One Fine Cowboy

by Joanne Kennedy

  A picture flashed in her mind of Sandi haranguing Nate at the dinner table. Bossing him around in the barn. Making demands. Issuing ultimatums. She shook her head. She couldn’t save him. He’d have to save himself.

  “I didn’t ask what you wanted to do.” Doris tugged Charlie’s arm, dragging her forward. “We’re drinking. We’re talking.” She scanned the street. Three bars shed squares of yellow light on the sidewalk, but every other business was shuttered and dark. “Pick a bar,” she said. “I’m buying.”

  Charlie eyed the various establishments. Hogs ‘n’ Heifers was ruled out by the convoy of Harleys parked out front. Doris was obviously feeling pugnacious, and the woman would probably end up in a fight with some 300-pound tattooed hog driver.

  At first glance, The Snag looked interesting, with concert posters plastered in the front windows and a blinking “Live Music” sign over the door. But when they stepped closer, Charlie saw the posters advertised mostly country acts, including a selection of washed-up Opry stars that could have formed the cast of one of those D-list reality shows—Nashville Rehab or something. No doubt the mood music would reflect the owner’s taste, and Charlie was sad enough without listening to the sorrowful twang of Loretta Lynn or George Jones. After all, her own life had turned into a country song. “My Baby’s Baby Ain’t Really His Baby, so I Can’t Be His Baby No More.” It was so pathetic it was bound to be a top forty hit.

  Next came The Crown Bar. That looked about right. Its storefront window was almost completely covered with planks of rough, dark-stained wood so only a small rectangle of glass remained, barely big enough for the neon Budweiser sign. Hardly any light seeped from the place, so it would probably be dingy and dimly lit. Perfect for her mood.

  “The Crown,” she said.

  Doris nodded sharply and headed for the lighted doorway. Swinging open the door, she stepped inside, dragging Charlie behind her.

  A scarred, stained oak bar fronted by a row of red vinyl-topped stools stretched the length of the room. A few men crouched over drinks, and several others occupied the booths lining the opposite wall. Heads turned as Charlie and Doris stepped up to the bar and ordered two Bud Lights.

  The two of them sat down, Charlie hunching over her beer like a noonday alcoholic. Doris perched beside her and fixed her bright eyes on Charlie’s face.

  “You ought to give Nate another chance. Boy’s miserable with you gone.”

  “I don’t think so.” Digging in her pocket, Charlie pulled out the check. Thrusting it at Doris, she stabbed a finger at the bottom line. “Look at this and tell me if you think he deserves another chance.”

  Doris scanned the check and her lips tightened when she reached the memo line. “Services rendered? That doesn’t sound like our boy,” she said.

  “No, it sounds like his girl,” Charlie said. “But our boy let it happen. They’re back together.”

  “That can’t be true,” Doris said. “I sure haven’t seen ’em together.” She sighed. “He loves you, honey. Anybody can see it.”

  “He doesn’t love me,” Charlie said. It was true. She should have known it from the start. What kind of love stayed so silent and stoic? Cowboy or not, he would have said something. “He loves Sandi. I guess it’s one of those toxic relationships, but that’s not my problem.” She sighed. “Anyway, I’m done with him.”

  She stared down at the check, scanning his neat handwriting, his tidy signature, and that bottom line: services rendered. Doris looked over her shoulder and scowled.

  “He didn’t write that,” Doris said. “I’m willing to betcha. Look at the letters.”

  Charlie squinted down at the words. They were written with the same pen, in the same block lettering—almost. But Doris could be right. They slanted a little differently. Charlie leaned across the bar and held the check under the lamp.

  “Look at ‘d’ in rendered,” Doris said. “It’s different from the ‘d’ in dollars. The ‘s’ is different too.”

  Charlie traced the letters with her finger and felt a surge of hope. Doris was right. The letters were clearly different.

  “Sandi wrote that,” Doris said. “She knew it’d piss you off. And you’re playing right into her hands, running away.” She smacked Charlie’s thigh with one bony hand. “She’s a devil and a liar, that one. She’s manipulating you, and you’re lettin’ her get away with it.” She shook her head, staring sadly down into her beer. “I can’t believe you’d just turn tail and run. I had you pegged as somebody stronger than that.”

  “I’m not running away.”

  “Looks like that to me. Why are you so anxious to believe Nate wrote that on the check? You know him better than that. You’re just looking for an excuse to run.” She pointed an accusing finger. “You’re scared. What the hell happened to our kick-ass princess?”

  Charlie stared down at the check. Doris was right. She was scared.

  “And if she lied about him writing that, what else did she lie about? The beauty school, for one. What else? The woman’s psycho. A pathological liar.”

  Charlie nodded. Doris was right. Sandi was lying about everything else. Why was Charlie so willing to believe she and Nate were back together? She was probably lying about that too. Maybe it was just a ruse to get Charlie out of the way. The woman was probably gloating at this very moment, glorying in the success of her scheme. Charlie pictured Sandi rubbing her hands with satisfaction, like a wicked witch contemplating her next evil spell.

  Downing the rest of her beer, Charlie slid off the barstool and stood up. “You’re right. I can’t let her get away with it.”

  Doris grinned. “Atta girl,” she said. “I knew you’d stay.”

  “I’m not staying,” Charlie said with a toss of her head. “But I’ll go back and straighten things out before I go.”

  Doris tightened her lips disapprovingly. “You belong here, girl.”

  “No I don’t.” Charlie stared down into her beer. “I’m a city girl born and bred, Doris. I’d never fit in here.”

  Doris grinned. “I was a city girl too,” she said. “I think I fit in okay.”

  “You?” Charlie scanned Doris from her windblown, sun-dried hair to the toes of her battered cowboy boots. The woman didn’t just fit in; she was practically a part of the Wyoming landscape. “Thought you were a native species.”

  “Nope.” Doris grinned. “I’m from Boston.”

  “No shit.” Charlie blinked. “I mean, no kidding.”

  “Came out here on vacation with my folks when I was eighteen years old. Met my Eddie and never went back. I loved the wide-open spaces, the animals—I just felt at home here. And I loved my Eddie. So I stayed.”

  They swung out of the bar and headed for the truck. Charlie knew her red metallic cowboy boots looked ridiculous, but the heels made a gratifyingly authoritative sound as she clicked out of the bar and down the sidewalk. She almost wished she had spurs, just for the tough-guy clanking sound they’d make as they hit the concrete. She’d sound like a legendary gunslinger stalking the mean streets of Purvis, spoiling for a fight.

  Which wasn’t too far from the truth.

  She paused beside her car and looked back at Doris. “Follow me, okay? I’m not sure this thing’ll make it back to the ranch.”

  Doris grinned. “Sure. I’m your wingman. Let’s go kick Sandi’s ass and get you a cowboy.”

  Charlie grimaced. “I didn’t say I was staying,” she said.

  “No, you didn’t.” Doris started up the truck and pulled into the street. “But you’re headed in the right direction.”

  Chapter 40

  Nate clutched his pillow and tried to turn over, but his legs were pinned down. He was trapped. Trapped in the dark.

  He flailed a hand out and hit the end table, swearing under his breath. Butt snorted and hit the floor with a loud thump.

  Now he could move his legs.

  Not that it helped much. He couldn’t get comfortable no matter what position he slept in, and flipping from
one side to the other like a burger on a fast-food grill wasn’t helping any. All he could think about was that morning he’d woken up on this same sofa with Charlie in his arms, tucked against him.

  He sat up and rested his elbows on his knees, staring out the window. He’d heard a car door slam hours before and looked out to see the Celica bouncing away down the driveway.

  He wondered if Charlie was gone for good.

  No. She’d leave eventually, but not like this. She’d say good-bye to Sam, and to the horses. To Doris and Phaedra and Taylor. She’d probably gone to Purvis to indulge her wild city-girl side in one of the bars that lined the main street. He hoped she hadn’t gone to Hogs ‘n’ Heifers. She’d likely rile up some biker and get in a fight.

  She’d probably win, though. She was sure kicking his ass six ways to Sunday. He felt like he’d been run over by a truck, followed by a locomotive leading a herd of stampeding buffalo that finished off the job. Charlie’s quick switch from fiery passion to white-hot anger left him feeling like he had emotional whiplash.

  But whatever she dished out, he deserved it. He’d dragged her into his complicated life, enmeshing her in Sandi’s net. He should have left her alone. What was he thinking, fooling around with a woman he barely knew when his daughter’s future was at stake?

  The dog snorted again, and Nate had to agree. That hadn’t been fooling around at all, and Charlie was no stranger. That had been making love to a woman he wanted more than Butt wanted biscuits.

  Hopefully Charlie would have the sense to stay in town if she drank too much. He closed his eyes, and immediately a picture of her slipping into bed in some anonymous hotel room flashed across his mind. She’d shuck off her jeans and crawl into bed in her T-shirt and panties, and look sexier than a Victoria’s Secret model in skimpy lingerie, just because she wasn’t trying.

  Panties. A T-shirt and panties.

  Nate squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his temples with one hand, trying to wring out the images of Charlie in that tuxedo thong. In the Wonder Woman panties. He decided he’d better imagine she was wearing something sensible tonight. White cotton granny panties, maybe, a size or two too big.

  Saggy-ass panties.

  Damn. That got him thinking about Charlie’s ass. Now he’d never get to sleep.

  He swung his feet to the floor and levered himself out of bed. Sleep was impossible. He ached all over—his legs, his back, but mostly his heart.

  He stepped into a pair of jeans and slipped a T-shirt over his head. He’d go check on the horses. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d sought their company in the middle of the night, and it wouldn’t be the last. With all that was happening, he’d need the peace of the barn more than ever—the soothing warm darkness, the quiet hush of the animals breathing slow and easy, their sweet, musty scent.

  He shuffled quietly across the bedroom, through the kitchen, and eased the front door open. On his way to the barn, a sound caught his attention—a low growling, like a car without a muffler. He shaded his eyes with one hand, squinting. A truck was bouncing along the road to Latigo.

  Doris. But what was that in front of her? A car?

  Yep. A red car. And that seemed to be where all the racket was coming from.

  Charlie was back.

  He jogged to the barn. It wouldn’t do to be caught standing in the middle of the yard with his mouth half-open and his heart in his hand, waiting for her. And what would he say, anyway?

  He ducked into the barn. Maybe she’d come in here too to see the horses. Stopping at Honey’s stall, he leaned on the gate. The horse was standing quietly, watching him through half-shuttered eyes. Outside, Charlie’s car door slammed and he heard her boots hitting the dirt driveway as she headed for the bunkhouse.

  The bunkhouse, not the barn.

  Dang.

  He proceeded down the alleyway, trying not to wake the horses, but they blew and shifted from left to right, catching the quick rhythm of his nervous breathing, the slight shaking of his hands. He struggled to control himself, but that only made it worse. Behind him, Junior let out a faint whinny and kicked the side of his stall.

  There was a window at the end of the aisle and he couldn’t resist glancing outside. Charlie was sitting on the bunkhouse steps staring up at the sky like she was lost in thought. He wondered what she was thinking about.

  Maybe she was thinking about him. Maybe she was trying to figure a way through this problem too. Maybe she was searching her mind for a way to hang onto what they had.

  Yeah, right. More likely she was thinking up fifty ways to kill a cowboy.

  ***

  The bell for round one of the Charlie vs. Sandi Championship Fight would ring any moment, but with the deafening racket the car made, Charlie hadn’t had a chance to work out a solid plan of attack. All she’d done was work herself into a state of nerves.

  In fact, now that she was here, she wasn’t sure fighting was such a great idea after all. She should have kept driving. Turned the Celica east, gunned the accelerator, and gotten the hell out of Dodge, or Purvis, or whatever you wanted to call it.

  But here she was, back at the OK Corral. She’d dreamed up a dozen ways of confronting Sandi on the drive, but now that she’d arrived she realized it was Nate she needed to talk to—because it was Nate who needed to confront Sandi. After all, he was the one who had the most to lose.

  Charlie stepped back inside the bunkhouse and tiptoed over to Doris’s bed. The woman was already asleep, releasing an escalating series of snores that sounded like the entire New York Philharmonic’s wind section tuning up.

  “Doris.” Charlie shook the woman’s shoulder.

  “Huh?” Doris shot upright with a snort. “What?”

  “I need your help.”

  Doris rubbed her eyes and ran one hand through her hair, swinging her legs out of bed. She waggled her feet, fishing around for her slippers. “Okay,” she said.

  “I’m going to try to talk Nate into confronting Sandi. I’ll show him the check, tell him she said they were back together, but I need you to back me up about what Sam said. You know, about those overnight classes at the beauty school. Once he sees how much she’s lying, maybe he’ll call her bluff about Sam.”

  “Sure,” Doris said. She slid her feet into a pair of beaded moccasins and stood up. Her T-shirt was rumpled and her hair was flat on one side, but vanity apparently wasn’t an issue for ranch women.

  Charlie wondered if she’d get like that if she stayed in the West. Would her skin brown and wrinkle in the sun? Would she stop wearing makeup and let her hair grow out?

  She’d never know. She wasn’t staying.

  A horse neighed from the barn.

  “Come on,” Charlie said. “Let’s go.” She squared her shoulders and headed across the lawn, Doris trotting along behind her.

  Ding. Round one.

  “Let me do the talking,” she said to Doris. “Just back me up if he doesn’t believe me.”

  Nate looked up as they entered the barn. He was bent over Peach’s leg, unwrapping the bandage, moving his hand up and down the pony’s leg, checking for swelling.

  “Hi.” Charlie shifted her weight from one leg to another. She’d nursed her anger all night, but now that Nate was right there in front of her, she knew she needed to calm down. She needed to find a smooth way to show him what was written on the check. A tactful way to tell him what Sam had said about the weekend beauty school.

  No problem, right? She was a psych major. A student of interpersonal communication. She should be able to find precisely the right words to use, the right approach to take.

  “Um,” she said.

  Nate looked up expectantly.

  “We need to talk to you,” she said. “Can we, um, sit down somewhere?”

  “Okay.” He rewrapped the bandage, taking his time, making sure no wrinkles would irritate the horse’s skin, then led her down the aisle to the feed area, where two battered folding chairs leaned against the wall. He unfolded them and
settled into one, then rested his elbows on his knees, folding his hands in front of him.

  She sat down beside him, folding her hands so she wouldn’t be tempted to reach over and touch him. Doris stood behind her, her hands on the back of the chair.

  Nate cleared his throat and looked off to the side as if he was studying the lettering on the old broken chest freezer where he used to store the grain.

  “Okay,” he said. “Go ahead.”

  ***

  Nate couldn’t look at Charlie, or Doris either. He’d screwed up everything. Everything. He knew they were trying to help, but he was starting to think he was hopeless. His life was a lost cause, now that Sandi had her claws in the ranch, and in Sam—the two things he cared about most.

  And then there was Charlie. He watched as she took a deep breath, like she was about to plunge into the deep end of a bottomless swimming pool. “Sandi’s lying,” she said. “She’s lying about all kinds of stuff. Like… she said you were back together.”

  “No,” Nate said. He looked up at Charlie, his eyes wide. “Dang, Charlie, no. Never. She’s lying.”

  “She’s lying about Sam too. I’m sure of it.”

  He shook his head.

  “You and Cody were close,” she said. “Like brothers. Would he really do that to you? Do you really believe that?”

  Nate stared down at the barn floor, shaking his head. “No,” he said. “The idea he’d sneak around with Sandi behind my back hurt almost as much as losing Sam. I trusted him.”

  “He didn’t do it, and you know it, deep down,” Doris said. “Call Sandi’s bluff. The girl’s lying. And you’ve got too much at stake to let it pass.”

  Nate nodded. They were right. He should confront Sandi. But what if he was wrong? What if she took the test, and he wasn’t Sam’s father?

  What if Sandi took her away?

  “That woman’s an unfit mother,” Doris said. “And even if you’re not Sam’s dad, you’re family. You’ve taken care of her all her life. If Sandi’s declared unfit, the court would give Sam to you, whether she’s your daughter or not.”