by Jane Porter
“We don’t get cable anymore,” she said quietly from right behind him. “Just the regular free stuff. But he doesn’t understand. We won’t have cable until we move.”
“Don’t you have a DVD he could watch?”
She sighed. “It broke last month.”
“Scooby,” Tommy insisted.
Rachel raised her voice. “Tommy, we can’t watch Scooby-Doo right now, but I’ll see what else is on,” she said cheerfully but firmly. “Maybe we can find a kids’ show on another channel.”
The boy’s mouth worked, his features tightening and grimacing. “Scoob. Mama.”
“We’ll find another show you can watch, Tommy,” Rachel repeated, even more firmly. “I’m sure there is something fun on—”
“Scooob, Mama. Tommmy...good boy.”
“We can’t watch Scooby, Tommy—”
Tommy let out one of his piercing wails and Cade suddenly couldn’t breathe, his chest on fire. “You can get DVD players cheap now, Rachel,” Cade said shortly, angry, so angry, and not even knowing why.
“Not cheap enough,” she answered, raising her voice even louder to be heard over Tommy’s wailing.
Cade’s gut hurt. His emotions were so damn raw. “I’ve seen them for sixty-five bucks—”
“And that sixty-five bucks will pay for ten hours of child care or buy groceries or pay for a half hour of speech therapy,” she snapped, facing him. Color flooded her cheeks, making her gray eyes luminous. “So I have to make choices, and they need to be good choices, and unfortunately buying a cheap DVD player so Tommy can watch Scooby-Doo isn’t one of them!”
Cade’s chest grew tighter and he drew a short, rough breath, temper simmering. “It’s that bad around here?”
“I wouldn’t call it bad. I’d call it tight. But it’s always been tight. And maybe it’s a struggle but it’s a good struggle, because I’m making it...I’m doing it. I’m taking care of my boy and I don’t need David or you or any other man to waltz into my life like you’re some fairy godfather and make things better.”
“I’m not interested in being a fairy godfather. I just want to get you a DVD player. Please.”
“That’s not necessary. But thank you.”
Tommy moved behind Rachel, and began bumping his face repeatedly into her hip. “Scoob. Show.”
“Rachel, it’s sixty-five dollars. And it’d make him happy.”
Her chin lifted even as she put a hand behind her to stop Tommy from pushing against her. “A lot of things would make us happy—a new car and hot-fudge sundaes and a trip to Disneyland, but that doesn’t mean we’re going to get them—” she held up a hand to stop him when he would have interrupted “—and I’m okay with that. Those are luxuries. I—we—don’t need luxuries. What we need is speech therapy and physical therapy and occupational therapy and doctors and teachers, and those all cost money. A lot of money.” She swallowed hard, and her chin jerked even higher. “But I’m doing it...I’m giving him every important thing I can.”
Cade clamped his jaw tight, his narrowed gaze taking in her compressed lips and fierce expression. He’d forgotten how stubborn she was. And strong. And proud. “It’s a housewarming present for your new apartment,” he said.
“Kind of you, but not necessary.”
“It’s not for you, it’s for Tommy.”
“He respectfully declines.”
“You can’t reject gifts I give to him.”
“Oh, yes, I can. I’m his mother.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Why are you?”
“Because I care about you, Rachel.”
Her hands balled into fists. For a moment she said nothing, her eyes sparkling with tears she wouldn’t cry. “Too little, too late,” she choked.
She’d said it quietly, but he’d heard, just as she’d meant for him to hear. And even though Cade knew she was right, it still felt as if she’d shoved a kitchen knife between his ribs.
“Sounds like my cue to leave,” he said.
“That’s probably a good idea.”
* * *
AN HOUR LATER, ARRIVING home at his ranch, Cade headed to the barn and checked on his horses before heading to the house where his yellow lab, Lacey, was curled up in the family room in her makeshift nursery with her litter of pups. The puppies were six weeks now and soon they’d be heading to new homes.
Cade sat on the ground next to Lacey and scratched behind her ears, crooning compliments as he gave her some love. “You’re a good momma, Lacey girl. So patient with all these demanding little guys crawling all over you.”
Lacey put her head on his thigh and thumped her tail.
“Don’t you worry,” he said, rubbing behind the other ear before giving her chin a scratch, “you’ll be sleeping upstairs again soon. You won’t be stuck down here in the family room forever.”
He gave her another rub and scratch before rising, and checked over the six blond puppies, who were pretty damn irresistible, then dimmed the lights and headed upstairs for the night.
In his master bath, Cade took a shower and changed into baggy flannel pajama pants and a soft, stretched-out T-shirt before climbing into bed. But once in bed he couldn’t sleep. He pounded his pillows repeatedly trying to get comfortable, but sleep wouldn’t come. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Rachel’s face, and he could see the creases in her forehead and the worry darken her eyes. Even in the dark of his room he could see how she stood, arms tightly crossed over her chest, her full soft mouth pulled into a thin line, as if holding all of her anxiety and pain in.
She didn’t want his help, but she needed help. And no, not a fairy godfather kind of help—he shuddered in bed, thinking the very idea was horrible—but support. Love. Someone she could lean on. Someone who could be another pair of hands as well as ears and eyes and everything else it took to raise a child. Because children were work and expensive, and Tommy was no different.
Unwittingly, Cade flashed back to when he was a boy and living with his mom, a woman completely different from Rachel, a woman who wasn’t maternal or patient. His mom was a woman who needed a man, not a child, and she hadn’t enjoyed spending time with him, preferring to hang out in honky-tonk bars, taverns and pool halls, always looking out for the next guy to sweep her off her feet and make her problems go away. Or at the very least, take her to bed and give her a place to stay for a week or two.
Child-protection services had removed Cade from Mama’s care when he was seven, placing him in foster care. She got him back six months later, but lost him less than a year after that. Cade was reunited with her one week before his ninth birthday and they had ten great months together before everything started falling apart again, and by the time he was ten, he was back in foster care. Cade spent sixth grade counting the days down until his mom claimed him, and then seventh grade, and was still waiting in eighth when it dawned on him that maybe this time she wasn’t coming back.
He didn’t give up hope, though. He couldn’t. Foster care wasn’t much better than living with an alcoholic mother, and he’d rather have his mother—even if she did stay out all night—than be thrust into a house with a bunch of strangers.
He was still waiting for her at fifteen when he “borrowed” a car and went to find her, finally tracking her down in Willow Park where she was shacked up with some guy in a trailer on a crappy piece of land. She’d been surprised to see him, crying and hugging him, said he was the spitting image of his father but even hand
somer, then offered him a drink—rum and Coke, her favorite. He took it. And then another, and another. But when her boyfriend came home late that afternoon he wasn’t pleased to see Cade and things got heated and Cade got tossed.
Cade left his foster family’s car somewhere they could find it, and then he took off, hitchhiking out of Parker County and going as far as the truckers would take him.
Cade ended up in Wyoming, got a job at the Frank B. Douglas Ranch, outside Cheyenne, working for peanuts and a place to stay, but he liked working with horses, wasn’t intimidated by the cows or bulls. It turned out he had a knack for riding and roping and, after being encouraged by Mr. Douglas himself, entered his first junior rodeo at seventeen in Casper. Cade didn’t win anything but did well enough that he entered three more that summer. By the end of the summer he was placing and taking home prize money. By eighteen he was winning consistently. At nineteen he joined the PRCA and started competing in open events, with Douglas Ranch as his first sponsor.
Cade never knew until later that Frank Douglas Sr. had once competed on the circuit himself and had known Cade’s father—not well, but well enough to take an interest in Cade King. And Cade had never forgotten that it wasn’t blood that got him through, it was the time and patience of a stranger. Cade had often wondered what he would have become if Frank hadn’t allowed Cade, just a teenage runaway, to crash for a night or two while he figured out what he was going to do.
Giving up on sleep, Cade left his bed and headed back downstairs to his office and his desktop computer. Flipping on the light, he sat down in front of the screen and clicked on the internet, and then typed in autism, hit Enter and began to read.
* * *
RACHEL WOKE UP SUNDAY morning tense, jittery and edgy, and her mood just worsened throughout the day. For some reason she kept expecting Cade to call or drop by. She didn’t know why—she certainly didn’t want him to come by—but he’d stirred something up inside of her, and she was mad this morning, really mad, and she wanted him to know it. She wanted him to feel her wrath and her disappointment, as well as her disgust.
Who did he think he was, waltzing back into her life five-plus years later, acting as if he had a right to be in her life?
He had no rights when it came to her or Sally or the past. He’d known from the moment he met her how she felt about drinking, having lost her parents at thirteen when a drunk driver slammed into their car, killing them instantly.
Rachel had never been okay with alcohol, much less drinking and driving. Or drinking and riding. Or drinking and fighting. And Cade knew it. But that didn’t stop him from eventually wanting liquor, needing liquor, more than he wanted her, and so when she put her foot down, telling him to get help or risk losing her, he chose to walk away.
No, correction—run away. Because that’s exactly what he’d done. Because it sure was easier to leave her than try to change.
For over five years she’d heard nothing from him. Not a word. But now he was back, and because he’d gone to some AA meetings and apologized for being a jerk, he thought he could give her advice and tell her what to do...
Ha! And she was going to tell him that, too.
But Cade didn’t call on Sunday. He didn’t call Monday, either. She did hear from the mechanic, though, and the tow-truck driver was right. Her blown head gasket had caused her Jeep to overheat, which had put an ugly crack in the engine, and she needed a new engine.
Before Rachel could truly panic, Phil, the mechanic, said he had an engine that might work for her. It wasn’t a new engine, but it was in a lot better shape than the one he’d just pulled out of her Jeep, and she could have it if she wanted it, provided she’d pay for the labor to get it installed.
Rachel felt a massive wave of relief, followed by an uncomfortable prick of suspicion. “Did Cade tell you to do this?”
“What’s that, ma’am?”
“Did Cade King tell you to do this?”
“Fix your car, ma’am?”
Rachel sighed, knowing she was sounding a bit crazy, and maybe that’s because she was feeling crazy. “Never mind. It’s great, and I appreciate you helping me out like this. When do you think it’ll be done?”
“I’m shooting for tomorrow afternoon, but it might be Wednesday morning. I’ll call you as soon as it’s ready.”
“Thank you.”
Hanging up, she stared at the phone for a long moment before summoning her courage and dialing Cade’s number. But he didn’t answer and her call went to voice mail, so Rachel left him a brief message. “No need to call me back. Just wanted you to know that my car will be ready tomorrow afternoon or Wednesday morning. If you can still give me a ride to the garage, that would be great. Thanks.” And then she hung up, put her phone down on the counter and forced herself to resume packing as if nothing had happened.
As if calling Cade King was routine and thinking of him didn’t still hurt. And remembering the way he left her didn’t make her angry and furious, and crazy as hell.
But she didn’t like feeling this way. She didn’t like the intense emotions churning inside her, aware that being angry was just as bad as being helpless, and neither accomplished anything. Angry didn’t change the fact she’d gotten pregnant, and angry didn’t save Grandma. No, angry just made her feel small and mean and that was no way to live. Since Grandma’s death, Rachel had dedicated herself to making her life—and Tommy’s life—as warm and wonderful as possible. Because life, even if hard, even if painful, could still shimmer and shine and be full of beauty, love and good things.
At one on Tuesday, Phil called from his Weatherford garage to say her Jeep would be ready by two. Rachel phoned Cade immediately, and he answered immediately, too, as if expecting her call. Cade told her he was wrapping up a meeting with Jeffrey Farms and could pick her up within the hour, if that worked for her. She told him it would, and then she got Tommy dressed—never easy when he didn’t want to put on real clothes, far preferring to be naked, which didn’t go over big when they were in public places—and then she changed into a soft pair of Wrangler jeans and a cream peasant-style blouse with blue embroidery. She fluffed her dark hair and swirled some mascara onto her lashes, before slicking pink gloss onto her lips.
Rachel didn’t know why she was making an effort to look nice. Did she hope he’d want her back? That he’d realize he’d made a massive mistake and that she was everything—and more—than she’d been before?
Just then Tommy screamed from his room. She knew the scream. It wasn’t a panic scream, but one of frustration. He’d probably gotten impatient with something and then thrown it, or hit it, and broken it. It’s how they’d lost the DVD player. It’s how so many of his toys ended up in the garbage.
She was still calming Tommy down, consoling him over shattering his Little Critter car, when the doorbell rang. She gulped a panicked breath. Cade had arrived.
Chapter Six
The car wasn’t ready.
Reaching Weatherford, they arrived at the garage, only to discover that although the new engine was in, the car still wasn’t running correctly. Apparently there was an issue with the alternator.
Rachel stood outside the garage, looking at her gray Jeep where it was sitting in the pit with its hood propped open, listening to Phil’s explanation. He earnestly explained in great detail what alternators did, and why she needed a new one, and how horrible he felt about hitting her with this now on top of the new engine. The good news was that he should have it done by five
if she could give him another couple hours.
She nodded when it seemed appropriate, letting his words stream over her while she tried not to think of what her bank account would look like by the time she finally got her car back. Thank goodness she’d already put her first month’s rent down on the apartment—along with the last—or she wouldn’t have a place to go ten days from now.
“So that gives us two, two and a half hours,” Cade said, looking at Rachel and then at Tommy, who was hanging on to Rachel and her coat as if they were a piece of playground equipment. “Do you have errands you need to run?”
Rachel wouldn’t let herself think of all the things she wanted to buy...groceries, that DVD player, a new pair of shoes for Tommy...and shook her head. “Nope. We’re in good shape.”
“Is there anything you want to do?”
She thought of her small house and the things still to be packed, but shook her head again. “No.”
“I have an idea, then,” Cade said. “I didn’t know if Tommy liked dogs, or was scared of them...?”
“He likes them,” she said drily, knowing that once he found a dog, he was like flypaper. It was almost impossible to peel him off. “A lot.”
“Lacey, my lab, had puppies six weeks ago, and I thought I’d take you to the ranch so Tommy could see them. They’re cute as heck and the ranch isn’t far. Twenty minutes away.”
Rachel knew there were reasons they shouldn’t go, but Tommy would love to see the puppies. The pet store in Mineral Wells was his favorite place to go and he couldn’t handle the puppies there but he spent hours crouched in front of their cages looking at them. “He’d love it. He’s never held a puppy before but he loves them. Half of his picture books are about dogs.”
They’d been walking to the truck as they talked, and she watched now as Cade lifted Tommy into the back and secured him into his booster seat. Cade did it smoothly, easily, as if he’d been lifting children into car seats his entire life. And she told herself not to be impressed—if he could bridle a horse and rope a calf and wrestle a steer, he could certainly buckle a four-year-old into a booster seat—but Tommy didn’t like to be touched. He didn’t want help. But for whatever reason, he allowed Cade to touch him. He wanted Cade to help him. Interesting.
