Dusty: Wild Cowboy

by Cathy McDavid

  DUSTY GAVE UNO’S NECK a last pat before moving on. He was checking on the horses for no reason other than to procrastinate. He wasn’t ready to head upstairs to his apartment. Not until his head cleared. Maryanne’s comment about Mark’s resemblance to his father had stirred too many thoughts— most of them confusing and disturbing—for him to consider going to bed.

  How was it that she, a complete stranger, could see the resemblance between Mark and J.W. when no one else did? Or, was it that others did see the resemblance and refused to say anything?

  Few people had the gumption to intentionally rile J. W. Cody and even fewer got away with it.

  Dusty was among those willing but before he confronted his father on this issue, he needed more substantive evidence than an observation made by a visitor to town.

  “What are you doing down here?” Dex approached from the other end of the barn aisle. “I figured you’d be holed up going over your new contract.”

  Dusty and his brother might be twins, but they couldn’t be more different. In looks or personality. Like their father, Dex didn’t approve of Dusty’s sideline business of providing specially trained horses for film work. Just that morning he’d agreed to supply two horses and a donkey for a documentary being filmed in Yellowstone.

  “I went out to dinner. Just got back.”

  When Dex got close, he stopped to give Dusty a lengthy inspection. “Who is she?”

  “What?”

  “The girl you were with.”

  “I wasn’t on a date.”

  “Right.”

  “It was a business meeting.”

  “Not ranch business, I assume.”

  “I’m a little tired, Dex, and could do without a lecture tonight.”

  “What’s with you?”

  “The lady I was with—”

  “So it was a date.”

  “For the last time—” he snarled.

  “Okay, okay.” Dex motioned Dusty to follow. “Come on, I’ll buy you a beer.”

  They walked toward the center of the barn. On one side was a large tack room and adjoining storage room. On the other, a small office complete with battered desk, file cabinet and a couple of chairs. He and his brother both had considerably fancier offices at the ranch’s administrative office but used this one just as frequently. Unlocking the office door, Dex went straight to the closet and the small refrigerator kept there. He removed two beers and handed one to Dusty before sitting in the chair behind the desk. Dusty took the vacant chair nearest the door. The significance of their chosen positions wasn’t lost on him. He popped the top on his beer and took a long swig.

  “What brings you here besides the chance to ride me about my new contract?” he asked.

  “Do I need a reason?”

  “I can’t imagine you leaving your new bride at nine-thirty at night for anything that wasn’t important.”

  Dex set his half-finished beer on the desk. “Josie wants to enroll Matt in preschool.”

  “You came all the way here at night to tell me that? I have a cell phone.”

  “She needs you to sign the papers.”

  “Fine.”

  Dex visibly relaxed.

  “I’ll talk to her about it tomorrow. And Matt.”

  “What’s to talk about?” Dex straightened.

  “I’m not signing any papers until I know more about what’s going on.”

  “It’s preschool.”

  “I want to talk to Josie and Matt first. What if the kid doesn’t want to go?”

  “He’s four. We make the decisions at this age, not him.”

  “That’s right. We. Matt’s my son, and I have a right to be involved.”

  Dusty didn’t object to the idea of sending Matt to preschool. He knew almost nothing about raising kids but figured parents did it all the time. Plus Matt needed friends his own age to play with. There weren’t any to speak of on the ranch. The employees with spouses and children lived in town. But since talking with Maryanne about his role in Matt’s life, Dusty wanted a greater one, and that included making important decisions with the boy’s mother. Dex would simply have to accept it.

  “Tell Josie I’ll call her tomorrow.”

  Rather than jump all over him, Dex took another swallow of his beer. “The three of us need to compromise. For Matt’s sake.”

  “I agree. But it isn’t always going to be what you and Josie want just because Matt lives with you.”

  “Fair enough,” Dex said, his tone conciliatory. After a moment, he added, “I shouldn’t have gotten so mad at you about Matt having dinner with you the other night.”

  “Thanks.” Dusty was impressed. His brother didn’t often admit he was wrong.

  “But for the record, if you and Josie disagree on something, I’m going to side with her.”

  His answer was just as conciliatory. “I wouldn’t expect anything different.”

  “We can make this work.”

  “We will.” Dusty believed what he said but neither was he fooling himself. It wouldn’t always be easy. Not with two hotheaded Cody brothers who seldom saw eye to eye.

  “So you going to tell me what’s really bothering you?”

  Dusty deliberated. As far as he knew, none of his siblings had ever discussed the long-standing rumors concerning Mark and their father. Maybe it was about time. And if he was going to choose someone to confide in, it would be Dex.

  “The lady I was with tonight—”

  “Your date.”

  “My associate.” Dusty wouldn’t have minded if his dinner with Maryanne had been more social. He’d even considered the possibility after their semiwild ride in his Jag. But she’d made it crystal clear from the beginning her purpose for going out with him was to keep her end of their bargain. Nothing more.

  Too bad.

  “What about her?” Dex asked.

  “We ran into Mark on our way out of The Spotted Horse.”

  Dex waited for Dusty to continue. Mark Hansen was a sore subject with most of the Codys, especially Jesse. His and Mark’s rivalry was pushing twenty years and showed no signs of abating.

  “Maryanne made an interesting remark about him. Especially interesting, considering she saw him for maybe a minute.”

  “What?”

  “She said he reminded her of Dad.”

  Both men drained the last of their beer then looked at each other. Dex exhaled.

  Dusty was about to speak when his brother beat him to the punch, echoing his thoughts exactly in a slow, carefully worded admission.

  “I’ve been thinking the same thing myself for a long time now.”

  “Me, too. So what are we going to do about it?”

  “Why do anything?”

  Dex’s question was a good one. They’d ignored the rumors for years. No reason not to continue. Except Dusty had recently found out he was a father, and his perspective had changed.

  “If Mark really is…” the words didn’t come easy “…a Cody, then don’t you think Dad owes him?”

  “What? Money?”

  “Not just that. A place in the family?”

  Dex looked uneasy if not downright aghast. “I don’t know.”

  Neither did Dusty. His feelings about parenthood were new, and he was still coming to terms with them. “When I found out about Matt, I did the right thing by him. Am doing it. Trying to. Dad should have done the same.”

  “I think he would have. Which is a good argument against Mark being…related to us.”

  “You could be right.” He let his voice trail off.

  “Except for what?”

  “Don’t take this wrong but Josie hid Matt from me for years. I’m not angry anymore, though I do wish I’d been there from the beginning. Seen him born. Watched him take his first step. Thrown him his first baseball.”

  “I know Josie feels bad.”

  “Yeah, and it’s okay.” He rubbed his forehead, trying to put his thoughts in order. “The thing is, if Mark’s a Cody, we’ve lost all tho
se years with him and him with us. His life could have been different. Better. All of our lives. I don’t understand our parents, how they could have done that to us.”

  “Are you going to make it your mission to find out?”

  “I wouldn’t call it a mission exactly.” He crunched his empty beer can, compressing it to half its original size. “I’m just done tiptoeing around the issue.”

  “That’s not going to go over very well.”

  Dex sure wasn’t kidding.

  Chapter Five

  Dusty stomped the dust off his boots and entered the mudroom at his parents’ house. Thinking his efforts might not be sufficient to satisfy his finicky mother, he grabbed one of the cloths left by the side of the sink and reached down to give his boots a more thorough wiping.

  “Track, you’re going to have to wait here.”

  The Border collie didn’t look happy but settled on a mat in the corner. Dusty’s mother loved animals but not their dirty paw prints trailing across her polished hardwood floors or Persian rugs.

  Tossing the cloth into a hamper, he headed down the hall to his mother’s pride and joy—a big, brightly lit kitchen with floor to ceiling windows. His father had the windows specially designed so his mother could enjoy the sight of the morning sun rising over the mountains as she ate her breakfast. Barbara, the family’s housekeeper, was bent over the dishwasher fiddling with the controls. As usual, her wiry brown hair was tamed with a simple headband. She straightened and smiled as she’d done a thousand times in the many years she’d spent in his parents’ employ.

  “Hi there. Want some lunch? There’s leftover tuna sandwiches and fruit salad in the fridge.”

  He half expected her to demand he take off those spurs before he scratched the floors, leave that darned lariat in the mudroom where it belonged and to not even think about eating until he’d washed his hands.

  “No, thanks. I had something already.” When he didn’t fix his own meals in his apartment or eat out, Dusty dined with the men in the bunkhouse. “Where’s Mom?”

  “In her study.”

  “Not resting? I heard she was sick with the flu.” His sister, Elly, had called to tell him earlier.

  “She’s feeling better this afternoon. I guess it was one of those twenty-four-hour bugs.”

  “Good. I’m going to check on her anyway.”

  “She’ll appreciate the company, I’m sure.” Barbara picked up a heavy platter to wash, then hesitated. “Did you bring that mangy mutt with you?”

  “He’s hiding under the raincoats.”

  She nodded approvingly.

  Dusty turned away and grinned to himself. The housekeeper’s intolerance of animals was a long-standing pretense. Track would be given a doggie treat and some ear scratching three seconds after Dusty left the kitchen.

  At the door to his mother’s study, he paused. She reclined on a delicate ivory chaise longue that his father had fussed about acquiring because it would break in two if he tried to sit on it but purchased nonetheless. John Walker Cody rarely denied his wife anything. On the floor were several old storage boxes, their lids propped open. His mother balanced a large leather-bound photo album on her lap. Two more were stacked beside her. She slowly turned the pages of the album in her lap, studying the photos intently.

  Dusty stepped quietly into the room. “Hey, Mom, how you feeling?”

  Her face lit up at his approach. “Much better now!”

  “What’s all this?” He leaned down to give her a peck on the cheek.

  She patted his in return. “I got to thinking of Matthew and how much he looks like you at his age.” She tapped a picture, and her expression gentled. It was a candid family portrait taken during a long-ago holiday. “See?”

  Dusty gazed at the photograph and his own toothless, dimpled grin. While his brothers had stood quietly as they were told to, he’d been cutting up. What else was new? Put him and his siblings in a room together today, and the results would be the same. He had to agree Matt’s resemblance to him was strong. It was easy to see how Dex had first figured out the boy was Dusty’s son.

  “I’m thinking of having copies made of some of these pictures for Josie and Paula,” his mother said, naming her two new daughters-in-law.

  “I’m sure they’ll like that.”

  His mother’s voice warmed. “Your sister was such a little angel.”

  Elly, the youngest of the Cody siblings, wore a frilly dress and sat in her mother’s lap. Dusty remembered pulling the bow out of her hair right after the picture had been snapped and making her cry. He also remembered the reprimand that had followed and the loss of privileges, doubly hard to take on Christmas Day. Even so, the lesson hadn’t sunk in.

  His eyes traveled next to his father, standing behind his mother, his hand resting affectionately on her shoulder.

  Dusty went rigid.

  The dark-haired, dark-complexioned face staring back at him was the image of Mark Hansen.

  “Are you all right, honey?” his mother asked.

  “Fine.” He moved away, not wanting to look at the picture anymore.

  Did she really not suspect or was she in denial of the obvious? Dusty couldn’t tell. His mother was a strong, capable woman when it came to running the family’s horse breeding business but there had always been a certain fragility beneath the competent exterior she put forth.

  He pointed to a framed picture of his parents on the corner of the side table. It was taken several years earlier on their thirtieth anniversary.

  “Dad’s sure changed a lot.”

  His mother drew back, clearly affronted. “He has not. He’s still handsome as ever.”

  “I heard something interesting in town the other day.” Dusty pulled a footstool over and sat down across from his mother.

  “You did?” She absently flipped to another page in the album and as her eyes lighted on the pictures, her mouth curved into a smile.

  He hesitated, doubting his reasons and yet compelled to continue on the path he’d chosen. Would dredging up the past really make any difference when all was said and done?

  Yes. If the rumors were true. Certainly to Dusty, his brothers and sister. They had a right to know if Mark Hansen was somehow related to them and why his parents had kept the secret all these years.

  His mother tilted her head inquiringly. “Well? What was it you heard?”

  He could, he realized, tear his family’s world apart with one simple question…or, possibly, bring them closer together. Dex and he had both agreed the risk was worth it. What they hadn’t agreed on was how to approach their parents.

  Dusty had decided to take matters into his own hands.

  He swallowed, then asked, “Did you and Dad separate for a while before Jesse was born?”

  She flinched as if he’d pulled a glass of ice water from behind his back and thrown the contents in her face.

  “Who told you that?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Of course. This person could have an ax to grind against us.”

  “They don’t.”

  “Are you positive? Who was it?”

  “Which time?”

  Her features, stoic until that moment, crumbled. She didn’t, however, cry. His mother simply didn’t break down in public, unless her tears were those of joy.

  “It’s all right, Mom. Lots of couples have problems.” Now that Dusty had asked the question, he was almost sorry he did. He hadn’t fully considered the pain revealing the truth might bring his mother, only the pain their covering it up had caused. “What matters is that you and Dad worked them out.”

  “I don’t know what those people told you,” she sniffed delicately, “but I can assure you they don’t know the entire story.”

  “What is the entire story?”

  She shook her head vehemently. “This is not the time or place.”

  “When will it be?”

  She spoke so quietly, he barely heard her. “Your father would never forgive me if I
told you.”

  “Dad has no right,” he ground out. “This affects all of us. More than all of us. What about—”

  “Don’t jump to conclusions.”

  “I wouldn’t have to if you and Dad had been honest with us from the start.” Dusty wasn’t aware his voice had risen until his father hobbled through the study door as fast as his bum leg would allow.

  “What’s going on here?” he demanded, his cheeks flushed a brilliant red. “I can hear you all the way from the stairs.”

  “It’s all right,” Dusty’s mother reassured him, instantly composed.

  “The hell it is.” He crossed the room and loomed over Dusty. “You don’t ever speak to your mother like that. You hear me? I don’t care how old you are, I won’t tolerate it.”

  Dusty stood and addressed his mother. “I apologize. I shouldn’t have hollered. I let my anger get the best of me.”

  “If there’s something bothering you,” J.W. told him, “take it up with me.”

  “All right, I will.” Dusty pivoted to face him.

  He’d stopped being intimidated by his father years ago; however, he still respected him. For that reason, he lowered his voice. Barbara and the other household staff didn’t need to overhear them.

  “Is Mark Hansen your son?”

  J.W.’s dark eyes burned with a fury like Dusty had never seen before. “How dare you,” he snapped.

  “How dare I what? Accuse you of having an affair and fathering a child with another woman? Or insist you level with us for once in your life?”

  “How dare you upset your mother like this.”

  Dusty looked over at her. At some point she’d pushed to her feet. Her hand gripped the back of the chaise as if without its support, she might collapse.

  “I am sorry,” he apologized again. “But I’m tired of being lied to. Tired of being the brunt of gossip. Tired of looking at Mark Hansen and wondering if he’s my brother.”

  “We’re not discussing this ever again.” J.W.’s eyes, burning mere seconds ago, went icy cold. “And if you bring it up, I won’t hesitate to throw you out of this house and off this ranch. For good.”