“We’ve been friends forever.”
“Right.” She stopped and when she glanced up, before she could shake the look, he thought she looked hurt.
The way she’d looked hurt when he’d turned eleven and she’d been about ten, but not quite. He’d had a bunch of boys over and she hadn’t been invited. He’d told her it was a guys-only party and she’d wanted to be one of the guys, because she was his best friend.
Now he realized that best friends shouldn’t be easy to hold or feel soft in a guy’s arms. Or at least he thought that was the case. He didn’t want to lose someone who had always been there for him. He didn’t want to turn her into his mom.
He sure didn’t want to be his dad.
He wanted them to stay the way they were, having fun and hanging out. Not growing up, growing angry, growing apart. He didn’t want to think about how selfish that sounded, keeping her in his life that way.
“Andie, I didn’t plan for this to mess up our friendship.”
“Neither of us planned for that. And this isn’t about…” She looked away. “This is about you not calling me back.”
“Because I didn’t know what to say.”
“Ryder, you’re almost thirty and I’ve heard you talk to women. You always know what to say.” She looked down, shuffling her feet in the dusty driveway. “But you didn’t know what to say to me?”
“I’m sorry.” He hadn’t known what to say and he still didn’t. With other women, he just said what felt right at the moment. And man, he’d had a lot of nasty messages on his answering machine over the years, because he’d said what felt right, not what mattered.
“You don’t have to apologize. We’re both responsible.”
“I know, but we made a promise. I made a promise.” A promise to keep boundaries between them. “I don’t know what else to say, except I’m sorry.”
“You should have called.” She had shoved her hands in her front pockets and she stared up at him, forcing his thoughts back to that. That night in Phoenix he’d found her standing behind her trailer, crying because she’d been rejected by her mother. He’d never seen her like that, hurt that way.
He shook his head, chasing off memories that were more than likely going to get him in trouble again.
“Come on, Andie, give me a break. You know me better than anyone. You know that I’m not good at this. You know that we were both there. We both…”
“Stop. I don’t want to talk about what we both did. I want to talk to you about us.”
Heat crawled up his neck, into his face. “Andie, you sound like a woman.”
“I am a woman.”
“No.” He took off his hat and swiped a hand through his hair. “No, you’re not. You’re my best friend. You’re my roping buddy. You’re not like other women. You’ve never been like other women, getting all caught up in the dating thing and romance.”
“I’m still not caught up in those things.”
“No, now you’re caught up in religion.”
“I’m not caught up in anything. This is about faith. And to be honest, I really needed some.” She looked away.
“Whatever. I’m just saying, this isn’t you.”
“It’s me. But for a lot of years, I’ve been trying to be who you wanted me to be. I’ve done a lot of things to make you feel better about being angry.” Her voice was soft and sweet, reminding him of how easy it had been to kiss her. Maybe things had changed—more than he’d realized. Being on the road he’d been able to fool himself into believing that they could go right back to being who they’d always been.
“Go to supper with me at the Mad Cow. I’ll buy you a piece of pecan pie.” He nudged her shoulder and she nodded. He thought she might say yes.
But then she shook her head. “I’m tired. It was a long trip.”
“Yeah, I guess it was. Maybe tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow’s Sunday.”
“And you’re going to church?”
“Yeah, Ryder, I’m going to church.”
“Fine, I’ve got to get home and get things cleaned up before Wyatt gets here.”
“Wyatt’s coming?”
Ryder pulled his keys out of his pocket. This was something she would have known, before. He would have called her to talk it over with her, to get her opinion. He guessed that was a pretty good clue that he’d been avoiding her, and telling himself a whole pack of lies.
Number one being that nothing had changed.
“Yeah, he’s coming home.”
And Ryder didn’t know how it would work, with him, Wyatt and two little girls all in one big, messy house. The girls needed to be here, though. Ryder knew that. He knew his brother was falling apart without Wendy. Wyatt was caving under the guilt of his wife’s death. A year, and he was still falling apart.
“If you need anything.” Andie’s voice was gentle, so was her hand on his arm.
“Yeah, I know you’re here.” He smiled down at her, winking, because he needed to find firm footing. “Gotta run. Let me know if you change your mind about, well, about anything.”
About being this new person, this woman that he just didn’t get.
“Right, I’ll let you know.”
The back door opened. He waved at Etta and tried to escape, but she left the back stoop and headed in their direction. And then he remembered why he’d driven down here. Because mad or not, Andie was about to need a friend.
“Don’t you want to come in for tea?” Etta had been filling him with tea for years. Tea for colds, tea for his aches and pains, tea to help him sleep when his parents died. He’d turned to something a little stronger for a few years, until he realized that it was doing more than helping him sleep. It had been turning him into his dad.
He glanced at Andie, and she was still clueless. “I can come in for a minute. I have to get my house clean before Wyatt shows up.”
Why’d he have to feel so old all of a sudden? Last week he’d still felt young, like he had it all, except responsibility. He had liked it that way.
“When’s he going to be here?” Etta stepped a little closer.
“Tomorrow or Monday. I guess I’ll have to call Ruby to get my house really clean.”
“You’ll be fine, Ryder.” Etta’s eyes were soft, a little damp.
“Yeah, I’m more worried about Wyatt.” Ryder didn’t want to think about the house and the girls, not all in the same thought.
And then the back door opened again.
Chapter Two
Andie had forgotten about that car in the drive. She shouldn’t have forgotten. It was Ryder’s fault and it would have felt good to tell him that. But she didn’t have time because the woman standing on the back porch was now walking down the steps. She was nearing fifty and stunningly beautiful. And she was smiling. Andie hadn’t expected the smile. She wanted this woman to be cold, to live up to Andie’s expectations of her.
A woman that ditched a child couldn’t be warm. She couldn’t be loving. Andie replayed her list of words she used to describe her mother: cold, unfeeling, hard, selfish.
The list used to be more graphic, but Andie was working hard on forgiving. She’d started with the easy “need to forgive” list. She would forgive Margie Watkins for spreading a rumor about her. She could forgive Blaine for gum in her notebook back in the fifth grade. She’d kept her mother on a list by herself, a final project. Saving the most difficult for last.
So now Andie knew that it was true—God had his own timing, reminding her that He was really the one in charge. She had really thought she’d wait a few months to contact Caroline.
“You okay?” Ryder stepped next to her. “I thought I ought to be here for you.”
Cowgirls do too cry. They cry when the man they are the angriest with shows up and says something like that. They can cry when they see their mother for the first time in twenty-five years. She nodded in answer to his question and blinked away the tears, because she’d never cried this much in her life and she didn’t like it.
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She didn’t like that her edge was gone.
Was this really the plan, really what God wanted? For her to forgive the person who had hurt her more than anyone else, even more than Ryder when he ignored her phone calls?
If so, it was going to take some time.
“Caroline wanted to see you.” Etta’s tone was noncommittal and Andie wondered if her mother had been invited or just showed up.
Oh, the wedding. Alyson’s wedding.
“Did she?” Andie managed to stand tall. “Or is she here to see Alyson? To help plan the wedding.”
It made sense that her mother would show up to help plan Alyson’s wedding. She had never shown up for anything that had to do with Andie.
“I’m here to see you.” Caroline was close enough to hear, to respond. And she had the nerve to smile like she meant it.
But really? Did she?
“That’s good.” Andie managed words that she didn’t feel. Standing there in the yard, the sun sinking into the western horizon, red and glowing, the sky lavender. The sky matched Etta’s hair. At least that lightened the mood.
“I know I should have come sooner.” Caroline glanced away, like she, too, had noticed the setting sun. She stared toward the west. “I don’t have excuses. I’m just here to say that I’m sorry.”
“Really?” Apparently it was the day for apologies. Was it on the calendar—a national holiday?
“We should go in and have that tea.” Etta gathered them the way a hen gathered chicks.
“Ryder, you should go.” Andie squeezed his hand. “Thank you for being here.”
“You’re okay?”
“I’m fine. I’ll see you at church tomorrow.” She said it to watch the look on his face. She knew he wouldn’t be there. He’d gone to church when he was a kid, until his dad’s little indiscretion.
“That’s one thing I can’t do for you, Andie.” He kissed the top of her head. “I’ll see you around.”
Why did it have to sound like goodbye, as if they were sixteen and breaking up?
She watched him get in his truck and drive away. And it wasn’t what she wanted, not at all. She wanted her best friend there with her, the way he would have been there for her if Phoenix hadn’t happened, if they hadn’t spent weeks not knowing what to say to each other.
Watching his truck turn out of the driveway and head down the road, she felt shaken, and her stupid heart felt like it was about to have a seizure of some kind.
And her mother was standing in front of her, waiting for her to pull it together. Caroline, her mother. But Etta had been that person to Andie. Etta had been the one who taught her to be a woman. Etta had taught her to put on makeup, and helped her dress for the prom. Etta had held her when she cried.
Caroline had been in some city far away, being a mother to Andie’s twin, and to her half siblings. She’d left the less-than-perfect child with the less-than-perfect husband.
Issues. Andie had a lot of issues to deal with. But she wasn’t the mess some people thought she should be. She’d had Etta. She’d had a dad who’d done his best. She’d been taught to be strong, to not be a victim. Now those seemed like easy words that didn’t undo all of the pain.
“Come on.” Etta took her by the hand and led her to the house.
“Of course, tea will make this all better.” Andie whispered. As if tea could make getting steamrollered feel any better.
They walked through the back door into the kitchen decorated with needlepoint wall hangings that Andie and Etta had worked on together. They’d never had satellite, and only a few local stations until recently. Winters had been spent reading or doing needlepoint. It hadn’t been a bad way to grow up.
“What’s going on between you and Ryder?” Etta spooned sugar into the cup of tea she’d just poured. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think that was a lover’s quarrel.”
“We’d have to be in love for that to be the case.” Andie leaned in close to her grandmother, loving the way she smelled like rose talcum powder, and the house smelled like vegetables from the garden and pine cleaner.
It was her grandmother’s house and it always felt like the safest place in the world.
Even with her mother standing across the counter from her, fidgeting with the cup that Etta had set in front of her it was still that safe place. Caroline looked up and Andie met her gaze.
“Well, it was just a matter of time,” Etta whispered as she walked away.
“What did you say?”
“I said, I hope you don’t mind sugar in this tea, and do you mind if it has thyme. It’s good for you, you know.”
“Right.”
She sat down at the kitchen island and her granny slid the cup of tea across the counter to her. Etta sat down next to her, moving a plate of cookies between them. Peanut butter, nothing better.
Andie sipped her tea and set the cup down, not feeling at all better, not the way she usually did when she came home.
“I’m surprised to see you.” Andie reached for a second cookie. “I’m the reject kid, right? The one you didn’t want.”
Caroline shuddered and Andie didn’t feel better, not the way she’d thought she would feel the sense of satisfaction she’d expected. And now, not so much.
“You’re not defective. You’re beautiful, smart and talented,” Etta spoke up, her voice having a loud edge.
Andie shot her grandmother a look, because they both knew better. She and her father hadn’t been good enough for Caroline. He’d been Caroline’s one-night stand in college, and he’d married her. A cute country boy from Oklahoma. And reality hadn’t been as much fun.
One-night stands didn’t work. She sipped her tea and pushed the thought from her mind. Better to focus on Caroline and her father rather than on her own mistakes.
“I’m not the prodigy. I’m the kid who struggled to read.” Andie no longer felt like the kid in school who didn’t understand what everyone else got with ease. She had been fortunate to have great teachers, people who were willing to help and encourage her. She’d had Etta.
“You have a challenge, not a disability.” Etta covered Andie’s hand with a hand that was a little crooked with arthritis, but still strong, still soft, still manicured. “She took Alyson. I got to keep you. That wasn’t so bad, was it? Being here with me and your dad?”
Caroline spoke up. “It wasn’t bad, was it? I mean, I know Etta loves you. Your dad loved you.”
“You can’t comment. You weren’t here.” Andie closed her eyes and tried to let go of the sparks of anger that shot from her heart, hot and cold.
“I can comment.” Caroline’s hand shook as she set her cup on the counter. “I can comment, because I know what I did and why I did it. I couldn’t take this life. I couldn’t be a cowboy’s wife and the mom to two girls. I couldn’t be from Dawson.”
Andie shook her head, feeling a little sick with guilt, with hurt feelings. “Really, would it have been that hard?”
“I don’t know.”
Andie finished off the last of her cookie and drained her cup of tea, and she still didn’t know what to say to Caroline Anderson—the woman who had never been her mother.
She thought about this two months ago when she’d slipped into a church service held at the rodeo arena after one of the events. She had sat there wondering how to put her life back together. The pieces were in her hands; Alyson, her mother and Ryder.
It was up to her to put it all back together. It was up to her to forgive.
Andie hopped off the stool. “I have to take care of my horse.”
And she planned on spending the night in the camper of her horse trailer. It wasn’t really running away. She was giving herself space and a little time to think.
Ryder woke up the next morning to the rumble of a truck in his driveway. He peeked out the window as Wyatt jumped out of a rented moving truck and then reached in for the two little girls who resembled their mom.
As he watched them cut across the lawn—Wyatt ho
lding both girls, looking as sad as they looked—Ryder ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. Man, this was a lot of reality to wake up to.
He glanced at the clock on the coffeemaker as he walked through the kitchen. Nearly ten on a Sunday morning. And Etta’s old Caddy was going down the road, because it was time for church. And for the first time in years, Andie was in the passenger seat.
Too much reality.
Too many changes. He was nearly thirty and suddenly everything was changing. Andie was going to church and she didn’t want to talk to him. Not that he really blamed her.
But he wanted her back, the way it was before. He wanted it to be like it had been before their night in Phoenix, before her trip to the altar and God. Not that he had anything against God. He knew there was one. He’d been to church. He’d heard the sermons. He’d even prayed.
But his parents had gone, too. They’d picked a church in a neighboring town, not Dawson Community Church. And that had just about done him in on religion. His parents, their lifestyle and then the day in church when someone brought his dad forward. Man, he could still remember that day, the looks people had given him, the way it had felt to hear what his dad had done.
And he remembered the clapping of a few hands when his dad was ousted from the congregation, taking his family with him.
That had been a long time ago, almost twenty years. He shrugged it off, the way he’d been trying to shrug it off since the day it happened. He walked down the hall and met his brother at the back door, coming in through the utility room. It had rained during the night and Wyatt’s boots were muddy. He leaned against the dryer to kick them off.
Ryder reached for three-year-old Molly but she held tight to Wyatt. It was Kat, a year younger, who held her arms out, smiling the way little girls should smile. With one less child, Wyatt could hold the door and kick off his boots.
They would never know their mom. They wouldn’t even remember her. But then, even in her life, Wendy hadn’t been there for the girls. She had changed after having them. She had lost something and before any of them had figured it out, it had been too late to get her back.
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