Counting on a Cowboy

by Debra Clopton

  Maggie—always the encourager. Abby rubbed the tension between her eyes and felt a headache coming on with a vengeance. It matched the heartache threatening to crack her chest wide open. Looking at the man whose eyes suddenly seemed conflicted, more guilt slammed into Abby.

  Had she asked him if she could help him? No, she hadn’t. She’d just tossed him on the bed that night and walked out and she’d barely talked to him since.

  But Maggie was looking for answers for him. She was asking specific ways to be of service to him. And Abby knew helping him or any intoxicated person could very possibly save lives if it kept them off the road. And that was what concerned Abby.

  Her heart ached with what she’d lost.

  Rand stared at her. “You did this,” he said, his shoulders slumping. “I was trying. I just had a little setback the other night.”

  Denial did not sit well with her. “I didn’t do it. You did when you picked up that bottle. I’m concerned for you.”

  “I let you move into my rent house and this is how you repay me? Starting rumors—”

  “Rumors—” Abby started then clamped her mouth shut, suddenly reminded that he was her landlord and while she did have a six-month lease, he could very well make her time here hard if he chose. “I stand by my comment. I’m concerned for you, Mr. Radcliff. You could hurt or kill yourself or someone else.”

  “I was at home.”

  “But how many times have you been behind the wheel in that condition? And just because you were home, doesn’t it matter to you that you’re harming yourself and Pebble?”

  “You need to mind your own business.”

  “Rand, this is not like you,” Clara Lyn gasped. “Not at all.”

  “Look,” Abby said, a sense of urgency rushing over her. “You can beat this if you’re really honest with yourself and want to be free of it . . . before it’s too late. You can face it or blame me. It’s your choice.” She turned and walked away. She hoped he’d come to his senses, but at least she had said her piece. Her business or not, she couldn’t live with herself if she swept it under the rug. And hopefully her new friends understood that.

  “Hey.” Maggie caught up with her. “That was pretty tough back there. On everyone.”

  “He needs to face reality.”

  “I agree. But I’ve also learned that until someone makes up their mind to change it won’t happen. I guess what I’m saying is don’t let Rand’s problem eat you up.”

  As they got back into the house, Clara Lyn and Reba came back inside.

  Reba looked a little flustered. “Pebble was so miffed she had to go. But she’ll make it. That little gal is made of steel. No one would believe it looking at her, but she is. She knows what she’ll put up with and what she won’t and nothing will blow her off course. Rand has just slammed the door on any chance he had.”

  The room was silent for a moment. Abby felt a tug of sadness for the man and anger at him at the same time.

  “Well, that’s that.” Clara Lyn sighed. She studied Abby. “Is there something else, honey?”

  Anger fogged Abby’s vision, and suddenly she knew she couldn’t hide her past any longer. And in that moment she wasn’t real certain why she’d tried in the first place. Not talking about it didn’t make the pain go away. Hiding the truth deep in her heart didn’t take away the heartache.

  “A drunk driver killed my husband and . . . my baby.”

  23

  Bo pulled into Abby’s drive, hopped out of his truck, and jogged to the front door. When Maggie had arrived back at the ranch from what should have been a fun time hanging out with the gals, she’d looked worried and told him that Abby had had a hard day.

  He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her . . . and finally he’d asked Maggie if she and Tru would mind coming over to the house for a little while so he could come check on Abby. They hadn’t minded a bit—they were enjoying being aunt and uncle. Tru, particularly, seemed so happy.

  Though he and Maggie had gotten off to a rough start, he thought she was top notch now—kind and concerned and seemed to enjoy helping out. Tru had confessed to him that it came from a deep need to have a flock and family to love since she’d had it so rough as a kid.

  One thing Bo never wanted to take for granted was his family. Sure, his dad had somehow gotten off track—much like Rand had, it seemed—but with gambling. Both had addictions that could be life-altering.

  But he’d been a good dad, a loving dad, and that was what made his behavior so bizarre. Addiction could take a good person and just botch them up bad. And in the process botch up the people they loved too.

  As Bo walked to Abby’s front porch the last faint ray of daylight disappeared. He knocked and his heart started doing odd little rat-a-tats inside his chest as he waited for her to answer.

  When she opened the door Bo was struck by her beauty. Even in her bare feet, denim shorts, and an old Sam Houston State jersey she took his breath away. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she had little if no makeup on and he could have looked at her all day. He smiled, liking everything about her.

  “Hey,” he said, his lips hitching into a grin. “Mind some company?”

  She stepped back. “Sure.”

  He followed her into the house and stopped. He whistled. “Whoa, this is nice.”

  She wrapped her arms around herself and studied the room. “I like it. It’s a haven.”

  Bo figured Abby needed a haven. He wanted to be that for her—a living, breathing, caring, and protective haven for her to run to when she needed someone to . . . to support her. Instinct told him Abby needed him—or maybe he was overthinking what was going on between them. The emotions that grabbed hold of him when she lifted those eyes to his told him he might be getting in over his head. And he had to remember that Abby only wanted and needed a friend right now . . . and he needed to proceed with caution on the feelings he had for her. What if he hurt her somehow? Abby couldn’t handle any more hurt in her life and he didn’t have the best record when it came to relationships with women. He forced himself not to think about that right then.

  “Maggie told me you had a really tough day.”

  She cocked her head and her gaze cut to him. “Yup.”

  “She said she was worried about you. I decided I should come over and see if you are all right.”

  She rubbed her arms as if she were cold then turned and walked to the kitchen and out onto the porch. He followed. She sat down at the patio set there, but didn’t actually scoot back in the seat. Instead she perched on the edge and her knee bounced in a nervous up and down.

  “Abby?” Sinking into the seat next to her he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and clasped his hands so as not to reach for hers. “Why was Maggie so worried about you?”

  “I told them about Rand. I had to. Pebble was softening up to the man and I could tell it when she spotted him through the window. They started talking about how he’d stopped drinking. That was a lie and I thought Pebble had a right to know. Clara Lyn shot off like a rocket over there and I followed.”

  She stood up. She’d been talking low—seeing how Rand lived right next door, that was probably a good idea. Right after she stood up she plopped back down. “Clara Lyn gave him the what-for and then I joined in.” She sighed and rubbed her forehead. “I have a right to be upset with people who drink and drive.”

  “Yes, you do. But from what I can tell Rand doesn’t drink and drive. He lives two blocks from the town square and his office. And less than that to the grocery store. He loves to walk. I don’t see any sign that he drives when he drinks.”

  “But he could.”

  “But he doesn’t.” He met her stare and wondered if she was going to ask him to leave.

  “Maybe. It’s just he lied to Pebble and was still trying to win her over. She deserved to know.”

  “Abby, I’m not going to disagree with you on that. She did deserve to know. If he really does have a drinking problem, then he’s out of line
trying to win her heart. Are you okay now? Is that why Maggie was so worried about you?”

  “Maggie told you I had a bad day because when we got back in the kitchen I told them about Landon and my baby. It was time. I don’t know why I thought I didn’t want to tell anyone. I mean, it is what it is.” She sounded so heartbroken, so lost.

  “Abby, you need to let yourself grieve fully. Let it go. Get mad. Throw something. Heck, kick something, but stop trying to hold it in. And stop taking your anger out on Rand. The man needs help, maybe, if he wants it. But he’s not your own personal crusade.”

  She glared at him. “I am not doing that.”

  “Looks like it to me.” So, making her mad at him over Rand did not seem like a good thing to be doing. They’d just gotten over their last disagreement over the reporter.

  “Well, you’re wrong. If Pebble hadn’t been here, I would not have even said anything and I wouldn’t have gone over and confronted him if it hadn’t been for Clara Lyn.”

  Bo wasn’t sure why he was pushing her because it certainly wasn’t in his best interest. He’d come here to see if she needed consoling or encouraging and here he was attacking her about Rand. “Look, I get that Pebble needed to know that you knew Rand was misleading her.”

  “He was lying.”

  “Okay, he was lying.”

  Abby got up and went inside the house, leaving the door open, so he followed. She headed to the sink, took a glass from the cabinet, filled it, and then drank . . . keeping her back to him.

  He started to go to her, but stopped himself. There was so much about this woman that he didn’t understand, yet he knew that losing her family because some drunk jerk got behind the wheel was driving everything she did.

  What had she been like before this tragedy defined her? He bet she had life overflowing. He could only imagine that laugh that he’d heard just a few times would have bubbled out spontaneously. That her smile had come regularly—despite that she said she’d been driven and worked all the time. Or was he imagining everything he thought he knew about her?

  Had he put traits in Abby that weren’t really there?

  These were things he wanted to know.

  “Abby.” He moved forward then and took her by the shoulders and turned her toward him. She came easily, her eyes wide, filled with anger and pain. He wanted to see laughter and joy there. He took the glass in her hand and set it on the counter. Then placed his hands on the counter, trapping her but feeling safer by not touching her. She didn’t move, didn’t look as if she were breathing.

  “You’re tied in knots. Something else is eating at you.”

  She stared at him. Tears filled her eyes.

  “How do you know these things? How do you seem to look at me and know that there is more?”

  The corner of his lip hitched to the side. “I see everything. I am all knowing.”

  She chuckled weakly despite the serious moment, probably releasing some tension.

  “Truth is,” he said, “I don’t know for certain, I just feel it when I’m looking at you.”

  Her breath caught and drew his gaze to her lips. When he lifted his head, he met longing in her eyes that tore his heart out. He swallowed and told himself that if he kissed her he was going back on everything he’d promised her. But he could tell in the way her breathing hitched and her eyes mellowed that she felt exactly what he was feeling. He wanted to step in closer. Wanted to fold her in his arms. And he wanted to kiss her . . . but he didn’t.

  Instead he straightened and dragged air into his lungs, fighting to get much-needed oxygen to his brain.

  “Bo, what I told you the other day was the truth. I worked too much and put achievement and money above my family. Dinner with clients, at the company president’s beck and call, working late all the time and always expecting Landon to take care of things at home. What all of our friends don’t know is that Landon and I had begun to fight all the time about it.” She moved from the counter and walked to stare out the back window. He could see her reflection in the glass.

  “He wasn’t happy. He wanted me home. Wanted me to be there more. Wanted to start a family. That was the reason we’d begun to argue so much.” She turned to face him. “That night in the car. We were arguing. He told me he was thinking about leaving me. He told me the night of the wreck. Told me that I had to choose.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I don’t know. Everything after that is a blank. Wiped out. I don’t remember anything until the next day about noon when I woke up in the hospital all banged and bruised.” She stared at him, her eyes dead. “I keep getting flashes of Landon staring at me from the driver’s seat. Staring at me as a light in my peripheral vision grows bright.” She slammed her eyes shut. “I caused the wreck. He was angry at me and glaring at me instead of watching the oncoming traffic.” Her voice broke. “I killed my family.”

  Bo’s stomach knotted as the crush of her words pressed in around them. “Abby, no—”

  "Yes. Bo, it’s true,” she snapped. “I have no memory of impact, but I keep seeing that one moment in time over and over and over again. Landon’s eyes—so filled with hurt, digging into my soul as if he was so disappointed in the wrong choice I made. The drunk driver was a part of it . . . but it was me, my words that drew Landon’s gaze away from the road. He would have seen that truck before it was too late if he hadn’t been so upset with me.”

  Bo stared at Abby, praying for the right words. But there was some truth in her words. If she and Landon hadn’t been fighting, then he would have been paying attention to the road. He wouldn’t have been distracted.

  What was he supposed to say to that?

  Bo was staring at Abby as if she were someone he didn’t know.

  It was very close to the way Landon had looked at her. Abby knew she deserved the look of disappointment. Of shock.

  She deserved it because she’d brought it on. No matter how she tried to rationalize why she kept having the dream—seeing Landon look at her in horror—she couldn’t change it. There was no going back. He was gone . . . they were gone. And it was her fault.

  Bo strode across the room and wrapped her in his arms. She pushed against him.

  “Let me go,” she cried as tears of regret and shame threatened to overflow.

  “No,” he growled. “No, Abby. Just stay.”

  The tears came, and she couldn’t see past the salty rivers that poured from her eyes. She was a disgrace. How could she have thought she could change her past and move forward? “I don’t deserve to move on with my life. Let me go.”

  Bo gripped her face fiercely between his large warm hands. “Stop, Abby. Just stop.”

  She shook her head, barely seeing him through the flood.

  “Abby, Abby, Abby.” His words sounded soft. Gentle. “So broken. And so wrong. Cry if you need to. Get this out. Release it.” He leaned his forehead against hers. Holding her still.

  His fingers were firm against her hair, yet gentle. Her breath came in shuddering gasps as Abby sought to control them, but she couldn’t stop. The dam had broken and the force was too strong.

  “You are torturing yourself. You can beat yourself up. Torture yourself till the day you die and that does no one any good. Especially you.”

  Abby pulled out of Bo’s embrace and wiped her tears. She’d vowed that she was over her tears, but obviously she wasn’t. “Bo, I know what I did and there is nothing you can say that will change that. I just have to figure out how to live with it and go on.”

  “I agree that you must go on.”

  Abby pushed the tempting self-pity to the back of her mind and focused. “It would have been so much easier if I hadn’t chosen this house to move into.”

  Bo’s eyes narrowed. “You know, as crazy as this seems right now, given what you’ve been through, that does sound like the best thing. But what if there’s a reason—”

  “Yeah, me causing the whole town to get in an uproar. There is nothing about that that sounds ri
ght.”

  “Now you’re exaggerating. Everyone isn’t in an uproar or knows Rand’s problem.”

  She shot him a glare. “Okay, Mr. Smart Stuff, you know what I’m talking about.”

  “I do. I’m just trying to lighten this up some.”

  Abby glared at him. “Why did I come here, Bo? Am I just running?”

  “Maybe. But I choose to be an optimist. And I’m choosing to believe that you’re here because you’re supposed to be here.”

  She frowned. “Your optimism is a little irritating right now.”

  He grinned. “I’ll do whatever it takes to get you off your pity party.”

  “My pity party?” She gasped. Was that what this was?

  “Oops. Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut while I was ahead.”

  “No, I’m sure you’re probably right about that—as much as I wish it weren’t true.” She glanced at the icebox. “Would you like some ice cream? No judging—ice cream makes me feel better.”

  “Load me up. What kind do you have?”

  She pulled the door open and pulled out two half gallons of Blue Bell ice cream. “I have Brenham’s best—Homemade Vanilla and Rocky Road.”

  He grinned. “You are a woman after my own heart. Pass that Rocky Road this way.”

  “How about I pass you a bowlful. I’m having it, too, and I’ve learned from the past that if I don’t put it in a bowl, I’ll go through a whole carton and then I’ll not only feel bad but guilty . . .” She paused as she said the words. Everything always came back full circle. And feeling guilty was her beginning and her ending these days. That and undeserving.

  “Hey, you in there.” He gave an encouraging dimpled grin. “I’ll take a bowl then.”

  She looked at him, knew he’d realized her mind had dived off the deep end again. “Coming up.”

  She filled two bowls then carried them over to the table where Bo had taken a seat. Setting his in front of him, she couldn’t help thinking how nice it had been that he’d come to check on her. He hadn’t changed her mind about how she felt, but . . . she did feel better.