The Cowboy's Convenient Wife

by Joanna Bell

  Jackson chuckled at that. For a second I thought the laugh was genuine. And then he looked up again and I saw that his blue eyes, so exactly the same as my own, were as cold as a January morning.

  "I wouldn't make jokes about that if I were you," he commented, slamming the tailgate shut and walking around to the driver's side door. "Why are you even here?"

  He was leaving. I jogged around to where he was standing. "I'm here because I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to apologize."

  "You already did that," came the instant reply.

  "I know," I continued. "I know I did. I just – I wasn't sure if you heard me."

  "I did."

  "OK. OK, good. I just –"

  Suddenly, Jackson whirled around to face me, his eyes flashing angrily. "You just what? You just thought that would be it? You thought you just had to say the word 'sorry' and I would invite you back into my life? Into my home? You know I missed the first 5 years of my son's life because of you? You know that, right? The first 5 years of his life! I can't ever get that time back! So believe me when I say that there is no reason for you to be here. You're sorry? Well whoopie-fuckin' do. Cillian's sorry. Good for you. Congratulations on maybe being a slightly less shitty person than I thought you were. Now get the fuck out of here and leave me – and my family – in peace."

  Getting told off by Jackson was different than getting told off by my dad. When Jack Devlin told you off you knew it was just an exercise. You knew on some level, even if his words cut you deep, that it wasn't really about you. You knew it was about him. It wasn't like that with Jackson. All of our previous relationship, our previous fights and drunken conversations and shouting matches in the kitchen had been between boys and he was a man that day. A man with a wife, a son, a good-sized piece of land and a near-death experience under his belt. He was not who he used to be.

  Neither was I. My brother didn't know it, standing there in a parking lot in the only town we ever called home – but I was different too.

  "OK," I said, taking a conciliatory step backwards and holding my hands up. "OK. If that's how you feel –"

  "If that's how I feel?" Jackson exclaimed, shaking his head in disbelief. "If that's how I feel? Jesus Christ. Why don't you tell me how you would feel, then? How would you feel if you found out your own family tried to ruin the only good thing that ever happened to you? How would you feel if your own brother –" He broke off, choking on emotion.

  I really wanted to hug my brother. I wanted to put my arms around him and somehow magically transfer how sorry I was via telepathy. Maybe he wouldn't forgive me even then, but I desperately wanted – needed – him to know I meant everything I was saying.

  "I would hate you," I replied, aware that any attempt at a hug was likely to get me punched in the face. "I would hate you as much as I can see you hate me. It's like I said – that's OK. I get it. I understand. And after this you don't have to worry, I won't bother you again. I just wanted you to know I'm sorry for what I did. I'm not saying it so you'll forgive me or invite me to your house or tell dad we worked it all out –"

  "Fuck dad."

  I smiled sadly. "Yeah. Fuck Jack Devlin. I just wanted you to know I'm sorry, Jackson. That's all. I am truly sorry. That's all I was trying to do in the hospital, when I brought you mom's bible – just trying to say I was sorry. That's it. I wish I had a time machine. I wish I could go back and change what I did. But I can't, so all I can do is let you know. All I have is words. I know they're not enough – but they're all I've got. And they are true."

  My brother, the man I had spent almost my whole life living in the shadow of, looked at me. I couldn't read what he was thinking. I knew he wanted me to leave, though, and I'd said my piece.

  "Cillian."

  I was walking away when he called my name, headed for Henrietta's where I planned to eat a big slice of lemon meringue pie before stopping by to see how Uncle Dave was settling in at his new place.

  I stopped and turned around.

  "Thanks for bringing mom's bible. It, uh – it helped."

  "It's not a problem," I replied. "That was your thing with mom. I remember the two of you staying up way past bedtime reading it together. Remember how pissed dad used to get?"

  Jackson nodded. "Yeah, I do. Almost like he was jealous of his own kid for spending time with his mother."

  "He's not a happy man," I said, stuffing my hands in my pockets. "He wasn't a happy man back then, and he's not a happy man now. And he tries to make everyone around him unhappy too, just so he doesn't have to be alone."

  "Goddamn," my brother muttered, removing his hat and slapping it against his thigh – a gesture so poignantly familiar it made my heart ache for everything that we'd lost. "Goddamn, Cillian. That might be the smartest thing I ever heard come out of your mouth."

  "Well don't get used to it," I replied, easily falling right back into the joke-cracking younger brother role.

  "So why did you do it?"

  A hush fell between us. I didn't have to ask what he was referring to or what he meant, because I knew. And he knew I knew.

  I glanced up and met his gaze.

  "Because I thought I hated you," I told him. "I thought you deserved it. You didn't deserve it, but at the time I thought you did. I didn't ever hate you, either – I hated myself. And also because back then I believed dad's word was law. He wanted me to help. He said it was for your own good – for the good of the family. And truthfully? I was just fucking desperate."

  "Desperate for what?"

  "For his approval. Can you believe it's only recently that I realized I don't actually need Jack Devlin's approval for anything?"

  "Yeah, actually. It took me awhile, too. Longer than it should have."

  "How did you figure it out?"

  My brother didn't even hesitate before answering: "Hailey."

  "Yeah," I said quietly, thinking of the girl I lost. "Yeah, I hear that."

  "I heard you bought Uncle Dave some land?"

  That question came after a brief silence, in which I suspect both my brother and myself found ourselves lost in thoughts of the past and what could have been – before returning to the present and what was.

  "Yeah," I replied. "He deserves it and I could afford it so why not?"

  "Could you afford it, though?"

  I shrugged. "Sure. I got a trust fund, remember? My compensation for not being you."

  "I know," Jackson said, grinning at my crack about compensation. "But that's a decent-sized chunk of land he's got. Nice house, too."

  "Oh – you been?"

  Jackson was close to Uncle Dave, I knew that. So it made sense that he would have visited the new place. I found myself happy to hear it, actually. Not happy the way I would have been in the past, in a competitive 'look who bought this super expensive thing and look who didn't' kind of way, but just because it made me feel weirdly close to him. Like maybe we couldn't have a relationship but he could still visit the house I bought for our uncle, he could still share a few beers with him out on the patio.

  "A few times now, yeah. That was a real nice thing you did for him there. Real nice. I mean, fuck – maybe he's right? Maybe you have changed?"

  Hailey – my brother's wife – chose that moment to arrive. She didn't arrive alone, either. At her side was a little boy who looked exactly like my brother did – exactly like I did – at that age.

  "Oh no," she said when she saw me, taking the boy's hand and leading him away without even stopping. "OH NO. No. Uh-uh. No."

  "Mommy who is that man?" The kid asked, twisting his head around to look back at me even as his mother pulled him away. "Mommy? Mommy!"

  "Hailey!" Jackson called. "Hold up!"

  Hailey stopped and turned around to face her husband.

  "It's OK," Jackson said. "It's – Hailey, it's OK. I want him to meet his uncle."

  Hailey Devlin was in full mama-bear mode. I swear if she'd had hackles, they would have been raised. But she trusted her husband and I watched as that
trust fought a battle with her intense dislike of me.

  "It's OK," my brother repeated, approaching his wife and kissing her on the cheek before taking his son's hand. "Really. I just want to introduce them."

  Hailey shot me a cold, hard stare. "Fine," she said, to Jackson. "Fine. OK. But I'm not – I don't want anything to do with this."

  "You don't have to," Jackson told her. "That's OK, too. Take the truck back, I'll take the car. Where did you park it?"

  "At the Super Mart. The groceries won't be ready until 2, so you'll need to pick them up as well. And I – Jackson, I don't want him in our house."

  Fuck, man. Like I said, I know I deserved it. But that shit hurt.

  "I understand," Jackson replied. "This is just an introduction, that's all."

  Uncle Dave told me Jackson changed. I believed him. Even without a relationship with my big brother, I could see that his life was different, I could see his priorities were different. But I hadn't actually seen it play out in front of my eyes like that yet. Time was, he was an asshole just like his old man. Just like me. Time was he wouldn't have reacted with such gentleness to a woman telling him how it was going to be.

  "I see you've figured out what side your bread's buttered on," I chuckled after Hailey drove off in the pick-up.

  I meant it light-heartedly but Jackson took it seriously. Some things change – some things stay the same way.

  "She's the best person I know," he replied, eyeballing me. "Better than me, that's for damn sure. So if she says you're not coming to the house – brother, you are not coming to the house."

  I smiled at that.

  "What?" Jackson asked. "You think that's funny?"

  "No," I shook my head. "No, man. I hear you. What you said just reminded me of something. Of someone."

  It reminded me of Astrid. Especially that part about Jackson knowing Hailey was better than him. I'm not gonna say there wasn't a sting to seeing my brother – who was arguably as big of a prick as I was when we were kids – with the wife and the kid and the happy ending I didn't have. But whatever sting there was, was mitigated by pride. He did it. He got away from the Devlin toxicity. He got away from our dad and he built what looked like a real solid life for himself.

  He was going to say something else when the kid tugged at his arm.

  "Daddy! Who is that?"

  My brother looked down at the son that looked just like him. And then he looked at the brother who also looked just like him.

  "That's your uncle Cillian," he said. "Uncle Cillian, this is my son Brody."

  The boy stuck out a hand and I shook it, still blinking in disbelief at the resemblance.

  "Hey Brody," I said. "Nice to meet you."

  "You look like me," he replied. He was a sweet kid, I could tell. Not spoiled, but not meek either.

  "I do," I chuckled. "Those Devlin genes are pretty strong."

  "I'm a ninja."

  I laughed out loud. "A ninja, huh? Really? And how does the ninja business pay these days?"

  "Hailey's got someone coming around to the house to give him lessons twice a week," Jackson said, ruffling his son's hair. "He's pretty into –"

  "Sensei Mike isn't someone," Brody piped up. "Sensei Mike is Sensei Mike. It's a sign of respect to call someone by their name."

  "And who told you that?"

  "Sensei Mike."

  Jackson grinned. "Yeah, I thought you might say that."

  "Are you coming to the party?" Brody asked me, with all the innocence only a child who knows nothing of family estrangement can.

  "No," I replied, unaware of any party and wanting to be straight with him. "I'm not. But I sure hope I see you around town sometime. Unless you're too stealthy to be seen, that is."

  Anyone watching that scene wouldn't have thought it was anything out of the ordinary. They would have seen a normal family, a normal uncle, normal dad, normal nephew/son, interacting with each other like normal people.

  For me, though? For me, raised how I was in a family where closeness was vulnerability and vulnerability was choosing to show your soft underbelly to people who wouldn't think twice about punching you right in it? For me it was like what I imagine it feels like for a drought-stricken farmer to watch a bank of rainclouds approaching from the west. For me it was a goddamned revelation.

  And as it turned out, I was invited to the party. Hailey relented, but only under her son's insistence. The boy took a shine to me, according to Jackson. Apparently he begged for almost 2 weeks straight to be allowed to invite his Uncle Cillian to the big party his parents were throwing.

  So I went. I went to the home my brother and his wife built, and brought a bottle of wine along with me.

  ***

  "You didn't have to bring this," Hailey said stiffly, taking the wine out of my hands as her son wrapped his arms around me and told me I had to come outside to roast marshmallows with him.

  "It's, uh – it's nothing," I replied, just as stiff as she was. "Is, uh – is Jackson around?"

  "Uh-huh. He's outside with everyone else. Just – before you go, can I have a minute?"

  "Moooom!" Brody complained. "I want to show Uncle Cillian how to roast marshmallows!"

  "You can show him in a few minutes," she replied crisply. "Now go and find your daddy and tell him his brother is here."

  I wasn't sure exactly what kind of ass-whooping I was going to get, but I did know I was about to get an ass-whooping – and I was fine with it. Jackson didn't have to forgive me but he did. Maybe some sense of family loyalty played a part in that forgiveness, I don't know. His wife, though? She didn't owe me anything and I knew it as well as she did.

  "OK," she said, wiping her hands on a paint-splotched apron as Brody took off to find his dad. "OK. Uh, yeah. So I won't make this any longer than it has to be but I think it's only fair that I tell you I wasn't in favor of this reconciliation."

  "I understand," I replied.

  Jackson's wife eyed me. "Do you, though?"

  "Yes," I replied plainly. "I do. I'm not the man I used to be, but I know you have no reason to believe it until I show you it's true."

  She ran a hand across her forehead. "Yeah. OK great. That's great, Cillian. But you tried to steal my son's father from him. I just want you to know that I know that – and I don't have any plans to keep it from him when he's old enough to hear it."

  I bowed my head. "I wouldn't ask you to."

  "Alright. Well I guess that's it then. I've got things to do in the kitchen so I, uh –"

  "Yeah," I nodded. "OK, I'll go find Jackson outside. I'm sorry, for what that's worth and I can see it's not worth much. I am sorry for what I did."

  "Fab."

  It was going to take more to crack Hailey. Maybe she wouldn't ever crack. But what I said about showing her I was sorry was true. If she didn't come around she didn't come around – it was nothing less than I deserved.

  "Hold on."

  I was halfway out the door when Hailey called out. I stopped and turned around. "Yeah?"

  "Look," she said. "Look, Cillian. I don't want to be the bad guy here, but –"

  "You're not the bad guy."

  "I know that. Let me finish."

  I shut the hell up and let the woman finish.

  She sighed heavily. "Brody likes you," she continued, looking pained. "He's hardly talked about anyone else since he met you – well, except Sensei Mike. I want Brody to be close to his family. I want Jackson to be close to his family. But the Devlins – you guys aren't like other families. And I don't – I'm sorry if I'm rambling but I don't want any of that toxic bullshit anywhere near my kid, OK? I get forgiveness – I see Jackson is forgiving you. Maybe I'll forgive you too, I don't know. What I'm saying is that I'll think about it but in the meantime I need you to know that if you do anything – and I mean anything – to hurt either one of them, I will cut you out of our lives so fast you won't even know what hit you."

  "I hear you," I said. "I hear you, Hailey. You aren't wrong about my family,
either. Not wrong at all. And if I do anything to hurt your kid or your husband, you won't even have to cut me out because I'll go willingly. I promise you that."

  "OK," she replied, and I could see that she had dropped her guard just a little. "Well, OK then. That's good. That's, uh – that's good. I guess I'll just get back to the kitchen then."

  I took the hint and left, finding my way outside so I could show my cocky young nephew that he didn't actually know a single thing about roasting marshmallows.

  The grounds of my brother's property were full of happy strangers in too-nice clothes. Hailey's crowd, I assumed, from her other life in New York and Berlin and London and all the sophisticated, non-Sweetgrass Ridge places she frequents. There was a woman from Los Angeles named Lacey, a ranch owner who, when I was introduced to her, talked about Jackson almost the way a mother would talk about a grown-up son she was particularly proud of.

  The crowd was distinctly humbler than any you would find at one of Darcy's get-togethers. There were no business owners or politicians for Jackson and Hailey, the guests from town were regular people: feed store employees, a couple of women I recognized from the Super Mart, Uncle Dave and a few of his friends from the trailer park, some people I recognized from high school.

  There were a few kids running around as well – including my nephew.

  "Uncle Cillian!" He yelled when he spotted me, racing over and nearly bowling me over with a full-on, unabashed little-kid hug. "Come see the fire pit!"

  "Sure thing, kid," I replied, following him.

  "Did you talk to my mommy? She looks really pretty today."

  Brody Devlin is a momma's boy if ever there was one, as sweetly devoted to Hailey as my brother is.

  "She does," I replied. "Your mommy is very pretty."

  "And smart!"

  "Yes," I agreed. "And smart."

  "And she's a good artist, too!"

  "That's what I hear, kid."

  My nephew narrowed his eyes and I had another one of those weird flashbacks I would come to accept as normal anytime I spent time with him, as if I'd suddenly been transported back into the past and was looking at a younger version of Jackson.