How to Handle a Cowboy

by Joanne Kennedy

  She didn’t answer. She couldn’t, because he was right. It just wasn’t a leap she could make.

  She turned and left the bedroom, then headed down the hall toward the stairs. She couldn’t help touching the doorframes as she passed the bedrooms, running her palm over the round finial at the top of the stair rail, stroking the smooth wood of the bannister. She wanted to memorize this place, to hold it in her heart forever.

  Because even though there was a fatal flaw in her love affair with Ridge, it was the closest she’d ever come to the real thing. She had a feeling it would be a long time before she handed over her heart again—maybe never. So she needed the memories of her time with Ridge to treasure, to turn over in her mind for a long time to come.

  She knew he’d followed her downstairs. She just needed to make it to the door, to the porch, to the car, without turning around. Because if she saw his face, she might relent, and she knew that would be wrong.

  “What about the rodeo?” he said.

  She stood in the doorway, still as a frightened deer. “I’ll take them,” she said. “I’ll take them by myself.”

  Chapter 49

  Sierra hadn’t fully appreciated the complications inherent in taking a gang of boys to a small-town rodeo until she and Gil pulled up in the parking lot and it was time to open the van’s doors. She could see the Ferris wheel spinning as a backdrop to a temporary midway filled with rides and food stands, and she knew the boys would scatter like a covey of quail the moment the doors opened.

  “Wait!” she hollered.

  Everybody froze. She had that holler honed to perfection.

  Spinning in her seat, she fixed each one of them with a stern stare, pointing to each boy in turn. “We will follow the rules.”

  Point.

  “We will stay together.”

  Point.

  “We will be well behaved and orderly.”

  Point.

  “There will be no talking to strangers beyond the polite necessaries.”

  She narrowed her eyes and addressed the whole group.

  “Now, what are the polite necessaries?”

  The boys rolled their eyes and chanted in toneless unison, “The poh-lite necessaries are yes, ma’am; no, ma’am; yes, sir; no, sir; thank you; and you’re welcome.”

  “And what do we never tell people?”

  “Who we are, where we’re from, why we’re here, or anything personal.”

  “And why is that?”

  Their tone livened considerably as they bounced in their seats and shouted, “’Cause we’re secret agent men from the planet Zorg and revealing our true identities could cause discovery and death!”

  Sierra doubted Mike would approve the death part, but it heightened the stakes in the game and that kept the boys serious about playing and winning.

  “Okay. Our mission today is to study local culture.”

  The boys groaned. She grinned. She might have a broken heart, but she still loved these boys, and they still made her smile. They would, for months or maybe years to come.

  Maybe, in that way, Ridge had done her a favor. He’d made her stay, and she couldn’t say she was unhappy about that. She hadn’t seen him since their confrontation, so maybe she’d be able to heal in time.

  “What does studying local culture mean?” she hollered.

  “Something boring, probably,” Isaiah muttered.

  “No!” She upped the volume even more. “It means we have to cheer for the good guys, eat till we bust, and figure out why these men in funny hats want to strap themselves onto wild animals and ride until their brains are scrambled and their bones are broke. Ready?”

  “Ready!”

  The van’s doors slid open and the kids hit the dirt parking lot running.

  ***

  Sheriff Swaggard thrust his thumbs in his belt loops and made his way through the crowds at the Carson County Rodeo and Fair with his very best cowboy swagger. The Rodeo and Fair was the biggest event that ever came near Wynott, and every year he waited for something important to happen—a challenge that would demand all his skills as a lawman and a protector of the public. One that would let him shine. One that would make him a hero.

  Not that he wanted anything bad to happen. It would be terrible if the Ferris wheel stalled, leaving some young girl trapped at the top so he’d have to climb up and rescue her. It would be tragic if some carny took off with somebody’s baby, and he had to track the miscreant down and shoot him, catching the infant in his arms as the kidnapper fell to the blacktop. It would be a shame if there were a bomb threat, and he had to clear the fairgrounds while preventing panic and maintaining order.

  He didn’t want those things to happen, but they ran through his dreams every night, like old-time silent movie reels. He knew he was born to handle disaster with the calm courage represented by the star he wore so proudly on his chest.

  But nothing ever happened. Every year, the folks of Wynott and the surrounding countryside came to the fair and had a good time. Sometimes a bull rider would get gored, but then the pickup men played hero and whisked him out of danger on their highly trained horses. Sometimes a fight would break out at the beer tent, but somehow the whole thing was always over by the time he even got there. Sometimes a fan would get a little too excited and try to climb onstage with one of the country music acts, but the bands always had their own security.

  That was the other thing. The band security guys, the pickup men, even the rodeo clowns—they got respect, and that respect translated to some very good times with some mighty fine women. But Jim always missed out on that part of the fun too.

  Not this year, though. This year, he could feel something tingling in his bones. He could tell his luck was about to change, and he was going to prove he was the one to turn to when things went wrong.

  He tipped his hat at a group of young ladies who were perusing the Native American jewelry booth under the grandstands. They giggled and moved away, probably because the sight of such a respectable lawman reminded them to be embarrassed by their tight jeans and tiny tops.

  “Excuse me, Sheriff?”

  He turned to see a big, beefy cowboy heading his way.

  “I could use some help.”

  Sheriff Swaggard gave a sharp nod. “That’s what I do, sir.” Kind of like Superman. “Now how can I make your attendance here at the Rodeo and Fair a safer and more enjoyable experience?”

  The cowboy stared at him a minute, going kind of cross-eyed. Jim knew that sometimes his vocabulary was just too advanced for the average yokel to understand, so he dumbed it down a notch.

  “How can I help you?”

  “I’m looking for my son.”

  There. Hadn’t Jim just dreamed about a missing child only two nights ago? He took out his pocket-sized notebook and flipped to a blank page. Pulling a pen out of his pocket, he looked up at the cowboy.

  The man had muscles like one of those wrestlers on TV. It looked like his head was shaved under that cowboy hat, and he had a bunch of tattoos. It was really something that a tough customer like that needed Sheriff Swaggard to help him, but that’s how things worked. The law had certain powers.

  “When did you last see your boy, sir?”

  “Oh, hm.” The cowboy looked confused for a minute. He was probably distraught. But after a little hemming and hawing, he came up with an answer.

  “It was about a month ago.”

  “A month!” This kid hadn’t gotten lost in the crowd around the Ferris wheel or slipped away in the grandstands, then. This was a runaway.

  “Yep.” The cowboy’s face reddened, and he looked away for a minute, probably overcome with emotion, and who could blame him? He hadn’t seen his kid for a month. Jim didn’t have any kids, but he suspected you’d miss one if it were gone that long.

  “How old is the child?”

  “About—ten?”

  Jim squinted at the cowboy. He didn’t sound sure of his own kid’s age. That seemed kind of strange, but then, it w
as the mother’s job to keep track of birthdays and that kind of thing. This guy was probably too busy providing a living for his little family to take care of details like that.

  “And where did you last see him?”

  “He’s at that Phoenix House place,” the cowboy said. “His mom and me got divorced, and she went and put him into foster care while I was away fightin’ in Iraq.” He showed some kind of military tattoo by way of proof. Jim couldn’t tell what it was supposed to mean, but it had a shield and an eagle, so he just nodded.

  “I went over there to pick him up and found out they’re here at the rodeo.” The guy took off his hat and scratched his head, squinting in the harsh sunshine. Sure enough, his head was bald as a basketball. Maybe he’d been Special Forces or something. “So I thought maybe you could help me find him.”

  “Sure thing.” Jim clapped the guy on the back to reassure him and was stunned when the guy’s face reddened and those WWE muscles tensed like he was about to turn into the Incredible Hulk.

  He reminded himself the man was a soldier. Probably had PTSD from all the stuff he’d done in the Special Forces, that was all. Evidently his condition was well under control, because already he was smiling at Jim. He even gave him a little punch in the arm, like a buddy would.

  There weren’t any Special Forces guys in Wynott. In fact, the only military man in town was Phoebe Niles’s son, Mike, and he was gone so much, Jim never saw him. But military men and lawmen had a lot in common, and Jim had no doubt he’d have lots of friends in the Special Forces if he lived in a bigger town.

  “Now here’s the thing.” The soldier put a friendly arm across Jim’s shoulders and tugged him over by the potato skins stand, where they couldn’t be heard by the passing crowd. “You know how vindictive a woman can be when it comes to divorce and child custody and all that.”

  Jim nodded, though he really didn’t know much about women at all, vindictive or otherwise. There just weren’t enough of ’em in Wynott that would give a man a chance.

  “Well, my ex sent the kid to this Phoenix House place, and the woman that runs it—you know her?”

  “Sure do,” Jim said. “Sierra Dunn.”

  The cowboy chuckled. “Doesn’t sound like you like her much.”

  “You can bet your Noconas on that,” Jim said. He’d noticed the man’s boots right away—expensive Noconas with lizard-skin uppers. He’d thought about getting a pair like that himself sometime. When he had the money. Which he’d never make working here in Wynott.

  That’s why he needed to do something courageous, something to make himself stand out.

  “Well, Miss Dunn really has it in for men,” the soldier said. “She’s one of those feminists—you know the type.”

  Jim nodded. He sure did.

  “There’s no way she’d hand the kid over to me without all kinds of paperwork and probably even a court proceeding.”

  Jim nodded.

  “But…” The big man actually started to tear up. Nearly cried, right there on the midway, just thinking about his boy. “But I just want a moment with my boy. I just want to talk to him, you know? So if you could help me find him, you could help a soldier spend a little time with his son.”

  “You bet,” Jim said. “I appreciate your service, sir, and I’ll do whatever I can to help you reunite with your son. I’m sure he’s real proud of you, and I’ll bet he takes after his old man too.”

  “I sure do thank you, sir.” The soldier looked like he was about to cry. Jim couldn’t believe it. A real Special Forces soldier brought to tears by his love for his son. He could see the headline now.

  Well, he couldn’t really see it. He wasn’t much for writing or that kind of thing. But he could see his picture right underneath it, holding the kid while the soldier—well, maybe he ought to let the soldier hold his own kid.

  “And you’ll make sure that Dunn bitch doesn’t know a thing about this, right? Or that boyfriend of hers?”

  Jim recoiled a little. Of course, that kind of language was probably used every day in the army. But there was something else…

  “How do you know she has a boyfriend?” he asked.

  The soldier blinked and then blinked again. Then he smiled. “Doesn’t that type always have some man on a string?”

  “They sure do.”

  Not only was this soldier a brave fighter for his country, but he also knew a thing or two about human nature. Jim held his notebook at the ready and clicked his silver ballpoint into readiness. “Now, how about you give me a description of your son?”

  Chapter 50

  Sierra had been looking forward to the rodeo with Ridge. He would have taken the boys behind the chutes and introduced them to some of the cowboys, and he would have explained how the different events worked. Maybe he even would have been able to keep them interested through the roping events, which made them restless and whiny.

  The bucking events were better. Once each cowboy had managed to jam his heels into position, loud rock music would blare over the loudspeakers for however long he managed to stay on board. Watching cowboys twirl and spin—and sometimes fly—to the strains of Bon Jovi and Metallica was pretty entertaining.

  But watching the kids was even better. They whooped, hollered, stamped their feet, and generally made themselves obnoxious, but the crowd couldn’t have cared less. All the grown-ups around them were acting like kids anyway.

  Once the rodeo was over, she divided the kids into two groups. One group would go ride the Cyclone and check out the midway with Gil; the other half would stay with her and stuff themselves with fair food. Then they’d switch.

  By this point, she was exhausted. She hadn’t slept well the night before, and keeping the kids in line with only Gil to help was tough. That had been one of Ridge’s greatest charms: his effortless ability to keep the kids happy while keeping them in line. It was a balancing act, and he did it very, very well.

  But she wasn’t changing her mind. When she married, it would be for love and love alone.

  But you do love Ridge, a little voice inside her said.

  I only think I do, she answered. Because it’s convenient. And what about him, with his list and his parentheses?

  You know he loves you too, the little voice said.

  She slapped that sucker down and got back to business, which at the moment consisted of a turkey-leg eating contest between Isaiah and Carter. She wasn’t sure how the food races would work out later on, but for now, they kept the kids laughing and happy, and gave her a little time to think.

  You’re making a mistake, the voice said.

  “Hey, hold on, guys.” There was no line at the turkey leg stand, so she was able to watch the kids while she got her own.

  “Okay,” she said. “Start again. This time, I’m racing too.”

  There. Now she’d gotten Ridge out of her head as well as out of her hair. Because when you really went to town on a turkey leg, there was no room for anything else.

  Sheriff Swaggard passed by, resplendent in his khaki uniform and matching Stetson. She shot him a cheerful wave with one greasy hand. They were at the fair, after all. It wasn’t the place or the time for old grievances.

  Apparently, Sheriff Swaggard felt the same way, because he sat down across the table and laughed along with them as they ate, declaring Carter the winner.

  “You can tell he’s a fast eater,” Isaiah said, poking his friend in the stomach. “It’s all right there, just lookin’ at you.”

  Sierra started to admonish Isaiah for his rudeness—miraculously, it would be the first time that day—but the sheriff laughed, slapping his knee. “You got that right. Going to be a linebacker someday, aren’t you? And you, you’re going to play basketball.”

  Both boys nodded enthusiastically and joined the sheriff in a lively conversation about sports. Sierra didn’t know a thing about football or basketball, but apparently Carter knew an impressive number of statistics. Better yet, Isaiah passed judgment on every basketball player
in the NBA, decrying their moral failings in such colorful terms he had the sheriff red-faced with laughter.

  Why had she been so worried about him meeting the boys?

  She was glad to see him take an interest in the kids as people, not potential perps. The kids seemed quite impressed by Jim’s uniform and asked lots of questions about catching bad guys. But Jim suddenly seemed to be in a hurry.

  “What about the other kids?” he asked. “They misbehave or something? Get stuck at home?”

  “Oh, no. They’re with Gil, doing the rides and the midway.”

  “Yeah, lucky ducks.” Isaiah pouted.

  “You’ll get your chance,” she said. “We’re switching off halfway through,” she explained to the sheriff.

  “So the other three kids are…”

  “Frankie, Josh, and Jeffrey.”

  “Jeffrey,” the sheriff muttered. “Okay, then.” He rose, tugging his belt up and tucking in his shirt, all the while staring at Sierra. It would have made her uncomfortable, but Jim seemed oblivious to the rather personal nature of his adjustments.

  “Let me ask you a question,” he blurted.

  “Sure,” Sierra said.

  “You’re pretty crazy about these kids.”

  She grinned. “That’s not a question.”

  “No.” He edged to the end of the table, signaling toward the boys. Sierra followed. “If one of their daddies showed up, you wouldn’t keep them apart, would you? If you thought they loved each other, and they’d be happy together?”

  Sierra chewed her lower lip a moment. “What makes you ask?”

  “Just wondered. I have a friend who’s got a boy this age, and they just adore each other. It got me to thinking.”

  “The short answer is no, of course, I’d never keep a good parent from his child. But all my kids have families with serious problems. Most of their fathers are incarcerated, and the ones that aren’t, should be.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “That’s why they’re here, Jim. If one of their dads showed up, I’d have to call you for help.” She figured this wasn’t the time to tell him about Mitch and how she’d called Ridge.