Make Mine a Cowboy

by A. J. Pine

  He’s gone.

  Sam had questioned whether or not they could afford to close the ranch for Thanksgiving. Now they’d hired on extra help for the following couple of weeks so they could settle their father’s affairs without having to cancel their upcoming registrations.

  Ben had spent the week helping his mom clean out Nolan’s rooms at the facility, while Sam had taken care of all the necessary paperwork. Charlotte had called more than once offering to help in what little spare time she had, but Ben found every excuse in the book to turn her down.

  “It’s a small space, barely enough room for me and my mom to begin with,” he’d said the first time she’d asked. Then, “I think they only let blood relatives past the lobby,” the next time she tried. It was an obvious lie, and despite the hurt he heard in her response when he’d said it, he’d felt nothing but relief when she didn’t offer again.

  The pain of losing his father was already too much to bear. And the guilt of his absence from Nolan’s life for the better part of the time they’d been in Meadow Valley? He wasn’t sure he’d ever get over that. The only choice was to do better. To be better. He’d never be the kind of man Charlotte deserved—not with an entire country between them—not if he still hadn’t learned how to truly be there for his family, the people who’d been there for him his entire life.

  So he’d done what he did best—retreated.

  Even now, five days after, he still felt like his throat was closing and that he couldn’t breathe.

  “We’ll make it up,” Sam was saying to Ben and Colt, the three of them sitting around the table in Sam’s apartment behind the registration building. Ben couldn’t even remember what they were talking about.

  All he could think was how misplaced they all looked, three men in dark suits with a sprawling ranch just outside.

  “Don’t worry about the money right now,” Colt said, his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Just be there for your mom. For each other. Nolan was the closest thing I had to a father of my own. He was a good man.”

  Colt glanced at Ben, but Ben avoided eye contact, pushing his chair from the table and standing.

  Even when Sam had feared ending up like their father, he had never faltered in his care for Nolan Callahan, especially after they’d moved to Meadow Valley. Ben had been the selfish one, the one too scared to face the man he thought he’d become. It was too late to make up for lost time, and Ben only had himself to blame.

  “You two stick around for Delaney and Mom. I think I’d like to head over on my own,” he said.

  He didn’t wait for either of them to respond but instead strode for the door, nearly tripping over Sam’s dog Scout, who sprang to her feet at his approach, likely guessing it was time for a walk.

  “Not now, girl,” he said, sidestepping the pit bull and practically sprinting through the attached registration area and finally outside.

  The cold air burned his lungs, but he didn’t care. He gulped for more, feeling like he’d never get enough.

  There wouldn’t be a traditional funeral, his parents both deciding long ago to be as environmentally conscious as possible and opting for green burials. It meant his father’s remains had been interred within twenty-four hours of passing.

  Today, though, they were heading to the burial site where a sapling would mark his grave rather than a headstone. Immediate family—plus Colt and Delaney—only. And after dinner convened at the ranch’s dining hall, Luis and Anna would stay late to provide refreshments for those who wanted to stop by and pay their respects or—as his mom kept saying—celebrate Nolan’s life.

  His hand was on the door to his truck when he heard wheels crackling up the drive.

  He turned slowly to see Pearl’s Escape idling behind him, Charlotte at the wheel.

  She lowered her window.

  “Your mom called the inn,” she said. “Invited me to…” Then she trailed off. “I thanked her but declined. I’ll be there tonight. But I thought— I mean, I wanted to make sure you were okay since I haven’t seen you all week.” She groaned and shook her head. “I know you’re not okay. My studies on grief say that the heavy mourning period lasts at least thirty days, and after that it can take up to six months for…” She swiftly closed her mouth and shook her head. “I’m doing it again. Sorry.”

  He found himself slowly moving toward her car, not realizing he was doing it until he was at the passenger door.

  His chest tightened at the nearness of her, but it was so much better than the hollowness he’d felt moments before.

  “If I let you drive me there,” he started, “do you promise not to mention percentages or statistics?”

  She nodded and crossed her finger over her heart, and he climbed inside.

  “Hi,” she said softly when he closed the door.

  “Hi,” he echoed. Had it only been five days since that night in the hospital? It felt like months.

  “I was…um…worried about you. That’s what I was trying to say when I started, you know, doing my statistics thing.” She smiled and rested a hand on his knee. “That’s why I came.”

  He sucked in a deep breath and then covered her hand with his own.

  “Thank you,” he said, his chest tight as his heart warred with his logic. He hadn’t realized how much he needed her here, but it didn’t change that soon she’d be gone.

  His heart won out for the moment, and he leaned over, resting his forehead against hers. “Thank you,” he said again. Then he allowed himself the comfort of kissing her, of having some sort of lifeline when everything felt turned upside down.

  Her lips on his were like a beacon, leading him out of the woods and to solid ground. He wasn’t there yet, but he was closer.

  “How did you know where I was?” he asked. “I’ve been pretty MIA this week. I’m s—”

  “Oh no you don’t,” she said, interrupting him. “You don’t get to apologize for processing this in whatever way works best for you. I’m just glad I’m here now, even if the only thing I can do to make this easier is to get you to where you need to be.”

  He pressed his lips to hers once more. It was the only time he didn’t feel the ache of loss.

  “I’ll take it,” he whispered against her. “I’ll take whatever I can get until…you know.”

  Until she left to go back to New York next week.

  “Yeah,” she said, her breath warm on his lips. “I know.”

  He gave her directions to the burial site, and Charlotte drove, her hand in his as they left the ranch grounds and pulled onto the main road.

  “Pearl gave you the day off?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Took her for some X-rays yesterday, and things were looking so good that they switched out the plaster cast for a walking boot, which means no more wheelchair. Also means she’s officially phasing me out.” She let out a nervous laugh. “It’s a relief, you know. That she’s recovering so well.”

  “Happy to hear it,” he said. And while he meant the words and wanted nothing but the best for Pearl, now that Charlotte was here, the selfish part of him had secretly hoped there’d be some sort of delay. That Pearl might need her granddaughter to stay on a little while longer just so he wouldn’t have to say good-bye.

  They pulled off the road and onto a winding path, where they were greeted by the sign that read LAKEWOOD CEMETERY. She pulled to a stop at a fork in the winding road, each branch seeming to extend into uncultivated land.

  “How do we know which way to go?” she asked.

  He pulled out his phone and opened the email containing the directions to his father’s burial site.

  “Left,” he said. “For about a quarter of a mile. Then we should see a sapling in between two mature trees, both maples. Uh…right side of the road.”

  She nodded and continued on. And there it was, exactly as the directions said.

  “Should we wait for everyone else?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “I want a few minutes alone.” He turned to face her. “You comi
ng?”

  Her eyes widened. “You want me— I mean, of course. I just didn’t think—” Then she looked him up and down. “You don’t have a coat.”

  He shrugged. “I’ll survive.”

  She shook her head. “That won’t do. While you technically can’t catch a cold from being in the cold and the risk of frostbite is low to none…”

  He gave her a look that said You’re doing it again, because she paused and narrowed her eyes at him.

  “What I was getting at is that it just plain sucks to be cold.”

  He laughed softly. “Like I said, I’ll survive.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe I want more for you than that.”

  She held up a finger for him to wait, then pulled the key from the ignition, undid her seat belt, and got out of the car. After a short rummage in the trunk, she was back with a wool blanket folded in her arms. She opened the door and stuck her head back inside. “Come on,” she said.

  Side by side, they made their way to the young tree under which his father was laid to rest. She opened the blanket and draped it over his shoulders, and he held his arms wide, inviting her inside.

  Together they simply stood there, cocooned in their own little world, much like they’d been for the past several weeks. And despite the hell of the past week and the knowledge that this time next week she’d be gone, he felt safe from the grief. From reality. From losing again.

  Later that night, the dining hall was anything but somber. Bottles of beer and wine abounded, and it truly was a celebration of Nolan Callahan’s too-short life.

  “What do you want to do, Mom?” Sam asked when the three of them found a moment alone. “What can we do to make this easier?”

  Barbara Ann Callahan took a final swig of her beer and then set it on a nearby table. She linked her arms with her sons and sighed.

  “I know I can’t make up for the time I was gone, for leaving your father when I did…”

  Ben shook his head. “He cheated. And even if it was all tied to him being sick and none of us knowing, it doesn’t change how much that must have hurt you.”

  She nodded, but her eyes filled with tears. “And it doesn’t change how much my leaving must have hurt the two of you.” She took a steadying breath. “Now let me say what I want to say before I lose my nerve, will you?” she asked with mock impatience.

  Both Sam and Ben laughed softly. “The floor is yours, Mom,” Sam said.

  “I’m so glad your father and I found our way back, even in what was the most challenging part of our lives together. He was sick,” she said, her voice cracking. “But when he was himself, he made it clear that he was also very, very happy. And so proud of you two for taking his legacy and turning it into your own dream.” She pulled them both closer. “I miss this—us,” she said. “Just being on the ranch, knowing our horses, Ace and Barbara Ann, are right over there in the stable, makes me feel closer to him. To the life we used to have. Plus, I miss riding. I was wondering if maybe you’d take on a fourth investor in the ranch and possibly put me to work.”

  Sam’s eyes widened, and Ben took a step back so he could see her more clearly. He realized now that the part of today that hit him the hardest wasn’t just saying good-bye to his father but worrying about what life after all of this would mean for her.

  “Is this really what you want, Mom?” Ben asked, unable to contain a grin.

  She nodded, tears streaming down her face. “It really, truly is. Tahoe was never home, you know? It was an escape. But I found my way back. Home is where the people I love most are, and that’s here.”

  He gave his brother a look, and one nod between them sealed the deal.

  “You’re in,” Ben said. “Welcome home.”

  Losing Charlotte would be almost as hard as losing his father, maybe even harder knowing she was still out there somewhere, moving on with her life, without him. But this was it, his mom coming home was his chance to be a better man and do right by his family, like he should have been all along. He’d have to hope for himself and for Charlotte that time would do its job and heal.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Charlotte sat on her suitcase as she pulled the zipper the rest of the way. Other than what she was wearing right now and tomorrow morning when she left, she’d somehow fit two months’ worth of her life back into one rectangular box.

  Even after zipping it shut, she still sat there, staring at her room and remembering that first day when Ben set her mind at ease with a bottle of beer and the promise to help her through the next two months, the promise to be a friend when she truly needed one.

  Should she have told him in the hospital? Or at the burial site? She should have said something so that he knew that even if it was over, she loved him with every bit of her heart.

  But how would that have helped? How would that have made anything easier for a man who’d already been through so much?

  “I’m so sorry about your dad, but—just so we’re on the same page—I love you.”

  It seemed like maybe, probably, not the best moment to toss that little nugget of information into the mix. Plus, she read a psychology article once that claimed you could fall in love with anyone just by answering a series of questions that promoted intimacy. Maybe their intimacy was merely thrust upon them because of proximity, and from there they simply went through the stages of lust, attraction, and attachment. It could have happened with any two people in their position.

  She needed to logic her way through this day. It was the only way to make it out of Meadow Valley and back to New York with her heart intact.

  As she sat there on top of almost two months of her life, a folded piece of paper, just inside her door, caught her eye.

  Was that there when she’d started packing?

  She slid off the suitcase and bed and approached the paper with caution. It wasn’t like it was a checkout statement or anything like that. And her grandmother certainly didn’t communicate through written correspondence.

  The toe of her boot nudged the paper, as if that would suffice as a test for safety.

  She groaned. “Just pick it up,” she mumbled.

  So she did, and immediately recognized her favorite cowboy’s scrawl.

  Hey, Doc. I know tonight’s going to be a little strange. But I hope it’s okay if I still come to Pearl’s farewell dinner for you. We have an hour before it starts. If you’re up for it, meet me at the new house? I have something to show you. I’ll understand if you don’t come. But I hope you do.

  —Ben

  Had he been at the inn? Or did he put someone up to leaving the note? Either way, she was a jumble of nerves. Leaving was going to be hard enough, but if he was going to show her this amazing home that he was building and ask her to stay again, she might not be able to say no. And she had to say no. She’d worked too long and too hard building the life she wanted, where she could make sense of her world with science and statistics and facts and…She could do this. She could go down there, say no to whatever he offered, and they’d both be better for it.

  Eventually.

  She gave the room one last glance, then folded the note and stuck it in the back pocket of her jeans before throwing on her coat and striding out the door.

  Pearl was chatting with a guest in the lobby. Her arm was still in a sling for a few more days, but she was standing on her own two feet.

  A lump rose in Charlotte’s throat, and she had to remind herself that Pearl would be okay. Bones heal with time, and her grandmother would be good as new the next time she saw her.

  That was how the body worked when it came to broken things. Time made everything better.

  She waved to her grandmother. “Be right back,” she said. “And I’m taking your car.”

  “Don’t be late for dinner!” Pearl called after her, and Charlotte couldn’t help but smile, even if there was a sadness to the gesture. Everything was returning to normal, to how it was before she flew across the country and headed straight to the hospital emergency room
—and found Ben Callahan waiting in the lobby.

  She drove the short distance to the home site that still didn’t exist on a map, but she knew the way now.

  When she pulled up behind Ben’s truck, she could see him walking around inside the house—or what would be a house in the coming months. It was already dusk, and she was ready to raise hell if he was working under less than optimal light, especially after his recent injury.

  But when she reached the structure, she found him carrying a small trash bag out of the space where there would one day be a front door.

  The front door to a house where he would live with someone else.

  She exhaled, watching her breath cloud before her in a tiny puff of condensation, readying herself for whatever came next.

  “Hey there,” he said, a soft smile spreading across his face when he saw her. He hopped down to the ground—no front porch yet—and dropped the bag at his feet.

  “Hey yourself,” she said.

  “I wasn’t sure if you’d come,” he said nervously.

  Really? You can’t tell I’m out of breath because I sprinted out the door the second I read your note?

  But she couldn’t say that.

  “And I didn’t think you’d come tonight—let alone invite me out for a secret rendezvous,” she said instead, aiming to tease but unable to hide the tremor in her voice.

  What was this? Why did he want her here, and what did it mean that he did—if it even meant anything at all?

  There was no answer that could change so much that was standing in their way—her fear of admitting her feelings when she knew she’d still get hurt, him pushing her away since the night his dad died, and the most insurmountable of them all—the fact that he’d still live here and she would be in New York. So she stared into his deep blue eyes, throat tight, knowing that there wasn’t a solution where both of them won.

  Which was why it took her several seconds to feel it—a tiny blast of cold on her nose and then another on her cheek. It must have registered with Ben at the same time, because they simultaneously broke into incredulous laughter, tilting their heads up at the sky as snow fell softly on their skin.