12 Borrowing Trouble

by Becky McGraw

  The front door opened, and her eyes swung there. Izzy ran inside, her face flushed and excitement practically buzzing around her like a force field. “Mom! I rode a pony!” she squealed, her tennis shoes squeaking on the hardwood floor as she ran over to her.

  A second later, the door opened wider, and Dylan stood in the doorway, wiping his boots on the door mat. He looked up, their eyes met, and he stopped there, not moving. His face paled, and his mouth opened like a flytrap.

  “He taught me how to ride!” Izzy shouted, pointing at Dylan. She ran back to the door and grabbed his hand to drag him toward the sofa. “Dylan, come meet my mommy!”

  Carrie groaned, and Dylan’s breath came out in a whoosh as he stopped beside the sofa. Neither spoke for a second, and Carrie could feel Ronnie’s eyes burning the side of her face. Izzy elbowed Dylan in the gut. “Say hello, you’re being rude,” she said gruffly staring up at him with angry eyes. Her body stilled, her face fell then her head spun back toward Carrie. “Where’s Chris?” she asked with a wobble in her voice. “I want to show him the ponies. Dylan will probably teach him to ride too, won’t you?” she asked tugging on his shirt sleeve.

  Emotion built in her chest until Carrie couldn’t breathe. She put a hand there, and dragged her eyes to the side and sucked in a deep breath. Carrie needed to be sick, a woman could only take so much. She shoved up from the sofa and took off toward the hallway where Terri had disappeared. The bathroom had to be down there, she thought, as she felt blindly along the dark walls, trying each door until she found it. Flinging the door open, she ran inside and slammed it behind her. Her knees gave out just short of the toilet, so she crawled the rest of the way there, then clutched her stomach while she dry heaved.

  When she figured out she wasn’t going to throw up, she sank back on her heels, then sat on the floor holding her knees while sobs wracked her. Her whole body vibrated with them. The bathroom door opened and shut, then she heard the knob jiggle. Warmth and a familiar, comforting scent surrounded her, then a hand pushed her hair back.

  “What’s wrong, Carrie?” Dylan’s deep voice soothed her, and it shouldn’t. He shouldn’t even be in here. This was not his problem. She wasn’t his problem.

  “Just leave me alone.”

  She felt him sit beside her, then before she knew what was happening, he dragged her onto his lap, and his arms closed around her like steel bands. “Tell me what the fuck is wrong with you. If it’s what happened today, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone out there with you.”

  “I shouldn’t have gone out there with you,” she countered shortly. “I can’t talk about that right now. Just leave.”

  “What happened with your son?” he asked, and she could hear the resignation, reluctance in his voice. “And why the hell didn’t you tell me you had two kids?” Carrie wiggled against his hold, trying to get away from him. “Talk to me, dammit,” he growled, his arms tightening more.

  Knocking started at the bathroom door, and the knob jiggled. There was a loud frustrated sigh outside, then Terri said, “Open the door, Carrie.”

  “I’ve got this, Terri,” Dylan shouted gruffly. “Give us a few minutes!”

  “I’ve got to take care of Izzy,” Carrie said, her heart raw and bleeding. “She’s going to be upset. I can’t let her know I’m upset.”

  “Everyone gets upset now and again, even mothers. Kids will feel better if they know what’s bothering you.”

  “When did you become an expert on child-rearing?” Carrie asked with frustration.

  There was a long silence, then he huffed out a breath. “Since I was one, and had a mother who hid her feelings from me. Things might not have turned out like they did if she would’ve bothered to talk to us. Now tell me what the hell is wrong with you!”

  “My son is in big trouble. I can’t help him,” she sobbed into his shirt front. She could barely find the breath to finish her statement. “He won’t let me help him.”

  Admitting that caused a ripple of fear to move through her body. Dylan’s arms tightened around her and he kissed her hair. Carrie didn’t want to admit it felt damned good, but it did. At this moment, she wasn’t alone. But leaning on him wasn’t fair. This man didn’t have children, was single and freewheeling. He told her he wasn’t looking for permanent, and she didn’t expect him to get involved in her problems.

  She barely knew him, had one afternoon of stupid and irresponsible, fantastic, mind-blowing sex with him. That wasn’t something she was going to think about right now either. She couldn’t. If things didn’t turn out well with that judge, she could very well lose her son. “The best thing you can do is just stay out of this. It’s not your business. I’ll work it out,” she said in a trembling voice as she tried to sit up.

  He held her tightly against him, banged his head against the tile wall behind him a few times, then sighed. “And the best thing you can do is tell me what happened, because if you don’t we’ll be sitting here all night.” His voice was resolute, determined.

  Carrie just sat still a moment gathering her thoughts, deciding if she would tell him, and Dylan just held her, his hot breath dancing over her scalp. Waiting, just like he said he would. She needed to get out there and check on Izzy. Figure out what she was going to tell her.

  “Chris was already on probation for drugs. He stole the truck of the man he was staying with. There was a shotgun on the seat when he ran the truck into a tree, r-r-un-ning fr-from the p-police.” She had to squeeze the last bit out past the lump that closed off her throat. The tears she’d been holding back spilled over her lower lids and tracked down her face.

  Carrie expected Dylan to shove her out of his lap, but instead he hugged her tightly, rocking her, soothing her. When her sobs stopped, his arms loosened and he pushed her back from him. “Let me talk to him,” his deep voice rumbled between them.

  Shocked to the core of her being, a surprised laugh floated out of her. “Chris is the stubbornest child you’ll ever meet. He’s not going to talk to you, if he wouldn’t talk to me. To Trace, who he thinks of like an uncle. Why would you think he’d talk to you?”

  “Because I was him at thirteen years old.”

  “Um, I don’t think so,” she said shaking her head.

  “Oh yeah. He only thinks he’s a badass. I was the trouble he never wanted to meet in a dark alley. But if you don’t stop him now, he will catch up.”

  Carrie looked at his handsome face, inspected it, expecting to see laughter in his eyes. What she saw was fierceness. Seriousness. “Why would you want to get involved in this mess?”

  “Because I want to help him, like my last set of foster parents helped me. Pay it forward.”

  Carrie gasped. “You were in foster care?”

  “From the time I was fourteen to eighteen, when I wasn’t in juvenile hall. Trust me, he doesn’t want to go there. As bossy as she is, I’m sure he loves his little sister and doesn’t want to lose touch with her…with you.”

  “Oh, my God…” Carrie said in a strangled whisper. She leaned in to put her arms around his neck. “I’m so sorry, Dylan.”

  She watched his Adam’s apple bob. “I survived,” he said gruffly. “I’d like to help though, if you’ll let me. He has a helluva lot more going for him, if he has a sane mother who loves him.”

  “I’m not so sure about the sane part anymore,” she said quietly into his shoulder.

  His arms tightened around her, and he growled, “Tie the knot and hang on, Carrie. He needs you.” Carrie heard the emotion in his words, felt it in the tenseness in his body.

  “I’m not going anywhere, and I’m not giving up.”

  “Good. Now, let’s get going,” he said pushing her away from him. He slid her off his lap and stood to hold his hand out to her.

  “You want to go back there now?” she said putting her hand in his. “It’s late and Izzy—“

  “Izzy will be fine here with Terri,” he said pulling her to him for a hug. “We need to go to talk to him now. Get him
the hell out of that place.”

  Carrie felt a tremor move through him. “I told him I wasn’t bailing him out this time.”

  “That is the absolute worst thing you could do,” he growled.

  “Why?”

  “Because he is in the perfect place to perfect his tough guy act, to take tips from the other delinquents in there. He needs structure and a purpose. Distraction.”

  “And what do you think that would be?” Carrie asked with a roll of her eyes. “If the hanging judge who has his case has his way, he’ll be there permanently. What he did was serious.”

  “Nah,” Dylan said with a laugh. “It’s serious, but if he goes back in and can show some progress toward being redeemed, he’ll probably get community service. I know a place he can get some counseling, and I’m going to help get him into rodeo.”

  Carrie’s heart fell. “I can’t afford anymore bills. My insurance only covers fifty-percent of mental health counseling. He was in counseling for a year after Sean died, and it didn’t help.”

  “You didn’t take him to the right counselor. I know someone, and he’ll take what you can afford. If your insurance pays fifty-percent, you’ll never see the rest of the bill. If you can get the court to remand him there, the system will pay for it.”

  “That sounds too good to be true.” That this man was offering to help her was too good to be true.

  “I thought the same thing when Sharon and Billy first took me in. They were both too good to be true. Goody two shoes. But you haven’t ever had a licking from Billy. That’s one man you never want to piss off. Sharon does it with a look, but Billy has no qualms about taking you behind the woodshed, if you test him.”

  “So this is an inpatient thing?” Carrie asked with her heart falling to her toes. Chris didn’t react well to structure, overbearing men. Like her father. He meant well, but he didn’t have patience at all. That’s another reason she hadn’t wanted to go live there, but when she lost her house and Chris got into trouble, she had no other choice. If her father found out what Chris had done this time, Carrie was afraid he might go off the deep end with her son. Or talk to the judge to make it worse on Chris. Her father loved him, Carrie knew that, but her daddy believed in tough love. This Billy sounded a lot like him.

  “Beats juvie,” Dylan said with a shrug, without really answering her question. “When’s his court date?”

  “Ninety days,” Carrie replied, gnawing her lower lip.

  “Just enough time for them to whip him into shape,” Dylan said with a nod.

  Fear shot through her, then fierce protectiveness. “I don’t want him whipped,” Carrie said notching up her chin. “If he goes there, they are not going to put a hand on him.”

  “They’re counselors, foster parents and rough stock ranchers, Carrie, not abusers. I lived there two years and got cross-ways with Billy only one time. That’s all it took for me to remember. Chris will be easier than I was, I guarantee it.”

  “That was fifteen years ago, right? How old are you?”

  “Thirty-two, thirty-three very soon, but I never forgot that whooping, or that lesson,” he said with a laugh. “I haven’t smoked anything since. Especially in a barn.”

  “You had a rough life, didn’t you?” she asked with compassion squeezing her heart.

  “Not as rough as some, rougher than others,” he replied with a nonchalance not reflected in his face or tense shoulders.

  “What happened to your family?”

  “Brothers got scattered to the wind when my mom offed herself after my dad died while he was overseas.”

  “Your dad was in the military?”

  “Yeah. Lifer. That’s what it turned out to be anyway,” he replied gruffly, his eyes dark.

  Carrie didn’t feel so bad about her situation right then. This man had been through so much more. He’d been through hell, and he had survived. “That is so sad,” she said with tears burning her eyes for the scared little boy he must’ve been. Just like Chris surely was when Sean died. Sucking in a shuddering breath, she stepped forward to put her arms around his waist to hug him. “I’m so sorry.”

  Dylan’s body tensed, then he peeled her arms from around him and stepped back. “Let’s go get your son,” he said stepping around her to unlock the door. “I’ll call Billy and Sharon on the way.”

  Three hours later, Carrie’s head was spinning, and her pockets were empty, but she felt much better about the situation with her son. And much more optimistic that he might actually get past this alive. She had no idea what Dylan had said to him in that small visiting room. At his request, she had let them talk alone. All Carrie knew is when they emerged from that room although neither was smiling, Chris wasn’t the hard-edged, close-mouthed kid she had talked to earlier. He actually responded when Dylan spoke to him, and there was deference in his voice. Respect. The arrogance that had been with him since Sean died was still there, but he looked better than he had in a long time.

  He walked in between her and Dylan toward the front of the building, with his release paperwork fisted in his hand. He glanced up at Dylan, then turned his head toward her. “Thanks, mom,” he said, before he walked ahead of them to push outside.

  He stopped on the top step and threw his face up toward the night sky, inhaling deeply. The relief he obviously felt was mimicked inside of Carrie, but knowing his soul was so tortured ripped her heart out. She put her hand on his back. “Can I have a hug?” she asked.

  His breath came out in a rush, and Chris nodded, then turned to throw his arms around her tightly. Her face hit him center chest, and she suddenly realized somehow he had grown up overnight. He was on his way to becoming a man, a good one, if he could just get his head screwed back on right. “I love you, Chris,” she said in a broken voice.

  Dylan cleared his throat and shuffled down the steps. “I’ll be in the truck,” he said gruffly.

  “He’s going to teach me to rodeo,” Chris replied, stepping away from her, looking around like a thirteen-year-old boy, to make sure nobody saw him hugging his mother. “There’s a program for kids like us—um, me.”

  Carrie laughed. She could hear the underlying excitement in his tone. “Yeah, Dylan told me about it.” She sobered and thought she should tell him it wasn’t going to be a cakewalk there. “They’re strict though. A lot strict—“

  “I know mom,” he said with an eye roll, before he left her standing there to jog toward the truck. Carrie hustled down the steps and ran after him. She caught up at the truck door. Chris opened it and said, “Nice truck, man,” before he vaulted up inside.

  Carrie had to take a couple of bounces, grab the handle on the glove box, and pull herself up. She leaned over and shut the door, and Chris looked at her and laughed. Actually laughed. The sound was music to her laughter-starved ears.

  “You’re short,” he said, as if he just noticed that fact.

  “Vertically challenged,” she corrected, as she slid on her seat belt. “Seatbelt,” she said from habit.

  “Mom,” Chris said with a huffed breath, but he found both ends of the center belt and snapped them at his waist.

  She looked up to find Dylan watching her with his hand on the keys in the ignition. The corners of his lips twitched. “Vertically challenged?”

  “Yeah,” she replied crossing her arms over her chest. His eyes dropped to the vee of her shirt and stayed there a moment. Heat creeped up her neck when he licked his lips, and she felt that tongue stroke her skin.

  “You’re perfectly compact,” he corrected, dragging his eyes back up to hers. “The only thing challenging about you is your attitude.”

  Chris snorted, then chuckled, before bursting into laughter. “I knew there was a reason I liked you,” he said, nudging Dylan with an elbow.

  “Ditto, kid.” Dylan cranked the truck, and popped the clutch to put them into motion.

  Carrie harrumphed and slammed her back against the seat to look out the window, pleased, but a little annoyed too, that Dylan and her so
n had evidently bonded so fast. They drove a few minutes then Chris asked, “Are we going to New Hope tonight?”

  “No, we’re going to the R & R tonight. We’ll go to Billy and Sharon’s ranch tomorrow afternoon. They have to make a place for you.”

  “Hell, I’ll sleep in the barn,” he said with a laugh.

  Carrie gasped and slapped her son’s arm. “Stop cursing!” she grated.

  “Mom, please. That’s not cursing,” he argued with a laugh.

  “Chris—“ Dylan said in a warning tone, pinning him with an angry glare.

  “Sorry, mom,” he said contritely, crossing his arms over his chest.

  Quiet descended in the cab of the truck, and the hum of the road noise soothed Carrie to the point she nodded off a couple of times, but caught herself. Finally exhaustion claimed her and she gave up fighting it to doze off.

  A rush of cool air preceded gentle shaking. She opened her eyes and Dylan was standing at the truck door. “I’d carry you sleeping beauty, but I can’t. We’re home.”

  “I’ll carry her,” Chris said in a deeper than normal voice.

  Dylan laughed, as he stepped back to give her room to get down. “I think she’d rather walk, buddy.”

  Yes, she would, Carrie thought, as she quickly undid her seatbelt, opened the passenger door and slid to the ground. “Chris, you can sleep in the room with me and Izzy,” she said.

  “I’m staying out in the bunkhouse with Dylan.”

  Carrie’s eyes flew to Dylan’s and he nodded. “There are a couple of spare rooms out there, and since he’s going to be a hand here on weekends, one of them will be his. He has truck repairs and bail to pay for, don’t you?” Dylan asked looking at Chris.

  “Yes, sir,” Chris replied seriously, holding Dylan’s gaze.

  Pride sparked in Carrie’s chest, and she tried to hold onto, nurture it into more, but it fled. The jury was still out. This was new. Chris was not reformed yet. But at least she had hope now that he could get better.