The Cowboy's Baby: Devlin Brothers Ranch

by Joanna Bell

  And then do you know what I did? I fucking cried.

  I didn't know I was going to. It had been so long I didn't even recognize the weird ache in my throat at first. I do remember noticing that the boy had a cowlick in exactly the same spot I did. And that he was still holding that chubby little hand out to me, his jaw set in determination not to let it drop.

  It was as I reached out to take his hand that a lump suddenly appeared in my throat and my vision blurred.

  It seemed to go on for quite a long time – me standing slightly apart from the rest of them, shoulders shaking with emotion as I fought to get myself under control.

  "It's OK."

  It was the kid speaking. It was my son.

  "It's OK," he said again, reaching out and patting my hand comfortingly.

  "Thank you," I replied, blinking. "Hey, thank you Brody. That's your name, isn't it? Brody?"

  "Yes."

  A strange strangled noise suddenly came from behind us. Now Hailey was weeping. Tears were streaming down both her cheeks. Jessica put an arm around her and Brody ran to wrap his arms around her waist.

  "Mommy!"

  His mom's anguish seemed to be more of an immediate cause of concern than my own, which was as it should be. He wasn't old enough to understand it was mostly her fault he didn't know who I was.

  Fathers shouldn't be blubbering in front of their sons, anyway.

  The voice in my head was harsh that day. I took a deep breath and sucked it up.

  When Brody was sufficiently reassured that his mom was fine, he turned back to me and offered his hand again. I shook it.

  "My name's Jackson Devlin."

  "I know. Do you like mac and cheese?"

  "Uh," I replied, surprised by the completely random question. "Sure, I guess. Who doesn't like mac and cheese?"

  Brody shrugged and that same eerie feeling washed over me again. The gesture was so familiar, it was like listening to an echo of your own voice coming out of someone else's mouth.

  For some reason, thinking of echoes brought a memory rushing to the surface of my consciousness.

  Hailey and me at the canyon outside Sweetgrass Ridge, before our relationship turned into something more than the friendship it started as. I was angry with my dad – shocker – about something and we were taking turns shouting "fuck him!" and laughing triumphantly as our words echoed down the river valley, bouncing off the high clay cliffs and coming back to us.

  That was before the little blond-haired boy in front of me existed. Before anyone had even dreamed of him existing. I looked up at Hailey, the sun behind her creating a halo of light around her head. She barely looked any different than she did that day back in Sweetgrass Ridge.

  But she was a mother now. I could see it in her movements, the way her focus that afternoon remained on her – on our – son, the way her body leaned in his direction, the way her gaze followed him. It didn't make me resentful or jealous – God help me if I ever turn into the kind of childish asshole who resents his own kid – it was just something I noticed.

  It was only meant to be a short meeting that afternoon, so the kid didn't get "overwhelmed." I wasn't sure what it was about me specifically that a 5 year old would find overwhelming, but I didn't want to give Hailey any reason to be angry and my lawyer had already made it very clear that I was to be on my absolute best behavior.

  After a few more minutes of awkward small talk between the adults, me and my son said our goodbyes. I didn't ask for a hug but he gave me one anyway, deciding at the last minute to throw his arms around my legs and hold on tightly. The lump in my throat popped back up but seconds later he was racing off towards the playground, followed by Jessica.

  Hailey stood a couple of feet away from me, her arms folded and her face pale. There was a small smear of paint on her left earlobe and I wondered if she knew it was there.

  "That wasn't so bad," I commented, more to break the uncomfortable silence than anything else. "Was it?"

  She looked down at the ground and shook her head just a little. "No, it wasn't. He likes you."

  I was irritated. I've never liked feeling like I was being tested. And that's what that short afternoon meeting in the playground felt like – a test.

  "Then why do you look so sulky?"

  Fuck. I shouldn't have said that. She looked up at me sharply and for a moment seemed to consider saying something.

  And even then, even as my soul balked at the injustice of being subjected to the kind of scrutiny that would be better reserved for abusive parents, I could barely look away from her. She was wearing a bright red tank top that draped perfectly over her breasts, and a pair of fitted jeans.

  I wanted to go further. I wanted to demand to know why she thought she, of all people, had the right to police my interactions with Brody.

  But I also, absolutely in spite of myself, wanted to kiss her. I wanted to slip my arm around her waist and pull her against me, hold her there until I felt her body soften. And then I wanted to bend down and brush my lips up over her creamy neck and –

  "I'll call you then?"

  "Huh?" I replied. "Oh. Yeah. It wasn't cheap to fly out here, you know. I don't have my dad's money anymore. And –"

  "The circumstances of your life aren't my concern, Jackson."

  I actually took a step back, stung. She didn't apologize, either, even though I waited to see if she would.

  "Fine," I replied. "OK. But I want a relationship with him, and I'm trying to tell you I can't afford to fly to New York every –"

  "I don't want to talk about it!" She snapped back, before I could finish. "You made your position very clear in Los Angeles and I'm paying a lawyer a lot of money to deal with this for me."

  "Yeah," I chuckled grimly. "So am I. That's why I can't afford to fly out here very often. Why are you being such an asshole, anyway?"

  Her eyes, full of defiance, met mine. She looked at me for a few seconds and then suddenly laughed. "You don't even know, do you?"

  "No!" I replied loudly. "No I don't, Hailey! I've done everything your lawyer told my lawyer I had to do. I don't have any idea what your problem is!"

  "Keep your voice down," she scolded, in a tone that just pissed me off even more. "There's nothing else for us to talk about."

  "So I take it you're not going to tell me?" I said as she turned to walk away.

  She whirled around, her eyes dark with emotion. Her eyes always did that, even when she was a teenager. She would do everything she could to keep her human frailties to herself but those dark eyes, as storm-filled as a Montana sky in July, always gave her away.

  "No!" She whispered angrily. "No I am not going to tell you. You didn't seem particularly interested the last time I tried, so why would I bother?"

  And with that she was gone, off towards the climbing structure where our little blond boy stood triumphant at the top, waving to his mother as the breeze carried his giggles to my ears.

  ***

  A week later, I left my lawyer's office in Los Angeles in a state of mild shock. Being a dad was going to be expensive. It was going to be extremely expensive.

  I was up for it, though. I knew better than most people that money didn't buy happiness, and I couldn't think of anything I'd rather do with the little I had than use it to spend time with my son.

  A brief meeting on a playground didn't result in the kind of instant, swooning love I'd heard mothers – and sometimes fathers – saying they experienced at their child's birth. I didn't even know Brody. How could I love him yet? But I felt a responsibility, if I can put it that way. And I felt it the second my brain registered, that afternoon in my apartment in L.A., that the child on Hailey's phone background – the one who looked so much like me – was, in fact, mine.

  This new sense of being beholden to someone other than myself made parts of my life that previously seemed like no big deal suddenly serious somehow, weighty with meaning. As soon as I got back to California I asked Lacey to give me as many hours as possible, to s
ign me up to teach more spoiled L.A. brats how to ride horses. Living as a single man in a tiny rented apartment and driving a 6 year old pick-up truck is a cheap way to live. Living as a father in a tiny rented apartment and driving a 6 year old pick-up truck, at the same time as having lawyer's fees and your child living on the other side of the country? That's not so cheap.

  I was determined to see Brody regularly, though. To build a relationship with him.

  So Hailey and me slipped into an uneasy state of calm, one based on a mutual, unspoken agreement that the only thing we could talk about was Brody himself. I thought maybe she was counting on me giving up, becoming too poor or too bored to keep flying to New York every month – a visitation schedule we both initially agreed on. But I didn't get too poor or too bored. Lacey gave me the extra hours, and I started eating a lot of rice and beans.

  It was on one of those initial visits, in early December that same year, that I floated the idea of Brody spending Christmas in Los Angeles, with me.

  "No."

  I'll give Hailey this – she doesn't beat around the bush.

  "Why not?" I replied, keeping my voice low because the boy was asleep in the bedroom just a few feet away.

  "Because it's not a good idea, Jackson."

  "Yeah OK," I replied, not managing to keep the anger out of my voice. "I'm asking why. I'm good with him – I know you see it. He trusts me. He's fine spending time alone with me. I think it would be fun for –"

  "Goddamnit!" She hissed. "I said no!"

  We were standing in the living room of the apartment she shared with Lili and Brody. Her arms were crossed – as they almost always were when I was around – and she was wearing her pajamas. She was so hard on me all the time. So cold. I didn't understand why. I didn't understand where the Hailey that had trembled with lust in my apartment that afternoon had gone. I wanted so much to touch her. To reach down and feel her lean her face into my hand like a cat as I ran one finger down her cheek. To hear the little sigh of surrender escaping her throat as she gave in and opened her arms for me.

  But I wasn't going to get what I wanted, that much was obvious.

  "I'm not sure you get to say no," I replied, my voice beginning to rise. "My lawyer says you don't just get to make these decisions unilaterally. You don't just get to say 'no' like I'm some kind of goddamned kid you just caught with his hand in the cookie jar! He's my son, Hailey! He's my –"

  "Get out."

  My eyes widened but I made no move to leave. "What? What the fuck? I'm not finished. I'm not –"

  "Tough shit," she whispered, putting a hand on my shoulder and nudging me towards the door. "You're shouting and you're going to wake him up. I can't have you acting like this, Jackson. Not here. Not in my apart–"

  "Get your hands off me!" I yelled, furious. "Stop pushing me. Hailey, I swear to God! Stop fucking push–"

  Crack.

  In my anger, I knocked a heavy glass vase off a side table and it crashed to the floor.

  "Mommy?"

  "Oh!" Hailey cried. "Brody! What's –"

  "What's happening?"

  "Nothing, love. I'm – uh... Your daddy was just –"

  "I was just leaving." I said, bending down to kiss the top of his head and trying to keep the fury out of my voice. "But I'll Skype you tomorrow after work, OK?"

  "After you ride the horses?"

  "After I ride the horses, that's right."

  I stood on the sidewalk outside Hailey's building for a good hour before calling a car to take me to the airport. I was furious, but the anger soon dissipated into a kind of hopeless regret. How did it all go so wrong? I loved that girl, once upon a time. And she loved me. I really loved her, too. The kind of love the songs are about.

  Why didn't she tell me about him?

  That was the question I couldn't let go. The question that haunted me on those long, lonely flights back to L.A., as the tiny towns and hamlets of the Midwest passed below like oases of light in the velvety darkness.

  It was her fault. OK, maybe not all her fault. Some of it was my family's fault. But most of it was Hailey's. She should have known Darcy was full of shit. No matter what, no matter what anyone else said or led her to believe, she should have found me. She should have found me and told me about him.

  Who knows what could have been if she did? Maybe instead of crammed into an economy seat on a flight back to Los Angeles I would be asleep next to her in bed, her little body curled into mine and our son safe and warm, dreaming innocent childhood dreams in the next room?

  I sighed heavily and pulled a shitty airport sandwich out of my bag, laughing at my own idiocy. I was so angry at Hailey Nickerson I couldn't even think of her without my chest tightening. And there I was on that plane, one I wouldn't be on if it wasn't for her, fantasizing about sleeping next to her. Not even fucking her. Sleeping next to her.

  What a goddamned chump.

  Chapter 32: Hailey

  I should have been happy. And knowing I should have been happy just made the constant, grinding knowledge that I wasn't even worse.

  My career was going spectacularly. After a second short trip to Italy I finished the wall piece in Milan late that year and made a cool three quarters of a million dollars when Lorenzo Paglia decided I deserved an extra quarter of a million dollars as a tip, on account of Brody "bringing life" to his soon-to-be-headquarters.

  Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. As a tip!

  For the first time, I had something I never expected to have – financial security. Not just me, but my family: Brody, Lili, my mom and my aunt Sandra. They had it too, because I had it. It's a priceless thing to know you can take care of your loved ones. To know that no matter what, they will always have a roof over their heads, food on their tables and access to the best healthcare available, should they ever need it.

  There was also the success itself. The reviews had not morphed into a backlash as I once feared they would. Oh, we thought she was the next big thing but it turns out she's just a talentless fraud. Next!

  The people who mattered thought I had talent. They thought I had more talent that I had any right to have, at my age. I'm not going to pretend a modesty that I didn't feel – I loved it. I loved the validation of my peers, of the art world's grandest and greatest.

  And then there was Brody. Brave, healthy, loved. Filled with exuberance and an open, trusting demeanor, he took to his father with the total lack of hesitation only a child can muster. And to his credit, Jackson kept up his end of the bargain where his son was concerned. He flew in as often as he could, he kept the promises he made and resisted making any he knew he couldn't keep. Within three months of visits and almost daily Skype calls, Brody was calling him "daddy."

  And still, I wasn't happy.

  Was I cursed? Born under an unlucky star? How could I have so much – especially when I knew what it was to have so little – and still spend so many nights lying in bed nursing an emptiness I couldn't quite put my finger on?

  Maybe instead of cursed or unlucky I was just depressed?

  Whatever it was, I didn't have time for it. Brody was at school every day by then, and I was well into the work for my biggest show yet, to be held in New York the next spring.

  I don't know why I got so angry when Jackson suggested that Brody might spend Christmas in Los Angeles. Well, I do. But I didn't at the time. All I knew was that my son's father seemed to have a particular talent for making angry.

  But Brody loved him and his father soon became, along with a little girl in his class named Sophie, the focus of almost every one of his conversations. 75% of his sentences began with the word "daddy."

  Daddy said...

  Daddy thinks...

  Daddy promised...

  "Maybe I should just let him go to L.A. for Christmas?"

  I was sitting in the kitchen with Lili, eating leftovers after putting Brody down for the night. She paused with her fork halfway to her mouth when I spoke, looking up to see if I was serious.

>   "Uh –"

  "I could go, too."

  "How's that going to work?" Lili asked, skeptical. "You and Jackson are just going to have a cozy Christmas in his apartment – with Brody?"

  I shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't thought about the logistics. You're right about the apartment, though. Maybe I could stay in a hotel and they could spend Christmas day together? Or I could have him for Christmas Eve and then he could go and stay with Jackson for Christmas Day?"

  "Sounds weird. And kinda depressing."

  I laughed. "OK. Yeah. But Jackson is good with him. I think he thinks I secretly want him to screw up, but it's not that. I just want everything to be good for Brody."

  "Jackson doesn't get it. He doesn't get that you're worried about your kid, not about him."

  She was right. So was I. Jackson was good with Brody. He wasn't careless the way I worried he might be. Not that I thought he would ever let something serious happen, but the Jackson Devlin I remembered could be impulsive – and none too concerned with consequences.

  But I wasn't the same person I was back in Sweetgrass Ridge, Montana, so it made sense that Jackson wasn't, either. And if our son wanted to spend some time in the California sunshine over Christmas who was I to forbid it? My issues with his dad were my own, I knew it wouldn't be fair to make Brody pay for them.

  ***

  That night after Lili went to bed, I called Jackson.

  "Hey."

  From that very first word, his tone was short. For a second, I actually considered hanging up. Or calling him an asshole and then hanging up.

  But it wasn't about me. It was about Brody.

  "Hey," I replied, returning his lack of friendliness in kind.

  "What's up?"

  "Not much. Work. I'm just calling because I wanted to talk about Christmas."

  There was silence on the other end, followed eventually by a heavy sigh. "Don't worry, Hailey. I'm not going to ask to see him over the holidays. I know my place."

  A quick flash of cold anger passed over me. What the hell was wrong with Jackson Devlin? Was there something in the water in California? Something that made everyone prone to feeling persecuted and allergic to taking responsibility?