by Laura Drake
She turns to me. “We’ve sure changed from those naive kids.”
“Maybe, but I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit.”
“How so?”
“Look at where you’ve been the past months. The things that you’ve been through. Would that Homecoming Queen have been able to do that?”
She smiles out at the darkness. “No way.”
“I have no doubt that no matter what, you’ll keep that baby safe, and raise her to be a strong, amazing woman. Just like her mother.” I wrap my arms around my knees. “A friend of mine was telling me a while ago that sometimes, all it takes is a leap of faith. I’m starting to believe he’s right.”
“I always stunk at broad jump.” She looks down at her bump. “And now…”
“Com’ere.” I put my arm around her, to try to get her to lean into me.
She resists.
“Look, Carly, I won’t get the wrong idea. You’ve been up front about how you feel. Can’t you trust me this far?”
She holds tight for the space of a few seconds. Then she relaxes against me, but I can still sense the tension in the line of her back. She may trust me this far, but not much further.
I drape my hand over her shoulder. “You know, I think we did this all backward.”
“How so?”
“Most people are single, growing up. They get to know themselves, and what they want. Then they meet someone who fits their grown-up selves, and it clicks. We met in kindergarten, and were together ever since. It’s like we had to be apart, to discover who we were, by ourselves. Now we need to see if the people we are now still fit together.”
She looks up at me. “When did you get so wise?”
I snort. “Me? I’m just a broken-down cowboy.”
“You remind me of my Papaw. You always did know more than you say.”
“So did you. I just never asked.” We sit quiet for a time, looking over the sporadic lights of our hometown.
“What are you going to name the baby?”
She starts a bit. “I’m not sure. Why?”
“I know what I’d name her, if it were my choice to make.”
“What?”
“Faith.”
“Really? Why?”
“Because you had faith, the whole time, that keeping her was the right thing. In spite of me, and the entire town, you knew what the right thing was.”
“I’ve been so scared.”
I want so bad to tell her she doesn’t have to be, any longer. But they’re only words, and I’ve thrown words at her for years. “I have, too.”
I’ll have to be content to sit for now, inhaling the apricot scent of her hair. It’s going to take time for her to see that I’ve changed. That I am the man she and the baby need.
Chapter 24
Carly
I open my eyes to sun streaming in my bedroom window. A bloom of panic slams into my brain until I remember. I’m not working today. I stretch and smile. My sunny walls smile back. I cradle my getting-bigger belly. Mornin’, Bean.
“Faith?”
I whisper it out loud, trying it out on my mind, on my tongue. I kind of like it. The fact that Austin spent time thinking about the baby does things to my insides. Good things. Traitorous things.
Sitting in the quiet dark last night, I couldn’t help but see differences in him. Before, he’d have chattered away, filling the holes in conversation with stories of him at his last rodeo, him on his last escapade…him. But instead, we talked about me. About life. About Faith. He’s no longer so sure of who he is, and what he believes. I like that.
Not that I want him to be tentative, or insecure, but if you only deal with what you know you know, how do you ever learn anything new? If you don’t test your beliefs, to stir them up now and again, they set like wet cement in August. I don’t want someone who tells me what I think because it’s what he thinks. I want someone I can discuss ideas with. Someone who wants to know what I think.
Like the guy who sat with me in the dark last night.
I discovered something else. Austin was right. He exposed a lie I didn’t even know I’d told myself. I’ll see that my baby is safe, no matter what. I’m not risking her.
If Austin and I get back together, I’m risking my own heart.
I should be brave. From the stories I’ve heard of my mom, she would have jumped in with both feet. But I don’t feel brave. Let’s face it; I didn’t handle heartbreak well the last time. How much worse would it be now, if things didn’t work out, knowing what lies ahead?
But if it did work out, I’d have my dreams back. Nothing grand or original, just a simple small-town country girl’s hand-me-down dreams: love, a home, a family.
I’m caught between two irresistible forces, like a metal bar between two magnets. Both have a push, and a pull.
How do you decide?
“Daylight’s burnin’, missy.” Papaw’s gruff voice booms through the door.
“Coming.” I throw off the covers, grab my robe at the foot of the bed, and cram my toes into my slippers.
My mom smiles down at me from the wall. I miss her especially, today. I’m conflicted, confused, and sure could use a mom to talk to.
“What’re we doing today, Papaw?” He’s already got a pot of coffee on the stove, staying warm. I take out Nana’s cast-iron skillet from the oven and open the fridge.
“I’m makin’ product. And afore you ask, you can’t help. I don’t want you anywhere near that stuff, in case it could hurt the baby.”
I pull out eggs and bacon, and get to work. “Nana sleeping in?”
“She stayed up waiting for someone to come in last night.”
Prepping the pan allows me to keep my back to him and hide my blush. “I hardly think she needs to wait up. I’m twenty-nine.”
“I think she wanted to know what happened.”
I turn, but he holds up a hand. “Didn’t say I did. Save it.”
Nana shuffles in, her hair in a cloud of spun sugar around her head. “Spill it, missy. I wanna hear everything.”
If we were alone, Nana and I, I would. But expose tender feelings around Papaw? Not happening. “Later. Do you need my help around here today, Nana?”
“No. You go have fun.” She steps to me and fluffs my rat’s nest hair. “That’s an order.”
I hug her tight. Damned hormones have my eyes leaking again. “You sit. I’m cooking this morning.”
An hour and a half later, I’m showered and dressed, and Nana’s done grilling me about my date last night. The only spots on the kitchen counter are the worn ones, the living room is straightened, and there’s nothing left to do. Nothing anyone will let me do, anyway.
I’m sick of the war being fought in my head. I need outside input. I fold the rag over the sink and take Fartito’s keys from the hook by the door. “I’m going out, Nana. You need anything?”
Her voice comes from the living room. “Nah. Papaw will need the truck late afternoon, though. He’s got a delivery to make.”
“I’ll be back way before that.”
I swear I didn’t have a destination in mind, but before I know it the truck steers himself to the Davises. Mrs. Davis and I had a good relationship, back when. She treated me like the daughter she hadn’t had, and I was as comfortable at her table as I was at Nana’s—I was there just about as often.
But I haven’t been in touch since the breakup. I know I’m taking a chance—she may be mad at me. After all, she has a dog in this hunt. But I sure could use a mother’s advice, and she always happily filled that space as best she could.
I step out of the truck and force my feet to the front porch, and lift my hand to knock.
The door is opened, and after a moment of startled hesitation I’m wrapped in Mrs. Davis’s hug. “Oh, Carly Beauchamp, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve picked up the phone to call you.”
I’m suddenly so aware of how much I’ve missed her. Hormones clog my throat. She sees, takes my hand, and pats
it. “You get yourself in here. We’ll have coffee and a long chat.”
In two minutes, I’m in a chair at the glass-topped umbrella table on the patio, a cup of coffee and plate of Danish at my elbow. “I—I didn’t know how you’d feel about everything.”
“My heart hurts for you both. That’s how I feel.” As she studies me, her eyes narrow. “You didn’t come here for me to tell you what to do. You’re capable of working that out for yourself.”
“I know. I was just so missing having a mom this morning. I’d’ve called, but I ended up here before I realized I was coming.”
She sits beside me, doctoring her coffee with a generous dollop of cream. “Did I ever tell you the story of how Bob and I met?”
“I don’t think so.”
She takes a sip, then sets the cup down. “We fell in love over a microscope in chemistry class.”
“Aw, that’s sweet.”
“Except things were different then. The spur had shut down, and times were hard. The town pulled in on itself, and if your daddy hadn’t fired grapeshot at the Yankees you were on the outside, and his mother was from Detroit. Add to that a single-wide trailer on the south side of the tracks, and her never being married…let’s just say my parents were not fans of Bob Davis.” The corners of her mouth rise in a soft, but so-sad smile. “The day of graduation, we eloped. I lost the baby three weeks later.”
My hand flies to my open mouth. My chest tightens to hold the swirling rush of sympathy.
“It could have torn us apart. He could have gone home. After all, he had no reputation to lose. But I couldn’t—my parents made it clear when I left that I wouldn’t be welcome. That’s when I truly saw the man I married. The experience forged him into someone the same, yet different. He was stronger, truer. He put on his best clothes, marched down to the bank on the corner, and talked them into giving him a job. That was the beginning.”
I knew that Austin’s dad had retired the head of Unforgiven Bank & Trust, but I had no idea what that said about him, until now.
Her soft gaze finds me, and her hand covers mine. “I won’t be one to judge you, Carly. I’m proud of you. Despite the heavy responsibilities on those fragile shoulders, you’ve grown to be a strong young woman. You’re going to be a wonderful mother.”
I use the napkin under my coffee cup to blot my eyes.
“But I’m getting off the point of my story. I learned not to count a man out until he’s been forged in fire. That’s when you’ll see what he’s really made of.” She sits back, and the lines on her face clear.
I would have never guessed what was hiding behind that smile, all those years. I’m so glad I know now.
“Enough of that. So, tell me all about that baby. What are you going to name her?”
I realize that sometime in the past hour, I’ve decided. “Faith. Her name is Faith.”
* * *
Carly
“Jess, what are you doing tonight? Want to hang out? Got any bathrooms you need cleaned?”
“Holy Lysol, Carly. You want to clean? Are you sick?”
Sick of thinking. “No. Just bored.” I plop onto my bed. “I’m off today, and no one will let me do anything. If I sit around much longer, I’m going to start cleaning out our junk drawers.”
“Oh man, you need help. Okay, hold tight, I’ll be by to pick you up in a half hour.”
“Oh good. Where are we going?”
“Do you care? It’s bound to be better than heading for the junk drawers.”
“Good point.” I end the call and get ready for wherever. Luckily, nothing in Unforgiven is dressy, so I’m safe in my can’t-button jeans, blousy maternity top, and my Fightin’ Billy Goats ball cap, my ponytail pulled through the hole in the back.
Forty minutes later, the sun is almost down when Jess pulls into the yard in her mommymobile, with her oldest, eight-year-old Travis, in a booster seat in the back. The window rolls down, and Jess yells, “Travis said it was okay if you come, but it’s going to cost you.”
I pull the door open and slide in. “Travis, your next Mickey D’s is on me.”
He glances up from his iPad. “Score, Dude.”
Jess glares into the rearview mirror. “We’ve got to work on your gender slang.”
“‘Dude’ is unisex, Mom.”
I love all Jess’s kids, but Travis always was the smart one. “He’s going to be a lawyer when he grows up, mark my words.”
“What, and break his daddy’s heart?” Jess turns the car around in our yard and heads down the long dirt drive. “Jake is determined he’s going to be a major-league second baseman.”
“Jake is dreaming. Luckily, you have a spare. Maybe little Beau will like baseball.”
“We can hope.”
“So where are we off to?”
“To do what this one really loves—”
“Rodeo!” Travis throws his fists in the air.
Jess rolls her eyes. “Jimbo Jones has a kid’s rodeo school. Travis drove us nuts until we signed him up.”
“I’m a goat-tier, but only ’til they let me ride the mini-bulls.”
Jess shoots a look in the mirror. “If, son. If.”
“How did I not know about this?”
“You were off having adventures, girlfriend.”
“Yeah, despite a disastrous beginning, there have been lots for the highlight reels.” I pat Bean—Faith. “And the real adventure begins in a couple months.”
Jess chuckles. “You don’t know the half of it, Grasshopper.”
I chat with Travis about the finer points of goat tying, until we pull in and park at the side of a floodlit arena.
Travis is out of the car like he’s been shot from a grenade launcher.
I peer through the windshield at the lambs, mini-bulls, ponies, and goats milling in the arena. “It’s like somebody took a rodeo and miniaturized it.” A few men are trying to sort out the menagerie.
“Ruh-roh.” Jess turns to me. “I swear, I had no idea.”
I squint at the men, but I don’t need to see their features. I recognize the loose-hipped roll of that tight butt. A burst of adrenaline fires down my nerves. “It’s fine.” I unsnap the seat belt. “I’m fine.” But I’m not.
And from her look, Jess knows it. “Let’s go sit in the bleachers with the other parents.”
When we get there, I tell Jess to go on ahead, and I hang back in the shadows. I’m not sure why, but I don’t want Austin to know I’m here.
The sorted animals are being hazed to different pens when the loudspeaker crackles to life. “Howdy, folks, and welcome to the Monthly Unforgiven Youth Rodeo!”
The parents cheer. The kids mill in a group that’s no less chaotic than the animals’.
“We’re going to open with Ribbon Roping. The teams are queued up and ready to go. First in the chute is Hazel Montoya and the ribbon girl is her little sister, Brandy.”
The little calf is released, and Hazel, who looks to be around thirteen, comes out of the chute on a pretty sorrel, spinning her loop. Her little sister takes off on stubby eight-year-old legs, trying to keep up, and to haze the calf toward the horse. With perfect form, Hazel releases and the loop settles over the calf’s head. Hazel does a flying dismount, runs down the rope to the struggling calf, and tries to hold it as her little sister runs around, trying to pull the ribbon off the calf’s tail.
The crowd screams encouragement.
When Brandy has it, she takes off for the finish line.
“Twenty-four and two-tenths. The Montoyas have set a blazing speed, but Randy Belcher and Raye Cameron will try to match it. They’re up next.”
Austin stands in the squeeze chute, tying a pretty pink bow on the next calf’s tail. The rough-stock-riding cowboy I knew a year ago wouldn’t have been caught dead doing that.
The events tick by, and Austin is right in the middle of everything, putting kids on sheep, setting up poles for pole bending, picking up the mini-bull riders when they fall off. He dusts red dirt
off each, dispensing high fives or words of encouragement. I’m trying to hold tough, but I’m awash in cuteness. And old dreams.
It’s clear from his face he’s enjoying it all. I always knew he was good with kids. He would stop everything to sign an autograph, or talk to the kids at the rodeos.
He says he’s changed his mind about Faith. I believe he believes it. But what if she doesn’t look like me? What if she has black hair and ice-blue eyes? Would he see a sweet baby, or the guy I slept with?
“Folks, Sub-Junior goat-tying is up next. Contestants, report to the squeeze chutes, pronto. You’ve got bedtimes, remember.”
I step out of the shadows to scan the bleachers until I find Jess on the lowest bench, her knees bouncing in the nervous-mom dance. When I sit beside her, she grabs my hand and squeezes hard enough to make me wince. “I’ve been sitting here praying. Travis is so little, and the horse they’re putting him on is so big. What if he falls off? What if it bolts? What if—”
“Jess. Take a breath. Travis is a strong rider. I taught him, didn’t I? And his dad has been working on his roping skills. He’s going to be fine, you’ll see.” I peel my hand from her grip and put my arm around her shoulders. “Now buck up. If you show you’re scared, he’s going to be.”
“You’re right. I know you’re right.” Her knees hammer like pistons. “Why didn’t he like something sane, like football?”
The chute opens, ejecting a large, bawling goat. He sprints for the other end of the arena, with a bay quarter horse in hot pursuit. My heart squeezes. Jess is right. Travis looks tiny up there. But he’s spurring and spinning his rope like a pro.
“Get him, Travis!” I yell.
“Hang on, son!”
The loop settles nicely and the horse squats in a pretty stop that catches Travis leaning forward. He’s ejected, does a perfect somersault, and lands on his back pockets in the dirt.