The counselor he saw each week told him he’d get past the anger, past the nightmares and the guilt. Cheyenne Jones somehow managed to be on the list of people he’d let down.
“Is the baby yours?” His mom stood behind him, her voice hesitant.
Reese turned, a glass of water in his hand. “No.”
“Does she need help?”
He walked to the counter, feeling for it, finding it and then edging around to the bar stool he knew would be there. The first few days he’d had a few bumps and falls because people forgot and left chairs out of place. They were learning. He was learning.
“I don’t know.”
“Reese, this isn’t like you. She’s young. She’s here alone, and you let her walk out of this house not knowing if she had a place to go or money to get there?”
He brushed a hand through his hair and leaned back in the chair. No, it wasn’t like him. He didn’t know who he was anymore.
“I know. I’ll work through this. I’ll find her.” How?
“Do you need help?”
He got up from the chair, smacking the cane against the side of the counter, looking for a way out. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Reese.” His mom hesitated.
He turned toward her, waiting. And she didn’t say anything. Because she didn’t know what to say? Or because everyone he knew was afraid to say anything to him.
“Do you want me to go with you?” Heather spoke from nearby. He shook his head. When had his sister entered the kitchen?
He wondered if he would ever get used to voices slipping through the dark. It reminded him of a cartoon, a black screen and animals—maybe cats—popping into the dark and then fading again; laughing cats. That’s how he imagined sounds, words. Nothing connected anymore. Everything was separate. There were sounds, words, touch, taste but nothing cohesive. Nothing made sense.
He raked his hand through his hair and wondered how bad he looked. He hated to shave, hadn’t shaved in days. He knew his hair had grown out from the military cut he’d had two months ago. He wondered if he looked as angry as he sometimes felt.
“Reese?” Heather stepped close, touched his arm.
“I’m going for a walk.” He took a few cautious steps and made it out of the kitchen. With the cane as a guide, he made it through the house and out the front door. And then what? He couldn’t get in his car and go after her. He couldn’t call her.
He couldn’t see anything but black, and Cheyenne had left. The man he used to be was somewhere inside him, and even though he wanted to hide from this life, he couldn’t.
Cowboy up, Reese. He could hear his grandmother’s words, sharp, lecturing. How did a cowboy do that when he couldn’t even get on a horse?
Chapter Two
Cheyenne left the Convenience Counts convenience store and turned right on a little side street with pretty turn-of-the-century homes and big lawns. She took a bite of the corn dog she’d bought and washed it down with a long drink of chocolate milk. She’d planned on going to the park that the owner of the convenience store had given her directions to. Instead she pulled her car up to the curb in front of a stucco building with a For Rent sign in the window. Across the big front window were faded red letters spelling out Dawson
Barber Shop.
For a few minutes she sat in her car, staring at the building and daring to dream. She told herself to drive on, to forget this dream, to forget Dawson and Reese Cooper. In the end she opened the creaking door of her car and left it open as she walked up to the building and peeked in the window.
She barely had enough money for a hotel and a few meals. She needed a plan. She needed to decide where she would go and what she would do. The last thing she needed to be doing was looking at a building for a beauty shop.
An old bench had been left behind. It sat under a small awning. Weeds were growing up around it, sprouting from cracks in the sidewalk. Cheyenne sat down, scooting to the end of the bench, out of the hot July sun. She couldn’t stay in Dawson. She had no one here, nowhere to go.
She could go home to Kansas. But then again, she couldn’t. She couldn’t face her parents now, not with all of the mistakes she’d made in her life. She couldn’t face them because she’d been their problem, their mistake, too. Her birth mother had given her up. Her adoptive parents had given up on her.
But the biggest betrayal had been Mark’s. Because after he learned she was pregnant he revealed that their marriage license wasn’t real. He had no plans to be a husband and father. He’d laughed at her naiveté.
A little sparrow hopped around on the sidewalk, chasing bugs and dandelion seeds. She caught herself smiling as she watched him.
“Where do I go?” When she spoke, the little bird hopped back and looked at her. After his curiosity was satisfied, he plucked a dry bit of grass from the sidewalk and flew away.
She remembered a sermon from the church she’d started attending back in Vegas. That had been Reese’s advice before he’d left that day. He’d promised to love, honor and cherish her. Then he’d kissed her, told her he had to go, but she needed to find a church. So she had.
One of the sermons had been about God’s ability to care for people. If He provides for the birds who neither sow nor reap, how much more does He care for us?
She wondered if He knew that she was really at the end of her rope—hopeless. How had she come to this place in her life? She’d always had hope. She’d been the person in school who’d studied, thought about a future and how to be her best—until Mark and Vegas.
That showed how a couple of bad decisions could derail everything.
A car drove down the narrow road. It met another and had to pull off the pavement to let the other car pass. She smiled, remembering the town she’d grown up in. It had been larger than Dawson but had its share of narrow roads and pretty homes. A long time ago she had lived in one of those homes.
One of the cars, a long sedan, pulled in behind hers. Reese’s grandmother stepped out of the car. She pulled on lace gloves and situated a white hat on her gray hair. She appeared to be a woman on a mission. And Cheyenne had a pretty good feeling that she was the mission.
Mrs. Cooper walked down the sidewalk and stopped when she reached Cheyenne.
“What in the name of all that is lovely are you doing sitting in front of this old shop?” Reese’s grandmother dusted off the bench and sat down.
Cheyenne shrugged a little and blinked fast, trying hard not to cry. “Coming up with a plan.”
“Well, if the bench works, so be it.”
Cheyenne glanced at the woman next to her. “How did you know where to find me?”
“I prayed and asked God to lead me. He said to try the old barbershop. Here I am.”
“God told you to find me here?” Cheyenne reached into her purse for a little package of crackers. She opened it and threw crumbs to the birds. “Really?”
The lady sitting next to her laughed...and laughed. Finally she wiped her eyes with a tissue she pulled from her pocket. “Land sakes, no. Before you start thinking I’m addled, I’ll tell you. I asked Trish at the convenience store. Trish is nosier than me, and she watched you head this way.”
Cheyenne smiled and shook her head. “I don’t think you’re addled.”
“Most folks do wonder.”
“Mrs. Cooper, I’m really very sorry about barging in and about Reese.”
“Call me Myrna. Everyone does. Or Miss Myrna if you insist. But that does make me feel like I’m still teaching school. And you didn’t do a thing wrong, coming to see Reese.”
“I should have waited—or called him.”
“Do you want to tell me what the story is between the two of you?”
“No, I’d rather not. I hope you don’t mind.”
“No, I don’t mind. Young folks have a right to a few secrets. I’m guessing that isn’t his baby you’re carrying.”
“No, ma’am, it isn’t.”
They sat for a few minutes. Myrna reached
for the package of crackers and broke off a piece. She tossed it. The birds flew at each other, fighting over the little piece of cracker.
“Well, is there a father?” Myrna pulled off her gloves and pushed them into her little purse.
“Not to speak of.” She shivered and looked away, at the golden sun peeking through dark green leaves of the trees in the lawn across from the shop. “Dawson seems like a good place to live.”
“It is. I think everyone should live in Dawson. But then, I guess it wouldn’t be Dawson if they did.” Myrna twisted to look at the building behind them. “What is it about this shop that interests you?”
Cheyenne looked back at the shop. “I’m a beautician. I thought that someday I might rent a place like this and open a salon.”
“In Dawson?” Myrna Cooper hummed for a minute. “Well, that’s something we could use. So why don’t you rent this building?”
Cheyenne stood because it was time to go. “I don’t have the money. If I leave my number with you, could you pass it on to Reese?”
“First, let’s take a look at this old barbershop. It was my uncle’s, you know.” Myrna reached in her purse and pulled out a key. “I happen to own it now.”
Myrna stuck the key in the door, jiggled the handle and then pushed it open. “It’s a mite musty after being closed up for the past couple of years.”
“I like the smell.” Cheyenne walked around the little rectangle building. It still had sinks, chairs—even a little room in the back and a bathroom. “But I can’t afford it.”
Myrna ignored her. She sat down in one of the plastic chairs near the window and smiled big. “I used to come in here with my daddy when I was a little girl. Back then Dawson had more to offer. We had a grocery store, a bank and a post office.”
“I bet it was a wonderful place to grow up.” Cheyenne smiled, but she had to sit down. Pain wrapped around her belly, and she breathed deep to get through it.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, just a cramp.”
“You’re sure?”
She nodded and sat down in a chair near Myrna’s. “I’m sure. I have a couple of months to go before I’m due. These are just Braxton Hicks contractions.”
Myrna patted her leg. “Take the shop, Cheyenne. It’s yours. I’ll get the water turned on and the electricity.”
“I can’t. Myrna, I’m broke. Really, I can’t.”
Myrna Cooper stood and beckoned for Cheyenne to join her. “I’m going to help you do this. Young women should have dreams. They should have options. I don’t know your relationship with my grandson, but I know if he could, he’d be the one here helping you. Until he can, you’ve got me.”
“Oh, Myrna.” Cheyenne closed her eyes for a brief “pull it together” moment.
Myrna touched her arm. “Let’s go home. You can get a good night’s rest, and tomorrow I think things will look better.”
“‘Home’?”
Myrna pursed her lips and widened her eyes. “My house, young lady. That’s what I mean by home. Stay the night or a few nights with me. And then we’ll see what we can do with this old barbershop.”
Cheyenne considered saying no but her body ached. She was hungry and tired. To top it off, her car hadn’t been running right. For the last few hundred miles she’d worried she wouldn’t make it to Dawson. And where else could she go? Myrna Cooper seemed to be an answer to prayer.
After a few days of rest, things would look different. Maybe she could take Myrna up on her offer. This shop could be the place to start her new life. But how would Reese feel about her settling in his hometown? That hadn’t been part of their bargain. He had never counted on her in his life for good—not even as a neighbor.
* * *
Reese sat on the front steps of his parents’ home, letting Adam MacKenzie tell him what a great opportunity it would be for him to work at Camp Hope and how great it would be for the kids who attended. Reese held out his hand to the dog that brushed against him, licking his arm.
“Adam, I can barely help myself right now. I’m not sure how I could help kids who have been dealing with disabilities their entire lives. There are days that I’m pretty angry. I’m trying to be independent, but man, there are days. Try asking for help finding a pair of shoes. That’ll teach you what humility is. I’m a grown man, and I have to ask what shirt to wear.”
“Reese, you’re honest. That’s what these kids need, not someone who puts on a smile and pretends every day is perfect but someone genuine who can admit he gets angry.”
“I’m not sure. Not yet. When I can make it through a day on my own steam, maybe then. Right now I’m afraid the kids would be helping me more than I could help them.” He took the stick the dog pushed into his hand and gave it a fling.
“Reese, these kids are always teaching me something. That’s part of the joy in this camp—what it does not just for them, but for us.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Adam stood, touched his shoulder and walked away. “Pray about it.”
“Will do.”
Reese sat on the steps until he heard the car door close and the engine start. He waved and Adam honked. He stood and turned to go back inside the house. The dog returned with the stick. Reese took it one last time and gave it a toss.
“Hey, watch it.” His sister Heather let out a shriek. “I’m down here, you know.”
He laughed a little and stopped on the top step. “Sorry. And no, I didn’t know. Are you going to town by any chance?”
Heather joined him on the steps. “Yeah, actually. I had to drop some artwork off with Jackson, and now I’m heading back to town.”
Their older brother had gotten married while Reese was gone, and his new wife was redecorating.
“Yeah, but that would make more driving. You’d have to go in to Dawson, back out here and then home.”
“Yeah, horrible, it might add six miles to my trip. Reese, I can drive you to town. Where do you want to go?”
“Rumor has it that Gran has moved Cheyenne into the barbershop.”
“Not a rumor.”
He unfolded the white cane that hung from his wrist. “I need to find out what’s going on.”
“Okay, let’s go.” She touched his arm. “How do you know her?”
He walked next to her across the yard. “I met her in Vegas.”
The answer bugged him. She was more than someone he’d met. She deserved better than that. Unfortunately he didn’t quite know how to give her better. He was still working on that. The situation between them would have been easy if he hadn’t been injured, if she hadn’t shown up in Dawson. The arrangement they’d made had seemed pretty cut and dried, until now.
“She’s pretty.” Heather spoke softly.
“Yeah, she is.”
“She wears a wedding ring on a chain around her neck. Do you know her husband?”
The question dug for more answers. Rather than giving them, he opened the passenger door of Heather’s sedan. “I used to.”
The answer seemed to satisfy some of her curiosity. She got behind the wheel of the car, and they headed to town. Within feet of the driveway he was sorry he’d asked Heather for a ride. She was a challenge to ride with on a good day. When a guy couldn’t see what was coming at him, she was treacherous.
“Maybe slow down for the curves.” He reached for the handle above the door.
“I’m not that bad.”
Not bad, his foot. Heather’s driving encouraged quite a few “get me there safe” prayers.
She cleared her throat. “How’d rehab go yesterday?”
“I’m going to move back into the guesthouse.” He said it in an easy tone and then waited for his sister’s reaction.
It took a few minutes. “You what?”
“I’m moving back into the guesthouse.” A few years ago he’d moved into the apartment over the unattached garage next to the main house. Since he’d come home, he’d stayed with his parents. “I need my own space.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“Yeah, I think it is. I can’t see, but I can still live my life. I’m going to start doing rehab and physical therapy here. They’ll help me organize, label everything and even teach me how to keep my clothes together so I know what I’m putting on.”
It didn’t come easy, listing everything he needed help with, everything he’d always taken for granted. Walk to the closet, pull out clothes. Walk to the kitchen, pour a glass of... He no longer knew what he was pouring in his glass, and he’d never been fond of surprises.
“The clothing part is good. I’m not sure who dressed you today but...”
She laughed and he smiled.
“Thanks, sis, you’re a help.”
“I aim to please.”
There were a few more minutes of silence and another sharp curve. “Do you mind stopping at the store? I’ve been given strict orders to get out more. Something about proving to myself that I can do these things on my own.”
“Was there ever any doubt?” Heather said it as if there hadn’t been doubts. He’d had plenty.
“A few.” He leaned back and relaxed.
The car slowed, eased into a parking space, bumped the curb and stopped. He laughed because some things never changed. Their dad had been getting on her for that since she’d turned sixteen.
Heather’s hand touched his arm. “You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.” He reached, found the door handle and pushed.
When he stepped out of the car, he breathed in familiar scents. Molasses-coated grain from the feed mill, Vera’s fried chicken at the Mad Cow Café and fertilizer on a nearby field. He stepped forward, white cane swinging and then hitting the curb. He stepped up, wondering where Heather had gone to.
He could hear hammering down the block and a truck leaving the feed store across the street. He turned, took a step and waited.
“You coming with me?” Heather finally spoke.
The Rancher's Secret Wife Page 2