"Patrick?" she said.
"They wear cowboy hats," the boy responded.
Cute kid, Sky thought, animated and friendly. "That's right … um … Patrick, they do," Sky said, doing his best to speak correctly, rather than use slang words the way he usually did. "But the first cowboys were children, boys in Texas who helped with the family ranch and herded cattle when their fathers and older brothers went off to war. So you see, someone decided to call the boys who roped cows—cowboys."
"Did they milk the cows?" one of the girls quickly asked, raising her hand after the fact.
"No," Sky answered. "They used this type of cattle for meat, not milk."
"Did the cows have babies?" the girl persisted.
Uh-oh. Sky prayed he wouldn't have to explain the mating ritual between a bull and a cow to a bunch of four-year-olds. "Sometimes," he said, hoping that would suffice. He made a mental note not to use the word steer, fearing some curious kid would ask him what it meant. Castration wasn't part of the cowboy lesson he intended to share.
"I can moo like a cow," the same girl remarked.
"Me, too," another little voice chirped.
The conversation strayed to farm animals and the sounds they made. Sky relaxed as the kids conversed with Windy. They called her Miss Windy, he noticed, a ladylike name for a sweet and proper woman.
"Tell the kids about how many different types of cowboys there are," Windy coaxed, as Patrick moved closer to Sky.
Sky nodded and drew his knees up, realizing the freckle-faced boy was mimicking his actions. He winked at the kid and told the group about modern-day ranchers and rodeo cowboys, and then about his own job and the trick riding and roping he did.
It amazed him that the children were so attentive, and that they hung on his every word. Windy, too. He'd glance up to catch her gazing at him, a dreamy smile on her lips. He found himself smiling back, wishing he could stay with her. Windy had suggested they live together permanently, find a piece of horse property to share. Of course, that would never do. He wasn't the right man for Pretty Windy. He'd already mapped his future by screwing up his past. Skyler, the drifter, would be leaving in September, going wherever the autumn winds blew.
Windy took over the lesson and read from a children's book about horses, delighting a rambunctious, yet captive, audience. Sky watched her, thinking how dedicated she was, how soft and pretty. Although her dress had acquired a few wrinkles since she'd left home and her pale canvas shoes were splattered with what looked like grape juice, a smile shone in her eyes. The kind of smile that could make a man want. And want. And want.
Sky shook his head. Quit wanting, damn it. And quit wishing for what could never be. Windy was better off without him. It didn't matter that—
That what? he asked himself, his mouth suddenly dry. That he cared about her? Loved her? Oh, dear God. He loved her. Him. The man who ran from commitment.
Sky looked down at his boots, at the worn heels and scuffed leather tops. Did it matter? Love wasn't the cure-all movies and books made it out to be. It wouldn't guarantee happily-ever-after or change who he was or what he'd done. He had still committed an unforgivable sin, and loving Windy wouldn't ease his conscience. If anything, the feeling only intensified his self-loathing.
When the story ended, Sky rose to his feet and watched Windy guide her students back to the tables, the kids quacking around her like dependent little ducklings.
She looked back and smiled, sending his aching heart askew. He returned the smile, hoping to conceal the violent pounding in his chest. Should he leave Windy without confessing his sin? No, he thought. She'd get over him easier if she knew the truth. Get over him? Hell, she'd hate him.
"Mr. Sky?"
He glanced down to see Patrick peering up at him. He touched the boy's shoulder. "What is it, son?"
"Will you help me color my apple-oosa?"
"Sure."
The children who had already finished their pictures were given puzzles to complete. Sky sat between Patrick and another boy and watched the kids color. Soon he found himself lost in the waxy smell of crayons and sound of incessant chatter.
Windy made her way around the tables, stopping to praise each child. "Very nice, Patrick. Your horse is quite colorful."
The boy beamed. "It's an apple-oosa. Mr. Sky said so."
Windy sent Sky a smile so loving, his heart nearly broke. What she wanted, he realized, was a lifetime with him, right down to their own children. When she moved on to the next table, he lifted a crayon from the box, his mood melancholy. Lonely and sad.
"Did you like to draw when you was a kid?" Patrick asked.
"Yeah," Sky answered automatically, suddenly remembering himself as a boy, a sad and lonely child, sitting in a classroom filled with unfamiliar faces. "I used to draw cars and trucks." And he used to fight back his tears every morning, wishing his parents hadn't gone to Heaven. Sky had hated being the new kid at school, almost as much as he'd hated that big white house where the social worker had taken him to live.
Stunned by the jolt of memory, he glanced out the window and caught sight of the empty playground. That house, the one he'd hated, had a swing set and a metal slide out back. His first foster home, he realized. He could see it clearly in his mind, right down to the freshly painted porch.
"I lived in a big white house," he said out loud, "in Arrow Hill, Oklahoma." Oklahoma. Dear God. He was born in Oklahoma.
"Our house is yellow," Patrick offered, unaware of Sky's trembling hands. "And we live in Burbank, California. I even know my whole address. Did you know your address when you was a kid? My mom says kids is smarter these days."
"Yeah, I knew." Sky touched a strand of the child's reddish-brown hair, reciting the address of that big white house as though he'd never forgotten it. "I lived at 618 Shepard Lane
." And I used to hold Jesse at night and think about running away. Of course he hadn't run away until years later. And by then, he was living in another foster home, but he couldn't remember that address, or even what the place looked like. He'd lived in so many different foster homes.
"Do you have a teddy bear?" Sky asked Patrick, wondering why Jesse was still so damn important to him.
"Naw. I'm too big for them kind of toys. I can write already. Miss Windy showed us how. See?" The boy slid his paper toward Sky, displaying a set of crooked letters. "That's my name. Could you do that when you was four?"
"I don't know." Sky sat for a moment, staring at Patrick's picture. I should leave tonight, he told himself. Go to that house in Oklahoma. Try to remember my name, find my son and be the father I should have been.
* * *
Windy entered the house, silently reexamining the events of her day. Much to her disappointment, Sky had left the preschool before lunch, apparently feeling the need to escape. Oh, he had winked and smiled at the kids on his way out, even knelt to hug those who had given him their artwork, but Windy had seen the confusion in his eyes.
Don't worry, she told herself. So Sky had seemed perplexed. That wasn't necessarily a bad thing. It was possible the kids had triggered an emotion he hadn't expected to feel—a startling urge to settle down. And an urge like that would bewilder a man who had fashioned himself a drifter.
Windy touched her tummy. Was that the answer? Had Sky just discovered his need for a wife? A family? A lifetime of commitment?
Please, God, let it be so.
She closed her eyes. That had to be the explanation for Sky's odd behavior. It just had to be. She loved him too much to lose him, to accept any other reason.
Windy opened her eyes. All right, it was time to react, to find Sky and tell him about their baby. What should she do first? Ask him why he had left the preschool early, or get right to her news?
Play it by ear, she decided, gauge his mood, study the expression in his eyes, try to read the sentiment in his heart. If Sky struggled too deeply with the confusion he'd felt earlier, then she'd wait to tell him about their child. He might need some time to ad
just to his newfound feelings.
After Windy passed Tequila's cage, she peered into an empty kitchen. Sky must be in his room. Although he didn't sleep in his own room, he spent quiet time there, often immersed in a book. Windy had come to realize Sky's misuse of the English language was a tough-guy habit he'd picked up as a youth and in no way affected his reading skills. He carried a stack of library cards in his wallet as numerous and well used as Windy's credit cards.
She stepped into the kitchen. So Sky was probably reading, relaxing on his bed with a library book. She twisted a strand of her hair, twining it around her finger. Maybe this was a bad time to disturb him. Maybe he wanted to be alone. Maybe…
Windy opened a cabinet and admonished herself. Maybe she had better get her nerves in check because regardless of what Sky was doing, it wasn't as important as their future. She reached for a glass and filled it with water, hoping the cool liquid would help.
Several sips later she placed the glass in the sink and headed down the hall. Dang it. Why the apprehension, the anxiety? Deep down she knew Sky loved her. And once he accepted loving her, he'd accept the idea of having a baby, too.
Windy paused at Sky's bedroom door, contemplated knocking, then quickly dismissed the idea. Sky had left the door slightly ajar, which meant he welcomed her company. And why wouldn't he? They had spent many a lazy afternoon snuggling in his bed, drinking iced tea and eating sugar cookies, kissing, laughing and loving the day away.
Relishing those memories, she pushed open the door. Immediately her gaze connected with several pairs of blue jeans strewn across the bed. Next to the rumpled denim sat a half-filled duffel bag.
"Sky?"
He stood at the closet, a handful of shirts folded over his arm.
"What are you doing?"
He turned toward her, then froze, his posture stiff, unnatural. "Packing."
Everything, including her heart, went still. "Why?"
He flinched as though her question had pierced his chest, as though the answer had become lodged in his throat.
Windy brought her arms around her waist, cradling the tiny life there. She didn't need to hear the answer. The haunting look in his eyes said it all.
God help her. The man she loved, the father of her baby, was leaving.
For good.
* * *
Chapter 14
« ^ »
Sky avoided Windy's gaze, feeling like the worst kind of bastard. He knew she struggled to look brave and fight back her tears, but her soft brown eyes reminded him of a gentle doe about to be gunned down. And damn it, he was the guy holding the rifle.
But remember, once she finds out you walked out on an innocent child, she'll hate you. She'll want you out of her life.
"I'm going to Oklahoma." He lowered the shirts and told her about his memory flashes at the preschool. "My flight leaves around ten. I was gonna drive, but when I came home to service my truck, I noticed it was leaking oil." He'd spent hours trying to fix the leak, but had finally given up. "I'll deal with the repairs when I get back."
Windy moved toward the bed, sat down. "You're coming back?" she asked, her voice edged with hope.
Sky forced himself to look at her. "Yeah, but I'll be movin' on again." He intended to stay in Oklahoma for a few days, find a place to bunk, then return to California for Tequila and his track. He could have postponed the trip and repaired his truck first, but had decided to fly instead; he was much too impatient to see his hometown. "You knew I planned on leaving in September. And now I've got a place to go." He pictured the white house on Shepard Street
. "The first thing I'm gonna do is stop by my old foster home, see if it triggers more memories."
She pitched forward a little, holding her stomach as though it suddenly ached. "That was a long time ago, Sky. The house might be gone by now."
"Yeah, I know." He realized there could be a shopping center in its place, or fancy new condominiums. "But I've got to go there, anyway. It's all I have."
She glanced down at her trembling hands. "You have me."
Not for long, he thought, already missing her. He had wanted to be packed by the time she got home, but had spent too much time trying to fix his truck, and now she was there, watching him through misty eyes. He had to finish packing, yet he couldn't seem to find the strength to move.
"When I get back, I'll give Edith some extra money so you don't have to worry about finding a roommate for a while." He wanted to take care of her somehow, even if he was gone. "Take your time and find a nice girl to share this place with," he said, struggling to smile. "Don't let some wise-crackin' cowboy move in."
The wounded look in her eyes said she didn't want to find another roommate, and the only cowboy she wanted to live with was the one shredding her heart. "I love you," she whispered.
Sky moved toward her, dropped his shirts onto the bed. He loved her, too, even though he had no right to.
"No. You don't really know who I am. If you did, you wouldn't love me."
"You're wrong. And I've told you that before. You're a good person, and that's part of why I fell in love with you." Before he could protest, she latched on to both of his hands and continued, "You risked your own life to save Edith's, and you let Hank give you a black eye so Lucy could get away." She tightened her grip when he tried to pull away, determined to finish her speech. "And even though you won't admit it, you have a natural way with children. My students wanted to know when you were coming back. They adored you, Sky."
"Oh, God." This time he managed to pull away, free himself from her desperate hold. "I have a son, Windy."
She sat silent for a long moment, just staring up at him, her eyes filled with question, worry. Confusion and pain. Clearly, she wondered if the existence of his child meant there was another woman in his life. "How old is he?" she asked finally.
He began stuffing his jeans into the duffel bag, needing something to do. "He was, I don't know, about two when I left. This happened a long time ago, Windy. When I was a teenager."
"Did you just remember him today?"
Sky's voice quivered. "No. I've known about him for a while."
She placed a shaky hand against her chest, against the buttons on her dress. She still wore the same clothes from earlier, right down to the juice-stained shoes. "You knew you had a son all this time and you didn't tell me?"
He expelled a heavy breath. "I'm sorry. I hadn't planned on getting involved with you. And I'm used to keeping my personal life to myself. Besides, do you know how hard it is for me to admit what I've done? I walked out on my own kid. I couldn't handle being a dad, so I split." He shoved his shirts into the bag and continued, "I'm not sure about the details. Some of it's pretty vague, but I figure besides the threat of being sent to reform school, that little boy was the reason I ran away. Let's face it, I was a hellion. Raising a kid would have cramped my style."
Windy's tone, as well as her jerky movements, bordered on panic. "You wouldn't have done something like that. You must be confusing your memories somehow." She clutched her tummy. "Why would you have deserted your own son, then risked your life to save Edith, a virtual stranger on the street corner? That doesn't make sense."
"Damn it, Windy. Don't make excuses for me. I know what I did." And maybe he'd put himself in front of that car on purpose. Maybe his conscience had gotten to him.
She gazed up at the ceiling as though searching for answers she could live with. "If your son was two when you left, that means you would have been fifteen, maybe even fourteen when he was conceived. That's awfully young, Sky. You must be confusing him with someone else's child."
"Oh, Windy," he mumbled, wishing she would just accept what he'd done. "You know as well as I do that plenty of fourteen- and fifteen-year-old boys are capable of fathering a child."
"What's your son's name?" she asked, apparently hell-bent on challenging his memory.
"I don't remember." He sent her a determined look. "But I know he has black hair and light-gray eyes."
She held his stare, clearly struggling with her heart. A woman in love, defying the inevitable, denying the truth. "Who's the boy's mother?"
A tight, cynical laugh barked from his chest. "Hell, I don't know. I don't remember her at all. I don't even recall the day I left my son. I just know I did." As an image of the child came to mind, he glanced away from Windy, from the confusion in her eyes. "I do remember apologizing to him, though. Telling him some bull about not being old enough to take care of him. But all he did was cry."
She heaved a sigh, a breath of what sounded like more false hope. "Do you hear what you're saying? You didn't want to leave him, but you had to for some reason." She reached out and held his hand once again. "You remember the boy, at least for the first two years of his life, which means you were involved in his care." She tightened her grip, forcing him to meet her gaze. "Don't you see, Sky? You must have given him up for adoption."
Adoption? Sky took a step back, freeing his hand. His memories were nothing but scattered images, bits and pieces of a broken puzzle. But they didn't include adoption.
"All I know is that I split. Walked out on someone who wanted to keep me."
Windy hugged herself. "And if you leave in September, you'll be doing it again."
The pain, the sadness in her eyes made him want to hold her. Instead, he stepped back even farther. He had to end their relationship. Now. She was supposed to hate him for abandoning his child, not pretend he'd been some noble teen who'd given the boy up for adoption. "We don't belong together, Windy."
"You're wrong. You aren't the type of person who could have deliberately walked away from his own child, even as a teenager. Your memories are failing you somehow."
Damn it. He had to make her realize he was no good, that she deserved better. "You want me to be someone I'm not. You want marriage and kids, but that's not me. Sure, I plan on finding my son, but all I can do at this point is help him out financially." Sky decided not to tell her that he intended to be the father he should have been, even if it took the rest of his life. That would only reinforce Windy's misguided belief in him.
SKYLER HAWK: LONE BRAVE Page 16
