Cowgirl Come Home

by Debra Salonen - Big Sky Mavericks 03 - Cowgirl Come Home

  “Are you sure you want to take on coaching Chloe, too?”

  “If you’d asked me yesterday, I’d have said no, but I really liked working with her today. She’s a quick study, bright and passionate about her horse. She reminds me of myself at that age.”

  “Me, too.” He rolled his eyes and made a face. “I mean, she reminds me of you. Did I ever tell you the first time I saw you? You were Chloe’s age, riding in a fair parade with your dad. You had a big smile on your face and you waved right at me. I told Austen, ‘That’s the girl I’m going to marry some day.’”

  “Really? You said that? How come you never told me?”

  His blush made her want to wrap her arms around him and start something she couldn’t finish so she stood perfectly still and waited for him to say, “Because I knew you’d ask me what Austen said.”

  “Oh.” She hesitated. “I was only a kid. What’d he have against me?”

  “Not you. Your dad. He said I could do better than the daughter of the town drunk.”

  Nothing she hadn’t heard before but it still hurt, oddly enough.

  He pulled her into his arms again. “My brother was an opinionated ass. Still is. I’m sorry.”

  Then he kissed her. And her lips remembered the feel of him…as if she and Paul had never been apart.

  *

  “You should have let her come pick you up.”

  OC was so startled by Louise’s voice, her phone jumped out of his fingers and landed on his lap—the only good thing about being in a wheelchair. “I thought you were asleep.”

  “I nodded off for a minute. I’m sleepy but worried about you. You’re too big for that couch. You’ll roll off in the night and re-injure your leg. If your stump gets infected, it’ll be months before you can be fitted for a prosthesis.”

  He leaned over and grabbed his stump—whoever would have pictured OC Jenkins with a stump? Dead before thirty, maybe, but cut off below the knee? Never. The craziness of the situation made him laugh. “You know what everyone at rehab asks me?”

  She shook her head back and forth in a laconic way that told him the drugs were taking effect.

  “Do I have diabetes? I say, ‘No. I lost my leg the old-fashioned way: booze and orneriness.’”

  Her pretty lips curled up in a smile—the smile that saved his life so many years before.

  “Is Bailey coming tomorrow?”

  “Of course. She wouldn’t miss a chance to scold you the same way she’s been harping on my case all these years. ’Bout time you got a piece of the action.”

  “Defense mechanism,” Louise muttered.

  “Huh? What’s that?”

  “You heard me. She yells at you because she loves you so much and she wishes she didn’t. You disappointed her.”

  “Yeah, well, she did her share of letting me down, too. Got pregnant. Dropped out of college to marry a goddamn cowboy. She was too smart and ambitious to mess up like that.”

  Like the way I messed up.

  She lifted her hand, wanly. OC rolled closer to the bed. The nurses had moved a table and extra chair so he had room to maneuver. He wasn’t very coordinated, but he planned to get better. And he would walk again. As soon as possible.

  He reached out to take her hand in both of his own, then leaned close to kiss her fingers. He couldn’t imagine life without his rock.

  The thought terrified him in a way losing his leg never had. Physical pain was part of life. His father taught him that lesson, hands on. But emotional pain scared the bejesus out of him and made his mouth turn dry. A drink would have been nice, but that option was off the table.

  “Go to sleep, dear. I’ll be right here.”

  Her breathing evened out and her grip lessened. When he was sure she was asleep, he rolled to the skinny little couch under the window. Someone had set up sheets and a pillow. He locked the brake on his chair, removed the left armrest and levered himself onto the couch using his good leg and upper body strength.

  He had a long way to go, but he’d be damned if he was giving up. He was a husband and a father whose family needed him.

  Chapter 12

  “He’s doing better, isn’t he, Bailey? Look how he turns when I shift my weight in the saddle.”

  Bailey caught herself unconsciously shifting her weight on the top rail of the fence and nearly fell off. Damn. Not a good thing. “You’re both amazing. But keep your focus on him, Chloe. Remember what happened the first time you rode him.”

  A lazy horse ready to be done with all the rules and riding in a circle simply lowered his head and gave a small buck that sent unsuspecting Chloe airborne. Luckily, only her pride was bruised.

  “Skipper’s still in the testing phase, Chloe. If he senses your attention is elsewhere…”

  “I know. Sorry.”

  They’d only been at this for two weeks, but Chloe’s and Skipper’s progress surprised them both. Bailey had never considered herself a teacher, but she guessed a really motivated student made all the difference. For two hours every morning, Chloe did anything Bailey asked—right down to mucking out the horse stall.

  They’d covered the care and feeding of her horse the first day.

  “Caring for your horse is your most basic expression of love. You want him safe and healthy, his hooves clean, his coat shiny. The same way your mom and dad feed and clothe you and provide a clean, cozy house.”

  “How come you don’t have any kids?”

  Bailey had known the question would probably come up so she had her answer ready. “Daz was my boy. I loved him like a child.”

  To Bailey’s surprise, she’d found herself talking about Daz a lot during these sessions. She’d been afraid the pain would be too great to bear, but Skipper wasn’t anything like Daz, and Chloe was such a sweet kid and so eager to learn, Bailey found she was too busy teaching to feel sad.

  “Don’t saw the bit, sweetie. Nice even pressure. Squeeze with your knees and don’t forget your posture.”

  Bailey watched for each correction then said, “Nice. Ten more trips around then we have to go.”

  “No…” Chloe protested. “Please? Half an hour longer?”

  “Maybe tomorrow. I have to meet with the Dazzling Minions this morning.”

  She could hardly believe it. She’d hired four local crafters who were not only happy to make jewelry from her designs, they were thrilled to be working for her. Apparently, they liked what they saw on her Etsy page and were eager to be part of her team.

  “I have a team,” she murmured softly. “Amazing.”

  Thanks to the Minions, Bailey had stock. Added to what she’d brought from California, she had enough earrings, necklaces and bracelets, boot bangles, hat bands and belts to risk signing up for a booth at the Great Marietta Fair.

  Paul had used his connections to secure her the last indoor booth in Exhibit Hall-A.

  She hadn’t seen him much since their kiss, except in passing. She’d thought about him a lot and dreamt about him more than she wanted to admit, but between his commitments to the fair and her juggling both parents’ doctors’ appointments and setting up a workspace in the back of the old Fish and Game building, they were lucky to catch a minute alone.

  Probably a good thing, she told herself. She looked at the next few weeks as an experiment. Would her jewelry sell? Was her brand unique enough to warrant opening a retail store in Marietta? Would her dad stay committed to his recovery? Every setback, physical or emotional—like the possibility he and Mom would have to declare bankruptcy—set Bailey on edge. She wasn’t sure how long she could live with the fear of his falling off the wagon. Thankfully, her mother’s diagnosis and prognosis were straightforward and good.

  One less thing to worry about.

  “My mom said she wants to meet you,” Chloe said when her circle brought her close to Bailey. “Apparently, Dad told her all about you.”

  Bailey watched the back of Chloe’s pink T-shirt bounce with the rhythmic trot. All about me? Great.

 
“Great,” she said, faking perkiness she didn’t feel. “Is she coming to the fair?”

  “The fair? Mom? Are you kidding me?” Chloe’s bark of laughter made Skipper side-step abruptly. If she hadn’t been paying attention, she would have been left in mid-air like a cartoon character, but she managed to keep her seat. She immediately patted Skipper’s neck and spoke to him too softly for Bailey to hear.

  “Good job, Chloe. Now, bring him in,” Bailey said. “I’ll meet you at the gate.”

  *

  Paul checked his watch. He had ten minutes to make it to the Main Street Diner. His brother commanded this lunch date via text: “Meet MSD today noon. B there.”

  Normally, that wouldn’t be a challenge since Big Z’s was only a few blocks away from the popular café. Unfortunately, today was a full scale disaster and it wasn’t even noon.

  He’d pulled his remodeling crew off a job to help Jane Weiss put out fires—so to speak—at the fairgrounds. Turning the Big Marietta Fair into a two-week event was turning out to be more complex than anybody figured.

  Unfortunately, the homeowner expected the job done yesterday. She was not happy. Not that Paul blamed her. If he’d had his head on business instead of lusting after Bailey, this might not have happened.

  If that explained the ass-chewing Austen had in mind, he’d take it. Although Paul doubted Austen had the slightest idea what was going on at Big Z’s. Other than acting as Big Z’s attorney of record, his brother had nothing to do with Paul’s business.

  Before pulling out of the parking lot, he texted Chloe to tell her where he’d be.

  For the past two weeks, she’d spent every morning on Skipper’s back, working with her new riding coach—Bailey Jenkins. It had only been a matter of time before his family found out about Bailey’s re-involvement in his life. And, although Paul could truthfully say nothing had happened between him and Bailey beyond that first, tentative kiss, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t bound and determined to convince her to stay in Marietta and give their relationship a second chance.

  And the last thing he needed or wanted was his brother sticking his nose in Paul’s business. Besides, it’s not like the golden boy had all that much to brag about lately. His career was on hold, his reputation in the dumper and, if Paul understood correctly, Austen had dumped Sheri Fast—or was dumped. Paul hadn’t found time to ask.

  Of course, exiting the store proved easier said than done. Mrs. Hayes stopped him in Aisle 8 and asked if they carried surgical tape.

  Surgical tape? In a hardware store?

  He led her to the flashy new display of patterned duct tape. But on his way there, he interrupted two summer hires—students whose names he couldn’t remember—in a lip lock by the paint mixer.

  Something to deal with later.

  Normally, such inappropriate workplace behavior would earn them a stern reprimand, but how could he get in their faces about inappropriate behavior when he wanted to be inappropriate with Bailey so bad it hurt?

  Literally.

  He woke up every morning hard as he had in high school.

  He lucked out finding a parking place right beside his brother’s Land Rover. Even if he didn’t know Austen’s ride, the vanity plates were a dead giveaway: ZLAWMN.

  Paul’s eyes had barely adjusted to the difference in light before he heard Austen call, “Over here, little brother.”

  Little brother. Good grief.

  Paul slid into the window booth across from Austen. “Hi. What’s up? I’m swamped at work. I really shouldn’t be here.”

  Austen stared at him with eyes narrowed, not missing a thing. “From what I hear, there are a lot of things you shouldn’t be doing.”

  “What’s that mean? I’m busy. I don’t have time for your big brother lawyer mind games. What was so important you had to pull me outta Big Z’s today?”

  Austen took a pull from his ice tea. “Dad’s orders. He’s worried about you. Mom would be, too, but she’s too busy taking care of our sister. You remember Mia, right? Bald woman. Looks like me only skinnier.”

  Paul’s stomach cramped. He hated thinking about what Mia was going through. He felt helpless. Worse than helpless. He adored his sister and, normally, she was the person he’d turn to for advice where his love life was concerned. Of course, he couldn’t call her now. His problems were insignificant compared to her health issues.

  So, when they talked last, and she asked what was happening, he felt compelled to make the crazy mess that landed in Bailey’s lap sound like a funny plot in a sitcom.

  He didn’t mention the strong connection he still felt for Bailey or the compassion he had for OC. Which probably explained why their conversations felt stilted and awkward.

  “I talked to Mia last week. She said she feels like crap, but otherwise is doing fine.”

  “She lied. The chemo is turning her inside out.” Austen made a growling sound. “I’d string that piece of shit ex-husband of hers up by his nuts if he had any.”

  Paul didn’t point out Mia’s ex had been Austen’s college roommate and best friend at one time. He knew the line between love and hate could shift slowly like tectonic plates or suddenly quake and split, creating all kinds of long-lasting damage.

  “Mom and Dad are frazzled from taking care of the kids. They’re all coming for the fair. Mom was hoping you’d help, but, as unbelievable as it sounds, you’re involved with Bailey Jenkins.”

  “I picked her up at the airport when her mother asked. You would have said yes, too. Louise saved Chloe when she was floundering.”

  “That was months ago. What about hiring one of the most expensive accountants in the state? Sheri doesn’t work pro bono, you know.”

  He’d received her bill and paid it. He’d consider asking for restitution from what the family recovered from Marla and Jack…if they got anything.

  “The truth is, I haven’t spoken with Bailey in days. I hear about her every day because she volunteered to work with Chloe and her horse. Jen refuses to have anything to do with the ranch and I’ve been too busy to take her out to ride regularly. Bailey is doing me a huge favor.” He leaned across the table and lowered his voice. He didn’t want the gossip mill to create any more havoc than it already had. “She’s not the same person she was when she left. She’s hurt and hurting but trying to move on with her life. Surely, even you can appreciate that kind of gumption.”

  Austen didn’t appear convinced, but he eschewed his comment because a waitress Paul hadn’t seen before walked up to take their order. He wasn’t hungry but he ordered his usual bison burger with sweet potato fries. Mark’s favorite.

  Speaking of kids… He checked his phone. Nothing from Mrs. Knight, the mother of Mark’s best friend, Ben, who’d offered to take both boys to a day-long summer recreation camp.

  “Have you talked to Sheri lately?” Paul hadn’t heard the outcome of the audit, nor had he read about any charges being filed against Marla Sawyer.

  “Not really.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  If his brother had a conscience—a question often debated among his siblings, the slight ruddy hue that appeared in his cheeks might have indicated a blush. “You saw her but didn’t speak?”

  “We bumped into each other at a gala fundraiser at the Edgewater the weekend before last. We’d both had rough weeks and drank a little too much. So, we did what unattached consenting adults sometimes do when they’re attracted to each other.”

  “You had sex,” Paul exclaimed.

  Too loudly.

  Heads turned.

  Austen snarled. “There was a suite available. We grabbed it.”

  “What else did you grab?”

  “Shut up. Sheri’s great. Unfortunately, as you announced in church when you were six, ‘Austen’s not nice.’”

  A family story Paul had heard a thousand times growing up. Apparently, the entire church heard and laughed, which made Austen, who was turning eleven a few days later, shout a very bad word and storm aw
ay…thereby proving Paul’s point.

  “I’m a better judge of character now.”

  “Are you? What do you think is going to happen with Bailey? She’s suddenly going to decide that Montana isn’t as bad as she thought and settle down here for good?”

  Yes. He saw that scenario unfold in his dreams—in a dozen various incarnations—every night. He wouldn’t admit that to his big brother, though. “No.”

  “Good. Because I’ve got news for you, brother, Bailey Jenkins is a user. As soon as her feet are on the ground and she’s got a grubstake, she’ll leave. Just like before. And you’ll be a heart broke puppy again.”

  Before Paul could tell him where to shove his absurd prediction, their waitress arrived with their food. Paul settled for mouthing a less satisfying, “F-you.”

  Austen snickered and turned on the charm to coax extra ranch dressing for his French fries—a culinary favorite no one in the family understood.

  They ate in silence, the hum and energy of the diner adding to the underlying tension Paul always felt in Austen’s presence. One didn’t get to Austen’s level in the game of cutthroat politics without a lion’s share of ego and the drive to impose your will on the people closest to you.

  Paul chewed a bite of the delicious burger, but when it came time to swallow, he had to reach for his glass of tea. His throat felt tight, his stomach tense.

  Damn you, Austen. I wish I’d never agreed to have lunch with you.

  Too late. The seed of doubt had been planted. Was Bailey using him? Again?

  *

  “Oh, good. Looks like my mom is here. That must mean her check-up was good.”

  Chloe chewed on her fingernail—a habit her mother hated—as the old truck pulled into the driveway behind the little house that housed Bailey’s father’s fishing business. She’d ridden her bike here from the Big Z this morning.

  Now or never.

  Mark was supposed to go to the ranch with her today, but he’d jumped ship the minute Ben Knight invited him to play Mindcraft at some stupid Day Camp. That was all he cared about. He didn’t care that Daddy liked Bailey. A lot. Chloe saw the mushy looks they gave each other. That night at their house, she even peeked out the window and saw them kiss. And not an old friends’ kind of kiss. The real thing. Like on TV.