Counting on a Cowboy

by Debra Clopton

  He looked suddenly drained and he swayed.

  Abby was at his side in an instant and grabbed his arm. Dragging it across her shoulder she almost passed out herself from the scent of him. Hanging onto his hand at her shoulder, she wrapped her other arm around his waist. “Okay, where’s your bedroom?” she demanded and started walking him out of the kitchen. He just mumbled and slowed down. She knew she didn’t have long before he was going to pass out and drop to the floor. If he did she’d just leave him there and go call his twin buddies. She had to wonder if they drank with him.

  A door stood open down the hall and she headed that way. Bingo: a bed. She didn’t care if it was his or not. She had to hoist him up a little because he was becoming heavier with each step. Once they made it to the bed and she tried to ease him down, he dropped like a rock across the mattress, landing on his face.

  Abby stared down at him and her heart hardened. “What a waste.”

  Turning, she walked back down the hall and out the back door. He wouldn’t wake till sometime tomorrow. But for tonight he seemed safe enough. Safer than he’d been sitting on the porch getting ready to drink more.

  She crossed to her house, got inside, and her knees gave way. Her hand splayed across her abdomen, she sank to the floor and with her back against the door . . . covered her face with her hands and wept.

  The screeching of tires, the glare of the semi’s lights, and the sound of splitting metal . . . and the blood. So, so much blood.

  14

  What was that smell? Bo popped an eye open to find Solomon sitting on his chest, his wet snout stuck in his face, Solomon’s awful breath wrapped around him as the dog’s thick tail whacked him in the chest. Bo was awake in an instant—the same one the dog started yowling in.

  “What are you doing?” Bo growled, shoving the heavy lump off his chest. Solomon hopped from the bed and looked back at him, howling. Normally the crazy dog would run from the room, but he didn’t. He stopped at the door and howled. Then he ran back to Bo and howled again as he trotted impatiently back to the door. Bo plopped his feet to the floor and yawned. “What is wrong with you?”

  Solomon barked and it hit Bo’s sleep-deprived brain that the dog was trying to tell him something. Then he heard Pops’s mumbling voice over the baby monitor sitting on his night stand. Abby had helped him buy it and now he was glad he had followed her advice. Bo shot up, fully awake. Instantly the dog spun and raced out the door and Bo followed.

  Bo’s heart thundered as he followed Solomon. He rounded the corner of Levi’s room and stopped.

  “Pops?” His grandfather was bent over the baby’s bed, and when he turned to Bo, he was a mess. Literally. Pops had tried to change Levi’s diaper.

  And it was not good.

  “Oh, Pops,” he groaned. It was bad.

  Really, really bad. It was everywhere.

  Bo spent the next thirty minutes cleaning up Levi, Pops, and . . . everything else. When he was done, he finally stopped long enough to take a breath. Pops sat in the chair in the living room, and when Bo brought the baby into the room, his grandfather started laughing. As stressful as the last few minutes had been for him, Bo started laughing too.

  “That was bad, Pops,” he said, collapsing onto the couch beside Pops.

  “It was. Stunk too.”

  Bo chuckled more and Levi, who was sitting on Bo’s lap, looked from him to Pops with a grin on his cute little face. The kid hadn’t cried through the whole incident. He’d found it quite entertaining, in fact.

  Bo’s heart clutched looking at his son and he pulled him close and gave him a cuddle. “We’re a trio, aren’t we?” he said out loud, more for his own benefit than anyone, but unexpectedly Pops hiked a bushy brow.

  “Yup. Taking care of a baby is somethin’. But you’re a good’un.”

  Bo realized his grandfather was looking him straight in the eyes. And Pops’s eyes were clear. A lump slammed into Bo’s throat and his eyes burned. “Thanks, Pops. You’re a good’un too.”

  Moments came unexpectedly. Moments that shot straight to his and his brothers’ hearts. Moments when they saw their Pops and he saw them and they knew it was a gift they needed to hold onto with all their might. This was one of those moments and it zapped him hard.

  “Hey, where is everyone?” Jarrod called from the kitchen. Only then did Bo realize it was six a.m. Bo usually already had coffee going by the time Jarrod arrived from his house. Not today.

  His older brother came into the living room. “Hey, is everything all right? It’s still dark in the kitchen.” A sure sign something was up.

  “It’s all right,” Pops said. “Takin’ care of the baby.”

  Jarrod’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh really. That’s good, Pops. Your help is much appreciated, I’m sure.”

  Bo almost laughed. His expression was comical, he was certain. “Oh, definitely an unforgettable morning, hasn’t it been, Pops?”

  “Kind of messy,” Pops said, grinning, and Bo hooted. He’d figured it was better to laugh than cry.

  “What?” Jarrod asked, obviously feeling left out from the inside joke.

  Bo rose and handed Levi to Jarrod. “Here you go, uncle. I gotta make some coffee then I’ll let you in on the joke.”

  By eleven o’clock the festivities had gotten underway, though Abby still hadn’t shown up. Different sections of the park had horseshoes or a bean bag toss and a few other old-fashioned games. People were everywhere.

  After Jarrod had had a really good laugh at Bo’s expense, they’d decided they’d bring Pops and the baby to the picnic. Jarrod would stay glued to Pops while Bo would have Levi.

  They’d settled their basket of sandwiches on the blanket, and Bo had Levi in the stroller. A week ago he’d have been here as a single guy just enjoying the day, but today he was here as a father and it felt more alien to him than anything he’d ever experienced. Though he was getting used to the idea, it still seemed surreal in many ways.

  He had to admit that he had gotten attached to the little fella. He was a pretty happy dude and he loved his stroller. It was as if he knew something life-changing was happening when he first arrived and so he had cried all the time, but now he was settling in. Abby had helped with that. She’d helped Bo calm down some around the boy and that was helping. But she also found things that gave Levi comfort. One of those was being rolled around in the stroller. The kid grinned at everyone—obviously a born flirt.

  Bo kept disengaging from each flock of women so he could look for Abby.

  Where was she?

  Scanning the park, he finally spotted her at about eleven-thirty. She was walking across the street carrying a small blanket and a basket he assumed held her picnic lunch. Even from the distance he thought she looked pale.

  He reached her about the time she made it across the street and to the park.

  “Abby, hey, we’ve been watching for you. Everything okay?” He was beginning to sound like a broken record. How many times had he asked her that? She was probably going to tell him to mind his own business or something. Instead she nodded.

  “Everything is fine. It’s a lovely day for a picnic, don’t you think?”

  “Yes. Do you want to join us? I have a spot saved with a blanket laid out and everything.”

  She hesitated, then smiled. “Sure, I guess, for a moment. But I’m running late and I promised Clara Lyn I’d help with some auction she was working up.”

  “Sure.” He studied the new hollowness to her eyes and he wanted again to ask her if she was okay, but he didn’t.

  “Have you seen Mr. Radcliff this morning?” she asked as they walked through the crowd toward his spot on the grass.

  “No. Not that I can recall.” Not that he’d been looking for Rand. “He’s usually hanging out with Doobie and Doonie. You know he’s on the city council—they’re a part of all of these new things the town is doing.”

  “He’s on the city council?”

  “Yeah, has been for several years no
w.”

  “Oh.”

  “Hey, maybe you know the answer. What is it with women and babies? There have been women almost tackling poor Levi this morning.”

  Abby looked at him and suddenly some life flickered in her eyes. He liked that he’d put it there. He didn’t have a clue why she suddenly looked as if she was going to bust out laughing, but whatever the reason it was a whole lot better than the lack of emotion that had been there before.

  “Bo, you seriously don’t understand why Levi is attracting hordes of women?”

  “Well, he is cute and all. And the kid knows how to flirt.”

  “Bo, have you looked in a mirror lately?”

  He gave her a baffled look. “What does that mean?”

  She gaped at him. “You cannot be this clueless. They are using Levi to get to you. A baby or a puppy are great icebreakers. Great excuses for mingling . . . get it?”

  He felt like a total fool. “You mean it’s not about Levi?”

  “Bingo, Einstein.”

  He laughed now. “Wow, what has gotten into you? Where did the quiet gal go and who is this person who has taken over?”

  She looked embarrassed. “Funny. But seriously, you had to know they’re trying to get to you.”

  “Honestly, no, I was—” He stopped himself before he blurted out that there was only one woman on his mind. “That’s just weird,” he said instead.

  She laughed again, with a gentle melody that played havoc on his insides. “Not weird—reality. You need to get used to this. You’ve probably never had a problem meeting women, but I have a feeling that now, being a single good-looking guy carrying around a baby, you’re going to really be a magnet.”

  “Like I said, that’s just weird,” he said again, but was distracted by her just saying that she thought he was good looking.

  “I’ve known men who borrow their nieces or nephews strictly as pickup tools. It’s kind of disgusting if you think of it. But before I got marrie—” She stopped talking and it hit Bo between the eyes. Abby had been married once.

  “Before I got married,” she continued, slower, “I had men pushing strollers come up to me and pretend to need some advice about something so they could talk to me. Anyway, it’s the same thing.”

  Abby had been married. And it seemed to be a tender subject. How long had she been divorced? Or was it something else? Was she a widow? She was too young to be a widow. She couldn’t be more than twenty-six, twenty-seven at the most. There was no way she was older than him and he’d just turned twenty-eight.

  “There’s Clara Lyn, I need to go see her and I’ll come join you after I see what she needs me to do. She’s probably wondering what happened to me.”

  “What did happen to you? I was starting to get worried.”

  She was already gone, though, and didn’t turn back to answer his question when he was almost certain she’d heard him.

  He watched her go, the soft skirt swirling about her gold-sandaled feet. Her dark hair hanging loose about her shoulders swayed as she moved smoothly and with grace. He couldn’t pull his gaze off of her. He was beginning to think he could look at her all day, every day. And that was saying something for a guy who usually lost interest in a woman pretty quickly. But Abby was different. Way different, and she was becoming almost like an obsession. Like his love for chocolate, only better . . . she was on his mind all the time.

  15

  Clara Lyn and Reba hovered by the entrance to the gazebo as she approached. Apparently Abby had already missed the welcome by Mayor Doonie Burke. They’d said sometimes they suspected Doobie stood in for him, but she had a feeling that today it was really Doonie. Besides, she’d already talked with Doobie earlier.

  “Abby, so glad you’re here. I thought you’d decided not to come or something,” Clara Lyn said, looking relieved to see Abby.

  “You had us worried there for a few minutes.” Reba wrote Abby’s name on a piece of paper and dropped it in a basket.

  “What’s that?”

  “Oh, it’s just for the auction I was telling you about earlier. We’ve been collecting names—see the sign-up?” Clara waved a hand at the sign on the front of the gazebo that hadn’t been there yesterday. It called for all single women to sign in for a chance to be in the auction.

  Abby looked from Reba to Clara. “So, what’s the auction?”

  Clara Lyn grinned as if she could barely contain her excitement. “You’ll see. I think it’s going to be so fun. You will have a blast and meet some new folks. Just stand there. It’s getting close to time to start. Doonie’s about to get things rolling.”

  Abby looked around, confused, but did as she was told. She’d had a horrible night and had to really give herself what-for this morning. She was sick and tired of feeling like a victim. Sick of everything that happened making her feel like she was slogging through muddy mire. She had to face her life. Stop looking back—she had to. And seeing Rand last night, drunk like he’d been, had sent her spiraling into despair.

  She crumbled into a crying, grieving mess once she’d made it back to her new kitchen and had only dragged herself out of her grieving when she’d heard Landon, as real as if he’d been standing in front of her, lose patience with her. “Get up, Abby. It’s time to stop crying. Start fighting.”

  She’d felt him. Heard him. Even saw him in her mind’s eye, so very dear to her heart, with the kindest eyes she’d ever known that were now blazing with impatience. “Be that strong independent woman I loved. Stop using your grief as a crutch.”

  The thought had felt like a two-by-four between the eyes. She had a right to her grief. A right to be a crybaby if she wanted . . . but had she let her grief turn into a crutch? Had she let her love become a tool to hold her back despite her brave front of coming to Wishing Springs?

  Had she really thought just making a change of scenery would be all that was needed?

  She had been awake most of the night.

  And mad at Rand despite what she was experiencing emotionally. The man had a crutch too. His just happened to be the same one that had been responsible for her husband and . . . her child’s death. The last echoed softly from the depths of her soul. It was too unbearable to think of . . .

  She’d buried the private information in her heart and soul. Very few people knew everything that wreck had cost her—God, her, a nurse, and a doctor—no one else knew that she’d miscarried after the drunk had crashed into them.

  And that was why she hated alcohol with a passion.

  Now, standing here in front of the gazebo, her heart pounded like beating drums thinking about what the drunk had stolen from her. Cost her. She blinked through the sudden surge of tears and forced herself to push the thoughts away or else she’d slide back into the treacherous waters of her past.

  She eased in a steady, purposeful breath. Willed herself to calm down—truly she thought she was losing her mind.

  But she was here.

  She’d made herself listen to Landon, knowing that God was using his memory—his essence—to give her a hard shove.

  Despite much preferring to hide in her house, she’d picked herself up this morning, driven to the store and grabbed a bunch of fruit, some croissants, and some chicken salad from the deli, and rushed home to make up her basket. And here she was despite now having a very odd sense that something unexpected was coming.

  Something causing a new kind of unease to roll through her.

  What were these ladies up to?

  Doonie made his way toward the steps and smiled at her. “Morning, Abby, aren’t you lookin’ lovely today.”

  “Thank you, it looks like you’ve got a hit on your hands.”

  He beamed. “I do believe we do. But we’re about to put the real fun into the mix.” He winked and moved up the stairs.

  Odd . . . matter of fact, Abby decided everything felt odd. Looking around, she felt a little self-conscious standing alone at the bottom of the steps. She started to move aside, but Clara Lyn hissed. “No.
Stay there. Right there.”

  Abby halted. Okay, what was going on? Something wasn’t right.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Doonie boomed over the crackling loudspeaker. Abby jumped forward, since the speaker was right behind her ear. “We’re delighted you’ve all come out today for our inaugural Picnic in the Park. A special welcome to all the visitors from out of town. We’re happy you’ve come to join us today. And now, we want to get the picnic started. We’re asking all you ladies who signed up for the auction to make your way up to the gazebo to stand beside this pretty little gal.” He pointed at Abby.

  Butterflies erupted in her stomach.

  “And if you’re single and newly arrived and haven’t signed up, come on up and Reba Ann and Clara Lyn will put your name into the pot. Oh, and bring your basket.”

  Abby watched as women came from the crowd. Eager ladies with much more excitement on their faces than she felt. She tried to smile, thinking she probably looked like a prune standing there. For goodness sake, they were about to have some fun and she was standing here worrying herself to death. That right there was the kind of thinking she was about to stop. She inhaled and sent a smile toward the approaching ladies. Abby counted ten ladies beside her.

  “Okey-dokey, here we go. Now, in the early nineteen-hundreds they’d have a festive picnic like this and the single gentlemen in the crowd would bid on the single ladies’ baskets and the opportunity to share lunch with the lady who prepared it.”

  Abby gasped.

  “So, a few of us got together and decided that today we would add this to the picnic as a bit of fun and excitement. We want to thank each of these lovely ladies for participating. Now, let’s begin.”

  Abby figured if someone had poured a cooler of ice-cold water over her, she wouldn’t have been as surprised. She swung toward Doonie and then toward Clara Lyn and Reba. The sneaks were beaming like Cheshire cats. They gave her a thumbs up and winked like this was about the best thing since ice cream.

  Abby started to walk off and then Doonie called her name. She spun back to him. What was going on? She shook her head and gritted a quiet, “No,” trying to withdraw without attracting too much more attention.