Calvin glanced around again. Maybe worried someone might hear. Worried he’d look like a deadbeat dad. Which he absolutely was.
Porter narrowed his eyes at him, waiting for his answer.
“Aren’t you gonna ask about Grandma?” Cat said. His chin, which he’d jutted into the air a second ago, was now starting to tremble. But his eyes flashed. With that same anger Porter had seen the day of the field trip. The day he’d tackled that kid who’d mentioned his parents. Or lack of parents. It had been there ever since, waiting for the right time to claw its way out.
“Shit, son,” Calvin said, shaking his head. “Give me a minute to wrap my head around this.”
“I don’t think you should call me son. I think you should call me Cat.”
Calvin stared down at him, clearly not prepared for this. Not prepared for the moment. And sure as hell not prepared for the kid himself.
“Did you know that I always wanted to rodeo like you?” Cat asked flatly.
“No. I didn’t.”
“I do,” Cat finished, his voice suddenly hoarse.
At that, Calvin’s expression softened some. He reached out and touched Cat’s shoulder. “I’m sure you’re different from your old man. And that’s a good thing. Rodeo is a hard life. Bull riding hasn’t done a whole hell of a lot for me, other than break some bones.”
The mist was starting to turn into a light rain, and Porter pulled his collar up against the chill. He didn’t take his eyes off Cat, feeling protective, but knowing there wasn’t much he could do, either. It was just going to have to play out. A bell that couldn’t be unrung.
“If you don’t like bull riding, then why are you doing it?” Cat asked.
“I never said I didn’t like it.”
“You like it more than me.”
“Well, now. I never said that, either.”
“But you left to rodeo.”
Calvin shifted on his feet, clearly uncomfortable. “I left because I would’ve been a crap dad. I was too young for it. I didn’t know how to take care of you…”
It was a terrible excuse, and they both knew it.
“You could come back, you know,” Cat said. “Grandma is getting better, and Justine is leaving for a job in England pretty soon. I could come live with you. We could start over.”
Porter swallowed hard. Cat had just opened up his bruised and battered heart, and invited his father right in. Not knowing how it would end. Wanting him in his life so much, that he was willing to suffer the consequences, whatever they might be.
It was so brave, that the only thing Porter could picture right then, was Justine’s beautiful face that night at the hotel. How she might’ve reacted if he’d been able to do the same. Where they might be today. Trusting each other with a relationship, even though it was scary as hell? There was no way to know, because he’d chosen the easy way out. The way with the least amount of risk, which is what he’d always done. Every single time.
Porter took his hat off and ran his hand through his hair. The rain was coming harder now, pelting the back of his neck in tiny, stinging drops.
Calvin looked down at his son. What could he say? That he was suddenly going to raise him? It was unrealistic and totally unlikely to happen. Cat probably knew it, but nevertheless, he stood there with his feet planted stubbornly apart, like he was willing himself not to run away. He was waiting for his answer. A hypothetical that he’d been holding onto for a long time now.
Calvin finally shook his head, the rain pattering against his army-green jacket. Tapping against his cowboy hat that concealed so much of his eyes.
“I can’t do that, Tommy,” he said.
Cat’s face crumpled. “Why not?”
“It’s complicated.”
“What’s complicated about it? I’m your kid.”
“I know that, and God knows I’ll have to live with you hating me for it.”
“I don’t hate you.”
“You should.”
“But I don’t!”
Calvin’s jaw bunched, and he took a deliberate step back. He shook his head in the rain. “I’m sorry, Tommy.”
I’m sorry… How many times had Cat heard that before? Probably too many to count.
“My name is Cat.” He turned and stumbled past Porter. “I’ll be in the truck.”
Both men stood there, watching him disappear into the crowd. Physically small for his age, but larger than life where it really mattered.
Porter looked over at Calvin, then stepped forward until he was only a few feet away. His heart thundered in his chest, and he worried for a second that he might actually punch the guy. Did he have any idea how special his son was? How much he adored him? It wasn’t right that someone should have that much power simply by sharing DNA. Calvin Roberson didn’t deserve Cat. He didn’t deserve that adoration or that unflinching loyalty. He didn’t deserve any of it.
Porter grit his teeth and took an even breath. Calvin watched him warily.
“I’d say it’s none of my damn business,” Porter said, his voice low, “but that’s not true anymore. I’ve gotten to know that boy, and he’s a fine young man. Not that you had anything to do with it. I’ll just tell you, though. Think long and hard before you throw him away. The time might come when you’re old as shit, and you might want your son around. You might figure out how lucky you were to have him. And by then he’ll be gone.”
Calvin’s jaw bunch and relaxed. He said nothing. Which was wise, since Porter still hadn’t decided against punching him.
Pulling his Stetson low, Porter gave him one more look. Then turned toward the parking lot, and the boy with the broken heart.
Chapter Eighteen
Porter put his blinker on and turned onto the ranch’s bumpy gravel drive. It was raining in earnest now, cold hard drops that splattered relentlessly against the truck’s windshield. The wipers couldn’t clear it fast enough, moving back and forth in a rubbery rhythm.
Cat sat still, looking out his window. His breath kept fogging it up, and he’d reach up every now and then to rub a clear spot in the glass.
Porter wondered if there was anything he could say to make him feel better. Probably not. He’d probably feel like garbage no matter what, but still…
He licked his lips and took a breath. But Cat turned to him before he could form a word.
“I wasn’t planning on asking him to come back,” he said quietly. “It just happened.”
“You said exactly what you needed to, Champ.”
Cat nodded. “It was weird, though. How he acted. I thought he’d want to see me again. I mean, at least a little. But he didn’t even seem to care when I told him I wanted to rodeo.”
Porter frowned. “I don’t think your dad knows what he wants, Cat. Some men are like that. They never really grow up. Even when they’re old, they still can’t figure it out.”
“Your mom is like that, too. Isn’t she?”
“Yes, son. She is.”
“She could be hanging out at the ranch right this second, getting to know you and Brooks and Griffin. And eating Daisy’s food, and riding the horses, and playing with the animals…”
Porter tried to picture his mother, who’d proven herself to be fairly coldhearted, playing with the animals. Maybe that’s exactly what she needed. Ranch therapy.
“Instead,” Cat continued, “she turned out to be lame.”
“I’ll agree with that. She is kind of lame.”
“Not kind of. Super lame.”
“Okay. Super lame.”
“And that’s exactly what my dad is. Super freaking lame.”
Porter couldn’t argue with this. So he didn’t. Instead, he looked over at Cat again and saw that he was glowering underneath his baseball cap. Scowling at the view outside the window with his hands fisted in his lap.
“I don’t care if I ever see him again,” he said. “Ever.”
“Hey, Champ.”
Cat only turned farther away, hiding his face.
“I know it’s hard to believe right now,” Porter said, “but you might feel differently later. After you’ve grown up a little. You might have a different view of things.”
“You waited until you were grown-up to find your mom, and it turned out the same. It doesn’t matter how old I get. My dad is always gonna suck.”
“But maybe not…” Porter could hardly believe he was defending the guy. Or at least, trying to convince Cat that he might change with time. But he couldn’t stand the bitterness in the kid’s voice. The finality of his tone. He’d felt like that once. And it had nearly eaten him alive.
“I’m not sorry I found my mom, Cat,” he said. The truck bounced over a pothole, and they rocked from side to side. “Remember how you told me I’d feel better if I tried? I do feel better. I know a lot more now than I did. But that doesn’t mean I won’t try again in the future. As mad as I am at her, and as mad as I know you are at your dad, it doesn’t mean they can’t change. That we can’t give them the time and grace to be better people.”
“I just wish I could make him feel something,” Cat said. “I wish I could make him feel bad for leaving. I don’t even think he feels bad.”
“Trust me. He feels bad. I think he’s just terrible at showing it.”
Cat glared out the window as the ranch came into view, blurred by the steady rain. It was gray and cold, Thanksgiving only a week away.
Porter put the truck into park as Clifford came running from underneath the porch. His black and white fur was immediately soaked, making him look more like a wet mop than a border collie. He waited outside the passenger-side door for Cat to step out, quivering on his hind quarters.
“That dog worships the ground you walk on,” Porter said. “I think he likes you better than me at this point.”
That got a small smile from Cat, as he opened the door. Clifford immediately began wiggling at his feet.
He turned to Porter, the rain tapping on his shoulders. “Can I go see Abby and Wookiee before Justine comes to pick me up?”
At the mention of Justine’s name, Porter’s chest tightened. He’d been trying hard not to admit that he missed her so much. Very damn hard. But it was becoming more and more clear that no matter how hard he tried, he was still going to feel the loss her of, the loss of the possibility of her, acutely.
“Sure,” he said. “You can give them some grain. They haven’t had any today.”
Cat nodded.
“And Champ?”
“Yeah?”
“Be careful. This mud is making things dangerous. I almost broke my neck in one of the turnouts yesterday.”
“Okay.”
Cat pushed the door closed, and Porter watched him walk through the rain with the little dog at his side. They looked like a picture, a painting of the American West. Again, Porter’s chest tightened, but this time it didn’t have anything to do with Justine, and had everything to do with this kid who’d come into his life and turned it upside down. He didn’t really know how he was going to say goodbye to Cat. But more than that, he didn’t understand why he should have to. He belonged in Marietta. And so did Justine, whether she knew it or not.
Porter sat there for a minute with the rain beating on the truck’s roof. It was coming harder now, relentlessly, and he knew that in a few weeks, as the temperature continued to drop, Diamond in the Rough would be blanketed in snow. And this time, it would probably stick around until spring. And where would they all be by then? He and Cat and Justine? Divided by imaginary walls that didn’t make much sense? Or would someone come to their senses and say what needed to be said? Even if the answers weren’t necessarily clear. It would take some faith, Porter realized with a heavy feeling in his stomach. It would take faith, and it would take courage.
He looked over at the barn and felt the muscles in his jaw tighten. He could see Alloy in his turnout, standing in the rain like a shadow. Big and bulky and still.
And then the bull lifted his head. Looking toward something that was hidden from Porter’s view.
Slowly, the animal lumbered out of sight. Normally it took an act of God, or at least an apple or two, to get him to move. Cat was probably tempting him with something, calling him over for a pat. He loved that damn bull, drawn to him because of the rodeo, or his dad, or who knew what.
Porter suddenly stiffened. He thought of the look in Cat’s eyes a few minutes before, the set of his mouth. Hurt, angry. So incredibly angry…
Uneasy, he reached for the door and opened it into the rain.
Just as a scream pierced the air.
His heart dropped into his stomach, but he didn’t give himself time to think. He ran toward the turnout, mud splashing underneath his boots. From the other side of the barn, Clifford was barking frantically. And then there was moaning. Faint, but the sound sent a chill all the way to Porter’s scalp.
He tore around Alloy’s turnout fence, sliding on the wet grass. Righting himself, he looked up to see Clifford standing over Cat in the turnout. The boy was lying in the fetal position, holding his arm to his stomach. Alloy stood a few feet away, quivering and pawing at the mud.
Porter slowed, watching the bull warily from the corner of his eye. Feeling sick as the realization of what just happened, of what could’ve happened, sunk in. “It’s alright, big guy. Just calm down…”
Alloy snorted and shook his blocky head. Water and bull slobber went flying. But he stayed put. Thank God.
“Ooohhh.”
This from Cat, whose face was twisted in pain.
Heart pounding, Porter knelt down and brushed his mop of red hair away from a goose egg on his forehead. Then began looking for any other injuries.
“My arm,” Cat said, his voice hoarse.
“I know, Champ,” Porter said. “Just hold still.” He scooped the boy up in his arms, careful not to slip in the mud. Clifford ran around them in circles, beside himself.
“It’s okay. We’re going to get you to the hospital now. It’s gonna be alright.”
Cat’s head tipped against Porter’s chest. He barely weighed anything at all. “I just wanted to feel…” His small voice trailed off.
Before he passed clean out.
*
Justine sat at her kitchen table with a pile of monthly bills, unable to concentrate on any of them. The rain tapped against the window over the sink in a steady cadence that was lulling her into a midafternoon stupor. She’d rather be curled up on the couch with a cup of tea and a book, than paying bills.
She sighed. It needed to be done. And besides, she knew if she let herself sit down on the couch, what she’d really be doing would be giving in to obsessing about the livestock auction. Cat had texted when they’d gotten there, but she hadn’t heard from him since. She’d resisted the urge to text Porter, not wanting to seem needy, which she absolutely was. Even though she didn’t have a claim to either one of them, these were her guys. And it felt strange to be apart from them right now. On this day that would dredge up so many feelings for Cat. And Porter, too.
When it came right down to it, she couldn’t concentrate on her electric bill, or how many gallons of water she’d used this month. And she really didn’t care. Which wasn’t like her at all.
Putting her pen down, she took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. Pretty soon this little house would belong to someone else. She hadn’t been here that long, but she’d managed to fall in love with it just the same.
She looked around, feeling her heart thump against her rib cage. With her landlord’s blessing, she and Jemma had painted the living room and bedrooms on the weekend she’d moved in. Her dad had come over to put new fixtures in the bathroom, cute little faucet handles that reminded her of antiques, and that fit the character of the space perfectly.
Just like she felt that Porter and Cat were hers somehow, she felt like this house was hers. Even though her name wasn’t on the title, she felt a connection to it. Especially right then, with the rain tapping against the single-paned windows, and the wind chimes
tinkling on the porch.
Putting her glasses back on, she picked up her gas bill and tried pushing the acute feeling of loss away to the farthest corners of her mind. But it lingered there anyway, pulling at her heart, making her swallow the sudden lump in her throat. Just because she felt like something was hers, didn’t make it hers. Didn’t make them hers. Not unless she wanted to take a chance for once in her life.
From the kitchen counter, her phone rang. Standing up, she padded over in her slippers and picked it up. Porter…
She smiled. “Hello?”
“Justine?”
The reception was crackly and hollow. It sounded like he was driving.
“Porter, hey. How’s it going?”
“Cat…we’re…into town…”
He was cutting out.
Frowning now, she switched the phone to her other ear. “What? I didn’t get that.”
“…storm…cell…”
“What?”
“There was…accident…but hospital…”
Her heart stopped. Did he say hospital?
“Can you meet…there?”
“Marietta General?”
And then he was gone. The call dropped. She stood there for a second with her blood rushing in her ears.
Then grabbed her coat and purse and ran out the door.
Chapter Nineteen
Justine walked down the hallway at Marietta General, conscious of the shining waxed floor underneath her feet, of the disinfectant smell that permeated the air. Of the sound of doctors being paged overhead, and the orderlies talking in low tones at the nurse’s station to her left. But all she could think about was Cat. Cat, Cat, Cat…
His name kept repeating inside her head. She felt like if she concentrated on it enough, she wouldn’t be able to picture what had happened at the ranch. How desperate he must’ve been. A clear cry for help that had knocked the breath out of all of them.
All this time, she thought he’d been ready to try and connect with his dad again. But in reality, seeing Calvin today had been more than he could handle. It had triggered something that he hadn’t been equipped to deal with. She hadn’t seen it. Neither had Porter.
The Montana Cowboy's Heart Page 14