Cowgirl Come Home

by Debra Salonen - Big Sky Mavericks 03 - Cowgirl Come Home

  Her fingers clenched the plate. It took every ounce of self-control she possessed not to dump the salad on his lap and storm off. The only thing stopping her was the knowledge either she or her mother would have to clean up the mess.

  “I should have known you couldn’t do it,” she said, setting the plate on his bedside table.

  “Where’s the nurse?”

  “Cancelled.”

  “Your mother?”

  “At work. Everybody is doing what needs to be done to dig you out of this hole. Everybody but you, apparently. Who brought the bottle?” she asked, but stopped him before he could answer. “Never mind. I don’t care. I’m done.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I picked up after you for most of my life. Helped Mom clean up your messes. Apologized for your drunken ugliness. I made it my job to show this town the Jenkins name wasn’t the punch line of a bad joke.”

  She shook her head, anger intricately entwined with disappointment. “I don’t have it in me to fight the good fight again. If you’re going to drink, I’m leaving—only this time I’m taking Mom with me before you kill her, too.”

  He didn’t say a word when she walked away.

  But, then, what could he say? Drunks made promises they couldn’t keep. She knew that. Why had she thought for a minute he’d changed?

  *

  OC had known pain before. The ache of infection eating away on his flesh was nothing compared to the burning cut of his daughter’s words, the sizzling acid of seeing complete and utter disappointment in her eyes.

  Like the principal who judged without giving OC a chance to defend himself, Bailey had condemned him, too. But unlike the school administrator, Bailey had good reason to think the worst. He’d ruined her childhood.

  He liked to think there’d been a few good parts. He’d worked from pre-dawn to dark every summer to be able to afford to keep the horse she loved and the ranch she called home. He’d done that for her. But his demons had undermined his good intentions. When the drink got hold of him, he’d turn into somebody he recognized but didn’t like. His father.

  His hand shook when he reached for the phone. He couldn’t tell if Bailey was still in the house—packing her bags, maybe—or crying her eyes out. He wanted to go to her, to tell her, “I didn’t so much as taste the stuff.” But he couldn’t reach the wheelchair.

  He could reach what was left in Jack’s glass.

  His mouth turned desert dry. His finger shook as he punched in the number he knew by heart.

  “Marietta Library. Louise speaking.”

  “Come home, Luly. I need you. Please,” he added. A word he didn’t use often enough.

  *

  At the rate her heart was beating, Louise feared she’d have a heart attack before she got home. Although Bailey said she’d check on her dad, Oscar’s truck wasn’t in the driveway. A take-out container and full plate of salad sat on the kitchen counter.

  She hurried down the hallway to the bedroom. “I’m here. Taylor came back just before you called. What happened?”

  She could tell by the way his hands gestured as he spoke how upset he was. His words tumbled over each other. He pointed to the floor. A bottle in a sack. God, she’d seen a million of them. In the bathroom. On the backseat of her car. Under a hay bale in the barn. This one looked nearly full. In the past, she only found the empties.

  “Who brought this?”

  “Jack.” He sat up a little straighter. “I didn’t take a drink. He did. And he threw what was left in the glass at me. I need a shower.”

  She could see the truth in his eyes. She knew him under the influence. Lately, she’d gotten to know him sober. She could tell the difference. But Bailey…her poor, fragile daughter probably could not.

  “Yes, you do. You stink.”

  She helped him into the wheelchair. He was getting stronger, at last. A week ago she would have had to lift him onto the white plastic shower bench. Today, he did it himself. He washed his hair and used the hand-held adapter to rinse away the bubbles. By the time he called out to tell her he was done, she had the sheets changed.

  “I don’t want to go back to bed. I want to find Bailey.”

  Louise shook her head. “You can’t. I told Taylor I’d be right back. Today’s story day for the preschoolers.”

  “I could drop you off…” He looked at his stump, naked and exposed. His leg was healing but it wouldn’t support the effort required to drive a car—even an automatic.

  “When was your last pain pill?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Eat your lunch, take your pill and rest.” When he started to protest, she added, “I’ll call Paul. He’ll know where to find her. We can go together when I get off work. I promise.”

  She crossed her fingers behind her back. She’d call Paul, but Bailey could be anywhere. She had credit cards and her father’s truck. She could be on her way back to California for all Louise knew.

  Unconsciously, she put her hand on the lump.

  “What’s wrong with your side?”

  The eagle eyes of a hunter. “Nothing.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Luly. I’ve seen you poke at that spot before. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I found a lump.”

  “What kind of lump?”

  “I don’t know. It’s bigger than a plum but smaller than a peach.” She’d decided this while shopping in the produce aisle the other day.

  “Sh…show me.”

  She unfastened the waistband of her skirt to release her soft cotton top. She carefully pulled up the fabric. In the past couple of days, she’d noticed an increased sensitivity around the spot.

  Oscar placed his hands on her hips and pulled her a step closer, then positioned her to take advantage of the sunlight coming from the window. “How long have you had this?” His voice held the gruff tone of fear.

  “A month. Maybe a little longer.”

  “Oh, good God. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She looked at him, conveying an answer too obvious for words.

  “Of course. Because of me.” He let go of her and sat back in his wheelchair. “Call the doctor. Make an appointment. Whatever it is, we’ll get through it.”

  Then he opened his arms and she went—same as she had since that day forty odd years earlier when he admitted he couldn’t read. He was her heart. Good or bad. Healthy or sick. Bailey didn’t understand. Louise had lost count of the times Bailey had begged her to leave him. “Why, Mama? Why do you stay?” Louise couldn’t explain why she couldn’t leave her center of being, any more than she could explain why the sun came up every day.

  “I know we will,” she said, feeling a sense of hope she’d thought was lost forever. Oscar Clark Jenkins was back.

  Thank God.

  Chapter 9

  Paul finished tightening the last screw before reaching for his phone. A generic, uninspiring ringtone. Not the Carrie Underwood song he was hoping for.

  “Oh, hi, Louise. I thought you might be Bailey. She said she’d be back by two. It’s nearly three. Is everything okay?”

  “No. It’s not.” When she finished explaining what she believed happened, she added, “I looked Oscar in the eye, and I can swear to you, Paul, he did not drink.”

  “But Bailey assumed the worst.” Why wouldn’t she, given her history with her father?

  “Oscar and I need to go out for awhile. Might even be overnight. Oscar’s afraid she’ll leave town before he has a chance to explain.”

  The poor woman’s tone sounded so bleak, Paul almost groaned. He looked at the door knob he’d just finished re-keying. A part of him wanted to lock up and walk away for good.

  What did he have invested? A few hours of his time? And all for what? The vague, problematic, probably ridiculous chance of reconciliation with his first love? If he left now, who’d know? It wasn’t as if he’d broadcast his intention to the world.

  Accept for the observant S
heri and his impossibly intuitive brother who’d both commented on Paul’s burgeoning relationship with Bailey.

  At lunch today, Sheri had laid it out straight. “I can see why Austen called Bailey your Kryptonite. She’s beautiful and wounded. What man can resist that combination?”

  Paul gathered up the packaging from his locks and walked inside. Sheri appeared to be packing up her briefcase.

  “I take it Bailey’s not answering her phone?” he asked Louise. He’d tried Bailey’s number half a dozen times himself but his calls went straight to voicemail.

  “No. I left a message, but she hasn’t called back. OC feels awful. But he doesn’t blame her for assuming the worst.”

  The comment took Paul by surprise. The OC Jenkins he knew always blamed the other person for whatever fights or unpleasantness came his way.

  “Has she reconnected with any old friends since she got back?”

  “Only you.”

  Neither spoke for a moment, then Louise asked, “Is there any hideout or special place you remember her running to back in high school?”

  “She mentioned laying low in the haymow when her dad was on a rant. But surely she wouldn’t go to the ranch with Marla and Jack around?”

  “Probably not. Unless she heard the same rumor I did. Taylor told me they were seen packing up a great big U-Haul truck last night. OC didn’t see what Jack was driving, but he remembered hearing a truck engine.” She let out a small choking sound. “Oh, my word. Of course. Jack’s last stop on the way out of town was to get Oscar drunk. I bet Marla put him up to it. She knows as well as anyone what would happen if Bailey came home and found her father drinking.”

  Paul knew, too. The dirty trick made him change his mind about walking away. Paul didn’t care about OC, but Bailey didn’t deserve that kind of underhandedness.

  “I’ll swing by the ranch on my way back from Bozeman.” He paused then added, “By the way, I re-keyed all the doors. You can cancel your locksmith. I’ll give the new keys to Bailey if I find her.”

  “You’re a saint, Paul,” she said, her tone somber and filled with emotion. “I don’t know what our family would have done without you.”

  A saint? Hardly. I’m the guy who put a curse on your daughter. Apparently, it extended to the whole family. Who knew?

  *

  Bailey pulled into the long, beautifully paved driveway with a small squiggle of trepidation. You didn’t grow up the child of an alcoholic to willingly court discourse. But a line had been crossed. Jack and Marla knew how fragile her dad’s recovery was and one of them decided to help him screw up.

  Nobody deserved those kinds of so-called friends.

  She glanced at the black face of her cell phone on the bench seat beside her. Dead. Her car phone charger had burned up in the accident and when she bought a new phone she couldn’t afford the added expense. But, now, she regretted not replacing it. If Marla went cuckoo or Jack did something stupid, nobody would know where to find her—or her body.

  Plus, she felt terrible about running off and abandoning Paul at Jenkins’s Fish and Game. Was he still there waiting for the locksmith? God, she hoped not. She owed him a huge apology.

  Unfortunately, Bailey wasn’t her father’s daughter for nothing! The shock of finding OC drunk made her so infuriated—and hurt, she’d stormed out of the house and hopped in the truck. Her plan? To put as much distance between her and her father as possible.

  She was nearly to the Montana border before her anger solidified into resolve.

  “Am I going to let his demons chase me away again?” she’d asked aloud. “Hell, no.”

  One of the things about seeing your dreams crushed and everything you worked so hard for disappear is you walked—or limped—away with perspective. She couldn’t fix her father and she was done trying. Just like she was done running away.

  What she could do was help fix the mess Marla and Jack had created for them, and she planned to spell that out to the Sawyers in person. And as soon as Paul’s fancy accountant proved there were misdoings, she’d call the sheriff.

  The moment she aimed the steering wheel toward the house, she realized she was too late. No car. No truck. Only a yard full of junk—a broken table, a faded umbrella, a riding lawn mower with grass growing in a crack on the seat.

  She got out, pocketed the key—a habit from living anywhere but Montana—and walked to the house. The kitchen door was unlocked. Typical. She put her head in and looked around. A filthy, chaotic mess. Exactly what you’d expect if someone moved out in a hurry.

  “Can you say guilty and soon to be charged?” she muttered under her breath.

  She didn’t need to go inside. She might have walked in to use the phone but remembered her mother saying Marla had gone to cell phone only to save money.

  She turned away and started back to the truck when she spotted the colt kicking up his heels in the pasture. The other horses had shown her little interest when she pulled in, but Skipper raced back and forth as if vying for her attention.

  Her ankle felt surprisingly okay considering she’d been driving for two hours. In fact, she needed to move around, so instead of hopping back in the truck, she walked across the open staging area between the house and barn.

  Many a night she’d been the one driving their truck and trailer home from an event. Her ribbons, belt buckles or trophies on the floor beside her father’s feet while he slumped passed out on the seat beside her.

  She’d learned fast how to back up a horse trailer without taking out the power pole or a hunk of fence. She’d learned how to hose out the floorboards if OC threw up, too.

  She walked to the side pasture where Paul put the colt the day before. From a plastic bin, she filled a two-cup measurer with oats and dumped the grain into the trough. Naturally, Skipper had disappeared as soon as she headed in his direction. Typical teenage boy.

  She pressed two fingers against her bottom lip and blew hard. The shrill whistle never failed to bring Daz running.

  She closed her eyes and listened. Seconds later, the thunder of hooves made her smile. The horse rounded the corner of the barn as if his tail was on fire then slammed on the brakes when he saw her standing an arm’s length from the fence.

  He tossed his head and did a little turf dance, but the flaring of his nostrils told her he smelled the grain.

  “Yummy. Yummy,” she said, keeping her tone light. “No strings. I don’t want to ride you, groom you or give you a shot. Nothing. I just want to smell you. And maybe touch you. May I do that?”

  She let him settle into the feed before extending her hand. She moved cautiously.

  “So, how was your day? Mine kinda sucked.” His ear flickered but he didn’t lift his head. “My folks have been bled dry by a friend they trusted. I can’t set up shop to make jewelry until I unload a dumpster full of crap. And, oh yeah, my dad is drinking again.”

  His eyes came level with hers. If Skipper had been Daz, she would have seen a hint of wisdom that may have given her some insight, or, at the very least, a bit of peace. Instead, she saw the dispassionate query of a stranger, asking, “Why are you telling me this, lady? I don’t even know you. Why should I care about your problems?”

  “So, true,” Bailey said out loud, starting to laugh. “That’s it in a nutshell, isn’t it?”

  She gave Skipper a quick scratch on his white blaze then headed back to her truck. She’d just reached for the door handle when the sound of a car engine caught her ear. Her heart rate sped up. Jack and Marla?

  A second later, she caught sight of a familiar black SUV. It veered her way the moment the driver spotted her.

  Paul.

  An instant later, she made out two children in the back seat.

  *

  “Well, whattayaknow? She’s here,” Paul murmured out loud.

  “Whose truck?” Mark asked.

  “Probably belongs to the lady standing beside it,” Chloe answered. “Duh.”

  Paul heard Mark slug her bare arm. “
I didn’t see her, okay?”

  “Because you were playing your stupid game. That’s all you do anymore.”

  “Kids. Please. Bailey’s an old friend. She’s back in town helping her parents. Her mother is Mrs. Jenkins, Chloe.”

  “Really?” Chloe slipped out of her seatbelt to press her face to the window. “She’s pretty.”

  She is. And now was probably not the best time to introduce her to his children.

  “Stay in the car, please. Louise asked me to find out why she’s not answering her phone. As soon as I’m done talking to her, we’re going to feed the horses and check out the house to see how big a mess the Sawyers left.” He’d already explained that part of their stop.

  He put on the emergency brake but left the engine running. The day had heated up and his spoiled children would complain non-stop if he turned off the air-conditioning.

  “Bailey,” he called hurrying toward her. “Are you okay? Your mom was worried when she couldn’t reach you.”

  She brushed back a lock of hair that had slipped free of her fancy, pink and purple clip. He realized he was starting to be able to identify her B. Dazzled style and it wasn’t even on the market. Him—a man known for his discerning taste in screwdrivers.

  “My phone died and I don’t have a car charger. I told you I’d be right back and then never showed. I’m really sorry.”

  “No problem. Sheri held down the fort while I went to Big Z’s and got the stuff to change your locks. I couldn’t wait for your locksmith because I had to pick up my kids.” He handed her his phone. “Your mom’s worried.”

  Their hands touched during the exchange. That stupid zing he tried his best to ignore shot straight up his arm and exploded through his body. Damn.

  He stuck his hand in the pocket of his jeans. “The kids and I are here to feed the animals and check on the house. Did you look inside?”

  She answered him while punching in a number. “The door’s open. I think they’re gone.”

  “Rumor has it they tossed everything they could carry into a U-Haul. Your mom thinks their last stop on their way out of town was to see OC.”