Heart of a Cowboy

by Kristin Vayden

  “Yeah, that last one really nipped it in the bud. What was the change?”

  “I increased the dosage but only slightly. Your doctor said it might need some adjustment and gave me the specifications.”

  “Nice.”

  Next came the subject that she wasn’t excited about bringing up, but needed to regardless. She was pretty sure that last night’s episodes had been brought on by the phone conversation with Cyler. It was important for Jack to process everything so that tonight was not a repeated cycle with ruined sleep.

  “How are you feeling about yesterday?” She slid a glance up over her cup as she sipped.

  “I did it. I called him. I’m at peace with the idea that I did what I needed to do.” He gave a firm nod and took a determined sip of coffee.

  “The ball’s in his court now.”

  “Yup. At least he can’t say I didn’t try.”

  “Exactly. And that gives you a clear conscience. Jack.” She placed a hand on the shoulder of his soft flannel button-up shirt. “You’re only responsible for your own actions. You can’t be held responsible for others.”

  Jack turned and looked at her, his blue eyes sharp and clear. “If only that were the truth, honey.” He shook his head and placed his hands on his knees, standing, causing her hand to slide from his shoulder. “If only that were true. But, girl, it ain’t. Because you’re forgetting to factor in one thing.”

  She watched as he slowly took a few steps toward the house and turned, meeting her gaze.

  “Sometimes the reaction we get…it’s exactly what we deserve. And in this case, Cyler’s right. All I can do is be happy that I tried, and you know what? In a week, I’ll try again—till the end of the damn three months. I’ll keep trying because his reactions are exactly that. Reactions. I made the first move a long time ago. And it was wrong. And I can’t expect that one right move negates all that I screwed up. And darlin’, you can’t either.”

  Laken swallowed, watching the intense furrow of his brow as he took a deep breath, coughed, and walked toward the kitchen door.

  As much as it sucked, he was right. And if he did something terrible to his son, then one phone call couldn’t fix it.

  Only time could somehow heal that wound.

  And time was always the enemy.

  Chapter 4

  It’s now or never. The unmistakable scent of sagebrush and Russian Olive trees hung in the air as Cyler’s tires crunched the gravel road till he put the truck in park just before the semi-circular drive. An older model Honda Civic was parked to the side, but he dismissed it. Probably a maid or a nurse. He gave a small humorless laugh. That gave purgatory a whole new meaning. Poor nurse! Hopefully, whomever the insurance company sent over to deal with Jack’s worthless hide was well-seasoned and unwilling to take his crap.

  Or charm.

  In that order.

  With a bravery he certainly didn’t feel, he stepped from the cab and shut the door, making sure the sound was loud enough to warn of his arrival. He debated on whether to bring in his duffel bag but decided leaving it in the truck was smarter, just in case he wanted to abandon this whole forsaken idea and hightail it out of there.

  After a few steps, he remembered his half-full coffee left in the car. Normally he wouldn’t care, but Jack’s coffee was like tractor oil, thick and dark, and tasted just as bad. He swung open the door and reached across the seat and grabbed his Starbucks cup. He took a sip before starting toward the door once more.

  He had stopped at the coffee shop in an attempt to clear his head. That didn’t happen, he thought sarcastically as the memory of the blond he’d seen there passed through his mind. She was beautiful, but in a girl-next-door kind of way. Probably early twenties and finishing up her summer quarter at Eastern Washington University. He’d only made eye contact for a few seconds, but it had felt like she was reading him, seeing things that other people would have just ignored. The feeling had stuck with him ever since, distracting and irritating both at once.

  A few lonely crickets chirped, but the ranch was otherwise quiet. Setting his resolve, he walked toward the house and stepped on the porch. The front windows were wide open, letting in the morning air.

  “Damn it, woman! Are you trying to kill me before the cancer does?” Jack’s unmistakable voice filtered through the screen, and in spite of himself, Cyler grinned.

  Some things never change.

  “No. But if you don’t sit still when I take your blood, then you’re going to have a needle permanently embedded in your arm, and the next nurse to take care of that issue won’t be nearly as nice as me,” a woman answered, her tone sounding almost bored, as if well accustomed to dealing with his outbursts. But something about the voice seemed vaguely familiar.

  Odd.

  “And here I thought you’d be sweet since you’re so pretty.”

  “And here I thought you’d be a gentleman since you’re so old,” she shot back, and Cyler felt like giving a little cheer for the poor woman having to deal with Jack, but clearly, she could hold her own.

  There was a pause in the conversation, and Cyler waited, curiosity making a small smile linger on his face.

  “Are you done yet? Bloodsuckers, all those doctors. Vampires, the lot.”

  “Are you done complaining? Jack, really, I thought you were tougher than this.”

  Cyler choked on his laugh, not wanting to give away his presence but proud of whatever woman just hit his pain-in-the-ass of a father between the eyes with a well-placed setdown.

  “Needles are unnatural,” he answered after a moment, his argument pathetic sounding.

  “You’re unnatural,” she replied. “Okay, done. Now put your feet up and close your eyes. We don’t want a repeat from last time.”

  He heard some grumbling, and something close to a swear word.

  “Jack. Really. You want to do that again? You’re still black and blue on your shin, elbow, and eye. I’d rather your pride hurt than your body, okay?”

  “Fine.”

  Jack’s acquiescence was startling. Never had he heard him give up anything without a fight—whether he was right or wrong. Pride had a crazy way of making men more stubborn than mules, Jack being king of those types of jackasses.

  It seemed like they were done with whatever they were doing, so now would be a good opportunity to strike when Jack was weak.

  Even as he thought the words, he hated how they sounded, hated even more how necessary and true they were.

  He knocked twice then stepped back from the door, taking a deep breath. His heart pounded hard as he waited, hearing the decidedly feminine footsteps draw closer to the door.

  The handle turned, and as the door opened, everything he was thinking came to a skidding halt.

  “Uh-uh,” Cyler stuttered as the girl he had just seen at Starbucks blinked at him, and by the furrow in her brow, she recognized him, too, “hi.” He lifted a hand in a pathetic wave, feeling completely off-centered. How in the hell is she old enough to be taking care of Jack? The old bastard would find the prettiest nurse in the county.

  “Hi. Can I help you?” she asked, her head tilting slightly, her green eyes taking on a curious glint.

  “Yeah—”

  “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  Jack’s voice drew his attention, and his gaze shifted, the sight punching him in the gut.

  The woman stepped to the side, turned and walked toward Jack. “Jack, you’re going to pass out again, and I’ll have to carry your sorry as—carcass to the couch. Like last time.” She put her hands on her hips, looking like a pissed-off mother hen.

  “Well, I don’t think I lost that much blood, but I think I’m seeing things, honey.” His gaze shifted to the girl then back to Cyler, narrowing.

  Cyler nodded once. “Hi, Dad.”

  * * * *

  For once, Laken was t
hankful for Jack’s ornery streak. It was a needed distraction from the Scott Eastwood look-alike from Starbucks. His voice was deep, rich, and bitter, immediately setting her teeth on edge.

  She spun around, her gaze narrowing on the guy as he took a step over the threshold and walked into the house like he’d been there a million times.

  Because he probably had.

  This was Jack’s son?

  He was taller than Jack by several inches, making him at least six feet and three inches of taut muscle and crystal-blue eyes. His dark walnut hair was cut short, but long enough to be tousled, giving him a younger appearance. Tan skin highlighted the strong cut of his jaw, drawing her attention down to a broad chest and—

  “Laken?” Jack put an end to her study of his son. Her gaze jerked up, a burning blush heated her face as she made eye contact with the subject of her focus.

  The look this newcomer gave her was annoyingly mocking, as one side of his mouth tipped up in a knowing smirk.

  Arching a brow, she held his gaze, not backing down.

  “Laken, this is my, uh, son, Cyler Myer.” Jack made the introductions.

  “A pleasure, ma’am…or is it miss?” Cyler asked. His voice was more alluring with the bitter tone absent.

  “Ah, nice to meet you, Cyler. It’s always great to finally put a face to the name.” She gave a sweet smile, forcing it to be genuine when she wanted to be more cutting. She avoided answering his last question.

  “You can’t believe everything you hear, miss.” Cyler reached out a hand, his steely gaze flickering from it to her. A dark brow arched in question.

  Or is it a dare?

  “Isn’t that the truth?” she answered, taking his hand and squeezing tightly and continuing to hold his stare.

  “Why don’t we head to the living room? All this standing is making me dizzy,” Jack mumbled.

  As Laken released Cyler’s hand, she turned to watch Jack. His steps shuffled as he made his way toward the living room, and she rushed to give him help. When she reached out and grasped his arm, she felt his body trembling. “Jack?” she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear.

  “I’m fine, sweetheart. Just a little weak and even more shocked.” He took a long breath, the rattling in his chest faint but present. “I guess I never thought he’d actually come.” He gave her a quick glance and gripped her hand tightly.

  When they made it to his favorite chair, she turned to watch Cyler stride in with hesitant familiarity. His gaze scanned the room, as if taking inventory of what was different. How long had it been since he’d been there?

  “So, Cyler…I’m really glad to see you.” Jack paused; an awkward silence filled the room.

  “Yup.” He took a seat on the adjacent couch and leaned forward, setting his elbows on his knees and watching Jack, a cruel smile on his face.

  As if he was enjoying Jack’s discomfort.

  What an ass.

  It wasn’t as if Laken hadn’t seen family animosity before, but this was cold, clinical, as if it was a pre-calculated move made to cause injury.

  But it wasn’t her place.

  Biting her lip, she slowly stood. “I’m sure you both have a lot to discuss. I’ll be in my room if you need me. Jack, is there anything else you’d like at the moment?” She turned, watching as the poor guy swallowed hard.

  “No, honey. I’m…fine.”

  The usually aggravatingly confident man was hesitant and insecure. It ripped at her, and more than anything, she wanted to snap at Cyler for being a jerk but, honestly, what had he actually done wrong? Nothing! He’d shown up, just like he’d been asked to, and he was actually in the living room with his dad when only yesterday he had refused his calls. As much as she wanted to find fault with him, there was nothing.

  “Alright. Cyler, do you need anything? Water, coffee?” She gave a small smile, hoping to lighten the heavy atmosphere of the room.

  It worked. He grinned, the action softening the grim lines on his face and making him even more handsome. “I think I’m good.” He raised his Starbucks cup and gave a wink.

  “Let me know if you need anything, Jack.” And with a small smile in his direction, she left.

  Odd how silence could be louder than shouting.

  And cold.

  She wasn’t sure if hell had frozen over for Cyler to actually be there, but she was sure it wasn’t going to be an easy road.

  For any of them.

  * * * *

  Well, I’m here. Now what the hell do I do? He expected for it to be simple. See Jack, shock him into an early grave, and leave. Boom, done.

  He should have known that life was never that simple. He was there but had no clue as to what to do next.

  So he waited, and watched, and tried to take some sadistic joy in the way Jack fumbled with his jeans, rubbing his hands over his knees and glancing around, focusing on anything but him.

  He should wait. Let the awkward silence be part of the punishment, but damn it all, it was punishment to him too. So, against his better judgment, he spoke. “I should have guessed you’d pick a nurse like that.”

  So maybe it wasn’t the high road, but at least he’d broken the silence.

  Jack’s gaze snapped up, zeroing in with that same precision that immediately sent Cyler back to his childhood. “Don’t go there.”

  Cyler swallowed the compulsion to stand down. “Just calling it like I see it…Dad.” He held up his hands in mock surrender.

  “Don’t Dad me. You haven’t called me that since your mother—”

  “I wouldn’t go there either, Jack,” Cyler interrupted, his body tensing with too many memories.

  Jack’s eyes narrowed, and Cyler braced himself, but rather than restart an old fight, Jack broke their stare-down and lowered his head. “I’m sorry, Cyler.”

  It wasn’t enough. It wouldn’t ever be enough. “Sorry isn’t worth the dirt on your boots.”

  “No. No, it’s not.” Jack lifted his gaze, a light sheen of moisture shocking Cyler like a swift punch to the gut. But a moment later, he steeled himself against it. Probably another attempt at manipulating him. He’d tried every other trick in the book, so why not this?

  “You’re not here for me. Are you?” Jack asked after a moment, his body still and tense as if waiting for a blow.

  Cyler sensed it. It would hurt; it would be a deep blow if he told him the real reason. It would be everything he’d dreamed of, everything he’d wanted it to be. He jumped at the opportunity. “Hell no. I’m here to make sure you’re suffering,” Cyler whispered low, his gaze piercing through the man who had tortured him for years, and, when he’d needed him the most, betrayed him deeper than any man should endure.

  “I see.”

  “I don’t think you do. I’ve heard that when people are passing…they need to feel at peace. Jack, there’s no way in hell I’m giving you that. I want you to be so restless, so deeply tortured that you know what it was like”—Cyler swallowed—“to be me. That you feel everything you caused me to feel, and in the end, you know it’s completely and utterly hopeless.” Cyler stood and walked over to Jack, watching as the old man trembled and his gaze took on a narrow and furious glint, reminding Cyler of the man he recalled. “Because I will never, ever, ever forgive you, Dad.” He waited, letting the words sink in, marinating in the air.

  Jack slowly stood. Gave a small nod.

  And swung.

  Chapter 5

  Cyler woke up with a pounding headache. The pain radiated from the back of his skull to the front then started over. “Aw, hell,” he whispered, closing his eyes against the sunlight in his room.

  His eyes blinked open again as he took in his surroundings. Was he dreaming? What the hell was he doing in his old room? He thought back over the past day, piecing together events and trying to make sense of it all.

 
“Hey there, Rocky. How are you feeling?”

  He watched in fascination as a faintly familiar and startlingly beautiful blond leaned over him. Her ponytail slid from her shoulder and lightly thumped against his chest as she tenderly prodded his head with her fingers.

  “Rocky?” he asked, unable to put anything else coherent together.

  “Yeah, you know, the boxer?” she answered, her eyes still trained on his head as she slowly moved her hands from the front of his head and to the sides, her green eyes narrowing slightly.

  He winced as her fingers grazed an especially tender spot on the right side of his head.

  “Right there, huh? I think the coffee table did more damage than Jack.” She straightened, giving him a wry grin.

  Damn, that grin is sexy.

  Wait. Coffee table?

  “Say what?” He rose on his elbow, trying to ignore the way his head throbbed when he moved.

  “You’re lucky your head is harder than oak.” She gave him a wink and stood. “When Jack swung and collided with your jaw, you lost your footing and smacked your head on that monster of a coffee table in the living room.”

  He leaned back on the pillow, closing his eyes as the throbbing slowly ebbed. “Damn thing. I used to stub my toe on it as a kid. Did I do any damage to it? Please say yes.”

  “Yes.”

  Cyler opened one eye. “Liar. Stupid piece of shit is probably still there,” he mumbled.

  Her soft laughter had him fighting his own smile, but he bit it back as his jaw ached with the slight movement. “Damn, that old man can still hit.”

  “You’ll be a little tender, but I think Jack’s the one that suffered the more serious injury,” she added softly.

  He turned his head and glared at her. “Oh really? Is his tender heart all bruised up?” he asked with thick sarcasm.