A Cowboy for Keeps

by Laura Drake

There are black spots floating at the edge of my vision. I just stand there, trying to gulp air. This cannot be happening.

  Manny leans over. “What? What’s that paper?”

  “Reese is going to try to fight Lorelei for custody of Sawyer.”

  “Nah, he wouldn’t,” Manny says in a disbelieving tone.

  “He did.” Moss, cradling my elbow, walks me over and pushes through the door to the kitchen.

  Nevada looks up from the grill. “Moss, what the hell are you doing back here?”

  “Get her some water. She’s in shock.”

  He deposits me in the chair in my office. “Put your head down. You don’t look so good.”

  I’d argue, but despite my lungs straining, I can’t get enough air. I put my elbows on my knees and pull out the trash can, just in case my stomach decides to bail my lunch.

  He wouldn’t.

  He did.

  There must be a mistake.

  He said he loved me.

  Sawyer!

  I launch to my feet. “I have to go.”

  “Whoa there.” Moss pushes me back down.

  Nevada shoves him out the door and sets a bottle of water on the desk.

  “I have to get Sawyer.” I sniff, and my fingers clench the open air. “I have to see her. Touch her. Ohmygod, what am I going to do?”

  “Hang on.” Nevada pushes my shoulders to keep me in the chair. “You’ll kill yourself behind the wheel like this. Besides, she’s with Carly, and she’d never let anyone have Sawyer. She may talk all sweet, but she could take The Rock when she goes all momma bear, and you know it.” She pulls a tissue from the box on the desk and hands it to me.

  That’s when I realize tears are sheeting down my face, dripping off my chin. “He signed that form. He knows what it would do to me. How could he do that?”

  Rhetorical question. Because he did it. Which makes him worse than my first choice in men. My almost-fiancé just used me. My stomach is a cauldron of simmering emotion: hurt, betrayal, and a building anger. “He’s rich. You know he can hire the best attorneys out there. Hell, he already hired them.” I must be in shock, because my brain moves like a drunken sloth, and my hands have the DTs.

  Nevada parks her butt on the desk. “He’s from Texas. This is New Mexico. Our courts gave you custody. He’d have to find a damned fine reason to reverse that, and he won’t be able to, because there isn’t one.” Nevada’s voice is calm, but her eyes dart, as if looking for someone to take over with the crazy lady.

  My mind scrabbles, running a highlight reel of every second Reese was around. The vase! Could that be construed to be neglect? But it happened at his house. The tornado? Because I didn’t let him put on a new roof? Have I done anything…not done anything I should have?

  “Carly? I think you’d better get down here.” Nevada’s talking into her phone. “Yeah, bring the kids. You’ll see when you get here.”

  Rage bubbles over the edge of the cauldron, and the panic clears from my brain. I pull open the drawer and snatch my phone. I may not have much of my mind right now, but he’s going to get a good piece of what’s left.

  * * *

  Reese

  My phone rings in the pocket of my shirt. I pull it…Her name on the screen makes my stomach drop and my mood rise. I swipe the screen. “I’m so glad you called. I’ve been—”

  “How could you?” Her voice smacks my eardrum. “You don’t like me, fine. Dump me, but this…is the lowest, shittiest…”

  Was that a sob?

  “I don’t give a crap that you have more money than God. You’re not getting your way this time. I’ll fight you. I’ll fight you ’til I have nothing. Then I’ll steal what I need to keep fighting. You’re going to be sorry you messed with this country girl, you lousy, lowlife, stinking liar.”

  Click.

  I stare at my phone like it’s going to explain whatever the hell just happened. This isn’t the argument from the other day—something has sent her ballistic, but what? I feel like a guilty kid, except I didn’t do anything.

  I’d text, but I have no way to know if she’ll read it, so I hit redial. It goes straight to voice mail.

  My mind grabs and discards reasons, possibilities, and solutions, but it’s impossible. I don’t have enough information. How do I get more? Remembering, I pull my wallet from my pocket and retrieve the number for the café I wrote on a scrap of paper.

  I dial.

  “Chestnut Creek Café.”

  “Nevada. It’s Reese St. James. What is—”

  “You are lucky you’re not here, dude. I’ve killed before, and I damned sure can do it again. I can’t believe you have the balls to call here after—”

  “Wait! After what? What happened?”

  “Do not insult my intelligence. You know damned well what.”

  “Dammit, I don’t. Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?”

  “You’re going to pretend you don’t know Lorelei was just served with the custody papers you sent? Papers you signed?” She makes a disgusting sound, like she’s getting ready to spit. “You don’t deserve it, but I’ll give you a piece of advice. Don’t show up here. Every man jack around will be watching out for you. You mess with our people, you’re going to find out firsthand why this town was named Unforgiven.”

  Click.

  Travis. That sonofabitch. He not only served the papers I told him to tear up, he forged my name? I take off in a jog for my truck. He’s gone off the deep end to pull something like this. I know the man—it isn’t so much that I fired him, but the way I fired him. His ego has gotten in the way of his brain. James Travis and I are going to have a talk.

  I have the truck running by the time my brain kicks in. My knuckles go white on the wheel. This is what he wants. If I give him half of what he deserves, he’ll have me arrested. And Bo hired him because he’s a pit bull in the courtroom—he’ll end up looking like the injured party.

  As much as it would make me feel better to confront him in person, there’s a better way.

  The perfect irony. I’ll take him to court. I’ll have him disbarred. I’ll have him thrown in jail.

  I shut down the truck and stalk for the house. I’ve got bigger problems. I’ve got to straighten this out with Lorelei. It hurts me, imagining how she must be freaking out.

  She’s not going to believe a word I say. After all, I promised to back off before and didn’t.

  I’m going to have to find a way, though, because I was kidding myself; once you find the love of a fine woman and a family, there’s no going back to being a loner.

  Somehow, I’ve got to convince her that I have enough love for her to surmount everything in our way…even my own stupidity.

  Chapter 23

  Reese

  I touch down on San Antonio’s Stinson Airport runway, taxi to the main building, shut the engine down, get out, and chock the wheels.

  I’ve spent the last three days beating myself up. After a ton of shit-shoveling, I finally have a plan that I can live with.

  I hate the plan. I’m not even sure I’m capable of carrying it out. But it’s the only way that stands a chance of convincing Lorelei that I love her for her—no strings attached.

  And that stipulation means I’m taking a chance. The biggest chance of my life.

  I may never see Sawyer or Lorelei again.

  Just thinking it makes me nauseous. I pull the door to the airport lobby, grateful for the cool slap of air. My new attorney stands from the couch and strides forward to shake my hand.

  “Mr. St. James, good to see you again.” Paul Conroy is tall and thin, brown haired, and baby-faced young. But I did my research: top of his class at UT, on track to be the youngest partner in the history of one of the most esteemed attorney firms in Houston before leaving to start his own practice. Smart, hungry, and not afraid to take risks. Just what I’m looking for.

  “Name’s Reese, and thanks for coming out here to meet me. You saved me an hour of San Antonio traffic
.”

  He gives me a confident smile. “As of today, you are my biggest client. I’ll drive to your ranch if you want me to.”

  “I’ll have you out and show you around one weekend. In the meantime, shall we get started?” I lead him down a corridor to a conference room that the airport manager allows me to rent by the hour. We sit. I pull out papers. He pulls out a legal pad and pen. “As I said on the phone, we have several items to discuss. The first is my ex-attorney; then we’ll get to the important part…”

  * * *

  Lorelei

  I wake in panic, seeing another unfamiliar ceiling. When my seeking fingers touch Sawyer’s warm, chubby leg, I let out a sigh and relax. I’m in Carly and Austin’s downstairs bedroom. They offered a crib for Sawyer upstairs, but I can’t sleep if she’s not close enough to touch. I know it’s silly. It’s not like Reese is going to sneak in the house and kidnap her. But my heart and my instincts have taken over. Besides, Sawyer keeps the bed from being too damned empty.

  I don’t know what I would have done without Carly. She showed up that awful day last week, drove us out to the cabin, helped me gather my stuff and lock the door. I roll over and look out the window. The pink-tinted clouds on a backdrop of baby blue—it’s going to be another gorgeous scorcher. And it’s Sunday, my day off.

  I tickle Sawyer awake, then roll out of bed. Such a happy kid. Looking back, pre-Sawyer, my life before her seems so long ago. She’s my constant reminder that my mantra is more important than ever. Face forward. Another tornado touched down—this time a personal one—and it tore up my life. But I have Sawyer. She’s my anchor and my joy. I catch her hand and kiss it. If I can give her one-tenth of what she’s given me, I’ll have succeeded as a mom.

  When Carly walks into the kitchen, I’ve got coffee going and Sawyer in a high chair eating Cheerios and bananas in yogurt.

  Carly’s curls are rampant, and she’s wearing an old chenille bathrobe that was probably white at one time. But even in no makeup, she’s gorgeous. “What’re you doing up? This is your day to sleep in.” She puts the back of her hand to a yawn.

  “I’m making breakfast for everyone. Where’s Austin?” I open the fridge door and pull out the egg carton and a block of cheddar.

  “Oh, he’s long gone. He’s picking up a bull in Santa Fe this morning, and he’s so excited about the bloodline, he hardly slept last night.”

  “And I’ll bet you thought up some way to distract him.”

  Redheads blush so easily.

  She shoots me a smug smile and pulls from the cupboard a mug with Unforgiven Feed & Tack on the side. “First, coffee. Then I’ve got to get the kids up and ready.” She pours, gives my cup a warm-up, and returns the pot. “Are you coming to Nana’s with us today? You know she’d be thrilled to have you.”

  I take down a mixing bowl and crack eggs into it. “I know, and I appreciate the invite, but I think Sawyer and I will take some flowers out to the cemetery. Then I want to run by the house and see how they’re progressing.”

  She steps close and squints. “How’re you doing?”

  “I called a family law attorney in Albuquerque. I have an appointment on Tuesday.” I beat those eggs hard enough to make their mommas dizzy. If I stay focused, minute to minute, I’m fine. It’s when I have spare moments, quiet, alone moments, that the hole in me expands. I miss him. And I hate myself for missing him.

  “You deserve to be happy, Lorelei. I don’t know why you have such dismal luck with men.”

  “Maybe I’m naive. I say yes to the ones that smarter women see through.” Or maybe those are the only ones who want me.

  Her head is shaking before my words are out. “We all thought the first one was for real. And I was personally rooting for Reese.” She waves a hand. “Until they both proved to be lying manipulative scumbags, of course.”

  Of course.

  * * *

  Two hours later, I pull into the cemetery and drive to our plots. I release Sawyer from the car seat, and she tells me her latest, greatest word. “Down.”

  I lift the bouquets from the seat, take her hand, and we toddle our way to the graves. Daddy’s long headstone has a blank spot next to his name: a place for Momma’s in a time hopefully decades from now. “Hey, Daddy. I’m looking out for Momma, just like I promised you. You rest easy now.” I lay the bouquet on the grass by the stone.

  I lead Sawyer to Patsy’s grave. The disturbed sod pushes a thumb into my bruised heart. It’s not quite level but getting there. “Hey, Patsy. I brought Sawyer to visit.” She plops down on the grave to pull handfuls of grass. I kneel beside her and prop the last bouquet against the stone. “She’s such a happy, wonderful child. You should be so proud…” I have to pause until my throat unlocks. “You don’t have to worry. Your daughter is not going to be raised anywhere but with me, right here in Unforgiven.” I jerk out a weed. “I swear it to you.”

  I give in and cry for the dead. And for us, the left behind.

  Twenty minutes later, I pull into our rutted dirt drive and up to the back door of the house. When I realize I’m avoiding looking at the cabin, I force my gaze up the slight hill. I wonder how much progress the workers made to the interior this week. “None of your business,” I mumble, and unsnap the seat belt. I free Sawyer from the car seat.

  “Down.”

  “I can’t, Peanut. We’re going into the house, and I shudder to think what you’d get into.”

  She points to the cabin. “Baba.”

  I catch her hand. “No Baba, hon.” If I have my way, we’ll never see him again. Any man who cared so little about Sawyer that he’d try to rip her from my arms…If he’s hurting, he can just look in the mirror.

  “Baba.” She sticks out her lower lip.

  I hand her the car keys as a shiny distraction and carry her to the house. I called the contractor on Tuesday, told him to halt work on the upstairs and focus on getting the ground floor livable. We can’t stay with Carly forever, and the sooner Sawyer and I can move in, the sooner we can start to create a new normal. Whatever that looks like.

  The smell of hot mildew hits when I step in the door. The kitchen welcomes me with its shabby, familiar self. God, I’ve missed this house. The living room is empty, furniture having been carried off to the dump, and they’ve torn up the carpet. The baseboards are gone, and there’s fresh plaster at the bottom of the walls. When that’s done, they can lay the heartwood pine floor I chose. I’m still trying to decide on new furniture. I can only do a little at a time before getting overwhelmed, but I’m grateful for the insurance money that allows me to afford it.

  Sawyer drops the keys, jerking me from my reverie. I shoot a look up the stairwell, but I’m not ready to go there. Will I ever be able to walk up those stairs without seeing the hole—to the house as well as my life?

  Well, that’s nothing I can figure out today. I pick up the keys, then bounce Sawyer on my hip. “You ready for our picnic?”

  I’m not sure how much she understands, but she nods anyway.

  “Okay, you can help.” I carry her back to the car, set her on her feet, and take a sippy cup from the diaper bag. “Here, you can carry this.” I put the strap over my shoulder, grab the quilt off the seat, and the grocery bag from the floorboard. “Let’s go.”

  I lead the way to the front yard, blazing a trail through knee-high grass sprinkled with weeds, flowering a pretty yellow. “We’ll pretend we’re in a jungle.” I spread the quilt under the red oak that’s sheltered four generations of West picnics.

  We sink onto it, the crushed-grass smell rising clean and fresh to my nose, reminding me that the world goes on, despite my personal drama. Note to self—be more like the world.

  After slathering Sawyer in sunscreen, I open the grocery bag and lay out our lunch: cut-up fruit, ham and cheese cubes, Goldfish for dessert. I’m not adopting a baby-focused menu, but this was easier. There’s a thermos of lemonade for me, water for Sawyer.

  Sawyer has fallen asleep when a sedan pulls u
p to the far gate in Reese’s fence. A tall man gets out, looks around, then unlocks the gate, pulls in, and closes the gate behind him.

  Warning bells clang in my head. He has a key. Clean-cut in dress pants and an open-collared shirt, he sure isn’t a worker. Architect, maybe?

  I get to my knees to peer over the grass. He disappears around the cabin, only to return minutes later. He puts a hand up to shade his eyes, looking down the hill to the house. I duck. When I look up again, he’s on his way to his car. Dang it—he’s seen Marshmallow.

  Well, what do I care? It’s got nothing to do with me. Might as well get used to it. Reese will be living there soon. Unless he sells out, which gets my vote.

  When the car turns left at the road, a lump of cold forms at the bottom of my throat, like a swallowed ice cube. Despite my willing him to move on, he pulls into my drive.

  I stay crouched, then realize that when he finds me, I’m going to look like an idiot, hiding in the grass. Besides, West women don’t run. I stand up as he gets out of his car, a thick file folder under his arm. “Are you lost?” Well, that’s stupid. If he has a key to the gate, he’s exactly where he wants to be.

  He walks to the edge of the grass, then wades in. “Are you Lorelei?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  “I’m Paul Conroy, Mr. St. James’s attorney.” He holds out a hand.

  My muscles jerk taut, shielding my bones. And my guts. “Get off my land.” The words are frosty, having come from behind the ice cube in my throat.

  “Miss, you don’t understand. I’m—”

  “I’ve had enough of Mr. St. James’s legal business.” I point a shaky finger toward his car. “Leave. Now.”

  “I understand your anger, but that travesty was not perpetrated by Mr. St. James. It was—”

  “You don’t get it. I do not care. Do I need to get my shotgun?” Daddy never owned one, but this city dude doesn’t know that.

  His baby face twists. “Could you please just hear me out?”

  “No.”

  He squares his shoulders and his face firms to authoritative lines. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I can’t leave until I give you some things.”