"Take her for a car ride," was his blunt advice.
I hung up and sighed. "Thanks, Dad," I said, and continued pacing. Five minutes later, I thought, why not?
So, ignoring her screams, I bundled Sherry up, carried her out to my car, which still had the baby seat in the back from the apprehension I'd done the other day, and put the screaming bundle of baby girl in it, fighting her swinging arms to buckle her in.
I closed the door and fought the temptation to simply walk away. For a moment I understood what my client Laurel had to deal with and promised to be more sympathetic to her next time she called me at eleven o'clock at night. I even spared a sliver of sympathy for the still-absent Robin.
Half an hour later my ears were splintering from the screams, the little stinker still hadn't settled down.
I was out of options.
James and my brothers had been gone for over two and a half hours by now. They had probably gotten their fill of testosterone-laden bronc riding.
Are you sure you should go?
I turned around, stifling my own objections and disquiet, and headed to the arena. Sherry's unremitting cries giving me no options. I could just give a yell inside. Someone would come.
I parked in the lot beside my brother's truck, my second thoughts almost drowning out Sherry's cries.
No one had twisted my arm to take care of her. Well, James had put his hand on my shoulder and given me that too familiar half smile that started a small yearning deep inside. But still...I had promised. Besides, I wasn't so sure I wanted to watch James on a bucking bronc again. It had been hard enough when he was some random friend of my brother.
But now that I knew him...
I turned the car back on to leave and just then, Sherry stopped crying. It was like someone had flipped a switch in her little, sad brain.
Then the door of the arena opened and Neil came out. He saw me, paused, then jogged over. I rolled down the window, holding my finger up against my lips in warning.
"What's up, sis? Why are you here?"
I recognized the surprise in his face for what it was. Of all my brothers Neil knew best how difficult watching him and Chip compete was. How I had stayed away from any rodeo they competed in and stayed away from the arena where they practiced. He and Wyatt had been best friends and though he said nothing about it, I guessed losing Wyatt had been hard on him as well.
I got out of the car but left it running, stepping away so I wouldn't wake Sherry.
"It's okay. She's been bawling her eyes out, but she settled just now."
"Should I get James?" he whispered, following me.
"She's quiet now," I said. "I...I should go."
"I can get him," Neil insisted. "Or you could go inside and I'll drive her around for you if you want."
"No. That's okay."
"Really. You should watch James. He's good."
"Now why would I want to watch him get tossed off a horse again?"
I tried to sound all tough about it. All in charge. But my voice took on that silly wobble I knew always made my brothers look away. Stop talking. Change the subject.
"Right. Of course." And there it was again. That retreat. The pull back. Ever since that rodeo when I saw Wyatt lying so still on the arena floor, when I saw Neil run up to him, and then the paramedics pull him back, he hadn't said a word. Nothing about Wyatt.
And I didn't bring it up either. I had my own darkness that was woven through that day.
"So, no thanks," I said, thankful that I sounded more in charge.
"But he's already done the bronc riding so you don't have to watch that." His voice held the smallest note of concern. Sympathy. The closest he had ever come to letting me know how hard this might be for me. "Alameda just needed us to get the buck out of a couple of his geldings. James is doing the finesse work now."
"Finesse work?"
"Well, training I guess."
I still looked puzzled.
"That's what Jigs is doing here full-time. Horse training."
So, no knitting shop. But the thought shifted things. A little.
I hesitated, tossing the keys of my car from one hand to the other, thinking I might be better off to just go back to the house. But then, before I could object, Neil caught the keys mid-toss and gave me a push toward the arena doors.
"Just go. It's interesting."
And, as if they were working together, Chip came out and saw me.
"There you are. Come and check this out." He caught me by the arm and gave me a tug. I looked back in time to see Neil fold his six-foot three frame into the car and start it up. I was stuck here, and from the way Chip was pulling on my arm there seemed like there was nothing left to do but go inside.
"I'm coming," I told Chip, following him to the arena door.
Once inside, the familiar sight and smell brought back a flood of memories.
How often had I sat here, watching the boys as I played with my dolls when I got bored--which was often. My mother would be on the edge of her seat, calling out advice, cheering and whooping it up as much as she did during the competitions. She and Dad often dragged me along to them as well. I knew my way around rodeo all to well.
And that's how I had met Wyatt.
I climbed up a few dusty steps and dropped onto a rough wooden board that served as a seat. A quick glance at one end of the arena showed an empty chute. On the other end of the arena the boys had set up a temporary round pen, and James was inside. His brown shirt had dust streaks on it from, I presumed, getting bucked off previously. His blue jeans were the same. He was throwing a rope at a horse, making him round the metal pen. I knew what he was doing. My brothers had tried their hand at "horse whispering" from time to time, but mostly they ended up "horse yelling."
Patience was not in their makeup.
But it seemed it was in James's. As I watched, he kept the horse going, then, when the gelding was licking his lips, signalling his intention to "talk," James let him stop. He ambled toward the young horse, ran his gloved hands over his withers and down to his feet.
The horse shied away, and Chip and Neil groaned. But James only smiled and with a snap of his rope got him going in circles again.
Then James turned, looked up and saw me. He threw the rope at Chip. "Just get him doing what you want," he said. "Make it easy for him to do what you want, hard for him to do what he wants."
James vaulted over the boards and at my side, his cowboy hat still planted on his head. "Sherry okay?"
He pulled his gloves off and slipped them in the back pocket of his blue jeans. Dust streaked his face, and he wiped his cheek with the back of his hand.
"She wouldn't quiet down, so I put her in the car and took her for a drive. Neil is with her now."
"I should go then." He was about to turn away when I caught his arm and stopped him.
"No. She's fine for now. She'll settle once I get her back home." I let go of him, suddenly self-conscious and not caring for the feeling. "Neil told me what you were doing and I, uh, wanted to see you work."
His smile was white against his dusty skin. "That's neat."
"Well, it's interesting. You do this often?" I glanced past him at Chip, who was trying, with little success, to emulate the smooth throws that James had been doing.
"Sometimes. Didn't always have time on the rigs. When my dad was still alive, he taught me what he knew." James rocked back on his heels, his hands in his back pockets, his eyes on me.
"So the whole bucking bronc thing..."
"Also from my dad. He was making a run for the National Finals Rode when...well...when he died. He taught me that part of my life too. And, I have to say, I like pitting my skills against a bronc as much as I do a horse I'm training."
Of course. Like father like son, etc.
I gave him a tight smile. "Well, you can't work against your nature, can you?"
"No. But like any good horse, a man can be trained. The trick is, like I told Chip, to make it hard to do the thing he wants
to do and easy to do the thing you want him to."
"Are you giving me an inside edge into the convoluted workings of a guy's mind?" I asked him with a harsh laugh.
"Convoluted would describe a woman's mind." This was said with another grin and a faint wink. Winks from a guy normally set my teeth on edge, but somehow, from James, it created a tiny flop in my chest. "Guys are straightforward. Eat. Work. Television. Sleep. Get up and do it again."
"Thanks for the invaluable lesson," I said. "But I better get back to Sherry."
James glanced over his shoulder where Chip was talking louder and pushed his cowboy hat back on his head as he turned back to me. "I better take over with Sherry. I shouldn't have asked you to do that for me. She's my responsibility." He looked back at me, his hazel eyes serious now. "Sorry about that. Chip said you wanted to do that. I should have known better."
Ah, that's how it came down.
"Hey, don't blame yourself. Chip can be persuasive in his own way. And I didn't mind."
"You shouldn't lie." James angled me a knowing look. "You're not that good at it."
"Should I feel insulted?"
James laughed. "I think it was supposed to be a tangled compliment. Sometimes guys can be complex." He pulled his hat off and ran his hands through his hair making it look all shaggy. He dropped his hat on his head and blew his breath out through pursed lips. "Thanks for doing this, but I'll take her home."
"She's sleeping now. All I have to do is put her in bed."
"Then I'll follow you." He called out to my brothers, telling them he was leaving with me. Chip nodded, then, when he thought I wasn't looking, high-fived his brother.
It's not happening, I wanted to call out.
I texted Neil as I walked out of the arena and he was back in a minute. He glanced from me to James getting into his own truck as he got out and a grin lit up his face.
"So you and James going home?"
"I'm taking Sherry home so James can take over," I told him, giving him a warning look.
He gave me a weak smile but I could see he still held hope for his sister and his friend.
The drive home was quiet. Thankfully Sherry continued to sleep. The lights of James's truck hung behind me in my rearview mirror, high up. Though I like to think of myself as an independent woman--hear me roar when I find laundry on the floor--I found it comforting to know this big truck with this big man driving it was behind me. Keeping an eye on me.
"So, you're heading to the good life." Casey paused in the doorway of my office, holding a file folder in one hand, a briefcase in the other. He wore his navy suit and navy tie today. The poster boy for government worker on his way to an important budget meeting. "I got a call from someone named Dan Crittenden asking for a reference." He nodded, his "knowing" look planted on his face. "Nice fancy job for a nice fancy company. Guess you won't be getting your hands dirty working in the trenches."
I ignored the latter comment and pounced on the word "reference." "What did he want to know?" I asked, keeping my voice neutral and non-threatening. Casey had an interior Geiger counter that could pick up eagerness vibes faster than you could say "balanced budget." Casey knew I wanted to leave, but if he knew how badly I wanted this job, I was sure he would mess it up. Casey was a happiness vacuum.
"I believe that would be classified information," he said with a curt nod of his head as he walked further into my office.
I let him have his little secret.
"However, you are still an employee of the government and until you no longer are, I expect that the taxpayers shall continue to get full value for their dollar." His beady eyes bounced over my desk with its horizontal filing system. "And where shall I put this so you don't lose it?" He held out the file folder he had been carrying.
"What is it?" I cleared a space and took the file from him, refusing to apologize for the mess. My little rebellion.
"A new case for you. Henry had it but he has been less than diligent. I thought you could take care of it."
Usually I counted to twelve. Ten never gave me enough time to calm down, but I was latching on to the idea that I was leaving so this time I only gave Casey seven. "I don't know if I want to be cleaning up after Henry. Why don't you give it to Oden?"
"Oden has a full case load."
"So do I."
But Casey still held the file out. Clearly my full case load wasn't as urgent as Oden's full case load. So I sighed, took the file, then flipped it open skimming the pages.
A family of four. Absent mother. Father with alcohol problems. His name was Stan Bowick. Needed in-home support that Henry was told to arrange and hadn't. Sticky notes and papers that looked like they had been ripped out of old scribblers filled the file. "This is a boar's nest, Casey," I said, glancing up at him. "How am I supposed to make heads or tails of this?"
"You'll have to figure that out." He gave me what he thought was as a reassuring smile, then flicked the cuff of his white shirt and pointedly glanced at his watch. "Talk to Henry if you have any concerns." And off he pranced like he was the only busy person in this office and the rest of us peons spent most of our time sending jokes by e-mail.
I rubbed my forehead with my knuckles, grimacing at the ever-increasing workload. Sisyphus pushing the boulder up the hill had it easy compared to me. There was no way I would get all my paperwork done today. Or even tomorrow. I could sense panic creeping around the edges of the day, but I didn't dare indulge. Getting done was just a matter of focusing. Staying on track. Help me finish this, Lord, I prayed. These people are depending on me.
I buzzed Bobby and told her to hold all my calls unless it was an emergency. I let her decide what made up an emergency.
Ten minutes later, Bobby buzzed me back. "Sorry to bother you, but it's Laurel. She claims it's serious."
As I picked up the phone, I sent up a prayer for patience.
"Hubie feels hot." Laurel was crying. "I don't know what to do."
No time. No time. The words resonated through my head as I cast a now panicked look over the files on my desk. "Did you take his temperature?"
"No." She sniffed. "His face is all red. I saw a program on TV? About kids that couldn't learn so good? This kid had the same thing? Then I googled it."
Deliver me from television diagnoses and Dr. Google. "Laurel, take his temperature and if it's higher than normal, give him some Children's Tylenol. If that doesn't help bring it down, then bring him to the hospital."
"But how do I know what normal is? I'm not a nurse."
I explained how to read a thermometer, trying to keep my own terror in check at my increasing workload. Then I hung up and picked up the phone again to arrange some kind of help for the man with four kids. As I talked, I typed up a report for a court appearance I had to do next week.
An hour later Bobby put through an urgent call from a lawyer representing the drunk mother of the two children I had apprehended last week. I disliked him from "hello" and liked him even less by "goodbye." Where was that good feeling I had about my work when I was sitting in church on Sunday? That whole idea of justice and mercy?
My tired mind stopped there, remembering the sermon and how serious James looked when the minister was preaching. The sound of James's voice. How he looked at me, his nice smile, and his nice hair.
The shrill ring of the phone split through the moment. I pulled myself back to the present and the job I would be leaving. Soon. Soon. The words were a soothing comfort.
It was seven o'clock before I finally dragged myself out of the office, angry with Casey, Henry, the pompous lawyer, and Carter, who had called me to tell me to keep supper warm for him and Dad until they came home.
Why did my brothers seem to think my work was easier and less busy than theirs?
Maybe it's because they don't know?
The thought slid in behind my anger as I walked across the still hot asphalt of the parking lot. I remembered James's words of a few days ago. Was he right? Did I let things happen and then react?
>
My car was an oven by the time I got in, the heat of the day trapped inside. I worked up a sweat starting it up. Of course the air conditioning wasn't working.
So down went the only window that worked, the passenger one, and of course the grader had just been down our gravel road. Dust roiled up behind my car, into my car, into my mouth and hair.
On a scale of world suffering I knew my current irritations were minimal. I knew I had clients who were worse off than me. However I still felt cranky, out of sorts and sorry for myself by the time I pulled into our driveway.
Carter and Dad would be late and it looked like Neil and Chip weren't home yet either. Fine. I needed some alone time, anyway.
Ten minutes later, after changing into blue jeans and a shirt, I was slipping a bridle over Spook's head and mounting up. It had been too long since I'd been on his back and I needed to get out, be on my own. Away from demands and people and expectations.
Spook danced around as I gathered up the reins. He needed little urging and soon he was trotting down a well worn path toward the open fields, the warm wind blowing all the cobwebs and dust out of my brain. Spook shook his head, impatient with this slow trot, but I held him in. I liked to keep things tame.
I got Spook down to a walk, but I could tell by the way he pulled on the reins he wasn't happy. I didn't care. For now I was content to follow the trail through the trees and enjoy the muffled sound of Spook's hooves on the ground, the mocking squawk of the magpies. Half an hour later, duty tugged with relentless fingers, so I reluctantly turned Spook around to head back home. He shook his head and tried to go back the other way, but I was firm with him and he obeyed. We broke out into the open field and he acted up again. After spending too much time cooped up in the smaller pasture, he wanted to run.
I wasn't a galloper. I wasn't the kind of girl who imagined herself flying across field and dale, her hair streaming out behind her. One fact being that no matter how I shampooed, conditioned and treated it, my hair would just flop. The other was that I was always afraid when I galloped. When I was out with the boys, I let my horse run simply because if I didn't, I would be fighting it all the way home.
Any Man of Mine (Holmes Crossing Book 5) Page 14
