How to Lasso a Cowboy

by Shirley Jump

  “Maybe, what? You’d save me from my own irresponsibility?”

  “This place would have been running smoothly if I came out here when you first asked. And maybe you wouldn’t have been so worried about it you wouldn’t have gotten distracted on that boat—”

  Tobias let out a sharp laugh. “Harlan, I got distracted because I had a few too many beers. Not because of work. You know me. I’m more play than work.”

  “I could have taken some of this off your shoulders,” Harlan said. His gaze went back to Tobias’s cast and guilt rocked him. “You’re hurting financially. If I had been here, maybe that wouldn’t have happened.”

  Tobias sighed. “There’s a fine line between helping and hurting. You mean well, Harlan, I know you do, but you gotta let me succeed and fail on my own.” He shook his head. “I know, half of this is my fault. I keep on asking for help, instead of taking my own chances. Ditched responsibilities because I knew you would take up the slack and send me a few bucks to cover me. I guess I just got used to you looking out for me.”

  “You’re my little brother. I’m supposed to look out for you.”

  “And you’re supposed to let me grow up, too. The best thing you ever did was tell me no years before. And the best thing you can do now is quit helping me.”

  “I…” Harlan let out a breath. He thought of all the years he had bailed Tobias out—whether it was with money or with advice—always, always looking out for his little brother. Even now, with Tobias nearing thirty, Harlan looked at him and saw the kid he used to be, not the man he’d become. “I’ve always meant well.”

  “I know you did. And I think it just got to be a…habit. You took care of all of us, all our lives, Harlan. Hell, you worked so many hours it was a wonder you had time to go to school. And you’re still doing it.”

  “Dad needs financial support. He doesn’t have beans for retirement.”

  “Even Dad can take care of himself. I think you’ll find that if you let go of the reins, the horse will naturally find its way home. It might get lost a couple times, but it’ll eventually get there.” Tobias got to his feet, came around the desk and tugged Harlan’s chair away from the desk. His blue eyes, so like Harlan’s, showed a strength and determination Harlan had never noticed before. “This time, I’m taking the reins from you. Now, let me sit at my desk and get some work done.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing. I have screwed up a lot over the last few years, and I know it. Spending a lot of time in a hospital room gives you plenty of time to think. And realize a few truths about yourself. I’ve been relying on you too damned long. It’s time I got serious and took care of myself.”

  Harlan stared at his brother. He wasn’t sure what to say. For as long as he could remember, he’d been the worrier. The caretaker. He’d put food on his family’s table and made sure their bills were covered. Now Tobias was telling him to stop?

  “I know what you love to do, but you’re too damned stubborn to do it,” Tobias said. “If I let you, you’d keep on doing all those other things instead of going home to that woodshop and being…happy.”

  “I’m happy.”

  “You’re existing, Harlan. There’s a difference. You can’t tell me you love working in radio.”

  “It’s my job, Tobias.”

  “That doesn’t answer the question.”

  Harlan sighed. “Okay, yeah, I’ll admit it. Lately, I haven’t been as…invested in my show as I should be. I guess it’s gotten old.”

  “Or maybe you’re finally starting to realize that all the work in the world doesn’t make up for the fact that you’re not doing what you love.”

  Harlan glanced at the poster on the wall, an eighteen-by-thirty-inch advertisement the station had designed to promote Harlan’s show. His own face smiled back at him from the corner, but for some reason, the image didn’t look like himself. It looked…fake.

  Was Tobias right? Was Harlan pouring himself into his job to avoid doing the one thing he really loved to do?

  “Making a living off a hobby is foolish,” Harlan said. “Look at Dad.”

  “Dad wasn’t smart enough to get a regular job until he made his hobby work. He didn’t have health insurance and a 401k and a long-range plan, like you do. You’re smart, Harlan. And responsible as hell. If for some reason the furniture business didn’t work out, you’d do what it took to keep the income coming in.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Don’t but me. And don’t let the mistakes of our father keep you from living the life you were meant to live. It’s time you took care of you, big brother.” Tobias leaned on the back of Harlan’s chair. “So I’m kicking you out of here, and in the process, forcing you to have free time. What you do with it is up to you.”

  Harlan looked up at his younger brother and saw him with new eyes. He was a man now, one who was taking charge, hell, even telling Harlan what to do. It was time to stop seeing Tobias as anything other than the scared, hungry little boy who had relied on his big brother to take care of him. “You’re as crazy as a flying pig. I’m not going into the furniture business.”

  “You are and you should.” Tobias pulled the chair out further, nearly tipping Harlan out of it. He gave his older brother a wide, but firm grin. “Now get the hell out of my office before I have to get the cattle prod.”

  “I’m not going.”

  Mildred turned to Grandma Watson. Both women were already dressed for the evening, in beaded dresses and low-heeled shoes. Mildred, in typical Mildred fashion, wore bright pink, complete with a pink-and-white wrist corsage—a gift from Art Conway. “Maybe if I hit her with pepper spray, she’ll be more cooperative.”

  “You are not pepper spraying my only granddaughter, Mildred Meyers.” Grandma put a fist on her hip. “Sophie’s upset. She just needs a moment.”

  “I don’t need a moment. I’m not going to the dance.”

  Mildred raised a brow, as if to say, see? I told you so.

  Grandma sighed, grabbed another cookie from the plate, then ate two bites before she spoke again. “I understand that man did something that you think is unforgivable.”

  “Think? It is. He promised me he wouldn’t say one more word about my private life on the air. Then I hear him telling the whole world about how I ran out on my own wedding—”

  “Sophie, I hardly think WFFM reaches the whole world,” Mildred cut in.

  “A big enough portion of it.” Sophie turned to the breadbox, pulled out a box of biscotti, and took one of the cookies. Just before she took a bite, she remembered they were Harlan’s favorite treat, and she put it back inside the container.

  “You’re holding out on us.” Grandma pouted. “You had biscotti all this time, and didn’t share it with us?”

  Sophie put the box on the table. “Here you are. Eat them all. Please.” Then maybe she wouldn’t be reminded of Harlan and the appealing way he said bis-yummy.

  “We can’t eat biscotti without coffee,” Grandma said, then gave her granddaughter a sweet smile. “Especially that amazing coffee you make.”

  “I still can’t believe my matchmaking instincts were so off,” Mildred said while Sophie began grinding beans and setting up the coffeepot. “I really saw Harlan as the perfect match for Sophie.”

  Grandma patted Mildred’s hand. “It could still work out.”

  Sophie didn’t tell the women the chances of that were zero. She’d nearly married a man she didn’t love because she’d fooled herself into thinking he was the one, that he actually cared and supported what was important to her. She wasn’t going to be a fool a second time, not with her heart. Not again.

  A few minutes later, Sophie had freshly brewed Guatemalan Roast poured into three mugs. With biscotti in her hand and coffee in her mug, Mildred stopped talking about using her pepper spray, thank goodness. Maybe they’d both forgotten the crazy idea of convincing Sophie that going to the dance was a good idea.

  “You better hurry,” Grandma said, after her third
biscotti and second cup of coffee. “Or you won’t be ready in time.”

  Apparently they hadn’t forgotten. Sophie sighed.

  “Your grandmother’s right,” Mildred said. “Besides, you, of all people, can’t be late.” The older lady smiled, and in that moment, Sophie saw that she had been holding back a trump card all this time. “You’re the one making the speech, thanking the volunteers and announcing how much money we raised for the community wellness center.”

  Another speech. Sophie groaned. “Mildred, really, anyone can do that.”

  “No, not just anyone can. You’re passionate about this, Sophie.” Beside Mildred, Grandma Watson nodded her agreement. “No one can make the case for this center like you can.”

  “Miss Meyers…” Sophie’s voice trailed off. The two women had a point. They sat at Sophie’s kitchen table, watching her expectantly and waiting for her to see it. Sophie sighed. When it came right down to it, the need for a town community wellness center trumped everything else, even her dread of giving speeches and her worry that every newspaper in a tri-state area would be there to dredge up the past. “You’re right.”

  “Of course we are.” Mildred cheered. “Now go get your party dress on.”

  Grandma nodded. “Show that Harlan Jones what he’s missing out on.”

  “And if he tries to hurt our Sophie again,” Mildred said, digging in her purse for the ubiquitous spray can that went everywhere with her, “I’ll take him out.”

  Harlan spent the afternoon at the park with the dogs. When the volunteer crews came in to set up the temporary stage for the band and string twinkle lights in the trees, he took Mortise and Tenon home. Instead of bounding up to the house, though, the dogs headed for the woodshop.

  He chuckled. The goldens knew him too well. They had undoubtedly read the stress in his shoulders and guessed he’d be working it off with some wood and a hammer. Either that or Tobias had been talking to them.

  Mortise and Tenon bounced on their paws and barked in tandem, waiting until he lifted the garage door and the three of them could go inside. As soon as the door cleared the ground, the dogs squeezed underneath and bounded off to their favorite spots—Mortise by the tool bench, Tenon in the corner. Harlan flicked the light switch, and started to walk toward the table saw.

  He stopped. Took in the pieces that sat in various stages of completion. Another pair of chairs like the ones at Sophie’s shop. A coffee table made of a rich mahogany, its squat legs carved in an Old World pattern that matched the elaborate drawers and thick weight of the long rectangular piece. A bookshelf that was to go in Tobias’s den, and would match the other minimalist Shaker style pieces he’d already constructed for his brother.

  All these years, he’d never seen the pieces he created en masse, never seen them as a…future. He finally let the words he’d been hearing for years sink in, and take root. Incredible work. Unique designs. True talent.

  Then Sophie’s words on the beach came back to him. I thought cowboys weren’t scared of anything.

  He ran a hand over the top of the bookshelf. His palm slipped along the sleek wood, sanded as smooth as glass. The piece seemed to whisper to him. Take a chance. Risk it all. You can do it.

  Then his mind filled with the images of his childhood—the empty bank account, the lean meals, the threadbare clothes. The hours Harlan had worked, the pitifully small checks he’d handed over to his mother, trying to do what he could to alleviate the stress in her features, the heavy burden on her shoulders. Harlan had worried—worried enough for all of them.

  And in the background, the father who tried and failed, tried and failed, all at the expense of his own family. That was where dreams got people.

  Harlan took his hand off the bookshelf. He called the dogs to him, shut up the woodshop for tonight, and headed into the house.

  Sophie’s doorbell rang. Twice, in short succession. Goodness, Grandma and Mildred were persistent. They’d only left ten minutes ago, and already they were back? She hadn’t even had time to get dressed yet.

  Sophie drew on a robe, knotted the belt, then crossed to her front door and opened it. “Harlan. What are you doing here?”

  Harlan shifted from foot to foot, then removed his hat and held it to his chest. If he was going to the town dance, it didn’t show in his attire—he was wearing jeans and a T-shirt advertising the radio station. She was tempted to shut the door in his face—after all that had happened he dared to come by her house?—but she waited. For what, she wasn’t sure.

  “I came by to apologize,” he said.

  The anger that had bloomed in her chest when she saw him on her porch began to dissipate. A little. “For what?”

  “I stopped by the coffee shop a little while ago. Talked to Lulu. Got the whole scoop on your wedding, or, nonwedding, I guess.”

  Now the anger flared again, a hot flame racing through her. “Great. Now you can share all the gory details with your listeners.” She went to shut the door, but Harlan grabbed it and stopped her.

  “Let me say my piece, Sophie.”

  “Don’t you think you’ve said enough? Told enough of my life to all your loyal fans? And given the reporters something to write about?”

  “That was never my intention. That reporter brought it up, and I swear—”

  She put up a hand, cutting him off. “I don’t want to hear the excuses, Harlan. You don’t have any idea the kind of damage you leave in your wake.”

  He took a step closer to her, making her acutely aware she was only wearing a robe. Damn the man for still being able to affect her. “I admit, in the beginning, I shouldn’t have told those lunatic neighbor stories. I have apologized for that, and stopped telling any tales about you. But the whole thing about your engagement was an accident. I didn’t exploit it and I didn’t exploit you.”

  “No, you just turned me into the laughingstock of the town. Again. Do you have any idea what my life was like after I ran out of that church? How the reporter vultures hounded me? How everyone focused on that instead of my coffee shop? People came into the shop and didn’t want to order coffee, they wanted to get a scoop. It took months for that to stop. Months.”

  “I’m sorry. I had no idea.” He reached for her, but she leaned away from his touch.

  “Leave me alone, Harlan. Just go away.”

  “Why are you so afraid?”

  Her chin jutted up. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

  “You are, darlin’,” he said, that smooth drawl washing over her even as she wished he’d stop talking. “You’re afraid of making a public spectacle. You’re afraid that people will talk about you and your mistakes from here to Kingdom Come. And you’re afraid as hell to fall in love.”

  “You’re wrong.” But the lie was getting harder to hold on to. No matter how many times her friends had told her not to let the wedding fiasco bother her, she had. She had let it stop her from being her usual self. From getting out in public and really supporting the community wellness center.

  She had been afraid, and what had it cost her?

  “When we were on the radio and you kissed me that afternoon, were you afraid?” Harlan asked.

  “Well, I hardly had time to think about anything. It just…happened.” Because she’d wanted it even more than the crowd had. Because she’d been unable to see or hear anything other than Harlan.

  “Exactly. You just did it. You didn’t think about the consequences. If you ask me, and I know you aren’t, but I’m telling you what I think anyway, you’ve gotten yourself all wrapped up in the possibilities, rather than living with the actualities.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You keep on worrying about what might happen instead of noticing what did.”

  Oh, she had noticed all right. She’d gone and fallen for a man who was as wrong for her as a dress on an elephant. “Who are you to talk? You’re so afraid to go into business for yourself that you keep working a job that you don’t like.”

  “That�
�s different.” He scowled. “I have people depending on me. I can’t just up and take a risk like that.”

  She propped a fist on her hip. “Seems to me you keep on worrying about what might happen instead of concentrating on what did.”

  He scowled. “Dammit, that’s not the same thing.”

  “Yeah, it is, Harlan. You want me to take risks, to trust you, and you don’t even trust yourself.” She bit her lip, wishing he would leave. “I did take a risk. I trusted you. And look where it got me.”

  “It got you right here. Doing things that were maybe out of your comfort zone, but they were good for you.”

  She looked away, cursing the tears that blurred her vision. “You don’t know what’s good for me. You just do your show and you don’t think about the consequences. About the people you hurt with your words.”

  “I used to be that way,” Harlan said. “Then I met you.”

  Her gaze swiveled back to his. She wanted to believe him—everything within her wanted to do that—but she couldn’t. She’d been fooled once before, and come within minutes of walking down the aisle to a man who had fed her lines about how much he loved and supported her, when at heart, he didn’t. He’d only thought about his own self, his own career. “I don’t believe you. You told me yourself that your job is to entertain listeners and up the ratings. To make money, no matter who gets hurt in the process. When it comes right down to it, which is more important, the bottom line or the people you care about?”

  “That’s not a fair question, Sophie. I’m supporting—”

  “The bottom line.” She shook her head. “I knew it. You know what? Don’t bother coming to the dance tonight. Just tell everyone the Cold Feet Coffeegirl stood you up. Your listeners should get a real kick out of that one. Goodbye, Harlan.”

  This time she did shut the door. And he didn’t try to stop her.

  CHAPTER TWELVE