Daisies in the Canyon

by Brown, Carolyn

  Tiny Lee threw back his head and laughed. A man that size should have laughed like a biker or a trucker, but his laughter was as high-pitched as a little girl’s.

  Cooper took Abby’s hand and wove his way through the people until they were at an empty table for four. Before they could set their beers down, Nona, Travis, and Waylon joined them. Nona counted chairs and sat down in Travis’s lap.

  “Abby, it’s good to see you again. Where’s the other two sisters?”

  “Shiloh and Bonnie might be along in a little while. Nice to see you all again,” Abby said. “This cowboy right here has promised me a bunch of dances. Miz Nona, you are welcome to my chair.”

  “I kind of like the one I have right here. A cowboy that promises a woman a bunch of dances means he’s gettin’ the brand heated up,” Nona said.

  “I hope not,” Abby said.

  Luke Bryan’s voice singing “Drunk on You” came through the jukebox and Cooper had not been lying when he said he could dance. But something was wrong. He was executing a fine fast two-step, but he wouldn’t look at her.

  “We need to talk,” she said.

  “Yes, we do. You go first,” he said.

  “We need to talk about protection,” she said.

  “I can’t hear you over the music. Did you say election?”

  She raised her voice. “Protection.”

  “As in a bodyguard or as in mosquito spray or . . .”

  The song ended at the same time she blurted out in a loud voice, “As in sex.”

  The whole bar went quiet and she could hear Tiny Lee’s girly giggles in the background. Thank goodness no one made a comment, and the next song on the jukebox brought the people onto the floor for a noisy line dance. Her face turned scarlet and she threw her hand up to her mouth.

  “Shit!” she muttered.

  Cooper picked up her hand and led to the far end of the bar. He twirled the stools around so that they were facing each other, dropped her hand, and stared at her without looking into her eyes. She’d seen amusement, laughter, and a multitude of other emotions in Cooper’s dark brown eyes, but never the anger that flashed right then. With only a little imagination she could see steam coming out his ears.

  “I assumed you were on the pill,” he said.

  She shook her head. “Prescription ran out a couple of months ago. I knew I was getting out of the service, so I didn’t get another one.”

  “Then you could possibly be . . .” The sentence trailed off.

  She nodded. “But not likely. I should have been . . .”

  He put a finger over her lips. “I would marry you, Abby.”

  She didn’t want a man to marry her because she was pregnant and she damn sure didn’t want to marry one who was so mad he couldn’t even look at her. Her mother had raised a child alone and she could do it, too. Today’s world didn’t tar and feather a woman for getting pregnant before she was married.

  “You look like you are about to explode,” Cooper said.

  “What if I don’t want to marry you?”

  “You made that clear already. But a child needs two parents.”

  “Why? Your grandpa was your only parent and I never had a father.”

  “But it wasn’t a perfect situation, was it?” he argued.

  “Life isn’t perfect.”

  “If I father a child, I will be part of his or her life, Abby.”

  “I would not marry you, Cooper. Not for that reason.”

  “I’m not surprised one bit.”

  “Why?”

  “You just told Nona you hoped I didn’t have a branding iron. Where are we headed with this thing, Abby?”

  “Don’t. Just don’t.” She put up her hand.

  “I need some air and I see your sisters coming in the door. I’ll be back in five minutes.” He left her sitting on the stool and didn’t even speak to Shiloh and Bonnie as he went outside.

  “Where’s Cooper going? Did he get a call to go back to the sheriff’s office tonight?” Bonnie hiked a hip on the stool he’d left behind.

  “Look. There’s Rusty over there dancing with a woman,” Shiloh said.

  “And there’s your cowboy sitting at the table with Nona and Travis.” Bonnie smiled.

  “Waylon is not my cowboy.” Shiloh blushed.

  Abby had to swallow the lump in her throat before she could speak. “I need my truck keys. I’m leaving right after I make sure Rusty can give y’all a ride home.”

  “Fight?” Shiloh asked.

  “Big one.”

  Bonnie leaned in closer so she could be heard above the noise of the jukebox. “I’m going home with you, then. You don’t need to be alone. Come on. Shiloh, you can stay and flirt with your cowboy.”

  Shiloh’s mouth clamped together in the same firm line that it had the morning the coyote got into her henhouse. “I’m going with you.”

  Cooper was standing with a group of cowboys beside a black pickup truck. His back was to the Sugar Shack, but his stance told Abby that he was still angry. Shoulders thrown back, legs slightly apart, arms folded over his broad chest. She didn’t need to see his face to know that a mad spell was sitting firmly on his shoulders. A woman with flaming-red hair pushed her way out of the crowd and plastered herself to his side. In the moonlight, Abby could see one of her hands teasing its way up his inner thigh as she gazed up into his face.

  Abby made it to the backseat of the truck before she gave way to the tears.

  “Start talkin’,” Bonnie said.

  “She can’t talk. She’s cryin’ too hard. They had a fight and now there’s a redhead trying to get his zipper down and she saw it,” Shiloh said.

  They were home before Abby’s sobs turned into sniffles. With Bonnie on one side of her patting her shoulder and Shiloh on the other, keeping her supplied with fresh tissues, she was finally able to tell them about the argument.

  “Neither one of you is settled in a commitment like you should be. Everything has happened right on the heels of a funeral that unnerved us all,” Shiloh said. “It’s like you got the foundation put up for a house and an earthquake has come and shook it real good. Now what do you do? Shore it up and keep building or stick some dynamite under it and blow it all to smithereens?”

  “She don’t need a bunch of mumbo-jumbo therapy shit,” Bonnie said. “She just needs us to be here for her so she can vent. She’ll figure out what she wants to do after the fire dies down from the argument.”

  “What I need is a shot of whiskey,” Abby said.

  “What you need is moonshine. That would knock you on your ass and tomorrow things will look better, but we don’t have any more,” Shiloh said.

  “Whiskey will have to do.” Bonnie started for the kitchen. “Want a beer, Shiloh?”

  “I’d love one.”

  “I’m so sorry I ruined your night,” Abby said.

  “You didn’t ruin anything. Having a sister is more important than dancing in a butt-ugly pink honky-tonk,” Shiloh answered.

  “That place was one ugly son of a bitch.” Bonnie put a double shot of whiskey in Abby’s hand and gave Shiloh an open bottle of beer.

  Abby took a sip and a weak giggle escaped from her chest. “Anything that damned ugly is sure to stir up trouble. Blame the whole mess tonight on the color pink. I vow to never even eat strawberry ice cream again.”

  “That’s the spirit.” Shiloh touched her beer bottle to Abby’s glass. “We shall all three boycott pink from this day forth.”

  “Never liked it anyway. It reminds me of Pepto-Bismol and puke,” Bonnie agreed.

  Chapter Twenty

  Abby’s mama always said things looked much better in daylight than they did in the dark. She was right again. Sunday morning was one of those beautiful days that promises winter won’t last forever and spring is on the way.

>   The argument was the last thing she’d thought about as the whiskey and tears dulled her senses so she could sleep the night before. It was the first thing she thought about when she awoke that morning. It had been as much her fault as Cooper’s, because she’d run from the problem rather than showing him that she was willing to fight for what they’d built. Now she just had to figure out how to make it right.

  She stumbled from bedroom to kitchen to find Shiloh cooking and Rusty with a cup of coffee in one hand and a stolen piece of bacon from the platter where Shiloh stacked it up next to the scrambled eggs.

  “Where’d you go last night? One minute you and Cooper were all hugged up and the next you were gone. He was an old bear all evening. I finally told him to go home because he was putting a damper on the whole place with his pouting,” Rusty asked.

  “He deserved to be in a bad mood.” Bonnie rubbed sleep out of her eyes and went straight for the coffeepot.

  “What did he do?”

  “Ask him,” Shiloh answered.

  “He was a jackass,” Bonnie said.

  “Never saw him act like that and I’ve known him since we were kids. What did you do, Abby?” Rusty eyed her carefully.

  Rusty turned his gaze on Abby and she felt like those big green eyes of his behind the thick glasses could see straight into her soul. “It’s a long story and I’ll take partial blame for the argument. Neither of us handled it right.”

  “She’s fighting a commitment war,” Bonnie said.

  Rusty shivered. “That word scares the bejesus out of me.”

  “It does most men and women, too, if they are honest,” Shiloh said. “Let’s eat before this gets cold. We’ve got chores to do and church and then we’re all expected at Nona’s for dinner today.”

  “Damn! I forgot about that. Maybe Cooper won’t go,” Abby groaned.

  Rusty picked up a plate and started loading it up with breakfast food. “Cooper does not turn down home-cooked meals, and you should know that.”

  Abby sat down to breakfast and suddenly her mother’s voice was in her head. She shoved crisp bacon in her mouth, but not even the crunch of chewing could make Martha Malloy hush.

  You are acting like a child. So you and Cooper had a fight and you are miserable. You think he’s not in the same fix as you? Adults talk things out, girl. They don’t run away from their problems. And remember, you could be pregnant, so you need to talk about that rationally, too.

  Bonnie kicked Abby under the table. “You are doing that again.”

  “What?” Abby asked.

  “Fighting with yourself. You have this look on your face. I reckon we all do when we’re trying to figure out something and our heart tells us one thing and our head is saying something else,” Bonnie answered.

  “Do you ever get someone’s voice in your head and you couldn’t knock it out if you hit yourself between the eyes with a sledge-hammer?” Abby asked.

  “Oh, yeah. It’s called your conscience and mine usually has my mama’s voice,” Shiloh said.

  “And mine has my dad’s.” Rusty nodded.

  “Granny’s.” Bonnie shrugged and looked at Abby. “So who are you fighting with this morning?”

  “That would be my mother,” Abby answered.

  Her mama could give her a sign or maybe talk to God about sending one. She’d appreciate anything at all that would ease the turmoil in her soul.

  “And what is she telling you?” Bonnie asked.

  “To be honest with myself,” Abby said. That was all she was going to admit until she figured things out. A sign would still be nice.

  Rusty changed the subject. “Tomorrow we’ve got more plowing to get done. Right across the field from where Cooper is about to tear up a field and put another crop of winter wheat. Y’all enjoy the day off, because it’s about to get really busy and believe me, come spring, it will be hectic even with all of us working.”

  There’s your sign. Martha’s voice came through loud and clear.

  Signs should fall from the clouds with a full set of directions, objectives, and side effects. They should definitely not come in vague terms about plowing a field the next day, but that’s all Abby had, so she’d have to figure it out on her own.

  Plowing, fence, busy: those three words stuck in her head as she ate breakfast and did her part of the morning work. She’d finished feeding the hogs when it dawned on her. If she didn’t go to church and instead plowed that field for Cooper, maybe it would be an olive branch and then they could sit down and talk rationally about that commitment word.

  She left a note on the table telling her sisters that she wouldn’t join them at church that morning and to give her regrets to Loretta and the folks over on Lonesome Canyon. She drove over to the Lucky Seven, picked the keys to the tractor off a nail in the barn, and settled in for half a day’s work.

  Cooper looked in the rearview mirror as he drove away from the ranch that morning and noticed a truck that looked a lot like Abby’s pull out onto the road and head toward Claude. But then she’d been on his mind nonstop, in both waking and sleeping time, since the argument at the Sugar Shack. Granted, the whole thing was partially his fault. He’d hoped that she felt the same way about him as he did her, but she’d shot that down with her comment about being branded. Then there was the possible pregnancy and the fact that she might be leaving the canyon for good.

  Or maybe it’s not even her truck. How many in this canyon look just like hers?

  His fingers tightened around the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. He should have taken care of protection or at least asked her if she was on the pill. That part was his fault. He’d behaved like a jackass or worse, like an immature teenager, leaving her sitting on a bar stool like that. He’d caught a glimpse of her leaving and he knew she’d seen the drunk redhead trying to put the make on him. He should have run after her or at least called her the night before.

  Don’t use that damned cell phone. Go see her face-to-face and have a long talk. I bet she’s as miserable as you are. His grandfather’s voice was plain and clear in his head.

  He nodded in agreement. As soon as he finished taking care of the situation at the jail this morning, he would do just that. He’d show up with his hat in his hand and hopefully she wouldn’t slam the door in his face.

  It was well past noon when he finally got away from the courthouse and drove back to the Lucky Seven. A dozen scenarios played through his head as he rehearsed what he’d say to her, and what she might say back to him.

  “What the hell?” he mumbled when he saw her truck out in front of the barn. He wasn’t ready to face her, not yet. He still didn’t have the words all down just right to let her know exactly what was in his heart. He parked and his heart thumped around in his chest as he entered the barn.

  “Abby,” he called out, but got no answer. “Abby,” he yelled louder.

  Then he realized that one of the tractors was missing. He could hear the tractor engine running to the west and remembered telling Rusty that he had one more pasture to plow before spring. Trouble was the field that needed to be plowed under was to the south of the ranch house, not to the west.

  “Dammit!” he muttered as he ran to his truck and left in a cloud of dust.

  He could see the tractor before he got to the field where he’d just sown seed for a stand of grass a few days before. That seed had cost a fortune and little green shoots would be coming up any day. Yet there was Abby turning it all under. Was this his punishment?

  She’s trying to help. Which is more important? A few dollars or her gift of labor?

  He parked the truck and leaned against the fender as he waited for her to finish the very last round. The rows were straight, and not once when she turned the tractor did she grind the gears. And the pasture was all ready to be replanted. The Lord or fate or whoever it was had a damn strange sense of humor
.

  Cooper was supposed to be at church and then at dinner with Loretta and Jackson. But there he was waving at her and there was no way to get home without talking to him. Her hands went clammy and her eyes misted. She’d thought about him the whole time she was driving but hadn’t come up with a single way to approach the problem. Now she had to wing it and Abby hated not being prepared.

  Life doesn’t come with a manual. You have to listen to your heart, Abby.

  “You’ve been busy,” Cooper said when she stepped down to the running board and then to the ground.

  She nodded. “It’s been a profitable morning.”

  “I don’t like this feeling,” Cooper said.

  “Me, either,” she said honestly.

  “Can we talk?”

  “Right now?”

  She nodded, the lump in her throat getting bigger by the second. Abby covered the distance between the tractor and the truck and leaned on the rear fender, leaving a couple of feet between her and Cooper. Those old familiar sparks flitted around like butterflies in the spring. And that equally familiar ache in the pit of her stomach started the moment he gazed into her eyes. Then he moved around her and put down the tailgate. His hands went around her waist and he picked her up. He set her on the tailgate and sat down beside her, close enough she could smell his aftershave.

  Desire twisted her insides into a pretzel and the temperature went from a chilly forty-something degrees to something so warm that she removed her stocking hat.

  Cooper reached up and smoothed down her blonde hair.

  “Static,” he said.

  “Everywhere,” she answered.

  “In the air. With us. I don’t like it,” he whispered.

  That which does not kill you will make you stronger, the voice in her head said clearly.

  Then I should be able to bench-press a damn Cadillac, she argued.

  His hand covered hers and he squeezed as if he understood her thoughts. Five minutes passed before he said anything.

  “You going first, or am I?” he finally asked.