When to Call a Cowboy

by June Faver

  Her mother’s ringtone sounded, and Dixie pawed through the pocket of her jacket. “Mom? Is everything okay?”

  “Sure, my dear. We’re fine. But I can tell everything’s not okay on your end. You’ve been crying.”

  Dixie sniffled. “A little.”

  Her mother made a scornful sound. “Don’t waste your tears on your father. He kicked us both out. Hurry up and get everything done so you can come home. We miss you.”

  “I’m trying.” She swallowed hard. “It’s probably just being here in this house. I have so many memories of my life before—before everything happened.”

  “You mean before your father turned his back on us…before he threw us to the wolves.”

  It pained Dixie to hear the rancor in her mother’s voice. “I know, Mom.”

  “All you have to do is get through the funeral and the reading of the will. Then put everything on the market and get back here.”

  Dixie nodded. Her mom made it sound so easy. “It’s just that…I saw Beau Garrett today. He’s—”

  “Oh, no! Not that wretched boy. I hope he didn’t bother you.”

  The venom in her mother’s voice caused her to cringe. She had heard this many times in the past. “No, Mom. It was just that all the Garretts came to the visitation. It was…it was difficult to get through.”

  “Well, I’m sure it was. Those people have no business coming anywhere near you.” She snorted. “Evil. They’re all evil—and…and heartless.”

  She didn’t feel compelled to relate to her mother that Beau had attempted to talk to her numerous times since she had arrived. She couldn’t face that diatribe. “Not a problem. Just a couple more days, and I’m out of here.”

  Dixie said goodbye and tucked the phone back in her pocket.

  Sitting in the kitchen with its bright yellow daisy-print curtains overwhelmed her with nostalgia. She clasped her hands together, determined to muster up something good from her childhood. Generally, her dad left for work before she got to the breakfast table, but on Sunday they always enjoyed a big family breakfast before leaving for church. She recalled her father as being jovial and kindhearted.

  He often took her fishing on Sunday afternoons. Just the two of them in a small motorboat out on the river. Time to talk and dream out loud about the future. Her dad had assumed Dixie would take over the store someday and run the ranch when he was unable to do so. Dixie had thought this would be her future. Now it was only her painful past.

  * * *

  Beau drove around for a while, ending up parked by a stand of mesquite trees, staring, without seeing, at his dad’s champion herd of Charolais. The big beef cattle grazed, oblivious to Beau’s turmoil.

  Sadly, he came to the conclusion that he was still in love with Dixie Moore. He also came to the conclusion that, for some reason he couldn’t fathom, she hated the very sight of him. Six years had passed, and he still didn’t have a clue as to why she had disappeared just before graduation and why she was being so frosty now.

  He huffed out a frustrated sigh and smacked the heel of his hand against his steering wheel. Why won’t she talk to me? Did our relationship mean nothing to her?

  Reluctantly, he shoved the key into the ignition and gave it a turn, feeling a moment of validation as the powerful diesel engine roared to life. But it only lasted for a moment.

  He drove back to the Garrett ranch house, feeling deflated with no idea of how to reach Dixie when she was completely closed off to him.

  Perhaps he could kidnap her. Tie her up and force her to talk to him…how? He might enjoy being close to her again, but he couldn’t force her to talk to him…couldn’t make her tell him why she was so angry with him.

  Beau stepped down from his truck and slammed the door for emphasis. He stomped inside and tossed his Stetson on the bentwood coat rack just to the right of the front door.

  In the kitchen, he took a beer from the refrigerator door and popped the lid off his longneck, accidentally knocking over one of the stools pulled up at the counter.

  “What’s all that racket?” Big Jim strode into the kitchen, his face like a thunderstorm. He stood glowering at his youngest son. “What’s wrong?”

  Beau sighed and righted the stool. “Nothing really.” He slouched onto the stool.

  Big Jim’s eyes narrowed. “Something. Might as well tell me. You know I’ll find out eventually.”

  “It’s Dixie Moore. She’s making me crazy, Dad.” He took a long swallow of his beer.

  A half smile softened Big Jim’s craggy features. “Ah, Son. You always were hung up on that little gal.” He got another beer and slid onto the stool at the end of the counter.

  “It’s more than that. I mean, I accept that she dumped me, and I accept that she’s moved on…but she’s madder’n a cat in a rainstorm, and I have no idea why. She won’t talk to me. She keeps telling me to stay away from her.”

  “Well, maybe you’d best do just that. Leave her the hell alone.” Big Jim shook his head. “You’re not the only one stymied by those Moore women. Poor old Vern was completely baffled when his wife up and left with their daughter. He swore he hadn’t the slightest idea why they vamoosed.”

  Beau’s chest tightened. Too well he remembered his own anguish when Dixie disappeared just before the end of their senior year. He recalled feeling confused, going over everything that had passed between them, searching for anything that might have caused her to leave him. He swallowed hard, averting his gaze. “Yeah, me too. I kept hounding Mr. Moore. I thought he was holding out on me when he said he had no idea.”

  “Vern felt bad for you. He knew how much you cared for that little gal.”

  “I still do, apparently. I thought she loved me too, but now she treats me like some dirt she tracked in and can’t wait to get rid of.” He sipped his beer, washing down the taste of tears at the back of his throat. “She used to be so sweet. I really thought we had something.”

  “Son, I was there when you were moping around. You wore your pain like a blanket. Wrapped it around you and dragged it everywhere. Gotta say I wasn’t happy to see her back here again.”

  “It doesn’t look like she’s going to be here any longer than she has to. She’s itching to get back to Dallas.”

  Big Jim made a derogatory sound in the back of his throat before raising his longneck in a salute. “Good riddance. Maybe your life can get back to normal.”

  Beau clinked the base of his bottle against his dad’s. “I can’t even remember normal.”

  * * *

  The funeral was a solemn affair. The whole town turned out to see Vern Moore off and pay their respects. The person they paid their respects to sat glum and ill at ease, counting the minutes until it was over. She was just glad Scott was there with her. Without him by her side, she would have to face the entire Garrett clan, Beau in particular.

  Dixie clung to Scott’s hand, the one that wasn’t in a cast, and occasionally rested her head against his strong shoulder. His face was still bruised from his encounter with Beau, but he was looking somewhat better.

  She didn’t cry. She was actually a little angry, having thought she would someday have a chance to confront her father and ask him why he had betrayed her. Why had he thrown her out when she needed him most? Even abandoning his wife of eighteen years. How could a man do that?

  It was a good thing her mom had had some money from her trust fund. Otherwise they would have starved. Her mother had never worked outside the home, and Dixie had been just a girl—a seventeen-year-old girl with a problem.

  Dixie heaved a sigh, tracing the seam in Scott’s cuff with one finger. She knew she was lucky to have such a good, solid friend by her side. At least all the onlookers would think she had a man in her life and that she had gotten over Beau Garrett.

  How ironic that Scott is acting as my beard for a change.

  When th
e pastor intoned his final prayer and the mourners stood, Dixie and Scott stood to follow the casket to the hearse. They got into the black car provided by the funeral home and were driven to the cemetery by a very solemn driver in a black suit.

  One more ordeal and this charade will be over.

  “Hang on, sweetheart. We’re almost done here.” Scott stroked her hair with his big hand.

  “I’m okay.”

  “You’re breaking my heart.” He shook his head. “You just look so sad.”

  Dixie swallowed bile at the back of her throat. “I am sad.”

  He kissed her temple. “I didn’t realize you had any feelings for your dad.”

  A tear trickled from the corner of her eye, dribbled down the side of her nose, and fell on her breast. “I have feelings. So many feelings.”

  The car turned in at the cemetery and pulled close to where Vernon Moore would be buried. The hearse had stopped just ahead, and the long line of mourners jockeyed for parking along the narrow roads.

  Dixie wiped her tears, making a vow not to show any emotions to the citizens of Langston. Especially not in front of the Garretts. The driver came around to open her door, and she stepped out, surprised that the sun was shining and a slight breeze lifted her hair. She blinked and sucked in a few lungfuls of the fresh country air. Yeah, there was probably something better about living in Langston as opposed to Dallas. There were clear blue skies, and the air didn’t smell of car exhaust and manufacturing waste products. A few big puffy cumulus clouds dotted the sky.

  She could make it through this day. All that would be left would be the reading of the will. After that she would list everything with a real estate agent who specialized in ranch country and wait for it to sell. Maybe someone in the area would buy the store. That would be good. Yeah, she hoped for a local buyer.

  “Let’s get this over with.” Scott spoke close to her ear. Cupping her elbow, he urged her toward the little rise where folding chairs had been set up and a canopy erected to keep the sun off the family…of one.

  Dixie nodded, allowing him to escort her to the open pit where her father would lie for all eternity. The pallbearers had placed the coffin atop the wide woven straps that would lower the casket.

  Oh, Daddy. Why didn’t you stand by me?

  * * *

  “Look at her.” Colton Garrett shook his head. “Cold as ice.”

  “Maybe she’s just…controlling her emotions.” Misty, Colt’s wife, gazed up at him.

  “Our little Dixie has been like an iceberg since she rolled back into town.” Big Jim took a wide stance and shoved his hands deep in his pockets. “Vern deserves better than this.”

  Beau felt the weight of his family’s distaste. Some part of him wanted to defend her, but he couldn’t find the words. His heart was breaking all over again, but not for the woman who sat dispassionately beside her father’s grave. He was mourning anew for the girl he had been in love with. The girl he would always love. Not the cold, standoffish woman who stood wrapped in her lover’s arms near the casket.

  A strand of her long red hair blew across her cheek. Just for a second, he ached to smooth it down…just for a second.

  The girl he loved was gone forever, and in her place was this cold, emotionless stranger. He’d better get over it and accept that he couldn’t recreate the past—that it didn’t matter what Dixie was so mad about or that she wouldn’t talk to him. He echoed his father’s stance. Boots planted wide apart and his hands in his pockets, gazing at the woman who used to be his girl.

  Chapter 3

  Scott went back to the city, but two days after the funeral, Dixie drove herself into Langston to meet with Breckenridge T. Ryan, the only lawyer in town and her deceased father’s attorney. She parked on the street in front of his storefront office. This was the last task before she could go home to Dallas. She realized she’d been holding her breath and released it slowly.

  Just get out of the car and get this over with. I’ll never have to come back to this town again. I’ll never have to see any of these people again. She heaved a sigh. I’ll never have to see Beau Garrett’s face again.

  Dixie climbed out of the car and strode purposefully into Breck Ryan’s office. A small metal cowbell clanked against the glass. A lovely young woman with long dark hair sat behind a desk in the big open space. Dixie remembered that she was married to one of the Garrett brothers. The oldest one, Colton.

  Dixie managed a fake smile as she approached.

  “Oh, hello, Dixie. We were expecting you.” She came out from behind the desk and embraced Dixie awkwardly, giving her pats on the shoulder. “So sorry about your father. He was such a nice man.”

  “Um, thank you, uh—”

  “It’s Misty.”

  “You’re married to Colton Garrett.” Dixie felt herself stiffening.

  “Yes.” She gave a gracious smile. “I just wanted you to know we’re all here for you. Anything you need, just let any of us know.”

  Dixie nodded furiously. “Yes, thanks. I’ll do that.”

  “Well, Breck is all ready for you, so let me show you right in.” Leah led her to a closed door with the name BRECKENRIDGE T. RYAN emblazoned in gold letters. She knocked and opened the door.

  Stepping over the threshold, Dixie froze in her tracks. All of the air seemed to be sucked out of her lungs. Sitting across the desk from Breck Ryan was Big Jim Garrett, looking as uncomfortable as she felt.

  “Am I early?” she asked.

  “No, you’re right on time. Take a seat.” Breck gestured to the other chair. “I believe you know Mr. Garrett.”

  Dixie swallowed hard. “Um, yes.” She sat down, moving the chair slightly away from where Big Jim sat. “I can wait until Mr. Garrett finishes his business.”

  Breck spread his hands. “Mr. Garrett was invited to join us this morning because he was mentioned in your father’s will.”

  Dixie’s stomach was roiling. She couldn’t imagine what her dad would leave to Big Jim Garrett in his will, but she nodded, keeping her gaze averted. She supposed they had been friends.

  Breck unsealed the document, spread it open, and began reading it.

  All she heard were a bunch of words she didn’t fully understand, most of which followed a whereas.

  “I, Vernon R. Moore, state that I still love my daughter, Dixie Lee Moore, although I have not seen her in years. I am still hurt by the way she and her mother, my former wife, abandoned me and never looked back. However, I leave all my worldly property and possessions to my only daughter, with the stipulation that she live on the ranch in the home we once shared for a period of not less than one year and that she take part in the management of the store and the ranch during that time.

  “I will rely on my good friend, James Garrett, to oversee this arrangement and assist her with anything she needs to settle in. If Dixie Lee refuses to abide by my wishes, then her right to my property shall be null and void and James Garrett will become the sole heir to my estate.”

  Dixie’s mouth fell open. “Wha—” She struggled to comprehend. “What did you say?”

  Breck folded the documents and tapped them on top of his desk. “Basically, your father’s will gives you his entire estate, but in order to inherit, you have to return to Langston, live in your childhood home, and run the ranch and feed store.” His gaze chilled her. “Is that plain enough for you?”

  Big Jim cleared his throat. “I assure you, Dixie, I knew nothing of this arrangement.”

  “Oh…” She stood, turning from one man to the other. “Oh.” Gathering her purse and keys, she almost ran from the office, past Misty’s desk, and out onto the sidewalk. She got into her car as quickly as humanly possible and drove out of town. She made it back to the ranch house in record time, only to sit in her car and stare straight ahead.

  The lawyer’s words kept echoing in her head. What did
her father mean that they had abandoned him? She and her mother hadn’t abandoned him. He had kicked them out and locked the door behind them.

  She was still gripping the steering wheel. Slowly, she managed to uncurl her stiff fingers and climb out of the car. It only took her about fifteen minutes to gather a few things and get on the road back to Dallas.

  * * *

  “She just walked out?” Beau was flabbergasted. “How could she just walk out?”

  Big Jim shrugged. “Well, that’s what she did. Breck and I just sat there like a couple of idiots, staring at each other.” He sat down heavily on one of the chairs on the deck behind the house, gazing up at the brilliant sky as the sun made its way west.

  For his part, Beau paced back and forth. “I can’t believe she would walk away from the ranch…the store…” He swallowed hard. “Her home.”

  “I swear to you, that’s just what happened.”

  Beau halted in his path. “It sounds like old Vern’s will was his way of getting her back here.”

  “But it backfired. The will stipulates she has to live in the house and run the ranch as well as the feed store for one year, or—” He paused.

  Beau heaved an impatient sigh. “Or she gives up all rights to the property and you inherit everything. That about right?”

  “That’s about right.”

  “Well, hell!” Beau had been hoping for a miracle in which Dixie would decide to stay in Langston. He had hoped her change of heart would have something to do with him. He had hoped she would realize she was still in love with him. Yeah, right. Well, a man could dream, couldn’t he?

  “You got to remember one thing. Vern had no idea he was going to be murdered, so he probably thought his daughter would be a lot older and maybe have some business skills…” He heaved a defeated sigh. “Can you fetch me a beer out of the fridge, Son?”

  “Sure, Dad.” Beau returned to the large kitchen where his mother had lovingly prepared meals for her family. He opened the fridge and pulled out two longnecks, flipping the caps into the trash can.

  He pushed out the back door and slapped one of the bottles into Big Jim’s waiting hand. Beau clinked his bottle against his father’s before hoisting it to his lips. The cold liquid rolled down his throat, cooling the fire burning in his chest. How can she leave me…again?