“Hey.” Lyndsay greeted her with a smile. “Got everything running to perfection?”
“Perfection? No. But I like to think I’ve brought order to the chaos.”
“Your specialty. Honestly, you should give a seminar at the community center sometime on staying organized. I don’t know how you do it...but you’ll certainly be a darn good mayor.”
“Fingers crossed.”
“Sorry I couldn’t make the debate the other night. I was feeling under the weather, afraid I was coming down with something. Whatever it was, I’m glad it passed quickly.”
“Staying home was the right call,” Becca assured her. “You wouldn’t want to risk getting everyone sick.”
“I know. But I would’ve liked to watch you wipe the floor with Truitt—Sierra said it was awesome. Besides, there was something I wanted to ask you about. In person.”
Becca raised an eyebrow. “Well, we’re talking face-to-face now.”
Casting a quick glance toward the boys, Lyndsay sidled a few feet away, then a few more. Once they’d put some distance between them and the kids, she asked, “So...you and the cowboy?”
Becca stalled. “What do you mean?”
“Is there something going on between the two of you? You looked pretty cuddly at the concert.” She hesitated before adding, “You looked happy. And maybe it’s none of my business, but you should know, I overheard the boys talking about it and—”
“The boys?” Her blood ran cold. Had Marc been talking about her and Sawyer as a couple? Can you blame him? Sawyer’s spent more quality time with him in the past two weeks than his father has in the past five years. This was exactly the kind of disappointment she’d wanted to avoid for her son. “They don’t think we’re involved, do they?”
“I’m not sure. They clammed up when they noticed me. I just heard something about you and Sawyer and dancing. But, really, would it be such a bad thing to be involved with someone like him? You must have at least thought about it.”
The urge to confide in her friend was overwhelming. Each day that brought them closer to goodbye threatened to crack Becca’s calm, organized facade, leaving her in near-constant emotional turmoil. But as she debated whether to trust Lyndsay with her secret, she noticed Sissy Woytek in her peripheral vision. Best friend to the mayor’s wife, Sissy was trying to look as though she wasn’t shamelessly eavesdropping. Becca knew better than to care about what others thought of her personal life, yet she couldn’t help feeling defensive, not just as a mayoral candidate but as a single mom. She didn’t want others judging her affair and she sure as hell didn’t want local gossip affecting Marc.
Instead of giving Lyndsay a straight answer—or worse, lying—she replied with a question of her own, one that wouldn’t fuel any rumors from Sissy. “Does Sawyer really seem like the kind of guy I’d let myself fall for?”
Her friend was quiet for a long moment. “I guess not. He’s certainly not anything like Colin. But you... Oh!” Her face flushed, and she raised her hand in a quick wave. “Hey, Sawyer.”
Becca turned to find him behind her, gorgeous in the afternoon sunlight. “Everything go okay with the horses?” While some of the people going on the trail ride had horses of their own, some tourists would be on borrowed mounts provided by Brody and other local ranchers. Sawyer had gone with his friend to double-check the temperament and health of the animals before embarking on the three-day trip.
He nodded. “We’re in good shape for the ride. Marc ready to go to his lesson?”
She signaled to her son, who trotted over with a broad smile. Becca hugged him. “Have fun riding. I’ll see you back home for dinner.”
She watched the two of them walk up the hill together, Sawyer laughing at something the boy said while Marc gazed up with blatant hero worship. No, Sawyer was nothing like the slick, urbane, all-style-and-no-substance Colin. That was the problem. If he’d been more like her ex, she would have done a much better job of protecting her heart.
* * *
DOES SAWYER REALLY seem like the kind of guy I’d let myself fall for? The question echoed in Sawyer’s head over and over until he found himself gnashing his teeth. Luckily, Marc and his instructor were on the other side of the ring, so the kid didn’t notice Sawyer’s mood. The boy had been excited for Sawyer to see him on horseback, so whenever Marc looked over, he did his best to look happy and encouraging.
But he hadn’t felt very happy in the last forty-eight hours. He and Becca had shared an amazing night Sunday after the concert with no one the wiser about her midnight trip to visit a secret cowboy lover. It was beginning to chafe that she didn’t want anyone to know about him. It felt...sordid.
Despite the incredibly intimate connection he’d felt with her Sunday night, he’d barely seen her Monday until she’d come home during Trouble’s bath. Maybe it was just her busy schedule with the festival, but he had the damnedest sense that she’d been avoiding him since then. What had he done wrong?
Maybe the problem has nothing do with a what, a snide inner voice whispered, but a who. As in who he was—a rodeo cowboy with no college degree. Was she ashamed of him because he wasn’t some businessman in a suit? Sawyer had left home feeling as if he wasn’t good enough for his own family, so it didn’t seem like a stretch that perhaps the future mayor of Cupid’s Bow didn’t think he was good enough for her, either.
She’d been dropping bizarre hints lately about career options. Write a book? Because that was a more prestigious, potentially more lucrative, job than bronc riding and ranch work? She’d said herself she’d been attracted to her ex because he was ambitious. And how did that work out for you, sweetheart?
It added to his cranky mood that Becca had been giving him little assignments, from asking him to drive Mrs. Spiegel to the mechanic’s to putting him in charge of Marc’s lesson today. Granted, Sawyer had told her he wanted to help, but the adorable novelty of her bossing him around was wearing off. His naturally rebellious nature was rising to the fore. Listening to her chide Molly bought back too many memories of Charlie lecturing him, and if Sawyer had to hear one more word about those lights on timers... What the hell was wrong with just turning lights on and off as needed? But no, Becca Johnston had to have things her way.
Yet beneath his increasing frustration was the suspicion that he might be overreacting. It was possible that his surliness had nothing to do with light timers and being cajoled into giving her son a ride. Maybe what really chapped Sawyer’s ass was the knowledge that she was about to move on to a new important position, while he would be moving on with his life in an opposite direction. Would he see her again? Hell, she barely lets you see her now—at least, not in any way she was willing to admit in front of voters. It stung more than it should, and he was torn between wanting to get out of Cupid’s Bow and away from the ache she caused, and wanting to stay as close to her for as long as he could.
* * *
BY THE TIME the guys returned from Marc’s lesson, Becca had a spitting headache. She’d been arguing with Molly, who wanted to borrow the car to go hear a band in Turtle tomorrow. “Do you really think you’ve proved yourself responsible enough for that?” Becca had challenged, knowing her sister would be surrounded by men and booze in the club.
Molly had acted as if she had slapped her. Just as Becca was setting the table, her sister retreated to her room and refused to come out for dinner.
Although Sawyer didn’t resort to stomping and slamming doors, his mood seemed almost as dark as Molly’s. He didn’t say much as he sat down.
“She’s being impossible,” Becca said, needing someone on her side.
He gave her a chiding glance over the top of the ice tea glass in his hand. “Maybe from her perspective, it seems like you’re being impossible.”
“Me? I’m the one doing her a favor!”
“And do you ever let her forg
et that? I know she’s made mistakes, but that’s how people learn. You can’t be naive enough to think she’s the first teenager to get dr—” Thankfully, he stopped himself, with a quick glance in Marc’s direction. “People screw up. But constantly pointing it out can do more harm than good. Do you want to drive her away?”
“Is Aunt Molly going away?” Marc asked, sounding distraught.
Becca glared at Sawyer. “No, she’s sticking around.” Unlike the cowboy. He had a lot of nerve, telling her how to manage her family when he didn’t even speak to his own. She changed the subject for her son’s sake. “How was your riding lesson?”
“Great.” Marc’s face brightened as he told her all about the horse and how much better he was getting and how he might be ready to try a canter or gallop.
She gave him a fond smile. “You’re really enjoying it, aren’t you?”
“A lot more than soccer,” Sawyer muttered.
Both Becca and her son whipped their heads in his direction. Marc looked stricken. “Mr. Sawyer!”
“It’s okay,” Sawyer encouraged. “She should know.”
“But...” His lip quivered.
Becca was livid. This was the second time in one meal Sawyer had offered his unsolicited opinion, and now he’d made her son uncomfortable. She glanced at Marc’s mostly empty plate. “Would you like to be excused?”
He didn’t have to be asked twice. Nodding, he scampered away from the table. Becca pressed her lips tightly together, trying not to explode while he was still in earshot.
Sawyer stood. “I think I’ll go, too. I don’t really have much of an appetite.”
“Wait!” They needed to talk about this.
But the look he gave her made her suddenly question the wisdom of having the discussion now.
“Word of advice?” he said in a low voice. “When they elect you mayor, try not to order everyone around. They might stage a coup.”
“You sound as melodramatic as Molly. Asking people to pitch in and giving people suggestions is not the same as ‘ordering everyone around.’ But while we’re on the subject of ill-advised behavior? What was that about Marc and his soccer games?”
“He doesn’t like it.”
“I realize that.”
Sawyer gave her a look of disgust. “But you make him play, anyway?”
She tried to silently count to ten to keep from shouting. “I don’t ‘make’ him play. He wanted to sign up originally because Kenny Whittmeyer thought it would be cool, but didn’t follow through. I’ve asked Marc point-blank if he likes playing. I’m trying to encourage him to be honest with me—if he could bring himself to say he wanted to quit, I’d pull him out. It’s important to learn to stand up for yourself. Meanwhile, it’s good exercise for him and he’s getting better every week. Who knows? By next year, he might actually enjoy it.” Sawyer wouldn’t be here next year; he wouldn’t even be here next month.
Angry that he’d become so enmeshed with their lives when he wasn’t sticking around, she lashed out. “But none of this is your business. You’re not his father. You’re not even my boyfriend. You are—”
“Just a tenant. Got it.” His expression was so cold that the temperature in the kitchen dropped ten degrees.
She hadn’t meant to belittle him. She’d only been trying to establish boundaries, struggling after the fact to keep herself safely isolated. “Sawyer...”
“Nah, you’re one hundred percent right, sweetheart.” His bared his teeth in a sardonic smile. “As always.”
* * *
WHEN SAWYER CAME downstairs in the morning after a brutally sleepless night, he found Becca at the table, bleary-eyed and cradling her head in her hands. Guilt twisted inside him; he hadn’t meant to hurt her. But then, he hadn’t been making the wisest decisions lately. He’d known from the start that an affair with a single mom would be complicated, much less a high-maintenance single mom who pushed all his buttons. Yet he’d ignored his own common sense.
“Sawyer.” Her voice was raw, as if she had a cold. Or as if she’d been crying. “Glad I caught you before you headed out for the day.”
“Actually...” He shifted his weight. “I’m headed out, period. I’m going to stay with Brody and Jazz tonight and leave with him for the trail ride tomorrow.”
“What? I—”
“Truck’s all loaded up,” he said, trying to stick to his decision. If he remained here, there were only two likely outcomes—more fighting, which he didn’t want. Or making up. Kissing each other, touching, growing closer...all of which would make their inevitable parting even worse. “I only came down here to leave this.” He held up an envelope with his final rent payment and a note wishing her well.
“You were going to leave without saying goodbye?” She swallowed hard. “I guess taking off is what you do, though, huh?”
He stiffened at the accusation. “It wouldn’t be permanent. I’ll see you on the trail ride.”
“Maybe not. I...have a lot to do before the election.”
Liar. She was going to cancel because of him. The worst part was, he didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved about not having to see her. Maybe it was best to get this whole thing over with. She obviously thought so if she was skipping the ride.
He tipped his hat toward her, his voice tight with emotion when he said, “Take care of yourself, Becca. And give Marc a hug for me.”
“He’s going to miss you.”
I’ll miss you both. But he wouldn’t miss the way he’d felt the last few days—as if he was a dirty secret to be kept from voters. As if he was, yet again, not quite good enough. So he kept his words to himself and left, wincing when Trouble barked, as if she was calling him back. Sorry, puppy. It was time to go.
Chapter Thirteen
“You okay, sis?”
Becca glanced up from the book she hadn’t been reading; she wasn’t even sure what it was. “I’ve been better.” The election was this week and she should be obsessing over her chances, trying to sway any last-minute undecided voters, but the days had been a hazy blur since Sawyer left. She knew her son was sad to see him go, but Marc’s heartbreak was mitigated by school finally being out for the summer.
“I’m all ready for work,” Molly said gently. “Still willing to drive me?”
Becca tossed the book on the coffee table, rising from the couch to get her keys. “Actually, why don’t you take the car? I don’t have anywhere I need to be today.” She was taking a much-needed rest in the aftermath of what everyone was calling a very successful festival.
“Oh, wow, you’re worse off than I thought.” She hesitated. “You miss him, right?”
Becca blinked. Maybe her discreet affair hadn’t been as discreet as she thought. “What do you mean?”
“He was gorgeous and great with Marc and even cooked sometimes. Plus, I saw how he looked at you. How could you not miss him?”
Excellent question—and one Becca was struggling to find the answer to. “Letting you use the car has nothing to do with any supposed feelings for Sawyer. I’m offering it because you’re a smart adult working hard.” In addition to the movie theater job, Molly was working minimal hours in the library, earning a stipend Hadley had managed to scrape together. “I’ve been thinking about it, and I need to treat you more like an adult. Maybe the reason I couldn’t before was because I hated to admit we lost all those years. I was a crappy big sister to you.”
“No you weren’t!” Molly enveloped her in a tight hug. “You are the best.”
“We’ll see if you still feel that way in a minute,” Becca said. “You should have adult responsibilities. I was thinking you could move into the attic apartment, come and go as you please—and that you should pay rent.” Sawyer had accused her of constantly reminding Molly that this was a favor, that she was an imposition. Wel
l, now that would change. “We can discuss the specifics tonight, but what do you think?”
Molly’s eyes glittered. “I think I’m lucky to have you, and I won’t let you down. I promise I’ll drive exactly at the speed limit and come home right after my shift. Now, can I give you a piece of life advice?”
Becca raised her eyebrows, surprised, but trying to keep an open mind. “I suppose that’s fair, after all the suggestions I’ve made.”
“Go get your cowboy.”
Loss burned in her chest, and Becca tried in vain not to picture his face. That teasing smile, those hazel eyes. “He’s not mine. I don’t even know where he is.” But Brody Davenport might. “All I need to make me happy are my family and winning this election.”
Her chances had never seemed better. Recent informal polling after the festival put her way ahead of Truitt. She should be feeling confident and eager. Not hollow.
Molly eyed her with a combination of skepticism and pity. “You’re sure that’s all you need?”
“Well...and key lime pie.” And time. She’d healed from her divorce over time. Wouldn’t this be the same? In a few weeks, she’d be so busy running this town, she’d barely remember Sawyer McCall.
* * *
“I HOPE I’M not interrupting, but can I talk to you for a minute, Madam Mayor?”
Becca turned from the owner of the bowling alley, who’d been telling her how glad local business owners were that she’d won, to see Sierra Bailey, especially gorgeous in a strappy green cocktail dress. Plenty of wedding receptions had been held in the community center “ballroom,” but tonight it had been elegantly decorated for Becca’s victory party. She was thrilled, but feeling slightly overwhelmed by all the congratulations and people who wanted to shake her hand. It would be relaxing to just talk to a friend for a few moments.
She flashed Sierra a grateful smile. “You’re allowed the occasional interruption—I couldn’t have done this without you! If you’ll excuse me for a moment?” she asked the bowling-alley manager.
The Cowboy Upstairs Page 17
