A Cowboy's Heart

by Brenda Minton

  “Clint?”

  He looked up. Willow stood in front of him, nearly as tall as he was. Her blue eyes met his and held his gaze, looking deep, like she could see into his heart. He hoped she couldn’t, because the thoughts in there were pretty scrambled right about then.

  “I can’t talk about it.” He touched her shoulder as he passed. He couldn’t talk yet. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t get the words past the tight lump in his throat.

  “Aunt Janie?” Willow rushed past him, opening the screen door on the back of the house. “Could you come out here and watch the boys?”

  Janie walked out, smiling, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. She glanced from him to Willow and then to the boys. Her eyes narrowed, and he looked away, not able to tell her, not yet. He needed a few minutes to get it together, for everyone’s sake. For the boys’ sake.

  “Clint?”

  He shook his head and walked past her, into the air-conditioned dining room of her house. Willow followed him inside, her hand rested on his shoulder while he gathered his thoughts and fought back the wave of fear that got tangled with faith, as he tried to tell himself God could take care of Jenna.

  “She’s missing.” He whispered the words and then turned and said them again. “Jenna is missing.”

  “Oh, Clint.” Her only words as she stepped close and her arms wrapped around his waist, holding him tight.

  One harsh sob escaped the lump in his throat and Willow’s tears were hot on his neck. He had to hang on, to be strong. If he looked outside he would see the boys, playing in the mist of the sprinkler. A summer day, blue skies, and people relying on him. For just a few minutes he wanted to not be that person.

  “What happened?” Willow whispered against his neck.

  He moved back a step and closed his eyes as he took a deep breath. Willow’s hand remained on his arm. When he opened his eyes she moved her hand to his cheek and a soft, tremulous smile curved her lips.

  “Her unit was moving and it was attacked. They can’t find her anywhere.”

  “They’ll find her.”

  “What if…”

  “We’re not going to give up, Clint. We’re going to keep praying and keep having faith.”

  “I know. I know.” But his heart ached and faith was in short supply at the moment.

  “I’m going to pray, Clint. I’m going to have enough faith for both of us right now.”

  He closed his eyes and breathed in, nodding his agreement. Right now that’s what he needed.

  He glanced out the window and saw Janie with his nephews. The boys needed him. As much as he wanted to stay in Willow’s arms, he knew that his priority was outside, with two little boys who were about to learn that their mother was missing.

  “Don’t tell them.” Willow grabbed his arm. “Not yet, Clint. Give the military time to find her. Give the boys this day to play.”

  Before he took away their sunshine.

  How would they recover from this? Would they? He brushed a hand through his hair and watched as the boys played, splashing fine mists of water at Janie. She raised the towel and laughed. But he could see that her laughter was strained, because she knew.

  As he watched, Janie looked his way, her smile fading. Willow’s hand still held his arm, like she thought her hold on him would keep the inevitable from happening.

  “I have to tell them. I can’t keep this from them.”

  “They’re babies.”

  He sighed, wishing the huge breath he took would relieve the tightness in his chest. It didn’t. The truth was still there, heavy on his heart. He smiled down at Willow. Her gaze had left his face, and she was looking out the window, at his nephews. He lifted the hand she’d placed on his arm and kissed her palm.

  Her gaze shifted back to his face. “Don’t tell them, Clint. Don’t make them carry this weight. We can carry it for them until we know something definite.”

  Definite. The word hit like an arrow. Until he knew for sure if his sister was coming back to them. He held on to Willow’s hand, knowing she would let go of her anger with him for this time, while he needed her.

  And he did need her.

  He’d never needed anyone before, not the way he needed her. All of his life he’d taken care of things, of people, and he’d been just fine with that.

  He couldn’t even think about when it had started, this needing her. And now more than ever, the boys needed him. They needed him strong.

  “You’re right. We won’t tell them. Not yet.”

  She nodded and walked out the door ahead of him, already wearing a smile for the boys to see. But he had seen the look in her eyes before she turned away. Her eyes reflected her sorrow, for him, for the boys and for Jenna.

  He pasted on a smile of his own as he walked out to join the boys under the sprinkler, not caring that his clothes got soaked.

  Life had just taken a sudden turn, and now, everything was about Timmy and David and getting through the days and weeks to come. His gaze connected with Willow’s. She stood just at the edge of the spray of water, letting it hit her arms and face. He could see the tears still trickling out of her eyes as she watched the boys play.

  The boys wouldn’t let him remain in his stupor. Timmy splashed him, and when Clint smiled, the child stood for a moment studying him. Like he knew something was wrong. Clint forced a bigger smile and splashed back.

  “Why don’t you guys finish up and we’ll go back to our house for a little while. You can put on dry clothes, and then we’ll cook hot dogs.”

  “Could we make a fire?” David edged out of the water and his thumb went to his mouth.

  “We can build a fire, yes.”

  “Do you have marshmallows?” Timmy stood under the spray of water, and he still didn’t look convinced that everything was okay.

  “I don’t have marshmallows.”

  “We have some,” Janie offered.

  Clint backed out of the water, still unable to really make eye contact with Janie or Willow. “Thanks. The two of you can join us.”

  “I can’t tonight, Clint.” Janie pushed herself out of the lawn chair she’d been sitting in. “Willow can come down. We have all of the fixings for s’mores.”

  Timmy grabbed Willow’s hand. She looked at Clint, and he knew she’d lost part of the conversation. He signed the plan for her. She smiled down at Timmy and nodded. “I’ll be down, sweetie. We can sing and make s’mores. It’ll be fun.”

  Timmy and David, soaked and shivering from the cold well water, grabbed his hands.

  “Let’s go.” Timmy pulled on him, and Clint smiled goodbye to Willow and Janie.

  At six-thirty Willow walked down the drive to the foreman’s house. Clint was at the edge of the drive, making a circle with rocks for the fire. The garden hose was out, because the grass was dry for so early in the summer. Willow smiled because the boys were dragging huge limbs they’d found at the edge of the yard to the fire pit.

  Timmy walked backwards, pulling on a limb that had to be ten feet long. David dropped his and brushed his hands off on his denim shorts. He picked it up again and heaved to set it in motion. An offer to help would have crushed him, so she watched, praying he wouldn’t get hurt.

  “They’re having fun.” Clint spoke when she was close. He placed the last rock and sat back on his heels.

  “They’re definitely having fun.” She pulled up one of the lawn chairs he had set out and lowered herself, still aching from the run-in with the bull.

  “You okay?” Clint stood, dusting his hands off on his jeans and then pulling up a chair for himself.

  “I’m good. It’s you I’m worried about. And the boys.”

  WE’LL GET THROUGH THIS, he signed, AND JENNA WILL COME HOME.

  SHE WILL, CLINT. I KNOW SHE WILL, she signed back, rather than speaking. This protected the boys from overhearing. She didn’t want them to hear this conversation.

  He nodded and glanced in the direction of the boys. They were still dragg
ing too-large limbs, huffing and puffing as they made their way across the yard. “I should help them.”

  “They’re fine. But we should probably find some smaller pieces of wood.”

  He grinned at that. “You’re a campfire girl?”

  “I happen to know a few things about camping.” She stood up and reached for his hand. “Come on, let’s help the boys.”

  YOU’RE HELPING ME, WILLOW. He spoke the words with his hands, and she silently thanked God for good friends. “Thank you for coming down here tonight.”

  “I wouldn’t have left you on your own.”

  “Yes, you would have.”

  “No, Clint, I wouldn’t have. This is no longer about us. It’s about two little boys.” She lifted his hand and kissed his knuckles. “It’s about you, too. Friends help each other.”

  As they crossed the yard to trees at the back of the house, Clint didn’t comment.

  “Janie talked to our pastor.” Willow reached for a few twigs for kindling. “He wants to have a prayer service tomorrow night.”

  “What about the boys?”

  “We’ll take them to the nursery and let them play.”

  “Okay.” He touched her arm and pointed back to the house. “They want to eat.”

  Willow turned and smiled at the boys. They were standing at the corner of the house, side by side.

  “I think we’re being summoned.” Clint grabbed a few more small limbs. “Coming, guys.”

  Willow followed Clint back to the front of the house and dumped her wood next to the pile the boys had dragged up. With that amount of wood, they’d have a fire until late into the night. And maybe that’s what Timmy and David planned.

  She sat down in the lawn chair and watched as Clint piled kindling and paper. He struck a match, and a little flame burst into life, catching the paper and the smallest twigs.

  And then it went out.

  He tried again. Willow snickered and the boys laughed. Clint gave her a look and shook his head, but his lips turned into a little smile. A sheepish smile that flickered and then dissolved as he bent to concentrate on the fire, and worry. She knew he was worried.

  “I can do this.” He struck another match.

  “Of course you can.” Willow agreed, but she shook her head, and the boys laughed again.

  Clint sat back on his heels and tossed her the matches. “Go ahead, smarty pants, you get it started.”

  Willow stood. “Okay, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll get the fire started, and you have to roast my hot dogs.”

  “Done.” He held out his hand. “Shake on it.”

  She didn’t want to shake on it. His gaze challenged her, and she took his hand. But he didn’t play fair. He held her hand, his thumb brushing hers a few times.

  “Thank you for making me smile,” he whispered, and then he kissed her cheek.

  The boys covered their mouths. Willow laughed and walked away, but her insides were shaking because he kept switching things around on her, making her want him in her life.

  She opened the cabinet on the carport and pulled out a bag of charcoal and starter fluid. As she walked back, Clint called her a cheater.

  “I’m not cheating. Did I not say that I could build a fire?” She piled charcoal under a few twigs of wood and one larger piece. After dousing them with starter fluid she waited a few seconds and struck a match. The charcoal blazed, and the wood sparked, crackled and caught fire.

  “Tah-dah.”

  “You win.” Clint stood next to her. “I still say you cheated, but you win.”

  Willow handed him her stick. “I like mine well-done. And my marshmallows light brown, so that they’re just hot enough to melt the chocolate.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Clint hugged her waist, one arm around her, and his shoulder brushing hers. When he let her go she backed into her chair to watch.

  The boys sat one on each side of him and he helped them skewer the hot dogs. Willow’s heart ached for the three of them. Their faint conversation drifted back to her and she strained to hear, wiping away tears that trickled down her cheeks.

  “Can’t we have marshmallows first?” David asked.

  “Nope, buddy, we have to eat something good for us.”

  “Hot dogs aren’t good for us,” Timmy informed him with a slight shake of his head. “They’re full of servatives.”

  “Preservatives,” Clint corrected.

  “Yes, those.” Timmy lifted his nearly black hot dog out of the fire.

  “Here, Timmy, let me help you get that on a bun.” Willow walked to the table that held their condiments, chips and bottled water. “Do you want ketchup?”

  Timmy shook his head. He looked up at her, eyes watery. “I want my mom, ’cause she knows that I don’t like buns, and I just like mustard.”

  Willow actually felt her heart break. It cracked into a million pieces and flooded her eyes with tears she couldn’t blink back fast enough. Timmy was staring at her with a thousand questions in his little eyes, and what could she do?

  “Tim, buddy, that isn’t fair.” Clint’s face was a mask of control that Willow knew he couldn’t be feeling.

  “It’s okay.” Willow smiled and brushed Timmy’s hair back, patting him on the back rather than giving him the hug that she wanted to give, but knew that he didn’t want at that moment. She could see it in his stiff little shoulders and the challenge in his eyes.

  “Come on, guys, let’s eat fast so we can have s’mores. I love s’mores.” Willow squirted mustard on a plate and let Timmy push his hotdog next to it. He reached for a small bag of chips and walked off, still hurting.

  David inched closer to her side. He tugged on her hand and she looked down, smiling because he was smiling. “I like my hot dog on a bun.”

  “Do you like mustard or ketchup?”

  He pointed to the ketchup. Willow fixed his plate, and he picked the seat next to hers.

  Clint was still facing the fire. Willow wanted to tell him it would be okay. She couldn’t. How could she make that promise? Especially when his back was to her, and his shoulders were as stiff as Timmy’s, a sign that he was trying too hard to be strong.

  The fire flickered, orange and blue flames dancing in the light breeze and shooting sparks into the air that fluttered and died out. It kept Clint in a trance for a few minutes, thinking, praying. The boys were behind him, talking to Willow in soft tones about the sound of the crickets that she couldn’t hear, and why they loved s’mores the best, but hot dogs were okay, too.

  Kid talk, like everything was okay. And they had no idea that their world hinged on a group of guys thousands of miles away searching for their mother. He sighed and closed his eyes, feeling the heat from the fire blending with the warm summer night and a light breeze.

  “Do you want one, Uncle Clint?” Timmy tugged at his hand, looking up at him with eyes that still questioned.

  “Yes, I do want a s’more.” He wrapped an arm around his nephew’s shoulder and thought back to his own childhood, before his mother died.

  A lump of emotion rose from his heart to his throat, and he swallowed it down because he had to make this work for the boys, for their sake. Timmy leaned in close, his hand tighter on Clint’s.

  “Can we call my mom?” The little boy asked.

  “Let’s sit down and pray for her instead.” Clint sat down in the lawn chair and pulled Timmy onto his lap. “We can’t call her right now, but we can say a prayer for her.”

  “Do you think she will know that we’re praying?” Timmy whispered.

  “I think she will. And she definitely knows we love her.” Clint’s silent prayer was that his sister would find faith. Now more than ever.

  Timmy nodded against his shoulder, leaning in close and wrapping sticky-marshmallow arms around his neck. Clint couldn’t look at Willow. He knew that in the dark there would be tears in her eyes.

  He wanted to hold them all. He wanted to hold Jenna, too. A hand touched his arm. Willow. She smiled at him and nodded. He was doi
ng okay.

  He prayed, and David climbed onto his lap with Timmy. Willow pulled her chair closer. As the fire burned down to coals, they sat together, singing “Jesus Loves Me.”

  Clint prayed his own prayers, silent prayers for wisdom. He hadn’t hurt this bad since his mother’s death. He remembered that day, and the following year, dealing with the pain and no one to really lean on. He hadn’t known how to tell anyone how bad it hurt. Willow was sitting next to him, her hand on his arm, and he didn’t know how to let her in.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sunday evening the church parking lot was full of people. Willow stopped her truck, parking at the edge of the road, the only space left. The tiny community church, far from town and any real housing development, didn’t have need of a big parking area, not on a normal Sunday.

  Today wasn’t just any Sunday. Today was the day after they had learned that Jenna Cameron was MIA. Today was a day of prayer that she would come home to her sons and her family.

  Clint had come early with Janie and the boys. The boys would be in the nursery, far from the service and prayer. Clint had taken Willow’s and Janie’s advice. The boys didn’t need to know.

  How would the boys survive this, if Jenna didn’t come home? And Clint? Last night sitting next to that fire with the boys, she had watched him struggle. Even after the boys had gone to bed he had insisted that everything was okay. He was fine.

  He wasn’t fine. He was hanging on to pride, using it as a lifeline. She recognized it because she knew that it had been her stumbling block from time to time.

  Janie stood on the steps of the church, waiting for her. Willow smiled at her aunt, who had put off her trip to Florida. Indefinitely. She couldn’t go anywhere with Jenna missing.

  And then there was Mr. Cameron in the nursing home. He thought Jenna had run away again, like she did every time she didn’t like the rules. Willow wiped at her eyes and smiled for her aunt.

  “I’m glad you’re here. Clint needs you.” Janie slipped an arm through Willow’s as they walked up the steps.

  Willow wanted to disagree about Clint needing her. Clint was so used to being needed, he had a difficult time letting others be strong for him. He was still trying to protect and rescue. This morning she had caught him returning phone calls for her.