The Cowgirl Rides Away (Bluebonnet Texas Book 1)

by Stuart, Amie

  "Can you come get me?"

  "Where are you, baby girl?"

  I gave Kane directions to the dancehall, grabbed my bags and loaded my car.

  Time to go home.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Zack

  Tim was gone, Ty was gone, and Zack was left holding the bag. Or, in this case, stuck having to talk to his mother. He didn't even know what to say to her or why he should even bother. He stepped into the kitchen just in time to watch her shove the bowl of potato salad onto the Formica counter. He should have been used to it by now, but her earlier words about how disappointing her children were had stung.

  Just then, the phone rang and his mother flinched. Her eyes grew wide, her lips thinned and her face grew redder with each jangle of the phone.

  "I'll get it." He stepped toward the cordless phone resting on the counter but his mother beat him to it, answering and just as quickly hanging up.

  "Mind your own business, Zachary."

  "Sorry I'm not your precious Zander who can't even be bothered to come home, but who cares since he got a degree in something useful, right? Right?" He slowly closed the distance between them while he spoke, "He's the one you brag about to all your church friends, isn't he? Your son. The big shot FBI agent. I wonder why he never comes home." He smirked the tiniest bit as a new thought occurred to him; he didn't mean to, it just happened. "Maybe he's as embarrassed of you as you are of us."

  He might as well have slapped her. She inhaled sharply and her eyes widened. She backed away and then turned, disappearing around the corner and into the living room. He listened to her footsteps, tracking her up the stairs as he looked around the empty kitchen. There was always something cooking, always pots rattling or dishes being washed and always the scent of a fresh pot of coffee on, but not today. He couldn't lie, that little zinger had felt damned good.

  His boots made the treads creak as he followed her upstairs and down the hall. He found her in the bedroom on the phone again.

  "He's not available," she snapped, slamming down the phone.

  She pulled a suitcase out of the closet and moved around the room. She never stopped packing, just moved from closet to dresser to the oversized suitcase on the bed.

  Even as a grown man, entering his parents' bedroom seemed like a huge invasion of privacy. As kids, the room had been off limits unless you were small and had a nightmare or were sick. And even that was rare. Funny how he'd never really thought of his parents as anything more than his parents. Until the last couple of days, that is.

  With his arms propped on either doorframe, Zack took a good look around, trying to see the room as an artist, as an adult. The queen-sized plantation bed had been his grandparents' and the age showed in the wood. The carpet was worn, an ancient green pattern that had been there since he was a kid. The bed was covered with a white chenille spread that also seemed worn somehow. The dresser and nightstands that matched the bed had that patina of old, well-loved wood and were covered with hand-crocheted doilies that were also made by his grandmother. The room seemed tidy but tired. You could tell it belonged to someone, but there didn't seem to be any warmth anymore.

  "Did you want something, Zachary, or are you going to stand there and gloat?"

  "Maybe you can go live with Zander. You want me to call him?" No, he didn't like her much just then. He didn't like himself much either, but he didn't like her even more. "What did we ever do to you? Huh? What did we do to make you hate us so much? Is it just that you're disappointed in us or…"

  "Stay out of this, Zachary."

  "I can't." He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his shoulder against the door frame. "You called me a disappointment. You said I disappointed you. You said I wasn't your son. You said I was Dad's son and not yours."

  "I didn't mean it."

  "I think you did," he said softly. "I got a degree just like Zander. So I came home with a son. At least I'm a good dad. But I guess that doesn't matter to you."

  "Stop."

  "I am a good father to my son and I work hard."

  "Stop it, Zachary."

  "But that's not good enough for you. You know what I think? I think you're kind of a bitch, Mom. Nothing's ever good enough for you and that's why Dad asked you for a divorce, 'cause he's tired of your shit." He chuckled softly almost to himself, uncaring of the hole he was probably digging. "And you know what? I don't blame him."

  Her eyes widened and her chin lifted, and her miserable, resigned expression was replaced with a glimmer of her usual attitude. "I am still your mother, young man," she carefully enunciated each word.

  "Maybe instead of turning a blind eye to Ty and Rhea's problems, you should have tried to help him."

  "You mean like your girlfriend did?"

  Zack paused and then said, "Yeah. Rhea's outta here, by the way, in case you missed it. Daddy told her to get the hell off Boudreaux land or go to jail. And God love him, at least Ty tried to make his marriage work. Tim's a good dad, too, by the way, in case you didn't notice. He tries, but Rene doesn't exactly make it easy. I'm sorry we're not…perfect—" he waved a hand in her direction as he stepped closer, "—or whatever the hell idealized family you had in mind, but I do not appreciate you saying that only one of us turned out worth a damn.

  "And I don't understand half of what you and Dad were fighting about downstairs. All that crap about something always being someone's fault. Just like I don't understand why you're so hard on him, Momma. Can you answer me that one?" He stood in front of her waiting for a response of some sort. "Can you?"

  Her mouth worked and her jaw quivered but finally she shook her head no. Her eyes were red again. Great, now he'd made her cry, but he didn't stop.

  "Why did you try to make me give up Travis?"

  "People talk—"

  "So what!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, then laughed, but not because it was funny. Because of the irony of it all. She'd tired to make him give up a child that wasn't his…because people would talk. "So what?!" he said again, softer this time. God she'd probably disown him for shouting at her like he'd done, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. "Now lemme tell you something you don't understand! The joke's on you, Momma. Travis isn't even your grandson. He's not even mine. So there! How do you like—"

  "Zachary Kendall Boudreaux!" came his father's roar from behind him.

  He froze. He'd never even heard him come in the house, or up the stairs. He spun around to face his father, only to find himself being pulled into a hug that shoved all the air out of his lungs.

  "You stop it. You stop it right now," his dad kept saying as he patted his back. "That's enough. That's enough of that."

  Just then, the phone began to ring again.

  His father pushed him to a sitting position on the bed, then held out his hand. "Give it to me, Maggie."

  She slapped it against the palm of his hand. Lips tighter than ever, she crossed her arms over her chest. "Zachary, is that true?"

  His dad spoke before he could. "Not a word until I get off this phone." He turned toward the door, the phone to his ear, and listened for a while. "Your Aunt Susie is on her way down there… Yes, she knows. Tell your mother I'll be there this evening, no matter what."

  He hung up and turned to face them both. "This all ends now."

  "I've almost finished packing."

  "That's on you. You don't have to leave. Not now; not ever, but you do have to listen. You have spent the last seventeen years punishing me for my mistakes. Mistakes I've apologized for repeatedly. Mistakes I can't ever make up for. But you don't get to punish my daughter. Not anymore."

  "Dad?" Zack queried, a part of him hoping his father wasn't saying what he thought his father had just said.

  "Delaney's mother is dying, Maggie, dying! She's alone. It's bad enough she hasn't had me in her life—" His face scrunched up like he might have been about to cry, and right then, Zack wished he were anywhere else but in his parents' bedroom.

  "That's why you want a div
orce?" he asked, looking from one parent to another in complete disbelief.

  "I don't want a divorce," his father said, "but I don't want to have to choose between my wife and my daughter, so if it comes down to it, then I will."

  "You told Susie," Maggie choked out, two neatly folded shirts clutched against her chest.

  "I had to, and she's on her way to the hospital to be with Delaney until I can get there."

  "Maybe I should leave you two alone." Zack stood, unsure of how to angle around his father and get the hell out of there.

  His dad stepped out of the way and said, "You can go and wait in my study."

  Shit!

  ***

  The scent of cigars and leather didn't comfort Zack as he collapsed on the oxblood couch in his father's study and waited, wondering how big of a new one his dad was going to rip him.

  When Jerrod joined him, he closed the door and silently crossed the room to pour them each a drink.

  His blood slowed as he accepted a tumbler of scotch. His father went back to his desk and collapsed in the oversized leather chair with a sigh.

  "So tell me about Travis."

  He took a deep breath, trying to figure out where to start. "Marina—" her name felt rusty on his tongue, awkward, "—she was Puerto Rican. She came from a real nice family, her father's big into politics and so is her husband."

  "So you do stay in touch with her?"

  Zack nodded. "We dated but she, um, she knew she was going back and she didn't want to get involved. Said it would only hurt us both."

  "You loved her." Jerrod silently dug in his desk drawer, then came to sit beside Zack. He set his own glass on the maple coffee table and threw three thick white envelopes down beside it. Most had begun to yellow but one looked newish.

  "Yeah," he admitted. "I did."

  "Go on."

  "I found her. We were supposed to go to church Sunday morning—we never even slept together—"

  "You don't have to sleep with someone to love them, just like sleeping with them doesn't mean you love them."

  "She was late. She's never late. You could practically set your watch by her, but she was late."

  "She was—"

  "Raped," Zack finished with a nod. "She was a mess when I found her and they never caught the man who did it. When she found out she was pregnant, she freaked. She's Catholic so abortion was out. She didn't want to give the baby to strangers. She could have...she could have done a black market adoption so he'd never know where he came from or anything, but she didn't want to do that either. We just tried to do the fairest thing we could think of, so I put my name on the birth certificate and brought Travis home."

  Zack forced himself to take a long, slow sip of his scotch, letting it burn its way down. Despite his earlier words to Jessa, he felt relieved to have the truth out there. More relieved than he'd imagined. He knew his dad wouldn't tell anyone, and he'd bet money his mother wouldn't either. "I don't want anyone to know. Travis doesn't deserve—"

  Jerrod nodded in apparent understanding. "Then you came home and your mom tried to make you give him up before anyone found out. I wish you'd told me, but I understand why you didn't."

  "I was scared."

  Daddy patted his shoulder and they both sat back against the couch cushions, glasses in hand. "I guess it's no surprise when I say things have a way of coming back to haunt you. Promise me you'll tell him someday."

  "I dunno—"

  "I love your mother," his father interrupted. "God knows how some days…that's not true. But I do and you don't just toss thirty-some-odd years of marriage out the window." He sighed, his attention on his tumbler. "I'm not proud of what I did and I won't make excuses for my actions. I'm telling you this in hopes that it'll help you understand your mother, and why I think you need to seriously consider telling Travis the truth someday."

  He nodded again, though he had no idea how he'd tell Travis the truth. "You cheated. That's what made Momma so bitter," Zack said as he looked over at his father.

  With a grimace, Jerrod handed him a small stack of photos he'd pulled out of one of the envelopes.

  Understanding only seemed to breed more confusion as Zack set his glass down. He thumbed through with a soft, "Holy shit," at the first one. A baby in a christening gown with a head full of bright red hair just like his. "She's a redhead."

  "So's her momma. Sad, but I run true to form."

  He scowled at his father. "Dad!"

  "That was tacky, I'm sorry. It's the bourbon."

  He thumbed through them, pausing at one of a baby girl in a yellow creeper on a pink gingham blanket. She was a chubby Buddha baby. The last one in the stack was of a tall, slender redhead with long curly hair holding the baby in her christening gown. "Who is she?"

  "Bridgette Kennedy. I don't think you know her. And that's your sister, Delaney, in her arms."

  "No wonder Mom's so pissed off."

  "I promised your mother I'd never see her, but circumstances have changed, which I guess you picked up on. I'm going to go stay at your Aunt Susie's for a while until we sort this out. I'm tired of the emotional blackmail. I'm tired of settling, and I want to see Delaney. I need to see her and she needs me."

  "You're not really gonna—"

  "I honestly can't say, Zachary," his father whispered, the expression on his face grim. "I don't know what I'll do if I have to choose between your mother and my daughter."

  As deeply as Zack disliked his mother at that moment, as angry as he was, he couldn't imagine their lives without her. He didn't like the prospect of their new reality and he couldn't imagine his dad living on the ranch without her.

  And it would be her who had to go, if they did indeed get a divorce.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jessa

  It was a nine-hour drive to the Texas-New Mexico border. It was a twenty-four hour drive home, give or take, and that was only if we drove straight through. The upside was, Kane and I had plenty of time to clear the air before I had to deal with the rest of my family; the downside was Kane and I had plenty of time to clear the air.

  Kane did me the courtesy of waiting until we were out of San Antonio before he started talking. "Leg bothering you?"

  The hand massaging my knee stopped. I'd done it again. "No."

  "Want to talk about it?"

  "Let me know when you want me to drive." I grabbed one of his hoodies from the back and pillowed it under my head. Night was a long way off and I was nowhere near tired, but I'd always done my share of the driving and that meant napping when you can. The problem was my brain wouldn't shut itself off.

  "I meant Texas. Do you want to talk about why you were in—"

  "No, Kane."

  "Well, for what it's worth, you do look better than you did the last time I saw you."

  "That's not saying much considering the last time you saw me I was confined to a hospital bed with my leg in traction."

  "You know what I mean, Jessalyn."

  We rode for a while longer as Gary Allen and Johnny Cash blasted out of the speakers and kept the silence from becoming unbearable. I knew it was too good to last and eventually Kane would want to talk. We stopped in Kerrville for gas and something to drink. No sooner had we gotten back on I-10 and Kane had set the cruise control than he started talking.

  "I was eleven when your mama ran off with your dad."

  I sipped my drink and waited, my eyes on the sunny day passing by my window at seventy-five miles an hour.

  "She was the first girl to ever kiss me and then, three months later, she ran off with your daddy."

  That got my attention and I leaned my head back to stare. "She kissed you?"

  "On the cheek!" He threw me a quick grin. "All I remembered for the longest time were her breasts. And that she was beautiful."

  "Jesus, Kane. TMI?"

  "I was a very impressionable young man, and that was the best and worst summer of my life."

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I resigned myself to listening
.

  "She kissed me and then she ran away with some rodeo cowboy. I loved her and she broke my heart, broke her mother's heart, and her grandmother's heart, too."

  "I'm sorry." He seemed genuinely sad. Sadder than I'd ever seen or heard him.

  "She looked so much like you…except she laughed more. I guess you get all that seriousness from your daddy."

  He'd loved my mom and she'd broken his heart by running off with Daddy and having me. Right then I didn't know whether to laugh or what. I scrubbed at my face and focused on the scenery, at a loss for what to say or ask next.

  "What was my grandmother's name?"

  "Jillian."

  "Is she still alive?"

  "Gone," he practically grunted. "Passed away years ago."

  "So, Granny, your grandmother, was pretty much it?"

  "There's some aunts, including my mom, and some cousins."

  "What was her name? Your granny. The one who died?" Against my will, my anger softened, diluted by curiosity and our shared history.

  "Josephine Maines."

  "And she was…help me out here."

  "Jillian's mother.

  "How did she die?"

  He chuckled a bit. "With a cigar in her hand. Damn near burned down the house."

  "She sounds like a real character," I bit out, unable to help myself.

  "I'm sorry. Granny Jo asked me to keep an eye on you after I found out you were riding the circuit. She's the one who asked me to keep my mouth shut. She made me swear, Jessa."

  And John Kane never broke a promise.

  "You still should have told me, Kane."

  "Granny was afraid you'd tell your dad, so was I."

  "If you'd asked me not to, I wouldn't have."

  "Maybe not on purpose, but you know how Marlene pushes your buttons."

  "That may be true, but you—" I paused to find the right words, "—you cheated me out of a chance to know my great-grandmother."

  The silence that followed felt long and heavy but was probably only a minute.