No Ordinary Cowboy

by Mary Sullivan

  He kept an eye on her, though. No sense not enjoying the city slicker putting on a show.

  Because she held the boots by the barest possible contact of fingertips to smelly leather, she had trouble pulling them on. When she tried to put on the second one, she fell back against the wall between her stall and Zeus’s. She’d just recovered her footing when the stallion stuck his head over the wall and nudged her shoulder. She fell facedown into the straw and screamed.

  Hank coughed to cover a laugh.

  On hands and knees, she glared at him. He pretended a deep interest in his work.

  “Is something funny?” she asked, her tone dangerously quiet.

  He shook his head. “Naw. Just some dust in the air.” He coughed again.

  As she stood, Zeus trumpeted a laugh of his own. There were times when Hank suspected the horse was half human.

  “Perceptive,” Hank murmured.

  He peered toward the open front door, where he’d set up a stool for Cheryl. She sat in the sun, weaving strips of leather, thinking—as Hank had led her to believe—that she was doing an important chore.

  From the corner of his eye, Hank glimpsed Zeus dipping his head into his own stall.

  Amy stood with her back to him, brushing straw from her knees, muttering furiously. Zeus’s head reappeared over the dividing wall between the two stalls, a huge whack of straw dangling from his mouth.

  Oh, no. Hank knew what was coming. He opened his mouth to warn Amy. Too late.

  Zeus leaned forward and dumped the load onto Amy’s head. She shrieked.

  Hank laughed. He couldn’t help it. He laughed until his sides hurt. He probably would have kept going except he heard Cheryl crying.

  Hank hurried down the aisle and picked up Cheryl.

  “Hush,” he said. “It’s only a joke. Amy isn’t hurt.”

  Zeus neighed, shook his handsome head side to side, his glossy black mane flying, and pranced sideways.

  Amy rounded on the horse. “You did that on purpose,” she yelled. Then she turned on Hank. “Did you put him up to this?”

  “Nope,” he answered, laughter still tinting his voice. She was more fun than a barrel of rodeo clowns.

  Amy put her hands on her hips and eyed Hank, suspicion written all over her face.

  Cheryl placed a hand on Hank’s cheek and turned his head toward her. She looked into his eyes and said, “Don’t hurt her.”

  Hank’s heart constricted. Amy rushed over.

  “It’s okay, sweetheart.” She patted Cheryl’s back. “Hank is teasing me.”

  “That’s right, darlin’,” Hank said, but he wasn’t looking at Cheryl. All of his attention was focused on the beautiful woman in front of him. “Amy is strong. She can take it.”

  Amy tilted her head to one side, her expression quizzical. “How do you know that?” she whispered.

  “You must be, if you’re here to face down your fears.” He watched that one cheek turn red.

  He could tell by her expression that he’d surprised her with his perception.

  Lady, there are moments when your pain is written all over your face.

  Hank took a couple of carrots from his shirt pocket.

  “C’mere,” he told Amy, stepping toward Zeus. “Watch this.”

  He handed the carrot to Cheryl. She held it out to Zeus, who took it from her hand like the mildest of lambs.

  Hank gave a carrot to Amy. “A person can make friends with these creatures.”

  Amy grabbed the vegetable, thrust it toward Zeus, then leaped back the second the animal took it from her. Zeus ate the carrot, then thrust his nose toward Amy, nuzzling her neck. She jumped against Hank. He wrapped his free arm around her shoulders.

  “That’s nothing but a little affection from Zeus,” he said.

  With Cheryl sitting on one arm and a beautiful, warm woman nestled in the crook of the other, Hank felt a surge of longing. Holding a woman and a child like they were his own reminded him of his life before Jamie died and Macy left, before he lost his family.

  He cleared his throat and stepped away from Amy. For darn sure, nothing was going to happen in that way with her.

  AMY RETURNED to the house to wash up and don clean clothes. She stood in her room in bra and panties, scratching every inch she could reach. She pulled a piece of straw out of her bra.

  A noise outside her open window drew her attention and she put on a robe. She crossed the room and looked out to the garden. Her eyes widened when she saw Hank outside with his hands cupped in front of him. His shirt and pants were dirty and wet, as though he’d been lying in mud and water.

  A moment later, Amy discovered why. He squatted in front of the toad house, set down a toad, then placed the house on top of it.

  Amy stretched her neck to watch as he snuck around the front corner of the house.

  She heard the front door open.

  “Hannah,” Hank’s voice called. “Where’s Cheryl?”

  “In here,” Hannah answered. “In the kitchen.”

  Amy tiptoed to her bedroom door and opened it. The kitchen door opened and Hank stepped into the hallway.

  He stood in front of her with Cheryl in his arms. He grinned at Amy—his eyes crinkled and his cheeks broadened, framing his white, white teeth—and something happened in her chest. A bubble rose from somewhere around her solar plexus.

  Carrying Cheryl to the front door like she was a rare hothouse flower, Hank struggled to don his boots without using his hands.

  “I got a surprise for you, darlin’,” he said, smiling at the girl in his arms, then exiting the house. The bubble rose a little higher in Amy’s chest.

  She ran to her window and waited for them to round the corner, her heart pounding an odd skipping rhythm.

  Hank set Cheryl on the ground in front of the toad house, then knelt beside her.

  “Now crouch down here and I’ll show you somethin’.”

  Cheryl’s pip-squeak voice said, “’Kay.” Then she mimicked his stance.

  The bubble rose into Amy’s throat. She had trouble swallowing around it.

  Hank picked up the toad house. The toad hopped out. Cheryl screamed and jumped against Hank, grabbing him around the neck.

  He laughed. “This little guy won’t hurt you.” He took Cheryl’s hand in his own and brought it to the toad’s back.

  “He feels cool.” Cheryl’s voice shook, with fear or fascination—Amy wasn’t sure which—but the child didn’t pull her hand away. She kept it on the toad’s back, tucked under Hank’s big hand.

  Amy thought she could almost feel that hand on her own, the surrounding safe warmth of it, the rough calluses, the dampness from the June heat.

  Oh, my-y-y-y.

  The bubble rising in her burst out of her mouth and she laughed. Hank looked up at the window.

  He winked.

  Oh, my.

  She laughed again.

  Amazing. When had she last laughed before coming to this ranch? She couldn’t remember. Two years ago, she supposed. Then the memory of everything that had happened during that time resurrected and the bubble sank into the pit of her stomach.

  Her hands shook. How could she go through with this? Start to like these people, when she’d cauterized and closed off her heart for more than two years? She wanted her joy in life back, but was terrified of getting close to people. Was one possible without the other?

  She turned away from the window and got dressed. Needing to avoid Hank for a few hours, she wandered into the kitchen. “Hannah, could I eat lunch in here today?”

  Hannah shook her head. “Sorry. I have to use the table for my pastry as soon as I give those kids their lunch.”

  “Okay.” Amy gave in to the inevitable and walked into the hall in time to see Hank and Willie about to enter the dining room. The kids set up a noisy chatter at the table.

  “They don’t stand a chance in heaven of winning that game,” Hank said to Willie.

  “They’re gonna win for sure.” Willie scratch
ed the back of his head.

  “Want to bet?” Hank asked. Amy’s stomach dropped. She wouldn’t have taken Hank for a gambling man.

  “How much?” Not Willie, too. She set her jaw.

  “Twenty bucks.”

  “You’re on.” They shook hands and turned into the dining room.

  Amy’s antennae went on alert. The hairs on her arms stood up. She knew from experience what gambling could do. Was it possible Hank had an addiction that was costing him the ranch? It didn’t seem likely—these kids meant too much—but the illness could spiral. She recalled the terrible fear she’d felt after her father died and left her and Mother with less than nothing, without even a roof over their heads.

  She shivered. One little bet now and then wasn’t an addiction, was it?

  Surely Hank’s bet on a sports game was innocent?

  Wasn’t it?

  CHAPTER SIX

  WHEN AMY HAD FINISHED lunch, she followed everyone out of the dining room, but stopped when Hannah called her.

  The housekeeper approached with a portable phone clutched in her fist.

  “It’s for you.”

  “Me?” Mother? Who else would it be? Her stomach tightened. What’s happened?

  “Hello? Mother?”

  “Is this Amy Graves?” a husky female voice asked.

  “Yes. Who is this?”

  “My name is Bernice Whitlow. I own the beauty salon in Ordinary.”

  Amy collapsed onto a chair. Mother wasn’t hurt. “How can I help you?” she asked. Was this a sales call? Did Bernice want to show the big-city girl what she could do in her salon?

  “I’ve got a woman sitting in my shop,” Bernice answered, “who says she’s your mother.”

  “What?”

  “She just got off the bus. It stops right outside my door. She looked pale, so I invited her into my shop.”

  “Let me speak to her. Please.”

  A brief minute later, Amy’s mother said, “Hello, dear.”

  “Mother, what on earth are you doing in Ordinary?”

  “I came to visit you, sweetheart. Isn’t that nice?”

  Amy gritted her teeth. Mother could have gotten lost, or gotten on the wrong bus, or ended up in Timbuktu.

  “Don’t move.” Amy’s voice sounded harsh and she tried to modulate it. “I’ll be there in half an hour.”

  Amy set the phone on the hall table.

  Before she picked up her mother, she had to ask Hank whether he would mind another guest.

  It took her awhile to hunt him down. She finally found him across a long field, crouching in the grass with the children and naming wildflowers for them.

  “Hank, can I have a word with you?” She gestured away from the children.

  He nodded and followed her twenty or so feet away, where she glanced around. A brilliant gem of a sun sat in the wide blue sky and warmed Hank’s fields.

  “Do you ever grow tired of this magnificent view?” Amy asked.

  When he didn’t answer, she turned to him. He watched her with raised eyebrows.

  “What?” she asked.

  “That’s the first nice thing you’ve said about the ranch since you got here.”

  Was she really so self-involved? “It’s a lovely ranch.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Well?” she asked. “Do you ever tire of this?”

  “Naw.” He smiled. “Haven’t yet, and that’s thirty-seven years and counting. Don’t think I ever will.”

  “Hank, I wonder if you might have another bedroom available? It doesn’t have to be large. A small one would be fine.”

  “You don’t like your room?”

  “Yes, I like it.” She crossed her arms and gathered her courage. “It wouldn’t be for me. It would be for my mother. I received a call from a woman in town named Bernice.”

  “Bernice Whitlow? What did she want?”

  “My mother just got off a bus in Ordinary. I didn’t invite her,” she said, worried he would think she would presume so much. “She won’t be any trouble. I promise. I’ll take care of her.”

  A slow smile lit Hank’s face. “Sure, bring her here. I’d like to meet her.”

  Just like that, he would let her stay? That easily? Perhaps he didn’t understand the significance of what Amy was saying. “She would have to stay as long as I do. And she’d need a ground floor room—she doesn’t do stairs as well as she once did.”

  “Your mother is welcome here. And if you don’t mind moving, she could have the room you’re using.”

  Amy shook her head, bemused. What a generous man.

  “I’d better run. She’s waiting for me.”

  “Take your time,” Hank said. “Your mother is in good hands with Bernice.”

  The town of Ordinary was like something from a bygone era. Max Wright’s Grocery Store had displays of produce outside without personnel guarding the stock. A sign on the window advertised Free Delivery. She hadn’t seen a sign like that in the city since she was a kid.

  Beside the grocery store, bright-red geraniums ran the length of the sill in the window of Bernice’s Beauty Salon.

  The salon cozied up next to Scotty’s Hardware. Stores with straightforward names. Owner proud, Amy guessed, and smiled.

  A middle-aged man she assumed was Scotty swept the sidewalk in front of the hardware store and waved as she stepped out of her car.

  “Met Gladys, Amy,” he called. “Real nice lady.”

  Wow. He knew her name and her mother’s name. Friendly interest, or was this a fishbowl community?

  A bell tinkled when Amy opened the door of the salon. A middle-aged, buxom blonde turned as Amy entered.

  “Hi, honey. I’m Bernice.” She held out her hand and smiled warmly. “Your mother’s fine. We’ve been having a cozy chat.”

  Amy shook her hand and whispered, “Thank you.” How could a stranger be so friendly? “You saw my mother outside?”

  “Mm-hmm. She looked hot, like she needed to sit down in a cool spot for a while.”

  “So you just asked her in?”

  Bernice looked surprised by the question. “Of course. Poor dear. She didn’t look well. C’mon. She’s in the back.”

  She led Amy to a spit-shined, tidy back room, where she found Mother sitting on a small pink damask sofa reading a magazine, a colorful afghan across her lap, a cup of tea on a small table beside her. Right at home.

  “Mother?”

  Mother looked up, as sweetly surprised to see Amy as if she hadn’t spoken to her on the phone half an hour ago.

  “Amy, how wonderful to see you.”

  Amy didn’t smile. “Mother, what possessed you to come here on the bus alone?” Her voice was sharp with worry. “Any number of things could have happened to you.”

  Her mother patted her hand. “But they didn’t, dear, did they?”

  She held up the magazine that rested on her lap. “Look. Brad and Angelina are fighting again. Why can’t those movie stars ever be nice to each other?”

  Amy smiled reluctantly. She never could stay angry at Mother for long.

  “Are you ready to go?” she asked. “We shouldn’t impose on Bernice any longer.”

  Mother rose, folded the afghan, then laid it across the back of the sofa. She followed Amy to the front of the shop.

  Amy turned to Bernice. “Thank you so much.” A flush of gratitude overwhelmed her. She shuddered at the thought of Mother getting off a bus in a strange town without help.

  Bernice waved her hand. “Anyone else in town would have done the same for her, you know.”

  Amy didn’t know. She didn’t know this town well enough to trust everyone.

  Just before they stepped through the open doorway, Bernice engulfed Mother in a warm hug.

  “Lovely to meet you, Gladys. You c’mon in for those highlights we talked about. My treat.”

  “Thank you, Bernice.” Mother followed Amy outside. “Isn’t she a dear?”

  “Yes, she is,” Amy answered, bemused. “
It was good of her to take you in.”

  About to launch into her lecture about the dangers of traveling alone for senior citizens, Amy caught herself, arrested by the look on Mother’s face. Avid curiosity. She swung her head from side to side, taking in as much as she could about Ordinary. She drank in every detail of small-town life.

  Amy noticed the candy shop across the street with a sign that read Sweet Talk and remembered Hank’s humbugs.

  She made an impulsive decision. “Mother, do you remember how much we used to like humbugs?”

  “Yes. They were wonderful, weren’t they?”

  “That shop has a sign in the window that says they have old-fashioned candies. I’m going to check it out.”

  Amy opened the passenger door of her Audi and settled Mother in out of the sun. “I’m going to run over. I’ll be right back.”

  As she entered the shop, the man behind the counter greeted her. “What can I get for you?” His smile spoke volumes about how attractive he found her.

  She glanced around at the shop’s rich styling—dark wood-paneled walls, white porcelain counters and green and rose stained-glass lamps hanging above, swaying slightly from brass chains.

  “This place is fabulous,” she murmured.

  She picked up a couple of pounds of assorted candies she hadn’t seen in ages—Swee Tarts, Candy Buttons, Licorice Pipes, Pixy Stix, Mike & Ikes, Marshmallow Cones—as a gift for the ranch. Probably not too smart bringing a bunch of candy to kids but, she thought defiantly, those kids deserved treats.

  “Do you carry humbugs?”

  “Sure do. How much do you want?”

  She picked up a pound of humbugs and thanked him profusely for his service.

  “My name’s Colin John Wright,” the man said. “Most everyone calls me C.J.” He smiled. So sweet.

  She smiled, said goodbye and stepped out of the shop.

  A cow ambled by. On the road. On the main street of Ordinary. Strange.

  “Did you see that, Amy?” Mother asked as Amy climbed in the car. “It was a cow.”

  “Yep, I saw it.” She tossed the bag of candy into Mother’s lap, then gunned the engine.

  Mother handed her a humbug as Amy pulled a neat U-turn on Main Street and headed out of town. The flavor of mint burst on Amy’s tongue.