Prodigal Cowgirl

by Lacy Williams

  Lily's face pressed to her mother's shoulder. Her chin twitched slightly in his direction and she whispered, "Hi."

  He drained a good half the cup in one swallow. He knew from his brother how difficult it was taking care of sick kids, and he didn't want to wear out his welcome. But he also knew his chances of Courtney saying yes decreased if he left without an answer.

  "I like your puppy. What's its name?" He took one last swig of the coffee and set the mug down on the counter.

  Lily whispered something, but with her face turned into Courtney's neck, he couldn't make it out. He raised his brows to her mother.

  "Snowball," Courtney murmured.

  Cute. He smiled, and for a moment their eyes connected across the room. Awareness flared to life between them, a crackle that was almost tangible.

  She wanted to say yes.

  His gut claimed it, but how could he get her to commit?

  "You girls need help with anything before tomorrow? Are Jake and Stevie going to be back in town?"

  Courtney's eyes slid away again, as if she were afraid to hold the connection for too long. "It's going to be the two of us. I've got some recipes working. We'll be fine. Thanks for...checking on us."

  He stepped to the door and pulled his boots back on, then shrugged on his coat. But he couldn't resist turning back to her.

  "So...?"

  "I'll have to think about it." She spoke quickly, interrupting him. He hadn't considered Lily in his plans, not really. He knew Courtney was a mom with a mom's priorities, but she was a woman too. And single women got to date, didn't they?

  "Okay. I guess I'll see you in the school pickup line. Have a good Thanksgiving."

  She followed him across the room, Lily still in her arms, as he stepped out the back door.

  He couldn't resist sticking his head back inside. "And if something else happens, call."

  4

  The elementary gymnasium was packed. Courtney's pulse skyrocketed, along with her anxiety. She'd been right on time, getting ready to leave the house when Snowball had messed on the floor.

  By the time she'd crated him and cleaned up the mess, she was five minutes late for the Thanksgiving program at Lily's school. Now she stood alone at the back of the gym, looking toward the curtained stage at the other end. Jake had had a mandatory meeting with the dean of the science department and couldn't be here. She had his small digital video recorder in hand.

  She just needed a seat.

  Nondescript gray metal chairs were set up in rows, and they were packed with parents, grandparents, and siblings.

  A group of kids—maybe third graders?—stood on stage, reciting lines.

  When the door had slammed behind Courtney, several parents' heads turned in her direction from the back row. They had to notice her hesitation.

  There were no empty seats in sight.

  Her stomach clenched in a tight knot.

  And then a head and shoulders popped up a few rows from the front. Sheriff Eric.

  He waved one arm high above his head, pointing to the seat next to him. And there was no mistaking the wave of heads that turned her direction.

  Her face flamed.

  But Jake was counting on her to get a video of Lily's performance. And she had every right to be here.

  Even if she felt like a trespasser.

  She ducked her head and hurried along the side wall, breathing in scents of stale sweat and an overwhelming amount of perfume from the perfect moms.

  She had to crawl over four people—two couples—who huffed quiet but audible frustration as they shifted out of her way.

  "Hey," Eric whispered.

  The seats were set up so close together that her elbow and upper arm brushed against his.

  "You haven't missed anything." His breath warmed her cheek when he leaned in. He smelled like cinnamon gum. "Everything okay?"

  She nodded, avoiding his probing gaze. Maybe it was his natural state, but the man's intensity always made her want to claim she was innocent of...something. "Puppy issues."

  Even with her eyes focused on the stage, she saw the tilt of his lips in her peripheral vision.

  It was puppy issues, and so much more. Anxiety beat a drum through her veins. Being around so many people, this close...

  If she looked as frazzled as she felt, it was no wonder people kept turning in their seats to look at her. She felt the burn of each gaze.

  She stared straight ahead. Ignore them.

  It had worked when she'd been locked away, when brewing altercations had passed her by. But then warmth enveloped her icy hand as Eric's hand closed over hers.

  The warmth flowed up her arm and caused a whole-body shudder. She prayed he hadn't noticed.

  Her eyes burned, and she blinked, still keeping her focus on the stage.

  If he'd said something, acknowledged the stares...she would've been mortified.

  But he hadn't. He'd comforted her with only the touch of his hand.

  She stared blindly, not really hearing the small voices singing until Eric leaned over, his shoulder bumping hers. "They're next."

  He let go of her hand as she fumbled for the camera. She powered it on, but the screen remained dark.

  Panic fluttered in her chest as the students filed off stage. She squinted at the words on the edge of the camera. Which button had she missed? Jake was the technology whiz—and Lily could figure it out before she could too—but he hadn't given her anything other than a cursory instruction for the camera.

  Stress made the tiny printed letters squiggle and squirm.

  "Here." Eric leaned in again and flicked the cover off the front, letting it hang by a small black cord.

  She felt foolish, face heated, but then Lily filed onto the stage, and Courtney lost all sense of everything else. That was her baby up there.

  Lily stood between two classmates in a crowd of about twenty, the lot of them fidgeting and shifting. Her eyes scanned the crowd until they finally rested on Courtney, then her face lit, and a toothy smile stretched across her lips.

  The girl next to Lily waved wildly, and Eric raised his hand in a much calmer version. "My niece Bea," he murmured.

  Courtney looked away for only a moment to make sure the red recording light on the camera was lit.

  When she looked back, she winked at Lily, something she remembered her own mother doing when Courtney had been the one on stage. The thought of her mother gave a pang low in her belly. Mom had refused to see Courtney after her arrest. Courtney couldn't blame her, not when she'd made so many mistakes, but it still hurt.

  And mom hadn't come for Thanksgiving either. Probably wasn't coming for Christmas. It was as if she was waiting for Courtney to mess up all over again.

  She shoved those thoughts away. Something to talk about with her therapist later. She needed to pay attention to Lily.

  Although it was also hard to ignore the man at her elbow.

  * * *

  Eric had felt silly for the last ten minutes, saving an empty seat when the gymnasium was packed, but having Courtney next to him made him forget all the glances he'd received. He didn't speak as she taped the first grade class's ten minutes of fame, but once the class had filed off the stage and Courtney had shut off the camera, he leaned over until their shoulders brushed. "She did good. They all did."

  Courtney exhaled and turned to face him, and the small smile she gifted him with glowed in the same way her daughter had glowed on stage.

  It made him want to reach out and touch her, but he clutched his knee instead, remembering how unsure she'd been the last time he'd seen her.

  "Have you thought any more about going out with me?" he asked softly, aware of all the ears surrounding them.

  An adorable flush rose in her cheeks, and she glanced back toward the front of the gym. She nodded slightly.

  The male half of the couple directly in front of them turned with a quelling look. "Do you mind?" he hissed. "That's my kid up there."

  Eric offered an apologe
tic shrug. He wasn't really sorry. Being in charge of a small department meant he worked long ours and didn't have much downtime. It was hard to text someone when you didn't get off work until ten p.m.—or later.

  That, and the fact that you didn't always get another chance. Life was too short, too unpredictable.

  Out of courtesy for those surrounding them, and because he didn't want to embarrass Courtney, he didn't push her for an answer. He could wait until the program was over.

  But when the final class had performed and the gym had erupted into chaos of parents' voices and kids' shrieks, Lily was wedging herself between them before he could bring up their potential date again.

  "Mommy!"

  Courtney wrapped her arm around Lily's shoulder. "You did so well, baby girl."

  He glanced over the sea of people, looking for his nieces. Piper and Bea were here somewhere, but he couldn't see them.

  He knew teachers wouldn't let the children leave unattended, so he turned back to the woman and child before him.

  "Can you say 'hi' to Mr. Eric?"

  He'd been the recipient of glares like the one Lily aimed at him, but usually from hardened criminals, not six-year-old girls. "Hi."

  It made him grin. "Hi, squirt. You did a good job with your song."

  "Thanks. But my name's not squirt." Her petulance was evident in the stubborn set of her chin. If she'd cock her hip out and cross her arms, she could pass for a teenager.

  "Lily," Courtney chided.

  And then Bea and Piper were there, dancing around his legs and clutching at his hands.

  "Didja see me recite my lines, Uncle Eric? Didja?" Piper sang.

  He laughed. "I sure did, kiddo." He ruffled both their hair. "You both did fantastic."

  Piper looked up at him. "I wish Daddy could've been here."

  His stomach punched. "I know, kiddo. But he had that meeting he couldn't miss."

  Bea was silent beside him, and he patted her shoulder. She looked up at him and whispered, "I miss Mommy."

  Now he felt sick.

  And then with the resilience of children, she leaned around his leg and looked at Lily, then up at Courtney. She sidled up to her classmate and cupped her hand to whisper in Lily's ear.

  With all the hullabaloo, he couldn't hear what she said. Lily shook her head and then whispered something back to Bea. Bea giggled, but Lily frowned.

  "You girls up for some ice cream before we head home?"

  Bea and Piper jumped up and down, cheering their excitement.

  He glanced up at Courtney. "What do you think? You ladies want to join us?"

  Courtney looked around, and he let his gaze follow. Although the crowd had thinned out some, several moms he recognized from Piper's soccer practice were watching them.

  It didn't bother him, but he saw pink creeping into Courtney's cheeks. "I don't know."

  He'd counted on Lily jumping on the idea of ice cream and pleading with her mother, but the little girl simply stared at him with a watchful frown.

  "You don't like ice cream?" he asked.

  Lily's lips pinched together. "I'm not hungry."

  "Maybe next time?" Courtney looked slightly apologetic and that gave him hope.

  He allowed Bea and Piper to hang off his arms for another few seconds, giving Courtney a chance to change her mind, but she lowered her gaze, smiling softly down on Lily.

  "Goodbye, for now," he said.

  She turned her soft smile on him and he knew—this was a woman worth waiting for.

  5

  December

  "I don't want to go to bed! You're no fair. I want Uncle Jake!" Lily's wail preceded her running out of her upstairs bedroom and clomping down the stairs, presumably to find her uncle.

  Courtney stood just inside the girl's room. Adrenaline pumping, she held onto her temper by a thread. Lily had been cranky since she'd gotten home from school but had refused to lie down and rest.

  Dinner had been touch-and-go, with a near-meltdown when she was served green beans.

  Now it was bedtime. When Courtney had suggested they skip the usual bedtime story and go straight to bed, the near-meltdown had transformed into a full nuclear reaction.

  She hadn't seen Lily lose it like this before, but her daughter, who was usually good-natured, had completely refused to listen to reason and had screamed—screamed!—at Courtney.

  Moments later, Jake climbed the stairs with a subdued Lily in tow. "In bed, miss," he said.

  Lily passed Courtney with her eyes downcast, but was that a smirk on her lips? The girl passed too quickly to tell.

  Jake stood beside Courtney. "Why don't you let me handle this one?"

  It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him no, but her temper still simmered—and it scared her a little.

  She nodded jerkily and left the room. She was too riled—and it was too early—to go to bed herself, and she soon found herself down in the living room, picking up pieces of a puzzle Lily had strewn across the coffee table and under the couch. When she had all the pieces back in the box, she stood and turned. The door to Jake's office stood open. Lily'd probably burst in there and interrupted his grading.

  The puppy had knocked two ornaments from the lower branches of the Christmas tree onto the floor, and she grabbed them to rehang them while the puppy innocently chewed a rawhide.

  She gave it the stink eye, not that it did any good.

  She could hear a low murmur of Jake's voice overhead. She seethed. Lily shouldn't be able to run to her uncle when they had a disagreement. She should listen to and obey her mother.

  But in her heart, the underlying hurt kicked hard.

  A sinister niggle in the recesses of her mind whispered, "Jake's more her father than you are her mother. It's your own fault."

  Her arms were wrapped around her middle, and she stared at the tree unseeingly until Jake descended the stairs. "She was a pill tonight, huh?"

  "You should have let me handle it," she said to the tree.

  Jake had been heading toward his office but wheeled around at her words. There was an intense beat before he spoke. "You're upset that I tucked her in? I was just trying to keep her from going into total meltdown mode. When she get's like this—"

  She whirled to face him, but he continued.

  "The best strategy is to distract and disarm. If you try to go head-to-head with her, she'll be up for another two hours throwing a fit." And they both knew what Lily really needed was rest.

  She hated it that he knew Lily better than she did. "But if you come in and rescue her every time, how will she learn to listen to me? I mean, what about when we move into our own place?"

  His expression changed from puzzled to flabbergasted. "This is your place."

  She shook her head. This was Jake's farm, his house. And yeah, it might be awhile—years even—before she'd be able to afford a place of her own, but this wasn't it.

  "Your name is on the deed," he said stubbornly. "The land and the house belong to the both of us."

  She shook her head. She didn't know how to make him understand. He'd built this. It was unbelievably generous of him to include her in it, but she hadn't been here as he'd cleared the land, as he'd planted, as he'd remodeled the house and painted Lily's bedroom.

  This was his place.

  She didn't have a place, not yet. She was mired in this weird, in-between land after incarceration, but she didn't intend to stay here.

  Lily deserved the best Courtney could give her.

  Jake rubbed a hand over the bridge of his nose. "We're both tired. Can we table this discussion for another time?"

  "Fine."

  "Fine."

  It wasn't fine, not really. She still felt on the edge of tears, had irritated Jake when she knew he'd done everything he could for her.

  But he didn't understand her need to stand on her own two feet, to be Lily's mom and not just the other adult in the house.

  Maybe it was a remainder of leftover emotion from those dark days in the hospit
al and then in her cell just after she'd had to turn over Lily to Jake. Her body had recognized the absence of her daughter, and the hormones had amplified everything. But with other prisoners on the lookout for any sign of weakness, she hadn't even been able to cry, except in the dark hours of night in her own cell.

  She'd wanted, needed her daughter. And been forced to give her up.

  * * *

  Something was bothering Courtney. Eric could see it in the hunch of her shoulders the moment he spotted her as he walked from the school parking lot to where the parents—mostly moms—lined up on the sidewalk to pick up their kids. It was more than her trying to keep herself warm in the north wind. It was as if she was folded in on herself.

  What had happened?

  He bypassed the back of the line, instead cutting in front of about a dozen moms and joining her in the middle of the line. He was in uniform, and nobody called him out. Most of the parents were used to seeing him pick up Bea and Piper.

  Courtney's eyes widened at his approach.

  "Did you just cut in line?" she whispered. He remembered her words from the day he'd reported her mailbox bashed in. "My friends and I messed around in high school."

  Did she see him as a straight arrow? Think he'd never bent the rules? For the most part, she'd be right.

  He smiled at her. "I'm living dangerously."

  He wanted to reach for her, even just to buss her cheek or give her a hug. Maybe that would shake her out of whatever bad place she'd ducked into, but with the way she glanced around and the curious gazes he knew the other moms weren't hiding, he decided he'd better not.

  "You doing all right?"

  He was aware of the gossip mill in town. He wasn't ashamed of his attraction to her, but he knew she had to be sensitive about all the unwanted attention.

  "I'm okay."

  She didn't sound okay.

  "Somebody bothering you? More nighttime hijinks out at your place?" There'd better not be. Not when she hadn't called anything in. But then Jake was back now.

  She glanced away. Her hands were tucked in her pockets. He really just wanted to hold her hand.