Cowboy Brave

by Carolyn Brown

  He pressed the heels of his hands into his own eyes. Then he stared at her for several long beats. He thought about the baseball scholarship he’d almost lost because of his broken leg senior year. Then, without warning, he thought of loss in a whole new way. But there wasn’t time to process.

  “He plays ball,” he said. “He has my goddamn eyes, my mother’s goddamn name, and he plays ball?”

  “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” she repeated, the tears pooling now.

  He slammed his palm against the side of the truck bed, and Ava yelped.

  “Hey!” her father yelled, taking a step toward Jack and then lowering his voice. “That’s my daughter. And my grandson in there,” he said, pointing toward the winery. “I will do anything I need to do to protect them, even if it means calling the cops on you right now. No one forgot what you did, Everett. Or who your daddy is. I don’t care what happened between you and my daughter in the past. Because there is no future for you here. You’re not good for either of them.”

  Jack felt the sting in his palm and started backing toward the driver’s side of the truck.

  “Was,” he said, and he watched the other man’s brows furrow. “You know who my daddy was,” he amended. “He died earlier this week.”

  Ava let out a quiet sob that mingled with his name.

  “I shouldn’t have come,” he said, his voice tight with strain, his hands balling into fists. He fought to maintain control, to keep from scaring her again. But his anger was justified. He knew that much.

  He shook his head and spoke softly. “Hell, Ava.”

  Bradford Ellis took another step in Jack’s direction as he pulled open his truck’s door.

  “Please, Dad. Stop. Please.” Ava pressed her hands to her father’s chest and urged him back again. But he kept speaking over her shoulder.

  “You’re trespassing, Everett. I suggest you head on out, now.”

  Jack didn’t wait to see if she’d turn around again. He was in the truck, engine roaring to life, before he lost it completely.

  He had a son.

  In the span of ten years—and ten minutes—Ava Ellis had wrecked him not once, but twice.

  And here he was, doing what he did best—leaving.

  Chapter Five

  Ava had been in a fog ever since Jack Everett had sped off the Ellis property yesterday. The proof was in the coffee. She couldn’t even stomach a cup, and she didn’t normally acknowledge the morning until she’d had at least one, if not two. Her mug rested full and steaming in front of her, but all she could do was stare at it. Owen sat across from her at their round, wooden breakfast table, shoveling Cheerios into his mouth like they were his last meal.

  “Hey there, slugger. Slow down. The bus isn’t coming for—” She glanced at the clock above the stove. “Shit!” she yelled, sliding her chair back from the table with such momentum that she knocked the full mug over.

  Owen jumped up, bowl of cereal and spoon in his hands as he protected his precious cargo. “Mom,” he scolded in that sweet boy voice of his, but he was giggling. “You swore and almost gave me coffee-Os.”

  Both their heads turned toward the front of the house as the slow hiss of a school bus stopping sounded outside.

  “Shit,” Owen said under his breath and swallowed his last bite.

  “Language!” Ava yelled. “Quick. Grab your backpack. And your baseball bag. Are your cleats in the bag? I’ll grab your lunch from the fridge. And—shoes! Put your shoes on. Did you brush your teeth? Doesn’t matter. You’ll do it before bed tonight. Twice.”

  The two of them scrambled through the kitchen and into the living room, Ava snagging her son’s lunch on the way while he frantically tied his shoes and stuffed his cleats in his baseball bag. She stuck her head out the door and waved at the bus driver, who tapped at his wrist as if she didn’t know they were running late.

  “Lunch!” she called, and Owen looked up just in time to catch the paper sack and drop it into his backpack. “Grandma’s gonna pick you up and take you to practice, and I’ll be there by the time it’s over.” He had a bag on each shoulder and was halfway through the screen door.

  “Love you!” She strode toward him and planted a kiss on his tousled mop of hair.

  “Love you!” he echoed as he bounded off the porch, across the yard, and up the steps onto the bus.

  “Thank you!” she cried, waving to the driver. “Sorry!”

  Then she stepped back inside and fell against the door, closing it with her butt and letting out a labored breath. That’s when she heard the off-tempo, staccato drips against the kitchen’s tile floor—along with what sounded like a tongue lapping the spilled liquid.

  Shit.

  “Scully!” she yelled, sprinting the few feet into the kitchen, stopping short at the scene before her. Her lovely Kona blend blanketed the kitchen table, puddles forming under the edges where the coffee had run off and onto the floor. Their Lab stood, paws in puddles, slurping up the spilled coffee. “Scully, get!” His head shot up, his wide eyes meeting hers. She pointed toward the doggie door that led out to their fenced backyard. “Out!” The dog obeyed, traipsing caramel-colored paw prints across the tile as he went.

  She surveyed the damage, which was still significant, and decided that catching him after only a few sips—along with the milk and sugar she used to dilute the liquid—had probably kept him clear of any caffeine-related danger, but she’d call the vet to make sure. First, though, she had to clear her head, which meant processing what had put her in this fog to begin with.

  She’d satisfied Owen yesterday afternoon, explaining away her reddened eyes as having been surprised and excited to see an old friend she’d missed for a long time.

  Owen understood the concept of a happy cry and didn’t think much of her lie of omission, but Ava knew that’s what had kept her up all night and this morning settled into an aching knot in her gut.

  She had lied to Jack, and now her son had seen his father, and she had lied to him, too.

  Then again, she’d been lying for ten years. Hadn’t she? Owen hadn’t really grasped the concept of father until he was in preschool. And when he’d asked if he had one, she’d simply told him yes, that she loved his dad very much, but he’d had to move away before Owen was born.

  But damn it, there was a right way and a wrong way to do this, and getting surprised by Jack like that—and then by Owen, too—wasn’t the right way.

  She grabbed the paper towels from the counter and set to work cleaning up her mess. Well, the one that could be easily absorbed with a roll of Bounty Select-A-Size. That other, bigger mess—the one she planned on tending to as soon as she de-coffeed her kitchen—was another story.

  Fifteen minutes later, Scully’s paws were clean and he was back inside. The vet had assured her he hadn’t consumed enough caffeine for her to worry. Now she sat in her Jeep, smelling like she’d just come off a ten-hour shift at Starbucks. Smelling like coffee was the least of her concerns, though. She pulled her phone from her purse and set an alarm for 3:00 p.m. so she didn’t lose track of time this afternoon like she had this morning. It would be one thing for Owen to miss the bus—she could have driven him the fifteen-minute ride to school, the only consequence his disappointment at missing out on the extra time with his friends. But forgetting him at practice? It wasn’t as if anything like that had ever happened before, but then the events of yesterday afternoon had never happened before, either.

  She did a final check in the rearview mirror, decided she looked about as frazzled as she felt, and thought To hell with it as she backed away from her house, headed on the hour drive to Oak Bluff.

  Ava’s tires crackled over the gravel driveway in front of the Crossroads Cattle Ranch. The knot in her stomach tightened not only at the thought of seeing Jack again but at what it must be like for him to be here after all this time. He hadn’t talked much about his parents when they’d met. He didn’t need to. The gossip preceded his arrival. And once they’d become close,
the most he’d done was confirm that his mother had died years before and that his father’s drinking and abuse was the result.

  She thought about her own father’s behavior yesterday afternoon. She’d hated him for it in the moment, but realized she had what Jack never did—parents who’d do anything to protect her.

  Tears pricked at her eyes as she rolled to a stop behind the white pickup that had caused her to swerve off the road less than twenty-four hours before, but she swallowed them back. She had no right. He was the one who’d had the rug pulled out from under him, not her.

  She reached for her key, ready to pull it from the ignition, and found that it and the rest of the keys on the ring already lay in her lap. Huh. So she’d turned the car off. Must be that brain fog again.

  She yelped when someone rapped their knuckles against the driver’s side window. She turned, heart in her throat, to find Luke Everett grinning at her. He might have aged a decade, but she’d never forget that devil of a smile.

  He stepped back to let her open her door and she climbed out, albeit on wobbly knees. There was no turning back now, not that she would. She owed Jack an explanation at the very least. At the most—well, she owed him ten years she couldn’t give back.

  “Red,” Luke said, invoking the nickname Jack had given her when they were teens. He took his hat off and squinted at her. “Well, you sure as shit look the same as you did in high school. Lemme guess. You heard about dear old Dad and came to pay your respects?”

  Luke had changed. He must have hit a growth spurt sometime after Jack left, because the boy she remembered had been a head shorter than his big brother and lanky as the day was long. The man who stood before her was exactly that: a man. Tall and broad with corded muscles lining his exposed forearms. And a nasty gash across his cheek.

  Ava made an attempt to smooth out the wrinkles in her peasant skirt, then remembered the wrinkles were meant to be there and forced her fidgeting hands to stay still.

  “Are you—okay?” she asked, pointing at her own cheek.

  He winked. “You should see the bull,” he said, then laughed. “Not a scratch on him.”

  She bit her lip. “Jack told me about your dad,” she said but then paused. She knew sorry wasn’t exactly the right word but also knew that she didn’t wish death on anyone, no matter how awful a person was.

  “I know,” Luke said, as if he was reading her thoughts. “What do you say about a man who knocked his kids around and drank himself to death? I don’t think they make a greeting card for that.”

  He offered her a warm smile, which put her more at ease. She still wanted to throw up from nerves—but to a lesser degree.

  “Wait a second,” Luke added. “Jack told you? I didn’t know you two were still in touch.”

  “No.” She swallowed, her level of nervousness climbing the chart again. “I mean, yes. We spoke yesterday. Did he—did he not say anything about running into me?”

  He ran a hand through his blond hair and dropped his hat back on his head.

  “Well, shit,” he said. “That explains him going on a bender with Walker for a second night in a row. He came home yesterday afternoon, did some work in Dad’s office, and then helped Walker finish off a bottle of whiskey. I thought he’d still be sleeping it off, but he took off for the vineyard thirty minutes ago.” He gave her a nod. “You did some number on him back in the day, Red. Guess you still have that magic touch.”

  She blinked a few times as realization set in. He hadn’t told his brothers about Owen.

  “Vineyard?” she asked. “I thought this was a ranch.”

  “It is. But apparently Jack Senior bought a vineyard without letting any of us know. Just off the property. So big brother thinks it’s on him to figure out what to do with it.” He shrugged. “If you ask me—which he hasn’t yet—he ought to sell it right back to the first buyer he can find so we can try to get the deed on the house back, though I doubt we’d break even. I’ve got some money saved up, though. Maybe we can dig this place out of debt. Then Walker and I can get back to ranchin’, and Jack can get back to lawyerin’ and pretending this place doesn’t exist.”

  She heard a bitterness in his tone that didn’t quite mesh with Luke’s playful disposition. But he painted that smile back on quick enough that she almost second-guessed herself. Almost.

  “You said he’s at the vineyard now?” she asked, already feeling like she was overstepping her welcome yet doubting she’d be welcome at her next destination at all.

  Luke nodded. “If you back out of the drive and head west, take the second right onto the main street, Oak Bluff Way. It’s a mile from there, right through town.” He looked her up and down, taking in her top, skirt, and sandals. “It’s a nice walk through the ranch property, too—if you’re dressed for it.” He winked at her again.

  That must have been what Jack had done, seeing as his truck was still here.

  “Thanks,” she said. Her heart twisted as she realized how much Owen would like his uncle if he ever got to meet him. “I’m good with driving.” She held out her hand, not sure what the proper parting gesture was between two people who shared a short past—and maybe, she hoped, some semblance of a future. Between Jack and his son. She and Jack were the past, right? They were different people now. Plus, she had a college application to complete, a long-awaited education to begin the following semester, and he had a life in San Diego. They’d both been moving in different directions since the day they’d said good-bye, and it seemed they were still on two different paths that weren’t meant to intersect.

  Look at what he’d done—college, law school, joining a successful practice. She’d followed his career from afar. Even if she’d chickened out trying to contact him, she knew he’d done well, and part of her found satisfaction in that. Pushing him to leave had been the right decision at least in that respect.

  Luke took a step toward her and dipped his head to kiss her on the cheek, snapping her out of her reverie. “You look good, Red.”

  A sudden warmth spread through her. At least one member of the Everett family was happy to see her.

  “You too,” she said. “Say hello to Walker for me.”

  He laughed. “Now he is sleeping it off. But will do when he rejoins the land of the living.”

  She smiled and stepped back toward her car, opening the door. “Thanks,” she said.

  Ever the gentleman, Luke gave her a quick tip of his cowboy hat. “My pleasure. And if he’s pissed at someone interrupting his alone time, be sure and tell him I sent ya.”

  She laughed at that and settled herself back into the car. But as she slammed the door and pulled slowly back onto the street, the ease of being in Luke’s presence gave way to the sinking feeling she’d had since she’d watched Jack lay eyes on his son for the first time. She’d explain as best she could, and that would be that. That was why she’d made the drive today, to get everything out in the open. Owen was what mattered now, and if Jack decided he wanted to be a part of his son’s life, they’d figure out what that meant for them. They could make their version of a family work for Owen’s sake.

  Even if Jack never forgave her.

  Chapter Six

  The breeze cooled Jack’s skin, and he was grateful for it. It was seventy degrees at best, but the cloudless sky made the sun feel much stronger. It didn’t help that he’d left his hat in the truck—or that he still felt like he’d been hit by a freight train. Whether that was because of the booze or his encounter with Ava the day before was still in question, though he guessed it was probably both.

  He walked the rows of grapevines slowly, his steps measured and his head pounding. The whiskey had helped his inability to process what had happened at the Ellis Vineyard, but it wasn’t doing shit for his capacity to remain upright. Maybe he should have waited the ten minutes it would have taken him to make a pot of coffee, but after two nights in that house, the walls were closing in on him. He needed out.

  He ran his hand along the leaves. Here
and there he found a clump of grapes, most of them wilted.

  “How the hell are we gonna breathe new life into this?” he asked out loud.

  “With a hell of a lot of blood, sweat, and possibly tears?”

  He stopped mid-step and tilted his head toward the sun, allowing himself one long breath before he spun to face her.

  Her red waves rested on her shoulders, radiant in the sun, and his breath caught in his throat despite his anger. Because he was angry—and so many other things he couldn’t yet name. Whatever he was feeling, though, Ava Ellis was responsible, and he sure as shit didn’t like anyone having that kind of power over him.

  “What the hell are you doing here, Ava?” It wasn’t as if he didn’t know the answer or that their meeting again was inevitable, but he hadn’t counted on inevitable being this second, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for whatever came next. And despite the lightness he felt at her nearness, he wouldn’t let the sliver of happiness he’d felt at seeing her yesterday override the betrayal he felt now.

  She took a step toward him, and he did nothing to encourage her. He did his best to remain impassive even as his head throbbed in time with his pulse.

  “I just want a chance to explain,” she said, her voice soft and tentative. “I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I do need you to understand why.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Really?” he asked. “Because I spent the whole ride back here yesterday trying to answer that same question. And when I couldn’t, I drank myself into a stupor.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut for a second, trying to keep the pounding at bay. But it was useless. “I took off from this place so I could leave that shit behind. So I wouldn’t become him. I’m back two damned days, and I’m already acting more like Jack Senior than I did when I lived here.”

  Bitterness and blame dripped from each word, and he knew she wasn’t responsible for all of it. He had free will, made his own decisions. But that didn’t change the fact that he couldn’t figure out how to process what had happened since his return without simply numbing himself to it.