Cowboy Tough

by Joanne Kennedy

  “Okay.” She looked less than impressed.

  “And…”

  He suddenly realized how hard it was going to be to tell her what Dora had said. He’d been so glad to get to the bottom of the matter that he hadn’t considered her feelings—just Dora’s. Now he’d trapped himself into saying something that was bound to hurt her.

  There was no way of putting it delicately. He was just going to have to spit it out.

  “She resents you because she doesn’t think it’s fair,” he said.

  Cat wasn’t going to let him off easy. “She doesn’t think what’s fair?”

  “She doesn’t think it’s fair that her mother died. She thinks it should have been you.”

  Chapter 31

  Cat stared at Mack for a moment, absorbing his words, repeating them in her mind, wringing them of all the meaning she could.

  She thinks it should have been you.

  There was no surprise there. Nothing she didn’t already know. Putting it into words made it sound stark and hurtful, but she’d sensed it long ago.

  “Of course she does.” She shrugged one shoulder. “Sometimes I feel the same way.”

  He blinked. “What?”

  “It’s just such lousy luck. Why did Edie have to get sick? Why couldn’t it be someone who didn’t have a child? It’s natural for Dora to feel that way.”

  “I—I thought you’d be hurt.”

  She shook her head. “Not hurt. Just sad. She’s lost so much.” She scraped a line in the dirt with the toe of her boot. “So, that’s all you’ve got?”

  “Well, yeah,” he said. “It took a lot to get that out of her, too. She kept saying she was fine, fine, fine. Typical female.”

  “Well, I guess that makes me atypical,” she said. “Because I am most definitely not fine.” She shoved off the wall, forcing him to either step back or let her slam into him.

  He stepped back.

  “I’m sorry.” She raked her fingers through her hair. “It’s just that I know she hates me. I know she wishes I’d been the one to die instead of her mother. But that’s a normal reaction to grief.” She sighed. “I appreciate you trying, but there’s something more there. She’s flunking out of school. She’ll barely speak to her father, or me. She’s moody and sullen and we don’t know what’s going on in her head.”

  “She’s a teenage girl. That’s kind of normal.”

  “Not to this level it isn’t.”

  “Well, if it’s any help, she wasn’t moody or sullen today. She was cheerful and helpful. She seemed happy most of the time, which is why I didn’t bring up her mom until the last hour or so. Pushing her to talk doesn’t get you anywhere. I hoped she’d bring it up, but she didn’t. And when I brought it up, that’s all she said.”

  “But she was happy?”

  “With the horses, yeah. She enjoys that. And frankly, I think she was trying to shock me with that comment about you. Shock me, or hurt you. She must have known I’d tell you.”

  “Well, at least she was happy for a day. I’ve been worried her face would freeze in a permanent frown.” Cat relaxed her own face, as if she was worried the same thing might happen to her. She gave Mack a tentative, heartbreaking half smile as she walked away. “I guess I should thank you for that. But we still haven’t gotten to the root of the problem.”

  “Go find her,” he said. “Talk to her. She’s in a good mood for a change.”

  ***

  Cat found Dora in the kitchen, mustering up a snack for herself and Viv, dumping tortilla chips into a plastic bowl.

  “Isn’t that stuff for the dance tonight?”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be with your clients?” Dora scowled. “Quit telling me what to do.”

  Cat had hoped to start a casual conversation, but there was no hope of that. Folding her arms over her chest, she leaned against the counter.

  “Come on, Dora. I’m not that bad. I brought you here because I thought you’d enjoy it. And you did enjoy it today, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, because I didn’t have to do what you want.”

  “That’s not what it’s about.”

  “No?” Dora pitched her voice into a squeaky, nasal whine as she pulled a plastic tub of salsa from the refrigerator. “You have to paint. You have to use your talent. You have to fulfill your amazing potential.”

  Cat decided to ignore the mockery and go for the heart of the message. “But I’m encouraging you, not telling you what to do. I’m sorry if it doesn’t come across that way.” She met Dora’s eyes and tried to ignore the anger, resentment, and pure wrongheaded stubbornness she saw there. “I love you, hon. I just want what’s best for you.”

  “You want me to be like you.”

  “No, I don’t. I want you to be better than me.” She cracked a crooked smile. “It shouldn’t be too hard.”

  Dora wrenched open the salsa and the container tipped sideways, spilling a bright red streak on the counter. “I don’t want to be anything like you.”

  Cat knew her niece was just spewing the anger that had built up from her mother’s death. Maybe it was cathartic for her. Maybe she could empty all her misery and sorrow onto Cat and feel better. Cat was willing to take it, but it wasn’t easy.

  “Dora, I know you miss your mom,” she said. “Trust me, I miss her too. And I’d have taken her place if I could. I know you need her, and I know I’m a poor replacement. But I’m trying.”

  “You always try,” Dora spat. “You always do the right thing. Every day. All the time. My mom and I used to make fun of you, you know that?” She grabbed the end of a roll of paper towels and tugged, spinning a too-long ribbon off the roll. Snapping it sideways, she tried to tear it but only succeeded in unrolling more.

  “Mom used to say you were all work and no play. She said you didn’t know how to live.” She bunched the towels in one hand and tore them off with the other. “And then she was the one who died.”

  Cat reached for the wad of paper towels, wanting to help, but Dora snatched them away.

  “You would have been a good little cancer patient. You would have had all the treatments—the ones she wouldn’t do.” Dora was crying now as she scrubbed furiously at the streak of salsa. “You wouldn’t have cared if they hurt, or if they made you ugly.”

  “That was your mother’s choice. They couldn’t fix her, you know.” Cat put her hands on Dora’s shoulders, trying to stop the frantic scrubbing, but the girl shrugged her off. “It only would have given her a few months.”

  “I know. Her choice. She could have lived longer, but she was worried about being ugly.” Dora slammed the wad of paper towels into the sink and covered her eyes. “She didn’t want to live. But she had me! Why would she…”

  She caught an escaping sob, sealing her lips shut and wiping away the tears. But when Cat put her arms around her, she let out a strangled cry and collapsed into sobs so visceral they were frightening. These weren’t the dignified tears of a mourner at a funeral; these were the chest-heaving, shoulder-shaking tears of grief, raw and painful and heartbreakingly deep.

  The heaves turned to shudders, the shudders to an occasional shiver. Cat let Dora collect herself, handing her a paper towel and stifling the urge to hand out platitudes.

  Dora wiped her eyes and blew her nose noisily. “Never mind. It’s stupid. It doesn’t matter now anyway.”

  “Of course it matters, hon,” Cat said. “Your mom loved you. She didn’t want you to have to see her that way.”

  “Right.” Dora pressed her lips together, refusing to succumb to tears again. “Because it wouldn’t have been pretty.” She turned to face Cat, her face pale with anger. “So I don’t want to be an artist, okay? I don’t want to make life all pretty and perfect.” She grabbed the bowl, forgetting the salsa as she stormed out of the room. “There’s nothing wrong with life being ugly and real. That
’s the way I want it.”

  ***

  Mack was halfway through stringing the chili pepper light strings when a battered VW bus pulled up to the barn. Six men dressed head-to-toe in black stepped out and opened the back door. As they busied themselves hauling out large black cases, he saw the letters SWAT stencilled on the back of their shirts.

  What the hell had Trevor told the cops?

  “Can I help you?”

  The biggest man set a case on the ground and turned. “We’re the SWAT team.”

  Mack would have been alarmed, but the case was shaped suspiciously like a stand-up bass. Another man was unloading what appeared to be a guitar.

  “And SWAT stands for…”

  “Swing with a Twist,” a smaller man said. He held a violin case, while his companions were pulling out various amplifiers and instruments. It looked like enough equipment to supply a philharmonic orchestra. “Little bit of big band, whole lot of country.”

  “Sounds great.” Mack pitched in and helped them carry their supplies to a raised concrete foundation just beyond the bunkhouses. It had once been a small stable, but tonight it would serve as a stage.

  The musicians and their helpers were soon hard at work, swarming over the makeshift stage and snaking orange electrical cords across the yard. Mack felt more in the way than anything, so he returned to his chores. The various artists were scattered around the grounds, absorbed in their paintings of various rustic buildings, fence posts, and views.

  Musicians. Artists. Mack longed for the good old days, when all he had to deal with was cattle.

  But the artists and musicians were the least of his problems. Gradually, the pasture by the barn began to fill with pickups and SUVs as neighbors arrived to join the festivities. He saw the Humboldts’ big Ford diesel pull in, and he ducked into the barn. The longer he could put off this encounter the better.

  He knew he should be playing host, but somehow the idea of talking to people seemed like torture.

  Unless it was Cat. He missed her. And he’d probably keep on missing her while he watched her make nice with the neighbors and dance to the SWAT team. Because he couldn’t go out there.

  Not with Emily Humboldt on the premises. His relationship with Emily had been just like his relationship with Cat, but without the sex. One apology after another. And then he’d announced he was going pro on the rodeo circuit, without a clue that she was expecting a different kind of announcement.

  He’d made the announcement at a graduation party, with the whole town present. He’d enumerated all the stops along the way, enthusiastically tracing out a road to the National Finals Rodeo that would take him all over the West, sometimes to more than one rodeo a day.

  He’d thought she’d be happy for him. She was from a rodeo family, after all. He’d trained at her father’s arena, and she’d cheered him on. But apparently, she’d expected things to stay that way, with only one real difference: she’d still be cheering him on, he’d still be hanging at her father’s ranch, but she’d have a diamond on her finger.

  Since then, he’d ridden in every arena in the West except the Humboldts’. He’d managed to steer clear of them even when he’d come home to visit. So his memory of Emily was still that shocked, sad face that had greeted his announcement.

  It would have been easier if she’d been angry. He still felt bad about hurting her, but he hadn’t wanted his life to end here on the ranch.

  A half hour later he ran out of the busywork that let him stay in the barn. He’d reorganized the tack room, swept out the alleyway, and was straightening tools in the shop when a voice piped up behind him.

  “Hi, Mack.”

  He turned to see Emily framed in the doorway, just as Cat had been a couple days ago. Her silhouette was sleek and neat, her shiny dark blonde hair spilling out from under a neatly creased Resistol, her jeans cupping her hips like a second skin.

  “Long time no see.” She stepped into the barn and sat down on a stack of hay bales by the door. “You look good.”

  She smiled, and to his surprise, he found himself smiling back. She was feminine in a big-boned, busty way, with high Scandinavian cheekbones and a generous mouth. He knew she still barrel raced at her dad’s arena now and then, and the sport had given her the sinewy muscles of a born horsewoman.

  “You do too.” He was surprised to find he meant it.

  She leaned back against the wall, a half smile tilting her lips, and considered him with an up-and-down appraisal. If a man looked at a woman that way, he’d be out of line. But it wasn’t a sexual stare; it seemed more as if she was trying to figure out who he’d become in all the years since they’d seen each other.

  “So are you done with rodeo?” she asked.

  It was the question he’d dreaded. He’d been certain she would have settled down with someone by now and had a passel of kids. It was what she’d always wanted, but his mother said she’d stayed single all this time.

  Surely she hadn’t been waiting for him.

  “I guess I am for a while,” he said, treading carefully. “I need to stay here until we get the dude ranch going. Help out.”

  “That’s good. I mean, for your mom.” She cocked her head and watched him with narrowed eyes, like a snake watching a bird. He shuffled his feet, feeling as if they were suddenly three sizes too big. Clearing his throat, he struggled to think of something to say.

  “I heard your marriage didn’t work out,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

  He nodded, wondering where this conversation was going.

  “I met your daughter, though. She’s a beauty.”

  “Yeah.” At least they could agree on one thing.

  Silence settled over them, thick and awkward. He looked down at his feet, scraping a line in the dust, and then turned his attention back to the tools, fooling with a shovel and a posthole digger. He glanced at Emily, then quickly glanced away.

  She laughed, her face relaxing into a wide, honest grin. “Don’t worry, Mack. I’m not here to drag you off to a life of dinner parties and diaper-changing.”

  “Good. I mean…” He put his hands in his pockets, pulled them out, then hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. How could he make it clear to Emily that she still wasn’t what he wanted—without being hopelessly rude? “Dinner parties aren’t really my thing.”

  “I know.” She stood, and he envied her ease and good humor. Emily had always been comfortable in her own skin. He didn’t know why he hadn’t stuck with her. Nor did he know why she didn’t do anything for him now. She just wasn’t his type.

  She stepped toward him and touched his arm. He tensed, uneasy with the unexpected contact.

  “There’s nothing to worry about, Mack. I’m not here to lure you into my lair. You did me a big favor when you walked away.”

  “Really?” He remembered the tears and recriminations, and the stony silence that followed.

  “Really. Oh, I know I gave you a hard time about it. But I needed to step out on my own.” Her eyes took on a happy glow. “I’m doing all the publicity work for the arena. Attendance is up almost fifty percent. And we were voted Best Small Town Rodeo by Western Horseman last year.”

  He nodded. “That’s good.”

  “I was trying to define myself with a relationship, but I needed to cut loose and find myself. And I did.” She swept off her hat and raked one hand through her hair. “So how about you? Did you find what you were looking for out there?”

  He opened his mouth to answer, then simply shook his head. If Emily was looking for revenge, she’d found it. Here she was, confident and sure of herself, content with her place in the world, and he was still—what was he doing, anyway? Searching for something, that was for sure.

  He just didn’t know what the hell it was.

  Chapter 32

  Neighbors and band members thronged around the fire pit, worki
ng their way through plates of slow-cooked ribs, beans, and the inevitable biscuits. It was nearly dark before the SWAT team took the stage, tuning up with a series of squeaks and squawks that set Mack’s teeth on edge.

  He liked music well enough; it was dancing that made him nervous. His mother was already arranging the guests in two neat rows and teaching them the basic elements of country line dancing. Emily was front and center, hands on hips, confidently leading the group as the band started up a rousing up-tempo version of “San Antonio Rose.” Madeleine called out the steps, clapping her hands.

  “Kick one, two, and kick three, four. Spin and turn and clap! One, two, and three…”

  The students dutifully spun and kicked, clapped and turned, following her lead. Gradually the mishmash of separate steps turned into a choreographed chorus line as everyone caught on and fell into matching rhythms. The students had hauled out their best cowboy duds for the occasion, but Cat was dressed as her sweet city self, in a glittery, loose-fitting top and a mass of sparkling beads draped around her neck. Bangles dangled at her wrists, and a pair of gypsy hoops hung from her earlobes, winking as they caught the firelight.

  He’d gotten used to the simplicity of those big shirts she wore for painting and forgotten what an exotic, otherworldly creature she was. She hadn’t dressed like this since that first day he’d seen her. Her jewelry swayed as she danced, and he knew if he stepped closer it would chime together with a faint gypsy jingle.

  Her steps were more dutiful than graceful, and she certainly couldn’t match Emily’s enthusiasm. But Mack couldn’t help watching her. It was that danged top, the way it skimmed her curves and draped over her hips. All he could think about was running his fingers over the silky smooth fabric, brushing the tips of her breasts, and watching her shiver in response.

  But he wasn’t about to join the line. Cowboys might dance in music videos, but those were barstool cowboys—Nashville types who wore the hat and boots as a costume on Saturday nights.