Secondhand Cowboy

by Lacy Williams

  Callum's brow had turned into a thunderhead as he looked down at the envelope in his lap.

  Served. The attorney's statement could only mean one thing. Some kind of lawsuit. For custody of the boys?

  "Back up, y'all heathens." Callum pushed up off the couch with some difficulty, reaching for his crutches, which he'd tucked behind the corner of the couch. "I need to go to my room for some privacy."

  Iris found herself nodding even as intense curiosity had her holding back questions. Like, What is that? What's wrong?

  "I thought we could make some cookies to have after lunch. Chocolate chip?"

  His face creased as he finally got both crutches under his armpits. He'd folded the large envelope in half and stuffed it in his back pocket. "With the boys? You want the boys in the kitchen?"

  Why did he sound so disbelieving? "I thought it would keep us busy for at least... twenty minutes."

  His mouth twitched like he wanted to smile, but he just shrugged his broad shoulders and maneuvered out of the room.

  * * *

  Callum sat on the edge of the twin bed in the office-cum-bedroom, his casted leg stretched out and resting on the floor at an angle. His forehead rested in one palm as he stared at minute cracks in the wood floor.

  The letter dangled from his other hand. He couldn't erase the words from the forefront of his mind.

  Suit for damages.

  Plaintiff: Wade Tatum, Mayor of Redbud Trails.

  He hadn't made enough of Tatum's threat.

  His phone jangled, Buck's name showing on the display. He couldn't face his partner right now, not with his nerves raw and his temper hot.

  Moments later, the phone beeped. A voicemail had come in.

  "Problem just got worse," Buck's voice came through clearly on the speaker. "High falutin' attorney just served papers here, jawing and told me all about it. Negligence. If this goes public, it could hurt the company. We need to come up with a plan."

  But Callum had gone past anger to numb. What was he supposed to do about this?

  How naive had he been, thinking he could come back to Redbud Trails without having to face consequences for the choices he'd made back in high school?

  The door burst open, startling him. He started to stand, forgetting about his leg. He stumbled.

  The letter slipped from his hands and skidded across the floor, stopping just inside the door.

  Levi ran in the room hurtling at Callum's knees. Already off-balance, he worked to catch himself on the edge of the desk.

  "Levi!" Iris's voice flowed in the door as she came at a run. "Sorry." She reached for the sobbing boy, but he just clung harder to Cal's legs.

  There were chocolate handprints on her jeans and the white blouse she wore. Callum grimaced. Scents of sugar wafted in on the air she'd disturbed by running in, and he wanted a taste.

  Before he could stop her, she reached down and grabbed the letter. Her eyes flicked across the page and his stomach sank.

  "Give me that." He snatched it out of her hands, ashamed of his sharp tone and her hurt and surprised look.

  Levi sobbed louder.

  "Why is my father suing you?" she asked.

  "Stay out of it," he growled.

  He didn't want her in the middle of this thing with him and her dad. There was too much she still didn't know, too many secrets from the past. He tossed the letter onto his bed, hoping that could be the end of it, and reached down to ruffle the boy's head.

  "What's going on, buddy?"

  "My tummy hurts."

  He looked at Iris accusingly. "You didn't let them eat raw dough, did you?"

  She popped her hands on her hips, a rebellious tilt to her chin. "Of course I didn't."

  She glanced over her shoulder. "I don't want to leave the other two alone for too long."

  He nodded and watched her leave before he settled back on the bed and drew the boy into his lap.

  Sometimes the boys said their tummies hurt when what they really needed was a good cuddle. He didn't remember that happening when he'd been a child, but by the time he'd been the boys' age, he'd already adjusted to life in a broken home. Maybe it made him coddle them a little too much. Too much was better than not enough, though. He could attest to that.

  He held Levi close. What would happen if he couldn't get this thing with Iris's dad settled? Would he lose the money he'd invested with Buck? Would he and the boys have to make a fresh start somewhere else? And how would they do that, penniless?

  The hope that had budded in him when Buck had made the offer was starting to wither away. He needed this for the boys and for himself. Never mind the fact that he'd put his friend's business in jeopardy just by showing up in town.

  "Daddy, my tummy," Levi moaned.

  And then Levi lost his breakfast all over him.

  * * *

  Iris returned to the kitchen in time to find Brandt standing on a chair that he'd pushed to the faucet. She grabbed him, then reached out with her opposite hand and turned off the water just as it threatened to overflow the bowl she'd set inside the sink.

  Her heart was pounding, but not from the near-disaster she'd just averted. Why was her father suing Callum? She'd barely glanced at the letter, knew it was his private business, but she hadn't been able to help herself.

  And he'd clammed up, telling her to stay out of it.

  After all she'd done for him and his sons, his words had stung.

  Looking around the kitchen, she realized Tyler was nowhere in sight, and her heart started pounding for a different reason.

  "Where's your brother?" she asked Brandt. The boy just shrugged.

  There was a yell from Callum's room.

  "Be there in a sec!" she yelled back.

  Pulse thrumming in her ears, fears and worst-case scenarios ran through her mind, one after another.

  Could Tyler have slipped outside? She glanced out the window in the back door, but the boy was nowhere in sight.

  She rushed to the living room, but there was no giggling boy hiding behind the recliner or the TV stand.

  Brandt remained in the kitchen, one thumb stuck in his mouth. She moved back that way by instinct.

  There was a thump from the cabinet nearest the fridge, and she quickly bent and jerked the door open. Tyler looked up at her from inside, his face pale.

  "I don' feel good."

  And he threw up all over her new sandals.

  She stood stunned and immobile for long seconds.

  Brandt started crying.

  "Okay," she said, voice shaking. "It's okay." She was surprised, but she knew kids threw up sometimes. It didn't mean they were sick.

  Except she remembered Levi saying his stomach hurt, and then Callum's shout. If two had thrown up, did that mean they'd picked up a stomach virus?

  She slipped out of her shoes, reaching for the counter to steady herself. "Does your tummy still hurt?"

  Tyler nodded.

  "Okay, can you sit down crisscross applesauce?"

  If the boy got sick again, better to clean it from the tiled kitchen floor than the hardwood in the living room or worse, the furniture. She grabbed a package of wet wipes from the counter and did a quick wash up on her feet, then wiped up the mess on the floor with paper towels. She would have to get the mop out, but an inner urge told her to check on Callum.

  She rushed down the hall in her bare feet to find Callum pulling a clean t-shirt over his torso.

  She swallowed at the glimpse of skin. But she was quickly distracted by the pile of soiled clothes in the center of the floor.

  "I throwed up." Levi sat on the bed in his underwear. His tan lines were stark, showing his white tummy and thighs.

  "Your brother did, too."

  Callum's head came up. His concern was immediate. His gaze flew to her bare feet.

  "I'm fine," she said quietly. "Tell me what you need."

  "I can't carry him into the other room."

  She could see from the muscle jumping in his jaw how much it
cost him to say the words.

  "Should I start a bath?" she asked.

  She didn't know where to go from here. Maybe if she'd been a mother, she would know what to do.

  "No use bathing them if it's not over. You got some big bowls? And an old blanket for the couch?"

  "I'll find something."

  "Thanks." He held her gaze, the moment becoming a beat of understanding—and maybe something more.

  9

  Callum startled awake, letting his eyes slide open but not moving. He'd fallen asleep on the couch, and his head lolled back against the cushion. Brandt and Levi were pillowed against him, his leg stretched out on the ottoman Iris had shoved into place earlier.

  The only source of light was light flickering from the TV, which had been silenced, still on a cartoon. Cicadas hummed outside, but the sound was muted by the walls and windows.

  Something was off.

  Tyler. Where was his third son?

  His eyes flew open to see Iris curled around Tyler, both of them on the second sofa.

  Nightfall had come and gone; the clock on the wall read two a.m.

  They'd spent an exhausting afternoon taking care of all three boys—it hadn't been long before Brandt had joined his brothers in vomit-land. Callum had been relegated to the couch—his inability to clean or carry had rendered him all but useless.

  Which had left Iris with the lion's share of cleaning up after three puking boys. At three years old, they couldn't be trusted to get to the bathroom when they needed to empty their stomachs, so he and Iris had resorted to using large bowls from the kitchen when the boys felt the need.

  After they were reasonably sure everything had passed, Iris had dunked them all three in a bath and put a clean blanket over the couch. Now at his side, the boys were sweet-smelling and conked out.

  She must be exhausted, like he was. On top of caring for the boys when they got sick, he could never totally erase the worry that something deeper was wrong.

  But since they hadn't thrown up in the last several hours, Callum figured the illness had run its course. Relief flowed through him.

  Until his focus narrowed in on Iris.

  She wasn't sleeping. In the flickering light from the TV, he could see silver tears tracking down her cheeks.

  Her sadness slayed him.

  He straightened up as much as he could without knocking the boys onto the floor. "What's wrong?"

  She startled, quickly wiping at her face with her hand. "Nothing."

  But she wouldn't look at him, just gave him the side of her face.

  Was she simply so tired she'd begun crying? Why hadn't she gone to bed? "I know it was a tough day. You were a trooper."

  "Yeah. I'm just tired." Was there something more behind her words? With distance and sleeping boys between them, he couldn't tell.

  She carefully disengaged herself from his son and sat up, moving to the edge of the couch. "I'm guessing they're going to be up bright and early and back at a hundred and fifty percent energy. I should go to bed."

  Her shoulders remained slumped as if the weight she carried was too heavy to bear.

  Emotion choked him. He didn't want this for her. Didn't want to be the cause of hurt in her life. "I'm sorry about all this. I wish you didn't have to deal with our messes."

  She looked at him sharply, eyes snapping. There was definitely some anger behind her calm exterior.

  Before she could respond, there was an audible thump from upstairs.

  "Jilly," Iris gasped. She stood up.

  He tried to ease up off the couch, but the boys weighted him down. "What's wrong?"

  "The chemo hits her hard," she said over her shoulder.

  And he was left downstairs with three sleeping boys. Iris's footsteps faded up the stairs. How did she deal with all of this by herself? Where was her dad? He had enough time to harass Callum, but couldn't be here for his daughters?

  The worst part was, Callum had spent years waiting for her to turn eighteen, planning on being the one to support Iris in her dreams—and in her hurts. It was supposed to have been his job. Except he'd ruined everything on that one fateful night.

  Now Iris had to face her demons alone.

  And so did he.

  * * *

  Iris stood outside Jilly's bedroom door in the darkened hall holding her breath, holding her tears at bay by the thinnest of threads. She needed a moment to compose herself before she went in to check on Jilly. If she walked into her sister's room with tears in her eyes, she would get a whopping I told you so.

  All around her, the aging house settled, creaking and groaning.

  With her head tucked into her chest, she could smell both the latent sweat she'd worked up cleaning up after the boys and the kids' scented bath soap that had been splashed on her while she'd scrubbed them down.

  She was too involved.

  She could handle Callum's distance. But when he'd asked her what was wrong in that sleep-husky voice...she'd almost caved. The urge to go to him and curl up in his arms, to bask in his comfort, had nearly overwhelmed her.

  They'd been a team today, caring for the boys. Working together to comfort the boys, Callum distracting them as Iris fetched and carried and cleaned up.

  But the worst part was they were supposed to have been hers. All four of them. When she'd fanned her fingers through Brandt's hair and he'd snuggled into her lap, her heart had turned over in her chest.

  As she'd gotten to know the boys, her heart had opened toward them. She saw pieces of Callum in each of them. Tyler's reserved nature, Brandt's outgoing greetings for everyone in sight, Levi's intelligence.

  They were everything she'd wanted when she'd been on the cusp of her eighteenth birthday. Oh, she'd wanted her turn in New York City, dancing ballet. But more than that, deeper than that, she'd wanted family. Callum's family.

  Her own father remained distant, her mother gone when she'd been thirteen. But spending all those summers with Uncle Joe had given her hope. Joe had been open with his emotions, quick to share a hug or say, "I love you." She'd wanted a husband with those same qualities. A loving relationship, someone to share the hurts and successes of life. Someone who would love her, warts and all.

  She'd thought Callum was that man. He'd come from the worst of situations—father out of the picture, mother dead, raised in foster care. But he hadn't been ruined by his situation. He'd been reserved, almost shy when she'd met him working as a hand for Uncle Joe. Maybe shy wasn't the right word. He'd thought she was too good for him. Until she'd disabused him of that notion.

  And then he'd left, no explanation. Just disappeared out of her life one week after the best performance she'd ever given. They were supposed to have gotten married and left together.

  Callum's revelation that loneliness had driven him to drink and to other women's arms had only created more questions in her mind—and those questions were dangerous. If she finally learned why he'd left, what had driven him away, would she be able to forgive him?

  Had she ever known him at all?

  She still couldn't shake the feeling that something had happened that night he left. With so much time passed and their lives moving in different directions now...what was the use in digging up the past?

  Besides, Jilly needed her now.

  She pushed open her sister's door to find an empty bed. Light spilled from the attached Jack and Jill bathroom, and Iris headed there.

  Jilly was bent over the toilet, face whiter than the tiled shower.

  "Oh, honey." Iris grabbed a washcloth from beneath the sink and wet it with cool water.

  Jilly retched, but Iris had heard the same from the boys all day and was perhaps too tired for her gag reflex to make an appearance now.

  "Are the boys okay?" Jilly whispered when she could take a breath. She sat on the edge of the tub and Iris perched next to her, holding the rag to the back of Jilly's neck.

  No matter how much Jilly's protective instincts made her distrust Callum, she was falling for the bo
ys, just like Iris was.

  Iris just hoped that neither of their hearts broke when Callum left this time.

  10

  Two days after the vomit-fest Iris marched the boys into the historic Town Hall building that housed multiple Redbud Trails offices—including her father's.

  It was just after lunch and Levi, Brandt, and Tyler walked solemnly down the linoleum floors in the wide hallway until they realized their boots made a wonderful clatter that echoed through the building. Then they set up a stomping, whirling dance until she had to scold them. Thankfully, the building was nearly empty right now. She'd heard through the town rumor mill that several folks had taken vacations to get away from the construction noise as a crew worked to repair the front of the damaged building.

  The A/C blew enough cold air that she felt it every time she passed beneath a vent, goosebumps skittering up her bare arms.

  The boys needed a dance class, and come to think of it, so did she. Nothing calmed her like music and movement.

  She hadn't snuck out of the house exactly, but Callum had been laid out fully-clothed on his bed, no doubt catching up on rest after the crazy day and late night they'd had yesterday. Recovering from surgery was exhausting enough without all the activity of the previous day.

  The boys had bounced back with no apparent ill effects, as energetic at seven a.m. as they had been the day before they'd gotten sick.

  And Iris couldn't wait any longer to talk to her dad.

  Crossing into the mayor's outer office was like entering another world. Wood paneling stretched across the floor and dark trim, and bold colors covered the walls.

  Dad's secretary stood from behind her desk, eyes widening as Iris marched in.

  "Hi, Helen. I heard the mayor had a few minutes on his docket. I need to talk to him."

  She set the boys on the couch in the waiting area, eyeing the nearby end tables stacked with knick-knacks, which were probably expensive.

  "I need you three to sit here and behave." She infused as much firmness in her voice as she could, even pointing a finger at them.

  Tyler's legs kicked the air—his feet didn't touch the floor—while Brandt and Levi wore matching looks of innocence that Iris didn't buy for one second.