Man From Montana

by Brenda Mott

  “Not much, you little queer,” the tallest boy sneered.

  “Screw off, asshole!”

  “Connor!” Derrick frowned. “Watch your language.”

  But the anger on his face matched Kara’s own. She wanted to race over and give them a piece of her mind—and a swift kick to their bratty butts.

  It didn’t help that Derrick’s reprimand embarrassed Connor even more. He thrust his palms against the wheels of his chair, sending it flying across the parking lot in a way Kara was afraid would cause him to crash again.

  Calling out a final round of taunts, the teens hurried away across the field, then turned down the dirt road.

  Kara rushed to catch up with Connor, Derrick on her heels.

  “Looks like you could use some peroxide,” she said. Connor’s palm was skinned, and his elbow scraped.

  “I said I’m fine. You guys don’t need to make such a big deal out of it.”

  Derrick grunted. “Yeah, well, if it’s not a big deal, then pour some peroxide on your road rash.” He rested one hand on his hip. “I’ll bet Tina has some in her first-aid kit in the back. Why don’t you go on in and ask her?” He looked at Kara. “Tina owns the Spur.”

  “Oh—yes, I think I met her once.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Really? I thought you didn’t hang out in bars.”

  “I don’t.” She shrugged. “But Evan and I used to come here to dance once in a while.”

  Derrick nodded. “Guess I’d better haul in my stuff. See you later.” He clamped his hand on Connor’s shoulder, then headed back to his pickup.

  “Come on,” Kara said. “Let’s get your elbow cleaned up.”

  “I can do it,” Connor said. Then, as if he remembered Kara wasn’t the enemy, he added, “Thanks.”

  “I know you can,” she said. “Actually, I’m only sticking to you like glue because I’m nervous.”

  He looked at her, puzzled. “Why?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “Like I told your dad, I haven’t been here since my husband died. It’s sort of hard to deal with, you know?”

  The boy’s expression softened. “Yeah, I guess it would be. What happened to him anyway?” He began wheeling his chair along at a more reasonable pace as they talked.

  “Evan was a construction worker—he built houses. He fell off a scaffold.” She took a deep breath. “The impact caused severe internal injuries. Nothing could be done to save him.”

  “Damn.” Connor frowned. “That’s gotta be tough.” He was silent a moment. “I don’t remember the accident that put me in this chair.”

  Kara watched as he navigated around another rut, was careful to keep her tone casual. “No?”

  “Uh-uh. I was only two when it happened.”

  How hard that must’ve been for Derrick—and Connor’s mother. Connor said he didn’t remember the accident, but surely Derrick had told him the details. Kara started to press the boy for more information, then decided it wasn’t her place. She wanted to ask him where his mother was, and who she was. She remembered he’d said something about his dad having moved out of his apartment.

  Did Connor live with his mom?

  “By the way, that’s a sweet-looking Ford you’ve got.”

  “Thanks,” Kara murmured. “It was my husband’s.”

  “And you’ve got a horse?”

  “Yeah, an Appaloosa.”

  “Cool. I like horses.”

  “Well, maybe you can come to my boarding stable and see her sometime.”

  They’d reached the side entrance and, deftly, Connor bumped his wheelchair up and over the threshold into the bar.

  “I’ll grab us a table,” Kara said. “You can join me after you get your elbow cleaned up.”

  “Okay.” Connor wheeled across the hardwood toward a hallway near the bar.

  The room looked about the same as she remembered. The bandstand along the far wall, a scuffed but polished dance floor in a horseshoe in front of it, tables barely big enough to hold drinks—with as many chairs crammed around them as possible—scattered everywhere. Off to one side, the divider that opened up into the dining area stood open, and Kara could see bigger tables over there. She sat at one, then decided it was too far away.

  Shouldering her purse, she chose a table with four chairs, close enough to get a view of the band, yet far enough from the dance floor and bar to avoid traffic.

  “Hey there. What can I get you to drink, hon?”

  Kara looked up at a familiar face. The waitress—a woman about her own age—smiled at her. She wore a sparkly western shirt, short, denim cutoffs and red cowboy boots. Kara couldn’t remember the woman’s name, but her dark red hair—sprayed and teased into a wild mane—was hard to forget.

  “I’ll have a Coke,” Kara said. “Actually, make it two. I’ve got a friend joining me.” Then she added as an afterthought, “And maybe an order of super nachos, if you still serve them.” Connor might like some. The kid deserved a treat after what had happened outside.

  “We do.” The waitress scratched her order on a notepad, and Kara saw the gold heart pinned to her shirt with her name on it—Tori. “I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

  “Thanks.”

  Tori brought the Cokes just as Connor got to the table. “I ordered some nachos,” Kara told him, “but I wasn’t sure what you’d like to drink. Is Coke okay?”

  “Sure. Man, I love the super nachos.” He gave her a crooked smile, dimples in his cheeks.

  “So do I.” Connor was a cute kid, and he looked a lot like his dad.

  They sat in companionable silence, watching Derrick and his band set up. He looked their way once, and Kara quickly turned away. She was about to ask Connor what grade he’d be going into next fall, when she heard a voice she knew well.

  “My, my. Look what the proverbial cat dragged in,” Danita said.

  Kara turned and groaned as she saw Beth and Hannah as well. All three were dressed in their country-western finest.

  “I thought you didn’t do the bar scene,” Beth accused her.

  “And I thought you were all coming here last night,” Kara replied.

  “We were,” Beth said, “but Hannah had an emergency call, so we postponed until tonight.”

  “And I’m glad we did.” Danita leaned over, squeezing Kara’s shoulders from behind. “We’re happy you could make it, girlfriend, but isn’t your date a little young?”

  The boy looked embarrassed.

  “Ignore her, Connor,” Kara said. “She’s old and senile.” She laughed as Danita lightly punched her in the arm. “Danita, meet my neighbor, Connor Mertz. Connor, this is Danita—my former best friend.”

  “Mertz…are you Derrick’s son?” She gestured toward the stage.

  “Yeah.” Connor glanced at his dad.

  “Well, no wonder you’re so handsome.”

  The boy took a long pull on his straw, red in the face.

  Danita and Beth sat down, and Hannah pulled up an extra chair and squeezed in as well.

  “Hope you don’t mind sitting with girls,” Hannah said.

  Connor shrugged. “I guess not.” He kept his eyes down on the napkin he was shredding into ever smaller pieces.

  “Just wait a few years,” Beth said. “You’ll be ecstatic to have so much female attention.”

  Connor’s face clouded over. “I don’t think so.”

  But before Kara could ponder his reaction, Hannah said, “So, Kara, what made you decide to come here after you told us no?”

  Kara fingered the cuff of her lacy Western blouse and hoped she wasn’t blushing as much as Connor. “I changed my mind, that’s all.”

  “And you didn’t call to tell us?” Hannah pretended to pout. “I’m crushed.”

  “Me, too.” Beth waved over at the bar for service.

  “I would have, but I thought you’d be partied out.” She squirmed. For her, this was a big step, one she’d needed to take solo. “I just decided you all were right. I should get out more.”<
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  “Well, I’m glad to hear that,” Danita said. “Now if we can get you drunk and dancing, my night will be complete.”

  “It’s family night, remember?” Kara said. “And besides, I don’t get drunk.”

  “It’s family night until eight,” Danita emphasized. “Cover your ears, kid. We’re about to be a bad influence.”

  Connor rolled his eyes. “You haven’t met the guys in my dad’s band.”

  Hannah stared wistfully at the group of cowboys in tight jeans and Western hats, setting up their equipment on stage. “No, I haven’t.”

  The women laughed.

  As the barroom began to fill with patrons, Kara kept her eyes on Derrick. After introducing himself and his band, he looked her way and began to sing an upbeat song.

  Beneath the table, Kara held her hands in her lap, twisting her wedding band.

  Don’t even think about it.

  Quickly, she turned toward the generous serving of nachos Tori set down in the middle of the table. But even the melted cheese and rich sour cream couldn’t distract her from the longing that overwhelmed her.

  She’d lost something precious. Something she’d never have again.

  The song ended, and the crowd applauded and whistled.

  “Thank you,” Derrick said. “This next song is one I wrote myself. It’s called ‘Heaven.’”

  Kara watched Derrick’s fingers move across the guitar strings, expecting him to croon a sentimental love song. Instead, he sang something far different.

  “As we flew out of Denver

  My little boy said to me,

  ‘Daddy, how high up is heaven?

  Are we gonna get to see

  Jesus and His angels?

  Will they wave at me?’

  “I smiled and said ‘son,

  We’ll just wait and see,

  But I think that Heaven’s higher

  Than we’re gonna be.’

  “A few years later at the rodeo,

  My son was now thirteen,

  He sat down in the chute, just like his heroes on TV…”

  Kara listened closely to the words…the story of how the father watched his son grow up riding bulls. When the boy—now a young man—was challenged to ride a bull no cowboy had ever been able to ride before, she felt the father’s trepidation.

  And her heart broke as Derrick sang about the young cowboy’s fatal injuries, and the father’s grief.

  “Days later at his graveside, a memory came to me.

  Of my little boy’s first airplane ride,

  And what he’d asked of me.

  He said, ‘Daddy how high up is heaven?

  Will I get to see

  Jesus and His angels?

  Will they wave at me?’

  “And that’s when I knew he’d found his way,

  For when I looked on high

  There was Jesus and his angels,

  And my son stood by his side.

  “‘Daddy, how high up is hea—ven?’”

  Derrick held the last note on the guitar, and the crowd erupted in whistles and cheers. In the dim light, Kara saw she wasn’t the only one who had to wipe her eyes. It was easy to see where Connor had gotten his singing voice.

  She glanced at the boy and wondered if he were the inspiration behind Derrick’s song. Had he come close to death in whatever accident had caused his injuries?

  If Derrick wanted her to know his personal business, he’d tell her. Yet she couldn’t help imagining what it would be like to be held by this man. To wake up in his arms, not in an empty bed.

  She told herself she ached for Evan, that it was Derrick’s song that brought out her emotions. But deep down, Kara knew it wasn’t just the song. It was Derrick who stirred something in her.

  Something that scared her, and made her wish she hadn’t come to the Silver Spur.

  CONNOR MUNCHED on the nachos and the women’s conversation faded to so much white noise. He’d always found it easier to talk to adults than kids, but he felt kind of stupid sitting here with four chicks. Especially since they had to be as old as his dad, or older. But then, Kara had been nice to him, and she hadn’t ratted him out for playing his dad’s guitar.

  He watched his father up on stage, entertaining the crowd. What would it be like to be up there? To have everyone in the room focused on you? Connor had often wondered. It was exactly why he didn’t want his dad to know he could play. Connor knew he’d fall short of his father’s accomplishments.

  After having saved his allowance for what felt like forever, he’d bought a secondhand acoustic guitar from the pawnshop, and sworn his mom to secrecy. Between video tapes, books, and trying things on his own, he’d learned to play a decent tune. He spent a lot of time picking that old guitar, and when he’d gotten the chance to play his dad’s Gibson this afternoon, the temptation was too much to resist.

  Playing on the side of the wraparound porch was fun. It felt almost like a stage, and yet he was blocked from anyone’s view by the thick shrubbery that grew along the perimeter of the acre lot the house sat on. Plus the nearby sawmill often created a distant whine, keeping him from drawing anyone’s attention. Of course, Kara had still caught him. He’d have to be more careful about playing when someone might walk up on the porch like that. He didn’t want an audience, not until—and unless—he could pick the way his dad did.

  Maybe one day he’d come close to being that good, if he practiced hard enough. But he could never let him know how he felt.

  He sure as hell didn’t want to admit how much he wished he could be like his dad. It would be so rad to play in a band and have girls falling all over him. In his daydreams, Connor was the star; the lead singer. Women went wild over him. They swooned, and threw their underwear at the stage, the way he’d heard women often did when things got rowdy at a concert.

  But that’s all his thoughts were. Stupid dreams.

  Everyone knew women didn’t fall for some guy in a wheelchair.

  And if dumb-ass Bart Denson and his loser friends knew he fancied himself a guitar player—a country one at that—he’d never live it down.

  Connor recalled how the girls who’d been with ol’ Fart-Bart earlier had stared at him when he’d tipped his chair. God, he’d wanted to die right then and there, humiliated. And that made him furious. It seemed to be the only way girls ever looked at him—with pity or morbid curiosity.

  Nope. He’d never be like his dad.

  And he’d be damned if he’d ever let anyone know how much that bothered him.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  DERRICK FINISHED his first set and announced a break to the audience. He shrugged out of his guitar strap, and carefully leaned the Gibson on a stand. He hadn’t missed the way Kara had focused on him as he sang.

  With a cloth, he wiped the sweat from his forehead. Two women were sitting at the table with her and Connor. The blonde looked familiar, and he’d possibly seen the dark-haired one here once or twice as well. Hannah Williamson had arrived earlier but must’ve left already.

  Feeling a natural high that stemmed from his music, Derrick headed their way, bottled water in hand. The atmosphere of the Silver Spur surrounded him like an old friend.

  “Still here, I see.” He grinned and pulled out a chair between Kara and Connor.

  “Of course,” she said. “Your band’s great.”

  “So we didn’t run you off, then?”

  “Are you kidding?” said the blond woman. “You guys ought to be in Nashville.”

  Derrick laughed. “I don’t know about that.” He took a swig of water just as Dr. Williamson rejoined the group, coming from the direction of the ladies room. She was his vet’s partner and sometimes took care of Taz.

  “Well, hello, Derrick,” she said.

  “How’s it going?”

  “Ah, you know Hannah,” Kara said, over the noise of the jukebox. “This is Danita Sanchez and Beth Murphy.”

  “Looks like you’re in good company, son,” Derrick said, after noddi
ng a greeting to the others.

  Connor blushed.

  “I’d say we’re the ones in good company,” Kara said. “As a matter of fact, I was just about to ask Connor to dance.”

  “Yeah, right,” the boy muttered.

  “Come on. Please?”

  Connor started to protest more, but Kara overrode him. “No excuses. I’m dying to take a spin on the floor, but I’m sort of rusty.” She stood and held out her hand. “You’ll have to go slow.”

  “Like that’ll be a problem.” Connor wheeled his chair onto the dance floor with as much enthusiasm as an acrophobic who’d been invited to go base jumping.

  Fascinated, Derrick kept his gaze locked on Kara. A Lee Ann Womack song about choosing to dance through life played on the jukebox, and Kara leaned over Connor’s wheelchair, one hand on his right shoulder, and whispered in his ear. With the other, she took hold of the chair’s armrest. Looking sheepish, Connor laced one arm through hers in a way that enabled him to still maneuver the wheelchair.

  Kara stepped and twisted slowly to the music, helping Connor spin the chair, guiding it in a circle. Moving with the beat, she stepped forward, then back, keeping Connor beside her at all times in their own modified version of a two-step. To Derrick’s delight, Connor said something that made her laugh.

  I’ll be damned.

  It was the first time in—how long?—since he’d seen Connor enjoying himself.

  “Pretty good, huh?” Danita said into Derrick’s ear.

  “Yeah.” He wasn’t sure if she meant Kara or Connor. Either way, he was impressed.

  “Come on,” Hannah said. “Let’s join them.” She grabbed Derrick’s hand and tugged him out onto the floor.

  He slipped one hand into hers and put the other on her waist, taking the lead. He made sure to keep enough distance from Kara and Connor so as not to embarrass his son. God forbid.