A Cowboy's Plan

by Mary Sullivan

“It’s okay. You know I don’t mind.”

  Hank waited while she unlocked the door and flicked the switch that turned on one of the store lights. He hauled her things upstairs and checked out her apartment.

  “This is nice. It just might work out for you. I have a little old TV you can have. Do you want it?”

  Janey nodded. “That would be good.”

  Hank placed his fingers on her shoulder in a fleeting touch. “You take care. If this doesn’t work out for you, give me a call and I’ll come get you, okay?”

  “Thanks, Hank.”

  She walked him out and he waited to make sure the front door was locked before driving off.

  Janey headed upstairs, turning off lights as she went, until she was in her own apartment with just a table lamp on. The room felt cozy.

  She put away the groceries and food from Hannah, including a huge slice of homemade lasagna left over from dinner.

  After wiping out the small medicine cabinet in the bathroom, she filled it with makeup and toiletries.

  She checked out the bed. After she said she would rent the place, C.J. had promised to wash the bed sheets. She sniffed the pillowcase. Fabric softener. He had cleaned them.

  The miniature white Stetson that Hank had given to Cheryl at the end of her visit at the Sheltering Arms took pride of place on the knob at the outside corner of the metal headboard.

  Like the street outside late on a Sunday evening, the apartment was quiet. It would be perfect when she started her studying.

  She tucked her clothes into the dresser and the closet. Then, with nothing else to do, she sat in the living room.

  Thinking hard, she couldn’t remember when she’d last felt this alone. Except for yesterday with the powwow, the ranch was always hopping and alive with people.

  Her mind wandered to thoughts of her family, of Dad and Tom and the twins, Grace and Janet, and the youngest, Shannon.

  In the dead quiet of the apartment, with no distractions, she realized how much she’d missed them. She’d forgotten how Shannon used to call her every day after school. No way would they want to hear from her now, though. She hadn’t contacted them once in the past year. She hadn’t been able to. Couldn’t talk about Cheryl.

  She wondered if she could work up the nerve to contact them again, or if she had lost them for good.

  THE FOLLOWING WEEK BROUGHT with it more of the same in the candy business, learning to make more candies—saltwater taffy on Tuesday and filling chocolate moulds on Wednesday.

  Throughout, Janey felt something shift for her. She started to love the little store and the work involved and almost all of the customers.Calvin stopped in for lunch again on Wednesday and didn’t complain about the repeated menu of peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches. Neither did C.J. say a thing about Janey feeding Calvin.

  On Thursday, C.J. taught her how to make icing and paint the animals. She started with a small rabbit and did a great job.

  On Friday morning, Janey ran downstairs at ten to nine to open the front door for C.J. and Liam. They’d been a few minutes late every morning this week. When they arrived each morning, Janey could tell they were frustrated with each other.

  She set out some crayons and a coloring book she’d picked up.

  The bell rang and she turned to greet them, but it was a woman Janey didn’t recognize. She wasn’t from town.

  “Can I help you?” she asked.

  She studied Janey with a puzzled frown. “Have we met? Are you one of Vicki’s friends?”

  “No, I’m not. Who are you?”

  “Is C.J. here?”

  “He’ll be in any minute.”

  “I’ll wait for him in my car.”

  Who on earth was that and how did she know about Liam’s mother?

  Ten minutes later, C.J. showed up with Liam, who was crying.

  “What’s going on?” Janey picked up Liam and rocked him in her arms.

  “He wouldn’t eat breakfast.”

  “How about if I go to the diner and get him some fried eggs?”

  “That’s okay. I’ll go.”

  C.J. left the store and Janey sat at the table in the window with Liam on her lap, waiting for C.J. to return. At the sound of raised voices a while later, she looked out the window.

  C.J. stood arguing with the woman who’d come into the store. Janey had witnessed a lot of C.J.’s moods, but she’d never seen this particular blend of anger and…desperation? Suddenly she wished she’d lied to the woman and sent her on her way rather than having C.J. deal with her when he was obviously having a bad morning.

  The woman got into her car and drove off. C.J. stood on the sidewalk staring after the car until it was history.

  When he entered the store with a foam container holding Liam’s breakfast, his step was heavy.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “What’s happening? Who was that?”

  “Marjorie Bates. The social worker who handles Liam’s file.”

  “What did she want?”

  “She wanted to know why you were working here. She said she recognized you from when you used to go into the Child and Family Welfare Services office in Billings. Why?”

  “Because of Cheryl. I was only fifteen when she was born and living on my own. Welfare was the only way we could survive.”

  “Did you know Marjorie?”

  “I don’t remember ever seeing her there.”

  “She wants me to take Liam into Billings next Thursday for an interview. She didn’t like that I was bringing him into work today. She thinks it is only for today, so don’t say anything other than that. Okay?”

  “Why would I say anything? I’ll probably never see her again.”

  “Well…” C.J. rubbed the back of his neck. “She wants you to come into the office with me and Liam next week.”

  “Me? Why? I only work here.”

  “I know, but I think she guessed that Liam is in here more often than just today and that you work here full-time.”

  “It’s because of the way I look, isn’t it?”

  “I think so. Yeah.”

  She hated this. Before moving to this town, her appearance had protected her, kept her safe hiding in plain sight. But now people judged her harshly and unfairly. Couldn’t anyone see her? The real her?

  And she so did not want to return to the services office. Despite how nice her social workers had been, every visit had stripped away a little of her pride and added to her shame. She’d wanted so much more for Cheryl and herself. Still did. But this wasn’t about her, she thought as she looked at C.J. It was about him keeping his son, as he deserved.

  “All right. I’ll come. Can I visit some people and run some errands while we’re there?” Maybe she’d have the courage to phone her family, to rebuild the bridge she’d let crumble with her grief.

  “Yeah. I’ll close the shop for the full day. I’ll pick you up here at nine.”

  “Okay.”

  ON SATURDAY, Janey was operating the store on her own. C.J. was at Angus Kinsey’s ranch with most of the local ranchers, busting broncs.

  The Rev was babysitting Liam.When she served her first two customers, a ripple of excitement ran through her. It was like being a shopowner, like being a businesswoman.

  Bernice had just left after picking up some dinner mints when the door chime rang. Janey came back into the store.

  Two young guys, strangers, stood looking around. They wore black clothes heavily laden with silver chains and studs. Their dyed black hair was either really dirty or coated with product to keep it superstraight and covering most of their eyes.

  They wore black nail polish.

  Their piercings outnumbered Janey’s by two to one.

  One of them wore a black-leather dog collar studded with silver spikes.

  Punks.

  They looked tough and strung-out on something. Dangerous.

  Was that what some people saw when they looked at her?

  Danger?<
br />
  “What can I do for you?” she asked.

  “I need money,” one of them said.

  Great. Her first day alone on the job and she was about to be robbed. Not if she could help it.

  “The bank’s across the street.”

  “I don’t have an account there,” the guy wearing the collar said.

  “You don’t have a bank account anywhere,” his buddy added.

  “So what do you want me to do about it? That’s not my problem.”

  “Give me money, bitch.” Dog collar ran around the counter and shoved her out of the way. She fell against the cash register and banged her ribs. She sucked in a breath.

  “No. Get out of here.” She was nobody’s victim. Never again.

  “Out of my way,” he yelled and slammed her against the counter. Red-hot pain exploded through her back.

  He opened the cash and pulled out all of the large bills.

  Scooting around the candy cases he ordered, “Let’s go!”

  His friend ran out of the store ahead of him.

  Janey rounded the candy cases and ran out of the shop after them, catching up with them on the sidewalk.

  “No,” she yelled.

  She lunged for him and caught a fistful of hair. Her fingers slid off but not without catching something. A chain that ran from a ring on his ear lobe to another ring at the top of his ear got caught around her finger. When the guy ran forward, one of the rings tore through his skin.

  “Aaargh,” he screamed.

  Janey came away empty-handed, the chain and ring hanging from the one ring that had held.

  He turned and backhanded her across the face so hard, her head snapped back and slammed against the window. Pain flooded through her skull and she slid to the ground, her legs as useless as if they were boneless.

  She heard a car starting then tires squealing. She thought vaguely that the car needed a tune-up.

  Then the old guys who hung out at the barbershop surrounded her, all helping her to her feet.

  A deep voice said, “What happened here?”

  One of the old gentlemen said, “I think she was robbed, Sheriff. We saw a couple of punks drive off. One of them had a bunch of bills in his hand.”

  She couldn’t open her eyes. Everything swam when she did.

  A different voice said, “The other one had one of those big chocolate animals in his arms. A rabbit, I think.”

  They stole a rabbit?

  “Did you know those men?” the sheriff’s voice asked.

  “Never…saw…them before.”

  “She fought like a madwoman, Sheriff,” another voice said. “You should have seen her. She was amazing.”

  The sheriff helped her to her feet and steadied her with an arm around her shoulders.

  “Washroom. I need the washroom.”

  The sheriff helped her into the store.

  “Hurry,” she whispered, while bile rose into her throat.

  Her feet left the floor and the sheriff carried her the rest of the way, setting her down in front of the toilet not a second too soon.

  Janey lost her breakfast and probably most of last night’s dinner, too.

  The sheriff got her a glass of water. She rinsed and spat.

  “You okay?”

  “Better.”

  She took a second to steady herself then walked to the front with the sheriff trailing her.

  Looking at the disarray of the cash register, she swallowed.

  “Looks like they got about a hundred bucks.” She swayed and the sheriff led her to the table in the window.

  “Sit,” he ordered. “Let me look at you.”

  An older man with gray eyes, thinning hair, broad shoulders and a stomach that stretched his shirt, he studied her eyes.

  “You might have a concussion. Are you dizzy?”

  “Major dizzy.”

  “Still nauseous?”

  She nodded but that made her super dizzy again.

  “Okay, let’s get you to the hospital.”

  “I can’t leave. C.J. isn’t in today.”

  “The store can close for one day.”

  She locked the front door after grabbing a handful of mints for her mouth and her stomach, and climbed into the police cruiser. Sheriff Houston drove to the nearest hospital forty miles away.

  Janey hadn’t been in a hospital since that horrible day Cheryl had been hit by that car—easily one of the worst days of Janey’s life. But before that when Cheryl was receiving treatments, they’d practically lived in medical centers. Oddly, Janey had been comforted by the experience. The nurses, doctors and specialists had cared for Cheryl with attentiveness and compassion that rivaled Janey’s. The staff had made the process less scary, less daunting. Her treatment today replicated that.

  After a thorough examination and a bunch of tests, the doctors had determined that she had a concussion and would need to take it easy for the next few days.

  She was exhausted by the time the sheriff dropped her off at the store. She locked the front door behind her and climbed the stairs to her apartment, slowly and with a lot of effort. Man, she felt rough.

  The bump on the back of her head ached, her swollen eye throbbed and her stomach remained unsettled.

  She put on the kettle, made tea when it boiled, then sat on the sofa with her feet on the coffee table.

  Not ten minutes later, she heard the pounding of feet on the stairs, taking them two at a time, and hoped like crazy it wasn’t someone to rob her because she might have used up all of her fight earlier today.

  C.J. burst through the door.

  “Janey!” She’d never seen him like this. Stricken. Panicked.

  When he saw her, he pulled her into his arms and held her against his chest. Her feet dangled above the floor.

  “Are you okay? Were you hurt?”

  She didn’t like to be held, hated to be touched, but at this moment, she didn’t care, just wanted it to never end. But she couldn’t breathe. “Squeezing too hard,” she squeaked.

  “Oh, God, sorry.” He set her back onto the sofa and reached over to turn on a table lamp.

  “Your face.” He winced. “Damn. I should have been here.”

  “Why? They would have beaten you up, too.”

  Leaning over her, his shirt stretched across his muscular shoulders, and she amended, “Or maybe not.”

  “Listen, I’ll never leave you alone again.”

  “You have to. Didn’t you hire me so you could practice rodeo while I took care of the store?”

  “Yeah, but it shouldn’t have cost you this.” He caressed the corner of her swollen eye. “Damn, I’m sorry. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

  She should ask him to stop touching her since she wasn’t completely comfortable with it. She would. When it stopped feeling good. “My ribs and back are bruised.”

  C.J. clenched his fists and swore.

  More feet sounded on the stairs, more than one person.

  Hank, Amy and Gladys entered the apartment, Hank with a small TV in his arms and Amy with a piece of equipment—a DVD player or a video machine. Gladys carried a bag of groceries, which she took straight to the kitchen.

  Oh, boy, her eyes felt prickly. Don’t cry. Don’t get sappy.

  She wanted to. They were such awesome friends.

  Hank and C.J. set up the TV across the room.

  Amy took one look at her face and got a cold facecloth from the bathroom. “We should have brought ice.”

  “How did you all know what happened?”

  “Houston came out to the Circle K and told us about the robbery.” When he looked at her, C.J. swore. “Bastards.”

  She must be turning some pretty interesting colors.

  “I think they got about a hundred dollars. They got a chocolate rabbit, too.” For some reason that bothered her more than the money. “I’m really sorry about that.”

  He sliced a hand through the air. “I don’t care about the money. I met Calvin hanging around by the front
door. He said you put up a fight.”

  Pointing a finger at her, he ordered, “Next time, let them have whatever they want.” His lips thinned. “And stay as far away from them as you can.”

  “Amen,” Hank murmured.

  “But—”

  “No buts,” Hank and C.J. answered in unison.

  Gladys came out of the kitchen with a big mug of soup that smelled heavenly.

  Amy brought the quilt from the bed, wrapped it around Janey, then rinsed the facecloth with more cold water and applied it to Janey’s eye.

  “I really love you guys,” Janey whispered and her voice sounded shaky.

  Amy kissed her cheek.

  Gladys said, “We love you, too, sweetheart.”

  Hank cleared his throat noisily.

  C.J. said, “You want Twilight or Love Actually?”

  “Love Actually.”

  “I’ll make popcorn,” Gladys said.

  SHE STAYED IN BED all day Sunday, and Monday as it turned out, as well. Her ribs and back were stiff and sore. Gladys and Amy came in each day and cooked and fed her.

  Liam wanted to see her but C.J. wouldn’t let him because of the discoloration of her face.Still achy Tuesday and Wednesday, C.J. let her do a little around the store. Liam cried when he first saw her but, in time, grew used to the purple and green around her eye.

  ON THURSDAY MORNING, Janey stared at herself in the mirror. She hadn’t put on a speck of makeup for the visit with the counselor.

  She couldn’t help but recall those early days when Cheryl was a baby and nobody at Child and Family Services had wanted to believe that a girl as young as Janey had been could raise a child on her own and do a good job of it. Their doubt had been evident in every spoken word. Janey had proved them wrong, of course, and by the end, her counselor had been okay.She studied herself in the mirror again. The only colors on her face were her fading bruises.

  Why are you doing this? C.J. doesn’t mean anything to you.

  Yeah, he does.

  For the first time in her life, she’d met a man who tempted her to want a normal life—the house, the kids, the pets…the husband. The whole picket fence ideal. She couldn’t make that happen, but she yearned to so badly.

  C.J. and Liam had become important to her.