by Judy Duarte
Rowan had never fully understood the depth of his old friend’s grief. Not until Sam died, leaving Rowan to suffer his own heart-wrenching loss.
The blow of Sam’s death had been staggering. At first, Rowan had believed the phone call had been a mistake, that it had been someone else driving Sam’s truck, another body that lay crumpled and bloody in the twisted wreckage. Then he’d gotten mad—at God, at himself. At Sam. But as reality set in, Rowan broke down and cried like a baby, something he hadn’t done since second grade.
With only a bottle of Jack Daniel’s—Sam’s escape of choice—to keep him company, Rowan grieved that first afternoon and evening alone. But the next morning, when he’d rolled out of bed with a brutal headache and bloodshot eyes, the grief returned full throttle, threatening to take the wind out of his sails and the magic out of his dreams—just as it had done to Sam. So he’d steered clear of whiskey from that day on and tried to live with the godawful ache in his chest.
One of those hotdog celebrity shrinks on TV said grieving was a process and suggested it would run its course. Rowan just hoped to hell it would hurry up.
He slowed the Harley near the copse of cottonwoods and searched the road ahead, looking for the turn that would take him to town. There it was.
Once on the main drag, Rowan stopped at the Bluebonnet Café, where he sat at the counter and ordered biscuits and gravy, biding his time until the hardware store opened for business.
“More coffee?” A pleasant-faced, heavyset waitress in a pink-and-white dress asked.
Rowan looked at his wristwatch, then offered the middle-aged woman a smile. “Sure, why not?”
“You’re new around here,” she said, as she refilled his white mug. “My name is Carol Ann Dressler. What’s yours?”
“Rowan Parks.” The name came easy now. Yet the early years and the family ties were still a blur—clearing, he supposed, but still obscure.
“You just passing through?” the waitress asked.
He supposed so; he just hadn’t felt like leaving town yet. “I’m staying out at the Lazy B Ranch.”
“With Pete and Aggie?” Carol Ann slid him a broad smile and leaned a well-rounded hip against the counter. “I’ve lived in Pebble Creek my whole life. And I know everyone.”
Rowan had a feeling the talkative waitress made it a habit of knowing everyone’s personal business, too. But what the heck. Small towns and country folk were like that, he supposed, just looking out for everyone. “Yes, I’m staying with Pete and Aggie. Louanne and the baby, too.”
“Louanne Brown?” the waitress lifted a makeup-enhanced brow. “I didn’t know she’d come back home. Or that she’d had a baby.”
That was odd. Rowan could have sworn Louanne had been working the ranch since Noah’s birth. Maybe even longer than that. Her return was obviously a surprise to people in Pebble Creek. So he held his tongue. Louanne probably valued privacy as much as he did.
“Did she have a little boy or girl?” the waitress asked.
He didn’t want to answer, but couldn’t figure out how to get around it. “A little boy.”
“That’s so nice. I’ll bet the Browns would have loved having a grandbaby. It’s a shame they’ll never get to see him.” Carol Ann set the coffeepot back on the warmer. “I was hoping one of the girls would come home. But they both had such mind-boggling dreams, wanting bright lights and fame, which was certainly more than a small town like Pebble Creek could give them.”
An uneasy feeling settled over Rowan, as though he’d shared a big family secret with a stranger.
Pete and Aggie mentioned that Louanne wouldn’t leave the ranch.
Was she too busy? Not interested in small town life? Hiding out for a reason? Or was she, as Aggie suspected, plagued by anxiety?
Rowan didn’t know, but he thought it best to let the conversation drop. He took a sip of coffee, then glanced at his watch. Not quite nine o’clock. But close enough.
“Looks like the hardware store should be open.” He placed a ten-dollar bill on the counter. “Thanks, Carol Ann.”
“You’re more than welcome. Be sure and give Louanne my best.”
He nodded. “I’ll do that.”
As Rowan headed toward the door, Carol Ann called out, “And tell Louanne to come into town. Folks would love to see her. The baby, too.”
Twenty minutes later, after purchasing what he needed to fix the rocking chair, Rowan climbed on his Harley and rode home.
Well, not home, but back to the ranch.
God only knew where his home was. The address on his driver’s license was a post office box in Napa—in the wine country.
When he pulled into the yard and shut off the engine, everything was quiet. He figured Louanne had taken Noah to Aggie’s house, then joined Pete at work. So he got busy and repaired the rocker. Of course, refurbishing the well-made antique would take a while. But he’d do that after Noah’s tooth quit bothering him, after Louanne no longer needed to rock the little guy to sleep.
He carried the rocking chair into the house, but wasn’t sure where it belonged. The living room looked kind of full.
Noah’s bedroom maybe?
As he headed for the baby’s room, footsteps sounded on the porch, and the front door squeaked open. Damn, but the hinges in the place needed a good oiling. In fact, the run-down ranch could keep a hyperactive handyman busy for years.
“Rowan?” Louanne called from the living room.
“I’m in Noah’s room.”
What was he doing in there? Louanne followed his voice, unable to still the rapid beat of her heart. When she’d spotted that battered Harley parked in the yard, a huge sense of relief washed over her. Just knowing Rowan was back brought on a rush of excitement.
She’d thought he left for good.
As she entered Noah’s room, Rowan stood over the rocker. It was all in one piece.
He smiled, his face lighting up when she entered the room. As he nodded toward the chair, his summer-sky eyes danced with pride. “Almost good as new.”
“You fixed it?”
“Well, you can’t sit in it yet. But give it a day or two and it should work as good as new.”
“Thanks.” His gaze lingered on her, and she lifted a hand and touched her hair in a nervous gesture, hoping he wasn’t aware of how self-conscious she felt. How vulnerable.
“As soon as Noah’s tooth quits bothering him, and you don’t need to rock him in the middle of the night, I’d like to refurbish the chair for you. If that’s okay.”
“Sure. That’s fine.” She tried to hide her wide-eyed surprise, her relief that he meant to stay a while longer. That he’d taken time to fix the chair and wanted to actually refurbish the antique.
“I didn’t know where to put it.” He scanned Noah’s room, then nodded toward the open closet door. “You’d stored it in there, so I figured you might want it in this room.”
She nodded, amazed by his thoughtfulness. And more than just a bit swept away by the boyish look on such a devilishly handsome face. The single diamond in his ear entranced her, as did the scruffy black locks of his hair.
It didn’t appear as though he found much use for a comb. Yet it didn’t seem to matter. A rebellious hairstyle suited him and nearly hid the stitches Doc would remove tomorrow.
“Hey,” he said, nodding toward the top shelf of the closet. “Is that a laptop?”
Her gaze followed his to the spot where she’d placed the portable computer at the top of Noah’s closet so she wouldn’t have to look at it every day, wouldn’t have to remember the dream she once had. “Yes, that’s what it is.”
“What’s it doing up there?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t have much use for it anymore.”
“Not even for writing your novel?”
The story she was creating? For a moment, she couldn’t remember where she’d left off or what conflict faced her protagonist. “I don’t have time to write.”
A look of skepticism
settled on his face, suggesting he wasn’t buying her explanation. “What if I watch Noah for you in the evenings? Or in the mornings?”
She didn’t respond right away. His offer and his suggestion had triggered something deep in her heart.
Did she dare dream again?
Rowan removed the laptop from the shelf, then flashed her a smile. “Maybe, if it’s out in the open for a while, you’ll feel the magic again.”
“The magic?” she asked.
“That’s what Sam used to say. There’s magic in a dream, especially when you’re making it come true. I felt it when I was working with that rocking chair. And I suspect you felt it when you were writing.”
She had. Would the magic return? Could a person will it to appear? Or had Louanne wasted the small portion that had been granted her?
Her skeptical side wanted to disregard what he’d said, but something powerful urged her to take hold of his words and believe again.
“Do you think we’re each given just so much magic in a lifetime?” she asked, daring him to tell her the supply was unlimited.
“I don’t know. But there’s just one way to find out.”
She knew what he meant. The source might be infinite, but she had to dig for the magic again.
Rowan took her by the hand. “Come on, let’s get this thing set up.”
“You don’t take no for an answer, do you?”
He merely blessed her with a rebellious grin.
Rowan had repaired the rocker. And now he was touching her heart. Encouraging her to reach for the magic, whatever was left.
The biker with unruly dark hair, heavenly eyes and a bad-boy grin apparently had a knack with antique rockers.
Did he have the power to refurbish her heart and set her dreams in motion again?
Chapter Ten
The laptop sat on the scarred maple table in the dining room for nearly a week, just exactly where Rowan had left it.
But that didn’t mean Louanne didn’t look at it often and think about trying her hand at writing again. Especially when the compact computer sat across from her at dinner, like an uninvited guest.
When she stood to gather the used plates and flatware, Rowan stopped her. “Noah and I will do the dishes, if you feel like puttering around in here for a while.”
Louanne knew what he meant. And she appreciated his offer. But sitting in front of the computer seemed fruitless.
Before, when she’d been elbow-deep in the manuscript and caught up in the story, she could have sat down at any time of the day or night and slipped right into whatever scene she’d been writing. The characters had constantly called to her. But she no longer heard them, no longer felt that same compulsion, that same drive.
Would her muse return if she booted up the computer and stared at the screen?
She looked at Rowan, spotted the crooked, boyish grin, the glimmer in his sky-blue eyes. How could she tell him no? “It will probably be a waste of time, but if you want to do the dishes and watch Noah for a while, I’ll give it a try.”
“Hey, buddy,” Rowan said to the baby in the high chair. “You and I have KP duty. And if you’re a good helper, we can hang out in the living room and play ball.”
Noah grinned, his eyes lighting up as though he’d actually understood the deal.
As Rowan started to remove the baby from the high chair, he scrunched his face and looked at Louanne. “Noah sure gets messy when he eats.”
“Do you want me to give him his bath first?”
Rowan paused, as though considering her offer, as though wanting to hand off the baton. But he gave a tough-guy shrug. “Heck, how hard can it be?”
Pretty hard for a man not used to babies, but she decided to let him give it his best shot. The idea of sitting in front of the keyboard didn’t seem nearly as daunting as it had before.
So, while Rowan and Noah disappeared into the bathroom down the hall, Louanne pulled up a chair and sat down, her posture straight and formal, her fingers stiff and awkward. She opened the file of the work she’d saved, reading from the screen.
A while later—she didn’t have any idea how long—Rowan’s voice called out from the living room, “Atta boy, Noah. Gimme five. You scored a field goal! That’s three points.”
The baby shrieked in delight, and Rowan laughed. It was a soothing sound, a heartwarming sound.
Louanne wasn’t sure what was going on in there, but it sounded like a game of baby football, which wasn’t the way she played with her son. She and Noah usually looked at picture books and played peekaboo. Was rough-and-tumble activity a father’s contribution to a son’s childhood? Male bonding and an introduction to sports?
The smile on her face came naturally, as her heart fluttered and soared. Is that what life would be like, if Noah had a daddy living in the house?
Don’t even go there, she admonished herself. Your life—and Rowans’s, too—are shadowed by uncertainty of the past, as well as the future.
She tried to focus on the manuscript that had once been a work in progress, willing herself to concentrate, to read, to be drawn into the plot, to fall into that subconscious flow. To sit back and let the magic take wing.
The antique clock on the maple hutch tick-tock-ticked a steady cadence, but time gradually suspended, reality drifted away and Louanne returned to the fictitious world only she could see.
She had no idea how long she’d sat there, how much time had passed before she began to peck out the first awkward words. But slowly, the characters came back to life, playing out on the stage in her mind. And amazingly, during the long intermission, they hadn’t forgotten their lines. Her fingers grew nimble, dancing upon the keyboard, picking up the story and taking it forward.
Before, while Richard was still a very real and frightening part of her life, her writing had taken on a dark tone until the words failed to come at all. But now the black veil slowly lifted, revealing the magic, as well as the dream she’d once thought had died.
If she used a pen name—not Lanay Landers, but something different, something Richard wouldn’t recognize—she’d be free to submit her manuscripts for publication and not fear him finding her through some online bookstore or the computerized card catalog system in the college library.
Noah’s pain-filled cry sounded from the living room, jerking Louanne back to reality. She nearly knocked over her chair as she rushed to her baby. Had the football game become too rough?
When she entered the room, Rowan held a screaming Noah to his chest, rocking in comfort. His eyes begged her forgiveness. “I’m sorry. It was all my fault.”
Louanne took Noah into her arms, spotting a bruised knot that had quickly formed on his little forehead. She headed to the kitchen for ice. Surely Rowan hadn’t tackled the baby. “What happened?”
Rowan followed behind. “I couldn’t get to him in time. He tottered when he walked to the chair, then he fell against the coffee table.”
Louanne reached into the freezer, snagged an ice cube, then prepared a compress to place against the knot. Noah cried more at the administering of first aid, than he had at the bump on his noggin.
She thought about what Rowan had said. “Noah walked?”
He nodded. “Yeah. His all-time record is eleven steps without falling. And he was getting braver, too. But that last time, he took off when I wasn’t looking.”
Many babies walked before their first birthdays, but for some reason, Noah had been more cautious, taking only one or two steps away from whatever he held on to.
Was his caution due to having an overly protective mother? Or his containment in the playpen Louanne had to rely on while she worked around the house and in the yard?
Either way, she was glad to see her small son trying, even if Rowan was the first to witness his efforts.
“Accidents happen,” she said. “This isn’t the first bump Noah’s had, and it certainly won’t be the last.”
Rowan looked at her as though he’d done something dastardly. “I feel
awful.”
While Louanne balanced Noah on her hip, she placed a hand on Rowan’s cheek, felt the light bristle of his beard, the tingle of warmth upon contact, the invisible connection. The outpouring of thoughts and emotions she didn’t understand.
He gripped her wrist, holding her palm against his face, as if he meant to hang on to the connection for fear they’d lose it.
When Noah’s cries stopped, Rowan released his hold, allowing Louanne to withdraw her hand. But the connection remained. Their feelings for each other—lust, attraction or whatever—were just as powerful as they’d ever been. Maybe more so.
But the baby stood between them.
Or more likely, the child’s father stood between them.
She studied Noah carefully, then looked at Rowan. “He’s going to be fine.”
Louanne just hoped she would fare as well.
Denying what she felt for Rowan, the desire and attraction she couldn’t let progress naturally, was difficult to deal with, impossible to ignore.
They’d fallen into pseudo-marital roles, like mommy and daddy. But it wasn’t enough. Not when sexual desire hovered around them, letting them both know exactly what their relationship was missing.
She carried Noah back into the living room, and the baby lurched forward, wanting to be placed upon the floor. When she set him down near the coffee table, he used it to pull himself up and walk around the edge as though he’d never fallen down.
Brave little guy. And determined, too. He wouldn’t let fear of a tumble hold him back.
Louanne glanced at Rowan, only to find him staring at the coffee table, his eyes drilling right through the wood.
He was drifting away, like he had in Noah’s bedroom, when he found the broken rocker.
She watched him, suspecting he was sorting through the memories again.
The memory struck hard and without warning, slapping against Rowan’s head, throwing his six-year-old body against the glass-topped table in his father’s home office.
Get the hell out of here. Can’t you see I’m busy?
Rowan hadn’t meant to anger his father, only to show him a picture he’d drawn.
