which ran down the wall.

  “Dakota?” Her father again. It was his bellowing that had awakened her.

  “What?” she called back.

  “There’s a strange man and a baby in our house.”

  She rubbed her face. No need for alarm. Her father was just being rude to Tyson. “Lighten up, Dad,” she shouted.

  “Okay, the baby can stay but the man has to go.”

  “You’re real hospitable, you know that?” Dakota heard Tyson say.

  Dakota pushed herself out of bed and stumbled into the living room in her pajama bottoms and tank top before the two could really square off. “That’s enough,” she said, but Tyson didn’t appear to be taking her father too seriously. He was still halfway in the bed she’d made him, propped against the couch, his hair sticking up in crazy directions, and he had Braden in his lap.

  “Hi, sweetheart.” She offered the baby an inviting smile.

  Braden responded by squealing and kicking his legs, but he didn’t climb off his father’s lap and crawl over to her, which was a surprise.

  Tyson’s eyes gleamed in triumph as Braden grabbed his T-shirt with both hands and smiled at her while laying his head on Tyson’s chest. “Guess he likes it where he is.”

  “He’d come to me if I called him,” she said.

  Tyson arched one eyebrow. “I don’t think so. I think he’s finally figured out that I’m a pretty nice guy.”

  She’d figured that out a while back, but it hadn’t made life any easier. “I’d prove he likes me best, but I need to make breakfast right now. You hungry?”

  He tried to smooth down his hair. “Starved.”

  “I didn’t invite you to stay for breakfast,” her father said.
>
  “You didn’t invite me to stay the night, either,” Tyson responded. Then he flashed them both a cocky grin. “Yet here I am.”

  Her father glanced at her while jerking a thumb at him. “You like this arrogant son of a bitch?”

  So much it scares me. “A little,” she said.

  “Why?” he asked.

  She let her lips curve into a teasing smile as she shrugged. “He’s got a cute baby.”

  Her father nodded. “I guess I have to give him that.”

  * * *

  TYSON SPENT THE MORNING at Dakota’s, where he’d actually grown quite comfortable. It was difficult to forgive Skelton for what he’d done to Dakota—especially as he couldn’t be trusted not to do it again—but seeing him together with his daughter made it easier to understand why she remained so devoted to him. Apparently he only got out of hand when he drank. But unfortunately he drank far too often.

  He and Braden left the trailer park about the same time Dakota and Skelton left for Boise. On their way out of town, they visited Gabe, where Braden crawled around while Tyson and Gabe talked football. Then they dropped by the pharmacy to find a soft toothbrush for Braden’s very first tooth, and a few other items. About halfway home, Braden started reaching for Tyson, wanting to be released from his car seat, and finally broke into a full wail when his demands weren’t met. His face turned red and everything, but somehow Tyson remained calm. He knew Braden was just hungry and tired.

  Braden cried himself to sleep only minutes before Tyson turned into the driveway of the cabin. “Of course,” he muttered. But an inexplicable warm feeling washed over him when he finally lifted Braden from his seat and the baby gave a wounded hiccup and burrowed into his shirt.

  “Poor baby,” Tyson said, and because Dakota wasn’t there to see him, he let his hand come up and rub his son’s soft back. “Maybe you’re not so bad, after all, eh?”

  * * *

  “TYSON, WHERE THE HELL have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you all afternoon.”

  Just back from a jog with Braden, Tyson grimaced at the sound of Greg’s voice. Had he known the caller was his agent, he probably wouldn’t have left his son in the garage, still strapped inside the jogger, so that he could hustle into the cabin to answer the phone. Every time Greg called, Tyson’s problems grew a little bigger. Maybe Greg wasn’t the cause of the bad news—only the proverbial messenger—but Tyson was trying to enjoy a few days of denial. Reality would hit soon enough.