Cowboy Tough

by Joanne Kennedy

  “She loves horses, right? And you know I hate that stuff.”

  He did know. Viv hated to get so much as a finger dirty, and she’d never really been an animal person. That apparently wasn’t a genetic trait; it was nature, not nurture. He wished he’d done more nurturing when she’d been little. While he was off riding broncs at rodeos, he should have been in the corral at home teaching Viv to ride a pony.

  But it was too late for that now.

  “So she’d really love helping you with the horses. And I want to take the workshop.”

  “Since when do you care about art?”

  “Since, like, over a year.” She rolled her eyes. “Didn’t Mom tell you? I joined the art club at school, and Mr. Swanson’s been teaching us drawing and stuff like that. Did you see the pictures they painted today?” She tossed her hair back and looked at the ceiling, as if envisioning a fabulous future for herself. “If I could go back knowing how to do that, it would be so cool. I could enter something in the show at the Civic Center. If you get accepted, everybody in town sees it, and there’s a big opening, with wine and stuff.”

  He scowled. “No wine.”

  “They don’t give it to the students, Dad. I just mean it’s classy and stuff.”

  Who was he raising here—Cat Junior?

  “So Mom didn’t tell you about my pictures?”

  “Nope.” A year. She’d been into art for a year, and he’d had no idea. His own daughter was becoming a stranger to him.

  “Well, I’d way rather take the workshop than have to mess with the horses.”

  “I was hoping you and I could spend some time together,” he said.

  “We can. I’ll come on all the trips. I just won’t be, you know, getting all dirty and stuff. But Dora will. She’d love it. She hates painting, and she’s so jealous I get to be a cowgirl.” She made a sour face. “I don’t know why. She’s pretty cool, but she actually likes that cowgirl sh—stuff.”

  “Amazing.”

  “Hold on.” She dashed out of the room and he heard her thrashing around in her bedroom, obviously hunting for something. She was back in a flash, holding out a coil-bound notebook. “Here. Look.”

  He opened the book and turned the pages. It was filled with drawings—good drawings. Kind of silly and fanciful, full of fairies and fashion models and other girlie stuff, but well-drawn. He didn’t know much about art, but he thought she was pretty good.

  “Wow,” he said.

  She flushed with pleasure. Standing there all big-eyed and hopeful, with her hands behind her back and a shy smile lighting her face, she looked like a fairy herself.

  He grinned. “Okay. But don’t get in Cat’s way.”

  “Thanks!” She flung her arms around his neck and gave him a resounding smack on the cheek. “I’ve got to tell Dora.”

  It wasn’t until after she’d rocketed down the stairs that he realized he’d just okayed Dora’s departure from the painting class.

  Cat was not going to be happy.

  Chapter 26

  By the time Cat got back to the bunkhouses, someone had lit a fire in the pit. It was puny compared to the one Mack had built the night before, but the flames still flickered a warm invitation in the cold night air. The students were huddled on the log benches, their arms wrapped around themselves for warmth. Summer nights at this altitude could be nippy.

  It was strange, Cat thought. It didn’t feel like they were on a mountain, but the high plains sat at seven thousand feet. She could feel the thin air sapping her strength on their longer treks and wondered how Ed and Emma managed.

  As Cat approached, Ed tottered to the fire and poked it with a stick. “Don’t know why this won’t burn like it did last night,” he fretted.

  “I think it’s nice, Mr. Delaney,” Dora said.

  Cat peered past the dancing flames to see her niece sitting with Viv on the far side of the fire. Evidently Dora liked Ed. Almost as much as she liked Mack, and Viv, and Maddie.

  Actually, she seemed to like everyone except Cat. And Trevor, but nobody liked Trevor.

  “So you say Mack beat up that fashionista man?” Emma clasped her hands and rocked backward on her bench. “I’d like to have seen that.” She glanced around as if she was afraid someone had heard. Cat wondered if she should assure her that nobody in her book group or bridge club was liable to be prowling the Wyoming plains.

  “Sounds to me like he needed whuppin’.” Ed poked the fire again, sending up a fountain of sparks. “I’d have been happy to help with that.”

  “Me too,” said Abby. “A man like that shouldn’t be allowed around young people.”

  “Well, Cat’s really pissed at Mack now,” Dora said.

  Cat resisted the urge to scold her for her language and ducked into the shadow of the Heifer House. This would be a good chance to judge the other students’ responses, figure out how to handle the situation.

  “She ought to thank him,” Abby said. “The man painted a dirty picture of her today, up at the lake.”

  “He did?” Dora tilted her sharp chin up and straightened her shoulders. “Well, I’d have let Mack beat him up if I’d known that.”

  “Mack took it and tore it up,” Ed said. “Ground it into the dirt. He’s a gentleman, I’m telling you.”

  “Yeah.” Viv stepped into the circle, looking pleased and flattered at the compliment to her father. “He’s an old-fashioned kind of guy. He thinks women ought to be protected.” She preened a little, then frowned. “It’s a good thing he’s not around when my boyfriends come over, though.”

  “I like him,” Dora said. “I think Cat should hook up with him.”

  “Ew. That’s my dad you’re talking about.”

  “Well, get used to it. I think they already did it.” Dora pitched a leaf into the fire and watched it flare up and burn. As the ashes rose and fluttered on the flames, Cat wondered if she was watching her new career go up in smoke. Not only had their outfitter beat up a student, but she’d also been outed for sleeping with him.

  “Good for her,” Emma said. “If I was twenty years younger…”

  She winked and Ed gave up on the fire and strode over to where she was sitting. “You’d what, Emma Delaney?”

  “I’d marry you all over again,” she said. “But I’d get you a pair of those Wrangler jeans first.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter.” Dora looked glum. “That little honeymoon’s over for good. You should have seen the way Cat looked at him afterwards. I mean, he was protecting us, and she acted like he’d committed a crime or something.”

  Evidently assault wasn’t a crime in Dora’s book. Cat just hoped the police felt the same way.

  “She’s so tense.” Dora sighed. “I wish she’d loosen up a little. I just want her to be happy. She’s been so sad since—well, since some stuff happened.” She looked down at her hands, obviously remembering her mother. Cat was touched that even from the depths of her own mourning, she realized Cat was grieving too.

  “Well, you’re part of the reason, missy.” Ed stabbed his stick into the ground for emphasis. “You ought to treat the people who love you with more respect. Your auntie might not be here for you forever, you know.”

  Cat winced as the group fell suddenly silent.

  “No kidding. I know—I kind of figured that out when my mom—never mind.” Ducking her head, Dora covered her face with one hand for a moment, then rose and ran off toward the house. Viv jumped to her feet and followed.

  “What’d I say?” Ed asked the group. It was clear he wasn’t expecting an answer. “Young people today.” He shoved the stick into the fire again, sending up a shower of sparks. “They just don’t have any respect.”

  “And old people don’t have any brains,” Emma said.

  “You think we ought to go after her?” Abby asked.

  Emma turned and l
ooked straight at Cat. Evidently she wasn’t as well-hidden by the darkness as she’d thought. “Nope. Cat’s here.” She waved a hand in a shooing motion. “Go. Go on and get her. Maybe she’ll talk to you now.”

  ***

  Cat caught up to Dora and Viv on the porch. Dora had slouched down on the top step and was sitting with her head in her hands while Viv patted her back.

  “Dora,” Cat said. “Honey, I’m so sorry.”

  Viv glanced up at Cat and whisked away into the house, leaving her alone with her niece. Cat was tempted to take her place and put her arm around Dora, but the girl had never been the touchy-feely type—with her, anyway—so she simply sat beside her. They were sitting together, staring off in the same direction, feeling the same pain.

  It was a start.

  “It’s okay. It’s just that I’d finally started to feel better.” Dora sniffed. “Viv—she’s really nice, and I’d kind of forgotten…”

  She looked stricken as she realized what she’d said. “I mean, not forgotten. I’ll never forget.”

  “Of course you won’t.”

  “But things were starting to seem brighter, you know? It was like I’d been walking around in a fog, and it lifted a little. And then Ed had to go bring it up. I know he didn’t mean to. I’m not mad. I’m just…”

  “Sad?”

  Dora suddenly slammed the flat of her hand into the newel post. “No. I take it back. I am mad.” She kicked it again. “I’m fucking furious.”

  Her vehemence was a little scary, but Cat pushed on. “You’ll feel better again, hon. You just have to go on as best you can. I don’t blame you for being mad.” She edged closer to Dora. They were finally talking—really talking. Maybe she could find out what was going on in Dora’s head when she’d torn up the photo the night before and destroyed her painting today.

  “Your mom would have loved that painting.”

  Dora stared at the newel post as if it was the architect of all her troubles and smacked it again. “Well, I don’t care what she would have liked. I really don’t give a shit. She didn’t give a shit about me, so why should I care what she thought?”

  “Dora, that’s not true!” Cat was shocked. Edie had loved Dora, and it had shown every day, in everything she did. There was no way Dora could have felt unloved.

  So why was she so angry? Sure, anger was one of the stages of grief—but that was anger at the universe for taking your loved one away, not anger at the deceased herself.

  “It is true. She didn’t care. And I am never, ever going to be like her.” Dora stormed off the porch, heading for the bunkhouse. Cat stood and followed her a few steps, then paused in a square of light and looked back at the house.

  Viv was standing at her bedroom window, one hand on the pane. She followed Dora a short distance with her gaze, then looked down at Cat. Sadly, she shook her head.

  Was she telling Cat not to follow? Casting one last look at the departing Dora, Cat turned resolutely and climbed the steps to the house.

  She needed to talk to Viv. Maybe Dora had confided in her.

  But when she climbed the stairs, the door to the girl’s bedroom was closed. She raised her fist to knock, but she just couldn’t do it. This was Mack’s daughter. Much as she wanted to know what kind of crazy thoughts were scampering through her niece’s brain, she didn’t really want to draw the Boyd family into her own personal drama.

  There’d been enough drama here for one night.

  She leaned against the wall, exhausted. She wished she had someone to talk to. To depend on.

  She did, actually. She took a longing look at the closed door at the end of the hallway. Was Mack in there now that Trevor was gone? She took a step toward it, then paused.

  She’d told him she could take care of herself, and she’d meant it. Maybe she shouldn’t admit to her weakness. Maybe she should just go.

  She stood like a statue, her fist raised, her mind racing with indecision. If only Mack was here. Seeing him with Viv had made her respect his advice, and she wished she could ask him what to do now.

  She was tired of trying to do this alone. She remembered what he’d said—I want you to know someone’s looking after you. Why had she pushed him away?

  For the first time in her life, she wished she was the kind of woman who could let herself depend on a man.

  ***

  Mack was a coward. That was the only explanation he could come up with.

  Why else would a grown man be hiding in his childhood bedroom, sitting on the bed with its bucking horse bedspread, while the woman he—loved? No, cared about, that was it, he cared about Cat—was standing in the hallway looking for some sign of life.

  He must care about her, because when he’d heard her arguing with Dora on the porch, he’d felt like his heart was going to break. Cat loved her niece, but she didn’t have a clue how to handle her.

  He knew from experience there was no way to force a teenaged girl to do something she didn’t want to do. You had to let them go, let them grow up and make their own decisions. At a certain point, all you could do was watch them make a mess of things and try to protect them from the consequences.

  He heard her shuffle her feet outside Viv’s bedroom door. Then she heaved a heartbroken sigh.

  Maybe Viv had gotten her tender heart from her father’s side of the family, because he couldn’t hear that without his own heart breaking a little. He pictured her out there, alone in the hallway, her slender shoulders slumped. He pictured the sorrow in those blue eyes, the sad pout of that pretty little mouth.

  And he stood up and opened the door.

  Chapter 27

  Mack stood on the threshold of his childhood bedroom and wished he hadn’t opened the door. He’d pictured Cat looking sad, but she just looked pissed off.

  And no wonder. He’d beaten the crap out of one of her clients. He’d shown a side of himself that probably didn’t fit into the rarefied world of gallery openings and cocktail parties. He’d accused her of failing to protect her niece. And then he’d made a promise that affected her niece without asking her.

  Of course, she didn’t know that last part yet. And looking at her clenched fists and belligerent stance, he wasn’t about to tell her.

  He wasn’t going to apologize, either. Not for anything. Trevor Maines was a danger to the group. Mack had felt it the moment he met the man. He hadn’t just been protecting his daughter; he’d been protecting Cat, too. And if Dora didn’t want to paint, nobody was going to make her do it. If Cat wasn’t comfortable with that, it was her problem, not his.

  What was his problem was the way he felt about her. The two of them were a total mismatch. It was like Little Red Riding Hood cozying up to the Big Bad Wolf.

  But he wanted her. Wanted her now, in his arms, wanted to wipe that scowl off her face and kiss her until she softened in his arms and forgot what she was so all-fired mad about.

  Maybe she sensed what he was thinking, because she seemed to wilt as he watched her. The shoulders rounded, the scowl softened, and when he stepped back from the door she walked into the room as if he’d invited her.

  “Hey.” She didn’t sound happy to see him, but she didn’t sound mad, either.

  She sounded numb.

  He really couldn’t blame her. She’d had a hell of a night. So had he, for that matter. Maybe she’d let him comfort her. At least then he’d have something to hang onto.

  Because nothing felt solid anymore. The ranch was starting to feel like a roadside attraction he’d seen once on the way to a rodeo—“The Wonder Spot.” The “spot” had been a rickety little house set back in some trees. It looked like a perfectly normal building from the outside, but when you stepped in the door it was like entering a fun-house mirror. The floors slanted, the walls tilted, and you lost your sense of which way was up and where the floor was.

  He felt that wa
y now, as if someone had altered the reality he’d always depended on. As if the ranch’s subtle, soothing gravity had been replaced by a world with no laws and no safe place to stand. Not even here, in his old room. Still decorated with all the trappings of boyhood, it had always been his safe place.

  Suddenly, he was acutely conscious of those trappings. This room might be full of happy memories, but it was hardly an appropriate place to entertain a woman. It had hardly been an appropriate place for his mother to install Trevor Maines either, but he hadn’t had any say in that.

  He looked around at the bedding, an old-fashioned print with tiny cowboys on bucking horses scattered amid hats, boots, and saddles. On the wall above it, 4-H prize ribbons vied for space with old photos of his boyhood triumphs. There was a photo of him with his first horse, the obliging and ever-patient Smoky. Another of him as a gangling teen, kneeling beside the high-dollar steer he’d raised for a long-ago state fair. On the opposite wall were rodeo photos, ranging from his first bronc ride to a more recent picture of him standing at the rail at Frontier Days with Bobby Mote and Kelly Timberman.

  The furniture, as well as the decoration, was unabashedly masculine. And just inside the door, looking as dainty as a princess, was Cat.

  She still looked pissed off. Without thinking, he stepped close and wrapped his fingers around her upper arms.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  Where the hell had that come from?

  “You are?” She looked skeptical.

  “Probably not for any of the right things,” he said. “I’m sorry you’re angry with me. Sorry you had to see that side of me. Protecting Viv is—well, it’s what I do.”

  She shrugged him off and scanned the room, taking in the old-fashioned decor. At least the place was clean.

  “What happened, happened,” she said. “It’s over and done.”

  “I was protecting you too.”

  She stared at him a long time—a hard, cold stare. He returned her gaze as honestly as he could, willing her to understand, and gradually her stiff posture relaxed and her eyes went sweet and soft again.