The checkout lines were long. Lily got antsy about standing between people and display cases. Coop noticed and pulled out the keys to his pickup. “No need for us all to be stuck here. I’ll pay and meet you in the parking lot.”
Grateful for his compassion, Willow flashed him a rare smile. As she herded her daughter out into the afternoon sun, it crossed her mind that this was how family life should have been. A husband and wife should discuss purchases reasonably, make decisions and pull together as a unit. She’d never had that. And still didn’t, she lamented. She’d pushed him away five years ago, and he was only here temporarily now. It wouldn’t be smart to rely on him too much.
Those thoughts returned forty minutes later as they stood in the paint store and debated the various paint swatches. “You said something about gray with blue trim,” Willow told Coop. “I’m inclined to agree, but it boggles my mind to see how many shades of gray there are. I’m not usually this indecisive.”
“Well, you’re painting it to sell. It’d be more important to love the colors if this was a home you planned to live in forever.”
“You’re right. Then let’s go with driftwood gray and Colonial blue.” She gave the strips to a waiting clerk, and was again struck by a sense of warmth when he called them Mr. and Mrs. Drummond after a glance at Coop’s credit card. Willow held her breath, expecting him to set the guy straight. But Coop didn’t, and the feeling of family persisted as they left with their paint, dropped his clothes in a machine at the Laundromat, then hunted up a fast-food hamburger place.
“I’ll go order,” Coop said after Willow made selections for her and Lily from the limited menu. “You pick a table you think will suit Lily B.”
Willow chose one by the window and had settled in when a group of five young women piled out of a Suburban. Willow noted they all wore flashy western garb. Sparkling tees, studded jeans and expensive boots. Her attention was drawn to them as they burst through the door, totally carefree in their chatter and laughter.
Her interest was piqued when one woman with long black hair spotted Coop at the counter and squealed in delight, exclaiming, “You’re Cooper Drummond, this year’s national bronco-riding champion! Girls, it is him. Oooh, I need your autograph. Sign here,” she practically purred, and handed over a pen from her purse while pulling aside the V-neck of her shirt to expose the swell of her left breast.
Willow expected Coop to brush the loud women off, because their food had come up. But he didn’t. Instead, he let them engulf him, and his laugh erupted like Mount Vesuvius. Willow watched his posture, wearing his winner’s smile as he signed various body parts—although for the one in the V-neck, he only signed her arm. All the women gushed on and on about his stats. Time ticked by as their food cooled on the counter and the women continued fawning over Coop, talking rodeo.
Lily began to whimper, so Willow got up, marched across the restaurant and grabbed their tray before stalking back to their table.
Coop saw her and began extracting himself from the gaggle of fans. The quintet finally got the message and turned their attention to the order window once they saw their idol sit down with a woman and child.
Willow had opened Lily’s package of chicken strips and now coaxed her daughter to eat. It was hard to miss Coop’s jovial attitude. She didn’t want to be snarky, but sounded that way when she said, “Quite the photo opportunity. A rodeo cowboy and his groupies. It certainly doesn’t look to me as if you want to leave the circuit.”
Slow to come down from the adrenaline rush stoked by his followers, Coop had to admit fan enthusiasm was a big part of riding to the buzzer and piling up points in the standings. Fan adulation went with the territory. “I don’t understand what’s bugging you. Collecting autographs is harmless fun for avid rodeo-goers,” he said. “I quit rodeo, but it wasn’t all that long ago. Hardcore fans still remember me.”
Willow took his lack of concern as disregard of her. “The fact that you get your jollies letting bimbos paw you means nothing to me, Coop. Nothing at all!” She bit into her burger, refusing to look at him.
He frowned. Things he wanted to say crowded the tip of his tongue as all their old arguments about the rodeo poured back into his mind. He reined in his temper for Lily’s sake. It made for a tense, quiet meal, and an even tenser drive to the Laundromat, where he went in alone to collect his clothes. The situation didn’t improve on the trip back.
Chapter Six
Halfway to the ranch Coop wanted to break their silence in the worst way. It wasn’t just that Willow was freezing him out by ignoring him. He’d begun to feel bad about participating in the juvenile antics back at the restaurant. He understood how it probably looked to a nonrodeo bystander. Those fans were kind of over the top. Admittedly that was part of what he’d grown tired of, even though it went with the whooping and hollering of a rodeo aftermath when scores and buckles were handed out.
Plain and simple, Willow disliked rodeos. Period. Plus, she’d insinuated that Tate screwed around with other women during their marriage. That was disgusting. Coop had enjoyed sexual favors from select women along the circuit, but he was single. His dad had drilled into him and Sully that it was okay to sow wild oats before a man committed to one woman in marriage. But Matt Drummond had loved his wife beyond his till-death-do-us-part vow. Coop had never seen his father look at, or flirt with, another woman.
“I’m sorry, Willow,” he said abruptly, but in all earnestness.
Stirring, she glanced at him in surprise. “For what? Shh, lower your voice. Lily’s asleep.”
He took a peek over his shoulder. Sure enough, the girl’s head lay propped against the generous wing of her new booster seat. She still clutched the disreputable-looking rabbit in the crook of one arm, but her face was softly relaxed. Her eyelashes curved like half-moons along pale, blue-veined cheeks. “She looks like an angel,” he murmured as he forgot what he’d planned to apologize for.
Willow followed the line of Coop’s sight. Her own lips slowly relaxed into a mother’s loving smile. “I had so many hopes and dreams for her. I hate, hate, hate that I can’t wave my hand and make her whole, make her well.”
Coop swallowed a lump that didn’t want to be dislodged from his throat. He never expected to feel so protective toward another man’s child. Well, maybe toward his brother’s son. But never Tate Walker’s kid, especially considering the years of bad blood between them.
“I can see the way it’s tearing you up, Willow.”
She turned her face away to stare out the passenger window. “My heart breaks over and over. I have to pick up the pieces every time she falls apart and try to knit them back together again. Whatever the cause of her impairments, they’re not her fault, and she deserves a mother who’s strong enough to be her advocate.”
“And you are,” Coop said emphatically. He swung off the main road. The Ram bumped over the ruts carved into the gravel in front of Willow’s house.
She didn’t wait for him to round the hood and play the gentleman. She hopped out and unbuckled Lily’s seat belt, then headed to the house with the girl hoisted on her narrow shoulder before Coop had even cleared the front bumper.
“Do you need help?” he called out.
“Thanks, but no. I’ve got her. It’s been a long day. It’s past her bedtime. And mine,” Willow said as she unlocked the door. “If you’re still around tomorrow, we’ll probably see you.”
Coop stood for a moment, arms akimbo. What the hell did she mean she’d see him if he was still around tomorrow? Hadn’t he just bought a power sprayer and ten gallons of paint? And didn’t he have a fence to finish, plus a list of other chores?
Anger exploded in a red haze in front of his eyes then receded. A gold moon, the size of a beach ball, winked through the leafy oaks, and stars carpeted the night sky above, giving off enough light to unload the back of his pickup. Twinges of pain from his blistered palms reminded him of all the work he’d already done for Willow as he hauled the sprayer and paint cans to
the side of her house.
He didn’t know if he had it in him to keep batting at her objections to his help. He removed the booster seat from his pickup and strapped it into the rusted old Chevy Willow drove. The dash had cracked from the sun, and her vinyl seats were torn, with stuffing exposed in several spots. Was the damned thing even safe for her and Lily? he wondered, kicking at a tire to see if it held enough air. Worrying about them could drive him crazy. He retrieved the box that held his clean laundry and scuffed rocks out of his path on his way to the barn. He fed his horses and checked on the cattle, letting the cooling night breeze soothe his nerves as he hung his damp laundry over the stalls to dry. Too keyed up to go to bed, he dug out the magazines he’d bought earlier and read both articles on autism before he turned in for the night.
Tomorrow was another day, he thought as he stripped and settled down on his sleeping bag.
*
WILLOW HAD TOLD Cooper she was going to bed. She felt on edge and wasn’t in the least sleepy. She didn’t know what had made her go off on Coop like a shrew. She’d claimed that how he acted or with whom was none of her business, which was true. But, it hurt all the same, darn it.
Imbued with restless energy, she brewed a cup of herbal tea, then went into cleaning mode. It was her way of coping when she couldn’t sleep or had problems on her mind. Willow scrubbed the floors, straightened the cupboards and polished the counters. Her thoughts wandered and she faced the fact that she kept telling Coop to go away, all the while wanting him to stay.
After her little fit today he’d probably decide she wasn’t worth the effort. And really, was she? She’d let her tea go cold, so she reheated the water and plopped in a new tea bag. Idly stirring in a spoon full of honey, she mentally drew up a list of pros and cons, trying to view the situation from Coop’s perspective.
To her discomfort, she couldn’t come up with one thing about herself that he’d put in a pro column. He’d come here innocently, or so he swore, expecting to be hired for a few days by some woman in need of ranch help. What did he find? Her. That was like his past rising up to mock him. She and her ranch were in worse than poor shape. She lacked the tools with which to make repairs and then didn’t even serve decent food to a hardworking man. The lineup of cons lengthened. Add to it the fact that, after he’d shelled out his money on her and Lily, she’d given him a tongue-lashing for something over which he had no control.
But that was what bothered her—he could have politely walked away from those women. It was embarrassing, watching him sign their bodies. And what had he said? That it was harmless fun for fans to collect autographs? On pieces of paper. Oh, why was she blaming them? Coop was nothing short of gorgeous. He had those long, lean muscles women loved. And that cowboy walk. Few women could pass up a second look if a real cowboy sauntered by. And with Coop, part of the package was his curly brown hair and coffee-colored eyes… . He was a man women wanted. Willow should know; she’d wanted him. But she’d given him up because of her fears, which at the time had been more consuming than her love for him.
Returning to the sink, Willow dumped her barely touched second cup of tea. Their pasts didn’t matter now. Both of their lives had taken so many twists and turns, it would be too difficult to right old wrongs.
Exhausted from the long, traumatic day, she got ready for bed. It remained to be seen if Coop would pack up and head down the road before dawn.
*
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, she saw that his pickup was still parked next to the barn, so Willow set out his breakfast. She fed Lily and listened for Coop’s tread on the porch. Hearing it at last, she held her breath and waited for him to knock and say he was leaving. The knock never came. Eventually she heard him ride out dragging the wooden sled he’d cobbled together the other day. Pulling aside the curtain, she saw that the sled was piled high with feed for the cattle.
She stifled her sigh of relief, then tried to ignore a surge of joy. He was free to stay or go. She’d managed okay since Tate’s death. And she would continue to until a buyer showed up.
Just because Coop gave her another day’s work didn’t mean she could dawdle around. She’d pull her weight. He’d said the whole house needed to be power-washed before it could be painted. That sounded simple enough. If she did that herself, maybe Coop would have time to fix the underpinnings of the porch. She’d examined the rotten timbers in that corner, and repairing it was beyond her.
Willow opened the boxes holding the pieces of the power sprayer and took out the directions. She spread a blanket under the shade tree and gave Lily the three empty boxes to play with. Assembling the contraption took time, but it went together without a problem. Willow congratulated herself for not having any parts left over. Satisfied, she connected the hose to the back faucet, watched the unit fill, then turned it on. The force knocked her sideways. She tried to hang on, but the hose bucked and danced around like an angry snake. It spun in her hands and turned back on her, drenching her face, hair and clothing. “Yikes! Oh, yikes,” she yelped as the now-slick hose jerked out of her grasp and began bouncing about, spraying everything but the house. She cried out again, dived after it, caught hold and, thinking she was turning the sprayer off, actually kicked it up to the next level of pressure. Because she’d aimed the nozzle at the siding, the power of the water blew her backward. Her feet flew out and she landed in the mud. She scrambled to her knees, all the while yelling at the contraption.
Coop heard her. He mounted up, tore down the hill and across the yard. Leaping off the horse, he grabbed the wildly swinging sprayer head and wrenched the faucet to the off position.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” he shouted, extending a hand to Willow, who still sat mired in water and mud.
Lilybelle dropped the biggest box and toddled toward her mother, dragging her rabbit. Not wanting her to get mud all over her favorite toy, Coop flung aside the sprayer and scooped up Lily. She didn’t cry as he feared she would.
It took him a minute to figure out Willow wasn’t shaking from tears, but instead she was laughing—so hard she held her sides with mud-streaked arms.
She tried to get up, but slipped to her knees again. Coop gingerly set the child down in a dry spot, and then helped Willow out of the muck. “I heard you yelling like a banshee. It scared the hell out of me,” he said. “I’m glad to see you’re not hurt, but I’ll be darned if I see the humor in wallowing in a mudhole at 7:00 a.m.”
Still holding her sides, acting on the spur of the moment, Willow plastered both muddy hands on Coop’s chest, streaking his clean shirt. “Now who’s all uptight and too serious?” she asked, giggling like a schoolgirl.
“Hey,” he said, “I just washed this shirt yesterday.”
“Oh, Coop, if you’d seen the whole thing you’d laugh, too. I’m sure I could’ve gone on America’s Funniest Home Videos. I swear it felt as if that sprayer was alive.”
“In hindsight,” he said, “it was kind of amusing. Or it would’ve been it you hadn’t yelled like you were being attacked.”
“Sorry, it felt like I was being attacked. And here I was trying to be so helpful,” she lamented, holding her mud-covered arms out from her equally muddy sides while she inspected the damage.
“If I’d known you were going to use the sprayer I wouldn’t have bought the most powerful one they had. It’s a commercial unit designed to spray with enough force to dislodge moss in the grooves of the siding. To use it full force, you need to stand farther away from the house.”
“I figured that out, but then I couldn’t shut it off and I couldn’t hang on. Heavens, I’m a mess. I’ll go clean up and try again.”
“In the meantime, I’ll do the back wall. Hey,” he said. “Did you notice Lily B let me pick her up without making a fuss?”
“I missed that. I didn’t know she’d left the boxes. She loves boxes. She can put her toy rabbit in a box and remove him a thousand times without tiring of the game. It’s another quirk of her autism.”
“So, y
ou’re saying I shouldn’t be heartened by the fact that she didn’t kick and bawl?”
Sorrow flickered across Willow’s face. “Bless you for wanting to interact with her, Coop. Fear is her usual reaction whenever she faces a new experience. I guess it means she’s getting used to seeing you around here.”
“I suppose so. The magazine article I read says there are activities that work on the neuropathways in the autistic child’s brain. According to the doctor who wrote it, some kids can make marked progress in areas of speech, cognition and facial expression.”
“Oh, I hope so. That’s why I’m praying for a buyer to drop into my lap.”
“Well, I have about fifty more fence posts to set, the cattle are chowing down, adding weight every day, and if the siding dries quickly, we can paint soon. Then you can call your Realtor to come take another gander at the place. It might sell quicker if you’d lower your price.”
“After I deduct what I owe you from the sale of steers and the property, Coop, I hope there’ll be enough left for me to move somewhere I can find a good-paying job and a school for Lily. A day school. Not the boarding type.”
“I don’t recall asking to be paid back.”
“I wouldn’t feel right taking so much money from you.” She held up a hand when Coop opened his mouth to argue again. “I need to go clean up. We’ll hash this out later. You’ve spent the money already, but please don’t spend any more,” she said, glancing at Lily, who was back playing with her boxes.
Coop cranked up the sprayer after Willow shut the back door. He wondered how he’d feel in her place. Having a history such as theirs probably made accepting favors from him more difficult. He examined his motives for shelling out substantial bucks on her. He was depleting his bank account, but he couldn’t quite explain why. He only knew he couldn’t walk away and leave Willow and her child when they needed so much help.
He’d finished washing the back of the house by the time she emerged again. She looked fresh and scrubbed, and he thought her eyes had fewer worry lines around them than they had the first day he’d come upon her chasing those wayward steers. He compared how appealing she was right now to the duded-up, expensively styled women at the restaurant yesterday. Clamping down on his back teeth, Coop motioned with the sprayer and showed her how to regulate the pressure with a dial on the water container.
The Maverick Returns Page 7