“You don’t have to thank me, ever. You’ve been good to me for a long time. I wanted to let you know I’m really close to paying back that loan, Martin.”
He shook his head. “No, you don’t worry about that.”
She leaned forward. “I’m not, but I know Ty has some great plans for this place, and it’s not right for me to keep that money. It’s not mine, and it was a loan. I haven’t mentioned anything to him, but I will explain it when I give the money back.”
“You’re opening the diner on Sundays? Not because of the loan? You look tired.”
She waved a hand. “I’m fine. I promise.”
He put his fork down, and a deep frown formed on his forehead. “I saw you outside with Tyler.”
Heat infused her face. So this was what Mrs. Busby was referring to. She didn’t know how to answer that question. She didn’t want him to worry, but she didn’t want him to relay something to Tyler that would make it look like she was in love with him. She smoothed her hands on her jeans, searching for the right words. “Tyler and I have become…good friends. I’m not really sure what else I can say. I guess it’s complicated. We both have different goals,” she said, hoping that sounded like a real answer. It wasn’t a lie, because she honestly didn’t have a clear answer as to what they were.
“You deserve the best,” he said, his eyes misting. “A family man.”
She didn’t know what to make of that statement. Was he saying that he didn’t think his son would treat her well? She didn’t even know if he and Tyler were on speaking terms yet or if Martin was still mad at him. “You know, Tyler has done a great job trying to restore the ranch,” she said softly. “The cabin idea was mine. I hope you don’t mind.”
He shook his head and opened his mouth for a moment, like he wanted to say more. Lainey waited, but he closed his mouth and frowned.
“But Tyler had to restore them. He worked constantly. Nights and weekends. He’s done a great job. I’m sure he can take you out there to see them if you’d like,” she said, defending Tyler. She wanted Martin to see how hard he was trying. She wanted Martin to forgive him.
“Lainey, watch yourself.”
“Martin, I’m fine.”
He nodded slowly, handing her the now empty plate. “Thank you for dinner. Delicious.” His words slurred a little on the last one. He was tired, and she needed to let him get his rest.
She held on to the plate, not moving yet, wanting to know more but deciding she didn’t want to involve Martin in her issues with Tyler. She stood a moment later and forced a smile. “Well, you’re welcome. I’d better head back to town. I think Michelle is in the kitchen. Mrs. Busby seemed like she was in a big rush tonight,” she said, surprised when his cheeks turned ruddy.
He cleared his throat. “Poker night.”
She nodded, giving him a smile. “Good night, Martin.”
…
Tyler walked into the living room of the main house, hoping to speak to his father tonight. But as usual, the man was pretending he was sleeping. He knew full well his father was now capable of slow speech and his muscles were growing stronger every day. He’d heard him speak. He’d heard him laugh. With everyone but him. He shrugged off his hurt and sat in the chair beside his bed. God, how many times had he sat here since he’d been home? In total silence.
“So we’ve booked the cabins well into the spring. The revenue from that alone means big things for us.” He watched his father’s face for some kind of acknowledgment, but there was nothing. “It was Lainey’s idea, you know.” He thought he’d throw that in there again—even though he’d said it before, many times. But what the hell, he was running out of one-sided conversation topics, and he knew his dad adored Lainey—and spoke to her.
His father opened his eyes at the mention of Lainey.
He held his breath, like a kid waiting for approval, but dammit, he still didn’t get it. Tyler didn’t know what he was expecting, telling his father about the progress of the ranch, but he wasn’t expecting censure. His father stared at him, still refusing to speak. He felt the weight of everything, of Lainey—wanting her, loving her, but not being able to give her what she needed—of the ranch, of this relationship that he didn’t know whether it would ever get repaired.
His father’s last words to him replayed again and again in his mind, and he wondered if that was it. Maybe they could never get back to where they were because—because he wasn’t really his son.
Tyler’s stomach churned at just thinking the words. He was just this kid his dad had been forced to raise. He fisted his hands, trying to hold on to his temper. “I don’t get you. I just told you that in the winter I’m going to be able to hire again for spring. We’ll slowly rebuild the cattle numbers.”
His father shook his head.
Tyler stood and tried to remain cool. He didn’t know what the hell he was doing anymore. He was in love with Lainey. A woman who refused to sleep with him, who wanted everything he had run away from, and yet all he could think about was being with her. He was being backed into a corner. Her faith bothered him, and he didn’t know why. It shouldn’t. But it did. All of it did. All these people, they wanted impossible things from him.
Then there was his father and the cold shoulder he was still getting after being at home for more than two months. He hated to think of the real reason his father hadn’t warmed up to him; it was what had made him run years ago. He waited for him, searching for a sign of softening, and then he got mad at himself. What, was he five, hoping his father wasn’t angry with him? He didn’t need this. He didn’t need his approval anymore, and it was pretty damn pathetic that he was still trying.
“Maybe it’ll never be enough, is that it?” he asked, moving away from the bed. “Speak,” Tyler said softly.
“Don’t hurt her.”
His muscles tightened up for a moment at his father’s slurred, raspy voice. This should have been a happy moment. He should have been elated that his father was speaking to him. But his father wasn’t talking because it was him, his father was talking because he was protecting Lainey. He pushed aside his anger to finally get the answers he wanted. “This isn’t about Lainey. This is about you and me. You tell me the real reason you can’t get over me leaving.”
His father’s chin wobbled, and he knew he should stop, but he couldn’t because his father just stared at him, refusing to give him an answer.
“What? Say it!” Tyler yelled, trying to force his hand, trying to get him to admit the truth.
His father shook his head. “No.”
“Then what do you want?”
His father just turned his head and shut his eyes.
Tyler stood in the living room, the heaviness in his chest, the tightness in his muscles, making him desperate for some kind of clarity, for perspective. He took a few steps toward the fireplace, to get closer to the family portrait hanging above it. He was probably ten years old in the picture. He and his father had both begged his mother not to make them wear suits, but as usual, she won out. They were all standing there smiling, like a real family. Life had been so much simpler then. Everything had been black and white, and there were rules and consequences for breaking the rules. But there was also a helluva lot of love. He couldn’t go back there. He could never be that kid again, because that kid wasn’t real. That family wasn’t real. He wanted to. Right now, more than ever, he wanted to go back to being that kid, having that feeling of being loved.
He stood in that living room and wanted closure, wanted to move forward, wanted…his father’s approval. His forgiveness. And his love.
Eight years was a long time to be gone. For a second, he allowed himself to remember the ranch and life before his mother had died. He’d worked that land day in and day out with his dad. He’d assumed he’d live and die on the ranch. There were some times working with his father that he didn’t think he’d survive the day, but his dad would chuckle and tell him to just keep going, that the ranch would make him into a man. His mot
her would be there at the end of a long day, though, with a smile and a hot, comforting dinner.
After she’d been diagnosed with cancer, there had been a desperation to keep everything the same, even though it could never be the same. The changing of the season with a person who was dying meant panic. How many more seasons? Then seasons turned to weeks and then days and then gruesome, soul-stripping hours.
He’d begun measuring time in chunks…like sunsets, sunrises, dinners, breakfasts. And then the time slipped by so damn fast, and he was left wondering if their time here would ever be enough.
For people you loved with everything you had, a lifetime was never enough. His mother had clutched his hand on that last day, a brief moment of lucidity through the haze of drugs and certain death and had promised him she’d see him again. She had promised him she was right about all of it, about their faith, the afterlife, and her spirit. He’d held her hand tighter, brought it to his lips, even though he couldn’t hold back his sobs, because he knew it was the end, because he knew she was wrong.
He stared at that damn picture and hated that his eyes filled with tears. The kid in the picture would have cried. But he wasn’t him anymore.
He glanced over at his father one last time before he walked out of the room, hoping, like a silly kid, that his father might stop him and say that he’d been wrong. That he was happy Tyler was home. But of course he didn’t.
Chapter Eighteen
Lainey had spent the two weeks since she took the picture of Tyler either in her apartment sketching and painting or in the diner working. She hadn’t had a burst of creativity and inspiration like that in more than a year. She worked well into the night, every night, and was running on adrenaline and coffee. Despite the exhaustion, the euphoria of creativity surged through her. She had worried that she was losing it, but this painting…she was back. She was still an artist.
She had lived and breathed the painting and now she was going to show it to Martin. She was hoping it would pull at his heartstrings to see his son out there on the family ranch, where he belonged. She was kind of nervous because she hadn’t even shown Tyler yet. But she was very pleased with it. The expression she’d captured on Tyler’s face was so vivid and real, the light in his eyes, the sparkle, the tilt of his mouth. The love of this land was evident in every fiber of his being, and she hoped Martin saw it, too. She even had a title for it. But she’d wait to reveal that, too.
She fidgeted with the handle on the tube her painting was rolled up in and tried not to think of the fact that she hadn’t seen or heard from Tyler since she’d taken his picture.
Michelle answered the door a minute later, putting an end to Lainey’s musings.
“Hi, Lainey. Come on in, sweetie. I’m glad you’re here,” she said, a deep frown between her brows.
“Is everything okay?” Lainey asked, setting down the tube and holding on to the pie she’d brought.
“I think something happened. Martin just doesn’t seem like himself. He seems really down. Lately he’s been doing so well with his speech and his fine motor skills. He’s been happier. But something is off. Mrs. Busby said the same thing.”
Lainey nodded and touched the older woman’s arm. “Okay, leave it to me. I’ll see what I can do,” she said.
“Thanks, Lainey. I’ll give you two some privacy.”
Lainey walked down the hall to the living room, the apple pie she’d brought still warm in the takeout container.
“Martin?” Lainey whispered, walking into the dark room. Something was off. He usually gave her a smile.
He made eye contact with her, but the smile she had been looking forward to seeing wasn’t there. “Lainey,” he managed to say in that slow, slurred speech.
“I’m sorry I haven’t had much time to spend with you. I’ve been busy with an art piece… I think you’ll really like it.”
He tried to give her a small smile, but she could tell it was forced.
“How are you?” she asked, coming to sit with him. She took his hand in hers, knowing somehow that he needed comforting.
He shook his head and stared at the ceiling, his chin wobbling slightly. “Ty,” he managed to say a moment later.
Alarm shot through her. “Is he okay?”
He nodded. “Gone.”
Dread began swimming through her, in the way that it did when her grandmother died, when her mother left over and over again. He couldn’t be gone. He wouldn’t leave like that again. He wouldn’t leave her.
She forced herself to concentrate. “What do you mean, gone? He can’t be gone. He’s working the ranch. He’s here for good.”
“Argued. Haven’t seen him for days.”
She took a deep breath. “That’s okay. Sometimes you need to argue in order to repair what you had. I’m sure he left to blow off some steam. I’m sure he’ll be back.”
Martin squeezed his eyes shut, and tears poured from his eyes. She ached for him, watching him. He was worried he was losing his son all over again. These men were too proud, too stubborn to fix this themselves.
“Martin,” she said sharply, “look at me.”
He opened his eyes, and she leaned closer to him. “I know Tyler. I know he wouldn’t leave you again. He vowed to help you get your health back, to bring this ranch back, no matter how difficult. He wouldn’t leave you again.” She wanted to add that he wouldn’t leave her, too, but maybe she wasn’t that confident. “What did you argue about? I don’t want to pry; I just want to see if there’s a way I can help. I can find him, and I can talk to him.” More like smack some sense into his head and guilt him for letting his father lie here thinking he’d left again.
Martin set his jaw, and she knew that look. She had seen that stubbornness on the much younger version of the man.
“Tell me. You need my help.”
“My wife.”
“You argued about her?”
“He thinks I didn’t want him.”
“Ah,” she whispered. She knew the story. She knew how much Ty had blamed his father for the way he chose to treat her cancer. “Can’t you both just agree to disagree? You both wanted the best for her. You both had the purest of intentions. That’s all that needs to be said. But you both have to let it go, because nothing you can do will bring her back.”
Martin shook his head and then slowly raised his stronger arm and pointed to his nightstand.
“Do you want me to get something?”
He nodded. “Envelope.”
She opened the drawer and examined the contents. Extra Kleenex, medication, a bible. There was an envelope poking from the bible. She slipped it out and held it up to him. “Is this it?”
He nodded. She turned it over and saw Ty’s name on the front. It had stamps on it. And then a return-to-sender stamp. She knew it was Martin’s handwriting from before the stroke. So he’d written to Ty? He’d tried to make up?
“Do you want me to give this to Ty?”
Martin nodded, his eyes filled with pain.
“Okay. I’m going to find him. You’re not going to lose him again, Martin,” she whispered. She stood up and gave him a kiss on the cheek before walking out.
Lainey said goodbye to Michelle and left the house in search of Tyler. It was Sunday evening, her only night off, and she hoped she’d find him in his cabin. She set out for the ten-minute walk, trying not to assume the worst about him. His truck was here, she noted; that was a good sign. Lainey knocked on Tyler’s door and waited. When he didn’t answer after a few minutes, she knocked again and tried the door. It was unlocked. She walked in.
Tyler was standing with his back to her, staring out the kitchen window. She could see the mountains in the distance. “Tyler?”
“Hey,” he said, turning to face her. He didn’t give her his usual smile, and his voice sounded flat.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine.”
“I was just at the house and spoke with your father.”
He ran his hand over his jaw. “H
e shouldn’t be involving you in our problems.”
“Why not?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. You’re not family. You shouldn’t be getting in the middle of it. See, this is why I never wanted us to get involved. I warned you.”
She stopped breathing for a moment, and then all the air rushed out of her, panic setting in. She’d been gambling, maybe, but this wasn’t what she was expecting. She didn’t know what she’d expected, exactly, but this wasn’t it. “Here, he wanted me to give this to you. He was adamant.”
“Just leave it on the table,” he said and crossed the room and poured himself a drink.
She shook her head when he offered her a glass. “I don’t think having whiskey is going to make you saying that you warned me not to get involved any easier.”
His jaw was hard, and there wasn’t an ounce of the sweetness she’d seen in him the last couple of months. He was hard and unreadable. He was a stranger suddenly. “I’m not trying to hurt you, Lainey. I’m just telling you what we both know. I’m not meant for family or happily-ever-afters.”
She had to keep her head in the game and quell any desire to give in to her emotions. “A couple of months ago, we barely knew each other. Now things are different.”
“We’re at an impasse. What you want, I’ll never be able to give.”
An ominous chill ran through her. “What is it you think I want?”
“You want a man who’s going to marry you. You want someone who’s going to check off all those little boxes you’ve created. I’m not him.”
“That’s insulting. You’re making me sound immature and petty.”
“You want to wait until you get married to have sex. You want a man to stand there in church beside you on Sundays. You want a man to give you babies and spend the rest of your life in a single relationship, and you think you will be fulfilled. It’s a sham and a lie, and I know better. You don’t.”
Don’t cry, Lainey. Don’t cry. She stood there watching the man who’d held her, who’d laughed with her, who’d shown her so much tenderness and love, and searched for some sign that he was still there and couldn’t find it.
The Trouble with Cowboys Page 23