A Cowboy for Keeps

by Laura Drake

  I gather Sawyer to move her so I can get to Momma, but Reese is faster.

  He takes Momma’s hands to get her attention. “Mary. Mary, it’s all right. We’re going, okay?” He pulls her to her feet.

  “Bruce. We can’t leave him in the storm!”

  Mrs. Wheelwright says, “You get her and the baby to the car. I’ll pack up and be right there.”

  Reese puts his arm around Momma, supporting her elbow. “It’s okay, Mary. Lorelei will find him. Let’s get you…” His deep, calm voice fades as he leads her to the edge of the crowd and heads toward the parking lot.

  I lift Sawyer and lay her over my shoulder. Asleep, she’s a heavy deadweight, and I struggle to stand.

  “I should have seen that coming. I’m sorry,” Mrs. Wheelwright says, folding blankets.

  “None of us could have. She was fine last year.” I look at the mess we’ve left, but I can’t carry more than Sawyer. I step carefully around the sprawled blankets and people.

  An hour later Momma and the baby are in bed and Mrs. Wheelwright is on the road home.

  “I need a drink.” I pull open the fridge, hoping, but knowing there’s nothing there stronger than iced tea or 2 percent milk.

  Reese snaps his fingers. “I brought a bottle of wine for the picnic, then forgot it. I’ll get it out of the truck and meet you on the front porch, okay?”

  “Sounds like a plan.” I take two stemless wineglasses from the “good dishes” hutch in the corner, and not wanting to wrestle with the front door, walk around the side yard and climb the steps to settle in Momma’s rocker. The dark is a welcome friend, and my jitters settle a bit.

  Reese’s white shirt bobs across the yard. The stairs creak under his boots, and he sits in the chair next to me. “You okay?”

  “God, what a night.” I sigh. “Good and bad.”

  “I really enjoyed it. Right up ’til the end, anyway.” There’s the hollow pop of a cork leaving a bottle. “Here, give me the glasses.”

  I hand them over. “Thank you for your help. You were good with Momma. She settled faster for you than she would have me or Mrs. Wheelwright.”

  “I think it’s probably a man’s voice. She’s from a generation that looked to her husband for safety and security.” He hands me a glass. “Here’s to the jitterbug.”

  I have to smile. We clink glasses. We sip merlot, looking out into the dark yard, each to our own thoughts. The rasping chirp of the crickets and the creak of my rocker unwind me, allowing the evening’s peace to seep in. Since the dance, things between us seem…easier. More comfortable.

  It makes me lonely somehow, for the life that passed me by. In high school, I imagined sitting on the porch like this with the man I’d grow old with. But that was before I learned that men aren’t reliable. And that they don’t want women like me, anyway. Guess all the memories of the day have just made me wistful tonight.

  His deep, soft voice comes from my right. “Isn’t it funny how the dark makes it easier to talk? It’s like you and I communicate best that way. That and texts.”

  Uh-oh. “Did you want to talk about something?”

  “Nope.”

  “Now that you bring it up, I have a question for you.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Nothing big. I think we’ve had enough drama for one day, don’t you? I just wondered how you got your scar.”

  “Yeah, no drama.” He snorts and leans back in the chair. “That’s only the one that shows.” He takes a sip of wine. “Lorelei, if Carson were here, he’d be taking care of Patsy and Sawyer. You know that, right?”

  “I never met him, but I assume so. Why?”

  “Will you let me contribute to Sawyer’s needs? Help with the monthly expenses? It would make me so happy to be able to do something. I owe it to Sawyer. I owe it to my brother.”

  He and I seem to have settled into…whatever this is, but I’m not taking chances. “Look, you’re a good man. I know you mean well. But we’re fine.”

  He sighs. “Everyone thinks money gets you what you want. They don’t know how wrong they are. It’s the opposite, really.”

  I turn to him and drape my legs over the arm of the chair. “What is it that you want?”

  “I want what everyone wants, I guess. A family…someone to connect to. To belong with.”

  “I get that. It’s so sad that you’ve lost everyone in your family.”

  “Do y’all have cowbirds around here?”

  “What? I have no idea. And you just lost me.”

  “We have them at home. They’re brood parasites, meaning they lay their eggs in other bird’s nests.”

  “Wow, that’s weird. But—”

  “I always thought I was like that. Like I got dropped into a family where I didn’t belong. I’m not whining. It’s just a fact.”

  The emptiness in his voice echoes through me. Having grown up surrounded with love and acceptance, I can’t imagine his childhood. “That must have been awful. But it’s not too late to make your own family. You can marry. Have children.”

  He’s quiet long enough that I think the subject is closed. “Here, give me your glass.”

  I look down, surprised to find it’s empty. I hand it over, and he fills it, then empties the rest of the bottle in his. “You asked about my scar.”

  “Yeah, I almost forgot.”

  “Wish I could.” He stands and, glass in hand, paces the boards, passing me, then coming back. “I was fourteen when I got tired. Tired of the taunts. Tired of not fitting in. Frankly, I was starting to believe what I heard from my father at least once a week—that you weren’t a man if you didn’t enjoy pushing the envelope, hanging your butt on the edge of out-of-control. So the next time Carson dared me to get on a steer, I did. After all, how could I know they were wrong if I never tried?”

  “It didn’t end well.”

  “I was off in two seconds, under the bull’s hooves. The twenty-seven stitches in my head was the easiest part. It stepped on my…” He sits on the porch railing and cradles the wineglass in his hands. “Well, let’s just say that after a week in the hospital, I left with a bit less than I came in with. There are no children in my future. At least, none of my own.”

  I suck in a breath. “Oh, Reese.”

  “So you’ve probably wondered why I keep pushing about Sawyer. She’s the last of the St. James line, which makes her my miracle.”

  The lonely in his voice reverberates through me. He knows what it’s like to be on the outside, looking in. Odd, but the more he opens up, the more we seem to have in common in a weird, opposite kind of way. Rich/poor, older/younger, but still, so many similarities. Beneath the obvious outside, we’re alike. We both fell for pretty liars and were let down by those we loved. His sadness makes me want to put my arms around him, pull his head down, and…Stop, Lorelei. That’s just you and those old dreams. He’s looking for a family, not you.

  And yet turning away from him is impossible. I sit thinking for a few moments. “I’ll tell you what. We’ll adopt you into our family.” I hold up my almost empty glass, and clink it against his. “I always wanted a younger brother.”

  He makes a strangled sound in his throat. “That won’t work.”

  “Why not?”

  He sets the glass on the railing, takes two steps to my chair, drops to one knee, and takes my chin in his hand. “Because what I feel for you isn’t the least bit brotherly.”

  His lips touch mine, a feather brush that’s more a question than a kiss. My heart trips over itself, then speeds to a gallop. My old dreams break out of the closet I stuffed them in. He wants me.

  I don’t know if it’s the wine, or the long, emotional day, but I lean in, and without permission from my brain, my lips open to him.

  He pulls a startled breath through his nose and slants his head to deepen the kiss.

  There’s a quickening in me. A small electric current running from my lips down my nerve endings, lighting them up in a fireworks display better than the one down
at the high school tonight.

  His hands cradle my skull, and mine are grasping his forearms, keeping me from floating. He backs up before I would have and sits back on his heels. “Wow.”

  Everything that was floating explodes and falls to earth like the Hindenburg. What in the hell am I doing? I open my mouth, but no words come out.

  He shrugs. “See what I mean?”

  How could I not? My breath is coming in pants, and my nipples are tingling. Hardly an appropriate reaction to “family.” I stand and walk a few steps, to get some distance. To be able to breathe. To think. “This is not a good idea.”

  “I would have agreed with you before, but think about it, Lorelei. We’re obviously compatible. And it just makes sense. The perfect solution, really. We could become a family. Sawyer would have a father figure around, and I’d be able to help you.” He opens his arms, palms up. “It’d be great for both of us. Just think, we could fix up this house. You wouldn’t have to work anymore—to do without anymore.”

  He steps closer and takes my hands. “And since you’re older, it probably wouldn’t bother you so much not to have more children, right?”

  My anger flares, white-hot. My hand hits his face with a crack, and his head snaps to the side. “You have got to be kidding me. I was starting to believe you could want me.” My voice cracks like stepping on thin ice. “But now I find I’m just part of a business deal.” I put my hands in my hair. “I may be single, broke, and pathetic, but I have no interest in someone who wants me just to get to my sister’s baby.”

  “No, Lorelei, I didn’t mean—”

  “Get the hell off my porch.” I point into the darkness.

  “I’m sorry. I suck at explaining. Let’s sit down and…”

  “Don’t make me get my daddy’s shotgun.” In spite of the fire inside, ice drips from my words.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…I’m sorry.” He turns, takes the steps in one bound, shoves his hands in his pockets, and his white shirt disappears into the gloom.

  I sit in the rocker and watch his truck roll down the drive and out onto the road. It was bad enough when I thought he only wanted Sawyer. Lately, that reason was starting to feel like whistling past a graveyard, and Carly half convinced me it was only in my head.

  But Reese just told me my intuition was right all along. I tip my head back against the chair and close my eyes. They say there’s someone out there for everyone.

  Why not me?

  In a minute the crickets crank up again. I can hear the words of their song: fool, fool, fool.

  Chapter 13

  Lorelei

  Hey, Lorelei, I saw you dancing in front of the stage last night. You can flat shake some booty, girl.” Lacey Stephens, a high school senior, holds out her coffee mug for a refill.

  Her mother jumps in before I can. “Everyone knows Lorelei is a fantastic dancer. She was going to be on America’s Ballroom Challenge, don’t you remember?”

  Lacey gives a teen eye roll. “Ma, I was like nine.”

  Ouch. Fine, give me your worst, people. I deserve it, for being so easily taken in. I step to the next booth.

  “I heard you were the highlight of the night, hon.” Mrs. Belkins puts her liver-spotted hand over mine. “Don’t you let anyone tell you different.”

  Seeing how she wasn’t even there tells me I’m again center stage in the white-hot spotlight of Unforgiven gossip. My stomach flips, because this time I put myself in it. I return the carafe to the coffee maker and head to my office. To hide.

  What seemed like such a good idea last night looks very different in the harsh light of morning. Of course, I didn’t know then that I was a placeholder. A fill-in-the-blank. A plug and play. It’s too embarrassing. My phone buzzes in my pocket.

  R: I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am. When I heard the words out loud, I realized what they sounded like. I’m a bumbling idiot, Lorelei. I always say the wrong thing with you. And I hate it, because the words I say to you matter most. But I swear, I didn’t—

  There’s more, but I’m too heartsick to read on. I turn off my phone and toss it onto the desk. It topples a pile of receipts onto the floor. “This office is disgusting.” It’s needed to be shoveled out for the past decade. Today I’m in the mood to tackle it. I need to stay busy, or I’m going to end up banging my head against the wall.

  I roll up my sleeves and get to work.

  My crazy dreams are shoved back in the closet, and I’ve locked the door. I knew better. But that dance—heck, that whole day up to that point was so perfect, I ignored what I knew for what I wanted. I’m glad last night on the porch happened. Better to know where I stand than to bumble along, oblivious. Like last time.

  More than an hour later, I slam the drawer on the last of the filing, when I hear voices.

  “Damned if I know. I think she’s trying to gut the building, but there’s too much crap flying around for me to get close.” Nevada never has known how to whisper.

  “Well, I’m gonna sure find out.” I’ve heard that tone from Carly before. Usually right before she pitched a fit.

  “Don’t call me if there’s an avalanche. I am not a Saint Bernard,” Nevada grouses.

  “Noted.”

  I roll the file cabinet out and set it down by the back door.

  Carly’s hands are on her hips, her toe tapping. “What in Hel-sinki is going on here?”

  “I’ve put off cleaning out this pit for years.” I lift hair out of my eye and swipe the sweat that’s running down my cheek. “Today’s the day.”

  She steps to the door. “Holy wow.”

  “I found these between the desk and the wall.” I lift a pair of dust-bunny-covered old-lady underpants from the desk with the end of a pencil. “You want to return them to Nana? And please, I do not want to know how they got there.”

  “Oh, you’re in a mood.” She drops the underwear into the overflowing trash can.

  “I’m not. Just tired of procrastinating.” Now that the room is almost empty, I grab the broom and attack the floor.

  “Hmm-hmmm. This is me you’re talking to, girlfriend.” She sticks her head out the door. “Hey, Nevada, make me two grilled tuna sandwiches, a side of onion rings, French fries, coleslaw, and two huge pieces of chocolate cake, to go, will you?”

  “Comin’ up.”

  “I’m not hungry. I’ve got a ton to do, so—”

  “Oh, this is bad.” She eyes me with a squint. “You go wash up, or you’ll scare the customers. Then you and I are eating lunch on the square.” She points a finger. “That’s an order, West.”

  I huff frustration and head for the bathroom. What I see in the mirror stops me. The dirt I expected, but the anger burning in my eyes would scare customers. And…wait. Something glints in the fluorescents. I lean closer to squint into the mirror. At my hairline, two silver hairs. Only two, but their existence hits my solar plexus like a wrecking ball. I wince and notice the lines at the edges of my eyes that don’t quite disappear when I relax.

  I’d hoped to grow old. I just didn’t expect it to happen this soon. I wash my face, pluck out the silver, comb my hair, don a mask of normal (or as close as I can get to it), and stomp back into the kitchen.

  Carly is holding a big brown sack and tips her chin at two large cups of iced tea on the counter. “You take those and follow me.”

  She backs up to the door and pushes it open with her butt.

  “Lorelei, you little dancin’ queen, you,” Manny Stipple slurs, trying to bust a move from his stool at the counter, almost unseating himself.

  Carly holds up a hand. “Unless you want to wear another bowl of soup, I would not go there, dude.”

  We march past the suddenly silent lunchtime crowd, out the door, and Carly doesn’t stop until we’re at the empty bandstand in the center of the town square. She sits on the steps and points next to her. “Sit.”

  I don’t have much choice; she’s my friend, but she’s also my boss.

  She pulls out ou
r massive lunches and lays them out on the bag.

  “Holy cripes, Carly, that’s enough for four people.”

  “On most days, maybe, but man problems require extreme measures.”

  “Why would you think—”

  She tips her head. “Do not play with me, chickie. You and Reese were making goo-goo eyes at each other in front of the whole town before sundown, and from the looks of you now, there were more fireworks last night than the ones shot off at the football field.”

  “Oh God.” I put my face in my hands. I can’t do this if I have to look at her. “He made it clean-window clear last night. He wants me—but only because he wants Sawyer. I’m just the nanny that comes with—a package deal.”

  She picks up half a sandwich. “I don’t believe it. I saw how he looked at you when he kissed your hand, like some errant knight or something. God, girl, I was a puddle of goo. Now eat.”

  I pull a corner off the sandwich and nibble. “I forget what a great cook Nevada is.” I sigh. “But it gets worse. He told me that we were a perfect couple because he can’t have kids, and I’m too old to care.”

  “Oh crap-balls. No, he didn’t.”

  I just nod. “You’re right. Food helps,” I mumble around the ten fries I shoved in my mouth at once.

  “Stuff away, hon.” She takes a bite of tuna, then snags an onion ring. She sits with a thoughtful look while she eats it. “You told me before that he blurts, though.”

  “Blurts what he really thinks, yeah. I should be grateful that he does, or I’d have made an even bigger fool of myself than the last time.”

  She wags a finger. “That was all on that cheating scumbag, not you.”

  “I’m shoveling out that office today as penance, for being so stupid.”

  “You’re a braver woman than me.”

  “Tell me about it.” I wince. “The underwear wasn’t the worst I found, but I can’t talk about it while I’m eating.”

  “Yeah, don’t. Has Reese called?”

  I shake my head and finish off half the sandwich. “He knows I’d hang up. He texted this morning.”