Along Came a Cowboy

by Christine Lynxwiler

  She nods. “But I guess that’s better than prewedding jitters.”

  “No second thoughts?” Lark speaks up from where she’s sorting through a stack of clothes.

  “Not unless you count wondering why we didn’t make the date sooner.”

  “In a week, you’ll be Mrs. Daniel Montgomery,” Victoria says. “Are the kids upset that they’re going to have a different last name than you?”

  “Actually. . .” Allie lowers her voice. “Daniel’s going to adopt them.”

  I look up in surprise. “Really? Did you tell Jon’s parents?” Allie’s in-laws, always difficult, haven’t gotten any easier since their son’s death several years ago.

  She nods. “They took it hard at first, but the girls explained that it’s what they want and assured them that they will never forget Jon.”

  “Miranda wants to be adopted?” Jenn is incredulous.

  No one speaks for a few seconds. I can see that Allie is afraid she’ll say the wrong thing.

  “Being adopted is a good thing,” I finally say. “It means you’re chosen.”

  Jenn lets my words sit for a moment, and I can’t read her face. Then, “I’m gonna go see if Miranda’s here yet.” Jenn drops the book she’s holding and walks out.

  “That went well,” I say. Even I can hear the sarcasm tingeing my voice.

  “Sorry,” Allie says. “I shouldn’t have brought it up around her.”

  I throw a worn-out pair of sneakers into the trash bag. “We can’t watch everything we say. She’s obviously thinking about it today, regardless of what we say. . .or don’t say.”

  “When are you going to tell her?” Lark asks, but a loud noise in the hallway saves me from answering.

  Craig and Adam come in carrying a bed frame. “Where do you want this?” His voice screams that maybe he’s not as thrilled as Lark about their upcoming houseguest. I stare at the easygoing plumber. Even when he first broached the topic of adoption and Lark came to stay with me for a while, he didn’t act like this.

  “Just lean it against the wall in the hall. Hopefully by the time you get everything carried in, we’ll be ready for you to set it up.” Lark’s voice is breezy and light, in full ignore-my-husband’s-bad-mood mode.

  This is going to be a fun day.

  They set it down, and Craig disappears. Lark gives a loud sigh and follows him.

  Allie’s brother, Adam, is younger than everyone, even me, but for the most part, he fits into our group. He loves to tease Victoria. Especially about her family’s wealth. And she gives it back as good as she gets.

  He walks over to where she’s still packaging up old greeting cards and letters. “Getting some experience in case your stock goes belly up and you have to take a mail room job?”

  Vic tosses her hair over her shoulder. “No. If that ever happens, I’ll sit on the couch and play video games with you.”

  Considering Adam’s company did go belly up, and he did end up playing a lot of video games afterward, Victoria isn’t pulling any punches. I look over at Allie and mouth, “Ouch.”

  She shrugs and whispers, “Like Lark’s granny always said, ‘Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it.’ ”

  Suddenly I remember my conversation with Jack at Coffee Central after the committee meeting. That little tidbit of wisdom is exactly why I have no business encouraging him to share secrets from his past with me. From now on, I need to keep things strictly on a professional level.

  If the concert didn’t teach me that, then common sense should have.

  I’m paying attention. . .now.

  By noon we have the room almost completely organized, and the guys put up the bed while we make some sandwiches. We’ve only been back to work a little while when Katie and Dylan come running in with Miranda and Jenn following slowly behind them.

  “Some lady’s here.” Katie’s voice sounds worried.

  “I think her car is about to fall apart,” Dylan adds quietly.

  “It’s going bump, bump, bump all the way up the driveway,” Miranda says, and Jenn nods.

  Lark’s face freezes in panic. “Sheila’s early. I’ve got to get the bed made, at least.” She throws the clean sheets onto the bed, and we each grab a corner. Within seconds the bed is made.

  I step back and take in the cozy little bedroom. Hard to believe it’s the same place we threw junk out of this morning.

  The doorbell rings, and Lark puts her hand to her stomach.

  “Buck up, girl,” Allie says. “You know she’s more nervous than you are.”

  “Want us to slip out the back door?” I ask, partly out of fear that Jenn will have more pointed questions, and this time in front of Sheila. Neither Lark nor I am ready for that.

  Lark glances at Craig’s stony face. “I’d really rather y’all stay. Please.”

  “You two let her in, and we’ll rustle up some snacks,” Adam says. As we file through the doorway, he locks his arm in Victoria’s. “Come on, Vicky, let’s see what you can do in a kitchen that doesn’t come complete with a cook.”

  She jerks her arm away. “Like I have a cook.”

  He raises an eyebrow and grins. “Surely you borrow Mommy and Daddy’s chef from time to time.”

  “Unlike some people I know, I live my own life. . .with a whole separate address from my parents,” she says.

  Adam clutches his heart and staggers backward.

  Allie laughs and reaches out to catch her brother. “Cease-fire, please. We’re supposed to be helping smooth things out.”

  Adam rolls his eyes. “Brides. They’re such Pollyannas.”

  Vic snickers, and the rest of us, including Allie, join in the laughter. It dies to a trickle when Craig and Lark usher a heavyset woman into the kitchen.

  She nervously twists the bottom of her black Chez Pierre waitress uniform top then stops herself. But within seconds, her finger is twirling her lank, shoulder-length blond hair. I cast a surreptitious glance at her stomach. She’s heavy all over, so it’s hard to tell how pregnant she looks. She offers a tentative smile, and my heart goes out to her. I remember what it felt like to be pregnant and unable to keep the baby. And I was in my sister’s home and knew I was loved.

  “Everybody, this is Sheila Mason. Sheila, these are our friends. They’ve been helping us get your room ready.”

  “Thank you,” she says softly. “I’m sorry to be so much trouble.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Lark says. “I invited you. You’re no trouble!”

  Craig’s knuckles are white on Sheila’s suitcase handle. I’m hoping she doesn’t notice.

  Victoria offers Sheila a tray of crackers and cheese, but the woman shakes her head and touches her stomach. “I’m really not feeling well. That’s why I’m early. They gave me the rest of the day off.”

  “Let me show you your room.” Lark takes her arm and guides her down the hall. Craig follows stiffly.

  “It was nice meeting you,” Allie calls after her.

  The rest of us chorus our agreement.

  “Y’all, too.” Sheila’s voice drifts back to us.

  The room is thick with an uncomfortable silence, and finally I clear my throat. “Y’all, Jenn and I are going to go. Tell Lark and Craig we said bye.”

  Victoria, Allie, and Adam all speak at once, as if we’d been playing the quiet game and I’d lost. Now everyone could make their own excuses and leave.

  When we’re in the car on the way home, Jenn glances over at me. “Wonder if that’s what my mom is like.”

  What—? Before I can stop it, exasperation shoots through me. “Your mom is a wonderful Christian and a successful speechwriter who lives with your incredible dad in a beautiful house in Georgia where they spend a large portion of their time making sure your needs and wants are met.”

  She looks surprised, and I don’t blame her. I’m pretty surprised myself. And not a little ashamed. What am I thinking, striking out at her with my adjective-laden tirade? This whole mess is my fault in a dozen different wa
ys. My fault for falling into Brett’s arms. Not that I can wish that never happened when we wouldn’t have Jenn if I hadn’t. My fault for being too big a coward to let Tammy tell her the truth.

  “I guess you’re right.” Jenn’s soft voice startles me from my self-recriminations.

  “I didn’t mean to be so blunt.”

  She continues as if I didn’t say a word. “I’ve been upset with the wrong person. My biological mom is the one who didn’t want me. She’s the reason I don’t know who I really am. She’s the one I should be mad at, the one I should blame.”

  We ride in silence the rest of the way, because what can I say to that? Just dig a hole and toss me in.

  So you made up with the Grands?”

  I juggle my broccoli casserole and gallon of tea and ring the doorbell. The sun is high in the sky and a mockingbird calls from the high grasses around the house. “Yes, we made up, in a manner of speaking.”

  “What did y’all fight about anyway?”

  And I thought her questions were tough when she first got here.

  “We didn’t really fight.” I nudge my hair back from my face with my forearm.

  “Here, I can take that.” She smiles at me as she takes the glass dish from my hand and slides her plate of brownies on top of it. Yesterday on the way home from Lark’s, I told Jenn we were eating lunch here today. She spent the evening in the kitchen singing and making brownies. Whatever mood bit her on the way over to Lark’s, Jenn shook it by the time we returned home.

  Thankfully, it hasn’t returned. Yet.

  The door swings open. “Jennifer, Rachel! Come in. Come in.” My dad has his reading glasses in one hand and his Sunday paper in the other. I’m always amazed at how little he changes, with the exception of a few more lines and graying hair.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  He pats my arm.

  “Hi, Granddaddy.”

  I take the casserole back, and Jennifer gives him a hug with her free arm.

  He drops a kiss on her forehead. “How’s my favorite granddaughter?”

  A grin spreads across her face. “Fantabulous.”

  “Em,” he yells toward the kitchen, “she’s making up words. He’d better get here soon.”

  “Who’d better get here soon?” I ask, suspicion making my voice edgy.

  Jenn shrugs, her eyes wide.

  “You girls come on in the kitchen,” Mom calls.

  “What is he talking about?” I hiss at Jenn as we walk to the kitchen.

  Jenn ignores me and steps back to let me go in first.

  Mom looks up from the stove, and a frown creases her brow. “Rachel, I told you there was no need to bring anything.” Her gaze lights on the plastic gallon jug of tea with the store label. “You bought ready-made tea? I’ve never tried that.”

  Ouch. But I’m not going to let her put a chip in our bridge. I find a tough smile, slide the casserole dish onto the counter, and plop the jug down beside it. “You always taught me not to go anywhere empty-handed.”

  She looks over my shoulder. “What is this?” she says playfully, pointing to the plate Jenn is carrying.

  “I made some brownies for dessert.”

  “How sweet!”

  “They definitely are,” Jenn says with a saucy grin. “Aunt Rach almost had a heart attack when she saw the sugar content.”

  “Good thing we had those nitroglycerine tabs handy,” I pan.

  Mom jerks her head to look at me.

  “Just kidding,” I mumble.

  Why is it a crime for me to bring something, but Jenn can offer death on a plate and suddenly I’m the bad guy? “She might be exaggerating a little, but they are loaded with sugar.” Really, they should be warned, right? But back to the subject at hand. “So who was the he Dad was talking about?”

  Mom and Jenn meet each other’s gaze then instantly look away, but not before I see.

  “When did your father say, ‘Who’?” Mom asks.

  Apparently I’m in the old Abbott and Costello routine. “Let me spell it out for you. Who is the ‘he’ that had better show up soon?”

  Mom purses her lips as if I am a difficult child. Which, come to think of it, I guess I am. “Jenn, why don’t you set the table, honey? The plates and silverware are already in there.”

  Jenn casts me a worried look, and suddenly I know exactly who’s coming to dinner. No guessing needed.

  “Mom!”

  Jenn skitters out of the kitchen without a backward glance.

  “Now look here. She just suggested that I might enjoy inviting Dirk for lunch. And I agreed. Your dad and I have visited with him many times and always find him to be good company. He loves my lemonade.”

  “Well then, by all means, let’s bring him into the family if he loves your lemonade.”

  “You don’t need to shout, Rachel.”

  “I’m not shouting.”

  The kitchen door swings open, and Dad walks in, still clutching his paper. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” we snap at the same time.

  He holds up his hand. “Doesn’t sound like nothing.”

  “Are you in on this. . .matchmaking?” I sputter. “Good grief, she’s only fifteen!”

  His brows draw together and, inanely, I notice again the touch of gray in his hair. Where has the time gone? “A dinner invitation doesn’t constitute matchmaking.”

  “Again, did you hear the fifteen part?”

  He looks puzzled. A pang of worry interrupts my outrage. Why is he acting so confused? Is his memory so dim that he’s forgotten what happens when you turn an impressionable girl loose with a cowboy?

  Or, apparently, they think that Jenn is not me, that she won’t make my mistakes.

  Yeah, well me, too. But I’m not going to tempt fate.

  “Alton”—Mom puts a hand on Dad’s arm and one on mine—“you should go on out and be ready to answer the door. I’ll handle this.”

  I jerk away from her as Dad leaves the room. “You’ll handle this? This? I’m a person, Mom.” I lower my voice to a terse whisper. “And living proof that teenage girls don’t have good judgment when it comes to boys.”

  “Dirk’s a nice Christian boy,” Mom says. “We should have had him over before now, actually.”

  “He’s a cowboy. They know how to be whatever they need to be to get the girl.”

  Mom frowns. “You’re making much too much of this, Rachel. You’ll see.”

  Tears prick my eyes. “You know what? I’ve lost my appetite. I’ll be out in the barn when Jenn’s ready to go.”

  Mom looks at me, shock on her face as if she can’t believe how I’m overreacting.

  I’m not overreacting. I slip out the back door and let it slam behind me. A shuddering sob racks my chest. In every other area of my life, I’m successful. Why am I such a failure at being a daughter?

  She doesn’t come after me. Not that I expect her to. I escaped to the barn many times after that night with Brett, and she didn’t come after me then, either. Of course she didn’t know what was wrong, but she didn’t ask.

  Sweetie nickers with surprise when I walk up. Horses are creatures of schedule, and she knows as well as I do that I’m not supposed to be here right now.

  I run my hand across her mane. “Your mama dried a lot of my tears that autumn,” I whisper.

  Her ear flicks as if she understands.

  Odd how my rebellious teen times started with that night at the rodeo and ended when I decided to give up the baby to Tammy and go to chiropractic college. From that day forward, I’ve been the picture of steady and easygoing. But when I’m with my parents, it’s like the defiant girl never left. I’m a stupid, irresponsible teenager all over again.

  I’ve read all the scriptures about forgiveness. I’ve prayed for God to forgive me, for my parents to forgive me, and for me to forgive them. But so far, nothing. I know that God can forgive me, but will He as long as I hold a grudge against Mom and Dad? I drop down against the wall of Sweetie’s stall and
close my eyes.

  Lord, You know how many times I’ve been here, in this painful place in my heart, over the years. How many times I’ve asked You to take this whole thing away. What am I doing wrong? I don’t want to cause my parents any more pain than I already have. And I don’t want to see Jennifer get hurt like I did.

  Suddenly, my eyes pop open. If Jennifer did the same thing I did, would I be able to forgive her? In a heartbeat. Without hesitation. I love her that much. For the first time in years, cleansing tears spill down my cheeks as I continue praying.

  Oh, Father, how could I be so blind? I’ve heard the sermons, I’ve read the scriptures, but all I could see was my own unworthiness and pain. How much more do You love me than I love Jennifer?

  My heart thuds against my ribs. I pull my knees up to my chest and drop my head onto them.

  Am I wrong about my parents, too? Please help me find the truth, once and for all.

  A truck door slams out front. Dirk, no doubt. I take a shaky breath and push to my feet. If I hurry, I can get in the kitchen door before anyone has to make excuses for my absence.

  Be good, Rachel.

  I will, for Jennifer’s sake. For all our sakes.

  Maybe this bridge is salvageable.

  I slip inside the kitchen just as the doorbell rings at the front of the house. Mom looks up from the stove, her eyes wide and red-rimmed. “Forget something?”

  “Yes.” I cross over to her and put my arm around her shoulders. “I. . .uh. . .I forgot to tell you I’m sorry for overreacting.”

  Her blue eyes soften, and she reaches up and covers my hand with her own. “Believe it or not, I understand. I’m sorry, too. We should have told you—”

  “Since I’m a bit of a control nut, it usually helps me to have advance notice of things.” I flash her an apologetic grin. “Gives me time to wrap my mind around something.” I walk over and grab the casserole dish. “Are we ready to put the food on the table?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Well then, let’s go see if this cowboy is as nice as you two—make that you three—think he is.”

  “You need to—”

  “Don’t worry, Mom. I really am going to give him a chance.” I rush out the door into the living room–dining room area before Dad has a chance to tell Dirk I’m not here.