Prodigal Cowgirl

by Lacy Williams

  But she fumbled with the packaging and then realized she'd never given Lily a dose before—how much was safe?

  She squinted at the packaging in the dim light from the overhead dome, but the tiny letters seemed to dance around, and she might as well have been reading a foreign language.

  The sheriff was still standing so close, she could feel his body heat. Or maybe that was just her reaction to him. She squeezed her eyes closed and wished he'd disappear.

  He didn't.

  Desperation had her straightening and looking up at the man when she wished she didn't have to. "The light's bad," she lied. "Can you make out how much I should give her?"

  His eyes were soft as he took the package back. His obvious compassion unnerved her and obliterated the indifferent attitude she'd tried to project. She swallowed hard against the hot knot in her throat.

  "She's about forty-five pounds?"

  She nodded. That seemed about right, though she didn't know for sure. What kind of mother didn't even know how much her daughter weighed?

  He told her the dosage, and her hands trembled as she squirted liquid from the bottle into the little measuring cup.

  She bent to be at Lily's level in the open doorway. "Here, baby. This will help you feel better."

  Lily drank the medicine with no complaint, another sign of how badly she was feeling.

  Courtney clicked Lily's seatbelt on—see that, Mr. Law Enforcement?—and straightened before closing the car door.

  "Thanks for your help."

  The words hurt, burning her throat like glass. She wasn't even sure she meant them.

  She was all a-jumble. All she wanted was to get home with Lily, and to get out of the sheriff's presence.

  She couldn't read his gaze in the shadows but felt the weight of it as it rested on her.

  "Didn't I hear your brother's out of town? You okay to get home?"

  Of course he'd heard. The grapevine in Redbud Trails was alive and well.

  Anxiety twisted her stomach into a ball.

  He wasn't a threat, she told herself.

  He was trying to help.

  But she remained shaken. She tried to steady her voice. "We'll be fine."

  He opened his mouth partway, as if he wanted to say more, then seemed to understand how shaky she was. Finally, he gave her a nod and walked away.

  He waited on the sidewalk near his SUV until she'd driven away.

  A glance in the rearview mirror revealed that Lily had drifted off already.

  Courtney's thoughts spun as she turned the car toward Jake's farm. Was she supposed to believe that the sheriff had come to her rescue out of some sense of gallantry?

  She didn't know whether to snort or cry.

  Other than Jake, she hadn't been treated with respect in six years. Could she even recognize it now?

  * * *

  She never should have agreed to the puppy.

  After all the drama of getting Lily's medicine, Courtney had no patience left for a two-thirty a.m. bathroom break.

  She shivered in her flannel pajamas, slippers, and bathrobe as she waited on the bottom step of the front porch. Her breath fogged in front of her face.

  The little black and white furball was barely visible in the grass yards away as it sniffed and turned circles.

  "Just go," she hissed, but the thing ignored her.

  She understood that it was young—about nine weeks old—and thus had a tiny bladder. But really? Did it have to sniff every leaf and blade of grass before it could find the right place to pee?

  If she'd known a dog was going to be this much trouble, she would've said no when one of Lily's friends had mentioned a litter of puppies. But Lily had begged to have one.

  Okay, who was Courtney kidding? She had so much catching up to do with Lily, she wouldn't have said no, regardless of the trouble.

  But maybe she could've delayed. Maybe until Lily was thirteen and could do the middle-of-the-night bathroom runs.

  Courtney could deal with the crate training and cleaning up messes inside when the dog didn't make it out. She could deal with feeding it three or four times a day and the shoelaces it had eaten.

  But she needed her sleep.

  The puppy was meandering back in her direction—finally!—when a loud bang surprised them both. The dog froze, it's ears perking.

  She scooped it up before it could get some harebrained idea to run off. Heart pounding, she squinted in the darkness. What had that been?

  Bang!

  The frightening noise came again. It sounded as if it had come from the road. Maybe at the end of their drive?

  She spotted a bobbing light. Flashlight?

  Fear tightened her throat. Her cell phone was just inside, on the kitchen table. She could call for help.

  Bang!

  She jumped when the noise came again.

  Who could she call? The nearest neighbor hated her and would likely hang up on her.

  Which left the sheriff's office. But she really didn't want to call the sheriff.

  By the time he got out here, whoever was making that noise would be gone. It was probably kids out having fun. They might not even know there was a farmhouse off the road.

  And she'd have to face Eric-the-sheriff-prince, while she still felt vulnerable and shaken from the moments earlier tonight.

  Her number one priority was keeping Lily safe. After the night her daughter'd had, Lily didn't need to be awakened by sirens or the sounds of someone trampling around outside their house.

  Courtney went inside and curled up on the floor beside the door. From where she sat, she could peer out the crack between the window and curtain.

  And she'd be able to see if anyone came up the drive.

  She didn't go back to sleep.

  3

  The next morning, she decided she'd never been so thankful for a day off from her job at a Weatherford fast food restaurant. She'd coordinated the day off because Lily was on a two-day break from school, and Courtney didn't have backup childcare with Jake out of town.

  She and Lily hunkered beneath a shared afghan on the living room couch and watched cartoons together.

  The canned laughter from the TV and bright sunlight streaming through the windows was almost enough to erase the terror she'd felt last night.

  Almost.

  Having Lily beside her—fever much reduced—was a blessing. Courtney hoped it was just one of those childhood fevers, like the nurse had said when she'd spoken to her on the phone yesterday.

  With the blinds open, Courtney had a clear view to the main road, she she didn't miss it when the sheriff's SUV pulled up and parked across the end of the driveway.

  At least his flashers and siren weren't on.

  He didn't pull up the drive to the house.

  A glance at Lily showed the little girl about to doze off. The puppy snoozed all curled up in the blanket next to her, worn out from a morning wrestling with her squeaker toys.

  Courtney leaned over and brushed a strand of sweaty hair out of Lily's face. "I'm going to go check on something outside. It's okay if you want to take a little rest."

  "I don' need a rest," Lily murmured. Her eyes were already falling closed.

  Courtney couldn't resist laying her palm on top of the girl's head briefly. Then she got up and slipped out the front door, putting on her boots and jacket on the front porch. Neither dog nor girl stirred.

  A chilly north wind sliced through her open jacket, and she crossed her arms over her chest as she approached the sheriff.

  He walked back and forth across the gravel road in front of her house, eyes on the dead grass at his feet, and returned to meet her near the mailbox. He wore his olive green uniform and black utility boots. His thick uniform coat was open, and she guessed from the thickness beneath his shirt that he must have been wearing a bulletproof vest.

  She glanced away from him to the mailbox, afraid of getting caught looking for too long. And winced when she caught sight of it.

  "Loo
ks like someone took a baseball bat to it," he said by way of greeting.

  The metal was beaten in on all sides, and the post leaned crooked.

  "Or a couple of someone's," he added

  Finally, he looked at her. Where last night his eyes had been kind, today his intense gaze seemed to take her measure.

  "It could've been an accident," she said, through a throat choked with churning anxiety.

  His intense gaze remained on her, pinning her in place and even making her breath catch. "Maybe if it hadn't happened to four of your neighbors."

  Oh no. She hadn't thought about that at all.

  "You don't seem real surprised."

  Her stomach pinched. Was there a penalty for not reporting a crime in progress?

  "I heard some noise last night," she admitted. That was vague, wasn't it?

  A muscle ticked in his cheek. "Was there a reason you didn't call it in?"

  His voice was tight. Was he angry? She dropped her eyes, knowing that meekness had gotten her overlooked at times during her stint in prison.

  "I thought it was just kids messing around," she whispered. She shivered and clutched her hands tighter around her elbows. "My friends in high school did that once or twice."

  A glance up to his face showed thunderclouds gathering on his brow. Maybe that had been the wrong thing to say. She dropped her eyes again.

  He'd probably been on the straight and narrow since he was three. Probably couldn't understand how pressured she'd felt to be a part of the group.

  His boots crunched on the gravel as steps drew him closer to her.

  "Next time, call."

  It wasn't much of a reprimand. She dared to look up at him. She couldn't read his expression.

  He looked down at the notepad in his hand, then tapped it with the pen he held in his other. He wasn't wearing gloves. "I'll be filing a report on this later today. What time was it you heard noises?"

  "I didn't look at the clock. Maybe one-fifteen?"

  He scratched a note on the pad. "Did you see anything identifying? Hear any voices?"

  She shook her head. "Just a flashlight bobbing around."

  "If you think of anything else that might be helpful, would you let me know?"

  She nodded, but he didn't seem in any hurry to get in his truck. He stuffed the pen and small notebook in his coat pocket.

  "How's the little princess?"

  "Her fever has gone down some."

  "Good. You holding up okay? I know when one of my nieces is sick, it's like living with a little leech. Needy. They want to snuggle all day."

  It might've been a burden to some, but to Courtney, she soaked up every second with Lily. She'd already missed so much.

  Why was he even making conversation with her? She might've expected those kinds of questions from a friend... if she'd had any. He certainly wasn't her friend.

  And then...

  "You wanna invite me in for coffee?" he asked.

  She stared at him, uncomprehending. Coffee?

  "It's cold out here. It'd be nice to warm up for a bit."

  His words were simple, but she twisted them and turned them in her mind, trying to understand. How could she take his words at face value?

  He probably wanted to come inside and check the place out. If she refused, wouldn't that look suspicious?

  She hesitated before asking, "Did you have coffee with my neighbors? All four of them?"

  The corners of his eyes crinkled slightly. "No, ma'am."

  That was it. No other explanation. Then why do you want to have coffee here? The question died before it met her lips.

  "Lily's asleep on the couch." Her reasoning was weak, but she gave it one last try.

  "I can be quiet."

  He smiled, and something tilted in the pit of her gut. She whirled, afraid of the spark. Afraid of what he might want from her.

  She was aware of the crunch of his boots in the grass as he walked slightly behind her.

  It took both too long and not long enough to reach the back porch, and then they were clattering up the steps.

  Her heart fluttered in her throat as he followed her in through the back, being careful not to let the wind grab the door.

  The puppy barked. Its toenails clicked on the kitchen tiles, and Courtney rushed to pick it up and shush it before it woke Lily. She retreated a few steps through the hall to see that Lily still slept—she did—and then returned to the kitchen, clutching the pup to her stomach like a furry shield.

  The sheriff was taking off his muddy boots on the mat beside the door, and she hadn't even had to ask. As he straightened, his eyes scanned the room, no doubt taking in the dirty breakfast dishes piled in the sink and the unopened mail she'd left out on the nook table yesterday.

  He shrugged off his coat, and she couldn't help but notice his shoulders beneath the uniform.

  Then her eyes flitted to the radio at his shoulder and the weapon holstered at his side, both visible reminders of his job.

  His sock feet, and that smile, might make him slightly more approachable, but she needed to remember who he was.

  She put the dog down and turned for the sink, then the coffeemaker, hoping to hide her shaking hands. But as she retrieved a clean mug, it clanked against the counter noisily.

  What did normal people talk about? Small talk? She was desperately out of practice.

  In her peripheral vision, she watched him lean his hip casually against the nook table as the dog moved to sniff his feet.

  "Do you resent me?" he asked suddenly.

  She focused on the stream of coffee pouring into the mug. Let the aroma filter into her senses, but she still felt cold after being outside. Or maybe it was just her, from the inside.

  " I barely remember that night." She clutched the counter with one hand, not able to make her feet move to take him the coffee. She felt as if she was barely holding herself together as she looked up to face him. "I've had enough time and counseling sessions to know whose fault it was. Mine. Nobody else's."

  His eyes darkened. He didn't move toward her, didn't push into her space like she'd expected. "I know prison was...difficult. And it was my fault you got sent there."

  There was no way he could know about the debilitating fear, the crippling anxiety, the noise, the degradation. She hadn't even told Jake.

  Prison had broken her. She wasn't sure she'd ever be whole again.

  "I was the one stealing and selling meds," she said after swallowing hard. Her actions would haunt her for the rest of her life.

  He moved forward, slowly enough that she didn't startle. He picked up the coffee mug from the counter and then edged back to lean his hip against the counter, a few feet away instead of the whole kitchen between them. He held the mug between both hands, and she saw how chapped they were even though he'd been wearing gloves outside. Maybe he really did need to warm up.

  Another long moment stretched between them before he spoke. "If you don't blame me, would you go out with me sometime?"

  Go out with him?

  She snapped her mouth closed, aware that it had been hanging open, catching flies, as her mother would say.

  "What?" She squawked. There was no gentler way to say it. She'd definitely squawked.

  One side of his mouth tipped up. "You know. Dinner. Maybe drive to Weatherford for a movie. Out."

  She glanced down at herself, at the ten extra pounds she hadn't lost since her incarceration had ended. At the too-baggy jeans beneath her sweatshirt. He wanted to go out with her? Found her attractive?

  It didn't compute.

  For a nanosecond, her brain skipped back to the Halloween party. She still had no idea who had kissed her—was still certain it was a mistake. The idea that anyone could find her attractive as she was right now boggled her mind.

  And her life was hard enough without complications.

  * * *

  Eric saw how jittery Courtney was, how she struggled with his invitation. She turned away, as if she were afraid to face
him for too long.

  Maybe it was a blessing, because he was afraid he would scare her off if she really saw the fear that had kicked him in the gut when he'd driven up the road and seen her mailbox. If it had been someone with a true malicious intent...he didn't want to think about what could have happened.

  Because she hadn't called in an emergency.

  He took a sip of the coffee. It finally warded off his lingering chill. He kept one eye on the puppy as it sniffed his work boots. He didn't trust it not to take a leak on his equipment.

  Her feet shifted. She turned toward the sink, not meeting his eyes. That did not bode well for their date.

  "I'm still trying to get to know my daughter," she said finally as she rinsed some spoons beneath the faucet. "And get back on my feet."

  They were valid reasons for her no, but he figured they weren't the real reasons. He wasn't giving up hope yet.

  He didn't crowd her, though he ached to take a step closer. And then she opened the dishwasher, putting a tangible barrier between them.

  "So we take things slow. Be friends for awhile. Everybody needs friends, right?"

  She darted a look at him, then bent to put the spoons in the dishwasher.

  "I don't know if that's a good idea," she mumbled.

  She straightened, and he shifted to go around the dishwasher door, but before he'd even taken a step, a new voice interrupted.

  "Mommy?"

  He turned his gaze to the pint-sized girl standing on the threshold between the hallway and the kitchen.

  Her face was slightly flushed, and he recognized the look—the red-rimmed nose and bright eyes—from the times his nieces had come down with colds.

  "Hey, baby." Courtney crossed to her daughter, reaching out in a motherly gesture to touch the girl's forehead. "You want some more juice? Some toast, maybe?"

  Lily leaned closer, one arm curling around her mom's neck. "What's he doing here?"

  The kitchen was small enough and her whisper audible enough that he heard her clearly.

  Courtney stood up, bringing Lily with her, the little girl's arm still wrapped snugly around her neck. "Sheriff Eric stopped by to have a cup of coffee. Can you say 'hi'?"