by Pamela Tracy
“Mommy, we go now?”
Natalie was more than ready to go now. And the park was the best destination. Home was too empty.
Twenty minutes later, feelings raw, she watched Robby at play. He had changed her whole life.
Amazingly so.
And all because she’d been home alone on a Friday night, studying for a math test.
She hadn’t even known Tisha was pregnant, let alone that she’d given birth. That Friday night, after her initial shock, she’d thought she was saying yes to helping out, watching a tiny, two-week-old Robby for a night. Truthfully, she’d loved sitting in her little apartment a mile away from New Mexico State University and watching the little guy sleep. She’d unfortunately figured out by the next evening that the phone number Tisha left was wrong, that formula and diapers were expensive and that nobody—including Tisha’s parents—knew where Tisha was.
She skipped the next two days of school and her dad had driven to Las Cruces. He’d stayed a week. With his help, she’d found a sitter for the remaining month of school, and by the time the semester ended, she’d realized what it felt like to be separated from Robby, like she could still feel the warmth of his little body in the crook of her left arm. It had taken her from the hallways of higher academia and back home to walking the hallways with a little personality who liked to touch her cheek and who smiled—yes, smiled—at the whole world.
Soon, her dad felt the same way, and they’d stopped looking for Tisha.
When the whole town assumed Natalie was Robby’s mama, Natalie and her dad had gone along. At the time, it was easier than explaining, and Natalie didn’t want Robby to ever see the kind of look that passed between judgmental adults whenever Tisha’s name was mentioned.
Natalie had been an only child and had always wanted brothers and sisters. Her cousin Tisha had been the closest thing to a sibling, and Natalie loved her—flaws and all—even if she didn’t always like Tisha or the choices she made.
Tisha at first claimed she didn’t know who Robby’s father was. A year later, when Tisha borrowed some money from Natalie, she’d mentioned Marcus.
She’d also mentioned Marcus’s dad and how strict he was, how he always got what he wanted.
Natalie swallowed. Here she sat on her nice, safe bench while Robby played. Maybe the park was the only safe place. At home, there was the newspaper article featuring Lucky. She’d have to deal with her mistake. Figure out the right thing to do. What was right for Robby.
Maybe Lucky would saddle up and ride away. Yeah, right. Truth was, if what Natalie knew about Lucky was true, soon he’d probably be out on the playground, climbing the jungle gym, and teaching Robby how to do something dangerous like jump.
That’s what her dad would have had done. It’s what he’d done for Natalie. After her mother died, he’d swallowed his sorrow and stepped right into the role of both parents. He cooked dinner, went on field trips and even sat through ballet lessons. Of course, she only took the lessons after he convinced her that the grace of a ballet dancer would benefit a barrel racer.
Her dad had always taken care of her.
He’d taught her to jump, and he’d made sure she always had a soft place to fall.
Natalie swallowed. Robby, brown hair tussled by the wind and an unguarded grin on his face—was jumping just fine. He climbed the slide, slid down, got to the bottom, stood up and jumped. Then, he tried to climb up the slide instead of the steps. He fell, skidded and hit the ground. Natalie started to get up, wanting to cushion his fall, but Robby didn’t need help. He managed on his own. Standing, climbing, falling and laughing the whole time. He was all boy.
Thanks to her father, she could take care of herself and Robby.
It was her own fault she had to deal with the Welches.
Chapter Three
S unday had been pretty much a blur for Lucky. Otherwise, he’d never have allowed a photographer to take pictures after the morning service. What he did on the circuit could be sensationalized. What he did on Sunday morning in front of believers should not.
The girl in the photo was wearing next to nothing. And the adoring look she aimed his way was rehearsed. Luckily, the reporter knew how to gather facts: Lucky’s rodeo win, his mother’s rodeo-queen status, his brother’s rodeo belts and recent death, and even Lucky’s penchant for sermonizing, all made it into the story. Too bad God was at the bottom of the pyramid. The reporter definitely put the facts in the wrong order of importance.
God should have been first.
Lucky got out his Bible and turned to James. “Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.”
He put his hand flat on the page. Sometimes, in the quiet of the early morning and in the twilight of the night, when Lucky was alone, the touch of the Bible felt like a pathway straight to God.
He reread the passage. To Lucky’s way of thinking, no matter what Marcus had done or been, Robby Crosby was a good and perfect gift. One Lucky’s mother would welcome and his father would shun.
Lucky closed the Bible, held it in his hands and stared out his window. It was just after five. Howard, Bernice’s husband, was already taking care of the animals. Howie Junior should be with him. Those summers when Lucky and Marcus visited Grandpa and Grandma Moody, they’d been up at five.
Finally setting his Bible aside, Lucky started dialing the numbers in his cell phone. He’d devoted yesterday to God, prayer and meditation. Today he was devoting to Robby Crosby, who maybe needed to be known as Robby Welch. Surely, out of all the friends he and Marcus shared, somebody would know something. Two hours later, he lost the charge on his cell phone, switched to the landline in Mary’s room, and he discovered what he’d suspected all along. Natalie obviously kept a low profile. No one seemed to know her or remember Marcus talking about her. Everyone remembered Tisha. And, like Lucky, most agreed that she had stopped following the rodeo after she stopped seeing Marcus.
No one had seen her in the last few years.
No one cared.
During the time she’d spent with Marcus, Lucky had felt displaced and his youthful prayers about her all had to do with her disappearing. He’d hated when Tisha accompanied them from one show to another. She’d been a wedge between him and his brother. He was older now, and maybe his prayers should take a different slant.
Marcus had probably been a father, and it looked like he had a son to be proud of. A tiny seed of suspicion settled in Lucky’s gut. Could Marcus have cheated on Tisha with this Natalie woman? Or could Natalie have been a rebound because she looked so much like Tisha?
Either scenario might give some insight as to why Marcus had kept his son a secret.
Lucky headed for the kitchen and the beckoning aroma of pancakes. “Bernice!”
“I’m right here. You don’t need to yell. What?” Bernice wore an apron over her jeans as she expertly flipped the pancakes while holding a gallon of milk in her other hand. “Don’t tell me you’re not staying for breakfast.”
“I’m staying and I’m starved. Do you know Natalie Crosby?”
“Sure I know Natalie, ever since she was a little girl.” Bernice looked at Lucky’s mother. “You’d know Natalie’s mama. Tina Burke. She was a freshman when we were seniors.”
Betsy Welch shook her head. “I don’t remember.”
Bernice shook her head. “About the time your daddy died and the boys stopped coming here for the summer, that would be about the time Natalie started performing in the rodeo. About a summer or two later, Tisha started coming for the summers and got involved. It’s a wonder that Tisha and Marcus met elsewhere—both of them have roots here.” She patted Betsy on the shoulder before turning to Lucky. “I heard you burning up the phone line asking questions about that girl. I could have saved Marcus a passel of trouble if he’d listened when I told him she was nothing but trouble.”
Lucky looked at his mother. She’d poured herself a cup of coffee and
was taking a seat at the table. She didn’t even glance at the plate of pancakes in front of her. The look on her face clearly indicated she knew something bad was about to happen. The name Tisha always had that effect on his mother.
“Did Marcus know Natalie?” Lucky asked.
“Not that I know of.” Bernice set the milk on the counter. “You want to tell me why you’re asking?”
“I met Natalie yesterday at the rodeo and, for a moment, I thought she was Tisha. Some of her friends quickly set me straight.”
“Natalie was at the rodeo?” Bernice sounded surprised.
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s interesting. After her leg got mangled so bad, Natalie stopped going anywhere near horses. Her father sold off his entire stock. About broke his heart. When Robby started wearing a cowboy hat, you could just see Leo wishing he had a horse to put that boy on.”
“You’re not looking for Tisha, are you?” his mother asked slowly.
“It really shocked me, Mom, how much this Natalie looked like Tisha.” Lucky sat down at the table and tried not to notice his mother’s trembling hands. Tisha brought up bad memories. Marcus’s drinking had gotten out of control during the Tisha era. His mom blamed Tisha, slightly unfair, but not completely unwarranted.
Bernice piled pancakes on a plate and set them in front of him. His mother stared at the syrup bottle in front of her but didn’t move. Finally, Bernice reached over and pushed it toward Lucky. “Don’t worry, Betsy. Natalie’s nothing like Tisha.”
Betsy wiped away a tear, and Bernice started talking, even as she dug into her own plate of pancakes. “Everyone loves Natalie. She’s a hometown girl. Family’s been here since the area was first settled.”
Bernice looked at Lucky. “At one time, that girl loved the rodeo as much as you do. Of course, Tisha did, too. My, my, those two girls could ride, but Natalie was a natural. She and little Allison Needham used to practice every weekend. I heard you asking questions about her, too, didn’t I? My Mary said she wouldn’t be surprised if Natalie made a name for herself. She wasn’t too sure about Allison. I think Tisha only rode because she couldn’t bear Natalie getting the attention. When Natalie was still a teenager, she got tossed during the rodeo. She was still using a cane when she graduated high school. If you look real close, you’ll see she still has a limp to this day.”
“I think I saw her,” Betsy said thoughtfully, looking at Lucky and finally relaxing. “She came over to talk to you after the rodeo.”
“Yeah, she did.”
“I only saw her from the back. I didn’t notice she looked like Tisha.”
“Her boy must have convinced her to bring him. Can’t think of anything else that would get her there. She’s a good mother. Too bad there’s not a dad in the picture. She went off to college and came back two years later with a little baby. Leo didn’t even blink, and no one dared say a word or ask questions about Natalie’s situation. She and her dad dote, make that he doted, on Robby.” Bernice looked over at Betsy. “Natalie’s father died just two weeks ago. Heart attack. Real surprise to everyone.”
Bernice turned to Lucky. “Natalie’s dad owned part of the stockyard Howard works at. We all expected to hear that Natalie would take over the reins, but it seems just a few months ago, Leo took out a loan. He used the stockyard as collateral. It’s gone now, Natalie’s livelihood. Word is, she’s hurting for money and might lose her home.”
Lucky nodded. So desperation drove her to him. That she’d risk talking to him, asking him for child support, for help, meant she was pretty much at wit’s end financially. No doubt she wanted money with no strings. He finished his plate and wasn’t surprised when Bernice piled more on.
With each bite, he thought of his brother. Marcus had been a pro at keeping secrets from his family. He’d spent time in jail without placing his one phone call to them. He’d nursed an alcohol addiction that not even Alcoholics Anonymous had been able to counter. But of all his secrets, this one took the prize.
Then, a more subtle thought surfaced, adding one more turn on this roller-coaster ride out of control. Maybe Marcus hadn’t known he was a father?
Suddenly Lucky’s appetite was gone. “Where does Natalie live?”
“Three blocks past the church, turn right and go down Judge Taylor Road all the way to the end.”
He stood. “I need to get going.”
They didn’t ask; he didn’t tell.
He rehearsed his speech on the drive over, in between praying. There were two possible scenarios. One, Natalie was a decent woman who truly needed help. Lucky had watched decent women fall victim to Marcus. Two, Natalie was the same as Tisha. Then, possibly, Marcus had been the victim.
No matter which one she was, approaching her looked to be the hardest thing Lucky had ever done. The words he practiced seemed weak, hollow, accusing. As he pulled in front of the house, he was no closer to knowing what to say to the mother of Marcus’s child.
Sitting in his truck in the driveway, Lucky bowed his head and one last time petitioned his Father. Never had he dealt with such a situation. He couldn’t even come up with a Bible reference.
Natalie came to the door, stared at Lucky, disappeared inside for a moment, then stepped onto the porch. He admired that. She wasn’t going to hide. She’d meet him head-on. He also had to admire the way she looked. White jeans, red button-down shirt. Perky and mad. On her, the combination looked good.
The boy wriggled up next to her. Grinning like it was Christmas and obviously hoping for escape. The tears Lucky evoked yesterday obviously forgotten.
Thank you, God.
Lucky stepped out of his truck. “Ma’am, can we talk?”
“Robby, go up to your room.” She slipped her hands into the back pockets of her jeans and frowned.
“Why, Mommy?”
“Just for a little while. I’ll talk to you later.”
The boy peeked out. “Are you the cowboy?”
“I’m a bull rider,” Lucky corrected, throwing an apologetic look to Natalie. “A cowboy and a bull rider, much better.”
“Better?” The boy looked interested.
“Robby.” The one word did it. Robby bobbed his head, grinned and ducked behind her.
“I wanted to talk to you—” Lucky began.
“I owe you an apology,” Natalie said. “I’m not sure what came over me yesterday. It was a mistake to come see you. We don’t need money. Really.”
Lucky shook his head. “Ma’am, we can worry about money later. Right now, I just want to know how it can be that my brother had a son the family doesn’t know about.”
She stumbled, then stopped to lean against one of the porch’s white pillars. Suddenly, he wanted to go to her. Hold her up. Tell her he didn’t mean to hurt her. Where were these feelings coming from? This morning, with the sun hitting the blond, almost white, highlights in her hair, she looked nothing like Tisha.
“So, you didn’t know,” she whispered before regaining her footing.
She drew herself up, standing proud, yet still whispering. “I always wondered.”
“Ma’am, we had no idea. When I tell my mother about Robby, she’s going to be so happy. I cannot even tell you how much that little boy will heal our family. I know we can work something—”
“No!” She took two slow steps down the front steps. The limp was more pronounced, as if the emotional pain robbed her physically as well as mentally. Still, she managed to keep steady. “I was so wrong to approach you. Robby and I are doing just fine.”
“I believe you, ma’am. I can see how fine you’re doing. Little Robby looks happy and healthy, and this is a great spread you got here, but I’m not doing fine. For six months, I’ve done nothing but miss my brother, wish I could bring him back, and now I find out he has a son—a son who knows nothing about his father or his father’s family? Tell me, ma’am, did Marcus know about Robby? Did you tell him?”
“Tell him? Why would I tell him?” The look in her eyes said it all. Ma
rcus was pond scum. “We, my father and I, wanted nothing to do with Marcus, ever. We were glad he never came around. Robby’s ours. We kept him, we love him, and he’s ours. And keep your voice down. He doesn’t know he’s related to you.”
“That’s going to change. Robby has family, on both sides, who want to get to know him and love him.”
Natalie’s eyes narrowed.
“By not telling my brother about Robby, you deprived him of any opportunity to know his son.” Lucky felt the words pool in his throat. Maybe knowing he had a son would have calmed Marcus down, grounded him, made him rethink what he did with his time and his money. “I know my brother. He would have taken care of Robby.”
“No,” Natalie said.
“Look, how and when did you meet him? What made you decide to raise his child alone? Why…”
She covered her ears. The pain on her face so evident that Lucky stopped.
“I can’t deal with this right now,” she said.
He started to argue, but tears pooled in her eyes and threatened to overflow.
“It’s too much. I’ve dealt with losing my dad, losing my home, and now you’re making me deal with losing Robby.”
“No, not losing Robby, but introducing—”
She held up her hand. “No, not today, I cannot deal with this today.” She took one step in his direction, and he backed up. He recognized anguish. He’d felt it every day since his brother died. Their eyes locked, hers blue and beautiful, then she pivoted and hurried quickly back to her front door.
A moment later, sitting in his truck in the driveway again, Lucky bowed his head once more and petitioned his Father, even as his heart pounded and his own anguish threatened to take over. He’d finally thought of a Bible reference. The story of King Solomon offering to cut a child in half when two women were arguing over who was the infant’s rightful family.
When he looked up from his prayer, his eyes went right back to Natalie Crosby.
She stood at the front door, looking at him like he was either the Grim Reaper or an IRS agent.
