Man From Montana

by Brenda Mott

  “Damn!” Derrick peered through the blur of rain. “Looks like we’re going to be here for a bit.” He turned off the engine, leaving the ignition on so he could play the radio.

  Kara became all too aware that they were alone, inside the intimate enclosure of the Chevy’s compact cab. With the windshield wipers off, the storm obscured the view, giving the truck’s interior a cozy ambiance. To make matters worse, Kara couldn’t come up with a single word of small talk. And then a Rascal Flatts song—one of her favorites—came on the radio and Derrick began to sing.

  His voice was rich and full. Even without his guitar, he sounded great. It was a love song, poignant and moving. She swallowed hard over the sudden dryness in her throat.

  Oh, God.

  Derrick wasn’t just singing. He was singing to her.

  Kara tried not to squirm, but she wanted to leap out of the truck and run. Out of sheer desperation, she began to sing along. Maybe if she pretended they were both just singing with the radio….

  Kara belted out the words as the song picked up in volume, her eyes on the rain-washed windshield. She could barely make out the road crew as they worked to clear away the accident.

  Derrick’s laughter made her head whip around. “What?”

  Laugh lines creased the corners of his eyes, and he draped one arm over the steering wheel, staring at her.

  “Don’t quit your day job, sugar,” he said, chuckling.

  Mortified, Kara felt her face warm. She’d always thought her shower voice sounded pretty fair. “Are you saying my singing sucks?”

  “Not my exact words.”

  Without thinking, she gave him a playful smack on the arm, her own laughter bubbling up. “That’s not funny!”

  Gently, Derrick caught hold of her wrist. His expression went from playful to something far more serious, and he leaned closer as well. Kara’s heart pounded so hard, she was sure he could hear it, even over the noise of the storm. He was going to kiss her. And Lord help her, she wanted to let him.

  Instead, she pulled abruptly away. She couldn’t even look Derrick in the eye—couldn’t look at him at all. Her mother-in-law was right. It was too soon. Kara truly didn’t care about other people’s opinions.

  What she did care about was Evan.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  DERRICK FELT LIKE A FOOL. What had possessed him to try to kiss Kara? Her obvious discomfort made him wonder if he should apologize or act like nothing had happened.

  “Oh, look.” Kara pointed. “I think they’ve got the accident cleaned up.”

  “Yeah. Looks like it.”

  Turning off the radio, he started the truck and drove through the intersection. Kiss her…? Hell, he shouldn’t have even sung to her. Not here. Not in his truck, with the two of them alone. The confidence he’d felt moments before shriveled like a balloon without helium.

  Chalk it up to not getting laid since God made dirt.

  When his parental rights had been revoked, back when Connor was small, Derrick had gone on a “woman binge.” He’d bedded every groupie that came his way. But as time passed, and he gradually earned more of it with his son, women had taken a back seat.

  Since the accident, he hadn’t been willing to give a woman what he couldn’t seem to unlock from himself—his true feelings. Emotions.

  He dropped Kara off at her place. “Thanks for going with me.”

  For the first time since they’d left the intersection, she met his gaze. “You’re welcome. I hope Connor will reconsider the riding center.”

  “We’ll see.”

  She opened the door and got out. “Thanks for the ride. Be careful on your long drive home.”

  “I’ll try not to get any speeding tickets.”

  He watched her disappear through her front door before he backed out of the driveway.

  ON SUNDAY, Derrick took his morning coffee and his guitar out onto the side porch. His next-door neighbors had already left for church. He should be safe playing without disturbing anyone, if he didn’t get too loud. While he missed Connor, time alone enabled him to write new songs and practice old ones. He needed time alone to simply lose himself in his music.

  The temperature was still pleasantly cool as Derrick propped the Gibson across his lap. The familiarity of the strings beneath his fingers relaxed him better than a shot of whiskey. Softly, he began to strum. He sang a slow, quiet song—one of Buddy Jewell’s—about the southland.

  A few songs later he was in the middle of a Brad Cotter tune, when he opened his eyes and saw Kara standing on the porch, keys and a cell phone in hand.

  “Don’t stop,” she said, smiling. “I was enjoying it.”

  Derrick chuckled. “I didn’t even hear you walk up.”

  “You really get into your music. That’s a good thing.”

  “Sometimes.” He set the guitar down. “So, what are you doing up so early on a Sunday?”

  “I thought I’d go for a ride. It’s too nice to stay indoors.”

  He nodded, uncomfortable at the memory of the previous day. He still felt like a bumbling teenager, trying to kiss the girl.

  “Would you like to come?”

  “Riding?”

  “Yeah. I’m pretty sure I can borrow a horse for you.” Kara scuffed the toe of her cowboy boot against the porch, looking down at her feet. “I, uh, feel sort of stupid about how I acted yesterday.”

  The idea of going on a horseback ride—something he hadn’t done in ages—appealed to him. Alone, out on the trail with Kara…

  “Sure. But I’m pretty rusty.” He grinned, moving to put his guitar away. “I haven’t ridden since I was a kid.”

  “Not that long ago, then.”

  He laughed. “Let me get my hat. If I’m going to play cowboy, I’d better look the part.”

  She smiled, and what he saw in her eyes… Kara may still be in love with her husband, but her body language spoke directly to him. He wondered if she was even aware of it.

  He put his guitar in the house, grabbed his hat and followed Kara to her pickup. She’d already loaded her tack in the back, and Lady stood on the bench seat, her head poking through the open passenger window.

  “Hey, there, Lassie,” Derrick said, ruffling the dog’s silky coat. “Where’s Timmy?”

  Lady barked.

  “In the well? Shall we get him? Huh?”

  The collie barked more furiously, tail wagging, and Kara burst out laughing.

  “You’re a nut.”

  He grinned at her, then climbed into the Ford, coaxing Lady over. “She likes to go riding with you, huh?”

  “Yep. She’s really good about staying close to my horse…except when she decides to take a swim.” Kara put on her sunglasses and they were off. “I called the boarding stable on my cell. Ray and Sharon—the people who own the place—have four horses. They said you’re welcome to borrow one.”

  “Sounds good.”

  When they pulled into the stable yard the place seemed quiet, with only a few cars and trucks parked there. Lady hopped out of the truck, and tagged at Kara’s heels as they walked to the barn.

  Kara opened a stall door. “This is Indio.”

  Derrick stared in admiration at the Appaloosa mare. She had enough muscle to show she had quarter horse blood in her lineage, and he ran his hand admiringly over her loudly colored grulla coat. White spots blended into the mousy, gray-brown from neck to barrel, and the mare’s white-blanketed rump bore huge, peacock spots of dark brown and black. She stood about fifteen and a half hands—fairly tall.

  “Man, now that’s a horse,” Derrick said.

  Kara beamed. “Thank you. I like her.”

  Obviously an understatement. Kara stroked Indio, and cooed to her as she slipped a purple nylon halter over the mare’s head, then led her from the box stall. After tying Indio to the hitching post, Kara motioned for Derrick to follow. In a pasture out back of the barn, she pointed out Ray and Sharon’s horses. “Take your pick.”

  Getting closer, he loo
ked them over, studying their body language, their eyes. The look in a horse’s eye told a lot about its disposition. “I think I’ll stick with the red roan. He seems steady enough.”

  “He is.” Kara took a halter from where it hung on a fence post, and the roan willingly ducked his head. “This is Boomer, but don’t let the name fool you. As you can see, he’s a real sweetie. Ray and Sharon’s grandkids ride him all the time.”

  “Sounds right up my alley.”

  He took pleasure in the simple act of leading the horse back to the hitching post, then brushing him and tacking him up. His fingers moved easily on the cinch, unlocking memories from his childhood. There’d been a time when Derrick had ridden every single day, rain or shine. He wished Connor could know that joy.

  Trees arced over the bridle path, offering a pleasant covering of shade as Derrick rode along beside Kara. True to her promise, Boomer handled easily, and soon they were traveling down the trail at a jog.

  “Want to lope?” Kara asked.

  “Sure.” Clucking to Boomer as he squeezed the gelding with his legs, Derrick relaxed in the saddle.

  He loved the feel of the leather and the power of the living, breathing animal beneath him. And he loved being with Kara. By the time they slowed to a walk, he felt as if it had been mere hours, not years, since he’d been on the back of a horse. He felt a familiar sense of calm, much the same as when he played his music.

  “Looks like you haven’t lost your touch,” Kara said.

  “Guess not. This feels pretty good…. Kara, what made you ask me to go riding today?” The words were out before he could think them through.

  Her hazel eyes were serious. “I told you—I wanted to talk to you about yesterday.”

  “I know, but…that day I helped you carry your tack out to your truck, I got the impression you’d rather I didn’t ride with you.”

  A blush colored her creamy complexion. “You’re right.”

  “So, what made you change your mind? We could’ve talked on my porch.”

  “You should’ve said something.” She pulled Indio up short. “We can go back if you’d like. I’m sorry.”

  “No.” He groped for the right words. “I want to ride with you, Kara. I’m just curious what changed your mind—that’s all.”

  She nudged Indio back into a walk. “I owe you an explanation.”

  “For…?”

  “For the way I’ve been acting. It has nothing to do with you personally.”

  He remained quiet, listening.

  “I’ve had a really hard time coping with Evan’s death.” Kara’s voice grew thick, and she swallowed hard before continuing. “At times, I still wake up in the morning expecting to find him lying beside me. And then it hits me. He’s gone. Forever. It’s taken every ounce of strength to get out of bed each day. Keep doing normal, everyday things.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked softly.

  She shook her head. “That’s just it. Nothing can change what I feel. I’ve tried riding, working overtime…” She raised her hands, lifting the reins, in a gesture of hopelessness. “Keeping busy helps.”

  “It takes time,” Derrick said. “I know it’s not the same thing, but I had nightmares for months after Connor’s accident.”

  Kara looked at him with her pretty eyes, her expression softening. “That’s why I pulled away yesterday, Derrick. I’m not ready to move on.”

  He couldn’t help feeling disappointed, even though he’d already sensed it. “I understand.”

  Still, life was short and unpredictable, and you had to learn to cope. Kara couldn’t change what had happened to Evan, but she could choose how or how not to move forward with her life.

  “I just wanted you to know it’s not you,” she reiterated. “You’re a nice guy, Derrick. And I enjoy your company. But that’s all I can give you right now.”

  “I really do understand.”

  “All right…. So, have you talked to Connor since he went back to Shelly’s?” Kara asked, clearly relieved to change the topic.

  “I spoke to him on the phone yesterday. He was going to see a movie with his friend, Kevin.”

  “That’s nice. Did he mention the riding center?”

  “No. And I thought it might be best to wait until he gets home.”

  “Hopefully he’ll give it a shot.”

  Derrick began to relax. If he couldn’t develop a relationship with Kara, he’d settle for what she offered—her company.

  He’d be sure to remind himself of that in the night, as he lay in his bed, which was too big for one person.

  TWO WEEKS LATER, Derrick picked Connor up and took him out for their usual Friday burgers.

  The past Sunday was Father’s Day, and even though Connor had still been at Shelly’s house, she’d let him spend the day with Derrick. He’d taken Connor to the western store to buy new jeans. The boy seemed to be going through a growth spurt, and it showed in his appetite as well as his clothes. They’d dined on giant, smothered burritos and super nachos, before taking in a movie.

  The time apart had seemed to make a difference in Connor’s attitude, and things were a little less tense between them.

  “So, what all did you do at your mom’s?” Derrick asked as he drove Connor home from the burger joint.

  Connor shrugged. “Same old stuff. We rented videos, some computer games. Kevin came over a couple of times.”

  “I went out to God’s Little Acre with Kara while you were gone, and it’s actually a pretty nice setup. Not what you’d expect, really.”

  “Yeah?” Connor eyed him warily.

  “There are a few kids close to your age in one of the groups.”

  “How close?”

  Derrick shrugged. “Twelve.”

  Connor let out a snort. “Twelve isn’t close, Dad. Twelve is still a baby.”

  He’d forgotten how much difference two years made to a kid. “I suppose. But I still think you ought to give the place a try.”

  “Hey, look.” Connor pointed as they turned down their street, in an obvious effort to change the subject. “Kara’s waxing her truck. Can I go over and see if she needs some help?”

  “Sure.” Surprised by the boy’s generosity, even if it was avoidance, Derrick pulled to a halt at the curb in front of Kara’s house. He called a greeting to her, then got Connor’s wheelchair out of the camper shell. He watched as his son maneuvered himself from the S-10 into the wheelchair. Connor might not handle his handicap very well emotionally at times, but he’d certainly adapted to it physically.

  “Hey, Connor,” Kara greeted, walking their way. “What’s up?”

  “Your truck is so awesome,” he said. “Can I help you wax it?”

  She grinned. “Be my guest. It’s not exactly my favorite job in the world.”

  “Then why do you do it?”

  Kara met Derrick’s gaze, her smile slipping. “Well…the Ford was Evan’s pride and joy. He had it custom painted, and he always waxed it every couple of weeks. I feel…obligated to do the same.”

  Connor nodded, not noticing Kara’s discomfort.

  “You sure you don’t mind Connor hanging out?” Derrick asked, doing his best to ignore the reminder that he was competing with a dead guy.

  “Not at all.”

  “See you later, then.” He climbed back into the Chevy, and drove across the street.

  He parked, then walked inside the house without a backward glance.

  He had a feeling Evan’s spirit was up on him by several points.

  KARA IGNORED the shaky feeling that stayed with her even after Derrick disappeared from view. That he didn’t seem to like it when she brought up Evan’s name was becoming more and more obvious. Maybe Liz was right. Maybe she should stay away from Derrick.

  But then, it really shouldn’t matter. She was only his neighbor…just a woman he spent time with on occasion.

  A woman who was falling for him, like it or not.

  “So, how was your visit wit
h your mom?” she asked.

  “Fine.” Connor worked at rubbing wax onto the Chevy’s glossy black paint. “I played my guitar a lot.”

  “You did?” She still didn’t understand why Connor wanted to hide his talents from his dad.

  “I think I might’ve written a pretty good song, too. Well, part of one anyway. It’s not finished yet.”

  “Good for you.” Kara buffed dried wax from the truck’s hood. “Connor, why don’t you want your dad to know about your music?”

  His expression grew somber. “I just don’t, that’s all.”

  “You must have a reason,” she said mildly. “Sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

  He sighed, a very adultlike sound. And suddenly Kara was aware of how quickly the fourteen-year-old must have had to face adult issues in dealing with his handicap and the lifelong aftermath of the wreck Derrick had caused.

  “I could never be like him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know. The way he has all those women drooling over him when he’s up on stage.” Connor rubbed the round sponge against the can of wax, getting more on his hand than on the sponge.

  Duh, Kara. Connor was afraid of being made fun of. Of not being attractive to girls his own age.

  “You’re a talented singer and guitar player,” she said. “You don’t have to be like your dad. You only have to be yourself.”

  Vigorously, he worked the sponge over the truck’s front fender.

  Kara was sorry she’d spoiled their light mood. “So, you really like this pickup, huh?”

  “Sure.”

  “Guess so, or you wouldn’t be helping me wax it.” She quirked her mouth. “Say, how would you like to go for a ride in it? That is, if your dad won’t mind.”

  “Really?” he asked eagerly.

  “Sure. I might even let you drive.”

  “Get out of here.”

  “No, seriously. There’s an alfalfa field on the ranch where I board my horse, and Ray and Sharon take their grandkids out there sometimes and let them drive when they’re baling hay. The ground has a slight downward slope. We’ll just put the truck in Drive, I’ll sit beside you, and you can steer. We’ll be crawling along—nothing dangerous. If we need to stop, I’ll hit the brake.”