Aidan: Loyal Cowboy: Aidan: Loyal CowboyThe Family Plan

by Cathy McDavid

  Jolyn groaned. “What brought this on?”

  “I’m not sure. Mandy started taking lessons…oh, sometime last fall I guess it was. But your mother didn’t get pushy with Chase again until recently.”

  Dottie Sutherland operated a small dance studio out of the community center, offering classes three afternoons a week and Saturday mornings. Most of the girls in town, and even the occasional boy, studied under her at one point or another while growing up. As a child, Jolyn endured two years of lessons before permanently trading her tap shoes for cowboy boots.

  “Can’t you stop her?” Jolyn asked.

  Her father raised one eyebrow and gave a short laugh. “You’re joking, of course.”

  She hadn’t been but didn’t contradict him.

  “This isn’t just about Mom. There are other people’s feelings to consider, including Mandy’s. She still doesn’t know, does she?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I can’t support Mom in this if it means hurting Mandy.” Or going against Chase, she added silently.

  Her father scowled. “I don’t know what’s with your mother lately. She’s been acting funny.”

  “Funny how?”

  “Just not her usual self.” He exhaled. “I’ve asked her again and again what’s wrong but she keeps insisting nothing’s the matter.”

  “Maybe I can get her to open up.”

  “It’s worth a shot, I guess.” His tone implied she’d get no further with her mother than he had.

  Sinbad, evidently tired of standing in one place, began pawing the ground. The movement caused his injury to gape and seep fresh blood.

  Jolyn made a decision. As much as she wanted to see her mother and get to the bottom of whatever was bothering her, Sinbad’s injury needed attending. Turning him around, she walked toward the trailer. “I’m going to drive over to Chase’s.” She hated loading the horse back into the trailer after a grueling four-day road trip but saw no other choice.

  Her father followed her. “What about supper? Your mother won’t be happy after all the work she’s put into it.”

  “This won’t take long.”

  “You baby that horse too much considering what he did to you.”

  “Not now, Dad. Please.” She’d just returned home after a long absence and wasn’t in the mood to dredge up old arguments. To ease the tension, she gave him another kiss on the cheek. “I won’t be long, I promise.”

  Chase lived half a mile away. She’d phone him on the drive over there. If he happened to be away, she’d wait for him and cleanse Sinbad’s wound using a garden hose.

  And what if he doesn’t want to see you?

  Of course he does, Jolyn told herself. Chase might be angry with her mother but he’d never refuse to treat a sick or injured animal.

  He’d looked good the last time she’d seen him—two Christmases ago, was it?—though tired. His dark brown eyes had lacked their usual warmth, and his killer smile struck her as forced. The divorce and grueling custody battle had obviously taken a toll on him. Had he changed since then? And what would he think about the changes in her? Both the good and bad ones? Would he even notice?

  It occurred to Jolyn that her need to rush Sinbad over to Chase’s house might be motivated by her desire to see him, especially now that he was single again.

  Before loading Sinbad she inspected the inside of the trailer. Finding no sharp edge on the gate that might have caused the cut, she erred on the side of caution and chose to put him on the left side of the gate this time. The big paint initially balked at going back into the trailer but finally complied after much coaxing. Jolyn shut the door behind him and dropped the latch in place.

  Her father rested a hand on her shoulder. “This isn’t all your mother’s fault. You can’t blame her entirely.”

  “No, it’s not all her fault.”

  It was her brother Steven’s fault when, nine years ago, he’d decided to have an affair with SherryAnne, Jolyn’s one-time best friend and Chase’s wife of three months. To this day, no one knew for certain who Mandy’s biological father was. Not even SherryAnne, at least as far as she was telling.

  * * *

  CHASE WALKED OUT of the house, the screen door banging shut behind him. He spotted Jolyn’s truck pulling into his driveway, and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. She’d returned to Blue Ridge. Hopefully, to stay. He hadn’t realized until now how much he missed her.

  When she approached, he motioned her on, signaling she should park near the barn, next to his truck. She gave him a wave as she rolled past. Chase followed, hurrying his steps. He rounded the back end of the trailer at the same moment she hopped out of the truck cab.

  “Hey there.” She came toward him, grinning from ear to ear.

  He avoided staring at her pronounced limp and kept his eyes focused on her face. It wasn’t exactly a hardship. Jolyn had always been a cute girl. She’d grown up into a very attractive woman. Hell, she’d just plain grown up. Chase didn’t recall her filling out a T-shirt quite that nicely.

  “Hey there, yourself.” He scooped her up in an impulsive hug and swung her around in a circle. She felt nice in his arms. So nice, he didn’t let her go right away. “It’s good to see you again, Beanie.”

  She pulled out of his embrace and glared at him with enough heat to blister paint. “I’m leaving right this minute and never coming back if you call me that awful name one more time.”

  “String Bean Sutherland,” he teased.

  “You’re as bad as you ever were.”

  “Some say I’m worse.”

  Her voice dropped in pitch. “Do tell.”

  Was she flirting with him? Or, more precisely, flirting back? The Jolyn he remembered was too shy, too serious, too self-conscious around men to engage in lighthearted sexual banter. What, besides nearly losing her right leg, had happened to her during the last nine years?

  She looked the same. Well, almost the same. Her brown hair sported blond highlights and was cut in a shorter, more sophisticated style. She’d also taken to wearing makeup. Not much, just enough to enhance her hazel eyes and full mouth. Dallas had obviously agreed with Jolyn. He liked the new her, liked seeing her finally come into her own.

  Easy, boy. Chase took a mental step back, reminding himself this wasn’t just Jolyn, one of his oldest and closest friends. This was Dottie Sutherland’s daughter, and Dottie was a woman dead set on making his life miserable. No, ruining it.

  About the same time Chase sobered, a loud bang came from inside her horse trailer. Sinbad was making his displeasure known.

  Jolyn shook her head. “I’d better get him out before he kicks a hole in the door.”

  “So, what scrape did he get into this time?”

  “Scrape is exactly how I’d describe it. He was fine when I loaded him in Phoenix but not so fine when I unloaded him at the folks’ house. He has a pretty bad cut on his left side.”

  “Let’s have a look.”

  She opened the trailer door. Sinbad nearly plowed over her in his haste to escape and only calmed when she had a firm hold on his lead rope. “That wasn’t so bad, was it, old boy?”

  Chase chuckled. “All these years and you still haven’t trained that horse to trailer?”

  “We were too busy working on other things.”

  As he well knew. He and his ex-wife, SherryAnne, had competed in horsemanship events alongside Jolyn up through their high-school graduation. SherryAnne went all the way to become Gila C
ounty Junior Rodeo Queen. Jolyn, the better rider in Chase’s opinion, lost out at the last minute and had to settle for being one of SherryAnne’s attendants.

  “I really appreciate you seeing us. Dad told me Mom’s been giving you a hard time again.”

  “She is, I won’t lie. No court order yet, but she’s threatened to see an attorney.” Chase examined Sinbad’s injury as he talked.

  “For the record, Chase, I completely disagree with her.” Jolyn laid a reassuring hand on his arm. “I always have.”

  “I know.” He turned to give her a smile. “And it means a lot to me. Your mother is a force to be reckoned with when she chooses. Standing up to her isn’t easy.” Chase understood that more than most. He’d been the brick wall Dottie Sutherland had bashed into for the last nine years.

  “Has she said anything around town?” Jolyn asked. She kept Sinbad quiet while Chase filled a bucket with water from the hose. “Mandy doesn’t…hasn’t heard…”

  “Nothing as far as I know.” Chase went to his truck and the custom-built compartments in the bed, where he stored veterinary supplies. He removed a pair of clippers, a bottle of disinfectant wash and sterilized cotton. “I will give your mother credit. She doesn’t appear to be running off at the mouth, for which I’m grateful.”

  Chase set to work shaving the area around the wound, then he swabbed it clean. Sinbad behaved himself, paying little attention to Chase. Jolyn helped by distracting the horse with nose petting.

  “You have every right to be angry at Mom. Maybe you should consider seeing an attorney yourself.”

  “I will if push comes to shove. So far, your mother is just blowing smoke.” Chase silently wondered how long that would last.

  Almost since the day she learned the chance existed that her son, Steven, might be Mandy’s biological parent—Chase refused to use the term father—she’d been pressuring Chase off and on to have DNA testing done. Thank God none of her family supported her, including Steven, who’d moved to Pineville years ago and purportedly wanted nothing to do with Mandy. But that didn’t stop Dottie. Lately, she’d escalated her pressuring to a new level.

  Chase had fought her and would continue to fight her night and day. Mandy was his daughter, had been from the moment the nurse placed the squirming and squalling newborn in his arms. The only way Steven or any of the Sutherlands were going to get their hands on her was over his cold, lifeless body.

  “Sutures or no sutures?” he asked Jolyn.

  “What do you recommend?”

  “Your choice. The wound will heal without them. Might take longer, especially if it breaks open, which is likely, being near the shoulder. Depends a lot on him and how quiet you can keep him for the next several days.”

  “Not very. You know Sinbad.”

  “Yeah, I do. He won’t stand well when I anesthetize the area. Which, if we decide to suture the wound, means I’d have to sedate him.”

  “No, you won’t. He’ll stand.”

  “You sure?” Chase squinted one eye at Jolyn.

  She nodded. “He’s gotten a lot better.”

  “Really?” Chase remained unconvinced.

  “Injuries were a pretty regular occurrence in the show. Horses didn’t enter the ring unless they were cleared by a vet, even when they weren’t injured. The management had a strict policy.”

  “Okay, then. Sutures it is. Do you want to tie up one of his legs just to be on the safe side?”

  “Only if you’re afraid he’ll kick you.”

  “Are you?” Chase remembered Sinbad’s exit from the trailer.

  “No.”

  Jolyn answered with such assurance, Chase laid his concerns about Sinbad’s notorious high spirits to rest. Maybe age and experience had mellowed the horse.

  Even so, Chase didn’t once let his guard down while he cleansed and then anesthetized the affected area by injecting serum under the skin with a small needle. Because the cut was clean and recent, he trimmed away only a minimum of dead tissue.

  Sinbad stood like a champ during the entire procedure. Chase finished up by applying a dressing.

  “If he rubs this off, don’t worry. The antibiotics are more important than the dressing.”

  He handed Jolyn a bottle containing a supply of metronidazole and instructed her on how many tablets to administer and how often. She was no stranger to horse care and nodded knowingly as he talked.

  “If the sutures should pull loose for any reason,” he continued, “or if the wound appears infected, call me.”

  “When do the stitches need to come out?”

  “Ten, twelve days.”

  “I’ll bring him by.”

  Thereby saving Chase a trip to the Sutherlands’ place and a possible confrontation with Dottie. “Thanks.”

  “How much do I owe you?”

  “I’ll mail you a bill.”

  “You’d better.” She wagged a finger at him in warning.

  “I will.”

  “Good.” Jolyn tugged on Sinbad’s lead rope. “This way, buddy. Time to go back in that nasty trailer.” She smiled apologetically at Chase. “He’s a little sick of traveling. So am I.”

  “Why don’t you leave him here overnight?” Chase made the offer without thinking. Common sense told him he should cool his acquaintance with Jolyn until her mother backed off. “You can come collect him in the morning.”

  “Thanks.” Jolyn’s face brightened, making Chase glad he’d spoken first and thought later.

  They walked down the barn aisle, Jolyn leading Sinbad. Head held high, ears pricked forward, the horse took in his not-unfamiliar surroundings. Once, years ago, he’d spent a lot of time in Chase’s barn.

  So had Jolyn. Without being told where to go, she took the horse to the line of stalls. Nickering from the barn’s various occupants greeted them every step of the way. Chase opened the door to an empty stall on the end. Next, he went around the side of the barn to where the hay was stacked and grabbed two generous flakes.

  When he returned, he dropped the hay into the empty feeder and turned on the spigot to the water trough. Sinbad buried his nose in the hay, snorting lustily.

  Chase lifted his foot and rested it on the bottom rung of the stall’s railing. So did Jolyn. They watched Sinbad eat and drink, enjoying a moment of companionable silence.

  “How long you staying?” Chase asked, breaking the lull.

  “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On how business goes.”

  “What business is that?”

  She smiled, and he heard pride in her voice when she said, “Sutherland Construction Company.”

  “No fooling!”

  “No fooling. I flew into Phoenix a couple months ago and tested for my contractor’s license. As of May 31, I’m official.”

  “Congratulations. I heard you were taking some classes in Dallas. I didn’t know what kind.”

  “Trade school. I enrolled after the accident. Had to do something with myself during all those months of physical therapy.” She gave a little shrug as if it were nothing.

  Chase doubted three separate knee surgeries and endless months of physical therapy were nothing. “I never pegged you for going into construction. How’d you wind up in that field?”

  “We did most of our own construction in the show. Built and repaired sets and props. I found out I liked hammering nails and sawing two-by-fours—was actually good at it. Eventually, I was promoted to crew boss. Later, while I wa
s in school, I worked part-time as a junior project manager for a commercial contractor.”

  “Wow.” Chase eyed Jolyn with new appreciation. Though he shouldn’t be surprised by her success. She’d always been the determined sort, as her rebound from a devastating injury proved. “I’m impressed.”

  “Well, running my own business is a far cry from running a ragtag construction crew or sitting behind a desk, punching numbers. I figure starting out in Blue Ridge where there aren’t so many good ol’ boys will be easier than starting out in Dallas.”

  “What? The boys don’t take kindly to a woman muscling in on their territory?”

  “I need to prove myself, and I’m okay with that. But I’d rather start out climbing a hill and not a mountain if I can help it. Once I get two or three decent jobs under my belt, generate some positive cash flow, I’ll relocate to a larger market, like Pineville.”

  “Plenty of work around here.”

  “Enough to get started. But I’d like to grow my business into something more than just the local handyman.”

  “Hmm.” This time, Chase did think before he spoke. And despite the warning bells clanging inside his head, he voiced the idea that had just occurred to him out loud. “I happen to have a set of plans on my kitchen table for a small-animal clinic and office. Interested in looking at them?”

  “Are you serious?” Her eyes glinted with excitement.

  He’d forgotten how green they looked in sunlight. And about the small dimples on each side of her mouth. “Is that a yes?”

  “You’re building a clinic? Where?”

  “Here.” He hitched a thumb at the house. “I’m expanding my practice to include small animals. And I’m hiring an assistant to help with the large-animal side.”

  “Business must be booming.”

  “It helps when you have no competition.”

  “I’m hoping for a similar misfortune myself.”

  “Be ready to work yourself to death. I put in sixty to eighty hours a week. No vacations, no holidays, and forget sick days. I’m up at the crack of dawn or earlier and don’t get home till seven if I’m lucky. Usually later.”