The Last True Cowboy

by Laura Drake

  He pulls off the first, then the second. “Already done. You lie down.”

  My bed wraps me in warmth and comfort. And paint fumes. Luckily, they’ve never bothered me.

  “Close your eyes.”

  “There you go, pushing again.”

  “Shhh, Tig. You’re out on your feet.” He takes Nana’s quilt from the iron footboard and spreads it over me. “Now, you get some rest. We’ll talk later.” He grabs my toes through the quilt, shakes them, then he’s gone, closing the door behind him.

  My last thought, before sleep catches me, is that he’s been painting from the time he left me until now. He hasn’t slept at all.

  Chapter 22

  Austin

  I roll onto my side on the camp cot I bought at the sporting goods store and clamp a pillow over my head, but it’s no use. Between the light streaming into the new dining room windows and Troy talking on the phone in the next room, sleep is impossible. When I hear him end the call, I yell, “Shutthehellup, willya?”

  He walks in the room, phone in hand. “What the heck are you doing still in bed at noon? Are you sick?”

  I drop my feet to the floor and scratch my head. “No. I stayed up all night.”

  “You were here when I came down, so I assumed…Where have you been?”

  “Watching Carly sleep at the hospital most of the night, then I painted her bedroom.”

  He squinches up one side of his face. “Huh?”

  “To get ready for the baby.”

  “What? What baby?”

  I look up at my big brother, who has told me everything that matters about his relationship. I’ve told him hardly anything that matters about mine. At first, I didn’t trust him. But now? I feel like a shit. “Um. Carly’s.”

  “You ass. I’ve been spilling my guts—”

  “I know, I know.” I hold up a hand. “I’m sorry. I thought about telling you a bunch of times, but…” I struggle off the cot to my knees, then stand.

  He just watches, arms folded.

  “I’ll tell you everything. But first, I need coffee.”

  For the next half hour, I do. “I know you always looked down on me and my career. If you’d have judged Tig, I’da had to kill you, and I didn’t want to spend the next twenty years in jail.”

  “Shit, Austin, give me some credit.”

  I raise one brow. “Remember our fight over the barbed-wire fence? You were a snob.”

  “And you were a bad-old-boy.”

  “I doubt either of us is going to change, at this point.” I put out my hand. “How about a truce? Living with you the past weeks, I’ve found you do have one or two good points.”

  “Jeez, don’t go all sappy on me, brother.” He shakes. “What are you going to do now?”

  “I’m going to try to get to know this new woman that I’ve known all my life. If she’ll let me close enough.”

  “Well, it’d help if you start over.”

  I squint at him. “I don’t recall asking for advice.”

  “Oh, and I did? Didn’t stop you from jumping into my business. So just shut up and listen.”

  I can’t argue with that logic.

  “You assumed, all this time, that you knew her, just because you’ve known her so long. Y’all met when you were kids. You’ve grown up.” He looks me up and down. “At least she has.”

  “I can get abuse almost anywhere—”

  “Shut up and listen. Carly’s changed. And from what you’ve told me, you have no idea how. You’re only going to find that out by listening.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “No, I mean like you’re on a first date kind of listen. Don’t make any assumptions.”

  I nod. “That’s not a bad idea, for a guy who wears a suit to work.” I remember the few words I heard of his phone conversation. “Did you do it?”

  “Take your advice?” His grin falls off. “Yeah. That’s why I’ve been on the phone all morning, referring clients to other investors.” He rubs his forehead. “Getting on a bull would be less scary.”

  “Trust me. Way less.” I put my empty mug in the sink. “That means you’ll have more time to help with the renovations here, right?”

  “Short term, yes. If this plan doesn’t work, I’m going to have to get a job. A shit-shoveler, grocery-sacker, ‘do you want fries with that’ kinda job. That should impress my by-then ex-wife.”

  “Nah. You can just start over in the investing business.”

  “Right. It took me ten years to build my client list. And somehow, I don’t think I’ll be invited to charity golf tournaments once Darcy hates me. Hell, I won’t have the money to belong to the golf course, much less afford to play a round.”

  “Oh, the horror.” I squint at him. “You’ll look pretty good in a Whataburger paper hat. Good chance for advancement, right there.”

  He punches my arm, but he’s smiling.

  I snatch my paint-spattered T-shirt from a corner. “Let’s get to work. They’re delivering the new kitchen appliances today, and if we don’t fix the back steps before then, they’re going to go right through.” The new slate floor we laid in the kitchen looks great; old and new, all at the same time. My body is dragging, but my spirit is floating on a cloud of hope.

  The work will give me time to plan.

  * * *

  Carly

  “I don’t know why you’re draggin’ your feet.” Nana stirs oatmeal at the stove, then pokes at the popping sausage in the frying pan.

  I pour coffee. “It’s just that I’ve kept the baby a secret so long, it seems strange that everyone will know. People can be—you know.” I don’t have the guts to tell her that business has fallen off at the diner.

  “It’s gonna be fine.” She turns and points the spatula at me. “And if it ain’t, you let me know. I’ll straighten ’em out.”

  Yeah, that’d make things better, for sure.

  Papaw stomps his boots on the mat outside, then pulls the screen open. “Could come a gully-washer today.”

  I glance out the kitchen window. The pewter clouds seem to squat on the barn roof, and the wind is thrashing the trees and stirring little tornadoes of dust in the yard. “Be a nice break from the heat.”

  Nana pours out oatmeal, and I blot the sausage with paper towel, then carry it to the table.

  We sit, and Papaw clasps his hands and bows his head. “Lord, make us thankful for the food, and all the other bounties you’ve given us. Thank you for our home, our health, and our family.” He hesitates a moment, then adds, “And for taking care of missy, along with her little baby. Amen.”

  “Amen.” My voice comes out thick, and I sniff. Could be the hormones, but I don’t think so. Sometimes, love just comes out liquid. The two papery, weathered faces at this table are so precious. “I can’t wait for Bean to meet her great-grandparents.”

  Nana squints at me. “Bean? What kinda name is that for a baby?”

  “Dumb, that’s what.” Papaw shovels in a spoonful of oatmeal.

  My face heats. “That’s just what I call her. Guess I’ll have to be thinking of a real name soon.”

  “They’re sure it’s a little girl?” Nana sips coffee, a dreamy look in her eye.

  “That’s what they said. I’ll be happy, either way.”

  “You oughta be more worried about givin’ her a last name,” Papaw says.

  Oh, I see where this is going. “She’s got a perfect last name already. Beauchamp.”

  “Hmph.”

  And that’s the end of that conversation.

  I reach town as the sky lets loose. Water is bouncing off the pavement, making it hard to see. Fartito’s wipers can’t keep up. When I turn onto the square, every parking spot is taken for two blocks. Dang, I didn’t have this problem when I’m in early. I pull around back and squeeze my truck in next to Lorelei’s little roller-skate Smart Car. I can barely open the door enough to squeeze out. In another month, I’d be stuck like a cork in a bottle. Pulling up the hood of my poncho, I do
dge puddles to the back door.

  I step into a warm-as-toast kitchen, pull off the poncho, and hang it on one of the hooks by the back door. “It’s a real frog-choker out there.”

  “There she is.” Fish puts down his tongs and spatula and comes over to wrap me in a hug. “I’m so glad you and the baby are okay.”

  “Thanks to you.” I hug him hard.

  “Carly!” Lorelei squeals through the serving window. She disappears, then bolts through the swinging doors. “You scared the bejeezus out of us.” She hugs me, then kisses my temple and releases me, all except my hand. “Come on. People have been asking after you all morning.” She tugs me toward the swinging door.

  “I, um. I have work to do in my office.”

  “Nope.” She shoots a General Patton look over her shoulder. “The quicker you get this over, the better you’ll feel. Let’s go.”

  She pulls me through the door.

  Only a quarter of the booths are occupied. Moss is all alone at the bar.

  People halt, mid-chew.

  Thunder cracks overhead. A strong storm is building, outside, and inside my chest. They all know that Carly’s no longer the good girl. It’s time to show them the real Carly Beauchamp. I tighten my muscles and my courage. “I need to talk to y’all. Not that I owe you an explanation. But rumors get bigger with the telling, so I want you to know the truth. From me.”

  I look around. Expressions range from happy to worried. Several people’s faces are closed; painted in disapproval.

  “Yes, I’m pregnant. It’s a girl. She and I are both fine. No, it’s not Austin’s. Yes, he knows.” I raise my chin, and straighten my spine. “I made a mistake. A bad one. But I can’t be sorry. I didn’t plan this baby, but I’ve discovered that love doesn’t care about that.” I cradle my belly. “I’m going to have her, love her, and be the best mother I know how to be.” I stop. Funny, how I worried so much about this speech, built it up in my mind; it seems like it should be longer. But there’s really not much left to say. “You judge me however you want. I’ve got a life to lead, and a future to find.” I turn and push through the door to the kitchen. Only time will tell how the townsfolk will treat me, but no matter what they choose, I know I’ll press on, regardless.

  Because that’s what strong women do.

  * * *

  Carly

  Two days later, I’m driving Fartito home with the window down, grateful for the break in the dragon’s-breath heat. Things are falling into a “new normal” at work. No one will let me lift as much as a tea pitcher, and most of the time, I’m relegated to my office with my feet up. Not that they need me much; the diner is half empty most of the time, and if this keeps up we’ll be lucky to break even.

  Some people have gone out of their way to be nice, to talk to me, and let me know they care. Others won’t meet my eyes. No one’s crossed the street to avoid me yet, but from their sour looks, it’s a near thing.

  In spite of all that, I wake every morning, light, optimistic, grateful.

  I’m free.

  Funny thing about carrying a secret. After a while, you get used to it. Like a too-heavy purse, you sling it over your shoulder every day and haul it around, never thinking about it, until the strap breaks. It feels so good when you put it down, vowing to buy a smaller one next time.

  It’s freeing to be able to talk about the baby. Bean is more real, because I can admit, out loud, that she exists. It’s so nice to not have to choose the day’s outfit based on hiding my bulge. Jess and I are going maternity clothes shopping this weekend. Oh, and Jess. She and I are closer than ever, comparing pregnancies and sharing tips.

  I feel like any other pregnant woman.

  Well, except the no-husband thing.

  The sharp pang that hits below my belt has nothing to do with Bean. I should be resigned by now. My old dream is gone, and even the dust of its passing has settled. No matter what Austin says, change, even change you want, isn’t easy. I should know. You can pretend for a time, but true spots can’t be covered up forever.

  I’ll find another guy, eventually, someday (maybe). In the meantime, I’m thankful for the blessings I do have.

  And I have a bunch.

  I turn in at our long drive, rolling up the window to keep out the billowing dust. There’s a suspicious black spot in the yard that has no business being there. As I get closer, it comes into focus. Austin’s truck.

  The little girl in my head claps with glee. But the older, wiser me knows this is dangerous. I can’t afford to fall into the old Carly, being second place in Austin’s world. I have a baby’s future to think about.

  This might be a good thing; Austin Davis and I need to talk. We need boundaries. I need boundaries.

  I pull up beside the house and wait until the truck blats its last fart, push down the irritation, and head for the O.K. Corral.

  Austin is sitting in the same place as last time, drinking coffee at the table as if he belongs there. Nana is bustling around like Julia Child on crack, cooking his favorite meal, spaghetti. Complete with from-scratch garlic bread, and there’s an apple pie cooling on the windowsill.

  The irritation I pushed down rises like Nana’s bread. This is not high school. I’m not that girl.

  “Hey, Tigger.”

  I see worry beneath his good-ol’-country-boy smile. He knows he’s pushing. Again.

  “Fifteen to supper, hon. Why don’t you take our guest into the parlor?” Nana’s innocent face doesn’t fool me, either.

  Oh, it’s a parlor now? My jaw is so tight I can feel the muscles in my jaw bulge. “Guests are invited.”

  Nana’s wrinkles go hard. “I invited him. And you’ll keep a civil tongue in your head, missy. I taught you better.”

  Austin abandons his coffee and the casual pose and stands. “Shall we?”

  “By all means.” My sarcasm drips onto Nana’s clean floor and she harrumphs as I walk by her.

  The parlor is uncharacteristically neat. The pile of newspapers is gone from beside Papaw’s chair, probably stashed in the closet along with Nana’s knitting and her Bingo magazines.

  And next to the front door sits a small wooden rocking horse, with a rope mane and tail, and a big smile that tugs at my heart. “Oh, my gosh, how adorable.”

  Austin beams like he just won the bareback finals. “I saw it and had to get it for the little one.”

  “Thank you.” Tenderness smacks into my wall of No. I always knew he’d make a great dad. If he was the dad. “We need to talk, Austin. You’ve got to stop. This isn’t for you to do.”

  “Why don’t we sit on the couch?” His hearty tone belies the misgivings I know are there.

  “You sit, I’ll stand.” I tighten my muscles, my stance, and my resolve. I know I sound like an ungrateful witch, but I can’t afford risks anymore. I have more than my heart to lose. You and me, Bean, you and me.

  He doesn’t sit. “Look, Carly. I just came by to talk, and Nana—”

  “Oh, I know. She’s on your side.”

  “Sides? There are sides?”

  “I appreciate that you saved the business when I got taken to the hospital. Truly. My room is pretty, thank you. And the horse is adorable, the perfect gift. But that’s enough. The hard sell isn’t going to change anything.”

  “Whoa. Hard sell? What is this, a slow month at Floyd’s Used Cars? I’m talking about our future here.”

  Seeing a hard man go all tender does things to my insides. It always has.

  He still loves us.

  Shut up, traitor.

  He’s changed.

  And you know this, how?

  Those damned green eyes. They’re melting my resolve like the Wicked Witch in a waterfall.

  “If you’ll just loosen that Cajun stubbornness a notch, you’ll see what’s real. I’m real. Our future can be real.” He pulls the first two snaps on his dress shirt, exposing his considerable pecs, and my name in ink, on his smooth skin. “I love you more now than when I had your brand put ov
er my heart, Tig.”

  I cross my arms to shield my own. “Yeah, except the not-your-baby thing.”

  He winces. “I was wrong. I was just so mad about what happened. You were lost, and I couldn’t do a damned thing about it.” He looks down at his boots. “I don’t do helpless very well. But once I had time to think…hell, as many mistakes as I’ve made, for so many years, what kind of hypocrite would I be to hold your mistake against you? After all, a decent part of what drove you to Albuquerque was me, and my concrete skull. I wanted to talk to you; to tell you. But you kept me at arm’s length—I couldn’t find an opening.

  “But when I heard they carried you off in an ambulance, saying that you could lose the baby, things changed. I changed. I stopped looking at your pregnancy as some horrific outcome, and realized…” A look of wonder comes over his face. “You’re going to have a little girl.”

  Emotion gathers behind the bones of my face. I know this man. This is the man I’ve loved all these years. I close my eyes, slamming the door on the feelings. I know he means it. But he said we were getting married “next year” for ten years, and he meant that, too.

  “You said once that what I wanted was a sidekick, someone to share my adventures. You were right; that’s what every kid wants. But I’ve grown up. I want a partner. Someone to argue with me when I’m full of crap. Someone to run a business with. Someone to lean on, when things get hard.”

  He takes two steps, and my hands.

  “And I want to be there for you to lean on. For the baby to depend on, when she gets older. See, I’m not the badass bull rider anymore. My own ignorance bashed up and burned that guy down to nothing. What’s left is what’s standing in front of you. I’m not cool, not suave, not proud. I can’t even promise that I’ll be successful.”

  His fingers run over the back of my hand. His gaze searches my face. “All I’m asking for is a chance.”

  I want to step into his arms, to relax into him so bad, it’s a physical ache. It’s exhausting, being on my own, making all the decisions, not knowing if they’re right. Knowing more than just me will pay for mistakes. God, how wonderful would it be having someone trustworthy to lean on? It’d put the ground back under my feet.