Cowboy Summer

by Joanne Kennedy

  Then there was Griff. Heck knew, deep down, that he’d driven the boy away by demanding he take over the ranch. He’d never listened to the boy’s hopes and dreams. Hell, Heck never listened to anybody.

  But he would, starting today.

  The room had stopped spinning, but everything had grown smaller and sharper, as if he were looking through the wrong end of a telescope. At the large end of the telescope was his own heart, which felt big enough to hold the whole room. He felt it swell with every beat, as his love grew for his children, his wife, his life.

  Silently, he made a promise to God. Not only would he stop aggravating his family, he’d stop cussing, too, if he could just live long enough. But life was a struggle, more and more, day by day.

  He remembered a flag he’d seen back in Vietnam. Somebody’d raised it high above a battlefield, and it had been shot to rags. Bit by bit, scraps tore off and whipped away while the edges frayed and raveled.

  His heart felt like that flag. He needed to leave the battlefield and find a foxhole where he could hold onto what tattered shreds of himself remained. Where he could treasure the miracle of his glowing, beating heart and nurse it back to health before time and old age shot it all to hell.

  Chapter 14

  Jess watched her dad struggle for breath and fought a flurry of emotions. Love became helplessness, helplessness became fury, but the whole mess circled back, always, to love. She wanted to help him, but all she could do was hang on, squeezing his hand.

  Just this morning, she’d thought the ranch was the key to his health. Now, she had no idea how to help him, but one thing was for sure: the ranch was good as gone. The doctor was right. He needed to slow down and stay safe.

  Above the din in the hallway, Molly’s voice rang out, asking where was Heck Bailey and was he all right.

  Jess was stunned when a flood of relief swept through her like a cleansing wave. When had she ever been glad to see the woman who’d tried—and failed, of course—to take her mother’s place? Every time Jess saw Molly standing in her mother’s kitchen, sitting in her mother’s chair, or driving what should have been her mother’s car, she felt a cold chill of resentment. But now, in a crisis, Molly was somehow—well, needed.

  For her father’s sake, of course.

  “Hey, baby.”

  Molly’s brow was furrowed with concern, but her smile was bright, dimples flashing like twin stars. She was a plus-sized woman, but Jess had to admit her sunny attitude made her attractive. More importantly, she saw her father light up at the mere sight of her.

  Placing a bundle of wildflowers on her husband’s lap, Molly gave him a kiss on the lips—one that lingered a little.

  “Don’t rile him up.” Cade grinned. “He’s liable to throw himself off the gurney again.”

  “Oh, he won’t do that.” Molly patted Heck’s knee through the thin blanket. “He’s a very good patient.”

  Jess started to snort, but looking at her dad, she realized Molly was right—at least for the moment. All the fight had ebbed out of him, and he was looking at Molly like a hound dog looks at bacon. If he’d had a tail, it would have been wagging.

  “If good patients pitch themselves off the gurney, then I guess you’re right,” Cade said.

  “Sorry about that, kids.” Heck sighed. “I’ll try to do better.”

  Sorry? What?

  Who was this man, and what had he done with her cantankerous dad? Heck was always right. He blustered his way through even the worst of his mistakes, never, ever admitting he was wrong.

  “And Molly? Don’t you worry.” He took his wife’s hand. “This old heart beats for you, darlin’, and it’s not done. I promise you that.”

  Jess tried not to make gagging sounds. She wasn’t sure about Molly’s motives, but it was obvious her dad had moved past the coconut cream pie stage. He’d executed an all-or-nothing dive into the deep end of love and saw his new wife through a watery haze of adoration. Jess might as well get used to having the woman around.

  “And that plan we had?” Jess’s dad looked miserable, and she knew he was talking about selling the ranch. “I think maybe it’s a good idea. For real.”

  Molly shook her head and started to speak, then bit her lip. Tears welled up in her eyes as she patted her husband’s hand. “Don’t you worry about that right now,” she said. “Jess, why don’t you and Cade go get something to eat?” She smiled down at her husband. “I’ll take care of this guy.”

  “No, I’ll stay,” Jess said.

  “You do what you want, hon, but you have to eat, and so does that man of yours.” Molly stepped around the gurney and gave Jess a hug as comforting as a squishy pillow. “I’m just so glad you were with Heck when it happened. Having you here is such a blessing.”

  Molly was a full head shorter than Jess, who had to hold her breath so she wouldn’t sneeze at her stepmother’s trademark scent—a mix of perm lotion, hairspray, and drugstore perfume. For some reason, she felt an almost irresistible urge to confess, but she didn’t tell Molly about the race. She didn’t say how Heck had taken off before Jess had realized what was happening, how she hadn’t stopped him, how one mean little part of her heart had been glad, glad Molly couldn’t control him.

  “It was Cade that saved him,” she said instead. “Dad blew the whistle, and Cade gave him one of those pills.” She looked up at Cade, startled as a realization dawned. “I think he saved Dad’s life.”

  “It wasn’t me, it was Molly,” Cade said. “She thought up the plan, with the whistle and the pills, and it worked.”

  A dark-haired nurse about the size of the average Cub Scout pushed in a cart laden with electronic doodads. She had a heavy unibrow over piercing dark eyes and wore scrubs spattered with abstract renditions of SpongeBob SquarePants. Glancing from Heck to Molly, she caressed a sheaf of electrical leads like Dr. Evil stroking his cat. Jess wondered why she’d never noticed SpongeBob’s manic grin before or his menacing, buggy eyes.

  “I’m Joanie.” The nurse’s dark eyes sparked. “I’ll need that gown open in the front.”

  Heck looked panicked. “You gotta go, Jess. Open in the front, she says.”

  “I won’t look.” Jess wasn’t about to leave her father alone with Satan’s Little Helper, even if she did have an official hospital name tag.

  “You’re not staying here while they hook me up to machines,” Heck said. “Leave me a little dignity.”

  Jess sighed. When he put it like that, she couldn’t say no. Besides, Molly would be there. Any suspicions about toxins and ulterior motives had been burned to ashes in the light of the woman’s smile. Jess’s stepmother was a small, plump steamroller, mowing down the world with her goodhearted charm.

  And Jess, in spite of herself, was utterly, thoroughly flattened.

  Time to go home and get some rest. She could see her father again the next morning, then finish drenching those calves in the afternoon. The hard work would do her good and give her time to think.

  To plan.

  * * *

  “The way that little girl squealed, you’da thought she caught that fish all by her own danged self!” Heck said, finishing a story about Jess. He’d been moved to a room of his own at the hospital the night before. This morning, his face was pale, but he was more like his cheerful self.

  Molly laughed. Hearing Heck’s family stories eased an ache inside her. She could almost pretend Jess and Griff were her own kids.

  “Aw, no.” Heck’s face paled to the pasty white of a trout’s belly.

  Turning, Molly saw Grigsby’s one and only cardiologist, trailed by his silent entourage of interns and residents. The students stood in a circle around their instructor, wearing servile expressions that reminded Molly of Heck’s cows.

  “Got those test results back.” The doctor frowned at his clipboard while his students competed for the Most Grave Yet Attenti
ve Expression Award.

  “Not good.” The doctor shook his head slowly. “Not good at all.”

  He stared down at the clipboard so long, Molly thought he’d gone into a trance. Finally, she cleared her throat.

  The doc jerked his head up. His cold blue eyes regarded her with barely suppressed fury, as if she’d interrupted a Nobel Prize–winning daydream.

  Molly glared back. “Not good? What does that mean?”

  “Your husband needs a pacemaker.” Again, he consulted the clipboard. “These episodes can’t continue. Unhealthy diet, I’m guessing.”

  Her mind filled with excuses. I haven’t known him for long. We just got married. I try to get him to eat healthy foods. It wasn’t me that fed him those steaks, those potatoes; it was Dot.

  “Surgery will be on Monday.”

  He turned and began ladling out jargon to his students, explaining the intricacies of Heck’s heart to a bunch of strangers who didn’t care if her husband lived or died. To them, he was a lesson in their textbook come to life—easily studied, easily learned, and soon, most likely, gone.

  A little swirl of rage rose in her heart, spinning like a dust devil in a harrowed field. Leaping to her feet, she followed the doctor as he left the room.

  “I have a question.”

  “And I have a schedule.” With an officious tilt of his wrist, he checked his watch and upped his pace.

  The dust devil spun a little faster. Molly didn’t get mad often, but once someone brought her whirling dervish to life, it was hard to control.

  She touched the doctor’s arm.

  Okay, maybe she grabbed it.

  That would explain why he curled his lip and gazed at her over a pair of half-glasses as if she were some sort of bug he’d like to squash. Men thought those glasses made them look smart, but to Molly, the doc just looked silly, like an owl in a storybook. The thought made her giggle, and the interns stared like she’d farted in church.

  Whipping the glasses off, the doctor cleared his throat and fixed her with the full force of his owly eyes. Molly smothered another giggle.

  “A question?” he asked.

  She searched the soupy stew of stress that was sloshing around in her brain and grabbed the first question that floated to the top.

  Whoooo are you?

  No, that won’t do. Try again.

  She cleared her throat. “Um, how long will the surgery take?”

  “Could be four hours, could be seven.” He shrugged his narrow shoulders. “There can be complications.”

  “So you don’t know.”

  As one, the students’ brows lowered. She half expected them to moo and paw the ground, but picturing them as cows gave her courage. She’d been a little afraid of Heck’s cattle, with their long horns and shaggy coats. But he’d pointed out how calm they were and how they protected their young. He’d taught her how to exude confidence so they’d respect her, and to her surprise, it had worked.

  Tears stung her eyes, and for a moment, she couldn’t speak.

  “I’ll tell you how you can help him,” the doctor said.

  Molly almost grabbed him again. “Please.”

  “Heart patients need rest.” The doctor enunciated clearly, as if she were a dolt.

  “I know,” she said. “That’s why, as soon as he gets home, we’re making some changes. We’re going to sell…”

  “That’s not soon enough.” The doctor looked like an angry owl now. “He needs rest now, and he’s not getting any. He won’t, as long as you insist on camping in his room all day.”

  Molly felt as if he’d slapped her. “I’m his wife. I need to be here.”

  He looked her up and down, lips pursed. “A man doesn’t want to appear frail in front of his much-younger wife. You need to find something else to do. Don’t you have a job?”

  Molly hung her head. “He doesn’t want me to work. I’d like to, actually, but—well, he’s too proud.”

  She hated admitting that in front of all these people. She’d never been the sort of woman who let a man tell her what to do, but Heck was old-fashioned.

  “Besides, he wants me here. I know he does.”

  The doctor gave her a cold owly stare. “Do you ever see him sleep?”

  “Sometimes.” She fiddled with her collar, flustered. “When I come back from the cafeteria or the powder room, he’s usually nodded off. I try to be quiet, but—well, he always wakes up when I come in.” She sighed. “I guess you have a point.”

  “Limit your visits. Two hours in the evening, at most.” He frowned. “Find something to do.”

  “All right.”

  She stumbled back into Heck’s room, smoothing her hair and surreptitiously wiping her eyes. He was sleeping, of course.

  Don’t you have a job?

  She used to. She’d loved it.

  She missed it.

  Doctor’s orders.

  Gathering her things, she headed home, a glowing ember of happiness warming her heart.

  She could find something to do all day. Heck wouldn’t like it, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. As a matter of fact, he’d be healthier.

  And God knew, she’d be happier.

  Chapter 15

  Cade didn’t get much sleep, thanks to Dream Jess, who danced through his head like Salome waving her seven veils. It should have been a good dream, but it wasn’t. For one thing, Jess was about as comfortable on a dance floor as a fish flopping around on dry land. For another, he wanted those veils gone, and Dream Jess took her time. Slowly, slowly, she shed one, then another, and before she could finish, his dad stepped into the dream, shaking his head, tossing Cade a disgusted look.

  You’re not good enough for the Baileys. Never were. Never will be.

  Cade launched himself from the bed and barked his shin on the coffee table before he remembered he’d slept on the sofa again. There was a crick in his neck and a cramp in his back. Muttering an oath at his father’s ghost, he threw on a T-shirt and headed for the barn.

  An hour later, horses grazing contentedly, he loaded Pride into the trailer and headed back to the house. Jess had probably forgotten about her father’s sick calves, so he’d take care of them. Just grab a cup of coffee and…

  There was a light on in the kitchen.

  Shoot. Amber Lynn.

  What the hell was she doing up this early? She usually did her prowling at night, with all the other predators.

  As his heart sank into his boots, he heard her crooning a Britney Spears song. She’d mastered Britney’s breathy, nasal inflection, but her singing was wildly off-key.

  “Hit me, baby, one more time!”

  Remembering the black eye, he shook his head. “That song’s a little on-the-nose, don’t you think?” he asked Boogy.

  The dog whined, staring at the truck, then up at Cade.

  “Yes, you’ll get to go. But first, we have to face the music.”

  The dog lifted one eyebrow.

  “I know. You can hardly call it music.”

  Amber Lynn was staring down the coffeemaker like it was her worst enemy when he walked in. She spun around with a smile fixed on her face.

  “Good morning.”

  “Uh-huh.” He wasn’t trying to be rude. He just wasn’t awake enough to have a conversation. Not with Amber Lynn, anyway.

  To his surprise, she didn’t turn his grunt into some unforgivable slight. In fact, she smiled at him, then reached for the stove and presented him with yet another plate of fried eggs and bacon. This time, at least the bacon was cooked right. It looked crispy and smelled terrific, but the eggs were profoundly undercooked.

  “Oh, thanks.” He looked down at the plate and watched the egg yolks wobble. His stomach churned. “I’ll have to eat on the run, though.”

  “You’re leaving?”

&
nbsp; “Yeah.” He gave her a narrow-eyed stare. “I have stuff to do. You, too, right? Do you need help packing?”

  She gave him a doe-eyed stare, her lower lip trembling. “You said we were going to have a talk.”

  “We are, Amber Lynn. But right now, I have to go to—um, to work.” He wasn’t about to tell her he was going to the Baileys’.

  She blinked slowly, as if struggling to understand. “Oh. So I should stay, and we should talk later.”

  “No.” He glanced wildly around the room and saw nothing that would save him. Exasperated, he sat down at the table. “We’ll talk now. Okay?”

  “Okay.” She took a deep breath. “So I looked on the internet, and I found out how to cook bacon. You don’t boil it. You cook it in a pan. But you didn’t tell me that.”

  Cade shrugged. “I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. You tried, and it was okay.”

  “It was gross.” She tossed her hair. “You didn’t tell me because you think I’m stupid. So why were you going on about how smart I am? I don’t need to be patronized.”

  He was tempted to point out she was using awfully big words, but that would be…patronizing.

  Maybe she had a point.

  “You’re plenty smart, Amber. You just cover it up.”

  She was smarter than him, that was for sure. She’d spent another night in his bedroom while he tossed and turned on the couch, trying to figure out how to pry her out of his house. And now she’d managed to change the subject, while he could barely remember what they were supposed to be talking about.

  “You really think I’m smart?”

  Oh yeah. They were talking about her. Of course they were.

  “Sure,” he said. “You’re more than smart. You’re ambitious, you’re observant, and you’re, well, ruthless.”

  “And pretty.”

  “Right. All that would make you one hell of a businesswoman.”

  “A what?”

  She gave him a practiced look, lips parted, eyes wide. It was designed to make her look dimwitted, and she pasted it on whenever anyone asked her to do anything beyond being decorative.