by Cathy Bryant
“Yeah.” His expression held remorse. “Andy told me that, too. I was just so mad.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “I just get sad and mad a lot.”
Her throat cinched. “A lot?”
Bo nodded. “But I don’t mean to feel mad.”
Trish understood the anger and had felt it in herself more than she wanted to consider. “I get angry, too, Bo. We all do. But we have to learn to control it.”
“Were you angry at Brody’s mom last night when we left the game?”
“What do you mean?” Trish thought back to the night before. She had been angry with Carla over her mean-spirited comments. Obviously, Bo had sensed it.
“She smiled at you, and you just walked right past. Were you mad?”
Trish sighed. Nothing like having to admit your shortcomings to a five-year-old, especially when you were calling his behavior into question. “Yes, I was mad, but I was wrong to act that way.” She gazed into the dark eyes that reminded her so much of her own. “Tell you what. From now on, let’s both remember to count to ten before we act in ways we shouldn’t. We’ll count when we start feeling angry.”
“’kay.” He smiled, an impish grin that skewered her heart.
She tousled his silky hair. “Want some cereal for breakfast?”
“Nope, I’m waiting for donuts.”
Andy. She’d forgotten his promise to bring donuts. Would he still come after their disagreement? “Mmm, sweetie, I don’t know if Andy will come or not.”
“Why?”
Trish searched for words—words that would most likely ruin his day. “I was a little angry with Andy last night, too.”
Bo bolted upright and glared at her. “Did you forget to count to ten?”
She tried to hide a smile by pressing her lips together. “Yes, but I’ll call him later to apologize.”
He flopped back against her lap, his face sullen. “Great. No donuts, homework help, or horses.”
Pangs of guilt swept over her as she clicked the DVD back to play mode. Why did everything have to be so complicated? She eased up from her position, lowered Bo’s head to the cushion, and wandered to the front room where she’d set up her easel to take advantage of the morning light. An unfinished canvas adorned the easel, one she’d started after the last visit to Dr. Wyse—the visit where her desire to paint had experienced rebirth.
She strode to the canvas, a sudden and strong longing to reconnect with Doc. Already the arms and chest in the painting were complete. She closed her eyes to recapture the feel of her face pressed to his chest, his arms holding her tight.
Nothing.
Trish opened her eyes, the canvas in full view. His face. She needed to paint Doc’s face. Needed to see him again. Needed to remember his loving gaze.
She prepped her palette and fingered a brush, immediately lost in the joy of painting. Why had she given this up? Hastily, she shaped the face and dabbed color for his eyes. Blue. His eyes were blue. So why did they carry a greenish tint? She added more paint to her brush and tried again.
Standing back to view her work, she gasped. The face staring back wasn’t Doc at all, but Andy. Fury spread throughout her body, faster than a Texas wildfire. An anguished sob escaped. She grasped her largest brush, immersed it in paint, and attacked the canvas. Angry red and black slashes appeared, then blurred as tears formed in her eyes. Her shoulders shook and the paintbrush clattered to the hardwood floor. She sank to her knees, grateful the TV volume overpowered her sobs.
How long she sat there she didn’t know, tears streaming while she stared at the canvas, now a study in rage. The ringing doorbell catapulted her to her feet. She hastily wiped her face and smoothed her hair, then hurried to answer the door.
“I brought donuts!” The fresh-baked smell hit at the same time Andy’s cheery voice rang out. He searched her face and frowned, his eyes troubled.
“Donuts!” Little Bo sprinted past and latched onto Andy’s legs. “I knew you’d come. Mom said you might not ‘cause she forgot to count to ten, but I knew you’d come!”
Andy chuckled and swung him up onto one shoulder. “When Andy says he’ll bring donuts, he’ll bring donuts, even if Mom did forget to count to ten, whatever that means.” He winked at Trish, his dimpled grin cutting through the gloom. His eyes moved past her to the painting. When his gaze returned to her face, it held soft understanding.
“Yay for donuts!” yelled Bo as he punched a fist into the air.
“Yay for donuts and homework!” Andy stepped to the dining room and plopped Bo into a chair.
“Not yay for homework.” A disgusted look replaced Bo’s smile. Uh-oh. Hopefully, Andy was ready for a less-than-pleasant side of Bo—the side he showed when he didn’t get his way.
Andy squatted beside Bo, elbows on his knees. “Donuts first, then homework.”
Surprisingly, her son grinned back. “’kay. Then horses.”
“Horses it is.” Andy patted his shoulder and rose. His smile disappeared as he addressed her. “Can I speak to you alone?”
Her pulse ca-thumped in her throat. Oh, how she dreaded this. “S-sure.” She traipsed to the family room out of Bo’s earshot, Andy right behind her. Trish faced him. “I want to apologize for the way I acted last night.”
“No, I’m the one who should apologize. Sorry if I came down too hard.” His tone and expression were bathed in humility.
She shook her head. “You didn’t. I over-reacted.”
“Friends?” He held out a hand and also sent another award-winning grin.
Her heart lightened. Even Attila the Hun couldn’t resist that smile. She took his hand. “Friends.”
“Want some donuts?”
Trish giggled. “If there are any left. Bo loves donuts.”
Andy poked out his belly and patted it. “A man after my own heart.”
More laughter rumbled from her throat. “The last I heard, that’s not where your heart is.”
His smile waned and his eyes flickered. “So true.”
* * * * *
Andy’s jaw unhinged. Trish moseyed to the table where he and Bo worked on homework. In jeans, t-shirt, boots, and hat in hand, her country girl roots showed through stronger than ever. Seeing her like this made his head spin—a far cry from her usual attire. He rose to his feet. “Looks like you’re ready to ride.” Why did his mouth cotton like he’d spent all morning in Death Valley heat?
“Yes.” She glanced over to where Bo painstakingly finished his handwriting assignment. “Thanks for helping him with his homework. He responds to you so much better than he does me.”
“Probably just a guy thing.”
Bo hopped from his seat. “I gotta change clothes. I can’t ride Domino in my pj’s.” He sped past them to his room.
Trish faced him, her smile bright against her olive complexion. “I know the horse riding will be good for him, even if I was a bit bullheaded.”
“Bullheaded? You?” He sent a teasing grin. “You have an old quilt we could take with us?”
“Yeah, why?” The area between her eyes wrinkled.
“I, er, took the liberty of picking up a few things for lunch, just in case. Thought we could enjoy a picnic while we’re out, if that’s okay.”
Trish’s eyes lit. “What a great idea. I’ll be right back.”
While she hurried after the quilt, Andy headed out to get the food he’d brought for lunch. Good thing he’d thought of the picnic idea, since it gave him another chance to spend time with Trish and get to know her better. To prove he really did care about Bo and her. As he sauntered past the front room, the easel and painting stopped him in his tracks.
At least she’d tried to paint again, but from the looks of it, things hadn’t gone well. He took in the black and red slashes. Anger. Little Bo wasn’t the only one dealing with it.
Lord, show me how to help them.
A few minutes later they all strolled toward the horse barn behind the main ranch house, picnic essentia
ls in hand, and Bo chattering happily.
Andy caught Trish’s attention and hoisted his eyebrows. “Does he always talk this much?”
“Only when he’s excited.” The happy lilt to her voice was accompanied by a smile. “I haven’t seen him like this in forever. I have you to thank.”
“Yeah well, if he keeps this racket up, you may change your mind about thanking me.”
The barn smelled of fresh hay and instantly transported Andy to childhood—long summer days at his grandparents’ farm—with plenty of hard work, great food, and priceless memories. After they’d saddled the horses, Bo tugged on Andy’s hand, his eyes full of fear. “I changed my mind. I don’t wanna ride anymore.”
Just what he’d expected. Somehow he had to convince him to try, but without pressure. Andy knelt beside him. “I know you’re afraid, Bo, but why don’t you at least go up to Domino and hold out your hand?”
Bo cowered behind Trish, anything but convinced. “Why?”
“So y’all can get used to each other again. My guess is Domino missed you as much you’ve missed him.”
Bo chewed his lip for a moment, then tentatively approached Domino, his hand outstretched.
Trish inhaled sharply, and Andy rested a hand in the small of her back to calm her doubts. Hopefully, she wouldn’t say anything to ruin this chance for Bo to heal.
The paint horse snorted, edged closer to Bo, and nuzzled his shoulder. “Hey, Domino, you missed me?” Her son beamed as he stroked the horse’s velvet nose. “Mom, he missed me!”
“I can see that.” Her words warbled.
Bo hugged Domino’s lowered head and grabbed the reins. “Let’s walk first, Domino.” Amazing. The kid knew instinctively what to do. He led the horse around the barn, then back to where Trish and Andy waited. “I think I’m ready now.”
Andy patted his shoulder, his heart about to burst out of his chest. “Yeah, I think you are, too.” He helped him mount and then adjusted the stirrups. “You okay?”
Bo smiled down, a calm confidence exuding from his face. “Yes, sir.” He turned a troubled gaze to his mother before heading the horse outdoors.
Trish faced the Palomino mare she called Sandy, her expression wavering.
Bo wasn’t the only one walking wounded. Andy moved to her side. “You ready to give this a try?” He tried to keep his tone calm and casual.
She let out a shaky breath. “My head knows its okay, but it’s so much harder than I expected.”
“Just take it slow and easy like Bo did. You’ll be all right.”
A few minutes later, she inhaled deeply, released it, and mounted.
A grin spread from his heart to his face. “You look like a rodeo queen.”
“That was a very long time ago, maybe even a different lifetime.” Her eyes glazed a bit before she peered back down at him. “Just a fair word of warning, city slicker. You’d better saddle up quick, or Bo and I’ll leave you in the dust.” Trish tugged the reins, nudged the horse with her heels, and trotted out into open sunshine.
Andy didn’t hesitate, but mounted and trotted after them. This had the makings of a great day.
An easy-going camaraderie blanketed their time together, Bo happier and more connected than ever as they galloped across open pasture. The change in his demeanor affected Trish as well. She laughed and teased and smiled, the lines normally furrowing her forehead erased.
Trish led her horse into a ravine, Bo on her heels. Immediately the terrain turned from grassy to rocky, and instead of dull thuds, the horses’ hooves clip-clopped, stirring ups clouds of dust that infiltrated his nose and mouth. A smoky-blue mesa loomed in the distance.
The family-type outing made his chest tighten and ache. The last thing he wanted was more heartbreak, but for today—for this brief, joy-filled day—he’d allow himself the possibility of how life with them at his side might play out.
At lunchtime they located a grove of trees for their picnic. While Bo chased baby frogs near the creek, Trish spread out the blanket, and Andy retrieved the food from the knapsack. He lowered himself to the heavy quilt and pulled items from the bag. “Chips, soda pop, chicken, and my personal favorite, chocolate chip cookies.”
Trish sat beside him. “Looks like you’ve thought of everything.” She spoke softly, a hint of a smile hovering on her lips.
“It’s not much.”
She laid a hand on his arm and drew his gaze. Her eyes held sincerity. “It’s everything. Do you know what you’ve done for us? I don’t know an adequate way to express—”
“Happy to help.” Andy patted the hand which still rested on his arm. “In fact, seeing you both so relaxed makes me glad.” No, more than glad. Overjoyed.
Trish pulled her hand away. “You know what I think?”
He raised his eyebrows in response.
“I think God brought you into our lives.”
How many times had he thought the same thing? “The same is true in reverse. I’m not sure my move to Miller’s Creek would have been as successful without you and Bo. Further proof that God directs our paths when we trust Him.”
She nodded and gazed into the distance. “I used to think I had a lot of trust, but since Doc died I’m not so sure.”
He opened a can of pop, the fizzy liquid tickling his nose and quenching his thirst. “Not sure if you trust yourself or God?”
“Both. I think I know what I’m supposed to do, but nothing seems to be working out the way I thought it would. Did I hear Him wrong?” The words grew husky.
“I can’t answer for you, but I’ll say this. In my own life, there’ve been times when I followed my own way only to reach a dead end.”
She removed her hat and leaned against the gnarly bark of an oak. “I’m not following my own way. At least I don’t think I am.” Her eyes grew dark. “What do you think?”
His neck hair bristled. Red alert. Danger zone. How was he supposed to answer her question without landing himself in a heap of trouble? He sent a quick prayer for help. “From my perspective, you seem mighty determined to exert your independence.”
Her frown morphed to a scowl. “There’s nothing wrong with being independent. I think God expects us to do our part.”
“I agree, but independence can be a real hindrance to trust. I mean, if we can handle it ourselves, then why do we need God?”
Trish ducked her head, obviously a million miles away. When she looked up, it wasn’t at him. “Bo, come eat some lunch.”
Bo grabbed a handful of food, then headed back to the creek. Trish’s eyes followed him, a contented smile at play on her lips. “He’s like a different kid today. The way he used to be.”
“I notice a change in you, too.” He grabbed a chicken leg from the baggie and nibbled on it.
“Me?” She sounded surprised.
He picked up a nearby acorn and flicked it at her. It hit her arm and bounced to the blanket. “Yes, you. It’s good to see you smile. And I think your enjoyment of the day means more to Bo than you realize.”
“How so?”
He licked his mouth and tossed the chicken bone toward the creek for the critters to enjoy. “For a while there, I was afraid you might let your work take precedence over Bo.”
“I have to support my son.”
How could he warn her of the danger without revealing too much? “I know, but he’s already lost his father. He doesn’t need to lose you, too.”
Trish grew pensive. After several tense moments, she finally spoke. “You have no idea how hard it is to be mother, father, and sole breadwinner.”
“You’re right. I don’t.” He met her direct gaze. “But trust me when I say I know how Little Bo feels.” He’d lived through it, and still had the scars to prove it. The two situations might look different from the outside, but the results were the same. A very confused little boy.
Again she was silent, but her eyes perused his face until the scrutiny unnerved him and made him glance away. She pelted him with an acorn to garner his atten
tion, a teasing smile at play on her lips. “Payback. Tell me about your childhood.”
Andy scooped up the acorn she’d thrown, but this time hurled it toward the creek. “Not much to tell.”
“Well, you had one, didn’t you?”
“I guess.” Why was she pushing him?
“Tell me about your family.”
“Maybe some other time.”
Her expression took on hurt. She frowned, then rose to her feet and meandered to the creek.
He pressed his lips together. There was no way to explain his background. She came from a good family—well-respected members of the community—the same kind of people who looked down on people like him. Telling her would only lead to trouble.
Andy stood, picked up the lunch leftovers, and sauntered back to his horse. His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. “Hey, Matt.”
“Hi, bro. You might wanna sit down.”
His heart thudded. “Why?”
“I just got word that Lester Hathcock passed away from a massive heart attack.”
Chapter 16
Trish gasped at the time displayed on the Morganville National Bank marquis. She’d never make it home in time. Scurrying to her parked Suburban, she pitched her portfolio, day-planner, and purse into the passenger seat. Though it was only early June, the inside of the car was an oven. She sniffed. Something in the backseat was definitely cooked. Eew! With sweat beading on her forehead, she zipped out of the parking space and headed to the highway. So much for her resolution to prove to Andy she could be a mom and a businesswoman.
Their conversation on Saturday had left her feeling more inadequate than ever, but she was determined to prove him wrong. She could have a career without sacrificing her son. A car honked and cut her off. Her hands gripped the steering wheel. “Crazy driver!” She muttered the words and tapped her brakes.
There’d been nothing from Andy all week—no phone calls, no ball practice, no visits. After the picnic, they’d practically galloped all the way back to the barn, and he’d left in a hurry with a quiet mention to Trish that a friend had died.