Welcome Home, Cowboy

by Karen Templeton

  Except it didn’t work all that well for her, either.

  In fact, she still thought about him nearly constantly, even after a month. Wondered about him, how he was getting on with his son. If he was still in Dallas. If she’d ever see him again, when she was in a particularly masochistic mood.

  “Oh.” Jewel’s broad-brimmed hat flopping lazily around her sweaty face, she grabbed a bottle of water out of the cooler beside the truck and twisted off the cap. With no makeup and in her capris and ruffly little top, she didn’t look much older than Zoey. “I’m sorry. I would’ve thought…” She grimaced. “I’ll shut up now.”

  The baby awakened, wanting a snack. Emma shimmied backward onto the lowered tailgate to get him out of the sling and put him to breast. “It’s okay. It does get easier the more I talk about it.”

  “Really?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, good. Not that you’re hurting,” Jewel quickly added. “But it’s good to know you’re not some paragon of womanhood the rest of us have no hope of ever living up to.”

  Emma softly chuckled. “I’m hardly that.”

  “It sure seems that way sometimes,” the young gal said, wriggling her much smaller hiney up beside Emma, wincing when she touched a hot spot. “The way you handle everything with such…grace. I mean, seriously—Cash had that whole heartbreaker aura going on, you know? Just like that one over there,” she said, not really hiding her grin as she took another sip of water.

  Emma followed the younger woman’s gaze to see Noah saunter into view, checking on how things were going.

  “Something tells me,” she said, “you’re here a lot more for the view than you are to help me harvest my vegetables.”

  “I am not!” Jewel said, blushing, her smile giving her completely away.

  “But if you know he’s a heartbreaker, why—?”

  “Because I wouldn’t give him my heart to break,” Jewel said, shrugging, and for a moment Emma half wished she was a sure-footed twenty-five-year-old again, convinced she could will the world—and her heart—to do her bidding. Then self-pity, envy’s first cousin, tramped on through, making her question how she’d managed to fall in love with yet another man who’d left her, even if Lee hadn’t exactly had a say in the matter. Two hurts like this in as many years seemed patently unfair, somehow.

  At that very moment, though, Skye swatted at her breast, and she looked down, and he let go of the nipple to gurgle at her and bat his big, dark blue eyes before latching on again with a contented baby sigh, and Zoey appeared, grinning, her hands and face stained red, lugging a flat of sweet, luscious strawberries from Emma’s own patch, and she thought, Oh, for pity’s sake…look how much you have!

  Kids and friends and family and baby goats and things growing from the earth and endless sky… She shut her eyes, ignoring the prickle of longing that would try to derail her contentment, sending up a little prayer that Cash might one day find even a little of that peace and contentment, wherever life took him.

  Letting Skye clasp her finger, Emma thought about how the joy gained from loving Lee, then Cash, far outweighed the sting of losing them. The hard part was accepting that she really couldn’t have saved Cash, any more than she could have Lee. That fixing Cash had never been her job. Just like she’d told Zoey, Cash was simply one of those people who had to work things out on his own, and in his own time. Still, she liked to think that maybe, just maybe, Cash had left with a little more than he’d arrived with.

  That her love had somehow blessed him, as it had her, even if he had no idea what to do with it.

  “And this,” Cash said, “is your room whenever you stay over.”

  Although he’d been in Dallas nearly a month, hung out with Francine and Wesley for some part of every day, they’d never been to his hotel suite until now. Francine had tried to back out, naturally, until Cash pointed out that Wes was far less likely to balk at sleeping over if she came with him the first time. She’d grudgingly agreed, taking her car, too, so Cash wouldn’t have to run them home afterward. The minute they arrived, though, she escaped onto the small patio looking down on the hotel’s pool, where she’d been ever since.

  Wes looked up at him, suspicion still tensing his tiny shoulders. “Stay over?”

  “Yeah. Whenever you want. The whole weekend, even.”

  “But…none of my stuff’s here.”

  There was nothing much of Cash’s, either, except his clothes and his instruments. Everything else was still in New Mexico. Still in limbo, just like him. “You can bring over whatever you want. We’ll even take down those dumb paintings and put up posters, whatever. And see? There’s two beds, if you want to have a friend come spend the night. We can go swimming, too—”

  The boy gave him a Dude, take it down a notch look, then turned and walked past him to the suite’s living room, efficiently furnished in Marriott Modern. For the moment the place was more than adequate, spacious and convenient to Francine’s. Something more permanent would come later, after the next step presented itself. Besides, Cash didn’t want to overwhelm the kid with “stuff” or make him want to be with Cash for the wrong reasons.

  In any case, Wesley already had every game system ever invented, his own flat-screen TV and designer clothes that clearly meant nothing to him. “Stuff,” he had. What he didn’t have was the very thing that had eluded Cash his entire life. Whether Cash could provide that, he still had no idea. But he’d sure give it his best shot.

  “I thought we’d order pizza,” he said, returning to the living room. “How’s that sound?”

  The kid’s head snapped around, his eyes wide. “I’m staying here tonight?”

  “If you want, sure. But it’s entirely up to you.”

  He shook his head as Francine came back inside, her smile as bright as it was insincere. Even Cash had to concede she truly was out of her depth with the boy, that what came so naturally to Emma had missed Francine entirely. What was far more painful, though, was how much Wesley craved his mother’s affection. Same way Cash had his father’s.

  “What a great place, Wes, huh? Won’t it be fun to spend the night here?”

  The boy zinged a look at Cash, shrugged, then crumpled into a corner of the blue-green sofa, his sneakered feet not touching the ground. “There’s no yard.”

  “But there’s a pool!” Francine said. “Besides, I’m sure this is only temporary? Right, Cash?”

  “Absolutely. You up for pizza?”

  “Um, sure, sounds great. Hey,” she said, slip-slapping across the carpet, “why don’t I run to the store and get some ice cream to go with that?”

  Wesley shot to his feet, stumbling over the carpet to get to her. “Can I come, too?”

  “No, sweetie, not this time. But how about I stop by the house to get your swimming trunks so you can take a dip in that pool?”

  “Okay, I guess.”

  “There’s my good boy,” she said, bending over to cup the back of his neck and kiss his hair before slipping out the door with a little wave. “You be good for Cash, okay? I won’t be long.”

  As Wes ran to the front window and watched her drive off, panic speared through Cash. Just try, he heard Emma say.

  Try.

  “Uh…you wanna watch TV or something?”

  His nose pressed up to the window, still watching, Wes shook his head.

  “Then I guess I’ll call for that pizza. What do you want on it?”

  “Just cheese. Please.”

  As Cash dialed, he saw Wes crane his head, shifting his whole body weight until he practically fell over. “Whatcha looking at?”

  “Somebody walking a dog.” He shoved away from the window, dragged himself to the couch and bellywopped onto it, kicking one leg. “Can you have a dog here?”

  “I don’t know… Hello, yeah, I need to order a large supreme and a small cheese, bread sticks and…” He glanced over, wanting so hard to do right by this kid he could hardly breathe. “You like wings?” Wes nodded, cheek smushed i
nto the sofa cushion. Cash added wings, gave his address and phone number and hung up. Now alternating legs as he kicked, the boy stared at him.

  “Mama showed me one of your CDs. You’re famous, huh?”

  Feeling like his nerves were gonna eat him up inside, Cash walked over to drop into the chair perpendicular to the couch. “Depends on who you ask. I don’t feel famous, though.”

  “What do you feel?”

  Cash shrugged. “Like an ordinary person, I s’pose.”

  Wesley pushed himself up, grabbing a small throw pillow. Tucking his legs underneath him to sit cross-legged, he began lightly punching the pillow, over and over. “How come I didn’t know about you?”

  Apparently as antsy as his son, Cash got up, going into the kitchenette to pull down the stack of paper plates and napkins from the cabinet. “I suppose the same reason I didn’t know about you. Nobody told me.”

  Not surprisingly, the boy bounced up again to wander into the kitchen, opening the mostly empty cabinets and slamming them shut, then skimming his fingers along the counter’s edge before grabbing the end to hurtle himself into the living room, where he plunked facedown on the carpet. Cash stepped over him to get to the dining area, where he set out the paper goods. Behind him, he heard Wesley flop over.

  “Mama says it drives her nuts, that I’m always moving.”

  “That’s what seven-year-old boys do. It’s okay.”

  “She doesn’t understand.”

  “Women don’t.” Most women, anyway.

  “Daddy didn’t either.” It took a moment to realize he’d said Daddy, not Danny. Another moment to swat the sting away. “How long’s Mama been gone?”

  “Five minutes, maybe?” Which Cash knew because he’d just checked his watch.

  “Oh.”

  The kid was on his feet again, slogging over to the sofa where he perched on the edge. Picked up the remote. Turned the TV on. Zipped through a half-dozen channels, turned it off again. Sighing, he got up and pinballed his way down the short hall to “his” room, and Cash realized keeping him in the suite for more than ten minutes was gonna drive them both around the bend. He thought of Emma’s frolicking baby goats and smiled, now understanding why small children were called “kids.”

  “Cash?”

  “Yeah?”

  “C’n I pick whichever bed I want? I mean, you know. If I decide I wanna stay over.”

  “Knock yourself out. Sh…oot, I forgot to order sodas. What do you like, I’ll call your mom and ask her to pick some up.”

  “Dr. Pepper.” Cash heard a muted thump. “Oh, wow. This bed is awesome.”

  Was that a giggle? Okay, maybe this won’t be so bad after all, Cash thought with another smile as he punched in Francine’s number.

  Except the smile died when the ringing switched to a recording, telling him Francine’s cell phone number was no longer in service.

  Chapter Thirteen

  As the days ticked by, Cash lost count of the times he’d almost called Emma. To ask—hell, beg—advice. To glean some of that serenity. To hear her laugh. Man, he would’ve killed to hear her laugh.

  Except every time he was tempted to dial her number, reason—or stubbornness, he wasn’t sure which—prevailed. That this was his problem to solve and nobody else’s, a problem he couldn’t run away from or leave for someone else to clean up.

  Not that this revelation made things any easier.

  He’d read Wes the note that’d arrived, along with his clothes and toys, three days after Francine’s vanishing act. Part of it, anyway. As brutal as it was—about how she figured the only way to wean him away from her was to make a clean break, go where he couldn’t see her—he didn’t figure Wesley needed to hear the part about how she’d been seeing someone who didn’t want kids.

  Either.

  During the two weeks since, Cash had alternately given the kid his space and pried him out of the suite “for his own good,” hauling him to every attraction, every kid’s movie, every amusement venue Dallas had to offer. He’d encouraged him to talk, to go swimming, to invite his friends over. He’d eaten hamburgers and macaroni and cheese until they came out his ears. He’d tried hugging him, only to be rebuffed every time. He even looked up a child therapist for Wesley to talk to, but he wouldn’t talk. Hell, Cash had even prayed, on the off chance somebody was listening.

  Nobody could say he wasn’t trying. Wasn’t still trying, he thought as he looked at the boy, slouched on the sofa playing a video game. His heart ached with wanting to make it better. To fix it. But how did you fix someone who didn’t want to be fixed?

  Welcome to my world, he heard Emma say in his head.

  Not exactly what he meant by wanting to hear her voice.

  “Hey, pork chop, it’s a nice evening. How about we go ride our bikes?”

  Wesley shook his head. “Mama might call.”

  Sighing, Cash scraped the bottom of his mental barrel for the last scraps of patience. “She’s not going to call, buddy.”

  “She could change her mind, you know. Women do that.”

  Cash smiled despite himself. “Well, I’ve got my cell, if she does. And you need to get out, work off some of these bad feelings. Me, too. So come on. We can go get ice cream afterward, if you want.”

  “I don’t want ice cream. Or to go bike riding. I want Mama.”

  “I know you do,” Cash said, frustration boiling over inside him, “but that’s the one thing I can’t give you! So just drop it, okay?”

  Hurt blue eyes collided with his. Crap.

  “Wes—”

  “Boy, it must’ve made you real mad when Mama dumped me on you.”

  Sure the top of his head would blow off, Cash plunked his butt on the coffee table in front of his son and wrapped his hands around Wes’s skinny calves.

  “And if that’s what you think,” he said steadily, “then I’m doing a worse job of this fathering thing than I thought. You bet I was mad your mother dumped you. Seeing-red mad. Because she hurt you. Not because she left you with me. That, I’m not at all sorry about. Not one bit.”

  A tiny crease dug between Wes’s brows. “Really?”

  “Cross my heart.” Then Cash released a long breath. “I am sorry, though, that I yelled earlier. That was wrong.”

  “S’okay,” Wes said, looking back at the TV. “Mama yells a lot, too. I’m kinda used to it.”

  Oh, brother. “Maybe so. But that’s wrong, too. Sure, people get mad at each other, or frustrated, or whatever, but there’s ways of getting the point across without yelling.” He hesitated. “My father used to yell at me all the time. I hated it.”

  For the first time, the kid looked at him with a glimmer of interest. “You didn’t like your daddy?”

  “Actually I loved him, when I was little. Until I realized how mean he was to me and my brothers. My mother, too. But…but mostly to me.”

  “Like, how?”

  “He smacked me around a lot, for one thing,” he said softly. “I was always bruised, always hurting. Worse, though, was how he’d tell me I was stupid, that I’d never amount to anything. He even broke my first guitar, just because…well, I never really figured out why. I found out later—a lot later— that he had a problem in here—” Cash tapped his temple “—that made him act like that. But I didn’t know it at the time. It kinda messed me up, too. When it came to knowing how to act around other people, I mean. Probably one reason why your mama and I couldn’t stay married. I don’t suppose I was a real good husband. And it’s why…”

  He hesitated, wondering how honest you should be with a seven-year-old. “It’s why I didn’t think I wanted kids, either. Which is also why I’m guessing your mama didn’t tell me about you. Because she thought I wouldn’t care. Or want you. She was real wrong about that. Even if I didn’t know how wrong…” Squeezing Wes’s knees, he said through a thick throat, “Until I met you.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” Cash leaned forward till they were practically nose to no
se. “You’re one of the best things that’s ever happened to me, Wes, and that’s no lie.”

  Wesley looked back at the TV for several seconds, then slipped off the sofa and into Cash’s arms, hugging him hard… and the instant Cash realized he’d put out his own eye rather than willingly hurt his son, or violate the trust he hadn’t even yet earned, a light broke through, illuminating his own father’s pain when he discovered what he’d done. What he’d lost.

  Why he’d cried when he’d heard Cash’s CD.

  Cash held Wes closer, his eyes shut against the light, the understanding, but there was no stopping it now, as it banished every last shadow, burned out those roots of unworthiness and inadequacy and resentment and, yeah, even the hate, and tears stung, that what Emma had said was true, about it being all in his head. A lie, when you got down to it, fed to him by a sick man…a lie that had been in Cash’s power all along to debunk. A lie that had never truly touched who he really was.

  Exhaling, Cash released his son, only to clamp his hands around his arms and look right in his eyes. “I’m gonna make a home for you, Wes. Haven’t figured out the details yet, and I’ll probably make a ton of mistakes—and feel free to tell me when I’m screwing up, I won’t take offense—but I can promise you I’ll do my best. From now on, it’s you and me.”

  The kid’s face puckered for a moment before he asked, “What if Mama decides she wants me back?”

  “Too late. I might be persuaded to share, but damned if I’ll give you up now. Although I guess I’m not supposed to cuss around you, huh?”

  “Not like I haven’t heard it before,” Wes said with an eye roll, then laid his hands on Cash’s shoulders, his gaze earnest. “You know, I think this is gonna work out okay.”

  Cash smiled. “Yeah. Me, too.”

  “So…can we go ride bikes now?”

  “You bet—”

  “Except there’s one more thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “When you said ‘you and me’…you meant that, right? Just you and me? No girlfriends or anything?”