by Erica Penrod
Betty Lou shook her head. “Well, what do you expect with her worrying about raising this baby on her own?”
Missy turned to face the older woman. Janie loved Betty Lou, but wished she didn’t need to give every patron a detailed description of her divorce.
Betty Lou nodded her head. “Of course, she’s trying to work as much as she can. That’s what we women folk do.”
Janie wanted to disappear.
Eileen added, “Now, Betty Lou, I know that boy Jaxon has gone and let us all down, breaking her heart the way he did, but he’s that child’s father, and I know he’ll rise to the occasion.”
Norma walked over waving a copy of People magazine. “Eileen, we all love Jaxon like our own, but he’s done gone and let all those Hollywood lights and plastic women go to his head.” She touched Janie’s shoulder. “And if you ask me, he doesn’t deserve to be around this sweet little girl until he stops running with that crowd.”
“It’s like my grandma always said,” Betty said. “You run with the pigs and grunt with the pigs, pretty soon you start smelling like a pig.”
Janie glanced down at Missy. She smiled at the woman’s confused facial expression. Janie grinned at Missy and shrugged her shoulders in reply.
The bell over the door rang, and their heads all turned to watch a handsome cowboy walk through the door.
“Well, speak of the devil,” Tracy said, putting her hand on her hip.
The man in starched jeans and a Cinch button-down stepped into the salon holding a cowboy hat in his hands. Janie knew it wasn’t Jaxon; this man was too tall.
Quiet commotion filled the air as the women watched in awe as the stranger greeted them with a southern drawl. “Good afternoon,” he said. “I’m looking for the Davis Ranch.” He grinned. “It seems my GPS is having a difficult time translating my instructions.” He shook the phone in his hand. “Limited service.”
Janie was stunned for two reasons: first, there was a man almost identical to her ex-husband standing in the salon, and second, Eileen still hadn’t said a word.
Tracy glanced at Janie as if she should step forward and take care of this. Janie wasn’t about to step into the Twilight Zone. When she didn’t move, Tracy walked over to the man. “Sure, we can help you with …”
The room shrank, and the oxygen supply felt inadequate to keep her upright. He stared directly at her.
“Excuse me, ma’am.” He touched Tracy on the shoulder and walked over to Janie’s station.
Janie reached out and held on to the chair for support. He stopped in front of her, and all of the Curl Up and Dye regulars watched in anticipation. Too bad she couldn’t offer them popcorn for the show.
“I think I know you,” he said. His dark eyes searched her face.
“I don’t think so,” Janie answered, her white knuckles gripped tightly to the black leather.
A big smile stretched from cheek to cheek. “Yes, I believe I do.”
“No, we’ve never met,” she said, even though she spent most of her life looking at a face exactly like his.
He laughed. “You’re right. We have never met, until now.”
Janie nodded her head in agreement.
“But I do know you. You’re Janie Davis, correct?”
“Yes, but—”
“I believe you’re married to my brother.”
Yeah right, Janie thought. Pigs fly and chickens have lips. (Another one of Betty Lou’s analogies.) “You must be mistaken. Jaxon has a sister,” she said. Her denial sounded ridiculous, because either this guy was the best look-alike she’d ever seen, or else her ex-husband had a brother.
“Brynna, yes, I know. I’ve come to meet both her and Jaxon.”
Missy got out of the chair and took Janie’s hand, guiding her into the seat. “Thanks,” she managed, as Missy handed her a bottle of water from the counter.
“Are you alright?” the man asked.
“I’m fine. Just a lot to digest.” Janie took a sip of water. “Can you explain to me how you’re related to Jaxon?”
“I’d be happy to.”
* * *
Red dirt spun from beneath the wheels of Jaxon’s new Chevy Silverado—another item purchased at the expense of his marriage. Copper-colored dust floated in his rearview mirror as he headed towards the ranch. Not much had changed in the two months since he’d been gone. Fences needed new wire, and the irrigation wheel lines were still in need of repair, but the first crop of alfalfa was coming up nice. In fact, it was probably due to be cut any day now.
As he pulled into the drive, he put the truck in park. Facing his father was never an easy thing for him; Janie said it was because they were too much alike. He strummed his fingers on the steering wheel, taking a minute to talk himself out of going to see his father.
Pride or male dominance, whatever you wanted to call it, had kept father and son at odds ever since Jaxon was a boy. Perhaps things would’ve been easier if Jaxon hadn’t idolize his dad ever since he could remember. He wanted to be like the man in the pictures on the wall who was riding the rough stock and collecting a paycheck for an eight-second ride. The dust-covered belt buckles and yellowed newspaper articles were displayed on a wooden shelf his grandpa had made and had kept that little boy lying awake at night, dreaming of his turn. He could see his dad in the stands cheering him on and feel the pride of knowing he was a champion, and that his dad finally knew it too.
But life had a funny way of taking an eight-year-old’s dream and cruelly manipulating it. Sure, he’d accomplished what he set out to do: he made it to the NFR. But he always needed more. No matter how high he climbed or how many times he was thrown off and got back up again, Jaxon couldn’t find his father in the stands. Of course, Kyle watched him compete, but he never had that look on his face that told him he’d made it. Jaxon never seemed to be enough.
The truck tires plowed through the gravel and came to a stop. The screen door slammed shut as Jaxon swung his truck door open. The dogs—a blue heeler named Hank, and Sam, the border collie—met him before his foot hit the ground. At least someone was happy to see him. Kyle Davis leaned against the porch railing, waiting for his son to make the first move, and again Jaxon thought about how some things never change.
Kyle did things his way, and Jaxon felt like he had to read his father’s mind. What worked one day didn’t necessarily apply to the next, and the rules he had to follow weren’t the same ones his sister marched to. But Kyle had his redeeming qualities, and a good work ethic was one of them. He taught his children about an honest day’s work, and Jaxon appreciated it. Especially now that he’d seen the entertainment industry and discovered that many people out there lived on a heavy diet of entitlement.
Nurturing didn’t come easy for Kyle, and Jaxon never understood why. His grandparents’ pockets overflowed with love and kindness, and it was hard to see how his father could have been raised by them. His grandmother passed away when Jaxon was a teenager, and they’d buried his grandpa only six months ago. Grandpa used to tell stories about a young Kyle, and Jaxon would close his eyes, trying to see the carefree boy in his mind. One stern word from his old man and any visions of a tender-hearted kid were vanished.
“Hi, Dad,” Jaxon said, closing the truck door. He scratched the dogs’ ears before passing through the open gate and heading towards the house.
“I’m glad to see you remember where you came from,” Kyle said.
Jaxon swallowed his comeback. He wasn’t here to start a fight. He wanted to see the place he’d given up so much for. “How are things going around here?”
“You mean since you paid off the loans?” The words came out more angry than thankful.
Jaxon felt the weight in his chest sink to his stomach. “No, Dad, that’s not what I meant.” He folded his arms across his chest. “The first crop looks like it’ll be a good one.”
“Yeah, it’s all right, but it always depends on whether you can get it baled up without getting rained on.”
“I’m sure it’ll work out.”
“Maybe. Have you been over to see Janie yet?”
Boy, it sure felt like home, his dad going right for the sucker punch.
“Yes.”
“And?” Kyle probed his son.
“And what?” Jaxon kicked a piece of gravel from the step. “Does she still hate me?” He nodded his head. “Rest assured, Dad, she wants nothing to do with me.”
“If you had any brains left in that head of yours after being thrown around for all these years, you’d be doing everything you could to make things right between you two before the baby comes.”
Jaxon threw his head back and laughed. “That’s really interesting advice coming from you. When was the last time you saw—”
Jaxon’s phone rang. He couldn’t believe it when he saw Janie’s face on the screen. He couldn’t remember the last time she called him. She sent texts about her doctor’s appointments, but that was it. Maybe it was a good sign … or maybe something was wrong.
Ignoring the hard look from his dad, he turned his back and answered the phone. “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s me,” she said.
“I know. What’s up; are you okay?” Jaxon jogged down the stairs for a spot of privacy. He looked out into the fields and wondered how he’d gotten so far away from the things he loved the most … and the people he loved the most.
“I’m fine,” she said with an unsteady voice. “It’s just that, well, I’m at work and I had finished up a new client when—oh, and Eileen, Norma, and Betty Lou were there too … and then, well … I thought I should warn you.”
“About what?”
“If you’d give me a second, I’ll tell you.”
Jaxon exhaled in exasperation. “Okay, sorry,” he said.
“Wait a second. Are you at the ranch?” Janie asked.
“Yeah, why?”
“I better make it quick.”
Jaxon tapped his toe, thinking that this woman was determined to test his patience. He liked things short and precise, like an eight-second ride. You either stayed on the back of the horse or you cleaned dirt out of your teeth for the next week, but it was never like that with a nervous Janie. Details and dramatic pauses filled her sentences; description took on a whole new meaning in her pretty little mind. It was one of her adorably irritating quirks, but when he was waiting on information, it teetered on the aggravating side.
“Yes, please,” he said through gritted teeth, then smiled to himself. Oh, how he missed this.
“So a man came into the salon looking for you and—”
Jaxon cursed. “The stinking paparazzi. I thought they’d leave me alone out here, but no such luck.” He lifted his ball cap, scratched his forehead and placed it back on his head. “I’m sorry, I’ll—”
“No. Jaxon, it wasn’t them. It was someone else.”
In the distance, Jaxon could see a truck kicking up dirt. He glanced over at his father, but Kyle shook his head. “Someone’s coming up the road now. I better go.”
“Jaxon, wait. I need to tell you—” Her voice took on a desperate note.
“What?”
The white truck slowed to a crawl. Jaxon couldn’t make out the details of the man’s face.
“He says he’s your brother.”
“Wait—what?” Jaxon pulled the phone closer to his ear. “What did you say?”
He heard Janie let out a deep breath. “He says he’s your brother.”
Janie’s overreaction wasn’t the first time she’d made a mountain out of a molehill, so he wasn’t worried. Someone claiming to be a relative wanted money, or maybe a distant cousin came to meet their famous relation. He could handle whoever the person was. Jaxon put his heels in the gravel, ready to send them away—until he saw the man’s face through the windshield and his knees buckled, almost taking him to the ground.
* * *
Race didn’t expect to see anyone before he had time to change his mind and put the truck in reverse. His curiosity couldn’t be quelled by photographs and television any longer, and almost on a whim, he had decided to make the trip. But now, seeing his brother and the man who fit the physical criteria of his father in front of him, it didn’t feel like such a great decision.
For years, he watched any media on his brother, the rising saddle bronc rider. He’d even made it to Vegas the first time Jaxon qualified for the NFR. Once The Cowboys aired, and he saw the brief cameos of Kyle and Brynna, something inside gnawed at him. At some point, he was going to have to cowboy up and meet them.
He’d seen Jaxon before, so it wasn’t a shock to see a younger and shorter version of himself standing in the driveway. Seeing his dad in the doorway weighed him down with saturating emotions that coursed through his veins like molten lead. Race searched the older man’s face for similarities. He’d seen the family before on television and expected some part of him to be satisfied with the up-close-and-personal validation of his parent. Instead, his hands shook, and suddenly he felt like a little boy crying into his mother’s lap.
His mother, Megan, moved to Georgia before he was born and took a job as a housekeeper for an old southern family with even older money. As a soon-to-be single mom, it was the perfect answer, because room and board were part of the salary. The Butler family was gracious when she announced she came as a package deal.
Megan intended to work hard and save enough to pursue an education at night, but what she didn’t intend was to fall in love with the Butlers’ grandson, James Butler. Race’s extraordinary life was a sequel to their fairy-tale romance. His mother made sure he knew right from wrong and—despite his family’s money—knew the value of an honest day’s labor. He was counting on his solid upbringing to keep him steady on this rocky climb he had taken.
Race swallowed his nerves and opened the truck door. He didn’t remember when or if he’d ever been this anxious, not even taking the bar exam. But he stood up tall and straightened his collar, a nervous habit his mother had tried to break him of and had apparently failed.
“Can I help you?” Jaxon asked.
Race smiled to himself as he saw the look on Jaxon’s face, knowing he must have had the same bewildered expression when he’d seen his little brother on TV for the first time.
He walked over and extended his hand. “I’m Race Butler,” he said, assured he wasn’t the only one as nervous as a long-tailed cat in room full of rocking chairs.
Jaxon shook his hand. “Jaxon Davis?”
The words were pronounced as a question. Race had seen The Cowboys and recognized the difference in Jaxon’s vernacular, usually rich with redneck confidence.
Race knew Jaxon waited for an explanation, but he didn’t know where to begin. He looked up, expecting Kyle to make the awkward introductions, but the man hadn’t moved. Unless he was hard of hearing, Kyle had to have heard their conversation. But when Race looked again, he noticed the deep lines across his father’s forehead, and the distant look in his eyes told Race his mind was elsewhere, a different time and different place.
Focusing his attention back on Jaxon, he smiled. “Is there somewhere we could talk?”
“Um … yeah …” Jaxon paused and looked back at Kyle, like he was still waiting for his father to do something. “Uh, this way.” Jaxon pointed to the front door.
Kyle moved to the door and held it open as they passed. He looked up at Race for a moment, then back to Jaxon.
The two walked into the living room, and Kyle closed the door as he followed them inside. Jaxon invited Race to take a seat on the couch while their father took the recliner in the corner.
Looking around, Race felt like he’d been transported back through time. He sat on a couch with a wood frame and wagon wheels on both ends. He sank into the threadbare cushions, where yellowed foam peeked through the large floral pattern. A coffee table with circular watermarks dappled the top. Warped copies of Western Horseman magazine sat haphazardly on one side while a dog-eared Zane Grey novel sat on the other. Kyle occupied a fabr
ic recliner, the same color as the dark brown carpet.
Faux wood paneling covered the walls, speckled with a few family pictures, a set of mounted longhorns, and a large print of an old-time cattle drive.
“I appreciate you taking a moment out of your day.” Race rubbed his palms together. He still wasn’t sure what he wanted or expected by seeing his biological father in person.
Kyle nodded his head.
Jaxon said, “Now, who are you, and what can we do for you?”
Race didn’t know how to answer. What did he want? Everything he’d rehearsed on the plane ride hid in the shadows of his mind, and he couldn’t form the words.
“He’s your brother,” Kyle answered, breaking the silence in a sober voice. Race couldn’t tell if the man was regretful or unhappy about his arrival. He obviously wasn’t overcome with joy.
“W-what?” Jaxon said.
Kyle ignored Jaxon’s sputters and turned to Race. “How’s your mother?”
“She’s—”
Jaxon bolted to his feet. “What is going on around here?”
Kyle held up a weathered hand. “Hold your horses, Jaxon—”
“Who is his mother?” Jaxon said in a demanding voice, pointing at Race.
“Her name is Megan Butler,” Race answered. He studied Kyle’s face, wanting to gauge his reaction.
“She was Megan Turner when I knew her.” His eyes met Race’s, but he appeared to see someone else. Neither Race nor Jaxon commented, and he continued. “We met one summer in Austin when I was on the rodeo circuit.” A smile crept from beneath Kyle’s gold-tarnished mustache. “I’ll never forget the first time I saw her standing in the middle of a sawdust dance floor, line dancing like she was having the time of her life. A crowd of people boot scooted all around her, but all I could see was her.”
Race’s stomach churned, unable to digest which emotion he was chewing on. It felt oddly comforting to hear this man speak about his mother with obvious sentiment, but there was a part of him that wanted to get up and punch him in the jaw for speaking about his father’s wife with such affection. He bit his lip, hoping physical pain would sharpen his thoughts and push out the emotions.
