“Well, I’m no expert,” Jemma said, “but I think you are. Having him here in Marietta with you is huge.”
“Until I leave next fall. And what about Nola? What if she doesn’t get better?”
Frowning, Jemma touched her elbow. “You can’t do that to yourself. Take it as it comes, right? And in the meantime, he’s out at Diamond in the Rough. That’s a good thing. And…hey. Don’t turn around, but your cowboy Prince Charming just walked through the door.”
Justine’s heartbeat skipped at that.
“Wow,” Jemma said. “I forgot how hot he is.”
Jemma already knew Porter. In fact, she knew his brothers, too. Since she’d lived in Marietta longer, she had a jump on the social scene here. Not that Justine had ever been that social, but still.
“He’s coming this way,” Jemma said. “And in those jeans, too.”
Justine ran her hands down her thighs and wasn’t surprised to find that her palms were damp. Porter made her feel like she was seventeen again.
“Justine?” she heard him say.
Steeling herself, she looked over. And he nearly took her breath away. Justine wasn’t normally swayed by handsome men. In her experience, good looks usually came with a healthy dose of conceit. But Porter’s looks also came with the kindest eyes she thought she’d ever seen.
“Hey, there!” she said. “You made it.”
“Sorry I’m late. There was an accident on the highway, and I stopped to see if they needed any help.”
“I hope nobody was hurt.”
“Nope. They’ll just have a headache in the morning. Hey, Jemma.” Porter reached out to take Jemma’s hand. His arm brushed Justine’s in the process, and she imagined sparks crackling between them, bright and popping like on the Fourth of July.
“Hey, Porter.” Jemma smiled her biggest smile. She obviously couldn’t help it. This was what happened in his presence. “Good to see you again.”
“You two look alike,” he said. “I almost couldn’t tell you apart from across the room.”
“This, coming from a twin,” Jemma said.
He shrugged. “Fraternal. And everyone knows I’m the better looking one anyway.” He winked at them, and Justine felt tingly all over.
“So,” he said, “where’s the man of the hour?”
“He’s over there. By the pencil bridge.”
Porter’s dark brows shot up. “He made that? By himself?”
“He did. He’s super proud of it.”
“I couldn’t even build Legos as a kid.”
“He’ll be so happy you’re here,” Justine said. “He’s been excited to show you.”
“Well, better not keep him waiting, then.” He took his Stetson off and ran a hand through his dark hair. “Ladies.”
Before they could recover enough to reply, he was walking through the crowd, almost a foot taller than most of the other men in the room.
“That,” said Jemma, “is a work of art.”
Justine stared after him. He was beautiful, no doubt about that. But at the moment, all she cared about was how good he was to Cat.
Her heart squeezed. It was impossible not to see how much Cat adored him. Which was a blessing and a curse. Porter hadn’t let him down yet; it was too soon for that, really. But what if he did? Could Cat really take another disappointment right now?
Jemma stepped up beside her. “Uh oh. What’s that look for?”
“What look?”
“That look. The one you’re giving those two.”
“I’m not giving them any look.” That wasn’t true. She knew she was.
“It’s okay for him to get attached, you know,” Jemma said softly.
“I just remember how I felt after Dad left. I think I’m always going to struggle with that. At least on some level.”
“You don’t trust men,” Jemma said matter-of-factly. “Childhood trauma is legit. I get it.”
“But look at you. You went through the same crap I did, and you and EJ are in this great relationship. You’ve forgiven Dad…”
“So have you.”
“Yes, but forgiving doesn’t mean forgetting. Look at Cat. He’s going to have the same issues with people, and it breaks my heart.”
“Well, maybe not,” Jemma said. “Maybe he’ll have a completely different experience. Look at tonight. Porter promised he’d come, and he showed up. Even if he was a little late.”
Justine nodded, considering this.
“And, sis…” Jemma put an arm around her. “I didn’t trust EJ overnight. I had to work at it. And I had to work at forgiving Dad, too. It’s a process.”
Justine looked over at Porter, who was now kneeling next to the da Vinci bridge and listening intently to whatever Cat was saying. It’s a process. Learning to trust people absolutely was. She thought of Cat’s bull rider father, who at that very minute was breaking his son’s heart, and reminded herself that she should call Nola and tell her that Calvin was going to be in town. Her friend was wise in the ways of the world. She’d know exactly what to tell Cat. Or what not to tell Cat about his dad.
“You’re right,” she said to her sister. “But it’s easier said than done.”
Chapter Five
Porter leaned against the barn door, watching Cat muck out the stall a few feet away. Abby, Brooks’s pregnant little mare, stood behind the boy like a dog, gently nudging his shoulder every now and then for a pat. Cat would always oblige, turning to scratch her ears or underneath her fuzzy chin like he’d been doing this all his life.
Porter smiled. He’d known the work would be good for him, but it was turning out to be even better than he’d thought. Learning how to ride horses was only a small part of loving them. Taking care of them formed a bond that was the backbone of the give-and-take relationship between man and animal. Abby had been the perfect introduction to this lesson. She loved people, especially kids, and seemed to have a built-in sensor for the ones who needed her most. She was going to be a wonderful mother.
She nudged Cat again, this time nibbling on the back of his windbreaker. She’d found the tag a few minutes ago and was now making a game of it.
He laughed and ducked away. “Stop!”
“I think she likes you,” Porter said. “Or your jacket tastes like hay. Either, or.”
Cat leaned on the rake for a second to catch his breath. His mop of red hair had fallen over one eye, and he pushed it away absentmindedly. “When is she going to have her baby?”
“Soon. I’d say in the next few weeks or so.”
“I wish I could be here when she has it.” He reached over and ran his hand down her neck, his fingers disappearing underneath her thick black mane.
“I bet we could arrange that.”
Cat’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Sure. As long as you’re not in school at the time. We’ll talk to Justine to see if I can come into town and pick you up when Abby’s time comes, okay?”
“Even if it’s in the middle of the night?”
“Even then.”
“Wow. Thanks, Porter.”
Cat looked away then and frowned. Something crossed his face, before he dipped his head and picked up the rake again.
Watching him, Porter realized that sometime over the last week, the black eye had faded completely. Cat’s face was fair and perfect again, complete with the endearing freckles scattered across his nose. But something remained—a weight on those slight shoulders that was as obvious right then as if he’d still had a bruise underneath his eye.
“Hey, Champ.” Porter tipped his Stetson back on his forehead. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”
Cat continued raking but slowed at the words. Abby stood behind him, sniffing his jeans. Up in the rafters, pigeons cooed and shook their feathers, sending a few down like snowflakes.
Cat finally looked up. “It’s nothing.”
Porter pushed off the barn door and walked over to the stall. The sun filtered through the slats in the old roof, lighting t
he boy and horse in a sunbeam. Dust hung in the air like stars.
“I’m not sure I buy that,” he said.
“It’s mostly true.”
“Mostly?”
Cat shrugged. “I’ve just been thinking.”
“About?”
“My grandma…my dad.”
Porter waited for him to go on. Not wanting to push, but knowing at the same time that a little push might be exactly what he needed.
The boy leaned the rake against the stall door and turned to the little horse that had her nose in his ear. He took her head in his hands, before looking over at Porter.
“My dad must not know my grandma is sick. Otherwise, he would’ve come back.”
Porter nodded at that. Maybe he didn’t know. But the question was more complicated than that. Justine had told him the other day that Calvin had been out of the picture for years. Since Cat was practically a baby. That didn’t sound like a man who would hightail it back when he found out his kid’s grandma was in poor health. But then again, maybe he would. The truth was, nobody would ever know for sure, unless they got in touch with Calvin. Until then, Cat would be left guessing. And waiting.
“I know he and my mom were really young when they had me,” Cat said evenly. “I know that’s one of the reasons he left. He didn’t know how to be a dad. But I’m going to find him. Maybe he’ll see that I’m bigger now, and it wouldn’t be so scary.”
Porter’s heart twisted. This was an eleven-year-old’s logic. A simple explanation for something that wasn’t so simple. Porter had come up with these kinds of excuses for his own mother as a kid. Even going so far as making up stories as to why she’d left and hadn’t come back—she was sick, she’d gotten knocked on the head and forgotten that she’d had a family, she’d been kidnapped and taken out of the country. All pretty pathetic stuff that he understood now was a boy’s way of trying to come to terms with his abandonment.
Cat’s thought process wasn’t nearly as far-fetched, and actually, it made some sense. But that didn’t mean it would pan out in the end.
“You miss your dad, don’t you?” Porter asked quietly.
Cat nodded. “I have to find him.”
“You have to?”
“My grandma wants me, but she’s sick. She can’t be raising a kid right now.”
Porter ground his teeth together. The truth was a cruel, bitter pill to swallow.
“And Justine is leaving at the end of the school year,” Cat continued. “She doesn’t think I know, but I do. My mom died when I was two, did she tell you that?”
“She did,” Porter said, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice.
“So, my mom’s gone, and I really don’t have anyone else. I need to find my dad, so we can start over.”
Porter studied his boots for a few seconds. When he looked back up, he knew he had to say something. Someone might argue that it wasn’t his place, and he guessed it wasn’t. But the connection he felt to this little boy, their shared experience, had introduced some kind of responsibility that he couldn’t deny.
“Cat,” he said. “I know it’s hard to think about, and you might not be happy with me saying it…but have you considered that maybe he still doesn’t know how to be a dad?”
Cat stroked Abby’s nose. “I’ve thought of that,” he finally said. “I know if I find him, it might be weird for him. And for me, too. But I need to try.”
“I get it. My mom left when I was a kid, too. I know how you feel.”
Cat raised his brows. “Did you try and find her?”
“Nope. I’ve always been a little afraid to.”
“Afraid of your mom?”
“Afraid of who she is. The picture I’ve painted of her isn’t very nice.”
“A protective mechanism.”
“A what?”
“A protective mechanism. My grandma knows a lot about psychology. She helps me work stuff out. I think she’s worried that I’m sad about my dad leaving, and I am. I think that’s normal, right?”
Porter nodded. That was the understatement of the century.
“But I feel like I’m going to be more sad if I don’t see him again.”
“Even if it doesn’t go how you want it to?”
“Yeah. Because at least then I’ll know. Don’t you want to know about your mom?”
Porter grit his teeth. He used to think he did. Now, he wasn’t so sure. He was a grown man and had left a lot of that pain behind. Or at least he liked to think he had. But standing here, talking about it now, he could feel that same old emptiness yawning inside him. That place that his mother had created when she left. It had never been filled by anything else in Porter’s life. Even now. Even all these years later.
“What if you tried to find her?” Cat continued, his expression hopeful. “What if you found your mom, and I found my dad, and we did it together? That way it wouldn’t be so hard.”
Porter hadn’t thought about trying to find his mom in years. He’d mentioned it once a long time ago, but Brooks and Griffin had shrugged it off. They were all in a good place now. They had their dad, and their family felt whole. Why go ruining that by opening up old wounds?
“I don’t know, Champ,” he said.
“I’m just saying…maybe she’s been wanting to find you, but she’s just scared,” Cat finished matter-of-factly.
It was as if Porter’s younger self, the boy from all those moons ago, was standing here rationalizing with himself. He used to wonder the same thing over and over again…maybe she’s just scared.
He didn’t necessarily like the way those words had formed a hook, and were now pulling at his heart. His mother had left. She’d left, and that had been a conscious choice. Seeing her again wouldn’t change any of that. Except, he knew that it might change how he felt about it.
Cat patted Abby’s neck before reaching for the rake again. “Hey, do you think Justine can learn to ride, too?”
Porter looked down at him, relieved at the sudden change of subject. “What?”
“Well, speaking of being scared.”
“She’s scared of horses?”
“No, my grandma says she’s scared of people, but don’t tell her I told you that.”
Porter filed that away under things to think more about later. Justine was scared of people? Or scared of getting close to people? There was a difference, and he wasn’t sure about the former, but he sure as shit could identify with the latter.
“Scout’s honor,” he said, holding up two fingers.
“I bet she’d like it, though. She was telling me the other night it was something she always wanted to try, but never got around to it. And now, she’s moving to London and who knows if they even have horses there.”
“I think they probably have horses in London, Champ. But I get your point.”
“I mean, she’s bringing me out here after school and on the weekends anyway. Maybe she could take some lessons, too.”
Actually, there was nothing Porter would like more than seeing Justine Banks on the back of a horse.
“Huh,” he said, rubbing his chin. “Maybe we can arrange that.”
Cat grinned. He was nothing if not convincing.
Chapter Six
Justine’s phone dinged, and she looked down at the text message from Nola. Her heart swelled, just like it always did when she heard from her old friend.
“Everything okay?” her dad asked.
He sat across from her at Rocco’s, their favorite Italian restaurant. His thick white hair was freshly cut this afternoon, and he wore a brown Pendleton shirt with his reading glasses tucked inside the chest pocket. He usually needed them for menus, but he ordered the same thing every Sunday, so he hadn’t bothered putting them on.
“Nola just wants to check in,” she said. “Tell me how her appointment went on Friday.”
“You said she’s trying a new treatment?”
Justine nodded. It was new, and so far, it looked promising. But Nola was an eternal optimis
t. Sometimes it was hard getting her to admit how tired she was, or how she really felt about things.
“I’m praying for her, kiddo,” he said, leaning forward to pat her hand.
“Thanks, Dad. She’d appreciate that.”
A server walked by balancing a steaming pepperoni pizza, trailing the smell of warm bread and cheese behind him.
“Why don’t you give her a call?” her dad said. “We can wait to order.”
She looked at her watch. It was getting late, and he had a date in a few hours. A woman he’d met on a seniors’ matchmaking site. They were going to the pumpkin patch. Justine was still getting used to watching her father negotiate the world as a single guy. To her, he was still connected to her late mother, something she was going to have to start untangling in her heart.
“Are you sure?” she asked. “I don’t want to make you late.”
“You’re not going to. And even if I was, Nancy would understand.”
“She sounds nice.”
“She is. And she can’t wait to meet you girls.”
He’d mentioned it twice now. She’d have to run this by Jemma, although she knew her little sister would be completely on board with their dad having a new girlfriend. Jemma was nothing if not romantic. Justine was more worried about realistic things, like him getting taken advantage of, or getting his heart broken. A buzzkill. That’s what Jemma called her. Whatever. She could live with that.
“Okay,” she said, grabbing her phone. “I’ll just be outside.”
“Take your time. I’ll order our drinks.”
Justine wound her way around the small tables covered with red checkered cloths and pushed open the door into the chilly afternoon air. Heavy, dark clouds hung in the sky, promising rain later. She zipped her puffer jacket to her chin and stood underneath Rocco’s cute little awning to call Nola.
The phone only rang once before she picked up.
“Hello?”
“Nola?”
“Justine! Hey there, toots.”
Justine smiled into the collar of her jacket. “I got your text. I just wanted to call to see how you were.”
The Montana Cowboy's Heart Page 4