His Country Heart (Sierra Creek Series Book 2)

by Reggi Allder

  First the lab drew blood and now his dad was in x-ray. Busy because of a multi-car pileup on the freeway, none the less the doctors and staff did their best to complete everything in a timely manner. He could at least be tolerant. The severely injured took priority. Damn. He wasn’t good at doing nothing.

  He thought about calling Amy, but didn’t want to disturb her sleep and anyway without new information to impart, why call?

  He’d repeatedly dialed his brother. No response, not that it surprised him. Must be about a one percent chance of reaching the guy. Even if he did what could Wes do at this point? Earlier. he might have taken care of the horse and made sure the stallion was returned to his home paddock, but now…

  He glanced at the clock hanging above the door in the emergency waiting room, five in the morning. At ten o’clock his vet offered to look the horse and make sure the animal had no long-lasting injuries to hamper his future. Wyatt didn’t believe he did, but always good to have a professional agree with that assessment.

  He and Amy had both needed time off to reconnect. With his job keeping him away much of the time, he believed they might lose touch. That’s why he’d planned a couple of days off where they could be together, worry free and have a little fun. He laughed. Lately, he’d been working so hard to acquire the money to start the business, he’d almost forgotten the meaning of the word “fun.” A disappointed expression had spread across Amy’s face, probably the realization their mini-vacation must be cancelled.

  With the knowledge of Wyatt’s history concerning his parents, many women would have told him the old man didn’t deserve help. Dad didn’t give any when he was a teen. But Amy supported his decision to go to the hospital with his father. She impressed him and confirmed his belief that kindness to everyone was part of her nature.

  ***

  Amy woke with a start and saw her cold cup of coffee still on the table in front of the couch. Planning to sit down for a few moments and finish her drink while the fire in the fireplace warmed the house, she had nodded off.

  A truck was coming up the road. Hopeful Wyatt was finally home, she yanked her down jacket off the hook in the closet and ran to meet the pickup.

  Wyatt parked his dad’s truck, jumped out and stretched before slamming the driver’s side door. He smiled when he saw her.

  She ran to meet him to throwing her arms around his neck. “Hi, honey.” She kissed him.

  “You feel good.” He yawned.

  “Wyatt, you must be worn out.”

  “Dead on my feet.”

  “Did you have dinner last night?”

  “I bought a chocolate bar from the vending machine at the hospital.” He caressed her hair and then kissed the nape of her neck, before claiming her lips. His stomach growled.

  “I’ll whip up some scrambled eggs. I have apple fritters too.”

  “Sounds great.”

  She watched him wolf down breakfast and drink apple juice.

  “I didn’t realize I was so hungry.” He leaned back in the kitchen chair. Deep in thought, his expression darkened.

  Almost afraid to ask how Wyatt’s dad was doing, she cleared her throat, but didn’t speak. Mr. Cameron had been so pale when he was loaded into the ambulance for transport to Vallejo General. Finally, she said, “How’s your dad doing?”

  “Don’t know yet. The doctor should call later today and tell me if dad can come home.” He paused. “They found he has untreated high blood pressure. If it’s not controlled, he could have a heart attack.”

  “Whoa. Maybe it was a good thing to go to the medical center. He might never have understood he was in danger.”

  “Guess so, but it still doesn’t get Wes off the hook. He should’ve been there.” He stifled another yawn. “I’ll probably have to drive back and give my dad a ride home. I better get some sleep. Thanks for breakfast, honey.”

  “Good night,” she said even though the morning sun shone in the kitchen window.

  ***

  Wyatt sat in Vallejo General Hospital’s lobby waiting for his father. Two in the afternoon and his dad hadn’t been released yet.

  He and Amy should be in San Francisco enjoying the place like tourists. This was another day lost to them that couldn’t be returned. He pushed down the resentment he felt toward the old man, then groaned and wondered if there’d be any time to do something with Amy before he returned to the circuit or if taking care of his father would fill the whole day.

  He could have let the man get home on his own. After all, what had he done for him in the last twenty years?

  Shit. If he did that he wouldn’t be any better than his dad. No, he didn’t intend to be that type of man. They might share DNA, but it didn’t mean they were from the same mold. Damn. He’d do what was right and prove the acorn could fall far from the tree.

  To her credit, Amy suggested Mr. Cameron stay in the cottage on the farm until he was feeling better. Wyatt should have guessed his dad would balk at that idea, demanding to be driven to his home.

  After being brought to the exit in a wheelchair, Wyatt watched the man limp to the nearby GMC truck.

  “Don’t stare. I bumped my cursed knee on the dashboard in the accident.”

  “Okay.” He slowed his pace so his father could keep up. “You might as well stay in the cottage. You’d have your privacy and we could help if you needed wanted something.”

  “Just get me the hell home and leave my truck. You can catch the bus back to Sierra Creek.”

  “Amy will pick me up if I ask. And she doesn’t mind if you change yours and want to stay with us for a couple of days.”

  Dad grimaced as he hauled himself into the passenger’s side of the truck. “I’ve never been a burden and I’m not going to start now.”

  They rode in silence. Wyatt suddenly realized he’d never been to his father’s place–not invited. This was the first chance to see the home where he wasn’t welcome.

  Ignoring protests, Wyatt stopped at a grocery store and bought supplies to keep his Dad for the next few days until he felt better, buying mainly frozen dinners, fresh bread, and dried fruit. He added jars of peanut butter, strawberry jam and a bag of coffee for good measure.

  About twenty miles out of Sierra Creek, the small town of Whiskey Mountain, population of about two thousand, appeared. The highway went through the main street, but the buildings lining the way gave no indication they wanted travelers to stop and visit.

  A feed store bustled with activity. Across the street was a bar. It must be busy on a Saturday night, but right now the place looked abandoned. As they drove though the town, he didn’t see a café or restaurant. Maybe the saloon served food too.

  On a dusty two lane road, he parked in front of a small white bungalow. The lawn was yellow from lack of water and the house cried out for paint. The old cement walkway was cracked and weeds, not needing much moisture, poked through the open spaces, growing two feet tall.

  Removal of the weeds and a fresh coat of paint would bring cheer to the place, but he guessed that wasn’t about to happen anytime soon.

  He’d always imagined Wes and Dad living in a superior home from his. He’d slept on the couch in the living room while his mom used the only bedroom in the apartment over the meat market on Main Street. Nonetheless, until she died, she’d done her best, with little money available, to make their place pretty and cheerful.

  In the cottage, he tossed the truck’s key on the entry table and proceeded to the kitchen. He expected to find dirty dishes and rotting food, but the room was clean and looked rarely used. Good thing he’d stopped at the store because beside a half full carton of eggs and can of coffee, the fridge and cupboards were bare.

  Piles of old newspapers, including racing forms, lined the walls of the living room. Worn orange carpeting ran the length of the hall that lead to the master bedroom. The double bed was made and a horse blanket was thrown on the end of the bed. For twenty years of living there wasn’t much to show, no family photos, and no art of any
kind on any of the walls.

  The place might have been a cheap hotel room or a house owned by a stranger. His closed his eyes for second as he understood that’s what this man was, a complete unknown. Wyatt had no real connection to him, blood wasn’t enough. He comprehended nothing of the man’s likes or dislikes.

  Amy’s grandparents acted as his real family after his mom died. They’d been there for him when he was sick or about to make a stupid mistake. He’d learned kindness and dependability from them. If only he could tell Granny and Grandpa now how much he loved them.

  A big man, his father appeared old and somehow less important than a day or two ago; the resentment he’d felt toward his father disappeared. He was grateful the man hadn’t been the one to raise him or he could have become just like him.

  He helped his dad settled in the bedroom with everything he thought he might require and then texted Amy to come and get him, ASAP.

  “Call me if you need anything,” he said before he left the bedroom, but his father was already watching TV and didn’t respond.

  ***

  Just as Amy pulled in front of Mr. Cameron’s home, Wyatt came out of the front door and waved. Stress and exhaustion appeared to slow his step and his broad shoulders slumped.

  “Amy, you have no idea how glad I am to see you,” he said as he entered the old Volvo on the passenger’s side. He leaned back and closed his eyes. “My dad is one aggravating old man.”

  She didn’t respond, but silently agreed with him and then turned the sedan around and headed toward Sierra Creek.

  The closer they got to town the more energized Wyatt seemed to be. He filled her in on his dad’s condition. “He’ll recover in a few days if he stays on his high blood pressure meds and takes it easy. The doctor said he could feel better than he has in years. If he follows directions.”

  She glanced at him.

  “The old man won’t,” Wyatt said.

  “We should go out to dinner. I don’t know about you, but I’m starved.” She changed the subject to something less stressful.

  “Okay. How about the diner? Amy it’s not what I’d planned for tonight, no water views or candlelight. But the food’s pretty good.

  “Works for me.”

  The most popular restaurant on Main Street, Mel’s Diner, was Melody and Melvin’s Johnson’s pride and joy. A middle aged married couple both with the nickname “Mel.” Which might be confusing to a newcomer, but Amy met them when she was six years old.

  Vintage décor populated the restaurant with real 1950’s mid-century furniture and a jukebox with flashing colored lights. It still cost a quarter to play a song and the choices were classics from the 1950’s, 60 and 70’s, though an occasional 1980’s songs appeared. A stainless steel counter with red stools offered a place to sit if you wanted a quick burger and a shake. But table service was available for those who planned to linger.

  As they entered the restaurant two teenaged girls waved and yelled. “Hi, Wyatt.” They giggled and took a photo with their smart phones.

  “I keep forgetting what a celebrity you are, honey,” she teased him.

  He cringed. “Don’t teenage girls have anything better to do?”

  “Imagine the excitement viewing a big rodeo star.” She grinned at him.

  “Give me a break.” He laughed. “Let’s get some food.”

  “It may take a while.” She stared at a sea of town’s people waiting in line.

  “Don’t worry. While we drove, I sent a text to Mel. She’s saving a corner booth for us.”

  Seated next to each other, they gave their orders directly to Mel.

  Amy planned to update Wyatt on all the arrangements for the wedding and her new job, but seeing his tired eyes, she changed her mind.

  Suddenly the music from the Jute Box blared. “I wish they had a dance floor. Wouldn’t it be fun to dance to the old classics?”

  “I’m just happy to finally have dinner with you,” he said.

  “Me too.” She kissed his cheek.

  He pulled her closer. “You’re beautiful.”

  “I’m not. I’ve often wondered what attracted you to me. I mean I’m realistic and I’ve seen photos of the other women you’ve dated. They’re posted all over social media.”

  “Come on, you know it’s just publicity. You’re gorgeous to me.”

  “Be serious, Wyatt.”

  “I am. I’ll agree you don’t look like a model. You’re prettier. Honey, it’s corny, but beauty is in the heart. And no one has a more beautiful one than you.” He paused and lowered his voice. “You’ve taught me how it feels to have someone who cares.” He hesitated. “Besides I love your curly hair, cute freckles, perky breasts.”

  “Stop,” she whispered sternly.

  “Well, you asked.” He shrugged, but she noticed the winkle in his blue eyes.

  Sitting so close she could feel heat coming from him and her breathing quickened. She reached up and caressed his face, her lips opening for him. She stifled a moan of pleasure when he returned her kiss.

  Aware they were still in the restaurant, she opened her eyes and the room came into focus in time to see Mel moving toward them carrying a tray.

  “Okay you two lovebirds break it up.” She laughed. “This is a G rated diner.” She set their plates down still laughing at her own joke.

  Amy’s cheeks burn. Thankful she and Wyatt had a corner booth, and not one of the tables in the middle of the room.

  When Mel left the table, Wyatt went to the juke box and selected a couple of classic rock songs.

  “What songs did you pick?”

  “Love Me Tender.”

  “And?”

  “Love Me Tender.”

  “Twice?”

  “Yep. It’s what you do to me,” he whispered in her ear. “Food’s getting cold.” He winked.

  She smiled and ate her bun-less burger and started on the side salad, while he munched on fries before devouring a huge cheddar cheese double burger with mushrooms.

  “I’ve been all over the country, but I like it here.” He wiped mustard from his chin and grinned again.

  “You mean Mel’s or Sierra Creek?”

  “Both,” he said. “When I was a kid with the bad memories of my parent’s divorce, I dreamed of living anywhere but this town.”

  “Yet you never did.”

  “No. Traveling on the rodeo circuit cured me of that notion.” He pushed his empty plate to the middle of the table and leaned back. “I needed that.”

  “When you left Sierra Creek to join the rodeo it must have been like joining the circus.”

  Wyatt swallowed a gulp of coffee. “I guess, never thought of it that way. I was eighteen and free to do whatever I wanted as long as I didn’t get arrested and I could get on the horse when I was scheduled.”

  “Every young guy’s dream.”

  Wyatt shrugged. “Can’t say I’d recommend the life for Bobby. In fact, when he’s eighteen I’ll kick his butt if he doesn’t go to college.”

  Amy startled at the thought of her son getting his butt kicked even metaphorically, but then she laughed. “The way he gets excited every time you give him a new book—I don’t think that’s going to be a problem. He’s already saying he wants to be a vet.”

  “Well, that might come in real handy.” Wyatt finished his coffee.

  Silent for a moment, she sipped her diet drink and listened to a classic rock ballad someone had selected.

  “So where did you go when you first went on the circuit?”

  “To every corner of the country, from midsized towns to big cities.” He paused. “I saw the places and thought about living there. Somehow Sierra Creek always called me home.”

  “I’m glad.” Under the table, she put her hand on his knee. “If you’d moved away you wouldn’t have been here when I came back.”

  Amy looked up to see a teenage girl at the table phone in hand.

  “Can I have a selfie with you, Wyatt?”

  “Sure.” If
he was bothered by the request he didn’t let on outwardly.

  “Move, lady. I don’t want you in the picture.”

  She groaned and slid away from him. Was this going to happen every time they went out in public? Annoyance clawed at her. At least the young teen hadn’t asked him to sign her body. She almost laughed at the thought of how he’d react.

  When the girl left, he patted the seat next to him. “Come home.” He put his arm around her shoulder and said, “Sorry about that. I wanted to warn you, but didn’t get a chance until now. I did another TV ad that has started running on social media and on TV. This could happen more and more often.”

  “But you said you hated doing commercials and being spotted.”

  “I do. But it’s a good product line and they offered so much money I couldn’t refuse. This could mean there’d be enough to get the mill up and running soon. Think what that would mean. Financial independence.”

  “That would be wonderful.” She agreed, but selfishly wondered if she could laugh when the fans happened to be grown women and not young teen aged girls. She trusted Wyatt, but he was only a man. She remembered Charlene, the woman who’d kissed on him his lips and called him sugar right in front of everyone on Main Street.

  “Wyatt, let’s get out of here, before another teen recognizes you.”

  Chapter 8

  With unseasonably warm weather for winter, Amy worried. She had been apprehensive about the old roof, and now that it was new, the storms stopped. The land had dried up and she was considering irrigating the apple trees, a cost she couldn’t afford. How could she prove the farm was a viable business if it didn’t make a profit? It had to rain or there would be no income.

  She kicked the hard earth. The soil should be muddy, giving the trees much-needed moisture to nourish them. Her big plans for next season’s crop depended plenty of free moisture. A small chain of health food stores had agreed to take her Granny’s jars of organic apple sauce and the fresh apples as well, not to mention Amy’s homemade apple pies. It all depended on the harvest; what if, because of the lack of rain, the crop failed?