by Rita Hestand
"You're wh-what—" she began, but he started walking away before she could argue the point.
Had she heard right? Maybe she imagined it. He did say he was going to court her? Didn't he? She ran towards him, but he was sliding into his Suburban and backing out the drive way when he suddenly rolled down the window and called to her.
"I'll be back with my things. I'm movin' in the bunkhouse." He winked and smiled and sped away before she could say another word.
Courting her!
Now what was he up to, and how was she going to survive it?
Chapter Five
"Of course I understand, John," Abby replied into the phone, trying to sound patient as her mother got up and went into the kitchen. Just from the way her shoulders slumped, Abby knew she'd been listening to their conversation and not appreciating John's situation.
"No, I'm fine, thank you. Is your mother better?"
Judy stopped at the kitchen door, turned to look at her, and then went into the kitchen.
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. I was hoping you might come out this weekend." Abby tried to hide the disappointment in her voice.
"No-no, I'm fine, I just miss you, is all," Abby explained, when her mother peeked around the door frame with a slight scowl to her face.
Abby turned so she couldn't watch her mother. She knew that look. "Okay, thanks for calling. Yes, me, too," she added, as her mother came back into the room once more.
"I take it John's not coming out?" Judy asked, setting her glass of tea in front of her, and then setting her own on the coffee table as she took the chair opposite her.
"No, his mother is worse—"
"Of course she is." Judy shook her head and looked away from her daughter.
"Please don't start, mother. I'm not in the mood."
"I'm sorry, dear. I can't help it. This is the third time he's called to say he couldn't come. I'm usually not so interfering, but I just can't keep my mouth shut. You've been through a funeral and worked a week here, and he still can't get loose from his mother. Can't he hire someone to look after her, if she's that bad?"
Abby grimaced. It wasn't as though she hadn't thought of the same thing herself. That was the problem; her mother was right, and she didn't want to admit it.
Still, John was the best thing in her life, aside from her son, and he'd be a wonderful father to Clay. He was so gentle with him.
"No, that kind of help is too expensive, mother. I'll survive it. She just needs him right now," Abby insisted, not believing her own words, and knowing her mother knew it.
"So the four of you are going to live together?" Judy nodded, her lips folding and unfolding in one grim line.
"The four of us?" Abby questioned. "Yes, you, John, Clay and his mother."
"No mother, that's why we aren't married. His mother is simply too ill. There's been no mention of her moving in with us." Abby felt the tension between them and didn't like it. She'd had disagreements with her mother before, but now was not the time. Her mother was alone now, and she needed her. She didn't want to pick a fight with her over John.
"You don't really think he's going to put her off somewhere when you do get married, do you? And from the sounds of it, she's not getting any better, maybe worse."
"I don't want to talk about this, mother. You just don't understand," Abby protested.
"Oh, I understand more than you think. I don't think you understand. But it's your life, dear."
Abby stared at her mother, stunned at her ability to argue so easily. Judy rarely disagreed with anyone, but she knew it was caused from concern so she tried to be understanding of her outbursts.
"Did you interview anyone today?" Abby changed the subject.
"No, haven't had anyone to interview. No one called. I've placed the ad in the paper, like you suggested, but I've heard nothing yet. Ranch hands aren't the easiest thing to find, but someone will come along eventually. Why, aren't you and Clint getting along?"
Getting along? He'd totally ignored her for a week! And he had said he was courting her, hadn't he? Well, it was some courtship.
Abby bit her lip. "I think we are tolerating each other, if that's what you mean."
"Really, Abby, I'm surprised at you. Clint has taken time away from his own job in order to help us out. I'd think you'd be more appreciative. He's only doing it out of kindness."
"Yes, and I'm wondering why?"
"He's our friend, that's why. No matter what has transpired between the two of you, he is our friend and always has been. You should be nice to him."
"Mama, let it go," Abby mumbled.
"Alright, dear, if that's the way you want it."
"Thank you, yes, that's the way I want it. I understand your feelings, mother, but Clint and I are not getting back together," Abby insisted. "That's an understatement, isn't it? We were never together, anyway."
"Of course you're not. You're practically engaged to John, aren't you?"
"Practically. Yes."
Abby went to the kitchen and pulled out the pork chops on the counter. She began preparing supper, hoping the conversation would die a natural death. Her nerves were frayed from keeping her distance with Clint, from missing her father, and from trying to make her mother understand it.
Clint was accepting it. He had treated her like he always did, as if she was another one of the ranch hands. She liked it that way, didn't she? Well, didn't she?
Her mother followed her, watched her.
"At least you are able to get along." When Abby didn't reply, her mother went on. "You know, I was hoping to get to know your young man, John. But if he's constantly tied up, well, I guess I never will. Will I?"
"It won't be this way always, mother."
"Let's hope not. I did want to meet him and get to know him a little before you're married. That way, when I come to visit, I won't be such a stranger. I'm your mother, Abby, and I want what is best for you. And if that's John, then fine. I accept it. At least do me the courtesy of trying to get along with Clint while you are here. He's my neighbor, and now that your father is gone, I may need help from time to time. I don't want anything to mar that."
Abby stopped in midair, reflecting on that, "I understand that mother, really I do. It's just that I also know that you're sorta partial to Clint, too. But to put your mind at ease, we're getting along okay. He's been all business since I told him."
"That's strange, isn't it?"
"Very," Abby murmured. If he was seriously going to court her, he hadn't started. Or she hadn't noticed.
But that was a ridiculous thought, anyway. Clint wanted his son, not her. It had never been her. And she'd better remember that.
"So, what are your plans for the weekend?"
Abby arranged the chops in the pan, added a few spices and placed them in the oven. "I don't have any. What would you like to do this weekend?"
Maybe if she spent some time with her mother, time would pass and she could soon go back to her job and feel her mother could cope. But Judy needed her, whether she knew it or not. The fact that Judy was getting on in age, and not setting the saddle much any longer kept Abby worried about leaving her on her own.
Her mother shook her head. "I'm sorry, dear, but Bertha asked me over for her quilting party tomorrow night, and naturally, I'm going. Wanta come? Clay can play with the Cameron's twin girls."
Abby hated sewing of any kind, and her mother knew it, but what else was there to do? She supposed she and Clay could amuse themselves at the party of older women. If it hadn't been for leaving her shorthanded, Abby would have been back to work by now. Instead, she was taking up where the foreman had left off, and trying to avoid any deep conversations with Clint about his son.
Abby hesitated, shrugging. "No, you go on. Clay and I will find something to do, I'm sure."
"Maybe you could call some of your friends over?"
"Yeah, maybe." She felt the old hurt rising in her throat like bile. Old friends? Her old friends were Clint and his family, and a few o
thers that she hadn't seen in years. How would they all accept her now? Could she dare tell them the truth that Clay was Clint's child? At the funeral, no one had asked any questions, and she was thankful for their manners. But she wouldn't press her luck. No, calling old friends was definitely out.
"You know I don't like to butt into your private affairs, dear, but you can't hide yourself away out here. Your friends know you’re back, and some might be offended if you didn't call them and visit a little."
Her mother was right on that score. "Maybe I'll call Roberta tomorrow."
"Good, she's asked about you several times."
She wouldn't be here long enough to renew old friendships if she could help it. She wouldn't disturb Clint's life. She'd manage without bothering anyone. But it wouldn't hurt to call Roberta on the phone, at least.
So, the next day when her mother was out in the garden, she called her.
"Abby Martin, my goodness, how are you?" came the voice Abby quickly recognized. "I'm fine, and you?"
"I'm well. Well, how long are you in town?"
"Oh, just for a couple or three more weeks." Abby said glancing out the window to see if her mother was still busy.
"It is so good to hear from you."
"So, tell me, are you married yet?" Abby asked, and found herself giggling.
"Uh—no. I've got a super crush on someone, but I don't think he knows I'm alive."
"Really, who?" Abby asked glad to be talking about someone else instead of herself for once.
"Well, Clint Travers, of course. I've always adored him. And until you left, I frankly saw no point in trying. But he just doesn't seem too interested. I've tried everything. He doesn't even date. I'm beginning to wonder if he's gay." Roberta sighed.
"Clint?" Abby asked, surprised that Roberta, her best girlfriend, would want to—to what with Clint? Why should she be surprised? They were nearly the same age, he was quite unattached and very good looking. So, why wasn’t he dating Roberta? In fact, why wasn't he dating anyone?
"Well, good luck on that one, Roberta."
"You know this whole valley thought you were sweet on Clint at one time. But when you went away, we knew that wasn't the case. You really were—just good friends."
"Yes, we really were."
"And what about you now?"
"Oh, I'm engaged to a man in Dallas."
"Sounds interesting! Well, give, girl! What are the details?"
"Oh, Roberta, Mom's calling from the garden, I'll have to call you back another time. So good talking to you again."
"Oh, alright, dear, please call me back before you leave though, maybe we can get together over coffee."
"Yeah, maybe."
She had only talked to her friend a few minutes, and was exhausted trying to figure out something to say to her. She didn't understand it; however if Roberta hadn't asked all those questions and kept talking about Clint it might have been easier. And just why wasn't Clint dating anyone? That was strange.
Her mother put her to work a few minutes later though weeding the garden, and she forgot about her friend. If she could only forget about Clint that easily.
She vowed she and Clay could spend some quality time together while her mother went visiting.
But when Friday rolled around, it was rainy and cold and miserably lonely. There were sparse presents under the Christmas tree this year, and that made Abby sad. Most of them were for Clay from her and her mother. It was not at all like the big Christmases they had when her father was alive.
It led her to thinking. All of Christmas had been about her, not her parents. Only her. Had her father neglected her mother all those years? Her mother had never complained about it, but still, a niggling in the back of her mind bothered her the rest of the day.
Abby shrugged off the blues, and lit a fire, and she curled up on the floor with Clay to read him a story. Clay seemed restless, and totally uninterested in her story. Abby would have liked to take a nap, but there was no way she could sleep with Clay as active as ever.
"Don't you like the story, honey?" Abby encouraged, showing him the pictures again.
"I wanta play Cowboys and Indians," Clay insisted.
Abby looked with confusion at her son. "Cowboys and Indians. Where did that come from? I thought Power Rangers and Pokémon were in."
"Nope. Me and Sammie Jo played Cowboys and Indians. She was the Indian, and I was the cowboy," He announced, as he quickly procured a big play pistol from his room to show her.
"I see. Well now, you'll have to teach me how to play. It's been a while." Abby chuckled.
"Okay—it's easy, you're the bad guy, I'm the good guy. I gotta shoot you." Clay puckered his lower lip as though he were suddenly mad, and aimed his gun at her.
"Stick ‘em up." He narrowed his blue eyes at her.
Eyes that suddenly looked so much like his father's she nearly gasped.
Clay ran around her and hollered loudly as she stood up on her knees and watched. "But I don't have a gun."
"Okay, then you be the horsey." Clay laughed as he tried to get on her back, and she let out a laugh.
Getting into the romp, Abby bucked a time or two, and Clay chuckled with glee.
"Giddy up," he called.
She was just moving him about the room when the door swung open, and Clint walked in.
She saw his boots first, and her eyes followed upward.
Abby swallowed hard. He looked good enough to eat. He was dressed in a black western suit, and was carrying flowers. Flowers?
He pushed his Stetson back from his face, and smiled. God, he looked good. Abby felt a shiver run down her spine. An old shiver that she didn't want to remember.
"Hi pardner," he called to Clay who immediately whooped and hollered and nearly jumped into his arms.
"Hi, Uncle Clint."
Abby gasped. Uncle? When had that started? She'd have to rectify that, and soon.
Clint smiled and caught Clay by the hands and wrapped them behind him. "Okay, pardner, I came over to invite you both to a rodeo. What do you think of that?"
"A rodeo? What's a rodeo?" Clay asked, screwing up his face at him.
Clint sent a quick frown at Abby. She flinched. Clay hadn't the first idea about being a real cowboy, and that's the way she wanted to keep it.
"It's where cowboys and horses get together and put on a show. What do you say?"
"Oh, boy! Let's go, Mommy?" Clay began to pull on Abby's shirt sleeve. "Do they have Indians there, too?"
"Well, I don't think—" Abby began as Clint moved towards her, and thrust out the flowers to her. "Besides, it's raining."
"The rain stopped, just a mist. It is a little chilly, though. So, bundle up. These are for you."
Abby stared at the flowers as though she didn't know what to make of him or the gift.
"Aren't you gonna take ‘em, Mommy?"
Abby grabbed the flowers, and their hands touched ever so slightly. She bolted upright with a jolt. He felt like a live wire.
Courting, he had said he was going to court her—but
"Thanks," she whispered as she quickly made an exit. How could she handle this?
Clint wasn't interested in her. He wanted his son. He was a Travers, and thought all Travers belonged together. But he had to learn. And she had to teach him. Clay was not his son.
Only by blood, she corrected those thoughts.
She put the assorted flowers in a vase and added water and a tad of sugar, then returned to find Clint and Clay deep in conversation about the rodeo.
Of all things to take them to, a rodeo. Naturally, that's what he was interested in. That's what he wanted Clay interested in, too. She sat down opposite him, and watched as Clay hung on to Clint's every word. Clay was forming attachments to people too quickly, especially Clint. She couldn't allow it. But how could she stop it?
Suddenly, Clint glanced up at her and smiled. "You'd better get changed, hadn't you?"
"Oh, but, I don't think--"
"...
it's a good idea. I know. But there isn't much else to do out here. They closed the old theater in town. The skating rink is full of teenagers. The bowling alley is under construction, and I thought for sure the two of you were getting a little house broke. And Clay just said he's never been to a rodeo." Clint's smile was like sunshine; it brightened the entire room.
His eyes never left her, and she suddenly felt self-conscious in her t-shirt and jeans. The way he was looking at her, you would have thought she was wearing a sexy dress and heels. John preferred dresses and heels. He liked her hair up too.
"Can we, Mommy, can we?" Clay was jumping up and down, pulling at her to go get dressed.
There was little choice to the matter. Clay was already convinced that a rodeo was right up his alley, and Abby was bored to death sitting around the house every night. One night wouldn't hurt, and she wouldn't allow any sneaky stuff with Clint, either. If he thought she could be taken in, he was in for another think.
She slid into her blue-jeans skirt and white gypsy blouse, and pulled her black dress boots on. She took a quick look in the mirror, and grimaced. She hadn't bothered with make-up since she'd been home except for the funeral, but if she ran into someone she knew, she wanted to look her best, she told herself.
It had absolutely nothing to do with Clint. She knotted her hair at the nape, and added a touch of mascara.
Clint studied her when she came out, then smiled. But he didn't say anything. No compliments. Maybe he didn't like the new her. She didn't care. In fact, she didn't want him to like her this way, did she?
The rodeo grounds were packed with young men and girls. Everyone darted toward the concessions before the rodeo began. Some stopped to say hello to Clint and shake his hand, and he introduced Abby to all the young cowboys and cowgirls. Several of the cowgirls lingered, but Clint redirected their attention to the younger set, and they were off.
Abby glanced around and then frowned at Clint. "Oh, this is a Junior rodeo, Abby. These are the kids that I work with. They have a rodeo every weekend out here. I thought you knew," Clint explained, as he handed Clay his popcorn.
"I see. How long have you been doing this?"