The Cowboy's Lesson in Love

by Marie Ferrarella

  “All right, all right. If I invite the man personally, will you stop trying to bury me in your rhetoric?” she asked.

  “Of course I’ll stop. If you say you’re going to go talk to him, then there’s no need for me to go on talking, is there?”

  “I should be so lucky,” Wynona said with a weary laugh.

  “Don’t worry. I have a feeling you will be. Once you invite him,” Shania added.

  Wynona had no idea what her cousin was talking about. But even so, she couldn’t help thinking that she had somehow walked into a trap of her own making.

  Chapter Nine

  In the end, after considering all the various options open to her, Wynona decided that the best way to go about drawing Clint Washburn out and make him at least a little more social was to hold an “Open School Night.” This way he couldn’t accuse her of singling him out from the other parents. The focus of Open School Night would be the students with the idea of getting the parents involved with the current curriculum.

  “Hey, sounds good to me,” Shania said when Wynona bounced the idea off her. “I’d take it up with your principal if I were you,” she encouraged Wynona.

  So she did. Adele Wilson gave it her blessings. The event was scheduled in two weeks to give everyone enough time to make the necessary arrangements at school and also on the home front. It also gave the parents enough time to send back replies to the invitations.

  In order to fit everyone into the small school without resorting to overcrowding, it was decided to hold the event over the course of two evenings. Grades one, two and three would come the first evening while grades four, five and six would attend on the following evening.

  Wynona got her own students involved by having them make up the invitations that were going out to their parents. Even at this age, there were a couple students who showed real promise when it came to artwork. She encouraged them to help the others.

  Responses started to come in almost immediately and continued arriving over the next several days. By the end of a week, everyone had acknowledged and returned the invitations.

  Except for Washburn.

  Well, she had known that this wasn’t going to be easy, Wynona thought. She gave it another day, hoping against hope that Washburn would come around—secretly feeling that most likely, he wouldn’t.

  When Ryan began to slowly withdraw again, Wynona decided that it was time for her to beard the lion in his den. After school was over and she had finished preparing the lesson for the following day, she rode out to Washburn’s ranch.

  She spent the entire trip to the ranch giving herself a pep talk.

  * * *

  “You know, to some people, this might be viewed as the definition of harassment,” Clint said.

  He was facing away from the stable entrance when he said it.

  When she had arrived at the ranch, Wynona had encountered Jake first. Looking pleased to see her, the ranch hand seemed to know why she was there. Before she could ask, he directed her toward the stable where Clint was currently working on mending some of the bridles that looked as if they were about to fall apart.

  His back was to the doorway and Wynona was trying to find a way to announce herself without startling him. Washburn had caught her off guard with his statement.

  Stunned, she came forward. “How did you know I was here?”

  “Roy and Jake don’t wear perfume,” he answered matter-of-factly.

  She was about to protest that neither did she, but then she caught herself. The splash of perfume she applied in the morning was so automatic—her one indulgence to femininity—that half the time she didn’t even realize she was doing it.

  “Very good,” she murmured, feeling it best to start out by saying something positive to the rancher.

  When Washburn made no response to her comment, she decided she had nothing to lose. She launched into the reason she had come to the ranch, seeking him out, this time.

  “I’m here about the invitations that were sent out to the school’s Open School Night.”

  As she spoke, she took a few more steps closer to the silent man.

  Turning his head, Clint spared her a single glance, then went back to focusing his attention on the bridle he was repairing. “Figured you might be.”

  The man was definitely not a sparkling conversationalist, she thought. Taking a breath, Wynona tried again. “You didn’t send it back.”

  “No, I didn’t,” he answered matter-of-factly.

  The man really did require a great deal of patience, she thought, digging deep for hers. Unearthing it was not easy. “Why?” she asked.

  His shrug was indifferent. “Figured not sending it would get my message across.”

  “What message?” Wynona pressed, hoping that it wasn’t what she thought it was.

  He still didn’t turn around to look at her. Instead, he continued working on the worn bridle. “That I wasn’t coming.”

  All right, so it was the message she thought it was. But she wasn’t about to give up. “Why not?”

  This time he did turn around to look at her. There was no warmth in his eyes as he sized her up. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

  “No, you don’t,” she surprised him by agreeing. “But since this does involve your son—and you being the only parent not attending will make him feel like an outsider,” she stressed, “I thought I’d come and try to convince you to give up a couple of hours for your son’s sake. It’s all going to be informal and there’ll be cookies,” she added quickly, hoping the thought of food might be appealing to him. She was willing to try anything at this point to get Ryan’s father to come around.

  She should have known better.

  “I’m not a kid to be bribed with treats,” Clint informed her flatly.

  “No, you’re an adult and sometimes, as an adult you have to do things you don’t feel like doing for the sake of the son you brought into the world,” she told him, trying to make him see the harm his nonattendance would do. “Do you want him to feel different because he’s the only one whose parent didn’t attend Open School Night? Do you have any idea what that feels like when you’re a kid?” she asked, passion entering her voice. “It’s awful.”

  Putting his tools down, he faced her squarely. “Oh, and you speak from experience?” Clint asked. It was obvious that he was mocking her.

  Instead of flinching, the way he’d expected, Wynona’s eyes met his defiantly.

  “Yes,” she answered with a quiet ferocity, “I do. I know exactly what it’s like to be the odd kid out, even in an area where half the kids in school only had one parent.”

  Clint regarded her with skepticism, but he didn’t come out and ask her to elaborate.

  She did anyway. To an extent.

  “I lived with one parent, and let me tell you, it was hard, especially because she wasn’t well.” It wasn’t something that she usually talked about. Her history was a private matter, even though she and Shania had gone through it together. But if it helped Washburn to understand that his actions could have unwanted consequences, then it was worth it.

  He looked at her for a long moment, as if weighing whether or not to believe her. “Kids get what they need from more than their parents. It’s different these days,” he finally said.

  “Not so different,” Wynona contradicted. “Kids still look to their parents for moral support. Ryan’s no different. He sees you as his first line of defense. And you should be glad of that.”

  Clint raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

  “Yes, you should,” she insisted. “There are lots of parents who only wish they had kids who looked up to them instead of just ignoring them. Your son looks up to you and you don’t appreciate it.”

  Clint looked at her. The impatience etched into his face was not as pronounced as it had been. But his tone wasn’t exactly friend
ly.

  “How long do you plan on standing there, yammering at me?” he asked.

  Wynona didn’t even hesitate. “Until you agree to come.”

  He believed her. He could see that he wasn’t going to be able to finish his work until he gave in. “And that’s all it’ll take?”

  “Yes,” she informed him firmly.

  His eyes narrowed. He was trying to discern something, she thought, but she had no idea what.

  “And if I say yes,” he finally said, “are you telling me that you’re naive enough to think I’ll actually show up?”

  His expression was impassive as he spoke. Was he telling her she was a fool to just take his word? But Wynona considered herself to be a good judge of character and that was what she was banking on right now.

  “I’m not naive,” she told him. “You’re a man whose word means something to him. So if you say you’ll do something or be somewhere, then you will.” She smiled at Ryan’s father, confident she was right. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

  The words hovered on his lips and very nearly came off his tongue. But if they had, if he told her she was wrong, he’d be lying.

  Because she was right.

  Clint frowned at her. “What I can tell you is that you’re a colossal pain in the neck.”

  “I can live with that,” Wynona answered philosophically, clearly taking no offense. “So, will you come?” she asked, quickly adding, “It’ll mean the world to Ryan.”

  Shaking his head, Clint blew out an exasperated breath. “Still don’t see why.”

  “Because you’re his hero.”

  Clint waved a dismissive hand at her statement. “Now you’re just imagining things.”

  “No, I’m not. All you have to do is look into Ryan’s eyes, Mr. Washburn. Your son wants to be just like you when he grows up,” she told him, then challenged, “do you want him growing up to be a withdrawn, uncommunicative man?”

  “So now you want me to transform for him?” Clint asked.

  “No,” Wynona answered honestly. “But you might want to transform for yourself. I think that both you and your son will be happier if you do.”

  So now she was professing to be able to psychoanalyze him? How did she know what it took for him to be happy? Just who did this woman think she was?

  “I’ll be happier if you just stop preaching at me and go away,” he told her bluntly.

  They had circled back to what she’d already told him. “You already know how to make that happen,” she reminded him cheerfully, adding, “It’s just one evening, Mr. Washburn. I promise you won’t regret it.”

  “I already regret it,” he informed her. “And stop calling me Mr. Washburn,” he told her. “Mr. Washburn was my father, who was a functioning drunk.” The memory darkened his face. “My name’s Clint.”

  Well, she was more than willing to oblige him regarding the way she addressed him. Wynona smiled. “Nice to meet you, Clint. So, will I see you at Open School Night?” she asked again.

  The woman just didn’t let up. “I’m surprised you’re not ordering me to be there.”

  Wynona shook her head. “It won’t work that way, remember?” she reminded him. “You have to give me your word that you’ll come to the school.”

  It was obvious that she was waiting for him to do just that. He had a feeling that she was also as good as her word and that she planned to stay right in front of him, talking at him for as long as it took before he cried uncle and gave in. She wasn’t going anywhere until he agreed to attend this Open School Night or whatever she called it.

  He blew out a long, ragged breath that was all but vibrating with weary annoyance. It really bothered him that she seemed to be able to see right through him like that. After all, the woman hardly knew him.

  “All right,” he bit off. “You win.”

  “Win what?” she asked, waiting for Clint to say the words she was waiting to hear.

  His eyes narrowed. “Don’t push it,” Clint warned. She went on looking at him.

  “Okay, you win. I’ll come to Open School Night,” he bit off. Clint tried not to notice that her eyes were sparkling as she looked at him.

  “It’s next Thursday. Seven o’clock,” Wynona told him, just in case he’d forgotten.

  “Yeah, I know,” he snapped. “It was on the invitation.”

  If he thought his tone of voice intimidated her, he was wrong. Hearing his response, she looked pleased. “So you did read it.”

  “I had to know what I was turning down,” he pointed out matter-of-factly.

  “And now you don’t have to,” she concluded with a smile. There was no triumph in her smile, just joy. The woman was either a damn good actress, he thought, or she was genuinely verging on sainthood.

  “Well, I’ve taken up enough of your time. I’d better leave you to your work,” she said happily, backing away before he decided to change his mind.

  He glared at her impatiently. “I would have been a lot happier if you’d led with that,” he told her. Murmuring something under his breath, he picked up the bridle again.

  “No, you wouldn’t have,” she answered confidently as she turned on her heel.

  The remark irritated him. He didn’t care for the fact that she acted like she knew things about him better than he did.

  “You’re awfully sure of yourself, aren’t you?” It was more of an accusation than an observation.

  “Only sometimes,” she told him honestly. “Only sometimes.”

  He watched her walk out of the stable. Clint continued to look toward the open door after she was no longer there.

  The woman had managed to get to him, to burrow under his skin, creating an itch he wanted no part of. He didn’t have time for it and he certainly didn’t need the consequences that lay at the end if he followed that itch to its logical conclusion.

  For two cents he’d just ignore the fact that he’d said he’d be at the school and just go on with his life as if nothing had happened. But something had happened and she was right, damn her. He wasn’t the type to go back on his word after having given it, even for something as meaningless as this open school thing.

  His word had been extorted from him, but he still had to keep it.

  He realized that he’d almost balled up the leather strap he was trying to restore.

  Damn the woman, she was undermining his thoughts. He didn’t have time for this. Didn’t have time to get dragged off to some meaningless session at the elementary school that his son wouldn’t even remember.

  Maybe he shouldn’t have allowed himself to get railroaded like that.

  Maybe there was still a simple way out of this if he just—

  “I just saw Miss Chee,” Ryan said, walking into the stable. He looked up at his father, a mixture of excitement and shyness on his face. “She said that you told her you were going to come to Open School Night.” He uttered each word with an aura of hopefulness around it. “She told me that you gave her your word. Did you, Dad?”

  “Why do you ask that?” Clint asked. For the first time in a long time, he found himself wondering just what was going on in that small head.

  “Because I know if you really did that—if you really gave your word,” he explained, “you won’t go back on it. So, was she right?” he asked, allowing eagerness to enter his voice. “Did you give your word?”

  He couldn’t bring himself to lie and rob that look from his son’s face. So he didn’t. “Yeah, she’s right. I did.”

  What happened next caught him completely by surprise. Ryan was not demonstrative. At least, he had never known the boy to be. He was quiet and obedient but not expressive.

  However, this time the boy threw his arms around his waist and hugged him for all he was worth.

  Clint hardly felt the actual squeeze. After all, the eight-year-old was small for his age and C
lint had had years of hard work to build up his own body so that he didn’t feel things like a child’s arms. But the effect of that squeeze, that spontaneous, gleeful hug that his son had suddenly delivered, well, that was a different matter entirely.

  Like an arrow shot from a bow, his son’s hug had a direct effect on the leaden part within his chest that had once been a heart.

  Clint awkwardly hugged the boy back.

  Chapter Ten

  Wynona realized that she kept watching the classroom doorway. Given tonight’s event, under regular circumstances it would have been normal to look toward the doorway every so often, especially when someone came into the classroom.

  But Wynona found herself slanting glances in that direction even when there was no movement in that general area, no indication that someone new was entering the room.

  There was a reason for that.

  Clint Washburn wasn’t here yet.

  Open School Night had gotten underway almost twenty minutes ago and the rancher and his son hadn’t arrived yet.

  Had she misjudged the man after all? Had she placed too much faith in the sanctity of his word?

  No, he was going to be here, she silently insisted. She just knew it. Washburn really believed in a code, believed in a time when a man’s word actually was his bond, a bond he neither regarded lightly nor broke unless something completely unforeseeable happened.

  Had it? she wondered. Had something dire happened that subsequently was responsible for keeping Washburn from accompanying his son to this event?

  “Worried?”

  Wynona turned around to look at her cousin. Shania had insisted on coming to Open School Night in order to lend a hand in the arrangements as well as to offer her moral support.