Cowboy Professor_A Western Romance Love Story

by Ivy Jordan

  She stayed oddly quiet behind me, and I worried that something might be behind the door. When I opened the door, a cacophony of noise hit my ears.

  “Surprise!”

  All I registered was the sound. My hand began to reach for a gun that wasn’t there, and my eyes widened to find the enemy hiding behind the couch, or maybe curled up against the wall. The moment I registered Janet’s expression, Jesse’s face, I began to slack. I must not have reacted too violently because they all kept their smiles up.

  “Hey, Janet. It’s good to see you.” I returned the hug that she enveloped me in and turned to shake Jesse’s hand. “Jesse, it’s been too long.”

  “Entirely too long. You look like a house!” Jesse declared. His voice shook from age.

  “Oh, I haven’t changed much,” I assured him. That was a bald-faced lie, of course. I didn’t know who I’d been when I left. I knew who I was now, of course, and didn’t like him very much.

  “Did you make it home alright? Oh, goodness, it’s been ages!” Janet set a hand on her heart.

  “I did, it was an easy flight. It’s been a long time,” I confirmed. Most people went on shore leave; I’d chosen to stay overseas, where I was needed. A lot of people thought that my actions were hugely patriotic and selfless. It was guilt, in reality, that caused them: a guilt that I certainly couldn’t impart onto anyone here.

  It was only then that I noticed the living room and kitchen had been transformed into some kind of Party City spectacle. Shiny streamers hung from the ceiling fan and the kitchen counters, all in red white and blue. I saw confetti on the tables, and some food spread out, with plates made to look like the American flag.

  “It looks good in here,” I said. “You didn’t do all this just for me?” I didn’t want this party. I wanted to go to my room and take a nap and never to be bothered again. I wanted a drink, maybe, maybe some drugs, but definitely not to explain myself to person after person that I didn’t know anymore. Still, I couldn’t help but feel gratitude at the gesture, and I knew better than to be an ass.

  “Oh, of course! We’re just happy to have you back.” Another family friend whose name I honestly couldn’t remember appeared from the shadows and I shook his hand.

  It only took a few moments of shaking hands and pretending to be engaged to remember why I’d gone to the Navy in the first place. I’d forgotten how trapped I felt in Austin, and how little these people cared about me. They asked about my service, sure, and they would be sad if I’d died, but I knew that they wouldn’t have done the same if I’d been talking to them before my tours. I felt the overwhelming need to explain myself, and I hated that. I’d joined the Navy to get away from that.

  At some point, I stole away to the backyard to catch a breath. A cup of lemonade had found its way into my hand, and I took a sip. Good, sweet, home. Real home, not people that pretended to care because they felt bad about what I’d been through. I couldn’t stomach the artificial sympathy that came from these people. At the same time, I loved these people. The conflict burned in my stomach.

  I took a breath of the spring air. That was healing, at least.

  “Sawyer? Sawyer, you bastard, you slipped right by me!”

  I jerked my head towards the speaker. My old friend, Pete, stood by the door. He had a beer in his hand and that damn crooked smile across his face. He looked largely unchanged, with his squat nose and sweaty forehead fixed as features on his face seemingly forever. He pushed his cap down on his forehead and widened his grin.

  “Don’t tell me you forgot about me!”

  I shook my head. “I couldn’t forget you, Pete. No matter how hard I tried.” I clasped my friend’s shoulder, and he pulled me into a bit of a hug. He was the only person besides my mother I was genuinely happy on any level to see.

  “Jesus, it’s been years.”

  “Six of ‘em.” I sat down on a chair looking out at the small pool. I didn’t remember us having a pool, but I couldn’t fault my mother for having one installed. She was always buzzing with ideas for house renovations. “What the hell have you been up to, man?”

  “More of the same,” Pete admitted. He sat down, setting his cap on his knee and leaning back like he was surveying the land. “I got a few new rows of crops in the ground. Beets, mostly, but some corn, too. The bastards across the street won’t give up the next three acres I’d need to get some wheat in, but I’m working with what I got. Not turnin’ much of a profit, but I’m damn happy.”

  “I’m glad,” I said. We couldn’t all be happy sitting out in Central Texas and gardening for a living, but Pete was happy. He’d never wanted much for his own life. Some called him simple, and perhaps they were right about that, but I admired him for it. Instead of needing some grand schematic for his life, he was happy doing good, honest work. Part of me wished I could be the same way.

  “But come on, we’re not gonna talk about fuckin’ beets. What’d you get up to overseas?” Pete asked.

  I raised my eyebrows a little, wondering how exactly I was supposed to narrow that down. “Well… shit. A lot and then some.”

  “We’ll go out for drinks sometime,” Pete agreed. “I don’t mean to take up your time. There’s a whole party in there.”

  “Ah, I don’t care for… well, you know.” I shook my head. “I appreciate the party. But I didn’t want it. Honestly, between you and me, I’d do fine with a nap. Maybe any word from my father.”

  Pete laughed. “That’s the Sawyer I know. I’m telling you, you’d do great on the farm. You worried about Stacy? She’s not here, is she?”

  “No, no.” I shook my head. Even though I didn’t know for sure whether she was at the party, I got the feeling that she wasn’t. “I haven’t heard from her in years.”

  The door opened, and a few people came out, probably to sit by the pool. My mother sat at the edge and plunged her toes in the water, grinning at me with a wave. I waved back.

  “Probably for the best,” Pete said. “But we’ll talk about it later. Does that mean y’all broke up?”

  “Yeah,” I said. It was so long ago now that it felt like a waste of time even bringing it up. “I’m not torn up about it.”

  “Shouldn’t be,” Pete said, and took a swig of his beer. I wondered where he got it; Mom didn’t keep alcohol around the house. “Tell you somethin’, Gains.”

  “All ears.”

  “See that lady over there?” Pete gestured with his beer to a woman standing near a table, holding a glass of water in her hand. I’d never seen her before. “You know her?”

  “No,” I said. I would have remembered. I’d always had a thing for blondes, and this woman looked like the physical manifestation of what every soldier overseas dreamed to come home to. Long, blonde hair, a pristine figure, and I could see the blue in her eyes from across the yard—oh, I’d made eye contact.

  “Looks like she’s comin’ over, soldier,” Pete said, and he gave me a nudge.

  “Shit. Shit, Pete, don’t…” My friend had already up and left, which was probably for the best. From what I remembered of our partying together before I’d left, he was a horrible wingman.

  The woman began to walk over, and I stood up like it was disrespectful to sit in her presence. Oh, fuck.

  Chapter Four

  QUINN

  I realized when I stepped into the backyard that I’d seen Sawyer before. For the big ‘surprise’ I’d been in the bathroom and hadn’t gotten a chance at seeing the returning soldier. I mulled around getting snacks and a glass of water until finally someone suggested going outside, which, in the cramped room, sounded like a delightful idea. I’d started to wonder if Sawyer was really there at all until I saw him.

  A lot of girls from my high school used to fantasize about soldiers. The military was a big deal for people out of my town; I’d been raised in small city just outside of Austin where girls were expected to marry, and men were expected to leave their new wives for the war. JROTC was a big deal, and boys would line up on the days
that the army recruited. Us girls used to dream about the perfect man, and ‘soldier’ always fell into that description.

  Despite my insistence that I was separate from them, better, more sophisticated—after all, I wanted to go to college—I had a soft spot for the look. When I met Sawyer’s gaze, that only bolstered in my mind. He had a dignified way of carrying himself, a uniform way of looking at things, and I couldn’t pretend not to appreciate his physique. Flawless, really; something I wouldn’t mind getting to know better.

  And why couldn’t I? It was his party, after all. I walked towards him, noting that his friend left like he wanted to promote alone time between the two of us.

  “Hey. You’re the man of the hour, yeah?” I smiled at him and wondered if this was risqué. I’m hardly trying to get in his pants. I just want to get to know him better.

  “I, um…” He offered a small smile and rubbed the back of his neck. “Something like that,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve met you before.”

  “No,” I agreed. “I’m Quinn. I’m Janet and Jesse’s niece.”

  “Oh! I’ve heard of you,” he said. He smiled a little more easily now. “You went off the beaten path and opened up a psychiatrist’s office.”

  “Something like that,” I said. I didn’t really want to pretend I’d ever done a brave thing in my life in front of a Navy SEAL. “Between the two of us, I don’t think I have anything brave to brag about.”

  He shook his head. “I’m trying to get away from that, see.”

  I raised an eyebrow, intrigued, to say the least. Usually, men yearned for a shot at their ego—it was the second most sensitive place on their body, from what I’d gathered. A soldier fresh from battle wanted to hear about how brave he was, or so I’d presumed. “Oh? What are you aiming to do, then?”

  “Start over,” he said. Sawyer pulled his cap down over his head a little more securely, like nervous fidgeting, really. “I went into the Navy to get on track, and I did. Got my life together, I think, or a life together. Now I’m back, and that’s good, but I’m… I don’t know; I just want a fresh start. A second crack at the whole thing.”

  I’d expected to hear story after story about how big of a hero he was. This was an incredibly interesting turn of events. “That’s a humble goal,” I pointed out.

  He shrugged again. “Maybe. It’s realistic. Or, maybe the least realistic. I’m not sure yet.”

  He’d just gotten home that day, after all. I doubted he had any kind of contingency plan for where he was going next or what he was supposed to be up to from here on out. A lot of people coming out of the army had little by way of a plan, some sort of wound, if not physical then mental, and nowhere to go.

  “What does starting over look like?” I asked.

  “I don’t know yet. Getting a regular job, I guess. Not spending too much time remembering.” He shook his head. “Meeting new people helps.”

  To this, I smiled. If there was anything I could help with, I was more than happy to do so. I worried a little about being entirely boring; to someone who had spent six years abroad, surely a woman who’d only been outside the US one time was a terrible bore. “I’d imagine. One of the best ways for people to recover from situations is to form new connections.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, new friendships and new social groups can bring out new parts in people. You expose different parts of yourself to different people, so the more people you talk to, the more you learn about yourself. It’s a pretty big reason why people do group therapy. If they can bounce their experiences off other people, they’ll get more out of it than if they just talk to themselves or to me.” I hadn’t meant to go on a medical tangent and was a little embarrassed to divulge more than I wanted to. I didn’t want to be a nerdy psychologist. I wanted to be a sexy and confident businesswoman.

  His focus, though, made it difficult for me to be embarrassed at all. “That’s really interesting,” he said. “It makes sense. When things rattle around in your brain too long, you start to look at them funny.”

  “Definitely. People distort their own realities.” I smiled at him and took a sip of water. “I don’t mean to chatter. What’s your game plan, now that you’re back?”

  “Like I said, to start over.”

  “And that entails?”

  “That’s about all I know at this point.” He admitted. “But like I said, meeting new people is a start.”

  “Well,” I summoned courage from some part of me that I didn’t know existed, “if you ever want to get dinner and get to know a stranger, let me know. I’m usually free after work.”

  Sawyer raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth to answer my question, and at that exact moment, I felt my aunt’s hands come down on my shoulders.

  “Oh, good, you two met,” Janet chimed. “I was going to introduce you.”

  Jesse came up behind her and smiled. “You two getting along well?”

  “Of course,” Sawyer assured them.

  “I had a question, Sawyer, about your commanding officer. I think I met a young man from your division the other day,” Jesse said.

  I could tell that they were looking for a longer conversation with Sawyer, so I smiled and waved a little goodbye to give them space. I certainly didn’t want to take up all of their time with incessant flirting—honestly, I felt a little bad that I’d done it at all. It wasn’t like me to put myself out there. I’d spent plenty of my life in a room studying and not caring at all for the company of other people. Men, women, or otherwise. I’d had a few boyfriends, but really only because it was something I felt like I was supposed to do.

  But I wanted to talk to Sawyer. Not only that, but talking to him proved to be easy. Even though it had only been a few moments, I got the feeling that we could have talked for hours if we hadn’t been interrupted. And Jesus, those eyes.

  This was inappropriate. It had to be, right? I wasn’t supposed to look at this returning soldier as some sort of personal conquest. Still, I didn’t think that that’s what I was doing. It would be a lie to say that I wasn’t physically attracted to him, but in all fairness, it was probably a good idea for me to get to know him better. Especially considering how highly my aunt and uncle spoke of him.

  “Quinn? Hey, Quinn.” Sawyer’s mother, Kimberly, waved me over.

  I hadn’t spoken to her yet. I’d come with Janet and Jesse rather as a plus one, without any interaction with Sawyer’s mother. I hadn’t heard anything good or bad about her, either. She knew who I was, though, and I knew who she was.

  “Hey,” I said. “Thanks for letting me over, Kimberly. It’s been really nice.”

  “Oh, we’re happy to have you. Any friendly face is good to have around,” Kimberly said. I wondered, briefly, where her husband was—or were they still married? I hadn’t seen him here at the party, and the party was being held at the place that he lived, so to avoid it he would have had to have gone out of his way. That spoke volumes about the situation, but I was leaping to conclusions.

  “Well, I’m happy to help,” I said, a little sarcastically. It was hardly biting the bullet to come over and have some free food and sit outside with friendly people. Even if I didn’t know everyone here, everyone here was perfectly friendly. Even Pete seemed friendly enough, with his missing front tooth and battered baseball cap.

  “Do you think he’s different?” Kimberly asked me.

  I was a bit confused and surprised by her question. “Beg pardon?”

  “You’re a psychologist, right? Do you think he’s different than he was?” Kimberly asked.

  I glanced at Sawyer, still talking to Janet and Jesse. “I couldn’t say, really. I didn’t know him very well before he left. Don’t think I ever met him.”

  “I think he’s different,” Kimberly said. She pressed her lips into a thin line. “He’s still my baby boy; he’s still sweet as can be. Hasn’t said a rotten word since I picked him up at the airport this morning. But there’s something a little different about him. I
expected him to be different, to be a little stiffer, being that the military does that to most people. But he’s got something behind his eyes now.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that exactly. I supposed it was my status as a psychologist that gave me license to be privy to this information at all. “A lot of veterans get loaded down with experiences when they go overseas. PTSD’s pretty common in ex-military because of it. He’s seeing a therapist, right?”

  “I don’t think so,” Kimberly replied. She fidgeted with one of the rings on her finger, a silver cross that extended from knucklebone to knucklebone. “Do you think he needs to see a psychiatrist?”

  “Well, some kind of psychologist,” I said. “For sure. I don’t know if he needs to be taking medication, but it would be a psychiatrist that would sort that out.”

  Kimberly thought about that for a moment. “You know, I don’t think he would go for it. I tried to get him to talk to somebody when he was overseas, and he told me was going to see the psychiatrist on site. But he said all that fellow did was push medicine over the counter, and it was too much for him.”

  “Medication should be a last resort,” I agreed.

  “And it interfered with his thinking, so he quit going,” Kimberly said. “And you know, I don’t think he’d spring for it. He’s always been a terribly somber fellow. Even before the military, he kept everything to himself.”

  I felt like maybe I shouldn’t be listening to all this private information, but I wasn’t about to depart from the conversation. “Getting him in to see someone wouldn’t be a bad idea,” I reiterated. I did believe firmly in psychotherapy, after all, because of its obvious effects. And veterans often needed extensive, prolonged treatment. The longer their issues went untreated, the worse they got. It was like a physical wound that way. If it was a left to fester, it would fester, and infect the whole body.