Rebel Cowboy

by Nicole Helm

  He laughed brittlely. “Hell if I know.”

  That laugh had nothing on the hollowness she felt. The absolute lack of conviction or knowing what step to take. Which, really, was Dan’s fault. He’d hollowed her out, made her all vulnerable. Scraped away her coping with all his being-there crap, which then made her incapable of being her.

  Because all she wanted to be right now was far away. Well, not that far, just across town, in a dilapidated cabin much like this one. Surrounded by damn llamas. And one ridiculously painful mistake.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Caleb’s words were so unexpected, she couldn’t make sense of them. Sorry. Sorry. All pained expression, all sincerity.

  What on earth?

  He cleared his throat. “I know I dropped the ball. I know I’m not what you need. I know it, and I’m sorry. I really am. Please stop punishing me for it.”

  “How am I punishing you?”

  “Leaving? You don’t think that’s punishment? You’re the only thing that keeps this place going, together. You’re the only one with any drive, with any hope it can get better. And more…”

  There was a part of her that wanted to stop this. To walk away before he gathered whatever words he wanted to use against her, but she also saw this for what it was. An attempt at bridging the gap that had dug deep between them, and she loved him too much to walk away from that.

  Even if it hurt.

  That scared her more than anything, because if she loved Dan, and she didn’t want to walk away when it hurt, good God, what would she have left of herself?

  “Mel, you made it seem…maybe not easy, but possible. All the things you did, all the sacrifices you made. You made it look like it was this thing people can do, and then I had to step in your shoes, and I was not prepared. That’s on me, I get it, but I was not prepared for the weight you held on your shoulders. I had no fucking clue.”

  She wanted to blame him. To say he was at fault, but in those words, the lost way he spoke them, the disgust with himself and bafflement with her, she knew this was actually mostly her fault. For taking it all on, for keeping the severity of what they were dealing with and the lack of hope she felt on a daily basis hidden so deep even she didn’t always see it.

  “Come home.” Caleb stepped toward her. He even jerked the hat off his head, grasping it hard between his fingers. “Please, Mel.”

  “We need the money,” she choked out.

  “That’s not why you’re there.” He took another step toward her. “Keep doing the work he needs from you, but the rest of the time, we need you here. I need you to show me how you do it. Really. Without the we’ve got it covered act. Maybe then…”

  “I’m so tired of working so damn hard, Caleb.” She wasn’t sure she managed to say it out loud, wasn’t sure she managed to say it emphatic enough for him to hear. It was such a scary admission when you had no other choice.

  But then his arms wound around her—the hug she was always hoping for and never getting—and, oh, damn it, she couldn’t hold back the tears.

  She had not cried in front of her brother since he’d sat in that hospital room, promising her he would change. She’d believed him then; it felt foolish to believe him now.

  “I need you to step up when shit isn’t hitting the fan, too, Caleb. You can’t just wait until it’s all falling apart.”

  “It’s not falling apart,” he said quietly, chin on the top of her head, offering a comfort she’d been wishing for and afraid to ask for for years. “We have a sister. Hell, if she can cook, we just hit the jackpot.”

  She couldn’t believe he was making a joke, couldn’t believe she was laughing through her tears, but, really, if Summer could cook… “We can’t afford her.”

  “We don’t have much of a choice, I’m thinking.”

  “No. We don’t.”

  “Maybe…maybe this will be the thing that wakes Dad up.”

  Maybe it would be, and if it was anything else—a moment, a change, instead of a person—she’d be hoping so hard for that. But… “Why couldn’t it have been us? Why aren’t we ever enough?”

  He didn’t release her. She tried to step away, but Caleb gripped her harder. “Dad’s stuff isn’t about you.”

  “And it’s about you?”

  “Look.” Finally he released his hold, only to go from hugging her to grabbing her by the shoulders, looking her straight in the eye. “Maybe it won’t be all right.”

  “Caleb.”

  “I’m trying to be honest here. I think maybe…we’ve been missing out on that, for a long time. So maybe things won’t be perfectly okay. Maybe they keep being fucking hard, but if you promise not to run, and I promise not to drink, and we both promise that girl…she’s a part of this if she wants to be…”

  Mel waited, but he didn’t say anything. Not for the longest time.

  “I don’t know if we can bring Dad back,” he continued. “I don’t know if we can save this ranch. But let’s at least save ourselves.”

  “How do we do that?” Because of all the things she’d been trying to do most of her life, saving herself was not one of them. Not until she’d walked off of Shaw property and into Dan’s cabin. So how on earth could coming back be the answer?

  “I don’t know,” Caleb said on an exhale, his hands falling off of her arms. He turned away, and it almost appeared as if he was shaking. His eyes were gleaming in a way she’d never seen from him.

  Absolutely determined. Absolutely all in. “I think the first step,” he said, straightening, “is admitting we need to.”

  Mel turned away, taking a step away from the garage, away from the house, to where she could see the mountains, the field where their meager herd of cattle grazed. She’d once thought this place was her heart, and then she’d been convinced it wasn’t.

  Now, she didn’t have a clue which version of her was right. Maybe neither. Maybe there was some answer she was missing, and maybe…admitting was the only way to find it.

  “I need saving,” she said quietly.

  Caleb’s hand clamped on her shoulder, squeezed. “You’ll come home?”

  She took a deep breath of Shaw air, felt her feet sink into Shaw ground. “I’ll come back.” Home was something she was still figuring out.

  * * *

  Dan sat at his kitchen table, going through his notes, trying to ignore the message on his phone. He still had an hour before he was supposed to go pick up Mel. An hour to dwell and stew in this beautiful summer evening.

  He’d thrown all the windows and doors open, attempted to put some lame-ass chicken dish in the oven, tried to make the whole thing homey and inviting and happy, because Lord knew Mel would need that. Hopefully be comforted by it.

  He wanted to be, but the voice mail on his phone was looming over him.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he muttered, poking the screen with more force than necessary to bring up the voice mail.

  “All right, Sharpe.” Scott’s voice rang out into the quiet evening. “I talked with Phoenix and your father talked with Phoenix and you’ve been given a reprieve. Two weeks from tomorrow. Get in fighting shape. I got you what you wanted, so you better not fucking back out now.”

  Dan let out a breath. He hadn’t promised Scott shit, and he’d just spent a lot of breath telling Caleb he wasn’t going anywhere. He hated that suddenly, after that talk with Dad, after an afternoon alone, he felt the itch.

  The hockey itch. Skates, cold air, control. He pushed away from the table, scattered with llama books and Mel’s notes and his damn phone. The smell of chicken that had about a ten percent chance of turning out.

  But the funny thing about the itch, the dissatisfaction, the little niggle of worry and guilt, was it melted away when he stepped out onto the porch. It really did. It wasn’t even just escaping, it was breathing in the mountains and realizing this was
what he chose.

  It was a good choice, and even if the itch popped up now and again, he’d only have to look around to remember that it paled in comparison. That it gave him a satisfaction that was only season-long, game-long, and then he’d have to go back to his loft in Chicago and try to ignore all the ways he didn’t add up.

  Here, he added up. Here, he stood his ground. Here, he’d found himself, as cheesy as that sounded. This place made him something better, and he wasn’t going to ignore that for a few twinges or Dad’s reputation.

  Dan stalked back inside and dialed Scott’s number. Faintly he heard someone driving up the road, a car he didn’t recognize. He’d deal with that after.

  “You had better be calling to accept,” Scott said.

  Dan looked away from the window and the stranger’s truck and focused on the task at hand. Whoever was showing up at his doorstep would have to wait.

  “I know that you and my father would like to see me play another season, and I’m sorry if I led you to believe I’d take a tryout. I only said I’d consider it.”

  Scott swore, a long and vicious streak of curse after curse, probably imagining money just falling into the toilet. But that wasn’t Dan’s problem, certainly not when Scott had other clients who made him plenty.

  “You can’t be this stupid.”

  “Stupid is as stupid does?”

  More cursing, and Dan winced because, fair enough, joking was not the way to go here. “Scott, I’m sorry. I was mostly sure earlier—now I am entirely sure. I’m not coming back. I’m done.”

  “You’re an idiot.”

  “So be it.”

  “You know this is it, right? Your last chance. You say no now, I wash my hands of you. No team will touch you.”

  “I don’t want any teams. I don’t want hockey. I’m done. I’m going to retire.” The words didn’t even fill him with dread. Sure, there was a little bittersweet ache, but it was the same ache he’d felt outgrowing anything. He was moving on to bigger and better, sad to leave hockey behind, but not bereft. Not less.

  “To play farmer.”

  “Llama rancher, thank you very much,” he said, even knowing joking wasn’t going to ease Scott’s anger. He thought it was rather humorous. Dan Sharpe. Llama rancher in Montana. He liked it.

  The line went dead, and Dan couldn’t feel bad about it. For starters, Scott was just pissed he was missing out on a paycheck, and Dan couldn’t blame him. But he couldn’t go play for another year or two just because a few people wanted him to for their own gains.

  Dad would survive with a little familial blemish, whether he deserved that blemish or not, and Scott had other clients. He was leaving no one heartbroken or destitute.

  The screen door creaked open and Dan turned, surprised, to face Mel.

  “Hey, what’s…” There was a look on her face he’d never seen, and even as he tried to figure out what it could mean, she let the screen door slam behind her.

  “I hope I misheard,” she said evenly.

  Dan carefully placed the phone on the table, never breaking eye contact. Something was going to happen. He wasn’t sure what, but it crackled in the air. “No, I doubt you did.”

  Pieces of her expression stitched together, and it made no sense to him that she was angry, but fury emanated off of her.

  “Call him back immediately and take it back.”

  “Are you joking right now?”

  “Are you?” she demanded, flinging her arms in the air. “You must be. You’re throwing away your life. For what?”

  He swallowed down the answer he wanted to give, the answer he wanted to shout. You! I’m giving it all away because none of it compares to you and this.

  Because if he said those words, she’d be gone. He had to find some better way of saying it. Some way of proving himself that navigated all her anger and all the ways she didn’t want to believe him. All that fear she kept buried so low she didn’t know how to deal with it.

  He had to play this right, not choke, because this place gave him the strength to do that. He just had to find the right words.

  Where were they?

  “You can’t not try out,” she bit out, each word punctuated with some kind of surety he didn’t understand. What the hell was she so sure about? “You can’t retire.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because!” Again with the hands going up in the air. This should be a reaction for him leaving, not staying.

  “What are you so pissed about? I weighed the options and I decided that I like it here better than I like the idea of trying to suck up my way back onto some skates for a year or two. I don’t for the life of me understand what you have to be mad about.”

  “I-I’m not mad.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m frustrated with you for giving up on something you love. You…those aren’t the options. Hockey and leaving is the only option.”

  Strike when afraid—he wasn’t always quick on the uptake, but he saw it now. He escaped his feelings, and she fought them like they didn’t exist. “Why do I get the feeling this isn’t about me?”

  “Of course it’s about you! I saw you on the ice, Dan. I saw you skate with those kids and you glowed. I care about you too much to let you just throw that away.”

  “Well, maybe I fucking glow here too,” he grumbled, hating the way she was using her feelings like a weapon.

  “You don’t.”

  “Well, so the hell what? This is where I want to be.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “What is with you?” He wanted to shake her, and quite honestly, if he thought he could touch her without the L word slipping out and over everything, he probably would.

  “I don’t have the reserves for this, Dan.” Weary. “Call Scott back up and take the tryout.”

  “You don’t have the reserves for what? I’m not doing anything to you. I made a choice about my life.” She didn’t get to do that. Act like she couldn’t handle it, say she cared about him and still wanted him gone. She couldn’t have it all the ways she wanted, no matter what shit was going on with her family.

  “My life is here now,” he said. It wasn’t the time or the place. It would blow up in his face, but like the time when he’d been a kid and hadn’t been able to rein it in—all the emotion and confusion and hurt and love—it took over. It spewed out. So he touched her. He squeezed her shoulders, then cupped her face.

  That beautiful, obnoxious face.

  “My life is here. I am not giving up anything. I fell in love with this place, and I…” He knew better, every part of his brain was screaming at him to shut the fuck up, but his heart always won when he didn’t run. “I fell in love with you.”

  She looked stricken, as if he’d slapped her across the face instead of admitted the depth of his feelings. “No, you didn’t.” Her voice was shaky, her head twisting back and forth in his hands as she pulled away. “You did not.”

  “I see you’re set to be perfectly rational about this.”

  “I can’t do this with you right now,” she said, still shaking her head, still talking in something little more than a thready whisper. “I have…I have too much on my plate already.”

  “I wasn’t planning on telling you right now, honey. I was saving it for a better time. Maybe a nice dinner, add a little candlelight.”

  “Candle… Are you crazy?”

  “I think I may not be the one you should be asking that question to right now.”

  “Is it because you know if you try out, you’ll choke? Is that it? You’re afraid of screwing up hockey? Staying here isn’t safe, and it isn’t…sticking your ground. This is not your ground. You do not belong on this ground.”

  “You believe so little of yourself, that I couldn’t possibly love you and want to be with you?”

  “No, Dan, I believe that little in you.�
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  Chapter 24

  Mel couldn’t catch her breath. It was all wrong. Everything she’d said since the moment she’d walked in. But she’d heard him talking about retirement and staying, and every piece of solid ground she thought she’d gained on the quiet drive over had disappeared.

  No, it had gone up in flames.

  He could not stay. Not now. He couldn’t ask her for more when she had no more to give.

  He’d swept into her life and made everything wrong. She’d run away from her family. She’d been left with only “I don’t know what to do” as an answer when a real problem cropped up. Those things had never happened to her before he’d come into her life.

  She hated it. She hated him. Yes, that was the feeling twisting up in her chest, around her heart, squeezing until she thought she wouldn’t be able to breathe. Hate. All-consuming, heartbreaking hate.

  Yeah.

  Dan cleared his throat. “I think I’ll pretend like I misheard you this time.”

  She shook her head. “You didn’t.” There was no mishearing. There was no going back. She’d said what she needed to say to end this, because ending it was the only way to survive if he actually thought he loved her.

  Loved her.

  No. She could not allow that.

  “Then say it again. Look me in the eye and say it again.”

  She forced herself to look at him. She couldn’t manage eye contact, but maybe if she focused on the dark slash of his angry eyebrows. “I don’t—”

  “You’re not looking at me, Mel.” There was a note she’d never heard in his voice. It was something beyond angry or irritated. It felt threatening, whatever it was. It sounded like bleeding, and she had to close her eyes against the thought that she was hurting him like that.

  He’d hurt her first. He’d undermined everything she was, crumpled the life she’d always known, just by…just by standing by her. No, she couldn’t take that another minute.

  She had to do this. She had to get some control back over her life, and getting rid of Dan was the best way. Besides, she was saving him from failure. He wouldn’t stay, and this way he could blame her instead of himself.