Austin: Second Chance Cowboy

by Shelley Galloway

  “Yeah,” the kid said. Austin now realized the guy couldn’t be much older than a teenager just out of high school. Pointing to the lady next to Austin, he added, “A couple of months ago, she talked about how writing about feelings had helped her. I started doing it, too. It helps.”

  The blonde lady smiled gently. “I’m real glad.”

  After a few seconds, the kid said, “I ended up putting that bottle back in the refrigerator.” Then he smiled proudly. As if he’d just lasted eight seconds on a bull in the ring.

  A couple of the people there clapped. One said, “Good for you.”

  Maybe it was because he didn’t know if he could’ve poured out that beer. Maybe it was because he was a cocky son of a gun who always had to get himself in trouble.

  Whatever the reason, Austin asked another question. “Why didn’t you just pour it out?” If the kid was working that hard, it stood to reason that getting rid of the temptation was the best course of action.

  “The beer was my dad’s. He’d kill me if I poured it out.” There was a whole lot unsaid, too. Like that his dad probably would’ve whipped his butt good if he’d drank it, too.

  The boy’s honesty hit Austin hard. He knew exactly what the kid meant. His father hadn’t been one to share much when he’d been growing up, neither.

  And he sure had never been the kind of man to accept another’s weaknesses.

  As Austin was telling himself to keep his expression neutral, to not let on how much what the kid said affected him, another person spoke. He told his story. Later two more spoke, talking about the difficulties of their jobs. One was even a teacher.

  And then Alan stood up and started talking. Without a stick of embarrassment, he told a story about how his girlfriend had called the sheriff’s office on him years ago because she’d been afraid he was going to hurt her. Austin found himself only concentrating on the man’s story, forgetting about himself, forgetting to care about what others thought of him.

  Then the next thing he knew, everyone was saying a prayer and standing up.

  Austin braced his elbows on his knees, looking down at his feet. Too embarrassed to walk out with everyone. Then only he and Alan remained.

  “You did it,” Alan said. “You made it through your first meeting.”

  First. That was the key word there, now, wasn’t it? Going once didn’t count. Going time and again, even when times were good, was hard.

  Feeling his knees creak, Austin got to his feet. “Yeah, I did.”

  “You okay?”

  He thought about it. “Yeah.” He didn’t even try to hide the surprise in his voice. “This was different than I thought.” He got up, intending to walk right out.

  But Alan stopped him. “Different how?”

  “I thought everyone was going to talk at me. Tell me I was an idiot. Make me talk. Instead…” His voice drifted off. Unsure of how to put the rest of his thoughts into words.

  “Instead you found out that we’ve all been in the same place?”

  “Yeah.”

  Alan looked at him a good long minute, then said, “Wait a sec.”

  Austin stood there watching as Alan thumbed through a notebook, found a blank index card and wrote a couple things down. “Here’s my name and number. In case you need it. Or have questions.”

  Without looking at it, Austin folded the card in half and stuffed it in his back pocket. “Thanks.”

  They walked out the door, then paused as Alan turned off the lights and locked it. “Come back next week.”

  Austin started walking down the hall. Gathering up his courage, he said, “What do I do if I want to drink before then?”

  “Call me.”

  “You?”

  “Yeah. I’d like to be your sponsor, son,” he said quietly. “I think we could work real well together.”

  “You think?” Of course, he wished yet again he could keep his fricking mouth closed. He sounded too hopeful.

  But if Alan was starting to have doubts about him, he didn’t let on. “I think,” he said with a small smile. “And maybe try that journaling thing. It worked for me.”

  He walked away before Austin could say another thing. But then Austin realized that his craving for bourbon was tamped down. It still lingered, but he could ignore it now.

  So maybe there wasn’t another thing left to say.

  Chapter Seven

  It was a quiet night in Roundup. Taking advantage of the fact, Dinah drove down a couple of the main streets in the town, stopping every once in a while to talk to folks and kid with a couple of teenagers. Her visit to the school, two of Angie’s puppies in tow, had proven fruitful.

  Kids had gathered around her, anxious to cuddle the pups. And all of them had nodded in agreement when she talked about the dangers of abandoning animals. The nonthreatening subject had started quite a few conversations. The high school principal had been as sharp as Dinah had remembered and had a list of kids who were proving to be habitual troublemakers. Some of them had had a couple of scrapes with Duke and her, as well.

  Dinah took some time to visit classrooms and chat with a couple of kids in the halls when classes were changing. She also made a point of making eye contact with a few of the kids on the list. By the looks of fear that met her, she suspected that the worst of the pranks would quickly become nonexistent. Getting a detention was a whole lot different from getting arrested.

  Now she was taking some time to keep her eyes and ears peeled for any news about missing tack while shooting the breeze along Main Street. As far as she and Duke were concerned, it never hurt to reach out to folks in a positive way.

  Around nine o’clock, she turned down Highway 12 and headed out to the ranch. Seeing the rolling hills dotted with familiar ponderosa pine and sandstone rock outcroppings always made her smile. Coming home always made her count her blessings. Thunder Ranch was a wonderful place to grow up.

  Because she was constantly “on,” being the newly elected official that she was, Dinah had made a promise to herself to come home and recharge more often. But those promises were weakened by the nagging sense that she was letting everyone in the family down by not solving the mystery surrounding the missing tack and Midnight, and as a result she’d stayed away too much.

  It had been too long since she’d been home. She really did have a hankering for some downtime.

  After driving over the cattle guard and down the well-maintained gravel road—known to all of them as Thunder Road—she glanced at the equestrian barn, the outside pens, and finally the pool and fire pit. At last she pulled up to the house on the left. The fieldstone walls glimmered against her cruiser’s headlights, catching her attention, practically daring her to look anywhere else.

  Whimsically, she thought the walls were guiding her toward home. The moment she parked, Sarah Hart opened the back kitchen door and hurried outside. Over her loose jeans and white button-down, she wore her usual soft brown corduroy jacket. Though they’d all offered to buy her something a little snazzier and warmer, her mother had always refused the offer.

  Dinah had a feeling the jacket gave her mom a sense of comfort that went beyond simple warmth.

  “Dinah, I didn’t expect to see you so soon. Is anything wrong?”

  Her mother’s worried expression shamed Dinah. Wow, she really had become a scarce visitor! It seemed her mother now thought she would only come by when she needed something.

  “Nothing’s wrong, Mom.
I just thought I’d stop by and see how you were doing.”

  “Sure?” Her mom’s blue eyes looked her over, top to bottom. The scan as thorough as an airport screener.

  Dinah clasped her mother’s arm, the worn corduroy feeling as soft and comfortable as one of her mother’s hugs. “I promise. Now, how are you?”

  Satisfied that her daughter was fine, her mother’s tough outer shell seemed to crack a bit. “Oh, I’m all right.”

  “Mom, what is it now?” Immediately, she regretted her choice of words. Yet again, her clumsy questioning showed that she hadn’t let loose or come home nearly often enough. Here she was greeting her mother as though she was in the middle of an interrogation.

  Plus, there were so many things that could be wrong, her mother probably had to do a mental toss to determine which problem she wanted to focus on. Tempering her tone, she asked, “Are you still worried about Midnight? I promise you, Duke and I are doing everything possible to locate that horse.”

  She took a breath, ready to describe the internet blog and the Missing posters and her communications with neighboring law-enforcement agencies.

  “Honey, I know that.” Her mother shrugged, her eyes tearing up. “It’s nothing. I was just sitting here thinking about Tuf. And missing your dad tonight. Then, here you are. And sometimes seeing you…” She let the words slide.

  But Dinah couldn’t let it go. “Seeing me?”

  “You have some of the same mannerisms as your father.” Looking at her fondly, her mother laughed. “When you jut out your chin like you do when you’re trying to prove a point, I’d swear John was right here in spirit.”

  Dinah was struck dumb. She had adored her father. But when they’d discovered just how much he’d been drinking…and just what a mess he’d left the ranch in…well, it wedged a deep scar inside of her.

  Whether on purpose or not, she’d been attempting to distance herself from him. Because she seemed to only remember his flaws. But doing that also meant she had distanced herself from his good points, too.

  “I’m sorry you’re missing Dad tonight.” Dinah didn’t dare mention Tuf. All of them ached for her brother.

  “I’m all right. Just being honest.” Wrapping an arm around Dinah’s shoulders, she ushered her into the kitchen.

  The warm terra-cotta colors of the tile floor and kitchen counters eased nerves she didn’t even know had been frayed. The familiar space, combined with the tantalizing smell of fresh-baked bread and beef-barley soup and her mother’s matter-of-fact way of speaking, completed the journey home. Suddenly a lump had formed in her throat, and she wasn’t even sure where it had come from.

  Seeking to lighten the mood, she cleared her throat and intentionally brightened her voice. “Looks like you’ve been baking, Mom.”

  “A little. Just some bread. Rosemary wheat.”

  Hot fresh bread, seasoned with herbs grown from her mother’s herb garden, made her mouth water. No one cooked like her mother. No one. She hadn’t planned to eat any more, but suddenly the comforts of home overran any worries about her weight. “Got any left?”

  “For you I do.” Her mom glanced at her sideways for a moment before pulling out a mug and a bowl, too. “I’ve got a feeling you haven’t eaten supper. Have you?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Would you like some soup? I made beef barley this afternoon.”

  Getting to her feet, she stepped toward the row of cabinets next to the stove. “That sounds great. I’ll help.”

  “No, miss. You sit. I’ll serve it up.”

  “Mom, you don’t have to wait on me.”

  “It’s my house. My house, my serving.”

  Dinah knew she was joking. From the time her children had been small, they’d known better than to sit and watch their mother wait on them. “Mom, we need to watch your heart.”

  “My heart likes me walking around a bit. My heart also likes fussing over my daughter.”

  “But—”

  “It’s just soup, Dinah. Sit.”

  Her mother might be feeling melancholy, but she hadn’t lost her ability to order her children around. “Yes, ma’am.” As her mother ladled out the soup, Dinah looked around. “Where’s Ace?”

  “I think he and Flynn are at their own place, but he should be coming around any minute. He usually does stop by in the evening, at least for a little bit.”

  Dinah couldn’t help but notice the wistful tone in her mother’s voice, matched by the somewhat lonely words. Guilt hit Dinah again.

  But while she’d been only thinking about herself and her faults, her brother had been taking up the slack. “I’m sorry I haven’t been coming over here more often.”

  Her mother paused while pouring the coffee. “Dinah, I know you’ve been busy. I don’t expect you to change your life for me.”

  “Everyone’s busy. Colt is busy running the steers and bucking operation, and riding in rodeos. Ace is managing things and working hard in his practice. They’re both married, Colt has kids, but they still come over here a lot. I’ve got no excuse.”

  “They work here.”

  “I know. But still…”

  “We all have time to work and rest, Dinah. All you can do is do the best you can.” There was a sharpness in her mother’s tone—signaling to Dinah she’d better stop complaining. “Now, eat up.”

  Obediently, she dug in. The warm goodness of the homemade soup tasted just as delicious as it always did.

  She smiled as she bit down on a piece of potato, then followed that with a bite of bread. “No one cooks like you do, Mom.”

  Hands circled around her own stoneware coffee cup, her mother laughed. “I reckon kids have been saying that to their mothers for a hundred years.”

  “Maybe you’re right. So, tell me what’s been going on.”

  Her mother was only too glad to fill her in on Angie and Luke, and Ace and Flynn, and Colt and Leah. The conversation next turned to horses and rodeo standings and plans for the future. Dinah listened as she spooned every last drop of soup into her mouth.

  When she was done, her mother smiled. “Remind me to send some food home with you. You’re obviously not eating much.”

  She was tempted to refuse, but accepted gratefully instead. “Thanks.”

  “Now tell me what you’ve been up to today.”

  “Work. Trying to figure out what’s been going on with all the stolen tack.”

  “Any new leads?”

  She ached to say that she did have leads. But of course she and Duke had squat. “Nothing new. But I’m trying, and Duke has reached out to just about everybody in a hundred-mile radius. We’re not going to give up, Mom. And we sure haven’t given up on Midnight.”

  For the first time, her mother looked really worried. “I know you’re trying your best.” Running a hand through her silver hair, she said, “I tell you, I thought nothing could worry me more than when Colt wanted to let Midnight go back into the ring. Now I realize that was small potatoes. I’m truly worried about that horse.” Her voice cracked. “He’s already been through so much. Just thinking about someone abusing him makes my heart just about break.”

  Feeling guiltier than ever, Dinah stared at her empty soup bowl. “I know, Mom. I promise, if it’s the last thing I do, I’ll find that horse.”

  “I know that, honey. Don’t mind me. I’m simply feeling a little maudlin tonight.” After another sip of coffee, she said, “So, rumor has it you and Austin Wright were spotted out in the
park.”

  Shoot. The last thing she needed was more talk about her and Austin. Some folks had nothing better to do than rehash old sparks—or to look for sparks or fireworks when there weren’t any. “It was nothing. We just happened to be sharing some sandwiches.”

  “Is that right?” Slowly, her mother smiled. “I’m glad you and Austin have renewed your friendship. I’ve always had a soft spot for him myself.”

  “You’ve had a soft spot for Austin? Austin Wright? Really?” Dinah stared at her mother in shock. She’d always thought her mom didn’t think too highly of Austin Wright or want her only daughter hanging around the likes of him.

  And, like back then, her mother wasn’t falling for her disclaimers for a minute. “Come, now, Dinah. You’ve got to admit that Austin always did have a certain charm.”

  He had a lot of things, that was true. A terrible reputation. Too-blue eyes. And a whole lot of missed opportunities. And dark hair that curled just the right way along the nape of his neck. “Charm might be all he has,” she scoffed as the kitchen door opened.

  Inside came Ace, her favorite brother, looking as tall and impressive as always. She’d always privately thought nothing could ever match her brother in much.

  “Hey, Ace,” she said.

  If he noticed that she still lit up like a Christmas tree whenever he was around, he didn’t let on. Instead he just smiled and pressed his lips to her head. “What’s new?”

  “Nothing.” Lifting up her spoon, she stated the obvious. “Eating Mom’s cooking.”

  He chuckled and smiled their mom’s way. “That should be reason enough to stop by more often.”

  She flushed. Ace had a way with words, and that was a fact. In only ten words, he’d been able to compliment their mother, chide her absence and comment on her poor nutrition all at the same time.

  But his jibe definitely had found a home, and it was all the reminder she needed to come by more often. “I agree,” she mumbled. “Mom’s cooking is better than anyone else’s.”