Cowgirl Come Home

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

  She put the phone to her ear. “I figured that’s where the booze came from.”

  “Marla’s parting gift of nastiness.”

  She hit end then said, “No answer at the house. Let me try her cell.”

  Paul turned at the sound of his car door opening. “Dad, it’s boring in here. I’m hungry,” Chloe called.

  “We’ll pick up pizza on the way home.”

  “Not pizza,” she wailed. “Mom bought pizza last night for the babysitter to make. Frozen. Gag.”

  He noticed Bailey’s grin before she pursed her lips and whispered another message into the phone. Apparently, her mother wasn’t picking up, either.

  She handed him back the phone. “I have a sack of snacks in the truck. Had to stop for a bottle of water and they don’t take credit card charges for under ten dollars. I got all of OC’s favorites.”

  A telling admission considering she was mad at him.

  “Louise says he didn’t actually take a drink. He threw the bottle across the room and Jack tossed his glass in OC’s face after they argued.”

  He saw the change in her face. Relief? Sadness? Skepticism? He couldn’t be sure. “Maybe they’re at the Sheriff’s office filing charges. Sheri said Marla left a very obvious paper trail and will be going to jail.”

  “Dad.”

  The three syllable variety.

  “I need to use the bathroom.”

  “Oh, crap,” he muttered, adding softly, “no pun intended.” To his daughter, he asked, “Number One or Number Two?”

  “That is nobody’s business but my own. I just need to go. Now,” Chloe added in a tone that sounded exactly like Jen.

  He didn’t need to look at Bailey to know she was stifling a grin. “Fine. I suppose technically the house has been abandoned, so… Bailey says the house is open. There’s a bathroom right off the kitchen.”

  The car door opened and slammed. Paul watched his lithe ballerina-slash-bronco rider sprint across the blacktop to the rear patio area. “Those people were pigs,” Paul said, taking in enough junk to require a dumpster.

  “Hoarder pigs.”

  “I don’t think there is such a thing.”

  Paul looked down. He hadn’t even heard Mark get out. “Hey, Mark, this is my friend, Bailey.”

  Bailey smiled. “Hi. I like your T-shirt. I’m a Loki fan, too.”

  Paul had to look a second time to figure out what she was talking about. Mark’s T-shirt—one Paul had never seen before—sported a cartoon figure reclining on a throne with the caption: Chillin’ like a Villain.

  His son eyed her suspiciously. “My mom does, too, but that’s because she likes the guy who plays him in the movie.”

  “Tom Hiddleson. Me, too.”

  Mark rolled his eyes. “Girls are weird.”

  “Mark…” Paul started to reprimand him, but Bailey interrupted.

  “You’re right. It’s what makes us interesting.”

  Mark shrugged the way eight-year-old boys did. “When are we going?”

  “After we feed the horses. You want to help? Give the horses a couple of flakes of hay.”

  His son gave him a patented “get-real” look and walked back to the car. Paul could have gone after him, argued for five minutes then forced him to do the chores, but that would have effectively ruined the rest of their evening. The resounding slam of the car door made him look at Bailey and say, “His mother and I don’t agree on how to discipline them, so they pretty much get away with anything and everything.”

  “I’m the last person who should give you advice, but I have trained a few horses and I learned the hard way, giving in is merely delaying the pain.”

  She rubbed her elbow. “My first thoroughbred. Most obnoxious animal I ever met. Thought she was a princess. She even convinced me she was fragile and ladylike…until she threw me over the fence. My elbow grazed a tree.”

  “Broken?”

  She shrugged. “Didn’t have insurance at the time. The pain went away after about a year.”

  Rough and tough—that’s how he’d defined Bailey…until he got to know her.

  “I’ll help you feed,” she said. “It’s the least I can do to repay you for wasting your whole day at the Fish and Game.”

  He followed her toward the barn, his gaze never leaving the rocking hip motion of her cut-offs. God, I have it bad.

  “It’s gross inside that house, Dad,” Chloe called, bursting from the back door as if exposed to a pandemic virus. “I’m not going to work in there. No way.”

  Paul stifled a sigh. Parenting was a thankless job most of the time. Especially when your partner traded up. “Well, come help feed the horses.” He waited for her to catch up and then asked, “Don’t you need to start getting ready for the Fair?”

  “Yeah. I told Mom last week, but she said that was your problem.”

  Jen’s lack of interest in horsemanship, shows, 4-H, anything having to do with the ranch was emblematic of the deep divide in their marriage. “Well, you’re in luck. This is Bailey Jenkins, one of the last Fair Queens of Marietta.”

  Bailey’s blush triggered a rush of tender feelings that he tried to cover by grabbing a flake of hay.

  Chloe stopped dead in her tracks. “OMG. You rode your horse in the parade instead of standing on the float.”

  Bailey shrugged. “My horse, Charlie, was the reason I won Fair Queen. It didn’t seem right…or fair…to exclude him just so I could wear a fancy formal that would have looked dumb on me anyway.”

  He remembered how proud he’d been of her standing up for her beliefs. He’d envied her guts.

  They shared a smile for a second or two. Long enough for Chloe to notice.

  “So…did you two like…um…date in high school? You did, didn’t you? Did you go steady? Did you kiss?”

  Paul groaned. Before he could answer, Bailey said, “Your dad was my first love. But I was too young to know how special he was. We broke up when I went away to college.”

  Wow. Frank. Honest. A bit more information than I would have shared, but… He could see Chloe reassessing her opinion of Bailey. Kids appreciated being told the truth.

  “Hey, kiddo, go check on Skipper, then we’re outa here.”

  He watched Bailey’s face as Chloe trotted off. Mostly unreadable, but was that a hint of poignancy? Did she see herself at that time in her life? There are worse role models than Bailey Jenkins, he told himself.

  On impulse, he said, “Since pizza’s off the table, it looks like we’re going to barbecue tonight. Would you like to join us? We have a pool.”

  “A pool,” she repeated, her tone wistful. “I did water aerobics every day until my insurance dried up.”

  He watched her weigh the pros and cons of his invitation. For some reason, Chloe’s frustrated sounding, “Dad, Skipper’s being a butthead,” seemed to tip the scales.

  “That sounds nice. What can I bring?”

  “Dessert,” Mark yelled from the SUV.

  Paul rolled his eyes. “Ears like the freaking CIA.”

  Bailey’s laugh made him wish the kids were anywhere but here. He wanted to kiss her so badly he actually turned and walked away to resist the temptation. “Mark. Out of the car. We need to check out the house and see what kind of work has to be done to get it ready to rent. Bring the iPad.”

  Chapter 10

  Accepting an invitation to dinner might have been a mistake, but Bailey didn’t want to be alone. Nor was she ready to hash things out with her parents. She wanted to swim and hang out with Paul and meet his kids. She was curious about his life. Was that wrong? Somehow the lines between right and wrong, smart and foolish, blurred when she was with Paul. Always had.

  She watched Paul cajole his son out of the truck. Paul’s easy-going manner seemed stretched a little thin when it came to dealing with his kids, but once the youngster was walking at his side, Paul ruffed his hair and said something that made the little boy laugh. A twinge of poignancy made her breath catch. Obviously Paul’s life was
rich and full. A wildly disparate comparison to hers. She envied him. Is this what life would have been like if I’d stayed?

  A gust of emotion swept through her. Bailey blinked away the tears that threatened to form.

  Focus on the now.

  Maureen’s advice. Sound advice.

  She turned and headed back the way she’d come. Even from a distance she could see Skipper giving Chloe a bad time. Ears flattened. Tail swishing. A danger to himself and others, as her father would say. OC had been her first teacher. He’d taught her to read animals the way he read a river.

  “My first pony was the meanest thing on the planet when we got her,” she said stepping beside Chloe, who was perched on the top rung of the fence, obviously trying to work up the nerve to get into the pen. “Mean.”

  “What’d you do?”

  “Same thing you’re doing. I sat on the fence and watched her. I was scared to get down. Any time I’d get close she’d kick or bite.”

  Chloe’s blue eyes went wide.

  Would Paul’s and my child have had blue eyes?

  Bailey forced the thought away. Focus. “Finally, my dad took pity on me and showed me how to win her over. Eventually, she followed me everywhere like a big puppy.”

  “Really? How?” The eagerness in Chloe’s voice touched a part of Bailey she thought died in the accident—that intangible connection between young girls and horses.

  “First, bring a bribe when you first show up. Carrots. Apples. Sugar cubes. Whatever your horse likes.”

  Chloe frowned a moment since, obviously, she hadn’t brought any of those items with her. “What about grass?” She hopped down and raced to a patch of headed out grass at the base of a light pole. “Skipper loves grass,” she said triumphantly when she returned.

  Bailey looked over her shoulder. Skipper’s ears were cocked forward, his nostrils hopping. “You’re right. He does. You know your horse.”

  Chloe’s smile brightened.

  When Skipper came to the fence, his mouth practically watering, Bailey told her, “Once you have his attention, you need to give him your complete attention. Be aware of his body language and look for signs that something is off or not quite right.”

  “What kind of signs?”

  “A horse can’t speak, but he can tell you everything you need to know if you take the time to watch and listen.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Bailey grinned. The exact response she’d given OC. She leaned close and said softly, “That’s because you want this to be easy. I certainly did. The last thing I wanted was to have to spend a lot of time getting to know my horse and trying to figure out what he was thinking.” She rolled her eyes. “What a pain, right?”

  Chloe nodded. “I just want to ride him.”

  “Of course you do. Who wouldn’t? He’s beautiful. He’s strong and fast and riding him can help you forget about everything that’s going on around you. All the stuff you don’t have any control over.”

  Chloe’s expression changed. Bailey knew in that moment how difficult her parents’ divorce had been for Chloe. “Yeah. How’d you know?”

  Bailey shrugged. “Why do you think I spent most of my time on the back of my horse? Charlie was my best friend. I could tell him anything and I knew it would never come back to bite me in the butt.” She rubbed her behind, which made Chloe laugh.

  “Skipper bit me on the butt once. I didn’t dare tell Dad. I thought he might sell him.”

  “Dad’s are like that. They get a little crazy when something bad happens to their daughters.” Bailey’s voice caught in her throat. An awareness she’d successfully kept at bay crept into view. OC loved her. She’d always known that. Life and his personal demons had conspired against them, but he’d always been there for her…the best he could.

  “Did your horse ever hurt you?”

  “No. Charlie and I were a team. He protected me from myself. If I wanted to try a new trick and I wasn’t ready for it or was doing something wrong, he’d simply freeze and that was it. Talk about horse sense. I can’t tell you how many times he kept me from getting hurt.”

  Chloe heaved a big sigh. “Skipper and I aren’t like that at all.”

  She sounded so broken-hearted, so close to giving up, Bailey made a rash decision. She opened the gate and walked into the pasture. “Trust develops over time. It’s not a magic pill you can take. You can’t will Skipper to love you. You have to earn his trust and you start by showing him you’re in charge.”

  Skipper didn’t run. After their meeting in the field and their little bonding over oats this afternoon, Bailey had a faint sense of him. The horse was young and undisciplined but not mean. When she walked up to him, he butted her with his head, playfully. She talked to him while giving Chloe a lesson at the same time.

  “You’re a good boy at heart, aren’t you, Skipper? You’re a little bored right now, though. No friends your age. Your mom and dad have a new baby to keep their attention. The girlfriend you jumped the fence for is long gone. You go days on end with nobody to ride you. Boring. Boring. Boring.”

  She scratched his neck in a place that always made Daz toss his head.

  Skipper tossed his head as if agreeing with her statement.

  Chloe clapped. “Me, too. It’s so frustrating. Dad won’t let me ride my bike out here, and Mom hates horses. Animals in general. She says her life is too full for pets. And Dad’s so busy with the store I hate to ask him to drive me when he gets home.”

  Bailey never had that problem. Every day after school, the bus would drop her at the end of her driveway and she’d hop on Charlie’s back. Bareback. No helmet. No bridle. Nobody around in case she fell off and got hurt. Sounded crazy today, but at the time she’d felt happy and lucky. She’d had a great childhood. Had she ever told her parents that?

  It wasn’t too late, she reminded herself.

  “Hand me the lead. I’ll show you a few grooming tricks that will lead straight to his heart.”

  Paul opened the upstairs window to air out the mostly empty room. The south-facing window gave him a bird’s eye view of the barn and paddocks. He could see Chloe and Bailey brushing Skipper. At one point, Bailey set her brush aside and showed Chloe how to do something, her hand over Chloe’s. A motherly gesture. His breath caught in his throat and tears prickled across the bridge of his nose. Powerful emotions he had no business thinking bounced around in his head. Chloe should have been our daughter, Bailey. You could be teaching our daughter how to ride. How does that make you feel? Are you sorry? Why didn’t you let us try? How can I feel the things I feel and still resent what you did?

  “What else, Dad?”

  Paul spun around. “Huh? Oh. In this room?” He gave the place a cursory inspection. A rickety chair with a broken leg leaned against the wall like a traveler who’d come to the end of the line. Dust bunnies and general debris. “There’s a hole in the wall I don’t remember seeing. Write down: Bailey’s room sheetrock patch and paint.”

  Mark looked up from the iPad. “This was Bailey’s room? How do you know that?”

  “I told you. She was my girlfriend in high school.”

  “You came into her room?”

  “A few times.” When her parents were gone.

  “Did you play Minecraft together?”

  “We did our homework.” And made out until our lips were numb.

  He checked his phone for the time and saw a text from Jen. “Your mom wants to know if you and Chloe would mind spending a few extra days with me this week. Andrew has something to attend in Denver and she wants to go along to shop for your DisneyWorld trip.”

  Mark cocked his head in a way that was pure Jen. Both were planners with a strong sense of time. Mark hated to be late and normally abhorred last minute changes. “Can I go to the Summer Park’s program with Ben?”

  Ben Knight, his best friend in Marietta. The two were passionate Mindcraft devotees.

  “Sure, if the program has room for you. I’ll call Ben’s mom w
hen we get home.”

  “You’ll forget. Text her now.”

  The kid had a point. Helping Jane with the fair had stretched him thinner than usual. Plus, he now had a house to clean up and rent and he had to figure out what to do about his feelings for Bailey. He’d invited her to dinner and she was bonding with his daughter at this very minute. Maybe it was time to admit the boat carrying that decision already set sail.

  Chapter 11

  Bailey adjusted the strap of the cloth grocery bag on her shoulder and pushed the doorbell, bumblebees raising a ruckus in her mid-section.

  She’d checked the address twice. Right number. Right house. But she still couldn’t quite believe it.

  She’d never been inside, but when they were dating, she and Paul had cruised down Bramble Lane debating about which house they’d buy when they were rich and famous.

  “This one,” they’d said simultaneously, on more than one occasion.

  Two stories, skinny lap siding with brick accents, a porch that begged you to sit there every evening as the neighborhood settled down. This wasn’t the biggest or showiest house on the street, but she liked how it seemed lovingly coddled by older trees and full, green hedges.

  Although she could hear the chime echoing inside the house, nobody came to greet her.

  Out back, she guessed.

  She held tight to the handrail going down the steps. The entire porch had been replaced by new, manufactured “wood.” Winding her way past a skateboard, a girl’s bike and some kind of motorized scooter, she reached the privacy fence gate. A post-it note fluttered in the late afternoon breeze.

  “Come in,” it urged, in hot pink ink with five odd-shaped hearts forming an arch.

  She was tempted to snatch it up and press it to her chest but didn’t. She opened the gate and walked into a world unlike anything she’d been expecting.

  “Hey,” a high-pitched voice called from the large, rectangular pool. “You’re here.”

  Chloe abandoned her orca-shaped raft and rolled into the water. Once her head re-emerged, she yelled, “Da…ad, your girlfriend’s here.”