How to Handle a Cowboy

by Joanne Kennedy

  Sierra watched in horror as Jeffrey stood and waited for the horse to run him over. It took Moonpie just a half second to reach him, but the rules of time seemed to have been suspended, and she watched the horse run at the boy in seeming slow motion, hooves pounding, nostrils flared, long mane flying.

  Actually, the whole horse seemed to fly.

  But just before he reached the boy, Moonpie faltered, dropped his head, and transformed from a beast of streaming flame into an ordinary horse, old Dobbin walking an ordinary walk toward what seemed, at that moment, like an ordinary boy.

  Jeffrey caught the horse around the neck and hooked his fingers in its mane as he had before. He turned to walk beside the animal as if he’d walked that way a hundred times. The two of them, boy and horse, seemed as comfortable as old, old friends as they strolled to the far side of the corral. Jeffrey rested his forehead against the horse’s for a moment and stroked his neck, smiling. Then he crossed to the gate and stepped out.

  The boys immediately swarmed around him.

  “How did you tame him?” Frankie asked.

  “Hey, maybe you’re, like, a horse whisperer now,” said Josh.

  Only Isaiah remained unimpressed. “At least somebody likes you,” he said, “even if it is a stupid horse.”

  But it seemed nothing had changed for Jeffrey. The face that had glowed with such happiness when he’d looked at the horse was now set in its usual dispassionate expression, and his posture had stiffened. Sierra didn’t need him to smile, necessarily. Frowning would have been fine. Any emotion—anger, hate, whatever—would have been better than this closed-off, expressionless look.

  It made her want to cry.

  He carefully avoided her gaze as he walked from Moonpie’s corral to the riding ring, but something about him lit a little spark of hope in her heart. There was just the slightest swagger in his walk—a little extra confidence that said he knew he was special.

  In her work with inner-city kids, Sierra had seen many who’d lost their capacity for joy. Rejected by their parents, denied the love of a family, their lives had been unimaginably difficult, but they weren’t beyond help or happiness. You just had to find the key—the one thing that made them smile.

  Apparently horses were a pretty good bet. They sure worked for Jeffrey. She’d hold the image of him walking with Moonpie forever as a reminder that you should never stop looking for that key.

  ***

  The trip home was a nightmare, as usual, with Frankie, Isaiah, and Carter lunging at each other until she was afraid the seat belts would rip from their moorings. Only Jeffrey was quiet, of course, though he was rhythmically kicking the back of her seat with his pink cowboy boots. They packed quite a wallop.

  She wished she had something to kick. Spending the day with Ridge had given her a splitting headache and put her in a terrible mood. Every time she’d turned around, he was patting one of the kids on the shoulder or kneeling down to help one of them solve a problem. Or just standing there, looking handsome and kind.

  There was no doubt in her mind the man would make a great father, and she’d found herself falling into reveries about what it would be like to have a family of her own. Her and Ridge and a couple of kids—or maybe more. Some adopted, some not.

  But she’d made the decision a long time ago to wait until she’d done her best to make a difference in the wider world before starting a family of her own. She wanted to help more kids in more places. She wanted to get her doctorate and move up in the system so she could change the way the foster system worked.

  She knew that was the right thing to do, but sometimes she got tired of waiting for that other life to begin.

  Ten minutes passed before she glanced at Jeffrey again. It surprised her to see he was looking back at her, staring at the mirror as if he’d been waiting for her to look.

  “He isn’t going to let me ride Moonpie again, is he?” he asked.

  His voice was raspy with disuse, and a little choked, as if he was holding back sobs. But it was his voice, and to Sierra it was music. She did her best to pretend it was no big deal, but her own voice shook when she answered.

  “Moonpie’s not ready to be ridden yet.”

  “I rode him.”

  “But he’s not tame yet, hon.” She wanted to pull the van over so she could devote all her attention to this rare conversation, but she was afraid that would spook the boy back to silence.

  Jeffrey kicked her seat again, once, twice, three times. Either he was nervous, he was mad, or he had it in for her right kidney.

  “I bet if you work hard at riding the other horses and get really good at it, Ridge would let you ride Moonpie someday,” she said.

  Jeffrey rested his forehead against the window and stared moodily at the city limit sign that welcomed them back to Wynott.

  “I’m sick of someday,” he said.

  She couldn’t think of an answer to that because she knew just how he felt.

  ***

  That evening, Sierra was working by the window when she spotted Ridge’s big white truck at the hardware store. Since Riley had arrived, he’d taken to driving a big Ford with all the latest bells and whistles. He’d apparently had it all along, but chose to drive the ranch truck for some reason. Maybe because, like him, it was work worn and strong, a real cowboy truck.

  She put down her papers and walked over.

  “I thought maybe you were Riley,” she said. “I mean—you’re not Riley, obviously, but there was glare on the truck window, and even though you usually don’t let Riley take this one, I thought you might have, and…”

  “Thanks for coming over to see me,” he said with a grin. “You’re in luck too—the ranch truck’s parked around back, so I guess Riley’s here too. As usual.”

  She followed him into the store, taking a moment to breathe in the old store’s unique scent of sawdust blended with machine oil, metal, and wood. On one side of the store, lumber lay in orderly rows, along with all the tools that would help local do-it-yourselfers turn it into fences, porch swings, and sheds. On the other, sacks of grain and corn were piled high on pallets next to fragrant bales of hay and straw.

  She roamed the aisles, moving up one and down another until she’d covered the whole store and determined Riley wasn’t there. Oddly, Ed wasn’t around either. The place was unnervingly empty—so much so that when Ridge stepped up behind her, she spun quickly and knocked a few small boxes off a shelf. One of the boxes burst at her feet, scattering tiny screws all across the aisle.

  She knelt to pick them up, sweeping them into a pile with her hands. Her long nails didn’t make it easy to pick up the tiny screws and transfer them to the box. Having Ridge watch her struggle with the task made her feel hot and awkward.

  “Here.”

  He grabbed a dustpan from a nearby shelf and knelt beside her. At first she tried to help, but it was embarrassing to pinch one small screw at a time between her nails while he swept swaths of them into the dustpan and dumped them neatly into the box. Finally, she sat back on her heels and watched him work.

  “You find Riley?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  “Did you ask Ed?”

  “I haven’t seen Ed either.”

  “He’s probably in back with his wife.” He lowered his voice. “Alma’s got MS pretty bad. Ed’s not doing great either—he had a heart attack about six months ago, but he still does everything for Alma. Most everybody in town thinks they should sell the store, but they keep hanging on. I don’t think they have much put away for retirement, and what could the store be worth, really?”

  “They seem to do a pretty good business.”

  It was true. Living across from Boone’s Hardware was like taking a master course in American truck models—Pickups 101. The trucks that moved in and out generally left loaded up with lumber, tools, and tile to the point that their back ends drooped dangerously low. Ed sold farm and ranch equipment too, and Sierra had seen people fill horse trailers with corral
gates, fencing, and feed sacks.

  “It’s the only place for miles. Serves half of South Dakota and Nebraska, as well as central and western Wyoming. Folks that come here for supplies stop at the Red Dawg, gas up at the Mini Mart. Boone’s Hardware keeps the whole town going.”

  “It would be a shame to see it close, then.”

  “You bet. The trouble is getting anyone to live out here and work as hard as Ed and Alma always have.”

  “Don’t they have kids?”

  “Nope. Had one son, and he died in a car wreck years ago. Sad to see an older couple on their own like that.”

  He ran his hand along a shelf then stopped and looked at his fingertips. They were surprisingly clean.

  “Somebody’s been working hard,” he said. “It’s been a while since the place passed the white glove test. Maybe Alma’s having a good day. Hope so. It’s been a while since she could help out.”

  Sierra breathed in the place’s homey scent and felt a pang of nostalgia. There weren’t many of these mom-and-pop places left. If Ed closed up, all the business would go to Cheyenne’s and Casper’s big-box stores, where fluorescent lights glared on rack after rack of merchandise and employees bustled around, avoiding eye contact and praying no customers would ask them for help.

  But while the place still felt warm and homey, it was also eerily quiet.

  “Do you suppose something’s wrong?” Sierra asked.

  Ridge nodded, then stepped behind the counter and opened a door that apparently led to a back room. “Ed? You here?”

  “Hold on!” cried a voice from beyond the door. “Be right there!”

  The old man was all aflutter when he hustled out of the door and shut it firmly behind himself. He was a big man, but hunched over from old age so that he had to look up at them from under his bushy eyebrows. The eyes under those brows were sharp with intelligence, though, making it clear there was nothing wrong with his mind. “You folks need something?”

  “I should probably buy this box of screws,” Sierra said. “I dropped it, and I think half of them are still rolling around under the shelves.”

  Ed dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “Never mind that, hon. We’ll find ’em later. You shouldn’t have dirtied up your pretty clothes looking for ’em.”

  She looked down at her white capris to see twin ovals of dust adorning both knees.

  “My Alma would tell you to use bleach to get that out,” Ed said. “Presoak ’em, that’s what she’d say.”

  “How is Alma?” Ridge asked.

  Ed waved away the question as he shuffled over to take the screws from Sierra and set them on the counter. “Oh, she’d tell you she’s fine, but she had a flare-up last week, and she’s back in the wheelchair.” The old man’s rheumy eyes glistened and he seemed eager to change the subject. “So how can I help you folks?”

  “We’re looking for Riley. You know, the girl who’s working on the house for me? I sent her over for some supplies.”

  “Sure I know her,” Ed said. “You bet. She’s—”

  “You looking for me?”

  Sierra spun to see Riley strolling down the lumber aisle as if she’d been there all along. But Sierra had just checked that aisle, and Riley hadn’t been there. She was sure of it.

  “We sure are.” Sierra set her fists on her hips and gave her friend a hard stare. “Where have you been?”

  “Here.”

  “No, you haven’t. We looked for you.”

  Riley looked from her to Ridge, a mulish expression coming over her pretty face. “Why? Did you need something?”

  “No, I just wondered where you were,” Sierra said. “Ridge mentioned that you were spending a lot of time in town, and I wondered…”

  She let her voice trail off as she realized she didn’t want to say what she’d been wondering.

  “Ridge?” Riley turned her flashing eyes and hard-set jaw on him. “Have I been spending too much time in town?”

  “You’ve been spending a lot of time with my truck,” he said. “I don’t know where you’ve been.”

  “We agreed the truck was mine to use until the job was over. Was I supposed to tell you everywhere I went?”

  “No. But…”

  “But what?”

  “But Sierra was worried about you.”

  “Worried about what?”

  The old store went so quiet, you could hear the old Ben Franklin clock behind the counter ticking away the seconds.

  Chapter 39

  “I just worry,” Sierra finally said.

  “You worry about me here?” Riley looked hurt beyond words. “What, do you think I’ve been hanging out in secret meth labs out in the cow barns? Do you think I’ve gotten my evil drug pusher to drive up to this god-forsaken burg to supply me with heroin?” She slumped back against the shelving as if she was too tired to support her own weight. “How bad do you think I am?”

  “I don’t think you’re bad.”

  “No, but you think I’ll find a way to screw up no matter where I am, no matter how hard I try. You’re the person who knows me best in the world, Sierra.”

  “I’m the person who loves you the most too,” Sierra said.

  “I know.” Riley’s eyes shimmered with tears. “So how do you think it makes me feel when you, even you, can’t trust me?”

  She flounced to the back of the store while Sierra stared down at the floor. She knew her friend was strong, and she knew she was trying. Yet still, her mind had jumped to all kinds of terrible possibilities when Ridge said she was spending a lot of time away from the ranch. Riley was right. It was time for trust.

  “Looks like your little girl is growing up,” he said.

  “I guess I’m a better mentor than friend. I can’t seem to make the transition.”

  She picked up the box of screws and it came apart in her hand, spilling screws all over the countertop. Shoveling them off the countertop with the flat of her hand, she caught them and dropped them back in the box, spilling them again in the process.

  Ridge picked up the errant screws and dropped them in the box. “You should come out tomorrow and see her.”

  Sierra shook her head. She was hoping for a quiet Sunday at Phoenix House tomorrow, though that was almost impossible with five active boys around. They always managed to get into some kind of trouble if she didn’t think of some kind of activity beyond doing Monday’s homework.

  “Come on, Riley would like it. Plus I’m working Moonpie. You could bring Jeff.”

  “I can’t leave the other boys.” She was happy to have a good, solid excuse.

  “Bring ’em along,” he said. “My brothers will be there. They’d love to have the boys around. Especially Brady. He’s not much more than a kid himself.”

  “You want them out there two days in a row?” Sierra asked.

  “Sure.”

  She felt herself weakening. Tomorrow would be another beautiful fall day, and she could hardly stand staying inside herself. Getting the boys outside where they could work off some energy would be good for everyone, and it sounded like there’d be plenty of adult supervision. Maybe she’d have a chance to straighten things out with Riley.

  “Come on, Sierra. You know you want to. And I want you to meet my brothers.”

  She’d already spent way too much time with Ridge Cooper. Meeting his family would only make the bond between them stronger, and that was the last thing in the world she needed.

  But for some reason, she found herself smiling and nodding.

  “Okay. Sure. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Her heart fluttered and leaped, and she knew she’d better find out something bad about Ridge Cooper tomorrow. Something that would make it easy to walk away from him.

  Because right now, she didn’t know how she was going to do that.

  ***

  The next day, Sierra surprised the boys with the trip to the ranch. She wasn’t sure who was more excited—her or the kids.

  She couldn’t wait to meet Rid
ge’s brothers. Maybe, with these men who’d been through the foster care experience, her boys could find the friends and mentors she’d been hoping to find in Wynott itself. So far, the townspeople seemed to think the kids were nothing but noisy little reprobates. They were right, but they were her noisy little reprobates, and she wished other people could see the warm hearts buried under all the swagger that had helped them survive.

  By the time Sierra reached the ranch, she’d had about enough. The noise in the van was deafening as the boys acted out scenes from a video game that she sorely regretted buying. She’d thought a plot featuring battles between woodland creatures and barnyard animals would be a video version of Peter Rabbit raiding Mr. McGregor’s garden, but she’d been wrong. It was more like Pet Sematary meets A Nightmare on Elm Street.

  “I’m Mr. Fox, and I’m coming to get you!” Isaiah declared with an evil leer. As he lunged over the back of his seat to the full extent his seat belt would allow, his cohorts burst into loud chicken cackles that quickly degenerated into high-pitched shrieks.

  “Guys! Stop! I can’t drive!” Sierra’s own shrieks produced a brief lull before Carter decided he was a bear raiding the beehives. The resultant buzzing made Sierra want to open the van door and hurl herself under the spinning wheels.

  “How about music?” she suggested. She had to shout out the idea several times before it got through to the madly buzzing bees, who agreed to settle down as long as she put on a particularly annoying Best of the Eighties CD that the boys, for some reason, found irresistible.

  As Madonna sang blithely about what it was like to be a virgin, the boys mimed along into imagined microphones. When they finally reached the ranch, they burst out of the van with a raucous rendition of the chorus.

  Good thing there were no state officials around to hear that.

  But the hubbub they created was hardly noticeable. The normally quiet ranch had come alive in a new way. Two new pickups were parked in the wide circular drive—one a shiny new Dodge with every chrome accessory ever invented, the other a battered Ford hauling a three-horse trailer. A tall, dark man in a black hat was coaxing a gorgeous bay horse with a shining black mane out of the barn, soothing the animal as it jerked its head back and rolled its eyes at the boys’ sudden burst of noise.