A Gift to Cherish (Road to Refuge Book 2)

by Victoria Bylin

  Miss Joan walked up to the fence where a podium and portable loudspeaker were set up. A classic beige Stetson tilted back on her head, and she sported boots and a sequined denim vest like a rodeo queen.

  He decided to have a little fun with her. “Hey, Miss Joan.” When she turned, he hooked a thumb toward the bull. “Where did that cow come from?”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake!” She huffed just like he’d expected. “That’s a bull—not a cow. You are a city boy, aren’t you?”

  “I sure am.” He grinned at his own joke, but this morning’s FaceTime call with Dr. Susan had planted a new seed of concern in his mind. When he told her about his deepening feelings for Daisy, the therapist brought up the danger element of his work and asked how Daisy felt about it.

  Rafe couldn’t answer. He’d made his peace with the risk when he took the oath, but could Daisy make that same commitment? She understood danger far more intimately than most people.

  If he truly loved her—and he did—he needed to put her needs before his own. Being a deputy in Refuge might not be bad . . . not bad at all. Except the salary was lower, and there were fewer opportunities for advancement—which meant less money for a mortgage, decent cars, eventually diapers, family vacations, and maybe college. Love mattered more than money, but he’d grown up without quite enough and wanted to be a good provider. Saying good-bye to the city he loved wouldn’t be easy. He’d miss knowing the names of all the streets, seeing long-time friends, and eating Graeter’s Ice Cream or a Coney smothered in chili. It felt right to research the possibility of staying in Refuge, but Rafe was a city boy at heart—a city boy in love with an ex-city girl.

  “Hey there.”

  Daisy’s voice drifted over his shoulder. He turned, expecting to see her in work attire. Instead his gaze landed on the yellow butterflies painted on her cheeks and the sparkly antennae springing up from a rhinestone headband. Her nose was painted bug-black. Hannah, wearing jeans and a pink t-shirt, sat on Daisy’s hip. A silver crown sat crookedly on her head, and pink hearts seemed to dance on the child’s cheeks. Since Barbie night, he and Hannah had become friends thanks to the times he’d visited Daisy’s apartment.

  The child grinned at him as if she expected him to be surprised. Rafe put on a show for her. “Wow! I see a butterfly and a real princess.”

  Hannah giggled. “I have a ti-a-ra.”

  “I bet you just learned that word.”

  “I did!”

  He gave her a high-five and they cheered with Daisy looking on. If Hannah hadn’t already melted his tough-guy heart, the admiration on Daisy’s face would have done it like a blow torch.

  They were exchanging a long look when Hannah spotted Chelsea and waved. “Mommy! Look at me!”

  “You look beautiful, baby!” Chelsea blew a kiss from a seat on the bleachers, then shoulder-bumped the guy sitting next to her. Rafe recognized Brett Lawson, a man Jesse had recently hired. Rafe didn’t know Brett well, but Jesse performed thorough background checks. Even so, Chelsea’s ease with a man she barely knew concerned him.

  Daisy whispered over Hannah’s head. “As you can see, it’s over with Chad.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yes. Long story. She dropped him.”

  “Sorry to hear it.” He hesitated, then gave Daisy a sheepish look. “Well, not really. Maybe she’ll give dating a rest.” And not drag you into her drama.

  “No such luck.” Daisy set Hannah down, urged her to go to her mommy, then focused back on Rafe. “She’s back on FriendsFirst and talking about another app. I’m worried about her.”

  “So am I—”

  Classic circus music broke out over the portable sound system, signaling the start of the event. Rafe guided Daisy to the bleachers. Jesse followed them, but Miss Joan stayed by the podium. He and Daisy sat next to MJ near the top.

  Howie, two rows below, looked over his shoulder and gave Rafe his customary scowl. “Fine, SuperCop. Sit with the pretty ladies instead of us thugs.”

  “You bet,” Rafe replied.

  When the music faded, a clown in baggy orange checkered pants escorted Miss Joan to the podium. She picked up the microphone like a pro, waited for the group to quiet down, and welcomed them all.

  “This is a little bit like our old TV days,” she remarked. “Thunder Valley brought a lot of pleasure to families across America, and the rodeo clown demonstration we’re about to see brings personal pleasure to me today. Since 1972, Cottonwood Acres has rescued countless retired rodeo horses. The men and women who loved and cared for those horses are dear to my heart. So is the sport that tests strength, perseverance, and courage.

  “I’m honored to introduce you to Patrick Coogan, a veteran rodeo clown and CEO of Coogan Rodeo Enterprises, the parent company to Coogan’s Clowns.”

  Rafe expected a clown in costume to make a big entrance. Instead a fifty-something man in a tailored suit and wingtip shoes took the microphone with the ease of a CEO.

  “Thank you, Miss Joan, for the generous welcome.” His baritone voice rang with authority. “And thank you all for coming today. Like Miss Joan said, I’m a retired rodeo clown. I started as a bull rider, and soon gained a deep respect for the role of a rodeo clown. You may not realize it—I see a few city boys here—but clowns put their lives on the line every day. The clown protects the cowboy—”

  As a cop, Rafe could relate.

  “And he often does it without the respect he deserves. The rodeo clown switches from life-and-death danger to lighthearted entertainment in just minutes, sometimes seconds.”

  Rafe nodded without thinking. What Coogan described sounded a lot like a domestic violence call. Subdue the perpetrator; comfort the victims. He’d once told knock-knock jokes to a frightened five-year-old boy while his mother was taken into custody.

  The CEO swept the crowd with his eyes. “You can joke about clowns all you want, but I’m proud of the rodeo clown heritage, and even more proud of our school and the charitable work we do. We teach riding, roping, and general rodeo skills to adolescents, both male and female, who need to make a change in their lives.”

  Daisy leaned close and whispered, “Now I know why Miss Joan liked this proposal so much.”

  Patrick glanced over to the pen holding the bull. A clown signaled with a thumbs-up, and Patrick resumed his talk. “Today’s show is just a small taste of what it’s like in the ring. But before we let Cotton Ball do his thing, let’s have some fun.”

  Music blasted from the loudspeaker, Coogan left the podium, and a female clown launched into a row of handsprings while a trumpet played a fanfare. The clowns went to town with gymnastics, a unicycle routine, and a comedy skit with two of them pretending to be a bull and the others subduing it. Cotton Ball made a thunderous entrance with a rider on his back. The rider went flying after eight seconds, the clowns did their job, and the show wrapped up with the bleacher crowd cheering.

  Daisy gave Rafe’s hand a squeeze where no one would see. “That was wonderful. I have to get back to work, but I’ll see you tonight, right?”

  “You bet.” Between now and then, he planned to do a little research about Wyoming law enforcement. City boy or not, he really could do his job anywhere.

  Chapter 27

  While the clowns took their bows, Daisy said good-bye to MJ and Cody, blew Hannah a kiss, and hurried over to Miss Joan and Patrick Coogan. She needed to focus on doing her job, but the picture of Rafe high-fiving Hannah over the word tiara lingered in the back of her mind. He’d be a good father—the kind of dad who knew when to enforce rules and when to get on the floor and be silly.

  Sweet shivers rippled down her spine. Yesterday she’d googled Cincinnati just to see what it looked like. The skyline at dusk really was pretty, but what most caught her eye was an attraction in nearby Kentucky called The Ark Encounter. Imagine—a full-size replica of Noah’s Ark! If Noah could build an ark and face a flood, surely Daisy could manage a visit to Rafe’s hometown.

  Pleased with her courage
, she approached Miss Joan and Patrick with a grin. “That was great!”

  When he nodded modestly, Daisy saw a man accustomed to praise but unimpressed by it.

  Miss Joan’s smile couldn’t have been brighter. “Patrick has a plane to catch. Is there anything we need before he leaves?”

  Daisy verbalized her close-out list for today’s show, ticking off items as she spoke. “I think we’re all set—except me saying thanks for a fun day. My nephew and his friends loved it.”

  “My pleasure,” he said. “And thank you too, Daisy. You made this easy. If we’re fortunate enough to be chosen for the giveaway, you definitely have a job with Coogan’s Clowns.”

  “I do?” Shock rippled through her. “What would it involve?”

  “Pretty much what you do now. Miss Joan told me you coordinated all the charity visits, including the travel arrangements. We’ll need someone to schedule classes and events for us, handle meet-and-greets, and generally keep our programs running well.”

  Daisy could only gape at him. A job . . . in Refuge . . . doing what she loved. Her stomach plummeted to her toes as she shot up a confused prayer. Oh, Lord! What are you doing?

  Patrick smiled in a way that reminded her of Miss Joan, then excused himself to speak to his manager.

  Miss Joan turned to Daisy. “We need to talk—now.” Shoulders squared, she marched down the concrete path to the house.

  Taking long strides, Daisy barely saw the roses waiting to bloom, spiky juniper shrubs, and patches of pampas grass that lined the walk. The smell of fertilizer irritated her nose, a chemical odor that reminded her of the smells in Los Angeles, and she wondered if Cincinnati smelled that bad.

  The women didn’t speak until they reached Miss Joan’s office and Miss Joan shut the door. Excitement glinted in her eyes as she tossed her Stetson down on the coffee table and turned to meet Daisy’s gaze.

  “What did you think?” Miss Joan asked.

  “I loved today.” Daisy sat down on the couch, the same one where she’d interviewed six weeks ago. “I see why you picked them for the top five. Do you think this is the one?”

  “It could be.” Still tense, Miss Joan walked over to the window and stared through the panes. “Patrick impressed me, and they plan to utilize the ranch to its fullest potential.”

  “Is there anything you didn’t like?”

  “It’s a perfect fit. I just wish . . .” Her voice faded into a silent shake of her head.

  “What is it?”

  Miss Joan kept her back turned, but Daisy saw her shoulders slump as she crossed her arms over her midsection. Something was wrong. This woman was like a mother to Daisy. She’d given her comfort and confidence in a way no one else could. Daisy saw a chance to return that kindness and grabbed it. “Would you like to talk about it? We could make toast.”

  Miss Joan turned with a small smile neatly in place. “Thank you, dear. Just the offer is enough to lift the burden I’m carrying. Today stirred up old memories, particularly about the start-up of the horse rescue.”

  Daisy knew quite a bit about the early days of the Trey Cochran Rescue Ranch thanks to working on the ranch history book. “The photographs from those days are some of my favorites.”

  “Mine too. Trey and I were a good team—until we weren’t.”

  Curiosity piqued, Daisy decided to ask a question—less for herself than for Miss Joan, who seemed to want to talk. “That photograph of you and Trey on the wall . . . I can see how much you loved him.”

  “Oh, I did.” Joan turned to the picture, tipped her head, then wiped off a speck of dust. “If circumstances had been different, I wouldn’t be giving away my home. I’d have grandchildren like my father wanted.”

  “Are you in touch with Trey at all?”

  “No.”

  That was all she said. The word struck Daisy as lonely and unfinished, especially when Miss Joan turned her back a second time. Daisy started to go to Miss Joan to hug her, but her gaze snagged on the computer monitor. Even old people were on Facebook—a lot of them. Plus Trey was famous enough to have a wiki.

  “Have you ever googled him?” she asked.

  Miss Joan turned around, looked from Daisy to the computer, but didn’t move. “I did once a few years ago, but it was . . . uncomfortable. I haven’t done it in a while.”

  “I’m not talking about cyberstalking or anything. But if you’re curious, we can do a search right now.”

  Miss Joan stared at the blank monitor for five full seconds, then nodded. “Let’s do it. At my age, a person wonders who’s still alive and who kicked the bucket.”

  Daisy held in a cringe. Jokes about death bothered her, but maybe that was what old people needed to do. She jiggled the mouse and typed Trey Cochran rodeo star into the search engine. Links popped onto the screen, starting with a website to The TKC Cattle Company in central Texas.

  Miss Joan stood behind Daisy’s chair. When she spoke, the words came out clipped. “Click the first one, please.”

  The link led to a beautiful photograph of desolate Texas with an announcement on a beige background.

  Trey Albert Cochran

  1938–2018

  Dear Family and Friends,

  We thank you from the bottom of our hearts for your love, prayers, and condolences at the passing of our beloved husband, father, grandfather, and great-grandfather.

  Miss Joan’s hand knotted on Daisy’s shoulder. “Oh my word. He’s gone.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Reaching back, Daisy covered Miss Joan’s fingers with her own and squeezed.

  They read the rest of the web obituary in silence. Six months ago, Trey Cochran had suffered a heart attack while riding alone through a canyon he particularly loved. The rest of the article listed his many accomplishments in rodeo, business, and charity work. He was survived by his wife, Kathy, their three children and spouses, seven grandchildren, and two great-grandchildren.

  Daisy searched for words, but there was nothing she could say to ease the shock.

  Miss Joan finally stepped back. “Well. Now I know. Even after all these years . . .” She pulled a tissue from the box on her desk. “After all these years, I want to cry as if it were just yesterday that we—that he—” Miss Joan turned away, dabbed her eyes, and went to the love seat. “Trey left quite a legacy, didn’t he?”

  “Yes. But so will you.” Daisy swiveled the chair, her hands in her lap. “I know Trey was important to you, but you’re important to people, too. Especially me.”

  “Thank you, dear.”

  “Giving away Cottonwood Acres is an amazing thing to do. I admit I’m still a little sad about Maggie’s House, but after today, I can see that you and Lyn were right. The rodeo school is a much better fit.”

  “Perhaps.” Her voice held no life. “I’m too shaken to decide this minute. But there’s something I very much need to say to you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes.” Miss Joan stared hard through her misty eyes. “Love requires sacrifice. But it can’t survive if you compromise your values.”

  Daisy almost said huh? but held it in. Miss Joan was probably talking to herself more than to Daisy.

  “Values . . .” Miss Joan continued. “I’m very sorry for what happened with Trey. I loved him. Those feelings were genuine, but what we did was wrong—dreadfully so. But that mistake opened my eyes to my own weaknesses—and how much I need God’s grace.”

  “We all do,” Daisy murmured. “What happened? No. Wait—” Daisy’s cheeks flamed. “This is so personal. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “Ask away.” Miss Joan’s voice steadied. “If anyone can learn from my mistake, I’m glad to share it. It eases my guilt. You see, Trey was a married man.”

  Daisy winced. “Oh no.”

  “Oh no is right.” Miss Joan held her head high. “He was in the middle of a divorce. And I say middle with some bitterness. He told me the marriage was over except for the legalities. That proved to be untrue—or inaccurate, depending on one’s per
spective.”

  “You’re so principled. I can’t imagine you as . . .” Daisy didn’t want to say it.

  Miss Joan arched a brow. “The evil other woman?”

  “Not evil. Just . . . I don’t know.”

  “Imperfect?”

  “I guess.”

  “Don’t be surprised, dear. Human beings are capable of both great love and great mistakes. With Trey, I experienced both. I’ll tell you the whole story another time. Suffice it to say that ending the relationship was the most painful moment of my life—and the best decision I’ve ever made, because it led me to Christ.” Her expression softened as she held Daisy’s gaze. “Hiring you is the second best decision of my life.”

  Daisy smiled, mostly because she knew Miss Joan wanted to change the mood. “You know what an impact you’ve had on me. I’m so grateful.”

  “And so am I.” Miss Joan leaned back against the couch. A long moment passed before she tossed the tissue in the trash can by the desk. “Enough of my personal soap opera. Let’s talk about Coogan’s Clowns. I overheard Patrick offer you a job.”

  “Do you think he meant it?”

  “I’m sure he did.”

  “Wow.” Daisy could hardly believe it. “I’m grateful, of course. But I’ve been thinking about visiting Cincinnati. Rafe invited me to go anytime, maybe September. I just don’t know.”

  “Why wouldn’t you visit?”

  “Because it could make things even harder—for me and for Rafe. When I started dating him, I thought it would be a summer romance—not an I-can’t-live-without-you romance. It might be easier on both of us to make a clean break when he leaves.”

  “Do you really want to end it?”

  Daisy tried to shrug as if she didn’t know the answer, but her shoulders refused to budge. “I love him. I do. But Refuge is my home. I’ve never really had one before now.”

  Miss Joan’s eyes misted with sympathy. “You’re a baby bird safe in the nest, aren’t you?”