How to Handle a Cowboy

by Joanne Kennedy

  “Lawd’s sake!” Her voice was high and quavering.

  “Sorry, Mrs. Carson,” he said. “All clear now. Go back to sleep.”

  “Well, I’ll try.” She put a self-conscious hand to her curler-bedecked head. “Is that Ridge Decker?”

  He ignored the fact that she’d given him Bill’s last name. Most people thought of him and his brothers as the Decker boys, and that was fine with him.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She rested her elbows on the sill. “You’re playing white knight to that girl with all the children, aren’t you?”

  “Ellie, leave the man alone,” groused a creaky voice from inside the house. “Come on back to bed and quit your gossiping.”

  “That’s a mighty big family for a man to take on, is all I’m saying.”

  Ridge gave her a grin and tipped his hat. The women in Wynott married him off every time a woman under forty turned up. He was surprised they’d linked him to Sierra so fast, though. She must be doing something right to lose her outsider status so quickly.

  She’d sure done something right as far as he was concerned. Lots of things. The only thing she’d done wrong was to say she wouldn’t do it again.

  Climbing back in his truck, he cranked the engine and set off in the direction the wheezing, coughing delivery van had gone. It wasn’t tough to track it by the racket it made, and Ridge made sure it swung onto the interstate before he executed a quick illegal U-turn and rode slowly back through town.

  He tipped his hat at a few straggling neighbors who were heading back into their houses then slowed as he passed Phoenix House. A light was on in the front room now, and he knew Sierra would let him in if he stopped. She’d be warm and welcoming since he’d helped her out, and he’d get to meet the famous Riley.

  But then, the famous Riley would scuttle any chance he had of getting Sierra alone. Plus there were the kids.

  He wondered if the noise of the confrontation had wakened them. Probably. That engine had been loud enough to wake a dozen senior citizens. So why weren’t the kids out on the porch hoping for a fight or leaning out the windows? When he was their age, nothing would have kept him inside when there was trouble brewing.

  He glanced up at the bedroom windows and spotted one small face peering from behind a curtain, but the boy—Jeffrey, he was sure—dodged back into the darkness as he passed.

  Tapping the horn, Ridge pressed the accelerator and motored off toward home, trying not to think about the things that could make a bunch of ten-year-old boys hide at the sound of a little late-night excitement.

  Chapter 25

  Sierra let the curtain fall back into place and turned away from the window, doing her best to hide her disappointment from Riley.

  Why hadn’t Ridge come inside?

  It was just as well, with Riley here. She doubted she could hide her feelings, and she didn’t want her friend to know how she felt about the rancher down the road. Heck, she didn’t want the rancher himself to know. Although she hadn’t been able to define the feelings he’d stirred in her the other night, she knew they were stronger than they should be.

  Still, she would have liked to thank him. She was sure she’d hauled him out of a sound sleep, because cowboys always slept soundly, didn’t they? They lived pure, wholesome lives, and they always beat the bad guys.

  She tilted the curtain again and glanced outside. Porch lights were on all up and down the street, but as she watched they flicked off one by one. The old man who ran the hardware store limped into his house with a gun cradled in his arms. Ed Boone, that was his name. He spent half his time on the bench out in front of his store with a couple of other old men, chatting and watching what little of the world passed through Wynott.

  The window next door creaked then slid shut. That was Mrs. Carson, who had brought over a casserole on Sierra’s first day. She was apparently the town’s unofficial welcome wagon, and probably its chief gossip as well.

  Great. She’d rousted the two neighbors most likely to spread the story.

  “Isn’t your cowboy coming in?” Riley asked.

  “He’s not my cowboy.” Sierra tried to smile, but it was impossible to hide her disappointment.

  “Oh, boy.” Riley sounded more like her old self than she had all night as she gave Sierra a sharp jab with her elbow. “You do like him. You like him a lot.”

  “No, I—I just feel bad that he had to come all the way out here.”

  “The look on your face when he was getting rid of Mitch was definitely not the feeling bad look,” Riley said, laughing. “It was the oh-my-God-do-I-have-the-hots-for-you look.”

  “Well, sure.” Sierra lifted her shoulders in what she hoped was a casual shrug. “I mean, who wouldn’t? You saw him.”

  “Sure did. And I wouldn’t.” Riley tossed her head. “I mean, come on. Did you see that hat? The boots? The guy’s a redneck. I mean, he has a pickup truck. With a gun rack.” She shook her head. “Not your type. Not long-term, anyway. But short-term…” She made a happy humming sound.

  Sierra did not want to continue this conversation, but she couldn’t help defending herself. “I don’t do short-term.”

  Riley bit her lip and looked away, and Sierra wished she could take the words back. Riley didn’t seem to be capable of a relationship that lasted more than a week, but what had Sierra done with Ridge if she “didn’t do short-term”? It wasn’t like there was any long-term potential in her relationship with a small-town cowboy.

  Maybe she should tell Riley she actually had fallen into bed with Ridge. Maybe it would make her feel better.

  “I…”

  She couldn’t do it, couldn’t talk about it. Last night might have been short-term, but it had still been special and somehow sacred. It might be crazy, but the night had been precious and it was hers. It didn’t belong out here in the real world.

  “There’s nothing going on between me and Ridge.” The lie made something in her stomach twist. Guilt, she guessed. It would have to pile up on top of the rest of her guilt about Riley. There was plenty in there to keep it company.

  From the first time she’d met Riley’s family, Sierra had known there was something off about Riley’s stepfather. He looked at his daughter too long and touched her too much. Finally, she’d confronted Riley and found out the truth. He’d abused her once. Twice, actually.

  Riley had begged Sierra to keep the abuse a secret. She’d cried and raged and sworn she’d never tell Sierra anything about her life ever again if she went to the authorities. Foolishly, Sierra had weakened, worried about what would happen if Riley had no one to share her secrets with.

  Riley had claimed it never happened again, but Sierra knew now that the abuse had continued. It hadn’t been an isolated incident, something that had happened once or twice and been forgotten. It had been a constant in Riley’s life, the dark force that had driven her to rebel in every way she could conceive of: drinking, drugs, bad boys, you name it. She’d spun into a downward spiral that had turned her from a beautiful, intelligent girl into a broken woman who might never be fully healed—all because the one person she’d confided in had failed to step in and save her.

  That guilt had driven Sierra ever since—first into law enforcement, in the hopes she could put people like Riley’s stepfather away, and then into social work, where she thought she might be able to help children escape their abusers. She was doing that now, but the guilt wouldn’t go away. It sat deep inside her, so heavy sometimes it stole her breath.

  “Actually, Ridge and I discussed the possibility of a relationship and realized it was better to keep it strictly professional.” There. Now, that was true.

  “Why not? Are you not good enough for Mr. Perfect Cowboy or something?”

  “No, it’s not that.”

  Sierra pretended to examine a tear in the sofa’s vinyl cover so she wouldn’t have to look at her friend. But she’d already seen the mulish expression that set Riley’s chin and thinned her lips. She was not giving up
on this line of questioning.

  “Well, what is it, then? The sparks are flying off you two like lightning strikes. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were already doing it.”

  Sierra flinched, catching herself half a second too late.

  “Whoa, Nellie!” Riley rested her elbows on her knees and laced her fingers together to prop up her chin. She looked like a kid at story time. “You did. You did! I thought your relationship was ‘strictly professional.’” She lowered her voice mockingly on the last two words.

  “It is.”

  “Only if you’ve taken up a new line of work.” Riley bounced in the chair again, unable to contain her glee. In spite of all she’d been through, she could still be a big kid sometimes.

  “Don’t look so happy about it,” Sierra said. “It was a huge mistake. I can’t start up that kind of relationship here. I’m not staying here.”

  “You’re not?”

  “No. I got a job down in Colorado. I start in about five weeks.”

  “Oh.” Riley stared down at the floor. “That’s too bad.”

  “No it’s not!” Sierra bounced on the sofa, surprised and a little frustrated that Riley didn’t share her excitement. “It’s great. It’s a really good job. I’ll be able to do so much more good work there.”

  “That’s good, I guess. I just think this little town’s kind of cute. And it feels so safe.”

  The fact that Riley felt safe so soon after the episode with Mitch offered a hint of what her life had been like with her mother.

  “I guess it’s not your kind of place, though,” Riley said. “It would be hard to save the world from here.”

  “I’m not trying to save the world,” Sierra said. “Just the kids. But this isn’t your kind of place either.” She congratulated herself on the smooth segue. “So what are your plans?”

  Riley closed her eyes and gave an elegant, one-shouldered shrug. She was so graceful, so beautiful in her pale, fragile way. What if her life had been different? What if someone had intervened, reported her parents to the authorities, gotten her out of the terrible situation that had ruined her childhood and stolen her soul?

  What if she’d had a different mentor, one who knew better than to keep secrets? One who knew it was worth losing Riley’s trust to save her life?

  “Stop worrying about me, Sierra.” Riley gave her an old-style Riley grin, lopsided and childlike. “I’m a big girl now. I really am.” She gave Sierra a hard, assessing look. “Actually, I’m not sure you’re worried about me. I think you’re worried about that cowboy.”

  Sierra was worried about Ridge. She was happy to spend time here with Riley, but she felt as if a part of herself had followed Ridge out of town, over the hills and valleys, around the sweeping turns and straightaways that led to the Decker Ranch.

  She was also worried about Riley, and about Jeffrey and about the safety of the boys now that Mitch—whoever he was—had found them.

  She gave her friend a wan smile. “I’m worried about everything,” she said.

  “Yeah,” Riley said. “Big news flash there.”

  Sierra rose. “Let’s go to bed.”

  She settled Riley on the sofa in her little sitting room and went to check on the kids. Josh and Isaiah slept soundly, Josh lit by a shaft of moonlight. His face was open and relaxed in sleep, and she thought she could see the man he might become if life didn’t harden him too much. Isaiah lay straight as a soldier, the covers barely wrinkled.

  In the next room, Carter sprawled like a fallen angel, his round face cherubic in sleep. He was the only boy without a roommate, and the soft but endless snores filling the room reminded Sierra why. In the third bedroom, Frankie was sprawled in a nest of twisted sheets and blankets, his dark hair curling like flames around his face. Jeffrey, as always, was turned toward the wall, his face hidden by the blankets. Even in sleep he defended himself against the world.

  Next to his bed sat the pink cowboy boots with the Converse shoes beside them. She stood awhile and watched him. She hoped he was riding Ridge’s big yellow horse in his dreams, riding away from his troubled past into a future as golden as the animal’s gleaming coat.

  She wished she could find golden horses for all of them. For Frankie and Carter, Josh and Isaiah. For Jeffrey. For Riley. Maybe even for herself—but she didn’t want to ride away until she was certain, without any doubt, that every one of them had already mounted up and ridden off to some safe forever.

  Or did she? Taking that new job was her choice and only hers. She could rationalize all she wanted about doing good in the wider world. Nothing changed the fact that she was abandoning these kids she’d come to love, tossing their fragile futures into the hands of some stranger.

  ***

  Ridge headed to town feeling refreshed and revitalized for the first time in months. Watching the road disappear under his wheels, he looked out at a blue sky that for once seemed to promise good things, rather than another interminable day to be lived through. He was no longer a man without a future.

  He knew where he was going but getting there was going to be a challenge. He’d have to jump through a lot of hoops to become a foster parent, and he needed to know what the hoops were and how high he’d have to jump. The only person he knew who had that kind of knowledge was Sierra Dunn.

  That’s why he’d rushed through his chores so he could head to Wynott to see her. It had nothing to do with the fact that she’d interrupted every waking thought for the past week and haunted every one of his dreams.

  As he rolled into Wynott, he realized he’d better think of a few other excuses for other folks too. He didn’t want to water the Wynott gossip vine, which burst into bloom at the slightest hint of news.

  Breakfast at the Red Dawg was a good start. People had driven farther than twenty miles for Wayne’s breakfast burritos. He could always say he had a craving.

  Then he bought a few items at Boone’s Hardware. He was careful not to even look at Phoenix House, though he was so distracted by its white-painted, gingerbread-frosted bulk just across the street that he couldn’t think of anything to buy. A rancher always needed something at a hardware store but danged if Ridge could remember what problems had come up this week that might need nailing, mending, rewiring, or screwing.

  Screwing… He shoved the ugly word aside. What he and Sierra had done couldn’t be described by an ugly word like that.

  “So who was he?”

  “He?”

  Jolted back to reality, Ridge couldn’t figure out what Ed was talking about. Sierra was no “he,” and nobody could ever mistake her for one.

  “Who was who?”

  “Guy in the ugly truck last night.” Ed rang up the box of screws Ridge shoved across the counter. It was a ridiculously Freudian thing to buy, but hey, screws always came in handy.

  “Don’t know,” Ridge said. “He was making the girls over at Phoenix House nervous, so I chased him away. That’s about it.”

  “How’d you happen to be in town at that hour?”

  Fortunately, Ridge had finally remembered what he needed, and it was easy to fake absorption in the task of choosing a latch for Sluefoot’s stall. The old horse had mastered most of what Ed carried and needed a new challenge. Ridge figured stall latches were to Sluefoot what crossword puzzles were to people.

  Some out-of-towners came in and kept Ed busy, so Ridge managed to make his escape and cross the street to the house without further questions—until Mrs. Carson hailed him from her front porch.

  “You calling on Sierra?” she asked.

  Ridge quickly shook his head. In Mrs. Carson’s generation, “calling on” a woman had implications that could get the whole town talking. “Seeing” was the next step. He didn’t know what step he was on right now. Ed would call it “sniffing around.” Wayne, over at the Red Dawg, would have a far more graphic word for it. It was a good thing the men weren’t in on the conversation, because Ridge would have to punch Wayne for that one.

  “Ridge?�
� Mrs. Carson peered into his face, her brow wrinkled with concern.

  “Oh. Sorry,” he said. “No. I’m just—just coming by on business,” he said.

  “Good.” She frowned. “All that to-do last night. That man wasn’t our kind. Those boys, they’re innocent and deserve a second chance. But I don’t hold with grown women who paint their bodies and wear clothes so tight you can see their—well, their everythings.”

  Had Sierra gone a little crazy after he’d left or what? She had a tattoo, sure, but it wasn’t visible—unless, of course, she was wearing clothes that showed her everythings.

  Dang it, he knew he should have stuck around last night.

  The thought put a spring in his step as he climbed the porch steps and knocked on the door.

  The woman who answered had to be Riley, and he could see Mrs. Carson’s point.

  She was the palest woman Ridge had ever seen. Gazing at him from the doorway through watery blue eyes, she looked like a ghost. A ghost with a lot of tattoos, wearing a barely there tube top and low-slung jeans that exposed a jeweled belly button between jutting hip bones. A ghost who definitely wouldn’t fit in around Wynott.

  No wonder Mrs. Carson was concerned. Riley looked like trouble. Heck, she’d already dumped a great big dose of it on Sierra’s doorstep. Too bad she hadn’t left with the guy in the truck.

  “Hi.” She seemed to be addressing her greeting to his left boot. “You must be…” She paused, chewing her lower lip.

  “Ridge Cooper.”

  “Right. Ridge. I’m Riley. Thanks for—you know.” She edged back a few steps, making room for him to enter.

  Hooking his thumbs in his belt loops, he looked her up and down. If she was tough enough to get all those tattoos, why wasn’t she strong enough to take care of her own problems? He’d seen how tense Sierra was whenever she talked to Riley. She had enough to worry about with the boys.

  He knew he ought to be more tolerant, but something about the girl reminded him of someone he’d known a long time ago—someone who’d brought trouble into his life. He had no patience with helpless waifs who waited for the world to take care of them. Other people always paid for their mistakes.