Cowboy Come Home

by Carly Bloom

  Her mom smiled at her. “When a cowboy is meant to come home, he always does,” she said.

  Claire met her gaze and tried to smile back reassuringly, even though her world was falling apart. “Daddy’s going to be fine. He’ll be back home by Wednesday.”

  “I know that, sweet girl. I was talking about Ford.”

  Claire crossed her arms over her chest. If Ford Jarvis truly had tucked his tail between his legs and slinked off like a dog who’d been caught for the tenth time in the hen house, then he’d better not ever set foot on her ranch again.

  Anger was already creeping in and displacing the worry and sadness. And she welcomed it with open arms.

  * * *

  Ford parked in front of the huge hospital and stared up at its glowing windows.

  God, but he hated hospitals. Fucking hated them. He shivered. The last time he’d been in one was when Worth had punctured a lung after getting bucked off a damn horse.

  He sighed and shook his head. Goddam Worth.

  More like Worthless.

  Ford still couldn’t believe what he’d seen in the parking lot of Thirsty’s. Worth had seemed so in love and smitten with Caroline, and yet as soon as he had a bad go-round, he’d fallen into the bosom of the first buckle bunny who opened her arms. The kid would probably tell himself it wouldn’t happen again, that he’d just had a bad day and needed comfort, but Ford knew from watching his dad and brothers and a shit-ton of other cowboys that it absolutely would happen again.

  A small voice in the very back of his mind said, What has that got to do with you, Fairmont?

  And then a bigger, angrier voice told it to shut up, because it had everything to do with him. He was a Jarvis. He was cut from the same cloth. There was no getting around it.

  And even if a Jarvis ever did manage to hold on to love, there was still the notion that if he stayed in one place long enough, bad luck would find him. It was better for everybody if he just kept moving.

  Ford had been a fool to think he could make Big Verde his home. A selfish, naïve fool. And Claire deserved a prince, not a fool.

  He’d gone to the foreman’s cabin and packed up his stuff. Then he’d driven up to Miss Daisy, hands trembling and stomach churning, only to discover Claire wasn’t there. He’d opened the door and slipped Oscar inside before driving to the hospital in San Antonio.

  It was time to get rid of the cat, too. Let him go to someone who wanted him. Ford would fly completely solo from here on out.

  An ambulance wailed nearby, reminding him that his wasn’t the only life falling apart. It somehow made him feel even worse.

  He sighed and tried to prepare himself for doing the hard work of explaining to decent folks why he couldn’t do what he’d promised. He didn’t often break promises, because he didn’t often make them.

  Should have stuck to that policy and he wouldn’t be in this mess.

  He dreaded facing Miss Lilly and Gerome almost as much as he dreaded facing Claire, who he suspected was also here. No, he knew she was here.

  Tug, tug, tug.

  He took a deep breath and got out of the truck. What would he say? Whatever he managed to vomit out was going to sound dumb as hell. He tried out several angles.

  There’s a curse on my family…

  You see, a long time ago my great-grandfather met this witch…

  So, I don’t actually believe in curses, but there’s this curse…

  He broke out in a light sweat. His pulse started racing. Then it felt like it stopped for a moment. Then it raced again.

  He leaned against his truck and wiped his forehead. He couldn’t go in there with a story like that. He couldn’t believe how dumb it sounded even to him.

  He tried to move away from his truck, to will his feet to start moving in the direction of the hospital. But they wouldn’t budge.

  After a few minutes of trying to stop thinking and start walking, he gave up.

  And then, like the world’s biggest goddam cursed coward, he got in his truck and drove away.

  Chapter Thirty

  The clock in the den ticked loudly. Had it always ticked like that? Claire didn’t remember noticing it before, but now, as she sat in the silence of her parents’ home, chewing on her lip while her mind raced around like a runaway train, it sounded like a dang jackhammer.

  It was getting in the way of her thoughts, preventing her from settling on a single one.

  Dad. Ford. The ranch. Ford. Petal Pushers. Ford. Boots and Ball Gowns. Ford.

  Damn Ford.

  She went into the kitchen and poured herself another cup of coffee, just as her mom and David, the home health nurse, came down the stairs.

  “Well?” she asked. “Does he need to go to the hospital?”

  Her dad had done really well the day of his first chemo appointment. Blew through it with flying colors. But now, several days later, he didn’t seem so hot.

  “He’s doing awesome,” David said.

  That was a stretch. If you looked up the word awesome in the dictionary, you would not see a picture of Gerome Kowalski after chemo. He was ill and vomiting. Pale and weak. And all he’d done for the past four days was stare out the window or close his eyes with his arm over his forehead.

  “You don’t know what he’s normally like,” she said.

  David rested a hand reassuringly on her shoulder. “That’s true. I don’t. But I do know what seventy-five-year-old chemo patients look like. And he’s it. It doesn’t matter if he spent the last ten years rocking in a rocking chair or the last ten years riding a horse—”

  “Riding a horse,” Claire said. “The last nearly seventy-five years of his life. Riding a horse.”

  “If he was active and healthy, then he’ll bounce back sooner. So that’s good. And even though he looks like shit on a cracker…”

  Claire smiled. She liked David.

  “It’s exactly what I expect to see. His vitals are good. He’s not dehydrated, although I’m keeping an eye out for that. The new anti-nausea med should kick in soon, and I’ll be back tomorrow to reassess. Okay?”

  Claire sighed. “Okay.”

  “Anything else?” he asked.

  “It’s just that, well, he seems really sad.”

  “And I expect to see that, too, Claire. You two,” he said, looking from her to her mom, “need to take care of yourselves. Otherwise you can’t take care of Gerome.”

  Easier said than done, and Claire suspected David knew it. But it was what people said in situations such as these. The caregiver needs to take care of herself!

  But in addition to taking care of herself, Claire was also trying to make sure her mom was okay, and there was that little side job of managing a twelve-thousand-acre ranch. She’d given up on buying Petal Pushers, but she was still working on the merchandising line. In her approximately zero spare time.

  Her mom, who had been so cheerful, now looked beaten down. Exhausted. “Claire, I’ll walk David out. You can go up and see your father. He asked for you.”

  “Sure thing. And thanks, David. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

  David gave her a thumbs-up. “Remember to keep it positive.”

  Positive. She could do that. She’d give her dad a glowing and upbeat report on the ranch.

  She pushed the door open and peeked in. Even though David had suggested they rent a hospital bed, her dad refused—I’m not in goddammed hospice yet—and he sat in his recliner by the window.

  “Hey, Daddy. Mom said you wanted to see me?”

  He faced her and smiled. And it was a tad disconcerting because it was a little too bright. Too forced.

  “Have a seat, princess. I want to discuss something with you.”

  His voice was still hoarse, and Claire didn’t think he should be discussing anything, but she sat down and took his hand. “What is it?”

  “I’ve been thinking about the future.”

  Here it came. He was going to talk about selling the ranch.

  “Just the general futu
re? Or something in particular?”

  “Yours and your mother’s.”

  “What about yours?”

  “That’s a little uncertain at the moment.”

  “Welcome to the club, Gerome Kowalski,” she said with a wink. “All of our futures are uncertain.”

  Her dad’s eyes twinkled. “Don’t sass me. And I’m serious. I need to talk about it.”

  He probably did. For his own peace of mind. But Claire wasn’t going to entertain any of his silly notions. She squeezed his hand. “Have at it, cowboy.”

  “I’ve talked to George Streleki.”

  Yep. Here it came. George was a real estate agent.

  “This ranch is worth a whole lot of money. There’s some folks interested in it.”

  “But we’re not selling, so we don’t need to worry about who’s interested or how much this place is worth.” She patted his hand. “I’ve enjoyed our little chat.”

  “Claire, you need to hear me out. Beef prices are—”

  “Down. I know. And I’m looking into ways of countering that.”

  “On the off chance that you can’t actually control the beef market, or run this ranch single-handedly,” he said, pausing to let it sink in, “we need to consider what life would be like if we sold at least some of this place. We could keep the house, of course, and a couple hundred acres. And you and your mom will probably be set up pretty well.”

  “What about you?”

  “Set up or laid out.”

  Claire crossed her arms angrily across her chest. He meant laid out at the funeral home. “Dad—”

  “What about your dream of having a shop selling fancy clothes and whatnot? You could easily buy Maggie’s place, or any place, for that matter. Hell, you wouldn’t even have to stay in Big Verde.”

  Claire stood up. “You listen to me, Gerome Kowalski. This ranch is my home. Not just the house, but the land. All twelve thousand acres of it. And I’m not giving it up for all the money in the world.”

  “Your home shouldn’t be your prison.”

  This was crazy talk. “Why would you say such a thing? You’ve always said that the Rio Verde runs through your veins. What the hell do you think runs through mine?”

  Her father smiled. And his eyes teared up.

  “Sit down, princess.”

  “I don’t want to sit down. I want to jump out this window and get on Cinder and ride as far away as I can, as fast as I can, until this conversation is far behind me.”

  They stared at each other for a few seconds, and then she sat.

  He took her hand again. Squeezed it. “My three uncles died mean and alone. No wives or children. Your mama and I thought we would never be able to have children at all. You’re our miracle. Our angel.”

  He lifted her chin and forced her eyes up to his. “My princess. And you can’t run this ranch by your goddammed self. I never expected you to. That’s why we sent you to college to learn all that business and marketing and clothing stuff you’re so interested in.”

  “She won’t have to run it by herself.”

  They turned to see Beau and Bryce standing in the doorway. Her dad gestured them into the room. “Howdy, sons.”

  They each shook his hand, and Claire could see that they did it firmly. They were not treating her dad as if he might break, and she wanted to kiss them for it.

  “Gerome,” Beau said. “We’re not leaving this ranch. It’s our home.”

  “I know that. And I’m going to take care of you boys. You don’t have to worry—”

  “We’re not worried about a place to live,” Bryce said.

  “We’re cowboys,” Beau said. “We’ll live anywhere we can hang our hats.”

  “But home is where your family is,” Bryce continued. “For me and Beau, it’s where you are. And you’ll have to get a judge to kick us off this property.”

  Her dad snickered a little. Raised an eyebrow. And then turned and silently looked out the window. “The numbers aren’t good. But we’ll hold on to it as long as we can.”

  “Good,” Claire said. “We’ve all had a lovely time socializing, but if you don’t mind, we’ve got some hay to cut.”

  Her dad nodded. “And get those yearlings in the east pasture—”

  “Separated,” Claire said. “Did it this morning.”

  Without any more fanfare or chitchat, she followed Beau and Bryce out the door, where her mom was waiting in the hallway, wearing a big old grin.

  * * *

  Ford pulled up to the desolate cluster of trailers that housed the seasonal hands at the Sun-Barre Ranch. He and Coco were weary as hell. Sheer boredom would do that to you.

  It wasn’t that they didn’t have enough work to do. Because they’d ridden fence lines, branded and castrated calves, hauled in feed and hay, and even sheared some sheep. But things were just…boring.

  There were four other cowboys in the trailers, and predictably, they kept to themselves. Nobody worked out here because they were looking for company.

  He checked to make sure there was hay and oats in the horse stall, because there wasn’t much to graze on. That’s why the West Texas cattle ranches were so damn big. You needed about seventy-five acres to keep a single heifer alive.

  He wondered how the ranch—not this one, but Rancho Cañada Verde—was doing. Bile rose in his throat when he thought about how he’d fled San Antonio, leaving Gerome Kowalski up in his hospital room, sick and without a foreman.

  Tug.

  And Claire, with the weight of the world on her sweet shoulders. He’d been so sure he was doing the right thing, but now…

  At first, he hadn’t realized what this itchy feeling was. He’d just gotten to Sun-Barre. Why would he have itchy feet already? But then it dawned on him that he missed Big Verde. Plain and simple.

  It would get better with time. He just had to wait it out, until Big Verde was just a memory like any other town and any other ranch.

  What were Bubba and JD up to? Probably still pretty busy after the flood. Hopefully, downtown Big Verde was recovering nicely, and all the little shops and cafes would be as good as new. The Boots and Ball Gowns gala was probably coming along—Anna would make certain of it—and Alice would get her library back.

  The Boots and Ball Gowns gala. He’d kept the picture Claire had texted him of that big, fluffy blue ball gown. It was going to look beautiful on her, and he wished he’d be there to see it. And that ridiculous tux she’d wanted him to wear! It wasn’t suitable for a cowboy. She should have known better than to even try.

  He grinned.

  Claire Kowalski was used to getting her way.

  She’d met her match with him, though. Where he was concerned, nobody got what they wanted. Good times.

  He swung back by his truck and grabbed the mail off the front seat. As usual, there wasn’t much. Junk and a bank statement. He’d look at the statement later. For a wandering ranch hand, he’d managed to squirrel a shit-ton of money away. He had no idea what he’d do with it someday. He had nobody to leave it to. Nothing he wanted to buy. He’d probably donate it to a charity like the Mustang Heritage Foundation.

  He went into the trailer, flipping through the rest. Junk mail, junk mail, junk mail…A bright yellow envelope with a baby bottle sticker on it. Return address: Wayne and Trista Larson, 2010 C Street, Big Verde, Texas.

  He hadn’t heard from a soul since he’d left Big Verde. Not Claire. Not his brother. Nobody. Why were Bubba and Trista sending him a letter? And who knew Bubba’s real name was Wayne?

  What: Baby Shower for Maggie and Travis

  And!!!

  JD and Gabriel

  When: 2:00 pm on Saturday, July 3rd

  Where: Trista and Bubba’s

  *Bouncy Castle for the Kids

  *Beer and Barbecue for the Grownups

  *Lots of gifts (hint hint) for the parents-to-be

  Who on earth had thought it was a good idea to invite him to a baby shower? And it wasn’t like he wanted to go. He’d lived
this long without ever having to suffer through a baby shower. Why start now?

  It sure would be nice to see everybody, though. And he had to smile, and then laugh a little, when he remembered the night at Tony’s when they’d all learned JD and Gabe were going to be parents.

  He started to throw the invitation in the trash, but instead, he stuck the silly thing on the refrigerator.

  The familiar sound of tires crunching on caliche drew him to the window. It was probably one of the other hands pulling up. Maybe they’d want to sit on the porch and have a cold beer. He moved the blinds aside and saw a very familiar pickup truck.

  What the hell was Worth doing all the way out here? Probably looking for a job. Either Caroline had found out about his cheating, or he’d decided on his own that it was time to hit the road.

  He watched as his brother took his hat off, ran his hands through his too-long hair, and stuck it back on his head. Then he let go of the blinds and opened the door.

  “Well, look what the cat dragged in,” he said, watching Worth come up the steps.

  “Actually,” Worth said, “it’s the other way around.”

  Ford heard an obnoxious howl that he recognized as Oscar’s weird meow.

  “Claire said to take your fucking cat back,” Worth said, thrusting the animal in Ford’s face. “This thing does not like riding in a truck.”

  Ford took Oscar, and the damn thing immediately began licking him and purring sporadically like an old tractor on its last legs. Well, hell. He hated to admit it, but he was kind of happy to see the nasty thing.

  “Claire said he meowed constantly and kept trying to get out. She said he misses you.”

  Ford rubbed Oscar between his ears.

  “She also said that meant the cat had shit for brains.”

  He wanted to hear every last word that Claire said, even the bad ones directed at him, and he had to swallow down the urge to ask Worth if there was anything more.

  “How is she?”

  “Pissed. Are you going to let me in? It’s hot out here.”

  Ford moved out of the way and let his brother inside. “Want a beer?”

  Worth looked around the sparsely furnished trailer. “Nah. Not staying that long.”