To have his grand scheme derailed by community spirit would have been the ultimate irony, he thought, breathing hard by the time he finally reached his goal.
“How long does it take to get on board?” he asked the teenager ahead of him.
“Five…ten minutes. Goes fast.”
The kid had half a dozen piercings and about as many tattoos, reminding Paul again that he didn’t want to be a single parent. He wanted a full-time, live-in partner to help him raise his children—and any others that came along.
He wanted what his parents had and he knew exactly who he needed at his side to make that ideal come true.
Bailey.
If she’d have him.
She might forgive him, but would she trust him to have her back when he’d failed both times the opportunity came up to put her first?
Maybe OC was right. Maybe I should have waited. Maybe she needs more time…
“Paul?”
He pivoted, nearly bumping into the kid ahead of him.
“Bailey.” His cowgirl dream-come-true in skintight Wranglers, flashy red boots, and a sexy top made out of some pale aqua scarf-like material that nearly made him drool. Her natural straw cowboy hat sported peacock feathers and rhinestones to beat the band. “OC. What are you doing here?”
Bailey looked at her dad. “We’re going to ride the Ferris wheel. Isn’t that why you’re in line?”
She pointed to the gap where piercing-boy had moved ahead.
Paul blushed. The smirk on OC’s face made him feel seventeen.
He made an ushering motion and waited for her to push OC ahead of them. Managing a wheelchair on grass would have been impossible two weeks earlier when the fair started, but after fourteen days and hundreds of thousands of footsteps the grass had been flattered into a worn, if uneven, path.
“Are you using up tickets, too?” she asked, innocently. “Someone gave Dad a fistful and he doesn’t want them to go to waste.”
Paul could care less about buying a whole packet of tickets. He only needed enough to secure them a seat on the Ferris wheel.
The cacophony of carnival sounds barely covered the thudding of his heart. His palms were so damp the construction paper tickets would probably be limp and disgusting by the time they reached the ticket taker.
Piercing-boy wrapped his arm around a girl Paul hadn’t even noticed. She looked about twelve from the back, but as they turned to walk to the gaudy purple and teal colored “basket,” he saw matching piercings and even more ink showing beneath her black lace tank top and leather bustier. Her boobs made her look older. Late teens, probably. About the age he and Bailey were the last time they took this ride.
“Did we look that young fifteen years ago?” She leaned in to whisper sotto voce. So close they nearly touched. Her sweet scent—rose, maybe—pulled him in even closer…until she noticed their proximity and jerked back.
“I was thinking the same thing,” he said. “Shall we ride together? OC, would you mind? If I’m intruding, just say so.”
“You’d be intruding if I was actually going to get on this contraption, but I’m not.”
Bailey made a face—part disbelief, part confusion. “But, Dad, this was your idea.”
“And it was a good one. I just ran out of steam.” He reached down and massaged his thigh. “Getting on and off the merry go-round took more out of me than I thought it would.”
Paul didn’t know if OC was acting or telling the truth, but he appeared convincing.
“I’m sorry. I don’t have to ride, either. We can go—”
“And waste these tickets? Hell, no. You two run along. I’ll be over by the shooting game. Maybe I’ll win you something.”
“Next,” the ticket taker barked.
Paul took her elbow and hurried them to the metal seat where another attendant held open the lap bar that would lock in place. The only technological improvement in the operation that Paul could see was the metal mesh side wings that apparently kept small hands from touching the greasy rocker arms that connected the basket to the framework.
“Are you sure about this?” Bailey asked, hesitating before stepping onto the footrest.
“Why the heck not? It’s a gorgeous night. And I owe you an apology. What better place than the privacy of a Ferris wheel basket thirty feet in the air? If you tell me to go to hell, no one will hear.”
“I’m not—”
“Let’s move it, folks. People are waiting.”
Bailey jumped as if prodded, and Paul hurried after her. The burly guy with biceps the size of Easter hams locked, checked and double-checked the mechanism before nodding okay.
The cart lunged backward the distance of one space, then shuddered and rocked back and forth.
Bailey’s knuckles appeared white on the upper bar.
“Last time we rode this, you threatened to climb off at the top and scale your way to the bottom.”
“A lot has changed since then.”
“You’ve developed a phobia?”
She loosened her grip and turned slightly to look at him. “Did you and my dad set me up?”
“Would you have met me here if I’d asked?”
“Probably not.”
“I didn’t think so.”
She leaned forward, scanning the crowd below. “What did you use to bribe Dad? Tell me it wasn’t a bottle.”
Before he could answer, the ride whooshed backward and up, not stopping for three or four spots. “Of course, not.” I asked him for your hand—the old-fashioned way. “I told him I was an ass. He agreed. Maybe he’s got his phone aimed this way right now and hopes to get rich off the YouTube video when you dangle me over the side by the tips of my boots.”
She rocked forward, making the cart swing back and forth. Paul gulped and grabbed the center bar. “Stop. You know I’m not crazy about heights.”
“Which makes this whole thing even stranger. You could have called if you felt you owed me an apology, but you don’t.”
The ride started moving again, cresting the top then plunging with a stomach-goosing free-fall nearly brushing the landing before climbing upward again. They both laughed.
“I’d forgotten how fun this is.” He thought a moment. “Maybe I’ve always associated the ride with getting dumped and hearing the worst news possible.”
Bailey looked toward the moonlit outline of the mountains in the distance.
“Or so I thought at the time.”
She glanced back.
“Hearing my daughter was hurt—possibly paralyzed—sort of put things in perspective.”
Bailey’s lips crooked upward. “I know exactly what you mean.”
“I was wrong to curse you, Bailey. So wrong I can’t even believe I said the words.”
She took a breath and let it go, lifting her chin to look toward the sky. “Does that mean I’m curse-free now?”
The ride stopped at the three-o’clock position to let someone off.
“Not exactly. I asked my folks how to remove a curse, and Mom said as far as she knows Grandma Hilda’s curses were irrevocable.”
Bailey’s posture stiffened. He quickly added, “Unless the curser kisses the cursee at the exact place and time of the original curse and can prove to the cursee how extremely sorry he is for cursing her in the first place.”
He pointed upward.
Her body relaxed, her eyes softened. “A kiss, huh? How very Disney of Grandma Hilda.”
The ride bounced and jiggled then arced upward. To Paul’s good fortune—or maybe due to some witchy intervention—it stopped at the exact spot they’d been in fifteen years earlier.
The noise of the fair below fell away. The tattooed couple in the basket ahead of them was locked in a passionate embrace. The cart directly behind them was empty.
Paul’s heart boomed against his chest wall. His fingers felt clumsy and thick as he reached into the pocket of his shirt for the ring he’d given his mother for safekeeping.
“Bailey Jenkins, I neve
r stopped loving you. I tried to convince myself I hated you, but I think I hated myself more.”
“Why?”
“For not supporting you. For making your decision tougher than it should have been. I know a lot of people—including some members of my family—who disagree, but they’re not us. We were in this baby-making business together and I abandoned you when the road got bumpy. For that I am sorrier than you could ever know.”
“Does that mean you forgive me?”
“I do. Can you forgive me?”
She didn’t answer right away. But she reached out her hand and laid it along the curve of his jaw. “No.”
His heart stopped beating until she leaned in and lightly pressed her lips to his. “There’s nothing to forgive. We were kids. We both made mistakes. Fifteen years is a long time to pay. I’ll always have regrets, but I can’t change what happened—for you or anybody else. It’s time to move on.”
Move. The word he feared and dreaded. “Does that mean you’re not staying in Marietta?”
“I didn’t mean that literally. I’m done running, Paul. When Dad’s finally ready to admit that his guide days are over, I’ll convert the Fish and Game into a retail store. If B. Dazzled Bling continues to be successful, I’ve got my eyes on a spot in the Graff when I start working in precious gems. A girl can dream, right?”
“Dreams are good. Mine has a certain storybook kind of ending. You and me back together again.”
He held the ring between them.
“Married…eventually, whenever you’re ready…a kid or two…someday. Or not. I know you’ll make a cool stepmom to Chloe and Mark.”
The wheel reversed course and dropped a quarter of the distance to the ground without pause. His grip on the ring faltered and it slipped between them. Luckily, Bailey’s reflexes were sharper than his. Her fingers closed around it and she pressed her fist to her chest.
“Are you proposing to me?”
“Yes.”
“Is this the same ring you tried to give me that night?”
He nodded. “It’s been in my folks’ safe all these years.”
She tried it on. A perfect fit because he’d borrowed one of her rings from her dressing table one day and taken it to the jeweler.
“It’s…not a diamond,” she exclaimed. “It’s a sapphire.”
“A Montana sapphire. If you want a diamond—”
She put her arms around his shoulders and kissed him. “The ring is beautiful. Perfect. And I love the symmetry of the gesture, but…”
Before she could complete the thought, the ride jerked to a stop. The burly carnie lifted the metal bar and motioned for them to exit.
“Wait,” Paul cried, reaching into his pocket. “I have more tickets. Can we go again?”
The guy shook his head. “Not unless you go back to the end of the line. Other people are waiting.”
He crossed his arms to make his point.
Paul could see Bailey’s barely contained amusement when she got out then turned and held out her hand for him. It wasn’t a yes, but he could feel the ring on her finger and the sensation filled him with hope.
He mumbled “Thanks” as he followed her through the metal gate.
He looked around for a quiet spot where they could finish their conversation, but before he could pull her into the shadows, a voice said, “If it isn’t Paul and Bailey. Riding rides. What are you? Seventeen again?”
Bailey tried to let go, but Paul tightened his grip. “Austen. Dad said you weren’t coming tonight.”
Austen shrugged. “Changed my mind.” His gaze dropped to their hands. “So, did you two kiss and make up? I have to say that’s pretty magnanimous on your part, little brother. She kills your first child before it has a chance to develop then nearly takes out your second with some stupid horse trick. Honestly, I don’t think I could be that forgiving. You must be one helluva a lay, Bailey.”
Bailey broke Paul’s hold and stepped forward to face his brother. “So I’ve been told—by both of the men who loved me.” She motioned him to lean closer and whispered something only he could hear before turning away. “Paul, I’ll catch up with you later. I need to find my dad.”
“Try the Beer Garden,” Austen called in that smug, know-it-all tone Paul hated worse than anything.
Paul grabbed Austen’s arm and swung him around, his right fist landing squarely against his cheekbone. The dull cracking sound made the crowd surge closer, sensing a skirmish of some kind. Austen went down, but his hands broke his fall. He rebounded, furious and ready to retaliate.
Paul couldn’t feel his fingers and his wrist was on fire but he braced himself for a fight…until a cowgirl hat adorned with peacock feathers and rhinestones sailed between them, bounced off the waist-high fence and dropped like a Frisbee to the ground.
Bailey picked it up and put it on. “I changed my mind. I’m done running away from people’s opinions.” She put her hands on her hips and looked at Austen. “You love your brother. I get that. Me, too. I always have.”
Paul stepped closer, ready to react to anything Austen might say or do.
“We both made mistakes back then. It’s what kids do. If your family can’t forgive me…well, I’ll—”
“We’ll—,” Paul corrected. “We’ll deal with whatever comes. Together.”
She smiled at him then told Austen, “For the record, I don’t know how to upload a video on YouTube. And I would never encourage any rider to try new tricks without a spotter and a lot of practice. I love Chloe and I would never—ever—do anything that put her at risk.”
“Are we done here, Austen?”
Austen rubbed his cheek and shrugged.
“Good. Then, tell Mom I’ll pick up the kids in the morning as planned.”
“Oh,” Bailey added, reaching into the Marietta Library book bag Paul had seen hanging from her father’s wheelchair. “Will you give this to Chloe?” She pulled out a fuzzy pink bear with a bright yellow and purple bow. “OC won it for her at the shooting booth.”
She looked at Paul and grinned. “Only cost him thirty bucks and the rest of his tickets.”
He leaned in to plant a kiss on her lips then pulled her into the crook of his arm—right where she was meant to be. “See you later, brother. Get some ice on your cheek. Don’t want a black eye when you’re back in Helena, right?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. He was still waiting for one from Bailey, and that was the only answer that counted.
*
OC chuckled under his breath.
He’d watched the whole confrontation from start to finish. He’d been on his way back from the game booth with his prize when he spotted Austen Zabrinski watching the Ferris wheel. The look on his face was one OC knew well—self-righteous indignation.
OC hadn’t been able to catch everything said, but he’d heard enough to ache for his daughter. He knew she’d always regret her decision—even if he hadn’t given her any choice in the matter at the time. The last thing she needed was some judgmental jerk butting in just when Paul was about to propose.
When she’d stormed away, OC had had to grip the arms of his wheelchair to keep from jumping to his feet to fight Austen. Luckily, Paul had taken a swing for him.
And a moment later, Bailey showed up. Breathless. Her eyes glittering with unshed tears.
He’d held out the bear and said, “This is for Chloe.”
She’d looked over her shoulder then back.
“You’re not going to let Austen Zabrinski dictate your future, are you? If you love the man, stand your ground, girl. His family will adjust. People always do.”
Her smile was the best he’d seen in days. Years, maybe.
Then she’d kissed his cheek and asked, “Want me to call Mom to help you get back to the exhibit hall?”
He’d waved her off. “I’ll manage. Go. Do what needs to be done.”
And she’d done him proud, standing up for herself—and Paul.
He waited until Bailey and Paul
disappeared into the crowd then he hooked two fingers into the corners of his mouth and whistled—same as he’d taught his daughter at the ripe old age of five. People turned. A lot of people, but OC only cared about one—Austen Zabrinski.
When Paul’s older brother looked his way, OC motioned him over.
“Mr. Jenkins,” he said, surprisingly courteous given the disrespect and hostility he’d shown Bailey.
Misogyny stemmed from any number of different roots, OC knew. Austen’s hang-ups only mattered where Bailey was concerned. “What can I do for you?”
“You can push this piece of shit wheelchair to Building-A.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you’re the kind of man who cares what people think.”
“Unlike you.”
“Damn right.” He waited until Austen had his hands on the grips then he added, “I never gave a flying fig, but I care now that Bailey is back to stay.”
Austen made a skeptical sound. “What makes you so sure she won’t take off again?”
“Cause she’s pregnant with your brother’s baby, and this time she isn’t going to listen to anybody—especially not me—if we were foolish enough to try to talk her out of having it.”
“Pregnant? How do you know?”
OC eased back in the chair and let out a sigh. “Same way I know where the fish are when I’m scouting a creek. It’s a feeling. And I’m never wrong.”
Last time, he’d known weeks before the test kit showed up in the garbage. Plenty of time to fret and stew about his daughter’s future. And his conclusion set him on a three-day bender that culminated in a shouting match with Bailey where he used every kind of emotional blackmail he knew to convince her to do what he wanted—escape. The way he’d never had the balls to do.
This time, he’d do anything in his power to support her decision to stay. And that included coming clean with Austen Zabrinski.
Chapter 21
Bailey felt the same type of after-buzz she normally experienced following a successful ride. She’d stood up to one judgmental asshole and felt empowered, excited and a little giddy.
“Are we really going to do this?” she asked, eyeing the open door of the camper. She wanted him. She did. And she wanted to say, “Yes. I’m ready to commit in a way I wasn’t fifteen years ago. Ready to be the person I couldn’t have been then.”
Cowgirl Come Home Page 22