The Maverick Returns

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The Maverick Returns Page 9

by Roz Denny Fox


  “There you are, honey bun,” Willow exclaimed. “After I cleaned the tub, I expected to find you and Mr. Rabbit snuggled down in bed.” Stepping out onto the porch, her feet as bare as her daughter’s, Willow picked up Lily and blew a raspberry on her neck. “How can I keep a more watchful eye on you kiddo, when you sneak off like this? My heart sinks whenever you aren’t where I expect you to be.”

  “She came out to hear my music,” Coop said. “You like music, don’t you, Lily B?”

  The child buried her face in her mother’s shoulder, and Willow shook her head at Coop. “You are such an optimist. But I like your serenade,” she told him.

  “Are you coming back out?” Coop asked, strumming aimless chords.

  Willow glanced around. “The porch is still wet. I thought it’d be dry by now.”

  “I can bring out another chair while you put Lily to bed.”

  “I don’t know, Coop. We ate supper later than usual. I worked hard today. I should probably turn in, too.”

  “Hard work is all the more reason to wind down slowly. And I meant it earlier when I asked to borrow that book on autism.”

  “Oh, right. I forgot. I’ll get it. Meanwhile, would you mind playing some of the old songs you guys played in college? Maybe ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water’?”

  “I’ll see if I remember any of those tunes. Around the rodeo, everybody’s into country music.”

  “Anything is okay, Coop. I miss the radio we had. It was one of the first things I sold to a drifter I hired to work here after Tate was killed.”

  She withdrew then, and Coop decided a radio was definitely something he’d buy for Willow before he left. She needed one for practical reasons. Texas was known for its erratic storms. He’d find a portable with a reliable antenna so she could use it outside.

  He hauled out a second chair in hopes she’d change her mind. Picking up his guitar again, he strummed portions of songs he remembered from his college days. Willow was gone longer than he thought she’d be, and he’d run through most of his repertoire before she appeared at the screen door again. Happy to see her, he stopped playing. It had grown so dark he had to hold the book she passed to him up to the light spilling from the house. “Autism, the Invisible Disability,” he read. “I promise I’ll get it back to you soon.”

  “This covers a lot, but I know there are newer studies, and newer guides to coping, since I bought this book. Our library is minuscule. They don’t have many medical books.”

  “They ought to be able to order what you want from the state system.”

  “Except that it was built through donations and is staffed by volunteers.”

  “You need access to the latest information. I never gave any thought before as to what a challenge disabilities must be for rural families.”

  “Why would you, unless you knew someone who’s affected?” She moved about the porch, leaning on the railing, gazing up at the moon.

  “It’s none of my business,” Coop said, clearing his throat. “And I realize I took your head off the other night for mentioning Tate. But considering what you did say, Willow, why didn’t you leave with Lilybelle before it was too late? I mean, before the time Tate ran you off the road and dragged you back.”

  She sank down on the second chair and rubbed her hands across her face. “Fear, Coop. He said he’d track me down and see that Lily was taken away. I had no money of my own. I’m a college dropout. I knew Tate’s dad wouldn’t help me, because he made that plain before we got married. My mom couldn’t. I decided that unless things got really bad here, at least we had food and a roof over our heads.”

  “What about the abuse?”

  “Don’t judge me, Cooper! Tate’s abuse was mostly verbal. He hit me once, but if he’d ever hit Lilybelle, nothing would have kept me here.”

  Coop didn’t bring up the fact that the owner of the feed store said his wife had observed bruises on Willow when she was pregnant. Arguing would serve no purpose. And he couldn’t make a dead man pay. “How many credits are you short to graduate?” he asked instead. “You planned to be a teacher. I always thought you’d be a great one. And it’s a job that would give you summers off with Lily.”

  “I left college my junior year. I didn’t get credit for the semester of practice teaching I did because I left midterm. Do you think I haven’t dreamed of going back to get my degree? But if and when I move from here, I need to get a job with benefits and a salary that’ll cover rent, food, clothes and special schooling for Lilybelle.”

  Coop fiddled with the book jacket. “You should explore school options available for single moms. I’ll bet there are loans and grants. This ranch is small, but it should still bring in enough to tide you over until you can finish your degree. And colleges sometimes have child-care programs on campus.”

  “Really? I’ve only expected to sell for enough to cover what’s owed on the mortgage and buy the gas we’d need to get to San Antonio or Austin.”

  “I didn’t know you owed on the ranch. The guy at the feed store said Tate bragged about how his dad had set him up here. How much is left on the loan?”

  “I’m not sure. Tate and his dad refinanced before Tate died. But all I’ve been paying is the interest. I told the Realtor I won’t sell for less than I owe the bank.” She closed her eyes and massaged the back of her neck.

  Coop could see the conversation was stressing her. “Hey, I’m keeping you from bed.” He stood, set the book on the railing and put his guitar back in its case. “I’ll shore up this porch in the next few days.”

  “Saying thanks again doesn’t seem like enough for everything you’ve done for me, Cooper.”

  “Well, it keeps me from going back to the Triple D and having to face Sully.”

  She studied him. “Your brother is a hard man.”

  “Yeah…well…” Coop shrugged as he lifted both chairs and prepared to take them inside.

  “You don’t want to leave one chair out here to use at breakfast?”

  “Nah. Just pack me a few biscuits and some bacon. I’ll make a few sandwiches to eat as I ride out to work on the fence. By the end of tomorrow, this wood should be dry enough to sit on again.”

  She held the door and waited until after he left the porch to lock up.

  *

  BEFORE RETIRING, Willow checked on Lilybelle, who lay on top of her covers, arms and legs splayed willy-nilly. Such a sweet cherub in sleep. Luckily, most of the time, she was sweet while awake, too. But Willow hadn’t lied to Cooper. Sometimes, handling Lily’s explosive behavior was a trial. Rescuing the rabbit from the floor, Willow tucked him under the blanket where Lily could easily see him when she woke up.

  In her own room, Willow prepared for bed. But she found sleep elusive. Hopes and dreams she’d long ago put on the back burner flooded back, thanks to Coop’s prodding. Yes, she still longed to be a teacher. Coop knew her current situation, yet he’d made her hope that finishing her degree might be possible.

  Yawning, she turned on her side. That was one thing she used to love about Cooper. He always put the best spin on everything. But there was a downside, too. He refused to take her concerns about the rodeo seriously at a time when the very thought of him climbing into a chute day after day simply terrified her. She wadded her pillow under her head. All her worries had been for nothing. He’d emerged in one piece. And oh, what a piece. Willow fell asleep imagining how nice it would be to have Coop curled around her in bed.

  *

  THE NEXT MORNING, Cooper’s day didn’t start off well. He broke the handle off the sledgehammer, which put an end to driving fence posts. Taking a second look at the sagging porch, he discovered a leak in the kitchen plumbing; that was what had caused the support beam to rot out. He crawled under and found the pipe he needed to replace.

  “Willow, I have to run into town to pick up a new handle for the sledgehammer and a few plumbing supplies. Do you need anything? Are we running low on milk or eggs?”

  “The hens out back are laying
again. Milk—we always need milk. I shouldn’t have sold the milk cow, but the drought killed the sweet grass, and feeding her became an issue. Are you sure you want to mess with buying groceries when you’re going after tools?”

  “It’s all at the same store. Make a list. I’ll go check on how much grain I have left for my horses. I might as well get everything in one trip.”

  Willow propped her shoulder against the door frame and watched him walk away in that slow, hip-rolling gait she loved. She spared another second to marvel at him. Tate had never set foot in a grocery store to buy anything except beer.

  She found a couple of things that needed replenishing. But then, after Coop drove off, she started to worry about the cost. He hadn’t asked for money, and she hadn’t given him any from her emergency stash. From long habit, she kept enough hidden in her tampon box to buy bus tickets for her and Lily. That was the one place she knew Tate would never search even when he was drunk and tearing through the house looking for cash to spend on booze or cards. She probably should hand the money over to Coop, but although her situation had changed, it was still difficult to relinquish her means of escape.

  *

  WILLOW HAD PREPARED chicken-fried steak and fries, which were warming in the oven when Coop finally drove in. She exhaled and dropped the window curtain. He’d been gone so long her stomach was a jumble. Logic said he wouldn’t leave without his horses. Logic said he wouldn’t go on a bender as Tate so often did. Logic didn’t say Coop wouldn’t hook up with some woman in town, though.

  While she dished up a second helping of macaroni and cheese for Lily, Willow took deep breaths to calm her frayed nerves.

  She didn’t expect Coop to barge right into the house, laden down with more groceries than had been on her list.

  “Whatever you’re cooking smells good.” He sniffed the air as he divested himself of sacks and stowed the milk in the fridge. “Oh, it’s ready,” he noted as Willow removed two covered plates from the oven. “Let’s eat at your table, then I’ll put away the rest of this stuff. Sorry I’m late. I had to go to Crystal City for the plumbing supplies. Carrizo Springs was having a parade and a chile festival by the time I arrived back there for groceries. You and Lily are probably the only people in this area who weren’t there. Traffic was at a standstill.” Without waiting for her to insist he eat on the porch, Coop washed up at the kitchen sink, and relieved her of one of the warm plates she still held in her oven mitts.

  He sat and tucked right into his food.

  Willow opened her mouth to protest his high-handedness, first casting a sidelong glance at Lilybelle, who kept spooning in her food. Seeing that her daughter had no concerns, and since she didn’t want to seem ungrateful Willow sat down, took off the mitts and slowly peeled the foil off her plate. “I didn’t know about the festival. I don’t bother with the local paper. I never found time to read it.”

  “I bought you a radio,” Coop said.

  That stopped Willow. “You what? Cooper! Radios are expensive!”

  “It’s a gift. And don’t be selling it, either. You need to know what’s going on around here, and in the world.”

  “I… Thank you. I don’t know what else to say.”

  “That’s sufficient. It’s not a big deal.”

  But it was to Willow. Bigger than he knew.

  No further talk passed between them as they ate. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, though. Willow reflected that she shouldn’t have balked at letting him eat with them before.

  They finished about the same time and she cleared the table. She put their dishes in the sink to soak, then turned to help him unload the sacks still sitting on the counter. “What’s this?” she asked, removing a smaller plastic bag from the sack that held a box of cereal.

  “A coloring book and crayons for Miss Lily,” Coop said, smiling at the little girl. “It’s a book of farm animals. The crayons are nontoxic.”

  “Coop…”

  “You keep saying my name in that tone that suggests you think I’m an idiot.”

  “No. Never that.” She swallowed all the emotions threatening to choke her. “I already tried coloring with her, but she ate the crayons. I’m…touched by your generosity, and at a loss for words.

  “I’m not looking for thanks.” He leafed through the coloring book and tore out a page with a pony on it. “Po…ny,” he said repeatedly. “Po…ony.” He pointed to the picture he’d placed in front of Lily. Then he sat adjacent to her and dumped out the fat crayons. Selecting the red one, he said, “Red. The color of your shirt.” He pointed. “Blue, the color of my shirt.” Coop made each association, then ran the crayon across the pony’s body. “Now you do it,” he said, pleased to see her bend for a closer look. He fit her fingers around the crayon but she pulled back and dropped it. Again Coop colored, and again handed her the crayon. This time she took it and scribbled on the picture, then kept coloring.

  Fascinated by his patience, Willow put away the rest of the groceries. She found the radio. Coop’s buying it had been more than thoughtful. But she was far more touched by his purchase of a simple coloring book. To see her daughter actually take the crayon and scribble on the drawing of a horse filled her heart with an uncommon happiness. Did Coop know his act of kindness toward Lilybelle meant even more to her than all the backbreaking work he’d done around her ranch? She doubted it. She wanted to hug him. That would be unwise; there was still a wall of reserve between them.

  Coop raised his head, caught Willow watching him intently, and his lips moved in a slow smile.

  Unable to respond with the words of love that tangled her tongue, Willow released a pent-up breath. “Cooper Drummond,” she murmured, “You are such a kid.”

  He winked, his smile lasting until Lily tired of running colors across the rainbow-hued pony. She sat back, hugged her rabbit and fought to keep her eyes open while Coop boxed up the crayons.

  Willow noticed. “It’s bedtime for you, young lady.” Coming around the counter, she scooped up her sleepy daughter. “Coop… I…”

  He stood. “It’s late. I’ll let myself out,” he said, stacking the crayons on top of the coloring book. He and Willow were both speechless when Lily twisted in her mother’s arms, stretched out a hand and nabbed the page she’d colored.

  They didn’t need to comment on the girl’s momentous action. The knowledge that it spelled some kind of a change in their strained relationship was reflected in two pairs of eyes that met over Lily’s head.

  Chapter Eight

  The next few days marched past in four-four time. Willow worked on painting the house while Coop finished the fence. One afternoon, he mentioned needing Liquamycin to vaccinate the herd.

  “Is that really necessary? How costly would that be?”

  “I told you it’s needed to sell them. I’ll do it myself and save getting a vet out here. That’s where the biggest cost would be.”

  “That’s nice of you, Coop. But isn’t it too much work?”

  “I’m fine with it, Willow.”

  The morning Coop decided to go into town after the vaccine, he stopped at the house first. Willow was already painting. She’d started on the shady side of the house as it’d been so hot. Coop thought she looked cute in shorts and her too-big gloves. With her blond hair tied up in loopy braids, she reminded him a little of Daisy Duke.

  She bobbed her head in time to music blaring from the radio, and Lily sat on a blanket near the radio, too. He was glad she liked his gift, and made a mental note to stock up on batteries. Still, the idea of leaving her on the ranch alone gave him pause. “Hey, I’m going into town. Do you need anything?”

  Willow hadn’t seen him, and jumped when he spoke behind her.

  “I did a count, and over half your herd aren’t branded,” he added. “I don’t want you to get cheated at market. Counting brands is the only way to safeguard against that. But I can’t find a branding iron in the barn or shed. You couldn’t have sold something so specific. Do you know where the irons m
ight be?”

  “The yearlings were born about the time Tate died. Bart didn’t come to the ranch, but he sent a vet to give the calves something Bart called their five-in-one shots. None of them were branded, but those wouldn’t represent half my herd. Steers over a year old, Tate should have branded.”

  Big surprise, Coop thought. Another job Tate had skipped. “Tate was all about show and no substance. If he lacked the skill to prove he was the best at anything, he didn’t tackle the job, or he lied to cover up his inadequacies. He fooled a lot of people,” Coop muttered. It still grated to think Willow hadn’t seen through the lazy bum.

  She stood there, paint dripping from her brush, her blue eyes suddenly hard. “I’m sorry another one of my problems has been dropped in your lap, Cooper.”

  He slashed a hand through the air. “Do you have a registered brand?”

  “Wouldn’t my brand be what’s on the older cattle? Now what’s wrong?” she demanded as Coop pursed his lips. “You look like you ate a lemon.”

  “Your older cows have the Bar W, Bart Walker’s brand. Considering all the claims Sully’s filed against him for rustling, I’m not keen to try and sell Bar W cows at a major market.”

  Willow drew in a sharp breath, then shifted her gaze to her daughter, rocking on her blanket. “Lilybelle and I are Walkers,” she said emphatically. “If you’ll brand my cattle, I will sell them at market. No need for you to bother yourself.”

  Coop removed his hat and slapped it against his thigh three or four times as anger at her words sizzled inside him. “Thunderheads are building in the south. We may be in for a storm. So we should keep our eyes peeled for signs the next few afternoons.” With a brief, jerky nod, he resettled his hat on his sweaty head, wheeled around on a worn boot heel, walked to his pickup and climbed in.

  The dust kicked up by his oversize tires had blown past before Willow was able to resume her painting. Here she thought they’d gotten past the hurdle of Tate, but obviously not. Even though she’d made a real effort… After the night with the coloring, she’d invited Coop to have supper in the house with her and Lily.

 

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